Struck With the Dart of Love

by Sandra Vasoli

  “I know, Nan,” he said, hurriedly losing the smile, “I can only imagine how frustrating it must be to watch an array of old men dictate your prospects. If you want, you can vent your anger with me whenever you need to. But you best not let His Majesty see you thus.”

  I stood and went to the window. I drew a deep breath and willed the grim humour to leave me upon exhale. “Thank you, George. I’m sorry; I know you are my most ardent supporter, and I am so grateful for that. And you are right to warn me not to forget my place. When these moods come upon me, I either avoid Henry entirely or else I must bite the insides of my cheeks raw to keep my mouth closed.”

  Curled in a corner, clearly keeping a safe distance, Jolie opened one soulful amber eye and surveyed me reproachfully. For such a mite she wielded an awesome power: she could blunt the edge of my temper without moving one lazy little paw.

  “Anyway, I know it is not Henry’s fault,” I continued somewhat less petulantly. “He is doing all he can to move things along but, unfortunately, he is still much too dependent on Wolsey. It is what he has always done; how he has always made his decisions - with Wolsey at his shoulder closely directing every move, although I must say the Lord Cardinal is not quite as cavalierly sure of himself as he was just a few short months ago. No, the time has clearly come for Henry to pry himself from that deceptive, clutching grasp. To trust himself and the advice of those councillors who are loyal, and devoted to his best interests. And I intend to do whatever I can to nudge him toward this realization.”

  “Certainly you’re the one best placed to do so, Nan,” George’s tone was edged with respect. “It is apparent that the King’s Highness takes close account of every word you utter. It is what I am certain of, having observed the two of you, together. Yes, I do think you are perhaps the only one who can open His Majesty’s eyes to the Cardinal’s connivance.”

  I thought on George’s comment. I did value his opinion and looked to him for support. Aside from Mother, I was keenly aware that no one knew me better than George. I focused on my plan.

  “Well then, I have made up my mind. I will find just the right time to have a discussion with Henry about my Lord Cardinal Wolsey. I will lead him to admit Wolsey’s failure to make any headway on the divorce. And I will cleverly hint at the idea that his trusted Cardinal may, in fact, be clandestinely serving not his, but in fact the Pope’s, interests. As for when the conversation must take place: soon. One way or another I must make my position clear well in advance of the Legatine hearing. Oh, Henry may not like what I have to say, but he will hear it nonetheless!”

  “You will handle it well, Nan. But keep your calm. Just promise me you will keep your head about you as best you can.”

  He risked an impish grin. And then could not resist adding, “… rather than risk losing it altogether.”

  I shot him a withering look, followed by a laugh. “I shall, my darling brother, have no fear of that. Now - will you be coming to Hever at all this spring? I am going to stay there while the Legatine Hearing takes place, though I would infinitely prefer being at Bridewell, nearer to the business itself. I will have to wait for news by courier, and you know that will not be easy for me.”

  “Then I shall come when I can, to provide you with information and keep you company, Nan.”

  I pushed back my chair and went to George to hug him. One could not ask for a better brother or more trustworthy friend.

  Hever

  June 1529

  Beams of early morning sunlight played across the arched half dome ceiling of my bedchamber as I lay abed, postponing arising to dress. The light suggested that a beautiful day had dawned. I remained curled under my covers for a little while longer, until finally plucking the courage to swing my bare feet to the chilly floor. From the back of a chair, I hastily recovered a wrap, pulled it about my shoulders, and went to the window. I unlatched and pushed open the leaded glass casement to view the orchard below. It was indeed a lovely late spring morning, and there was no more beautiful place on earth to appreciate it than from the heart of the Kentish countryside. The night-time mist, billowing over the lawns which sloped downward toward the river, was beginning to dissipate. Beyond I could make out the stone spire of St Peter’s, the old Norman church in Hever, piercing the fresh, early blue of the sky. The apple trees were coming into bloom, their pink and white blossoms sparkling with drops of dew reflecting the sun’s increasing warmth, and the swans and their cygnets glided on the castle moat. Such a wonderful day – yet it would be difficult for me to enjoy.

  I had been informed that today the Queen was expected to appear before the Legates at the trial to present her testimony. I had hoped that by now, some weeks after I left court for home, there would have come a decision. But, as usual, the preparations for the hearing had moved ponderously, and the official business had just gotten underway.

  Reluctantly, I was beginning to recognize that God’s great plan for me included mastering the art of patience. It was proving a difficult lesson, to be sure.

  The serenity and peace of home, of being in Edenbridge as opposed to the noise and clamour of court should have offered a welcome respite. But it did not. I could not concentrate on anything, being concerned as I was about the legal proceedings at Bridewell. I pictured scenarios in which there was great support for Henry’s argument, rapidly followed by imaginings of a disastrous outcome. Wishing for something to lift my spirits, I was thrilled when the King’s courier arrived unexpectedly. I met the equerry inside the castle courtyard and gratefully received the package he delivered. Returning to the house, I sat at a desk in the small room which served as the estate office, and cleared a spot on a desk piled with bills of lading and ledgers to open the thin, crackling parchment. Greeted by the familiar hand, I smiled fondly, almost as if I were faced with the man himself instead of the writing I had come to know so intimately. I found his letters especially touching because I knew how much he disliked writing – mostly because he hated sitting still for the length of time such labours took.

  I took note of the easy scrawl: the degree of familiarity with which he now wrote. This letter was in English, not the more formal French. His penmanship was less proscribed, the messages more quickly composed; just like our relationship. He was comfortable with me now, as I was with him. Still, his care and affection for me were instantly apparent - a sweet song on the page.

  To inform you what joy it is to me to understand of your conformableness with reason, and of the suppressing of your inutile and vain thoughts with the bridle of reason.

  I assumed George had reassured the King all was quite well with me while at Hever, not letting on the truth of my agony at being so far removed.

  I assure you all the good in this world could not counterpoise for my satisfaction the knowledge and certainty thereof, wherefore, good sweethart, continue the same, not only in this, but in all your doings hereafter; for thereby shall come, both to you and me, the greatest quietness that may be in this world.

  His words were so encouraging, and I longed to believe them. He continued:

  The cause why the bearer taketh so long, is the bysyness I have had to dres upp ger for you; and which I trust, ere long to to … here, he must have been distracted, not realizing he had written the word twice! … see you occupy and then I trust to occupy yours / whyche shall be recompense enough to me for all my pains and labors.

  A peal of laughter escaped me. He had commissioned for me some beautiful clothes, which in his man’s parlance he referred to as ‘dress up gear’: and not just that – but he wished to see me in them … and then - better yet - out of them! How I loved Henry’s lusty wit! He was never one to miss an opportunity to remind me how eager he was. As if I needed reminding.

  Henry then mentioned that Cardinal Wolsey had not been well, but as soon as he recovered, would most certainly resume efforts on our behalf and wanted to assure us both that under no circumstances should w
e think him inclined to be imperial - aligned with Katherine’s nephew, the Emperor Charles.

  … Thus, for lack of time, sweethart, farewell.

  Written with the hand which fain would be yours, and so is the heart.

  R. H.

  Unwrapping the parcel which accompanied the letter, I found three bolts of marvellous fabric. A soft, creamy white velvet - very rare and costly; a roll of white silk so fine as to be almost translucent, and a brilliant purple satin.

  The gift of deep purple satin, reserved for royals only, spoke volumes. I recognised that these were fabrics Henry was offering as samples from which I should create my wedding gown. My heart swelled with love and gratitude. How extraordinary it was to be adored so – to be the darling of the most esteemed man in the world.

  I occupied myself until dinner by sewing with my mother in the morning room, then had my Neapolitan mare saddled and readied to ride out for the afternoon. I walked Tempesta through the poppy fields and down the trails by the River Eden. As always, the ride relaxed me and allowed me to think of matters other than the hearing and its outcome. Yet it followed me doggedly - that unrelenting desire for Katherine to remove her peevish self from the scene and allow Henry and me to proceed with our lives.

  I was acutely aware of my own age, and of my monthly flow, which seemed such a sorrowful waste with its every appearance.

  To my dismay, days passed before I was able to hear a full recounting of the results of the Legatine Court proceedings at Blackfriars. I was notified by the King’s couriers that Katherine had refused to appear when called. God’s wounds! What an imperious martyr she had become!

  Finally, though, she relented, and both Henry and Katherine were present, together, in the courtroom. My brother, who had been in attendance, left the proceedings to come to Kent and provide me with news. We settled in the orchard under a cherry tree, while George described how Henry had persuasively addressed the court from his Chair of Estate. With great respect and deference, Henry described once again how their inability to produce a male heir was clearly a punishment from God exacted on both him and Katherine for their marriage, which was unlawful. He continued, George had recounted, by declaring the great love and respect he held for Katherine, who had been a noble and most excellent queen. He implored the Legatine Court to relieve him from the Matter, which so greatly vexed his mind and troubled his spirit, and allow him to disassociate himself from the marriage to remarry and ensure the succession.

  At that point, Katherine had risen abruptly and stalked from the chamber with the departing reaffirmation that she had never carnally known Arthur, so in fact, it was no marriage according to God; thereby her only true husband was Henry.

  My jaw tightened with an involuntary clench. Seeing this, George attempted to reassure me by describing how the concerns and determinations of the council seemed to weigh in Henry’s favour, as the members of the court and council discussed in detail Katherine’s claim that she had not consummated the marriage with Arthur.

  The mood lightened, and George and I could not help but giggle uncontrollably when he told me that a member of the court had loudly called out, saying he had been witness those many years ago when, on the very morning after their wedding night, Arthur had called for drink, loudly acclaiming ‘he had been in Spain that night, which was a hot country!’ The implication was obvious.

  Even more startling was the testimony that at the time of Prince Arthur’s death, Katherine herself indicated she might be with child! It was for this very reason that Henry had been deferred from his creation as Prince of Wales for more than six months until it was clear that there was no pregnancy. Undoubtedly, the Legates were as confused by Katherine’s divergent claims as was I.

  At that point in his story, George did warn me what he was next to say would likely send me into a paroxysm. I prepared myself as he described the moment when the court crier called for Katherine to enter, whereupon instead of taking her designated seat, she had approached Henry wearing a face of humility worthy of the finest actor. When she was carefully positioned directly before him, she fell to her knees and, in a loud and supplicating tone, beseeched him for justice, describing herself as but a ‘poor woman and stranger’ who had remained far from her homeland to be a good wife to him all their years together. She begged him, with the entire court as witness, to be compassionate and to accept her as his true wife, unless he should find her dishonest in any way.

  As George spoke, my eyes grew wide in shocked disbelief. How, then, had Henry responded? George did his best to stifle his amusement at the recall of Henry, face growing ever more purple as she persisted, quite pointedly refusing to look at her during her speech. George was sure the King did all he humanly could to hold back the mighty explosion which appeared likely to erupt at any moment.

  I was thoroughly perplexed. How could this woman have thought such a tactic would have had any chance of winning Henry? It was hard for me to believe she had been married to the man for over twenty years. Apparently she knew him not at all! Did she not recognize that the embarrassment she caused him in front of the peers of his realm, legal clerics, and most respected councillors would have made him her enemy for eternity? As I pictured the scene, I determined that any remnants of my sympathy and regard for Katherine must thenceforth be snuffed out, as is a tiny sputtering flame on the stub of a candle.

  And equally with Wolsey. I knew then unless I found a way to counter the self-serving Cardinal’s deceit, this court hearing would prove yet another wild goose chase, and it would only end for naught.

  The substance of my life lay spread before me like a fallow field, ready for planting yet seemingly abandoned. I was a woman of twenty-eight years. I was unmarried, childless - and desperately in love with a man I believed to be my destiny. At this point, there would be no turning back, nor stepping aside. I would have to use every bit of guile and cunning I could muster to secure the desired result.

  The only possible outcome for both Henry and me.

  With wearisome predictability, the court hearings dragged on throughout the remainder of June and well into July. I could not imagine, from my remote location, what there could be to discuss day in and day out. But then, I consoled myself, what did it matter as long as it resulted in the desired conclusion?

  Unbelievably- quite intolerably - on 23 July, the Papal Legate Campeggio addressed the court and informed them he was suspending all further deliberations until early October. He stated he could not proceed until he had time to consult with the Pope. At this Henry grew ominously quiet; somehow, he managed to maintain his control though he must have been seething. Not so for Lord Suffolk. I was told that he stood and slammed his fist on the table, shouting that there was ‘never a Cardinal nor a Legate that did good in England!’

  With Henry admonishing the Cardinals to make all haste to Rome, the trial to determine the validity of Katherine’s and Henry’s marriage was thus adjourned.

  The clatter of hooves on the cobbles brought me running through the staircase gallery to the windows overlooking the courtyard. My father, accompanied by George and my Uncle Norfolk, were dismounting and handing their reins to the stableboys. My father grabbed his leather travel sack and headed through the arched doorway and into the house. I hastened downstairs to greet them with a curtsey, and a kiss on my father’s cheek.

  “What news, Father?” I asked as I helped him remove his cloak, stiff with dried mud.

  “We have much to discuss, Daughter! I will inform you when we sit down to dinner. Now I must bathe and rest, for it was a tiring journey from London by horseback. I am surely too old to ride for days like I used to.” He stretched his shoulders, saying “I will have to call for a carriage to ease my aging bones!” He gave his steward instructions to have a bath drawn for each of the three weary travellers as I hurried to the kitchen to check on preparations for dinner.

  We sat at the long table in the great hal
l, with my father at its head, and George and my Uncle Thomas at the first two seats along its length. My mother and I sat across from each other. As the ushers served a veal stew heavily scented with rosemary, Father said “Yesterday, the King and Katherine departed for Woodstock, where they will remain for some weeks. The events since the conclusion of the hearing have been interesting, to say the least.” Norfolk nodded as he raised a piece of buttered manchet to his mouth. “Indeed, they have, indeed, they have!”

  “In which way, Father?” I asked, hating that I had to learn of these events second-hand.

  “Things do not bode well for Thomas Wolsey,” replied my father with a grim prescience.

  I froze in mid-bite then turned incredulously to both my father and uncle. “But what has caused the shift in His Majesty’s opinion?”

  George cut in. “Anne, after the great disaster of the hearing was over, the King discovered that a letter had arrived for Campeggio, which commanded him to return to Rome post-haste, leaving the proceedings unresolved. Most damning was the fact that the letter had been received during the hearing and that Wolsey had been well aware of this summons throughout. His Highness realized both Wolsey and Campeggio had deceived him by continuing the discussions and arguments even though they both knew no decision was to be made at their conclusion.”

  I felt my stomach churn with the bitter gall of anger. Damn Wolsey! How dare he cross the King that way! Henry had been so good – far too good – to this despicable man.

  “Then are you saying His Majesty at last sees Wolsey’s disloyalty? Does he understand that his Great Matter might have been well and truly resolved by now had an honourable, dedicated man presented the case before the Pope?”

  “Yes, Anne, he does, and there is better to come,” my uncle confirmed emphatically and with obvious satisfaction before continuing. “As the opportunity seemed ripe, the King’s council compiled a record of the known deceptions and offenses which have been carried out by Cardinal Wolsey. They all signed the book and gave it to the King. There were thirty-four of us united in confronting the King’s Grace with the truth about his Lord Chancellor. When His Majesty reviewed the book, he admitted his surprise and hurt at the degree to which Wolsey had defrauded him. There is now no question that he views Thomas Wolsey with new eyes.”