*
By the end of the month, the king had wed Anne Boleyn, but to the eyes of the Catholic Church, and to some who remained faithful to the pope, this was an unlawful marriage. However, the new Archbishop of Canterbury was a clever man and would give the king exactly what he wanted. Cromwell’s power was also growing steadily, and in the spring of 1533, he along with other supporters of the imminent reformation passed new legislation on parliament called, the Act of Restrain Appeals.
‘It is the wish of our sovereign King Henry the Eighth and of his parliament,’ Cromwell was saying, announcing the new law over to the court, ‘to introduce this new Act. This Kingdom of England is an Empire, my lords, and is thus governed by the one Supreme Head and Sovereign, that bears the responsibility of the royal crown. Our king owes submission to God and God only, and false are the ones who claim otherwise. Therefore, our Holy Church of England becomes automatically autonomous from the See of Rome, and henceforth any appeals of spiritual matter will be examined on English soil, for how could a foreign Church decide on matters of English spirituality?’ Cromwell paused to let his words sink into the crowd and then resumed with an even stronger voice, ‘This is our new law, and it has been set according to the laws of God and to speak ill of it or act against is treason, so help you, God.’
‘According to the laws of God. You mean the laws of the cunt,’ whispered the Duke of Suffolk, who was seated next to me. Suffolk seemed to be significantly neglected by the king of late. I rarely saw him on his company anymore, and he spent a great deal of time away from court, despite being one of the presidents of the Privy Council, meaning that he was supposed to be running the realm.
‘My Lord Suffolk, is there something wrong?’ Boleyn asked walking towards us, as the court was dismissed, and the crowd disbanded. I lingered on purpose, pretending I was fixing one of my boots, to eavesdrop. Boleyn had a smug smile on his face and seemed overjoyed.
‘Only the wrongs of naïve men, Your Grace?’ Suffolk answered cryptically. Although, it was not hard to decipher to whom he was referring.
‘Come now, my dear Charles,’ Boleyn said in a sweet disgusting voice. ‘You and I were friends once, what happened to you?’
I raised my head to hear Suffolk’s response better, but Suffolk looked revolted and without answering he walked away with me on his heel.
‘Your Grace!’ I called after him. We had now emerged ourselves to the outer courtyard, which was bathed in sunshine.
‘Sir Edward?’ Suffolk said without turning his head, he instead waited for me to catch up. He too, as the king, had grown a beard, although his was much whiter and made him look even older than he really was.
‘Your Grace, I understand you oppose this so-called reformation,’ I started, but he cut me through…
‘I oppose nothing, you foolish man,’ he said greeting his teeth and pointing a menacing finger at my face. Then apparently, having regretted his bad temper, lowered his voice so much that I had to lean towards him to comprehend his next few words. ‘Do you want to get me killed? Don’t you see what’s happening here?’
‘I see it very clearly, Your Grace, I assure you,’ I replied confidently. ‘’Tis why I wished to talk to you. I believe you and I have some common enemies.’
‘What?’ Suffolk exclaimed bewildered. ‘I offered you an alliance a long time ago, and you turned me down in favour of that scum Cromwell. Now you would have me as a friend?’
‘Well, things have changed, Your Grace,’ I pointed out a bit embarrassed. The truth was that I was beginning to suspect Cromwell to act for nobody’s cause but his own. Would he have helped me if he had nothing to gain for himself? I seriously doubted that, and Suffolk, as well as Belfrigh, had warned me.
‘Listen to me, sir,’ Suffolk said in an ironic tone. ‘You and I shall not be friends, for it is too late. The Boleyns have won and whoever denies it is a fool. Now I will give you a piece of advice, for the king’s sake, because he seems to have affection for your person… Keep-your-head-down! Do not meddle in things that are over your station, for you endanger your head.’
‘This is what you do then? Turn the blind eye? Pretending that nothing is happening, that all is well, whilst England is threatened to crumble under our very feet?’ I countered passionately raising my voice and waving my arms, scaring away some nearby crows; thankfully we were the only men now in the courtyard. ‘I know Cardinal Campeggio is my father, Your Grace and this may sound strange; however, I favour this reformation. I have lived in Rome and have seen with my own two eyes the corruption of the Catholic Church, but King Henry has given himself too much power. More than any other English monarch in our history. He cannot wield it, though, for he does not know his own strength, which is in fact too great.’
‘What, and you know it? My good man, this is how you survive in King Henry’s Court, by keeping your true opinions to yourself,’ Suffolk said matter-of-factly. ‘I thought you would be aware of that by now.’
CHAPTER XII
The Most Happy
Even though the marriage of King Henry and Queen Catherine had not been officially annulled yet, Anne Boleyn was effectively the new Queen of England. Catherine was banished from court to a remote mansion in the countryside outside London, her household significantly reduced to that of a handful of servants and the once most generous allowance she was receiving from the king disbanded. There were very few people now at court that still spoke in favour of the old queen, and those that did were most fearful of losing their positions and even their heads.
Lady Anne was gifted all the privileges of a queen, including mansions and numerous expensive jewels. Her new royal household now consisted of no less than two hundred people, including servants, fools, chaplains, secretaries and of course her ladies-in-waiting who were always ready to answer to her every demand.
Her servants were equipped with an outfit of blue and purple clothing with her newly invented motto La Plus Heureuse, which was a French phrase meaning The Most Happy. As for her emblem, it was a crowned white falcon on a stump surrounded by Tudor Roses. It was the symbol that replaced Catherine’s in all royal palaces.
Furthermore, the soon-to-be-crowned queen took drastic measures to outshine her predecessor and seemed determined to show that she was generous and of a good heart. She thus imposed some strict rules for her household members, which most of them had ethical content. Surprisingly, most of the people she employed seemed to have taken these rules very seriously on fear of shame and dismissal; however, there were others who found them amusing.
‘She told them not to swear or quarrel and has specifically forbidden the men not to visit the ungodly brothels of the city,’ Sir Francis Bryan said to me laughing a few days following Anne Boleyn’s appointments. He was a handsome man in his forties with one eye, having lost the other years ago in a jousting tournament. He was the king’s cupbearer, a great honour to hold in the King’s Privy Chamber.
‘I like the new queen very much and her ladies even more,’ he emphasised, ‘but to tell a man not to fuck is like asking him to stop breathing. ’Tis beyond our nature,’ he continued bemused.
‘You’re right, Sir Francis!’ I concurred but did not laugh, for I could see through Lady Anne’s supposed ethical regime. I gazed around to see if anyone was eavesdropping, for the walls of the royal palaces often had ears.
It was dinner time, and the courtiers around the great hall seemed to be busy with their conversations as well as eating and drinking. The court was housed in Greenwich Palace as we were preparing for the feast day of Saint George.
‘And one of her ladies, one called Jane Seymour -a particularly beautiful one mind you- confided in me that the queen keeps in her study a bible translated in English and bids them all to read it. God! She’s bold, isn’t she?’ Sir Francis said.
I did not answer. The fact that Lady Anne was keeping in her apartments such books, which were clearly works of heretics, was merely displaying her confidence of the imminent reformation.
‘She is, indeed,’ answered a man behind me. He then sat next to me in our remote table. He had black ashed-with-white hair and a matching long beard.
‘Your Excellency!’ Sir Francis said in a fake pleasant tone. ‘Come, join us for a cup of wine,’ he added and poured the man a cup of red wine.
‘I thank you, Sir Francis,’ said the man.
‘I believe you are acquainted with Sir Edward?’ Sir Francis said pointing at me.
‘Barely!’
‘This is Eustace Chapuys, Sir Edward, the-’
‘Imperial Ambassador. I’m aware,’ I completed his sentence. Chapuys was one of the few who was still defending the old queen, as his master, Emperor Charles V, was the nephew of Catherine of Aragon. He was a pious and stubborn middle-aged man, but people said he was highly intelligent and understood more than he said.
Chapuys bowed his head in respect and then said in a Spanish-accented voice, ‘And you are Cardinal Campeggio’s son, Eduardo.’ It was not a question, although I detected some irony in his tone.
I nodded awkwardly, as I feared I might betray my own secret involuntarily. ‘It’s Edward now, Your Excellency.’
‘Edward, yes,’ he said narrowing his eyes. ‘I must say, Sir Edward, you speak like an Englishman. Pray tell me how you managed that, for whatever I do, even though I now live in England for four years, I am unable to rid of my Spanish accent. I would think it the same applies to Italians, but clearly, you are an exception.’ He smiled and waited for my answer.
‘I was schooled here in England, Your Excellency,’ I answered calmly. ‘From a young age, thus I forged my English accent.’
‘I see! Well, good for you. It seems that the accent inspires English people to like you because whatever I do is mistrustful for them. King Henry, for instance, would never listen to my advice,’ Chapuys said looking from me to Sir Francis.
Sir Francis laughed. ‘That has nothing to do with you, Your Excellency, the king would not listen to his own advisers sometimes, let alone foreign ambassadors.’
‘One would think he should, though,’ Chapuys countered sternly. ‘For what is the purpose of the ambassadors if not to promote peaceful relations between kingdoms? King Henry, however, in his blindness of love, would not listen nor would he fear anyone but God. God is vengeful, though, gentlemen. He punishes those who disobey his laws, which are established by his representatives on Earth...’
‘And who also steal from their sovereign king to make themselves wealthy,’ I interrupted his piousness. I might not have agreed with the king and his choice of a new wife; however, it was bringing England something that was long overdue, the submission of the corrupt clergy. Although, the thing that most folk, including me, craved most was a balance between the Church and the Crown.
‘Campeggio’s own son a heretic, then?’ Chapuys said incredulously.
‘I am not my father,’ I said frowning.
‘Yes, it appears you are not your father’s son.’
‘That’s enough, Your Excellency!’ Sir Francis said in a strong voice. ‘Do not dare to accuse a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber of heresy.’
‘I meant no offence, Sir Francis,’ Chapuys said, though he clearly did mean to offend me. ‘I am merely surprised and rather saddened that a Catholic-raised man, such as Eduardo Campeggio would not support the legitimacy of the king’s true wife and daughter and put his faith to a whore.’
‘One more word and I’ll have you arrested for your insolence to our queen,’ Sir Francis said raising himself from his chair.
‘Gentlemen!’ said Chapuys as he stood, then bowed and departed our company.
‘Can you believe his nerve?’ Sir Francis wondered draining his cup.
‘Hardly,’ I replied. Although I knew, that was only a sample of what was to be unleashed upon the people of England. The king’s new regime was sure to divide the hearts of men and women alike, regardless of how pious they were, for some things were a matter of tradition and habit, and folk usually disliked transitions. I too was divided in my heart, but I was trying to keep my head clear for my ultimate goal, avenge my family, Aeron and Eleanor.
*
The following month, the king’s most heartily desire was finally materialised. Archbishop Cranmer had declared his marriage to Catherine of Aragon null and void and their child Mary a bastard. At the same time, his marriage to Anne Boleyn was deemed valid and lawful under the eyes of God and men alike.
‘’Tis done, my dear Edward,’ the king said to me enthusiastically and hugged me. ‘At last, I’m free from that old hag and ready to begin a new life with my most beautiful Queen Anne. And we shall have a son that will one day be king and rule this land even longer than me.’
The king’s confidence about him fathering a son was so ridiculously extravagant that he had his servants print out pamphlets announcing the birth of England’s new prince. To be fair to him though, his astrologers and physicians had all reassured him that his new wife was expecting to give birth to a male child. With that in mind, King Henry wished to organise the most fabulous coronation ceremony that had ever been set for a Queen of England.
Thus, the streets of London, or to be more specific, the streets to which the queen and her entourage would parade, were decorated with tapestries and her Coat of Arms. There was also music, fireworks and even cannon fire.
On the thirty-first of May 1533, Anne Boleyn dressed in a cloth of gold, as befitted Her Majesty, paraded in London. Despite all this ceremonial splendour, though, the streets seemed to be relatively empty, and I must say, it resembled a funeral, rather than pageantry. As I had thought, the new queen was not so popular amongst civilians.
The day after, in Westminster Abbey, she sat upon Saint Edward’s chair and wearing his crown, Anne Boleyn was crowned Queen of England and hence established her imminent doom…
The newly married couple seemed to be the happiest in the world, and nothing would spoil that, not even when at the end of June, the Duke of Suffolk brought the news to the king that his sister Mary had died.
‘I was not aware of her sickness,’ the king said in a calm voice, but then slapped Suffolk in the face. ‘YOU FUCKED MY SISTER, YOU MARRIED HER, AND NOW YOU HAVE KILLED HER!’
‘Your Majesty, she died of tuberculosis,’ Suffolk said not meeting the king’s eyes. ‘Not even I was aware of the seriousness of her illness until she collapsed a few days ago and was confined to her bedchamber never to rise again. My physician did everything he could.’
‘You did not know your own wife was dying?’ King Henry thundered, his arms outstretched. ‘What sort of husband are you? I guess you were busy whoring!’
That was indeed too much of an accusation to come from the lips of a man who had neglected his wife for many a year…
I was standing next to the king’s throne, observing the scene unveiling, whilst everyone in the hearing hall seemed to be holding their breaths. I must confess that the news did not sadden me, not in the slightest. Despite Mary being my half-sister, she was a stranger to me and could never be compared with Margot or Jane.
‘Mind you, I want to hear that you have honoured her with a splendid funeral, which of course you will pay yourself. DO NOT LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT CHARLES BRANDON, FOR IT IS BECAUSE OF YOU MY SISTER IS DEAD!’
Then as if he had blown away his anger he lowered his voice but said in an equally menacing tone: ‘Leave this instance, before I decide to banish you from my court!’ He turned around and walked towards his study, and I made to follow him. ‘No! I want to be left alone for a while. Go and attend to some other duties of yours.’ And so, I did. But instead of remaining at the palace, I went out in the city…
Whitehall Palace was always the best place to house the court, as it was located in the heart of the City of London, and that was exactly where I needed to be that morrow. For some unknown reason, I felt a heavy burden on my chest, and I feared my guilt was coming back to haunt me. I always felt responsible for the deaths of my beloved ones, but
there were periods I managed to shift my attention to other matters and most of all my revenge scheme. That day, though, it was something the king had said to his duke that I feared had caused the resurfacing of my guilt, and all I needed was a strong cup of ale, not the court’s ale though, for that was mild to keep the courtiers from getting too drunk.
I was in disguise, for I did not wish to draw attention to myself, I covered my expensive clothes with a plain black cloak and lowered my hood to wrap my head and protect me from the drizzle. That summer was unusually rainy, with hardly a day passing without raindrop, which of course had caused many problems to the farms and people feared that come autumn, the harvest would be inadequate.
Walking down muddy alleyways, I suddenly realised how crowded it was, wherever I stepped I seemed to stumble upon someone. I had not visited the city for a year or so. Ever since Eleanor’s execution it was too painful for me to walk the streets she once had.
Suddenly, I was in need of fresh air. The fumes from the chimneys and the foul stench of the streets were suffocating me. Making my way through the mob as fast as I could, I tripped and fell face down into some sort of slime.
‘Oi! Get off me bench, you idiot!’ yelled a man.
I stood up, my head spinning. It was fish I had fell upon, and the smell was so intense I thought I had temporarily lost the ability to smell.
‘I’m so sorry, sir. It was an honest mistake, I-’ but I stopped dead in my tracks, for the man behind the bench of fish was unmistakably Aeron, his ginger hair and beard wet from the rain. ‘A-Aeron?’
‘What’re ya starin’ at? You stupid?’ said Aeron.
‘Aeron, you’re alive?’ I asked puzzled. ‘I saw you perish right before my eyes.’
‘Move over, you piece of shit, you’re blocking the alley,’ said another man behind me and then tried to push me out of his way.
I did not move, I stared at Aeron who was refusing to acknowledge me, but continued now his work, shouting at the top of his voice to sell his fish. Then as I approached him, I saw his white shirt, which was barely visible under his cheap grey jerkin, was stained with what seemed to be blood.
The Illegitimate Tudor Page 28