“But if he does something that is wrong… or against the will of God…”
Frances considered this throughout the day.
That evening she questioned her mother. “How can my uncle be wrong? He is the King. It is the lady who is cruel in separating the Queen from the Princess.”
Her mother looked as though she would argue but thought it wasn’t worth her time.
“You’ll understand one day.”
Chapter Three
1529-1530
Her mother was still not invited back to court. The continued punishment made Mary short-tempered. At the same time, she doubled down on her belief that she was right and, therefore, was suffering like any other martyr. It was through her father and visitors that they received any news.
The Pope was not being swayed to side with the King. As the continued guest of Emperor Charles, the Queen’s nephew, he was hardly about to declare against her.
The King’s growing frustration by the Pope’s continued delays and Campeggio’s stalling left people afraid of what he might do.
“She’s given him books to read,” Charles confided to his wife.
Frances, who was sitting with her mother, gazed up from her sewing and looked with interest between her parents.
“So?” Mary seemed uninterested but Frances knew her father wouldn’t have mentioned it unless it was important.
“Some might call them heretical but the King finds them intriguing.”
“Why?”
“They agree with his logic.”
“Of course they do! Why would she let him get his hands on anything that doesn’t make him seem to be in the right?”
“Bishop Fisher is fighting for the Queen. He and other men are to stand as her legal representatives and advisors.”
“They dare?” Mary gasped.
“Yes, braver men than me.” Frances saw her father’s shoulders slump in defeat.
There was silence after that. Mary had made her feelings known multiple times. But they had already faced the King’s wrath a few times and had paid a heavy price. They would leave the debating to the religious men of the realm.
“My mother has written to me.” Katherine had run up to her wide eyed and pensive.
Frances gave her friend her full attention.
“She says the King has decided to go ahead with the trial and that we should pray for the Queen.”
“She dared to write this to you?” Frances snatched the letter out of her hands.
Katherine shrugged. “Everyone knows she is my mother’s dearest friend. Even if she did not write to me everyone knows her thoughts already.”
“Alright, well it’s a nice day, perhaps we can go riding today.”
“The dance master is coming in the afternoon to teach us a new dance,” Katherine reminded her.
“What does it matter if we never return to court?”
“We will.”
Sometimes Katherine’s blind faith surprised her but also cowed Frances, for she was reminded of her own imperfect faith.
“I think I shall go to the chapel and pray as my mother bids me to do.”
“My mother will accuse you of becoming a nun,” Frances warned.
“You are joking!” Katherine was frowning. In her mother’s household, piety had been encouraged and there was no such thing as showing too much outward faith.
“Not at all. You know how she is. A lady must be entertaining and ready to laugh. She often says I am a lost cause. After all, I have neither trait and no beauty either.”
“You are healthy and strong — and pretty when you smile.”
Frances scoffed, a hand went up to the mark on her shoulder. “But not as beautiful as the women of my family.”
“You act as though beauty is the only thing that matters in life.”
“Only for those who aren’t beautiful. No one will write poetry to me or pass my love tokens.” Frances was entering one of her self-pitying moods. She thought of Eleanor, who grew prettier by the day. She was fair and delicate — just like their mother. Frances had to confess weekly to the sin of jealousy.
“That would be improper. It is better to live a life of virtue.”
Frances rolled her eyes. Her friend could be so worldly and serious sometimes. “It’s nothing but courtly love.”
She stood. “Well, let’s say a prayer for the Queen and then go riding,” she compromised, pulling Katherine along.
Parliament was not disbanded that summer, much to the ire of the lords who could not leave the stifling city for their cool country estates. Frances had begged her father to accompany him to court to witness the trial. He was in a dark mood and refused.
At length her mother also insisted she go.
“And take Katherine Willoughby with you, she can keep Frances company.”
At this point, he knew he couldn’t argue.
“You might be able to attend the trial as well. If you just wrote to your brother.”
“I already wrote to him but I will not… I cannot support what he asks of me.”
“Take care not to anger him further.”
“I am not a fool.” Frances did not miss the way her mother gazed her way at that.
Court had moved from Westminster to the more modern Bridewells Palace. It was conveniently connected to Blackfriars where the trial would take place.
The city was abuzz with gossip. Most were supportive of the Queen, but they did not place any bets on her winning. With the trial, the city also saw an influx of people. If her father wasn’t a favorite of the King, he wouldn’t have had a place to sleep at court.
Frances found herself walking into the Queen’s rooms at Baynard’s Castle with Katherine following at her heel. The younger girl was intimidated by the clergy and great men of the realm present. Not wanting to show her own discomfort, Frances walked with purpose and did not gape at the rooms which had turned into a study.
Among all these scholars was the Queen, dressed in a harsh black gown. It was still richly embroidered with silver thread and her fingers were heavily jeweled with many rings.
They received the briefest of acknowledgements as they entered. Frances sat among the other ladies, asking Anne Hastings when the trial would actually take place.
“Not for another week now.” Anne Hastings bit her lip. “Can you imagine what she must be feeling? Poor lady.”
Frances looked to her aunt, but she did not see a poor woman. She saw a woman who had decided to stand up for her rights and take the brave step of defying her husband openly.
For two days they endured a miserable existence. There was no fun to be had at court. No one danced in the evenings, no one played bowls in the gardens or took out a deck of cards. As if sensing it would be inappropriate, no one dared call for music.
Then, in the upper chamber of the castle, the Queen made a formal appeal to Rome.
Frances watched from the sidelines as her aunt proclaimed that she could not get a full trial here in England and wished the Pope to take the trial of her marriage on himself. He would be her judge and no other. This she swore before two notaries and several clerks who recorded every word.
After this, she retired to her bedchamber. Here, she was no longer the strong woman but looked every bit like a woman who had aged before her time. Her face seemed more lined than ever. She slumped in her chair, and, though they placed heavy blankets on her, she still shivered.
“He will be angry with me,” she whispered this as Frances began removing her headdress.
She didn’t have to say who, nor did Frances have any words of comfort for her. Yes, Frances could imagine his anger, and, for that very reason, she had taken to pretending she was elsewhere.
Soon, this trial would be done and the court would return to its old ways of merrymaking.
At last, the King opened Parliament. The Parliament Chamber for the trial had been meticulously prepared. Frances had seen for herself the pages of the wardrobe running back and forth, carrying heavy cl
oth, cushions and hangings. It was lucky for them that the storehouse was so close.
On the day of her trial, the Queen had awoken early, bathed in a steaming hot bath and was dressed with meticulous care by the most senior of her ladies.
Frances watched each item being draped over her aunt. Each layer was another layer of armor, each jewel a weapon. She looked every bit the royal Queen that she was.
In her head, she went over what would happen today.
They would process into the court as part of a great retinue of lords and ladies. No less than four bishops were to enter with the Queen and several leading theologians. Frances had not seen much of her father leading up to the trial, but she knew he would be there. Her mother had told her she wished to know everything that was happening and so Frances tried to memorize every little detail.
Finally, it was time and Catherine seemed to have turned to stone as she led the procession to the court. They arranged themselves by order of precedence, the bishops walking immediately behind the Queen, then the lords and ladies.
Frances jockeyed for position. She was the daughter of a duke and had royal blood in her veins. She procured a spot for Katherine as well. She needed her friend by her side.
As they entered, it was clear that the councilors and judges were shocked by the Queen’s personal appearance. Frances looked to the empty throne on the right and saw that the King had sent a proxy rather than come himself.
Instead of taking her seat on the smaller throne on the left, she approached the judges sitting frozen in their seats. Cardinal Wolsey seemed exasperated.
Bishop Fisher handed her a piece of paper, which Frances recognized as the written proclamation she had made earlier protesting that the Cardinals did not have the jurisdiction to judge the validity of her marriage. This was something she left for Pope Clement.
Campeggio and Wolsey conferred with each other. It did not take them long to reach a response. They decided to delay yet again.
“We shall consider your protestation and respond in kind, in three days,” Wolsey spoke. From the way he fidgeted in his seat, it was clear he was trying very hard to keep his frustration at bay.
“Very well, my lords,” Catherine bowed.
They all processed back out again. Frances wondered what this had all been for, but it seemed the Queen had won herself something precious — time.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Katherine whispered to her as they walked back to the Queen’s rooms in a much less formal manner.
“That was just the first day,” Frances said knowingly. “My father says it shall last several days if not weeks.”
“Oh.”
The next time they went to court, things were much more formal. The King had attended himself. He was sitting in his throne under the cloth of estate. The Queen took her own seat and Frances along with the other ladies retreated to the back of the room, past the clerks and the members of parliament standing judge. Once everyone appeared to have settled down and take their appointed spots, the court crier called for silence.
Frances struggled to see what was being done and said. But she knew that the King had been called, for he stood up from his throne and called out “Here, my lords!”
He said a few words. Something along the lines of the fact he only questioned his marriage for the benefit of the realm. The Cardinals then also spoke in turn.
Frances frowned. No mention was made of Anne Boleyn, but was she not the reason behind these proceedings?
Then the crier called for the Queen. All eyes zeroed in on her. What she did next shocked Frances.
In a loud clear voice that even she could hear in the back, she denounced the Cardinals, appealing once more to Rome. To Henry, she had few words to say, but they were cutting.
“It seems your soul has burdened for a very long time, my lord. If there ever was a time for you to speak, now — after twenty years of marriage — was not the time.”
This had enraged Henry as she knew it must have. He rebuked her arguments.
“Are you not the Queen of England? Are you not safe here? You appeal to Rome but you know perfectly well of the influence your nephew has there,” he all but spat. Frances flinched from his rage though he was far away. “I would desire nothing more than for our marriage to be declared valid.”
Following this, the Queen stepped down from the dais.
Frances thought she was leaving the court, but, instead, she went around the court and barriers set up and knelt before the King. She could not see her aunt any more but could picture her prostrating herself before her beloved husband.
The voice that carried across the hall was cracking under the weight of the emotion with which she spoke.
“I beseech you…” she began. The rest was lost to Frances as she was pushed further back by the crowd.
At length the Queen rose up, but, instead of returning to her seat, she proceeded out of the Parliament Chamber.
Frances tried to push her way to her.
The court crier was demanding her return, but the Queen paid him no attention. She did not falter. Frances turned to the King who was urging the court crier to summon her back. His face was red with fury.
Applause was heard as the Queen walked past the common people who had packed in to watch the proceedings.
Frances slept in the maid’s chambers that night so she could gather as much gossip as she could. She could hardly question the Queen herself on what had been said.
It was Mary Norris who had all the news.
“He gave her permission to appeal to Rome.”
“No, he didn’t,” another girl contradicted her.
“Not in so many words no, but he might as well have.” Mary Norris shrugged.
“He said he loved her and wished for their marriage to be declared valid, so why wouldn’t he agree to appeal to Rome.” Frances agreed with her.
“Why do this at all then?” Lucy Talbot was confused.
Frances wanted to roll her eyes. “Because…”
She was cut off by Mary Norris who always thought she was so clever. “He wants to set her aside, if the marriage is indeed invalid. The King must have an heir. A male heir. Everyone says the Queen is too old now.”
Frances rewarded her daring with a pinch. “You cannot say such things. It’s disloyal to the Queen.”
After this daring escapade of the Queen’s, her father had her and Katherine sent for. They arrived at his rooms to find him instructing his master of horse to arrange for an escort.
“Are we leaving father?” Frances asked, curtseying to him.
“You shall be,” he nodded to the man to go about his business before turning to her. “It would be better if you returned to your mother’s side for now.”
“But why?”
He looked exasperated but was nice enough to humor her rather than forcing her to obey blindly. “The Queen will not appear in court anymore, and, after her stunt today, I would rather you aren’t seen in her rooms serving her all the time. The King is furious. I would rather avoid bringing down his wrath on our heads. Understood?”
“Yes, Father.” Frances looked away.
She didn’t quite understand but all these politics were beyond her.
Westhorpe Hall was stifling. There was nowhere to go for privacy as people filled the corridors seeking an audience with the Duchess.
Frances took to riding in the shaded forests whenever she could get away. Katherine following along obediently. On rare occasions, Eleanor joined them too, though Frances made sure to let her sister know she wasn’t welcome.
Her mother was reaching the end of her patience. She had become as nervous and anxious as a colt. The Tudor stubborn streak was still refusing to let her back down. It didn’t help that her father was pressuring her to make further amends with the King.
When news reached them that the King had banished his wife from court and declared Wolsey a traitor, she finally relented.
The trial had indeed been adjourned to Rome, b
ut that spelled disaster for the Queen and many others. The King was now threatening to break with Rome completely.
Frances knew her father was now truly wavering in his secret support of the Queen. Why couldn’t she have just taken the veil and helped to resolve this matter quickly?
In early November, their whole great household set out to travel to London. Even her brother Henry joined them from his estates where he was ruling his Earldom through the help of his father’s advisors.
She took this opportunity to tease Katherine about her future husband.
“He’s such a child,” she sniggered.
“He will grow.” Katherine had seemed unconcerned.
“Well, I wouldn’t put up with being engaged to a child. I hope now my father will arrange a brilliant match for me.”
Frances was not as certain of this as she had been in years prior. On top of this, she knew her father and mother were distracted by other matters. In her heart, she doubted they thought much of her lately.
They traveled to Greenwich but found that the King was set to depart to his new home of York Place. Her father told them that the King had taken possession of all of Wolsey’s estates and property. He looked pointedly at her mother as if to say “See what happens?”
Mary Tudor tried to look unperturbed, but it stiffened her resolve to get in the King’s good graces again.
They traveled to York Place on horseback, which made their journey less pleasant than if they had taken a barge, but, at length, they reached the renovated gatehouse.
The splendor of the residence was evident immediately from the stone workmanship decorating the exterior. Frances spotted Wolsey’s crest etched strikingly over the key stone. The four leopards seemed to stare at them as they passed underneath. The lion in the center struck a pose, while above two birds perched and finally a Rose on top of it all — a nod to his royal master.
She wondered how long this crest would stay in place. Surely, the King wished to erase all memory of his bad advisor. Everything seemed strangely new. From the chapel garden, to the storehouses and the extensions obviously still in progress.
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