“No one is more concerned about the succession than I am. I have talked to Dr. Chambers and Dr. Butts about it. Half my chamber gentlemen have jokingly offered to carry out my husbandly office for me. I know what is being said. But the plain fact is, I cannot bring myself to touch that repellant woman. I can hardly bear the sight of her, if I look at her I see her mother and I want to retch.”
As if at the mention of vomit Jonah emitted a small scream.
“Is there nothing that can be done?”
He poured wine into a flagon and added some of the herbal mixture, stirring it, then drinking it. When he had downed it all he rose and joined me on the bench where I had been sitting. He took my face in his two hands. His breath was overpowering.
“Dear Catherine, if I entrust a great secret to you, can I rely on you to keep it to yourself?”
He released my face, but continued to look steadily into my eyes. His eyes were pale blue and beautiful, even though surrounded by pouches of flesh. No wonder he had been so very handsome, so very attractive to women, when young.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“It has become clear to me, as I ponder my predicament, that most likely I am not in fact married to the queen.”
Startled, I waited to hear him say more.
“Right before the wedding, when Cranmer and his doctors of canon law, and Cromwell and his experts all were trying to find some reason why Anna was not free to marry, they failed. They believed that although she had been betrothed to the Duke of Lorraine’s son, the betrothal was made null by church authorities in Cleves. Are you understanding what I’m saying?”
“I think so, yes, Your Majesty.”
“Aha! They were wrong! They did not look into it carefully enough. But I have sent two of my own advocates to Cleves, to request the document that nullified the betrothal. And do you know—no such document could be found! Because no such document ever existed! It was all a lie, a ruse. The Clevan diplomats thought we would never doubt their word.”
“Does Anna know this?”
“I can’t imagine that she does.”
Jonah had jumped to the floor and was making scratching sounds in the rushes.
“So you are saying that your wedding to Anna was no wedding at all.”
“Indeed. In fact, I believe that it is providential that I cannot bring myself to lie with her. The Lord has made her loathsome to me, because if I did lie with her, our union would be an unholy thing.”
“I see.”
“But I am waiting for the right time to reveal all this to my councilors—those fleas—and to the entire court, indeed to Christendom. For there will be such an uproar, such wailing and gnashing of teeth—”
“But you will be free of the torment this has all been to you. I’m very glad for you.”
He kissed me then, taking me completely by surprise and quite overwhelming me with the awful taste of his mouth, his wet lips, the reek of his breath. The kiss took my own breath away.
“Dearest Catherine,” he said as I struggled to catch my breath. “I knew I could trust you. Sometimes I think you are the only one I can trust.”
“I—I don’t know what to say, Your Majesty.”
“Say that you will consider becoming my consort, just as soon as I can disentangle all the knots they have tied around me.”
Dumbfounded, my head swimming, I fought for clarity.
“I must ponder this.”
“Ponder all you like. Only be sure to ponder with your uncle Norfolk. Hateful man! He will be only too glad to know what has passed between us. Only remember—do not tell him anything I have confided to you about the lies of the Clevan diplomats. That must wait until I am ready to announce the truth to the court and the world.”
“Very well.”
The king smiled benevolently, and took my hand in both of his.
“You are very dear to me, you and your monkey. I want you both beside me for the rest of my days.”
* * *
Tom! My dear, dear Tom! Whatever would he say? How would he advise me? For we had to decide together what my answer to the king would be. Tom was my husband-to-be; even if I married the king, I would afterwards marry Tom. The king’s life would soon end, and at that point my true happiness would begin. I had to believe that, or I would have been in despair.
When I told him all that the king had said to me, Tom listened patiently. He was thoughtful, considered. There was nothing hotheaded or rash about Tom, in that way he was completely unlike Henry Manox or Francis, both of whom had been overly quick to react to anything that seemed to threaten them.
He hugged me to him, kissing me again and again. Then he released me and, smiling, looked into my eyes, taking my hands in his.
“My dearest Catherine, nothing will ever change how much I love you, how much I will always love you.”
“Tom!” He brought tears to my eyes.
“But I think we both realize that you cannot refuse the king’s request. It is not merely a request, it is a command. He needs and desires you, therefore you must obey. He is treacherous: one moment charming and benign, the next moment cruel. Those of us in the privy chamber have seen him change suddenly, we know his moods. If you should refuse him, nothing could protect you from his wrath.
“And then there is your uncle. I think you know what he might do if he thought you were going against the Howard interests.”
I nodded, sadly. Uncle Thomas’s harshness toward those who crossed him was legendary. And I had told Tom about my grandmother’s cruelty as well, when she whipped me and shut me in the dark day after day without food or drink. Left me to die.
“There is much to be thankful for in this, Catherine. Just think! How very much better that he wants you for his wife than for his mistress! A wife is honored, a mistress is scorned by her family—indeed, she all but loses her family. You will be Queen Catherine! I shall have to bow down to you, we all will.”
And he got down on his knees and bowed low, until his head nearly touched the floor. Then he rose again, grinning.
“You will be very grand, above us all,” he went on. “You will put up with his demands and be an ornament to his life. And all the time you will think, he’s old, he’s going to die. And then I will be free.”
I tried to smile, though worry still nagged at me.
“Tom? You won’t leave me, will you? You’ll stay nearby.”
“Right at your fingertips, Catherine. Right there in the privy chamber—or wherever else he may send me. I must obey him, just as you must.”
“Please, please, never leave me.”
He took me in his arms once again, murmuring words of comfort. “It will only be a little while, sweetheart. Not long at all. Soon we will be together, pledged to one another forever, and then I will never leave you again.”
* * *
Everything changed for me that spring, the spring of the year 1540. Anna was still queen, she still appeared content with her marriage. But King Henry no longer came to her bed every night, he spent many of his evenings with me. And not a few of his nights as well, though at first only those closest to him knew that.
Our physical lovemaking was awkward. His enormous weight and bulk crushed me and when he was on top of me, grunting and straining, it was all I could do to breathe, he was so heavy. I am a very small woman. I could not help dreading his onslaughts. I prayed to be able to endure him. And often, when he struggled to attain his pleasure, the struggle was lengthy. At times he failed. And even when he succeeded—or appeared to succeed—I felt that something had gone wrong. His lovemaking was nothing like what I had known with other men. It cost him too much in effort, and when the effort was ended, there was often nothing to indicate that he had succeeded in spilling his seed inside me. Or, at most, there were only a few drops of sticky wetness left behind.
It was all I could do to keep breathing, as I have said, and to endure his reeking breath and crushing bulk. I tried to think of Tom, and to tell myself that my trials
would not last long.
I had given my consent to wed him, once he freed himself from what he called his “entanglements.” He behaved as though he was a bachelor again, and a very rich one, spending money on me daily and spoiling me with his lavish attentions.
Bishop Gardiner, who had long been opposed to King Henry’s marriage to Anna, and even more opposed to Lord Cromwell and his overweening power, made ready an entire wing of his palace for the king’s use and mine. I had apartments there, all my old belongings were moved there from Lambeth, and all my new belongings—the sumptuous new gowns the king had made for me, the chests of jewels he presented to me, Jonah’s large new cage, as tall as a man and nearly as wide, the musicians the king sent to entertain me—all arrived in the courtyard of Bishop Gardiner’s residence, and not at my grandmother’s great mansion.
The king had yet to reveal what he had discovered about the impediment to his marriage to Anna, to reveal, that is, that in actuality he was not married at all. He told me he would disclose this fact to his advisers at the right time. But I began to wonder when the right time would come, since in the queen’s household all the talk was of her coronation—a coronation that everyone said would soon take place, and Queen Anna herself was said to be full of excitement over the spectacle of her crowning.
I confess that I was tired of all the waiting and confusion—and besides, at Bishop Gardiner’s palace I had less opportunity to see Tom, and seeing Tom was very important to me—more important than anything. So I concocted a ruse. I gave a false impression. I did not exactly lie, but I did create an illusion meant to hasten my marriage to the king.
I began complaining of feeling ill, I said that my stomach hurt and that my clothes were suddenly too tight. I stuffed handkerchiefs in my underwear to make my breasts look heavier than usual. I remarked to the chamberers in Queen Anna’s household that I had not received my monthly flux for some time, knowing that they would immediately spread the word that I was with child.
Now all eyes were on my belly, especially Grandma Agnes’s critical stare. She came to the bishop’s palace and regarded me from all angles.
“Well then, is it true?”
I pretended not to understand her question. I was a good dissembler.
“Has the king given you a child?”
“I know not.”
She bristled. But her anger no longer frightened me. I was the betrothed of the king.
“Come, girl, you are no innocent! Are you with child or are you not?”
“I suppose we shall know well enough by harvest time.”
She stepped toward me, as if to slap me, but I stood my ground, stiffened my spine and glared up at her.
She hesitated, then with a smirk and a shrug she turned and left me. I was not certain whether she heard my parting words.
“Before long you will have to ask my permission to leave my presence!”
* * *
Summer arrived and I kept up my ruse. As I hoped, King Henry wanted to believe that I was carrying his child, and began clearing the “entanglements” that stood in the way of our wedding.
The first obstacle was Lord Cromwell. Suddenly and without warning, without even a trial, he was arrested and taken to the Tower, accused of treason and heresy. The fell hand of the king had been raised against him, and he was shown no mercy. While he languished in his prison, Queen Anna was removed from court, sent to the palace of Richmond. Once there she was told that her marriage to King Henry would soon be declared invalid, which must have come as a great shock to her, and an even greater shock to her mother, who, I had no doubt, was outraged.
Meanwhile I was preparing for my own wedding to come. The queen’s apartments, so recently renovated and made ready for Anna, were now made ready for me. And the members of my large household were chosen, one by one, from my lord chamberlain to my master of the horse to my chaplains and maids of honor, my yeomen and footmen and grooms, to the sumptermen who would carry my litter and the cooks, scullery boys and clerks who would govern the preparation and serving of my food.
I pretended to have difficulty in choosing all these servants and officials, plagued as I was by pains in my stomach and dizziness and the increasing tightness of my clothes. I kept up the pretense as long as I could, aided by the heat (which really was quite oppressive) and all the confusion surrounding the king’s sudden, decisive decrees. In a few fateful weeks he had swept his most powerful official from court to prison and removed his queen as well: everyone wondered who would be next, and how soon the next blow would fall.
I am happy to say that King Henry was lenient with Anna, who was made to understand that although she would no longer be queen, she would be welcome to stay on in England with the respectful title of “Sister to the King,” and her own fine houses and a generous income. Her mother, however, was required to return to Cleves, and to stay there indefinitely.
To King Henry’s great satisfaction, a convocation of more than two hundred clergymen met in July to ponder the serious matter of whether or not the royal marriage was indeed a valid one. And to hardly anyone’s surprise, they decided, after much debate and haranguing, that it was not valid. That the king and Anna had been living in sin for many months, and that the king was free to marry any suitable partner he chose.
The king could hardly wait to marry me, he seemed as eager as a boy, not a mature man, stout and potbellied, with white hairs in his beard and a balding pate. Five seamstresses worked day and night to complete my wedding gown, which was by far the most costly and elegant garment I had ever put on. It was made in the French style, with yards of flowing silver bawdkin falling in luxuriant folds over a kirtle of cloth of gold. My headdress framed my face in sparkling diamonds, at my throat was a beautiful necklace of diamonds, rubies and pearls, with a great pendant diamond as large as a walnut.
When I tried on all my finery on the day before the wedding, standing before the large pier glass in the queen’s suite at Hampton Court, the seamstresses fussing around me, it all felt foreign to me. I was not this splendidly attired young woman, about to become Queen of England. I was Catherine Howard, short and smiling, who liked to make people laugh and whose nose was too big. As Charyn used to tell me, I was the runt of the Howard litter, who could not be allowed to breed and who would never marry.
Now I was marrying in splendor, to the most highborn man in the realm.
And I would have given anything not to be going ahead with it. What if I ran away, this very night? Where would I go? How far could I run before the king’s agents came after me and found me?
But of course I could not go. I could not leave Tom.
Wild thoughts flitted through my unsettled head as I stood staring at my reflection. What would the future bring? Would I become a widow soon, as I fervently hoped? Would I be able to do all that was required of me as queen? Would my husband’s subjects accept me, and pay homage to me, or would they mutter against me and shout insults at me as they had my cousin Anne Boleyn?
I could not sleep at all, the night before the wedding. In the morning I was bleary-eyed and pale, my hands shook and my stomach rebelled. I could not eat or drink. I allowed my chamberers to adorn me, brushing out my long auburn hair so that it fell in waves down my back, dressing me in my beautiful gown, fastening the sparkling necklace around my neck, the huge pendant walnut so heavy it seemed to drag my head down.
When I was ready I took Uncle William’s arm and let him lead me into the chapel. His kind, reassuring presence steadied me. But when King Henry entered the chapel, magnificent despite his girth in silver and white, jeweled rings on every finger, a massive necklace of emeralds spilling down his chest and a jeweled cap covering his balding head, I began to tremble. For just behind the king came his privy chamber gentlemen, with Tom prominent among them.
When I saw Tom I began to cry, quietly, and Uncle William bent down to kiss my cheek, at the same time wiping my tears with his glove.
“Be brave, Catherine,” he whispered. “The
family is watching.”
And they were. Glancing around the small chapel I saw Uncle Thomas, looking very proud and smug, and Grandma Agnes, white-haired and wraith thin, and many of my cousins, aunts and uncles, even my stepmother Margaret. How I wished, in that moment, that my father had been beside me, instead of Uncle William. My dear father! Oh, how I missed him in that moment!
The ceremony was brief, the words went past my ears in a blur of sound. Standing next to the immense king, so very much taller and wider than I, a foolish happy smile on his broad face, I repeated my vows as carefully and accurately as I could, aware that my small voice shook with every word.
* * *
A few days after our wedding, King Henry took me to the site of his future palace of Nonsuch once again. We toured the grounds, noting where work had progressed. There were no buildings in place as yet, only the wooden scaffolding where some of them would one day stand. He had given orders that the high tower be completed first, and it was under way, though far from being finished. Masons were laying the stonework when we rode by, sweat pouring from their naked backs as they suffered under the hot sun.
“It won’t be long now, Catherine. Soon my tower will rise, and I will be able to come here to take refuge from my enemies. The northmen are preparing to rebel against me, my councilors say, just as they did four summers ago. If they come this far south, we’ll wait for them here, you and I.”
“I think we may need a few guardsmen. And perhaps a culverin or two.”
“Nonsuch will be well defended, I assure you. It will be the largest and strongest fortress in England one day.
“This is my dream, Catherine,” he went on after a time, in a lower tone. “This place, with you beside me. In you my dear love has come back to me, you know. My blessed one. My Jocasta. In you her sad loss will be redeemed, when you bear me a son. A boy to replace the one she lost, all those years ago.”
“I—I’m no longer certain that there is a child within me,” I confessed. “It may have passed from me.”
The Unfaithful Queen: A Novel of Henry VIII's Fifth Wife Page 17