On the morrow, I ran into Eustace Chapuys, the Imperial Ambassador, and by his sayings, I figured that the tide was turning against Queen Anne and her accursed family, for rumours had broken out about the king’s indifference towards her and also his infidelity. Furthermore, Chapuys claimed that he had been summoned for a hearing with King Henry and he believed that Spain and England would soon form an alliance because King Francis was stalling the preparations for an attack to the Turks, as he had agreed with King Henry. However, the true frustration of the latter was that his sovereign brother had not kept his most important promise: that of influencing the pope about his marriage annulment, not that it mattered anymore, but it had wounded his vanity.
Furthermore, King Francis had refused the proposal of King Henry to marry Princess Elizabeth with his son, something that suggested that the French King would do nothing to openly accept King Henry’s new queen and princess.
Moreover, another pleasant turn of events was that of Cromwell having a heated row with the queen, which I accidentally overheard one particularly rainy afternoon in autumn, as I was sent to pass a message to the queen.
The two of them were arguing regarding the dissolution of the monasteries and the distribution of their wealth, which had been initiated by the king’s authorities. Naturally, the monasteries’ assets were being transferred to the king’s own treasury. These Catholic monasteries and abbeys housed an incredible amount of wealth; something unexpected given that monks were supposed to be poor and devoted to God.
‘What would you have me do, ma’am?’ I heard the voice of Cromwell, muffled behind the closed doors of the queen’s apartments. With a quick glance around to make sure that no one else was there, I placed my right ear against one of the big doors to eavesdrop.
‘I would have you make use of this coin for more significant purposes,’ she responded in an angry and intimidating tone.
Queen Anne was indeed very opinionated for a woman, and many whispered she was the one taking initiatives and decisions for the king and not Cromwell.
‘Is it not the king’s treasury significant, ma’am?’ Cromwell asked scornfully, as though suggesting that such a claim was absurd, even dangerous.
‘What I mean,’ said Queen Anne, ‘is that I would prefer a sum of this wealth to be put to schools or to the poor.’
‘You want to give the king’s money to the poor?’ Cromwell enquired, his voice getting more sarcastic with every passing minute, but I was suspecting he was deliberately provocative.
‘Mister Cromwell, what are you playing at?’ the queen asked, apparently picking up on his sarcasm. ‘I am the Queen of England, and you shall do my bidding. I fear this fortune might be going elsewhere and not to the king’s own treasury.’
‘Are you implying that I would steal from the king, ma’am?’ Cromwell enquired straightforwardly.
‘I am not implying anything,’ she responded.
‘Nevertheless, I shall have to consult His Majesty first. If you’ll excuse me now, ma’am. I have pressing matters to attend to.’
‘Be careful, Mister Cromwell, for you have risen to high and the only way is down...’
‘Likewise, ma’am!’ Cromwell replied insolently and before she had time to answer he stormed out of the chamber and collided with me. Thankfully, the queen did not seem to have heard us.
‘Sir Edward!’ he said in surprise and then lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘I believe Queen Anne has outlived her potential. Her continuous arrogance, authority and influence, where a woman should have none, indicate how dangerous she has become. Her time has come. Are you ready?’
‘Yes!’ I responded with a heart full of loathing.
CHAPTER XIII
God’s Justice
Promoting the king’s New Monarchy was at the heart of Cromwell’s responsibilities in those days, as the powers of our sovereign seemed to have grown beyond any other in living memory. Every single day seemed to be an effort to impress the masses with the splendour of their king. He wanted to be adored and worshipped almost like God Himself; he even claimed to be a descendant of King Arthur, the legendary Briton who was ruling what is now England before the Anglo-Saxons.
The Catholic regime, on the other hand, was failing and many were prosecuted, stripped of their possessions and in some occasions put to death. It was the opposite of what Thomas More had been doing a few years back.
Thomas More, himself, was still locked up in the Tower of London, many months after his initial imprisonment. He was still refusing to take the oath regarding the king’s supremacy and the legitimacy of his new marriage and heir. His trial was stalled, though, as his prosecutors were unable to find him guilty, for whatever he said, he never spoke openly against the king and his New Monarchy; they could not charge him for merely being silent on the subject.
However, Bishop Fisher was not so diplomatic and made no attempt to save himself. When he was repeatedly pressed to swear the oath, he answered as though in exasperation. ‘Do what you must to my old and frail body, my lords. My soul, though you cannot touch. King Henry is as much the Supreme Head of our Church as I am the Pope,’ he said ironically. ‘The See of Rome is the only Head where we must look to. The Holy Father, Pope Clement the Seventh is a descendant of Saint Peter, and thus anointed by God to rule over the lost souls of us mortals.’
In the meantime, word had reached England that Pope Clement had decided to make Bishop Fisher a cardinal and that his hat was on its way to London. It was a blatant attempt to save him, for he could not believe the king would dare kill such a high official of the Catholic Church. Nevertheless, the words Fisher had spoken had condemned him and whatever hesitation King Henry had was put aside and eventually ordered his execution.
‘I fear Bishop Fisher shall have to wear his new hat upon his shoulders, for he will not have a head by the time it has arrived in England,’ the king said laughing cruelly.
Bishop Fisher was beheaded on the twenty-second of June 1535. The execution took place in Tower Hill, the public area where traitors met their end. However, people were not impressed by the king’s brutality to have such a holy man killed.
‘I come here today to die, but I am doing it willingly, so I may preserve the honour and dignity of God’s presence here in England. My good Christians, I ask you to pray for me,’ the bishop addressed the public that had gathered to witness his execution.
Watching Bishop Fisher in his misery, I admit was unpleasant, for what this poor man had done but to defend his own beliefs? I could not have said the same for Thomas More; a man so pious who had burned many men and women at the stake as heretics, including Eleanor. Yes, it was Boleyn who had given him the information, and I was sure More had nothing personal against me; even so, I considered it an evil deed to burn someone for being open-minded. Eleanor had been a Lutheran supporter, indeed, but that did not make her a bad person. There was a time in this island we call Britain when folk believed in many different Gods and did not prosecute and kill one another so ruthlessly as we now do. There was a God for every rock and every tide of the sea, and maybe things were better back then. That was before the Anglo-Saxons came across the sea, over a thousand years before I was born…
The following month, the king’s patience on Thomas More’s silence wore off, and he ordered Cromwell to get a confession out of him, or he would pass a law to make silence treason. In the end, Thomas More seemed to have been tricked by one of Cromwell’s men, Sir Richard Rich. Sir Richard presented evidence to the court that More was a traitor and had spoken to him openly about the king’s absurd claim of being the Supreme Head of the English Church. More was condemned to death by dragging, hanging and then quartering; a torturous death that befell to the worst traitors.
The day before his execution though, a clearly distressed king yelled at Cromwell at my presence: ‘Just behead him. DAMN HIM AND HIS PRIDE! WHY CAN HE NOT SWEAR? WHY IS HE PERSISTING IN DEFYING ME! EXECUTE THE DAMN FOOL BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND.’ He then smashed his fists up
on his writing desk, causing some ink to be spilt on the wooden surface.
In the aftermath of More’s execution, I found the king crying like a little baby. It was the first time I had seen him so vulnerable. Evidently, his former Lord Chancellor had meant a lot to him, he had indeed been a very loyal servant up until the moment he had refused to take the most important oath of his life. There I saw an opportunity to put the blame on Anne Boleyn…
‘Your Majesty, ’tis not your fault. You had to do it, for Queen Anne, not for you,’ I said mischievously.
‘For Queen Anne?’ he said and raised his puffy face towards me. His eyes were red, and his beard wet with tears. ‘Yes, I did it for her. ’Tis her fault Thomas is dead, ’tis ALL her fault. All I do, I do for her, and she cannot even give me a SON!’ he raged, and I barely managed to contain a grin.
*
That summer, Belfrigh returned to the court after over a year of absence. Needless to say, I was not happy to see him, after Boleyn’s revelation that he had been him who had betrayed my identity. Belfrigh was hasty to deny it, but after pressing him, he admitted that he might have said a little too much to his brother Duke of Norfolk who naturally as a brother-in-law to Thomas Boleyn had passed the information to him.
‘Ed, I swear to you, I never told him you were the bastard son of the former king. I merely said you spent some time in York. ’Tis no more than you had told them a few years ago when we first came to London. You said that you had been educated in England,’ he said defending himself.
We were in the massive main courtyard of Hampton Court Palace, the reddish structure with its main towers awe-inspiring. It was a lovely summer day, but I felt as though winter had come early with the arrival of my last friend on this Earth.
‘England not York specifically…’ I said exasperatedly. ‘You might not care for me and my cause anymore, Belfrigh. You might be comfortable wearing your old name, Sir John, but I shall never rest until I avenge my family.’
‘I believed in your cause, Ed. I’ve supported you, I came back to England with you. But many years have passed, and maybe it is time you left the past and live in the present,’ he said looking smug in his deep green doublet and fancy feathered hat.
‘I cannot leave the past behind me, Belfrigh, for it haunts me,’ I said and lowered my head in shame then spoke to my feet. ‘How am I supposed to pretend nothing has happened when in every mother I see my own mother; in every young girl I see my sisters; in every beautiful lass I see Eleanor; in every fit man, I see Aeron? Their ghosts surround me, and I cannot escape. I will not rest until they do, and that will happen only when justice is done.’
Belfrigh neared me and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. ‘My friend, I did not want to say this, but I see you are deeply troubled. I’m afraid that your efforts will be in vain and that committing all your energy and time to this will rob you of your youth. One day you’ll wake up at my age, an older man,’ he paused and stroked his grey beard, ‘and when you look back, you would see a life wasted. You must live, Edward. Now!’
It was the first time he had called me Edward, and that indicated how serious he was. Belfrigh’s logical mind was similar to mine, but it conflicted with my conscience and my heart; for how could I live a happy life when everything and everyone that was once dear to me was gone from this world? Thus, I could only draw a single conclusion, that my only chance to move on was to be redeemed by avenging those who had died because of me.
’Tis not your fault!’ Belfrigh said, and I looked up at him and wanted to believe him, but then momentarily his face was transformed into the burned face of Father Edmund. ‘Sinner!’ he whispered, and the sound of his voice pierced my head like a knife.
I took a step backwards and closed my eyes, for I knew it was another one of my delusions. ‘I can’t dwell on this thought, Belfrigh. I must do this, whether with or without your help. I fear I will go mad otherwise. ’Tis my only chance for salvation.’
Belfrigh remained silent. When I opened my eyes, I saw him staring at me with concern. ‘I’ll do whatever I can to assist you,’ he said in the end, smiling sadly.
‘You have done enough already, Belfrigh!’ I responded and departed the scene.
*
‘And what about this Jane Seymour?’ King Henry asked us that night during supper. ‘She looks beautiful. Do you know her?’ His question was directed to both Sir Francis and me. In the last few weeks, the king had grown bored of Margaret Shelton and was apparently turning his attention elsewhere.
‘I’m acquainted with her, Your Majesty,’ Sir Francis replied.
‘Mere acquaintances, are you?’ the king asked and looked at him scandalised.
‘Yes, Your Majesty! She’s Queen Anne’s maid-of-honour,’ Sir Francis said hastily.
‘Yes, I am aware of that. However, I do not have any other information about her. Enlighten me,’ he demanded and ripped a big chunk of meat with his teeth, juices dripping down his beard.
‘Well, she’s twenty-seven years old and unmarried,’ Sir Francis started.
‘So old and unmarried? Perhaps, Lord Seymour does not have the coin to make an appropriate match for her,’ the king suggested. ‘Do you suppose she’s still a maid?’
‘Well, her title suggests so,’ Sir Francis chuckled, and we all laughed together, for it was common for ladies of the court to be mistresses of lords and thus naturally not be virgins.
‘I shall want to meet her in private,’ the king said when the laughter had ceased.
‘As you wish, Your Majesty!’
‘And what about Sir Henry Norris, gentlemen?’ the king asked, apparently being in a mood for chatting and gossiping. ‘I am told he is now courting Lady Shelton, my former mistress.’
Lady Shelton! Maybe that was the reason Sir Henry had objected to the king’s wishes to court her; he wanted her for himself. Or was it someone else he really cared about?
‘Ah, yes, Your Majesty. He spends quite a lot of time lately with the queen and her ladies in Her Majesty’s apartments,’ I said encouraging his suspicions.
‘Is that so?’ the king asked full of interest and leaned back in his chair to give space to his big belly to breathe. ‘Keep an eye on him, for me, will you? Sir Henry has been a widower for a long time now. He cannot hump all the ladies at court, he must choose,’ he said laughing.
*
Securing a potential alliance with Emperor Charles of the Holy Roman Empire seemed to be a priority for Cromwell. However, the Imperial Ambassador Eustace Chapuys had made it clear that his master, although keen to ally with England, was still reluctant to recognise Anne Boleyn as queen. His hesitation though was short lived…
In the early days of January 1536, word reached us that the former queen had passed away. Naturally, the Boleyns rejoiced. Many others were also relieved because the pressure was now lifted, and Anne could be recognised as a queen even in the eyes of those who had secretly defied her. The Imperial Ambassador though was adamant on this matter.
‘There is nothing that can be done for the good faithful people to see her as the Queen of England,’ said Chapuys the day after the news about Catherine’s death. ‘I consider myself one of those people, as would be my master, the emperor. The scandal cannot be undone, gentlemen. However, should Anne Boleyn be deposed, the Christian world may be able to recognise another queen on the side of King Henry.’
‘What you are suggesting, Your Excellency,’ Cromwell replied, ‘is treason! We could work on it, though,’ he added smiling. ‘Queen Anne has proved to be a wild and difficult to tame woman, someone who is certainly not fit to serve on the side of our king.’
‘’Tis why we would seek your assistance in this matter, Your Excellency,’ I said. ‘How would the emperor feel if King Henry had another wife?’ I asked straightforwardly.
I had absolutely no interest in the alliance with the Holy Roman Empire, or in any other alliance. My only goal was to see Queen Anne and her family destroyed. It was thus crucial that o
ur plot with Cromwell contained as much trusted allies as possible, and if we had to side with the Catholics to achieve that, so be it.
‘He would certainly feel better. Now that his aunt has perished, there is no reluctance by His Imperial Majesty to accept another woman as the wife of King Henry, but the fact that Anne Boleyn has shamed his family still remains. Thus, it would be unlikely for him to sign a treaty with England whilst she has her claws around the crown,’ Chapuys responded. ‘Furthermore, ’tis her whole family that is a constant danger, for they favour the French and the emperor is quite estranged with King Francis.’
‘We all agree then, we must be rid of the Boleyn faction,’ Sir Francis summed up, who together with Cromwell, myself and more recently the Duke of Suffolk had joined this new conspiracy.
‘Gentlemen, whatever we say and however we say it, does not make it so. Queen Anne and her family still hold immense power here at court, and my sources tell me that despite her recent loss of a child, she has attracted the king’s interest again. Before we know it, she will be with child again,’ Chapuys voiced his concerns.
‘The king has indeed been in the queen’s chamber on a few occasions,’ I confirmed, for I had witnessed that. Furthermore, the rumours that surrounded the court that the queen was pregnant again was also true, but there was no official announcement for fear of shame should the child was stillborn again...
‘However,’ I carried on, ‘his paramount interest is towards the Lady Jane Seymour. Although I believe they do not have carnal knowledge as yet, the signs are there; he’s falling in love with her. Many a time I have been sent to her with affectionate letters written by the king himself or with magnificent and expensive presents, in which case she has modestly returned.’
‘What are you suggesting, Sir Edward?’ Chapuys asked intrigued and Cromwell gazed at me in a menacing way.
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