The Illegitimate Tudor

by James M Stuart

‘Is there nothing you can do, doctor?’ I asked the physician in a panicked voice, seeing that years of planning and conspiracy against the Boleyns would be pointless if the king perished.

  ‘I’m afraid not, Sir Edward,’ the physician replied gloomily. ‘His Majesty is now at the hands of His father.’ He pointed upwards, meaning God and made the sign of the cross.

  ‘Should we move him to his apartments?’

  ‘No! Let him lay still. Any sudden movement might aggravate his condition.’

  ‘The queen must be informed,’ Norfolk said, and everyone agreed. ‘And the princess protected,’ he then added and left the tent heading back to the palace with his brother-in-law, Thomas Boleyn on his rear.

  ‘The princess protected?’ I asked no one in particular.

  ‘Whoever is in control of the heir, controls the kingdom, Sir Edward,’ Suffolk answered matter-of-factly. ‘And I am wary of the Lady Mary too, for if the king should die she would be in danger.’

  ‘How so?’ Sir Henry wondered.

  ‘Well, ’tis obvious, is it not? Some folk still support the claim of Lady Mary on the throne. The Boleyns and their faction would not be happy with that, though. They would surely have her removed from the face of the Earth,’ Suffolk elaborated.

  ‘You are right, Your Grace,’ Sir Francis now said. ‘The Lady Mary must be protected. She is an innocent girl and deserves a better fate.’

  Hours passed, and the king had not moved a muscle, most of the onlookers had left, and only a handful of the king’s household had remained to look after him, not that anything could be done. News reached us that the queen was devastated and was already grieving the loss of her husband, and as the time crept by, I thought it was inevitable that he would eventually pass away.

  Lady Jane Seymour was at his side weeping, something that his wife should have been doing.

  ‘What will be done to England?’ she said wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

  ‘Chaos, my lady,’ Sir Francis said. He, Belfrigh and I were the only gentlemen who remained on the king’s side now. The Duke of Suffolk had departed to make arrangements for the safety of Lady Mary and Sir Henry Norris had gone to attend the queen.

  ‘The Boleyns must not be the Lords of England. We cannot permit that,’ I spoke for the first time in a while. My voice was hoarse from the lack of use, and my eyelids felt tired.

  ‘Who else then?’ Sir Francis asked.

  ‘My family is close to the king,’ Lady Jane said.

  ‘Yes, but without the approval of the king, the parliament would not allow that. They would naturally turn towards Thomas Boleyn as he is the grandfather of Princess Elizabeth.’

  ‘I shall have a son!’

  He lives! My relief was incomparable. Everyone turned their gaze in the direction of the king who had suddenly opened his eyes.

  ‘I shall have a son before I die,’ he said with a weak voice then he touched his forehead flinching from the pain. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Your Majesty, you were unhorsed by my lance. My apologies,’ Belfrigh confessed bowing his head and waiting for the king’s retaliation.

  ‘Fear not, Sir John,’ King Henry said. ‘I bade you not to be lenient with me and treat me as you would have with any opponent, so you did, and for that I thank you. It shows respect and boldness.’ He smiled then attempted to stand up.

  ‘Your Majesty, I would advise you not to do any sudden movements,’ the physician said. ‘We shall fetch a carriage to transfer you to the palace.’

  ‘No need, doctor,’ the king said and hoisted himself from the table, however, he did it so abruptly that he clearly felt dizzy and almost collapsed in front of my feet. I sustained him by placing my hands under his arms. ‘Thank you, Sir Edward,’ he said and then his attention was drawn by the only woman in the tent. ‘My dear Jane, you are here.’

  ‘But of course, Your Majesty, I was so worried,’ she said falling to her knees and started weeping again.

  ‘Do not cry, lovely Jane, for I am alive. Nothing could kill me. Not even Saint George’s lance could. Your ribbon protected me,’ he claimed arrogantly and motioned her to rise. Then he embraced her and without anyone expecting it, he kissed her on the lips in a most passionate way.

  At this point, Queen Anne entered the tent, and once she faced the scene, she gave a terrible cry and started cursing her cheating husband. ‘HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME, HENRY? I AM PREGNANT WITH YOUR SON! YOU ALMOST DIED AND THE FIRST THING YOU DO WHEN YOU COME TO YOUR SENSES IS TO KISS THAT WHORE OF A WOMAN?’

  The king’s response was equally loud, and it was as if he had never lost consciousness. ‘YOU WERE THE SAME WHORE BEFORE I MARRIED YOU… BEFORE I MADE YOU SOMEONE. BUT IT IS THIS WOMAN HERE WHO STOOD BESIDE ME WHILST I WAS PASSING INTO THE DARKNESS OF HELL. DAMN YOU ANNE, YOU AND YOUR CURSED FAMILY WHO HAS MADE ME MISERABLE!’ Something about being caught in act had triggered this violent response to her. His emotions and opinions about his queen that were apparently hiding just beneath the surface had finally burst. Then he violently grabbed Lady Jane’s arm, and together they exited the tent and hurried towards the gardens.

  ‘AAAHHHH!’ the queen screamed, but not only for rage but for pain too. And as I looked at her, I saw blood staining the lower part of her otherwise beautiful purple dress. ‘MY BOY! CURSE YOU HENRY TUDOR, THIS IS YOUR DOING!’

  The queen was moved into her apartments, and shortly afterwards we received confirmation that she had lost her child. The physicians said that it had the form of a boy of around four months, but it was somewhat deformed…

  ‘’Twas ugly, Your Majesty,’ one of the physicians said to the king the same night.

  The king was resting at his bedchamber and had a cloth pressed upon his forehead, on the spot where he had sustained the injury.

  ‘Pardon me, but it’s true,’ the physician added. ‘The child had an evil look about it and seemed to have a deformed head. Perhaps, ’tis better it died.’

  The king nodded and then dismissed him solemnly. ‘Everyone leave me, I wish to be left alone.’ Sir Francis and I hesitated, but then he screamed at us. ‘LEAVE ME I SAY. FOR I MUST GRIEVE. GOD WOULD NOT GIVE ME MALE ISSUE, FOR MY WIVES ARE CURSED! Or maybe I am...’

  *

  A few months passed whilst Sir Francis, the Duke of Suffolk, Cromwell and I were secretly gathering evidence against the queen. Surprisingly, they were many that gave us exactly what we sought. Ladies from the queen’s household, most prominently Elizabeth Somerset and Lady Rochford who had sworn that the queen had indecent encounters with her brother and other courtiers. However, what we really needed was a confession from one of the guilty persons involved in the case.

  ‘The king is totally estranged from the queen. Now is the time to strike!’ I said to Cromwell on a rainy afternoon at the end of April 1536. ‘Have you any developments? Any proof of the queen’s supposed adultery and treachery?’

  ‘We have arrested the queen’s musician, Mark Smeaton,’ Cromwell replied with a grin. ‘A certain conversation he had with the queen was reported to me by one of her ladies. Apparently, Mister Smeaton said some courtly words to Her Majesty; words that could be deemed inappropriate from a man to a married woman, let alone a queen.’

  ‘And has he confessed adultery?’ I asked surprised, for I doubted the queen had really been in bed with an ordinary musician.

  ‘No! But he shall do so, soon!’ Cromwell said simply. ‘I hope you are not otherwise engaged this evening, Sir Edward, for I wish you to accompany me to the dungeons of the Tower.’

  ‘Are you going to torture him?’

  ‘I’m going to do whatever is necessary to encourage a confession of his guilt. Then we may proceed and arrest the others, including Sir Henry Norris whom I hear the queen herself has spoken about publicly of wanting to pay court to her and not Margaret Smeaton as he claimed.’ Cromwell paused as he stood up from behind his desk, folded a few papers and stuck them on a neat pile before he put a black cloak around his shoulders.


  ‘What about Sir Thomas Wyatt and Richard Page who are also suspected?’ I inquired. Sir Thomas was a poet and a member of the Privy Council, and Sir Richard was a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber like me.

  ‘We shall move on to them next,’ Cromwell confirmed. ‘But first Smeaton!’

  And so, we went to the Tower of London where Mark Smeaton was held a prisoner in the dungeons and who was repeatedly calling for his innocence…

  ‘For the last time, Smeaton. Confess!’ Cromwell ordered him. ‘If you do, I assure you, you shall have a clear, quick death.’

  ‘I have done nothing, I’m telling you!’ he insisted. He was tied up in pole, which was suspended from the ceiling of the damp dungeon cell. He was wearing a red doublet, which must have once looked good on him, but was now ripped in many places and was filthy. His once pretty face was scarred as if by lashes, and his long black hair hung limp and unwashed upon his shoulders.

  ‘We have means to make you talk, Smeaton,’ said the jailer. A huge stocky man, who was wearing a black mask, obscuring his face completely but for his eyes and mouth. Now I came to think of it, he stature resembled the executioner that had beheaded Thomas More, although these men all looked similar to me.

  ‘I AM INNOCENT!’ Mark Smeaton yelled, tears running down his cheeks. ‘I have only respect for Her Majesty and would never lay a hand on her.’

  The jailer raised his vast hand armed with what looked like a forked whip and slashed Smeaton on the right cheek, reaping his flesh apart. Blood splashed all over us, and his agonising screams were unbearable to listen to. I flinched, but the other two had not moved a muscle.

  ‘How about now?’ Cromwell asked, but Smeaton gave the same answer.

  The jailer slashed his whip over and over again until Smeaton’s face was nothing but bloody flesh that smelled disgustingly. Then he was stripped naked, and the next slash came upon his groin with incredible speed. The sound of his screams and ripping flesh made my arm’s hair rise… I could not stand this anymore…

  ‘That’s enough!’ I called over the yells of the musician, and the jailer stopped. Mark Smeaton was trembling and weeping with spasms.

  ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ he asked. ‘What have I ever done to you?’

  It was a pitiful scene, but Cromwell seemed unmoved. ‘We will stop when you confess your guilt,’ he said out loud.

  ‘Cromwell, we cannot torture him to death. What use would that have?’ I said in a low voice.

  ‘What happened, Sir Edward? Have you grown soft? Have you forgotten how your family was slaughtered and burned?’ he countered, trying to motivate me.

  ‘This man is innocent, though. He has done nothing wrong but to be in this accursed court. He does not deserve this,’ I countered keeping my voice low, so Smeaton could not hear me.

  ‘Sacrifices are required in battle,’ Cromwell said naturally.

  ‘This is not a battle, this is torture. There is no honour in that. Surely there must be another way,’ I pressed trying hard not to hear Smeaton’s cries.

  ‘If you have any alternatives, pray share them with me,’ Cromwell offered, but when I did not answer, he added: ‘Mark Smeaton is a commoner, we cannot torture a nobleman into telling us what we want. ’Tis thus the sole way.’ He nodded to the jailer who resumed his slashing on Smeaton’s exposed parts.

  Shortly afterwards, it seemed that Smeaton had finally realised that in order to put an end on his torment, he had to lie… And so, he shouted. ‘I CONFESS! I FUCKED THE QUEEN, PLEASE STOP IT! I CONFESS!’

  Cromwell smiled, but I had never felt more revolted in my whole life.

  *

  When Cromwell came with his news to the king the following morrow, the king was more than willing to believe him and accept our lies as truth. How rotten can this world be? Where High Officials may torture commoners into saying whatever they desire, even if they are utter lies? The law in this kingdom does not exist to provide justice, but it is merely a mechanism through which important men can achieve their goals and entitle them legal and honest. Hence, I was disgusted with the way Mark Smeaton had been treated, but the harm had been done, and I could do nothing about it. The only way was forward now, but I feared more men would suffer for our cause, and I felt my conscience heaving with guilt once more…

  ‘I knew it!’ said King Henry, almost jumping from his throne when he heard the news. ‘That woman is evil. She bewitched me to make me love her, then made herself queen.’

  ‘She is vile, indeed, Your Majesty,’ Cromwell agreed. ‘But that is not all, I’m afraid. Mark Smeaton was not the only one the queen committed adultery with.’

  The king was looking intently out of the window, which was overseeing the gardens, but now turned abruptly at the claims of Cromwell. ‘Who else?’

  All eyes in the hearing hall were fixed upon Cromwell, whose next few words seemed to be devastating. He hesitated, but I was sure he did it deliberately to cause a greater effect. ‘Sir Henry Norris, Your Majesty!’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Sir Henry gasped looking offended. ‘Your Majesty, I swear on my honour, this is not true.’

  ‘Your honour?’ King Henry said mockingly. ‘What honour, you scum? You have been one of my closest friends for years. I have raised your position here at court at its highest… And this is how you repay me?’

  ‘Majesty, I implore you. I am your humble servant! I have treated Her Majesty with nothing but modesty and devotion. I would not imagine having such familiarity with her.’

  ‘Arrest this traitor!’ Suffolk said, speaking for the first time, and immediately four guards obeyed and seised Sir Henry.

  ‘NO! Majesty, please!’

  ‘Sir Henry, you shall be taken to the Tower of London, where you will be kept under custody and await your trial,’ the king said in a formal tone. He did not seem so distressed by the fact one of his most trusted advisers was guilty of treason. In fact, it became clear to me, that the more important the guilty people were, the better for him, as the king now seemed eager to get rid of his second wife, who could not give him sons.

  Sir Henry was put in chains and was dragged out from the hearing hall, for he refused to walk. His pleads were echoing in the palace’s walls, even after he exited the chamber.

  ‘Is there anyone else?’ the king enquired with a stone-like expression.

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes, Your Majesty,’ Cromwell replied and retrieved a piece of parchment from the pocket of his robes. He unfolded it and started reading out loud the names on his list. ‘Sir Richard Page, Sir Thomas Wyatt, Sir Francis Weston, Sir William Brereton and Viscount Rochford, George Boleyn.’ With every name, there was a gasp, but no name caused such a surprise and puzzlement as the one of the queen’s own brother…

  ‘Rochford? The queen’s brother?’ Sir Francis exclaimed playing his role well.

  The king sat on his throne again and hid his face in his palms. Silence reigned for a few moments, and when the king spoke, at last, it was with a terrible voice, a voice that betrayed hatred and had a purpose for killing. ‘Arrest these traitors and sent them all to the Tower. We shall have a mass trial for the whole lot. Make sure, they are found guilty, Cromwell, and they are all executed.’ He paused then rose and headed for the window again.

  Suddenly, he started shouting on top of his voice, making us all jump in fright. ‘I WOULD BLOODY TORTURE THEM IF THEY WERE NOT NOBLES, FOR THEY DESERVE IT. AND I GIVE THEM MERCY BY LETTING THEM DIE BY BEHEADING. ’TIS A CLEAN DEATH THAT DOES NOT BEFIT THE VILE CRIMES THEY HAVE COMMITTED AGAINST ME!’ He ran his open palm through his short hair and then lowered his tone of voice. ‘I hate them all, but mostly her. With all those men she has fucked, who is to tell me Elizabeth is my daughter? She could be a bastard for all I know.’ He now pointed out of the window and in the gardens, where apparently, Queen Anne was situated. ‘Sir Edward, take half a dozen guards and apprehend that whore.’

  ‘As you wish, Your Majesty,’ I said seriously.

  ‘Now away with y
ou!’ he said dismissing us all.

  God, what have I done? I thought as I was climbing down the stairs, with six guards behind me and heading towards the gardens to arrest the Queen of England. They were all innocent, down to the last person. Our conspiracy had manifested impossible lies that would bring upon the death of honourable people. And the sole responsible for my misery was free. The Earl of Wiltshire’s name, Thomas Boleyn had not been mentioned once, for it was the queen that was in the midst of the scandal. Was she not, though, nothing but her father’s pawn, who had manipulated and positioned her next to the king in order for him and his family to gain power? It seemed that in my efforts to eliminate my greatest enemy and the one responsible for my family’s massacre, I had been driven astray, and my hands would be once again stained by the blood of the innocent…

  ‘Sir Edward? Why have you come?’ Queen Anne asked. She was holding Princess Elizabeth in her arms, and at the sight of the guards and me, she tightened the grip upon her only child, as though she knew we would remove her from her embrace.

  ‘I have come to take you to the Tower, madam!’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘You know the reason, you treacherous woman!’ said a voice behind me, the king had apparently followed me, unable to resist confronting his adulterous wife. ‘Give me Elizabeth now! Although I doubt she’s my daughter, I care for her.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Henry?’ the queen said, her voice cracking. ‘You know these rumours do not have a shed of truth in them.

  ‘These rumours have been confirmed!’

  He looked at her with cold eyes, and she fell to her knees, starting begging for mercy. The king approached her and with a little struggle took Princess Elizabeth away. Anne Boleyn gave up and released her grief, putting her hands together and pointing them to the bright sky above. ‘Oh, God! Why are my enemies so ruthless?’ She then lowered her head and looked at me. ‘Sir Edward?’ she said, and I realised that my eyes betrayed the truth that I was part of the conspiracy which would result in her unjust death.

  ‘I am sorry!’ I said simply, and I meant it. ‘Take her away!’