by J P Ceark
‘Aye, as it has always been.’
‘Did your daughter love the King?’ spoke the young girl.
‘Which one? They were both ridiculous!’ he answered bitterly, but it came from a place of anger. ‘I had underestimated Anne’s ability to scheme. Henry made an offer of proposal the moment she arrived. She was overjoyed so I believed that she was in love with him as he was with her. The hope is your daughter makes a good marriage, is it not? Well, she had. None can judge me of ill intention, any father would do as much. Though it was not I who read for hours on matters concerning the King’s business. It was Anne who spoke on matters regarding the divorce with better understanding than men of law. She argued with conviction, a conviction that Henry shared, and she began composing his arguments, compiling them. I only aided their own belief — that they be destined to marry.’
‘How did you aid them then?’
‘I knew Wolsey would stand in their way. Though he protested his support, he had worked against me too many times. I encouraged Henry to send Wolsey on a diplomatic venture to France. The reason being, Wolsey wanted closer ties to France, and Henry needed King Francis to support the divorce. Wolsey would have to work for Anne as well as Henry … So you see, I only provided the means for them to accomplish what they wanted.’
April 1528
Hever Castle
‘Hurry up! God’s blood!’ Thomas yelled, while he swung his legs from his horse. He wiped the drips of rain from his wet face. The afternoon was dark and a heavy rainfall was needed for the hard soil.
Elizabeth came running into the courtyard only for Thomas to grab her around her waist. ‘He has the sweats! Leave him.’ She stood helpless while observing the struggle to carry George’s limp body out of the waggon and into the Great Hall. Jane held his head, weeping as she went.’
‘My Lord Rochford,’ Elizabeth cried. ‘Please let me go to him?’
‘No! Stay to your rooms.’ He followed the servants in who carried his son. ‘Jane, stay with George. You’re most likely already condemned.’
‘Please, My Lord Father, I beg let me return to my parents; I fear the sickness,’ she spoke with rising panic.
‘It’ll spread the sickness further should you travel. Remain here until safe to embark.’ Thomas turned to go towards his chamber.
‘What of Anne?’ enquired Elizabeth.
‘Anne is with the King. They are gone to the countryside, out of town,’ he assured.
‘God be praised.’ Elizabeth crossed herself, irking Thomas.
He felt his legs weaken and suddenly realised how cold he felt. ‘Leave me now, Elizabeth,’ he said. He walked into his chamber and collapsed on the day bed. Exhaustion weakened him; he could not remove the wet furs about his neck. The overpowering involuntary action was to shut his eyes. The journey had been tiring and he was not young anymore.
He slept in the hope of returning to himself by morning. Yet when he opened his eyes again, the room was darkened, the fire dying and he was sweating. He ached throughout, his voice hoarse. ‘Robson,’ he attempted.
Robson was far from his master but aware of his distress; he dared not disturb him while he was asleep. Now awake, he hurried to undress him, replacing the fur for clean linen.
‘Patience, My Lord. ‘Tis the rain that brings on the fever. Be dry and cool and it will soon pass.’
Thomas grunted, ‘Get away,’ his vision blurred; he failed to make contact with Robson. ‘If I must die, let it be without a peasant’s audience.’
* * *
The days passed slowly for Robson and rapidly for Thomas. He improved each day though, alleviating his servant of the anxiety of losing his post. By the sixth day, Thomas was away from bed. He still felt the weariness of illness but knew it had passed. George too was fast to reconcile back to health. Father and son remained closeted from the rest of the family and now sat together.
‘I’ve been informed Mother and Jane have shown no signs of the illness. We can pray it has now passed us.’
‘Aye and return to the business in hand — the King’s divorce,’ stated Thomas.
‘Or a more important evolution of religious protest … Lutheran doctrine needs to be read more widely; it’s a light shining upon the tyranny of papacy power of Rome. This goes beyond the King and his divorce,’ George explained in earnest. ‘This is a matter of service to God and his people. Anne must force the King’s hand and break from Rome.’
‘Ah, George, enough of this. Let us not be in haste or speak too radically. There is still a chance to quell Rome’s power. If the divorce is granted, Rome will be demoralised publicly, it will lend to more countries such as France demanding their own authority on matters spiritual, personal and political. I cannot see how Rome will agree the divorce but I cannot see how they cannot.’
‘What of our service to God? It is not just for us to see Anne crowned but to free the people of England, Wales and Ireland from Catholic indoctrination.’
Thomas shrugged. ‘Wolsey is our enemy, it’s him we must break.’
George read while his father worked on accounts for houses to run and land providing income. The money he made from being a minister to the King and the entitlements as Earl of Rochford were increasing his wealth.
‘What do you read?’ enquired Thomas.
‘Tyndale’s The Obedience of a Christian Man, the most persuasive argument for the King to read.’
‘Let me see,’ asked Thomas as George passed the book over.
‘I’ll pass it to Anne,’ explained George.
‘She’ll not be thankful for interference if it affects her chances of success. Especially if it reaches the King.’
‘He is so fond of her, she could advise him to dine with the devil and he would justify why it is right.’
‘Some would say that is what she is doing!’
George laughed but could not speak for distant noises distracted his thoughts. Heavy footsteps could be heard along the corridor of the castle. ‘What is that, Father?’
‘I know not …’ He got up from his chair and went from the chamber into the corridor, but no one was about. He made his way to the courtyard but whatever the activity was, it had now disappeared. ‘Robson?’ he called. He waited a moment but Robson did not appear, causing more irritation. He went upstairs towards his wife’s rooms. ‘Elizabeth?’ Still no answer. He looked about, recognising her feminine taste when he had visited her of a night.
‘My Lord!’ She stopped on seeing him in her antechamber.
‘Elizabeth, you’re white, what is it?’
‘My Lord husband,’ she began to cry with fear.
‘For God’s sake, woman! What has happened? You have the sweats?’
‘Anne has returned home, she is in the grip of the sweats. My Lord, she is so ill.’
‘The King? Is he too taken unwell?’
‘I know not, My Lord,’ she answered with some surprise at his reaction.
‘I will write to Suffolk, to say I have recovered.’
‘Will you not visit her?’
‘For what purpose?’
‘My Lord?’ she spoke quietly.
‘I think out loud.’ He waved away his concern. ‘Stay with her, nurse her through the illness. We have all survived, Elizabeth, it’s God’s will! Anne shall do so too.’
July 1528
Beaulieu Palace
A strange silence had muffled the air around the spacious brick and beam palace. It was as though time had stopped. Mary walked through the Great Hall, listening to suspended air. She sat with her sewing, wondering if she should dare go in search of William. Though he had allowed her to stay, his kindness had not been forthcoming. She wished to be at Hever, with servants she liked and Anne to talk with.
A servant came running towards her while she stitched another seam. ‘Mistress Carey, your husband and lord hath been taken unwell.’
She listened for the commotion outside. Heavy footsteps could be heard trampling into the Great Hall but her suspicions were dimmed wi
th numbing fright.
‘What is it?’
‘The sweats,’ he continued. ‘I’ve orders to bring you out and force you into a cottage upon the estate.’
‘What of my husband?’ she asked as his body was carried through.
‘He is to recover, away from you and the children.’ She nodded with unavoidable acceptance.
‘Can I not converse with him? Just a few words of compassion, a prayer?’ she offered.
‘No, I can pass them on to him. The disease is too contagious. My lord’s orders were very clear — you’re to leave here now, with your children.’
* * *
Mary, the children in her arms and the servant with the instructions, walked for a time until they reached the small cottage. A woman stood in the door frame, holding a babe in her arms.
‘There is but one room below and one room above,’ she said with a stern edge to her voice. ‘You’re to remain upstairs until it’s known you’re without disease.’
Mary carried her little children up the stairs. She laid Henry in the rustic crib and Catherine sat upright on the bed. Fortunately, the servant who had demanded her eviction followed her into the upstairs room.
‘I should need provisions for the children, the nurse and my clothing and money … also ink, quill and paper.’
He consented with good intentions and made to leave, but Mary stopped him once more. ‘Be sincere, is my husband to live?’
‘I cannot know, perhaps write to your sister? My Lord Carey has been in correspondence with her and she has provided kind assistance to him. I’m sure that same kindness can be extended.’
She made no reply
* * *
He came again, though much later, his footsteps heavy on the wooden staircase, and straight through the open door frame where Mary stood. She had been pacing the floor all the hours he had been away.
His report on Mary’s husband, Lord Carey, began: ‘His face is a sickly yellow, beads of sweat drip from him. He shakes violently and winces with stiff limbs. I believe him to die this night.’
‘Yesterday he was riding through the countryside, as well as ever I have seen him.’
‘The sweating sickness can be brutally quick,’ he offered.
‘This cannot be; I have nothing.’
‘Not so. He sends money — three heavy leather purses of coins. He said should he not survive, then this be in your keeping. Should he survive, the money be returned to him.’
‘And did you bring quill and ink, and what of my clothes?’ Her mind was outpacing her ability to reason.
‘Aye, your clothes be in these satchels,’ he pointed to them, ‘and eight leaves of paper and quill and ink.’ He placed them on a small table in front of her eyes.
‘You’ll come to me when more news is known?’
‘Aye, on the morrow … Take comfort; should he survive the night, he’ll survive the sickness.’
‘And if not?’
‘Pray he does.’
After the servant left her, she remained in prayer. She clasped her hands tight, fearing for her future. Though Catherine slept, Henry cried often through the night, breaking her concentration. There was no nurse to comfort him. She held him, rocking him gently and, at times, cried with him.
Her mind raced with thoughts of William. She loathed her emotions. The pity that afflicted her. Pity for William, for her children but worse the self-pity. She cried for herself, the guilt that confounded every other emotion. For over a year she had barely communicated with him and he had respected that. Even his father had shown more sympathy for her than she could for William.
When light first appeared, she believed in the hopelessness of her cause. If it had been happy news, the servant would come, running to relieve her of her misery. The morning was still.
She dressed and sat upon the stairs, Catherine beside her, looking up at her mother. Mary stroked her daughter’s auburn hair and kissed her when tears and tension built within her. Catherine remained solemn for her mother’s sake.
A rap at the door startled her. She knew who it was and yet the time had lingered for such a length, she thought to be living in that moment endlessly.
She didn’t wait for him to be admitted; she ran to know what was to become of her. Upon opening the door, she first regarded his expression, as though that would answer her enquiries.
‘Madam Carey, I bring you sad tidings,’ he began. Mary staggered, her heart drumming, deadening the sound of speech. ‘I wrote first informing the King of his cousin’s death and then his father. He died an hour ago. It’s expected Lord Carey’s father will arrange for the body to be brought to his family estate.’
‘What am I to do?’
‘I know not … You’re quite alone.’
March 1539
Hever Castle
‘Ah, my dear friend, you’ve returned,’ Thomas said and even raised a smile, though he observed Cranmer’s horror that the gaunt man before him was once that of the Earl of Wiltshire.
‘You’re much changed, Thomas. Three days and much changed,’ he spoke solemnly.
‘Fear not, I accept God’s path,’ his voice a steady indifference causing Cranmer to smile.
‘You’ve returned to your old self.’
‘Aye, so … what of my daughter? Is she to come?’
‘She is to come, Thomas. Did you not receive the letter I sent ahead of me?’
‘Aye … but I feared a change of heart.’ He turned to his servant but Robson shook his head.
‘Well, rest assured, she’s to speak with the King and then to proceed to Kent. Though I have schooled her in the business and suggested a lawyer to consult.’
‘I’ve no concern for that, she’s as devious as the rest. No, it’s necessary to speak with her concerning the Lady Elizabeth … You say the King wanted to speak with her? What was his reaction? Were they of accordance?’
‘I would say …’ Cranmer replied.
‘He remembers his duty to Catherine, I’m sure … well, I can’t fault that … or he wishes to undermine me yet again!’
Cranmer listened but was confused at Thomas’s rambling. He thought perhaps the fever had in fact lingered but Thomas noticed his friend’s vacant expression and explained. ‘I exiled Mary, and even when her husband died, I refused her sanctuary. Her mother cried, then Anne cried and finally when I was still unmoved, Anne cried to the King. He wrote to me, belittling my complaint of her conduct. Reducing my sensibilities to petty grievances.’
‘Anne cared for her sister. She wanted to help her.’
‘Aye, and learnt a sad truth later, that Mary was wholly undeserving of her pity … I conceded though and allowed her to return to Hever … Thankfully the King granted me Durham House.’
‘It was around that time we met,’ mentioned Cranmer while reaching into his memories to gather events of time.
‘Aye, it was after the court case had failed. The court case had failed to create the sympathy Henry needed.’
Cranmer nodded in all seriousness.
Thomas turned from his friend and viewed the light from his window. ‘To be truly liberated in life is to never be in love. I told Anne this. Your head sits above your heart for a reason …’ He fell silent. At times when recalling past events, the shock could be as sudden as it was when hearing about their arrests. ‘She fell in love and lost all reason. I had thought to judge her wiser than that.’
‘She accepted the consequences,’ concluded Cranmer. Dust particles glittered in the beams of sunlight, as both thought on those times. ‘When we met there was expectation for better things ahead.’
‘Why did it end in such misery?’ Thomas questioned with bewilderment.
May 1529
Durham House
His servant had already arrived the day before. Thomas had observed the theology books pile up in the antechamber of his allocated rooms. The King had assured Thomas that Dr Cranmer was an astute scholar and had devised a new tactic to achieve his divorce from Rome. It w
ent against Thomas’s own ambition but he agreed with good humour.
His boats ware moored outside the house and could be heard knocking against one another as the river was disturbed by movement further ahead. Thomas looked out of the diamond-paned windows and could see the slow progress made by his new houseguest. He noticed Cranmer was tall, thin and his hair was a light brown, his bearing rather regal. Thomas maintained his composure. Others were all inferior to him now; he was the King’s main adviser; he held the Privy Seal; and he had become the Earl of Wiltshire.
As he heard the footsteps nearing, he pondered on whether to stand or stay seated. He chose to stand, recognising that Cranmer would see his fur and gold and be intimidated by the off.
Thomas Cranmer entered the room like water, fluid and calm, silent but all composing. He bowed low to Thomas and removed his cap. This action pleased Thomas.
‘My Lord Wiltshire, I come to serve the King, to put together a solution for the required divorce.’
‘Aye, you are welcome, Dr Cranmer. I fear, however, it is futile, as Rome will not be persuaded any other way.’
‘As I told King Henry, I too believe this. Yet if the King can prove that he argues for legitimate reasons, then it is Rome who is in fact in the wrong and cannot be blamed for the consequences of his independent right to sovereignty.’
Thomas narrowed his eyes onto Cranmer. He realised he was a radical, a reformer, like George. He sought not to change Rome’s stance but to change Henry’s ideology towards Rome. ‘Dr Cranmer, please, my home is open to you. Anything you could want, I shall provide.’
Cranmer bowed again and with the dignity he exuded. Thomas nodded and retreated to his own rooms for a time. Come supper, both had settled with the other in the house. Thomas, this time, remained seated at the long table, his face flickering with black and orange from the many candles about the room. He brushed away formality and invited Cranmer to join him.