The Last Wífe of Henry VIII

by Carolly Erickson

  Tom was annoyed with me for I had told him, shortly after the incident in Elizabeth’s bedchamber, that I would not give him any more money and had instructed my comptroller to put new locks on all the chests of coins and all my jewelry boxes and had sent letters out to the bankers I dealt with informing them that from now on they were to extend credit to no one, not even my husband, in my name.

  The incident in Elizabeth’s bedroom had caused a considerable stir in my household and among the waiting women and other servants. They had seen Tom entering Elizabeth’s bedchamber before, and had witnessed him tickling the princess in her bed. They had heard her shrieks of laughter and had been embarrassed. Nothing sexual had happened—or so I was assured. Only impropriety—extreme impropriety—and, of course, humiliation for me, as the gossip quickly spread and I was put to shame.

  “Can’t you see, Cat, we’ve got to jolly the princess out of her sullen mood,” Tom said when I confronted him after we had settled in at Hanworth. “We need her on our side in the struggle against my brother. I was merely trying to joke with her. I admit I played on her infatuation, but that was all part of the plan to win her over. She wants to act the part of a woman but she’s still a child underneath her pose of being all grown up and haughty.”

  I dismissed his words with a wave of my hand. “Henry was right about her. She’s the Witch’s Brat all right. A temptress. I’m not having her in my house a day longer.”

  “Please, Cat, just give me one more chance before you give up on her. Let’s go and see her together, you and I. Talk with her. Find out why she has been acting in such an unfriendly way toward you—and an overly friendly way toward me. If she sees us together, sees how much we love each other and that we both want what is best for her, I know things will change.”

  At first I refused, but gradually Tom wore me down by his insistence. All we had to do, he said, was go together to find Elizabeth and talk to her. Then everything would be well again.

  We came upon her in the garden of Hanworth on a warm afternoon. Despite the heat of the sun she was dressed as always in her high-necked black mourning gown, a wide-brimmed hat protecting her delicate complexion.

  She frowned as we approached.

  “Hey-ho, milady,” Tom said in a light tone as we came up to her. “Such a dark face! It’s me! It’s your uncle Tom!”

  “And his clinging wife.” I cringed at the ugliness of her words. Tom put his arm around me.

  “Surely you can find a kinder welcome for my beloved Catherine, who as you know has been ill.” When she said nothing he reached for Elizabeth’s hand, seized it and attempted to press her unwilling palm to my bulging belly.

  “Feel it, Elizabeth. Feel our baby kicking.”

  Wrenching her hand away, she attempted to slap Tom, but he was too quick for her. He caught her hand again in midair and glared at her.

  “You will obey me this instant. You will put your hand on the queen’s belly, and feel our child kick.” He released her hand.

  Very slowly, and without looking at me, Elizabeth began to reach toward me. She let her hand rest against my gown for the merest instant, then pulled it away.

  “I feel nothing,” she shouted. “The baby is dead!”

  His face reddening with fury, Tom drew a knife from his belt and raised it over Elizabeth’s head.

  “You would not kill me,” she murmured. “You like me too much.”

  Her words unleashed a fresh burst of anger. With a savagery I had not known he possessed Tom began slashing at Elizabeth’s black gown with his long-bladed knife, cutting great tears in her skirt, ripping away at the yielding cloth until it lay in ribbonlike shards on the grass. The princess stood where she was, her eyes tightly shut, her arms held straight down at her sides, unable to move. Tom began circling her, slicing at the wide sleeves of the gown, cutting it until it split at the back and even ripping at the high neck of black silk so that it fell open and gaped wide over the helpless girl’s heaving chest.

  Something came over me then, a horrible feeling, a feeling I had never known before. In that moment I hated Elizabeth as I had never hated anyone, not Bishop Gardiner, not King Henry, not Thomas Burgh or any of the others who had used me cruelly. I hated Elizabeth with the pure, fiery hatred of jealousy.

  I grabbed her arms from behind and restrained her so that she could not escape while Tom cut away the rest of her gown and most of her underskirts and even her stiff undergarments. His face, as he cut and slashed, was not the face of the man I loved, but someone quite different, someone quite alien to me. There came into my mind the horrible story I had once heard from Catherine Howard, of Tom’s rape of a woman and murder of her husband.

  Elizabeth had begun to sob, but I felt no pity for her, only an overpowering desire to join Tom in his frenzy of destruction. I slashed at what remained of the princess’s clothing with my fingernails, tearing and ripping until the blood came. Was it my blood or hers? I wondered, beyond caring, merely curious. My nails were all but gone, yet I clawed on, baring the girl’s thighs and belly, leaving only the scantiest of covering for her modesty.

  “Stop, I beg of you, stop!” she yelled. “I’ll be good! I promise! I’m sorry Uncle Tom!” Suddenly finding her strength, Elizabeth freed herself from my grasp and ran, calling out Mistress Ashley’s name as she went and leaving behind her a heap of black scraps, fluttering gently in the warm air, stretching out like long snakelike fingers across the immaculate green lawn.

  51

  I SENT ELIZABETH AWAY, OF COURSE. I HAD TO. I KNEW THAT SHE WOULD be well looked after at Cheshunt, and in the meantime I would be unburdened of her and able to bear my child in peace.

  Dr. Van Huick said the baby would be born in August, and time was growing short. Tom wanted him to be born at Sudeley. So we left Hanworth for Sudeley, and once there I busied myself overseeing the preparation of the nursery, while Tom drilled his soldiers and inspected the store of arms and provisions he was amassing in the basement of the castle.

  “Our boy will come into the world in a season of war, Cat. In a fortress, surrounded by men at arms. He will be a warrior, tough and strong.”

  He put his hand on my belly and waited until he felt the baby kick. Then he smiled at me. “Ah yes, Cat. You’ve made a warrior there.”

  Tom’s talk of warfare alarmed me. Will had warned me that Tom was becoming more and more rash in his ambitious plans to become Edward’s guardian and replace his brother as the most powerful man in the realm. Now I saw that he intended to gather his forces and strike—and soon. But when I asked him about what he was doing, he was evasive.

  “It’s better for you to know as little as possible of my designs, Cat,” he said. “I would not have you put at risk.” It irked him, I knew, that I had decided not to give him any more money. But I sensed no resentment in his attitude toward me. Indeed he seemed cheerful, even lighthearted, as he busied himself overseeing the building of carts and the buying of horses to pull them, the storing of extra hay in our barns and the work of the dozen German armorers he had installed in one of the outbuildings, their hammering and clanking a constant background sound as the summer wore on.

  At Dr. Van Huick’s insistence I rested for several hours each day, conserving my strength for my delivery to come, and when not resting I sewed blankets and gowns and caps for the baby and visited the nursery, doing my best to ignore the increasing commotion around me.

  It was, as Tom remarked, a nursery fit for a prince. I spared no expense in buying a cradle of polished wood, carved with figures of mythical beasts, lions and unicorns and winged horses, and I had an Italian craftsman make a small thronelike chair of estate for our child with cushions of cloth of gold that gleamed in the candlelight. There were chests and wardrobes for the baby’s bedding and tiny garments, a gold basin for his bath, rocking chairs for his nursemaids and pieces of coral for him to chew on when he cut his first teeth. I hung a gold cross over his cradle and hung miniatures of his grandparents on the wall, suspended fro
m velvet ribbons. Beautiful large tapestries depicting the twelve months of the year adorned the room, along with a terracotta bust of an angel, serene and smiling, one graceful hand outstretched in blessing, her wide wings unfurled.

  As a final enhancement to the room I blended an aromatic oil from jasmine and lily and orange blossoms and had my servants pour a few drops onto a large pomander each day, so that the air was always fresh with the delicious scent.

  Only a few more weeks, I told myself. Only a few more weeks and then this lively little kicking child inside of me will be born and resting here in this room, warm and content and in my arms.

  I let this lovely thought take possession of me, as much as I could, while outside in the courtyard and outbuildings of the castle the noise and activity continued to build. By day there was the sound of tramping feet and whinnying horses, the clopping of hooves and the creak and scrape of carts coming and going. By night the torchlit castle was heavily guarded, with soldiers wearing Tom’s new livery of yellow and green standing, pikes held across their chests, keeping watch during the hours of darkness. There were cannon being brought up from the south, from the two foundries Tom now owned, and placed on the ramparts. New stables were being built in haste for the horses that arrived each day, with quarters for the grooms and, in the distance, an exercise yard that stretched on and on.

  I could not even guess how many soldiers there were at Sudeley—certainly hundreds, perhaps even thousands. I told myself that this was surely not possible, yet when I looked out over the castle ramparts and saw the men standing together in clusters, or waiting in long lines for their food or marching in groups along the cliffs that overlooked the riverbank, their numbers seemed to me very large indeed. And always Tom was in the midst of them, shouting orders, directing servants and carters, waving on newcomers arriving along the dusty road.

  Will came, fresh from court, and brought us news that the king was very ill.

  “All is in confusion once again,” he told Tom and me. “There are rumors of poison.”

  “There are always rumors of poison when a king is ill,” Tom said dismissively. “But everyone knows Edward has been sickly since he was a child. There is nothing any poisoner could do to him that his own body won’t do to itself before long.”

  “You are cold,” I said to my husband. “I thought you loved Edward.”

  “Of course I am fond of him. But this is a time for action, not for putting on long faces because the king is weak and likely to die. The question is, who will save the realm from collapse?”

  With the news of Edward’s worsening condition, the activity at Sudeley became heightened. Water from the river was collected and stored in barrels. Chests of candles and lanterns were brought to a central storeroom where they could be given out in case of need. The sound of musket fire seemed never to cease—the men were practicing their shooting on a hastily improvised range on the hill behind the castle. Stores of corn, flour and salted fish, casks of wine and freshly brewed beer were hauled from place to place and, as it was harvest-time and our fields were ripe, laborers were brought in from the surrounding villages to help our tenants in bringing in the crops.

  Meanwhile I counted the days until my baby was due to be born, and Dr. Van Huick came to see me each day and feel my belly.

  “This is no place for you,” the doctor said one day toward the end of August. “You should be in a quiet country house, not in the middle of an armed camp.”

  I passed on the doctor’s remark to Tom at the end of a long hot day. He was in my bedchamber, stretched out on a pile of cushions, a tankard of beer at his elbow. He took a long draught from the tankard and looked at me.

  “You will soon have all the quiet you need. We march south in two days’ time.” He looked at me steadily. “We cannot wait any longer.”

  “But Tom, can you not wait until after the baby is born? Must it be so soon?”

  “The child is vital to my plans. He will be born when I and my men have seized the capital. I intend for him to be the next king.”

  “But how—but surely—” I shook my head in disbelief. No words would come.

  “Edward is clearly too weak to rule any longer. If he dies so much the better. I intend to force Parliament to heed my authority and declare our son to be Edward’s successor.”

  “But what of Princess Mary, and Elizabeth?”

  “Mary would never be accepted as queen. The realm is no longer in thrall to the pope, and would not accept a Catholic queen. As for Elizabeth—” He shrugged dismissively. “She is only a girl still. She has no army, and no time to build one. Besides, she will support me when I command Parliament. She is too attached to me to do otherwise.” The cynical smile that spread across his face was chilling. “No one will dare oppose me, Cat. Not even my hateful brother. Now, at last, we will see who is the stronger. Once and for all, we will see.”

  I wanted to urge Tom not to carry out his rash scheme, to think of all that could go wrong. I wanted to say, “Spare me, spare our child.” But I knew he would not listen. And my heart was pounding and the baby had begun fluttering in my belly. My limbs felt heavy. It was all I could do to get into bed and lie there, full of anxiety over what Tom had told me yet unable to do anything to prevent what was to come.

  The fate of the realm was in other hands than mine, I told myself. I was powerless. My task was to deliver my son. I prayed for strength to do what I could, and for the king, and that God in his mercy would guide Tom and those who followed him.

  Exhausted and sick at heart, I went to sleep.

  52

  WHEN I AWOKE THE MOON WAS RISING BRIGHT AND FULL OVER THE hills behind the castle, a yellow harvest moon that illuminated everything in its path. Watchfires had been lit and a cordon of guardsmen was, as usual, in place around the castle walls which glowed golden in the moonlight. The air was still. Other than the occasional whicker of a horse and the calls of the watchmen to one another, I heard no sound.

  Then, in the distance, came the muffled noise of hoofbeats on the road. A rider was galloping toward us, his swift pace a clear signal of alarm.

  I heard shouting as the rider came closer, and urged his gasping, panting horse up the last steep incline of the road. From the courtyard came the sound of running feet and a clamor of voices. I could not tell what they were saying. I sent one of the bedchamber servants to find out what was happening. Shortly afterwards the girl returned, red-faced and out of breath.

  “Oh milady! They say the men are coming from London! The Protector’s men! Oh I’m sorry milady but I can’t stay here. It’s not safe!” And turning swiftly in the doorway she was gone.

  I had a sudden urge to follow her—but knew that in my condition I could barely waddle across the room, much less run to safety somewhere outside the castle. I called for the guardsmen who normally kept watch in the corridor outside my bedchamber but there was no sign of them. Was everyone deserting me? Where were the rest of my women? Where were my grooms? Where was Tom?

  Then I heard Tom’s voice, clear and masterful, in the courtyard below, mustering the men and sending them here and there. I felt reassured. Tom was in command. All would be well.

  I sat in the window embrasure, watching the going and coming of men in the courtyard, glad to see that, although many servants were leaving the castle, scrambling down the hillside dragging sacks full of their possessions, the soldiers stayed where they were and did as they were told.

  After half an hour or so there came a lull, and then, all of a sudden, a renewed outburst of shouting, and the boom of a cannon from our ramparts—a boom so loud and powerful that it shook the walls.

  I looked out the window and saw, along the road, a line of men, their armor gleaming in the bright moonlight. They were coming toward the castle, in their hundreds, many of them, so many! I heard their guncarts rattling, the tramping of their boots. I could make out the royal banners of the house of Tudor waving at their head. On and on they came, rank on rank in seemingly endless ar
ray. I heard the boom of cannon once again from our ramparts and felt the floor shake under me.

  Where could I go to be safe?

  At the sound of the cannon the oncoming men scattered, running to the edges of the road and off onto the verges. The firing cannon seemed to quicken them into greater haste, and they loped closer, tramping across the fields, crushing the new-mown hay, the closest of them beginning to climb our hill.

  Musketfire came from the courtyard and I had to put my hands over my ears.

  I heard a shouted voice behind me.

  “Come away from the window, Cat. Put out those candles. Quick, come with me.” I felt two warm hands close over my cold ones.

  “Will! Oh, Will, I’m so glad to see you! Where is Tom? I heard him down in the courtyard with the men, but that was long ago. Why isn’t he here?”

  “If we are to survive the night, Tom had better be where he is, up by the drawbridge, defending the castle. I hope to God he’s as good at fighting as he is at boasting about it.”

  Seizing a lantern, Will led me along a dark corridor to a narrow spiral staircase. I started to climb it, hampered by my large ungainly body. I was very awkward and very slow.

  “I can’t. I’m stuck.”

  “You must. I’ll push you.”

  Clinging to the iron railing and losing my footing often, my fear increasing as I rose higher into the darkness, with Will shoving me quite indecently from behind I managed to ascend into a very small room at the top of the tower. Will soon joined me, the light from his lantern revealing a space hardly big enough for a cot and a bench. Tiny barred windows high up in the old stone walls let in cold air.

  It had taken all my strength to haul myself up the staircase. I sank down onto the cot, panting and gasping. A sudden loud boom shook the room and brought dust down from the ceiling onto me, making me cough. Then there was a terrific crash.