Fatal Throne_The Wives of Henry VIII Tell All

by M. T. Anderson

  Cat nodded. “Nan has got it exactly, Kate. He doesn’t want to take the chance that the King will put you in charge as regent if he dies while the Prince is still young. So Gardiner is trying to get rid of you. He has persuaded King Henry you must be stopped.”

  Dr. Wendy held up his hand. “Not quite persuaded, my dear ladies. For while it’s true that Gardiner and Wriothesley have a warrant, King Henry isn’t entirely sure he wants to go down this path.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I suspect the King has become rather weary of ridding himself of wives and having to find new ones. Nor is he entirely sure he wants to retreat from all the reforms that have taken place in the break from Rome. In other words, the King doesn’t trust Gardiner entirely, either. He has always excelled at playing off one faction against another.

  “And so King Henry slipped me this arrest warrant, tucked inside a medical book he suggested I read,” Dr. Wendy went on. “I shall return the book and the warrant without a word, but I have no doubt he meant for me to warn you, Your Highness. I believe your husband is challenging you, like a knight throwing down a gauntlet.”

  Despite my fear, I smiled a little. “Dr. Wendy, when my sister and I were girls in the country, we loved to play at being knights. I shall accept this challenge. But I cannot ride blindly into battle.” Now it was my turn to pace. “Gardiner and Wriothesley are already mounted, lances at the ready. They want to run me down. We must act. But how?”

  “Your Grace, you do wield one weapon rather well.”

  “And what would that be, Dr. Wendy?”

  “Words!” exclaimed the doctor. “Your Highness, perhaps the right words can convince the King you are a loyal wife who follows his lead in all things—including what to think about religion.”

  Cat nodded thoughtfully. “Could you write the King a pleading letter begging his forgiveness?”

  “No!” Nan cried sharply. “Remember Katharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn: Henry didn’t care a whit about their letters. And think about Catherine Howard: Henry may already have posted guards against you—just as he did her.”

  Suddenly, I thought of Henry’s painting. There was only one Queen who could help me now.

  “Queen Jane,” I said. “I must become like dear, plain, faithful Jane. I must bring the King to me.”

  I looked at my sister. “Do you understand?”

  “ ‘Bound to obey and serve’: the motto of Queen Jane,” Nan said softly, nodding.

  “But…but how can I possibly be like Jane?” I asked desperately. “How can I…?”

  Cat turned to Nan and whispered in her ear. I could only make out her final words: “Now! It’s the only thing.”

  The next instant, Nan rushed towards me in a swirl of skirts. Raising her hand, she slapped me—first on one cheek, then the other.

  “What are you doing? Stop!” I stumbled back, my hand to my face.

  But Nan didn’t stop. She dug her fingers into my shoulders and shook me hard. I tried to break free, but she wouldn’t let go. I felt a wave of terror rise up from inside. I cried out again, louder now, “Stop this!”

  “No! You must scream to save yourself!” Nan’s face was so close to mine I could make out gold flecks in her hazel eyes. “Scream so hard and for so long you make yourself sick, Kate—so ill and distraught that Dr. Wendy must send for your husband to comfort you—just as he would comfort his own dear Jane.

  “Scream and cry, Kate, as if your life depends on it!”

  Nan said more, but I didn’t hear it. My own awful, wrenching screams filled the room. My steadiness had gone, and I felt only a deep, horrible terror. I did not want to die.

  Dr. Wendy turned to flee, as though running from a madwoman. “I will fetch the King!”

  * * *

  —

  “Sweetheart, what is this? Dr. Wendy insisted I come to see you. He tells me you are much distressed.” Henry lowered himself painfully into a chair beside my bed, where I lay.

  He looked annoyed, but at least he was here. Silently, I gave thanks to good Dr. Wendy. Now it was up to me, and, I thought, the spirit of Jane Seymour.

  My heart still pounded. My cheeks still burned from Nan’s slaps. Strands of hair had escaped my cap. But Cat had made sure that the silken pillows on my bed smelled as sweet as a summer meadow. Nan had perfumed my skin with fragrant rose water.

  “Oh, thank you for coming, sire, especially given the pain that troubles you. Dr. Wendy is right. I do need you, as I have never done before,” I whispered.

  Nothing.

  “I…I am overcome by a rumour that has reached my ears,” I went on desperately. “I have heard…I fear you are unhappy with me; that I have displeased you.” My lips trembled. I looked up into his broad face beseechingly, hoping for any sign that he still loved me.

  His blue eyes stared coldly.

  “Sire, I care only for your happiness. All that matters is being your obedient, humble wife and servant.” I met his eyes, so cloudy with age and constant pain.

  Henry was silent for another long moment, his face impassive. I lowered my eyes demurely. I was sure he could hear my pounding heart.

  “Hmmmm,” he said at last. “Well, Kate, rest tonight and we will talk again when you are more recovered.”

  That wasn’t enough, I knew. Meek. Obedient. I must do more.

  I slid off the bed and sank to the floor at his feet. Resting my hands on his good knee, I looked up from under my lashes, making my voice a hushed whisper. I bent forwards so that he could see the tops of my breasts peeking from my gown.

  I caught a flicker of desire in those blue eyes.

  “Sire, may I…may I come to visit you tomorrow evening?” I pleaded. “Just knowing that I can see you on the morrow will, I am sure, help make me well.”

  Gently, Henry reached out to touch my cheek. His hand hesitated, then stroked the smooth skin above the top of my gown. I sighed.

  All the while, I fought back a fear that threatened to choke me. Gardiner or Wriothesley could be waiting outside this door with the warrant for my arrest.

  “Tears. These do seem to be real tears,” Henry said, almost to himself. He kissed me gently on the lips. It was a tender kiss. Was it an honest kiss?

  “All right then, Kate. Come to my bedchamber tomorrow and we’ll see how we do together. I’ll be sure you are admitted.”

  DANGEROUS SNARES

  Summer 1546

  It [is] very unseemly and preposterous for the woman to take upon her the office of instructor and teacher to her Lord and husband.

  —Kateryn Parr to Henry VIII,

  quoted in John Foxe, The Acts and Monuments, 1583

  “He’ll try to entrap you, Kate. Be ready, and don’t let yourself be drawn into his snares.”

  Nan’s warning echoed in my mind as we made our way along the palace’s torchlit halls the next evening. Nan walked a few steps behind me, Cat trailing last. I’d dressed carefully, perfuming my skin with rose water again, and choosing a kirtle of soft, silky pink. I imagined Queen Jane had favoured gentle colours over the powerful red I preferred.

  When we reached Henry’s rooms, I stopped. What lies behind this heavy, polished door?

  “Go back now,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Return to your own rooms.”

  Cat rolled her eyes and whispered to Nan. “Did she order you about in this officious way even before she became Queen, Lady Herbert?”

  “She did, indeed, Lady Willoughby. She’s the same annoying older sister she’s always been.” Nan squeezed my hand. “We’ll wait for you in your bedchamber, Your Grace. As usual.”

  As Cat leaned forwards to kiss me, she whispered in my ear. “And don’t worry. I’ve hidden your parchments and writing supplies someplace Bishop Gardiner and his spies will never think to look.”

  “Where?”

  “In Gardiner’s bed!” Seeing my confusion, she grinned. “Gardiner my spaniel, that is. Everything is tucked safely under the cushions of his basket.
And believe me, he’s been trained to growl if the bishop comes near.”

  I watched my sister and dear friend walk away, then listened until I could no longer hear the rustle of their gowns or their soft footfalls. With a shaky breath, I turned around.

  No one could help me now.

  I stood facing the door alone. An attendant stepped forwards to open it. I took a breath and stepped through.

  “Good evening, Majesty. I am much better thanks to your kind visit yesterday,” I gushed, lowering my eyes and making my way to where Henry sat on a wide cushioned chair, his bad leg propped on a velvet-topped stool.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” I added quietly, crossing the room to sit beside Henry. With one quick glance, I assessed my adversaries. Several of the king’s advisors were present—but, to my surprise, Gardiner and Wriothesley weren’t among them. Was this simply a coincidence—or by Henry’s design?

  * * *

  —

  After some pleasantries, our conversation turned to religion. Nan had been right: The King might not be able to hunt on horseback any longer, but he still knew how to lay a trap.

  It happened almost casually. Henry asked for my opinion on a minor religious matter about which I did, indeed, have strong thoughts. If my husband intended to catch me out for my Reformist views, these men would be witnesses. I took a breath.

  “Your Majesty, I cannot speak about this,” I demurred, bowing my head. “Rather I would ask you to enlighten me. For, as you know, God has appointed a natural difference between men and women.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Husband, as a woman, I must always defer to your opinion. You are my anchor, my supreme head next to God on earth. I follow your lead on this point—and on all matters of religion.”

  Henry harrumphed. “Not so, for lately you are become like a teacher, seeking to instruct me instead of taking direction from me.”

  “Sire, you mistake me! If I have, at times, ventured to speak strongly or engage you in lively debate, it has been out of my deep love for you,” I assured him, placing my hand on his good knee.

  “Love?”

  “Yes, my lord. I’ve only wanted to distract Your Majesty. When we are debating and arguing, you are not thinking about the pain in your leg, are you?” I smiled and leaned closer, to give him a good view of my cleavage.

  I made my voice as sweet as honey. “Dearest husband, I’ve only tried to take your mind off your infirmity—as any helpmeet would do. Everything I do, I do for you and the benefit of your great kingdom.”

  I saw Henry study me, uncertainty shadowing his face. On an impulse I took his hand and kissed his ring.

  There was only one more thing to say. “I seek only to obey and serve.”

  The moment stretched out, long and silent.

  Afterwards, I wondered if conjuring Queen Jane’s motto had brought her spirit into the room. For suddenly Henry’s face cleared.

  “And is it even so, sweetheart?” Henry grabbed both my hands. His broad face broke out in a smile. “Is this truly all you intended?”

  “You know I live by the motto you graciously approved when I became your most fortunate Queen: ‘To be useful in all I do,’ ” I reminded him. “That is my vow, just as I have pledged to be your wife in sickness and in health, till death do us part.”

  I saw relief spread over Henry’s face like sunshine on the daffodils in the Hampton Court Gardens. Maybe that was all he’d needed: reassurance that I was not plotting against him, as so many others had done.

  I felt a sense of reprieve, but something else, too. For it seemed my husband could only be happy if I acted like a spaniel, lolling and looking up at him with doleful, begging eyes.

  No, King Henry could only be happy with unconditional love from a woman, like Queen Jane, who was meek and obedient—or at least, who acted that way all the time. Jane had died early in their marriage. I wondered: Could she have kept her own spirit in check for a lifetime?

  Henry was so entirely alone. He could only be a king—not a man who loved as other men do. He could never truly trust another human being: not me, not his advisors, not his own children.

  No wonder he wants to be buried next to dear, plain Jane, I thought.

  “Then, sweetheart, we are now perfect friends again. Come sit upon my lap.” Henry stretched out his large hands to scoop me in.

  “You are my anchor,” I murmured. I let him fondle and kiss me. I giggled softly, pulling gently on his beard. “You need not doubt me, Your Majesty. I give you my word that I am true in all things.”

  Our eyes met. I might not be the delectable dessert he had first desired, but I fancied I saw a tiny glimmer of affection still lingering there. “I believe you speak the truth, Kate.”

  “I do, my love.”

  Then he waved his advisors out of the room.

  Later, as I made my way, weary and drained, back to my rooms, I couldn’t be sure whether I had succeeded. I still didn’t know the answer to one question: Would my husband gain more pleasure from having me on his lap, or in the Tower, about to lose my head?

  * * *

  —

  I remained uncertain the next afternoon, when Henry sent for me to come to the garden. Only Nan and Cat were with me. As we stood chatting by the roses, I caught movement out of the tail of my eye. I whirled to see Wriothesley striding towards us, forty men behind him. He was clutching a piece of parchment. He waved it triumphantly: It was the arrest warrant.

  It’s all been a trick, I thought. Henry let me grovel. Yet all the while he intended to arrest me—and my ladies.

  I saw Nan go pale and Cat take her arm. Cat, like Nan, was already a young mother; I couldn’t bear to have their deaths on my conscience.

  I wanted to cry out, “Please, Henry!” But I bit my tongue. It was too late. Not even the ghost of Jane Seymour could help me now.

  And then into the silence came my husband’s booming voice. “What is this all about, Lord Chancellor?”

  “Your Majesty…I…,” faltered Wriothesley.

  “Over here,” ordered Henry, drawing Wriothesley to one side.

  Waves of confusion passed over Wriothesley’s face. I held my breath as the two men talked. I saw Wriothesley’s hand begin to shake; the parchment fluttered in the air. Grabbing it, Henry tore it with both hands.

  “Knave! Beast and fool! Be off with you!” shouted the King. “And tell Bishop Gardiner to stop his meddling and poking at my wife.”

  Wriothesley retreated, looking as downcast as a dog rebuked by his master.

  Henry returned to me, a satisfied smile on his face. He had, I suspected, made up his mind to spare me last night, but had not bothered to let Wriothesley and Gardiner know. He had let this charade play out for his own amusement.

  I let out a shaky breath and linked my arm with my husband’s. It was over.

  * * *

  —

  “You’re safe!” Nan exclaimed later.

  I put my hand over hers. We were alone in my bedchamber. “No, I’ll never really be safe, Nan. I never have been, though perhaps I never truly understood that before. But for now at least, the danger is past—thanks to you. I would never have feigned that terrible fit without your guidance.”

  “You must thank Cat for that.” Nan grinned. “It was her idea that I hit you and make you lose control. She said she dare not, for fear that Dr. Wendy might have her arrested for attacking the Queen.”

  I smiled, remembering the doctor’s shocked face.

  Nan took my hand. “Kate, speaking of not being safe, there’s something…a piece of news I’ve wanted to tell you. Sir Thomas Seymour is returning to England.”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  “There was such an attraction between you,” Nan said, eyeing me sharply. “Kate, when he comes back to court you must—”

  “Do not worry, sister,” I assured her. “After what has just happened, I feel I can handle anything that comes my way.”

  I wrapped my hands ar
ound my knees. It was how we used to sit on our mother’s bed, when she would return from court to tell us tales of gallant knights and lovely ladies, or sad stories about the poor dead babies of Katharine of Aragon. If one of those baby boys had lived, my own fate would have been far different.

  “I have made a resolution, though, Nan,” I said, thinking of her happy marriage, and the love match our own parents had enjoyed. “If I ever marry again, it will be for true love.”

  PERFECT FRIENDS

  Fall and Winter 1846–1847

  “We are now perfect friends again,” Henry had said on the night I’d convinced him of my loyalty. And indeed we were, so long as I continued to obey him and follow his dictates.

  Oh, there were rewards, I suppose. For the rest of that summer and into the fall, my husband showered me with gifts of rich fabric and sparkling jewels. Rather than take up my quill, I wrapped my fingers in perfumed gloves of crimson velvet, trimmed with buttons of diamond and ruby. I smiled sweetly, aiming to be a humble wife, a worthy Queen, the perfect consort.

  I tried to make myself into Queen Jane.

  But all the while, I hid the treasures I valued most—books and learning, prayers in English, my own writing.

  As we had following our marriage three years earlier, we spent time in the countryside, where scented fruits bent the trees and sheep dotted hillsides like clusters of white flowers. Perhaps Henry realized it was the last time the glories of an English summer would be spread before him, more sumptuous than any palace feast. I think he knew.

  I read to him often. I made sure to avoid religious texts, and never again offered my own opinion. Instead, I regaled him with the well-loved legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Sometimes, Henry would close his eyes and smile, a distant expression on his poor swollen face. I wondered then if he was seeing again the glorious days of his own youth as the golden king of the Tudor court.