Tudor Queen, Tudor Crown

by Jennifer Peter Woods

  She could tell her father was pleased with her. He allowed her fine clothes and expensive jewels.

  Mary had no scruples in taking his gifts. She had been acting the dutiful daughter and he was pleased with the results. She would take her rewards where she could.

  Outwardly, the king and his eldest daughter appear to be reconciled. But while they smiled and played the benevolent father and the pious daughter, they were both of them eager to maintain the ruse for other ends.

  Mary’s design was simple: she was trying to survive in her father’s England.

  As for her father, the king was keeping her close to stop her from stirring up trouble. For all those that cling to the old faith, Mary remained their one true heir and Henry would not tolerate discord, not in his England. There would be no will but his and as his reforms amass in pace as well as speed, Mary fought to stay in her father’s favor.

  With Cromwell and Cranmer by her father’s side, the Protestant faction was gaining strength. They were eager to purge the one true faith from England. One by one, married Protestant preachers, radical in their teachings were replacing good catholic bishops. Starting with those central to his reformation, the king ordained John Hooper, John Rogers, Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley as Bishops, forcing change after change on every single parish on English soil.

  Mary trembled to think of the souls under the charge of such men. But her father was not to be denied. He reigned here and he would leave no one in doubt as to his absolute supremacy. This was the way of her father. He was a strong king. He was pitiless and he held the reins of power tight.

  For all of her father’s strengths however, he had his weaknesses too. His recent royal pardon, issued to save his body squire from being brought to justice had incensed the court.

  The man had committed a heinous crime.

  Thomas Culpepper was his name and he was a fair-haired young man with the handsome face of an angel.

  Too bad he has not the sweet disposition to match, thought Mary.

  The young man had been in her father’s employ for several years now and by virtue of his service and ability to amuse the king he had garnered some favor here at court.

  Swollen with the powers at his disposal, he, when out on a lark with his friends took a fancy to a gamekeeper’s wife. Determined to satiate his lusts, he had slain the woman’s husband before bidding his friends to hold the woman down while he raped her.

  His audacity and viciousness was an outrage. The king had been enraged by Culpepper’s plea for clemency, but pardon him her father did.

  There was some confusion later as to whether the act had been committed by Thomas Culpepper or his older brother by the same name. But whoever it was, there was no denying that a Culpepper had done the dastardly deed.

  Mary frowned.

  Even if it was the eldest Culpepper who committed the crime, the younger brother was now, forever after, party to the guilt. If the man had a heart and a care for the innocent victims, he would have allowed his brother to face his crimes and receive his just punishment.

  They are vicious cowards both, Mary was firm in her belief on the matter and from that day hence, she made her displeasure and disapproval for both brothers clear.

  Such are the men that serve my father, she lamented. That her father should keep serpents of Culpepper’s ilk around him made Mary wonder at the piteous state of his immortal soul. But she never uttered a word of her thoughts to anyone. She was quiet as she went about her days, and when she came to court, she stood tall. She took care to avoid those that she disapproved of and she skirted and danced around those who would bring her to ruin. She kept clear of the plotting Catholics as well as the conniving Protestants. She was careful with her each and every word, her favors as well as opinions.

  She was the soul of discretion. She was still officially a bastard but she conducted herself like the princess she knew she was. She was her mother’s daughter and she would act accordingly.

  As for those at court, they made note of her father’s renewed favor toward her. They were now bowing low to her again, smiling and paying her every reverence, but Mary saw through them all, each and every one. She paid them no heed. The opinion of the court was nothing to her. The only person she had to have a care for was her father.

  Thus, slowly and with care, Mary was carving out an existence from the disgrace she had been cast into. She, the Lady Mary was emerging slowly. Yet while her task was slow, her father’s path was not.

  Under the advice of his ministers and at the urging of his favorites the king was ready to wed again.

  Cromwell, her father’s man had been diligently sending word all over Europe, searching for a suitable bride for the king. But her father was no longer the prince he had been. Mary had wondered who would answer his suit. Who would be willing to offer their daughter or sister to him?

  Still answer Henry the King they did. It was been decided. Anne of Cleves from the Duchy of the same was going to be the next Queen of England.

  Her father had chosen Anne from amongst those bold enough to agree to his suit, approving her looks from the likeness Hans Holbein took.

  Anne of Cleves: she would be her father’s fourth queen of England. Mary had heard of the lady. They were of an age. Anne was only one year older than her. So it was, her father was ready to renew his quest for more heirs with a fresh wife.

  Mary hoped that this Anne of Cleves would do well. Her father needed the alliance with the Duchy; he had very few allies left abroad these days, and perhaps, just perhaps, with such stately considerations in mind, he would be inclined to act the kind and gentle husband to this new Anne of his.

  ANNE OF CLEVES

  1540

  New Years

  He was a good husband to Jane Seymour. They said that he mourned her, that he loved her well. He had indulged her every whim, bestowing endless love and affection upon her, promising her the stars. But Jane Seymour was dead now, her earthly flesh reduced to naught and that was why she had come to England.

  She smoothed her clammy hands down the front of her dress. She would be meeting her husband anon.

  All of this king’s queens had died. Either by heartache, execution or childbed fever, one way or another they had all been consigned to the ground. They embraced this man only to greet death ever after. The thought chilled her. How would I fare as his wife?

  Her brother had been eager for a match with England, what small Duchy would not? Cleves was strategic enough to draw enemies but too small to command the attention of her allies. But England was large, large enough to demand the respect of France and Spain, and for those in Cleves who lived by the whim of empires and emperors, they were ready for greater things.

  When approached, her brother eagerly proffered his two sisters to King Henry, offering him not one princess but two to chose from.

  Amelia and Anne. We are our brother’s sisters, sisters to be dispensed with just as he pleases. And so the diplomats hurried to and fro and the painters came and went, until finally, a choice was made. Much to her surprise, Anne was the one the king chose and she did not know whether she should praise or curse the name of Hans Holbein. Nevertheless, she was here now; there was no turning back.

  Arranging her skirts, she tried to keep herself occupied. Her heart sped. She had chosen her best gown for the occasion, the best that her brother was able to afford. It was cut in the Flemish style and Anne thought she looked very well in it. She had brought several of her ladies with her and they had dressed, coiffed and bedecked her in jewels so that she could shine forth in all her glory for her husband.

  The cost of the emeralds swinging in her ears alone was enough to make her stomach churn. But her brother insisted. Anne had to have the best their Duchy could muster and so Anne held her head high, determined to do justice to her people and the land from whence she came.

  Trepidation reigned in her chest but she told it to be quiet, quashing it ruthlessly.

  The king of England was in his fo
rty-ninth year now. He was old enough to be her father. They assured her that Henry of England was a handsome king. He was, they said, charming and captivating. But what king was not? No one ever made disparaging remarks about the wielders of kingly power, even if they were bald, fat and toothless.

  Anne fought hard to suppress her laughter. She had a sharp mind and she was not afraid to use it. She was not outspoken but it didn’t mean she harbored no opinions. She knew she had to keep her head about her here in England. No princess or lady would declare her, Anne of Cleves, fortunate in the task she was about to undertake.

  Many had refused this king in his pursuit for a new wife. He was not the eligible prince he had been.

  True, he was no longer young but besides such considerations, there were other, far weightier worries for every eligible princess to consider. The tales of Henry’s queens were known in every part of Christendom. A princess from the House of Valois had said that she would only place herself at Henry’s mercy if she had a head to spare.

  Anne touched her fingers to her neck, alas, she had only one neck and one head and she would very much like to keep it. She had to be very careful around this king. She was going to do everything in her power to escape his wrath. She would allow him many mistresses, she would be an excellent mother to his children, she would convert to his Church of England and she would do nothing to provoke his ire.

  Now that he had an heir, perhaps, just perhaps, she would be able to survive as his queen…

  She firmed her resolve. She had to survive and if God was willing she meant to thrive too. She had sailed from her home to England to be its Queen.

  And queen it I shall, she thought. But still, she could not help but frown, it bodes ill, she thought, her mind on Katherine of Aragon. She too had sailed to these shores long ago, determined to be England’s queen…

  With a toss of her head, she cleared her mind, fighting hard not to dwell upon such contemplations, taking in instead the sight of the gardens of Rochester Castle. It was splendid and it was easily thrice the size of her brother’s grandest abode. England was rich compared to her native Cleves.

  Jutting out her chin, Anne refused to be intimidated. She would be Queen here and if God would allow it, she would be a good queen too. She was fighting hard to learn English and she was learning fast. She needed to understand what was being said. She needed to be able to gauge the climate of the court.

  My life, she thought, could very well depend upon it.

  She already knew whose faces to learn and whose words to heed. She needed to know Lord Cromwell. She needed to watch the Duke of Norfolk, Archbishop Thomas Cranmer, Bishop Gardiner, Bishop Bonner and the Duke of Suffolk. But above all, she needed to endear herself to the king’s children: Mary, Elizabeth and Edward.

  She was careful to remember the children’s likes and dislikes and she had prepared well her gifts to them. Edward was a boy of three and his presents were easy to choose. Amongst his many presents though, Anne included a generous gift for the prince’s caretaker, the Lady Bryan. The Lady Elizabeth, now seven years of age, was a studious child who loves her letters and books. Anne had readied her gifts accordingly. King Henry’s eldest daughter, Mary, was a woman grown. Anne had also procured many presents for the Lady Mary but what she truly wanted to offer the Lady was her friendship. Anne hoped to befriend Mary and make the Princess her ally in the king’s household. But all that would come later.

  There will be plenty of time for that, Anne thought, there will be a lifetime.

  Sedately, she strode toward the end of the long gallery, her phalanx of ladies behind her.

  Taking a deep breath, she stood tall, straightening her back as the double doors opened to admit her. Immediately, her eyes flew to the man seated on the dais beneath the canopy of gold. The King. Her husband.

  He is rotund and balding afterall, she mocked. How tiresome, she thought, to be always right.

  She glided forward, her head held high, a winning smile on her face. The were only a few persons who accompanied the king to this, their first meeting, but Anne’s eyes were sharp. Immediately, she distinguished Cromwell. She recognized him from the descriptions she had been given, but there were others who she did not recognize. She needed to learn their names and fast.

  Returning her eyes to the king, she made her progress toward him. Henry said something to his closest companion and those around him laughed. Cromwell’s face was austere. When she was at last close enough, Anne smelled the heavy scent of pomade and something fouler too. It seems to emanate from the king. She kept her smile steady while she beheld the man that was to be her husband. She hid her thoughts and bowed low.

  He gave her leave to rise. Her eyes met his. She watched his face, careful to detect and decipher every nuance. But his face was not to be read. After several moments, he held out his fingers to her, bidding her take them. She did and he drew her to him, planting a kiss upon her lips. Those gathered applauded. Through it all, she held onto his proffered fingers, her person stiff. Thence, he guided her toward a smaller seat next to him.

  Obediently, she sat.

  Then in equal time and in equal measure, as if they were dancing to the same tune, he retrieved his hand and she released his fingers. Wordlessly, they cast their eyes over those gathered to receive their congratulations, and that was when Anne noticed Cromwell’s face, which had turned determinedly grave.

  KATHERINE HOWARD

  1540

  March

  They told her the court would be gay. That it would be filled with wondrous, glittering things. Katherine grumbled under her breath as they sat through yet another tiresome night in the hall. Half the people at court are too old to dance, she sighed, so much for jollity.

  Keeping to an obscure corner, Katherine made herself scarce as she cast her eyes over those gathered for the night. The feast was over and still there was no dancing. She pouted. There were glittering jewels and shining riches here to be sure but it was far from gay.

  The new queen was young and she looked like she would very much like to indulge in some gaiety, but she was too busy smiling. Smiling at the king, smiling at Katherine’s uncle Howard and all those grand lords so concerned with power. Cocking her head, Katherine regarded the queen from the shadows. She was sitting and smiling on the dais like a statue.

  Anne of Cleves, Katherine thought, unlike her ladies-in-waiting cannot dance and laugh, not when she has so dull, so old and so dour a husband!

  Katherine allowed herself a giggle at her bold thoughts. She couldn’t begrudge herself a little fun.

  Fun, she sulked, was scarce enough these days.

  Indeed, the court had been a disappointment to little mistress Howard. Nothing was not how she had envisaged it would be.

  Her uncle had plucked her from Lambeth and sent her to London, eager for good Howard girls to swell the ranks of the new queen’s ladies.

  Katherine had been eager to come. She was ready to venture into the world and explore everything beyond her grandmother’s household. She was tired of Lambeth and the countryside. She wanted adventure and excitement, new gowns and jewels and all the good things that could be hers if she performed her duties well. They promised her all manner of rewards, and Katherine, dazzled by the promises came to London and to court, eyes wide and eager.

  Before she entered the queen’s household however, her uncle gave her stern words. Their audience was short but his words were clear. He would offer her his protection only if she obeyed him. She had to comport herself well and behave with decorum. She needed to act in concordance and with thought for the illustrious name she bore. She was to be guided and directed by him at all times.

  She had listened to his instructions with half an ear. I am to attend the queen, she thought, sew patterns, sing songs and provide company. How hard can it possibly be?

  But being at court was nothing like she had imagined. There was splendor and riches enough but it was all just a little disappointing. It was not fun. She had no
friends here and though the Howard clan was vast and she was always finding herself a cousin to some lord, lady or another, no one really had a care for little Katherine Howard.

  No only so, the king was a great disappointment. She had always imagined him to be a timeless being. She thought he would be resplendent and everything that everyone said he was. Was not a prince meant to be handsome? Was he not meant to make maidens swoon with his killing good looks? She fought off yet another giggle. This king was not going to make anyone swoon. She bit back her laughter, but if he should command it, she suspects then that even her uncle Howard would be glad to oblige!

  My uncle Howard, how Katherine delighted in saying those words when she first came to court, eager to announce her place and proclaim her lineage to the world.

  Her eyes landed on her uncle.

  Her uncle was a powerful man. He wielded power. Everyone bows to Lord Howard, even the snooty Cromwell had to. He was an old man. At sixty-seven years of age, Thomas Howard was even more ancient than the king.

  Somehow, Thomas Howard, the third Duke of Norfolk, had managed to survive each and every upheaval that came to pass. In fact, he had thrived. He was a powerful man and Katherine knew she had to obey him. Her uncle was a soldier, a commander and a general, and he commandeered their vast Howard clan with skill. Though the family had risen high, her uncle was eager for it to rise higher still. He was always in a corner, whispering or conducting meetings with some great lord or noted ambassador.

  The fate of the Howards, that is the business of men and women well beyond my little person, Katherine decided, I do not have the stomach for such machinations.

  Allowing her mind to take flight, she cast her eyes beyond her uncle. Turning her head, she studied the king and sighed. Alas, he was an old man too, not as old as her uncle perhaps but ancient enough. He could have been handsome once but those days were long gone.