by G Lawrence
A terrible thought was dawning in my mind. Like a cursed fog it crept. I tried hard to banish it, but it crawled over me, consuming my thoughts.
Henry was going to keep mistresses. No matter how much that hurt or how little I could understand it, that was the truth. If this was inevitable, it would be better to have one of my supporters in his bed rather than an enemy. A terrible, painful thought, rising like a blood red sun over the desert, dawned; I had to place someone in Henry’s bed… someone who would speak for me.
I had to become a whoremaster, in order to keep my husband’s love.
Chapter Fifteen
Greenwich Palace
December 1534
“It falls to the King to decide these matters,” I said to Cromwell as he showed me his plans. Henry was to make Cromwell the Vicar-General of England, invested with the power to investigate religious houses. This was a new post, created by Henry, and its purpose was to bring his Church in line. I supported the notion. Poor practices would be abolished, dissenters would be rooted out, and reform would begin in earnest. It was the revolution we had been seeking, and finally Henry had agreed to move forward with it.
“But for my part,” I went on, “I am in favour of this examination. I would have our Church stand against corruption and it would seem many religious orders have fallen into sins, that by their very existence, they should oppose.”
I looked from the window. Snow was falling… a wide, white blanket of glittering light. Evergreens had been gathered from the parks and the halls of court had transformed into a forest of twisted ivy and shining, verdant holly. Robins hopped over the frosted earth, their red breasts brilliant against the white sheets of winter. Old gossips claimed that a robin had pulled a thorn from Christ’s crown in pity, and thus had stained his breast, marking his ancestors as the blessed of God. Their presence that day made me think that the Almighty was watching us, and approved of our plans.
The sun was barely visible over the last line of shadowy trees. Sullen mist crept across the parks. The trees were bare, and through the empty avenues of the forests, the song of birds and call of wild beasts could be heard clear and sharp. Life was waiting, under the cover of snow, waiting for a chance to break free, to unfurl frozen leaves and stand strong once more. I wondered if I was doing the same… hiding under a blanket of brash confidence, masking my true nature with shadows and lies. If ever there was a time to break free, it was now. If ever there was a time to stand strong, I would stand for my faith.
Cromwell nodded. “I believe the same, Majesty,” he said smoothly. “And you are right that His Majesty has the final say. But I brought this to you so your good opinion may stand with mine when these matters are presented to the King. His Majesty wishes to believe his clergy are the best of all men, but you and I are aware of their corruption.”
“It saddens me,” I said, turning from the window. “But I have long suspected that the Bishop of Rome and his cardinals have encouraged the pursuit of earthly pleasures amongst the clergy. It is no more a place where men and women go because they have a true, spiritual vocation, but a place they are bundled off to if there are too many children in one household, or if they desire a life of ease. You have my support, Cromwell. I would have this country become a great leader in all matters spiritual and temporal, and with His Majesty now assured as the spiritual head of the Church, I see greatness coming from his hand to heal this nation and all others.”
Cromwell smiled. “We think alike, Majesty,” he said. “And when a prince is born and the royal nursery is filled with legitimate heirs, the whole world will see God’s beneficence shining on England.”
Cromwell was in some ways so unassuming. He seemed to blend into the background with the skill of a creature born to camouflage. But in other ways he was so forceful, so skilled in getting people to understand his cause and his will. I wanted so badly to trust in others. My circle of supporters was smaller since I had assumed the crown.
I wanted a friend.
I licked my dry lips. “I believe we have a good understanding of each other,” I said slowly. “You and I dedicate ourselves to the same offices in support of reform and rejuvenation.”
He bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
“I wonder if I may talk to you about a matter most delicate,” I said. “I wonder sometimes who a queen may trust?”
“Your Majesty,” he said. “I am your servant, and that of the King.”
“The King finds the need to have… company,” I said, blushing. “There are rumours that one of his present companions was brought to court through your offices.”
I had heard this not long ago, from Bess Holland. Like many men in Henry’s service, Cromwell was rumoured to have helped his master procuring jades, Joanna Dingley amongst them.
Cromwell was not one to betray emotions, but his eyes grew wary. “Your Majesty,” he said, but I held up my hand. It shook. Glistening rings of emerald and diamond shimmered in the sunlight.
“Please…” I said. “It was brought to my attention that the company you provided for the King during my pregnancy was, if not a friend to me, not important enough to become an enemy. If you did have a hand in that matter, I would say to you that I understand the choice was careful and made in order to help me. And however much it might hurt to know that my husband is unfaithful, I would thank you for your care and caution.” I stared into his eyes. “You were trying to help me, I think… You provided a woman who was no threat to me.”
His face was a mask, but a little glint in his eyes betrayed that this was indeed the case. He nodded.
I felt a rush of anger flow into my blood and I crushed it. The world was not as I wanted it to be, but that was not Cromwell’s fault. If he had supplied Dingley for Henry, he had done so smoothly and carefully. He had protected my honour, tried to keep the unpleasant truth from me, supplied Henry’s needs and ensured that the selected girl was no serious contender for Henry’s affections. In a deeply unpleasant affair, he had done well. Dingley had been meek and mild, and although I worried about her connections to Norfolk, it was clear she was no menace. The same was not true of the parrot. The Imperial Lady, as she was known about court was a true threat to my position.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “There was an office that needed to be done, and I tried to ensure the best outcome.” He paused. “You are, and will always be the King’s greatest and only love,” he said, his voice scarred with something akin to admiration
I nodded, tears leapt to my eyes and I dashed them away. “You did well, even if I could not see it at the time,” I said. “But Mistress Perrot is a different matter.”
“I had nothing to do with her coming to court, Majesty,” Cromwell rushed to say. “She was brought by Carewe, for he knew of His Majesty’s past affection for her.”
So that was who had brought the parrot to a new cage. Carewe. I was not surprised. The man despised me. I wondered if he had coached her… told her not only how to draw Henry to her again, but groomed her to oppose me. If so, the parrot was even more dangerous than I had thought. She had to go. I had to play Carewe at his own filthy little game.
I braced myself. What I was about to do went against all my natural instincts. I had done many things I was not proud of, and this was one of them.
“My cousin, Mary Shelton, is a vibrant young lady,” I said, my voice shaking. “Her family are devoted to reform, and loyal to me. I was wondering if the King might have exhausted the pleasures of company and conversation with his last friend, and might be persuaded to keep company with another?”
Cromwell regarded me with steady eyes. There was sympathy in those dark tunnels, mingled with relief. Clearly he had feared I would eventually discover he had brought Dingley to court. I thought back to the day I had exploded at Henry and blushed. That must have been just the kind of scene Cromwell had tried to avoid, and I had been too foolish, too much a girl still lost in fantasies of love, to understand.
He nodded slowly. “I wi
ll see to your request with all delicacy,” he said. “I would add, Your Majesty, some are brought to the crown by virtue of blood. Some, such as you, were born to wear it, by virtue of courage and strength.” His eyes gleamed against the amber candlelight. “I am your most humble servant… and admirer.”
“You admire me for setting aside the fantasy of love and devotion?” I asked, shaking my head. “Do not flatter me for this, Cromwell. It is no virtue. I ask this of you only because I am forced to. This is not the way I would have my life, or my marriage.”
“In recognising necessity, my lady, and setting it above our most ardent wishes, a soul shows itself wise.”
“I wonder if wisdom ever keeps company with joy.”
As he bowed, I rested my hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “You have my admiration too… Thomas,” I said. “You are a good friend.”
“So shall I always be, to you, madam, or may God strike me down.”
*
As we marched towards Christmas, I found myself often wrapped in my furs, walking in the gardens. The world was silver. Paths crackled beneath my feet and birds warbled in the desolate trees. A still hush had fallen, transforming the glory of autumn into the graceful death of winter.
In the parks, Henry’s servants hunted wood pigeon with nets and arrows. Maids in the kitchens plucked the pearl-grey birds, loosing plumes of soft feathers into the air, like snowflakes, and gathering them to stuff mattresses and cushions. The birds were made into pies, or roasted on the spit, coated in ginger and honey, and brought to our tables each night.
Curlews sang, pausing only to dip their bills into the muddy tracks along the Thames. Geese flew into England, honking and jostling on the waterways, and scaring young children who sought to poke them with long sticks. Wild falcons, their feathers lapis and slate, glittering against the faded skies, swooped upon prey like arrows. Shrews bustled in the hedgerows, their long noses rooting through the dead leaf litter for insects.
I relished the cold, the breathtaking chilled air and the beauty that surrounded me. My women did not. It was their duty to follow wherever I went, but they did not welcome my morning walks. I tried to interest Purkoy in accompanying me, but although he was, at first, quite excited about the snow, and raced about in it like a madcap creature, he soon felt the cold bite into his delicate skin, stopped dead still, and emitted a howl like a wolf about to be slaughtered.
My little Purkoy was not made for the hardy outdoors. When he did accompany me, out of steadfast loyalty, he would shiver and gaze up with his huge, liquid eyes, begging me to take him under my warm cloak. Although I scolded him for cowardice, I always lifted him. Purkoy was my friend. We all like to try to make life easier for a friend.
One morning I had risen, and another day of embroidering bed hangings surrounded by the stuffy, stale air of the palace loomed despondently before me. I had wanted escape, peace and some time to walk by myself. That morning, Purkoy declined to accompany me. His soft bed by the richly tiled fireplace was far more tempting than hurting his paws upon the frozen ground. He looked so content, curled in his blankets, that I did not press him to accompany me.
I left him and my ladies in my chambers, and with just one guard, went out to feel the bite of the chilled air. The snow and its majesty were but little disturbed as I crunched along, feeling the snow resist, then yield to the pressure of my boots of Spanish leather. The freshness in the air almost took my breath. It was as intoxicating as fine wine. I thought of my good fortune. I would never have to march out by necessity, as so many in the town and country would, to break ice to water their beasts and family. For me there was only enjoyment in this frozen world.
I will ask that the kitchens give out more than just scraps from court feasts, I thought as I walked. In this weather there would be many in need. I did not want poor widows or beggars leaving empty-handed and bellied.
I spent an hour walking. One of Henry’s men, Edward Seymour, followed me, shivering in his boots as he tottered along, trying not to disturb me as he bashed his hands against his sides to warm his blood. Seymour was a growing favourite of Henry’s and Cromwell’s. Indeed, Cromwell had paid some debts for him, since he was sure the lad had a promising future. Cromwell liked to support ‘new’ men. I think he saw himself in them. Since Seymour was also my cousin, I often agreed to him attending upon me.
Eventually I smiled at Edward, feeling pity. His grin was tinged with relief as he realized I was going back to the palace.
“Come then,” I said. “Let us return whilst you still have fingers and toes left.”
He bowed. “My lady, you are as beneficent as you are beautiful.” His pale eyes were watering and his nose was a mighty shade of burgundy. I laughed as we turned for my apartments.
Returning to the palace was like wandering into a great hug from a giant with smouldering arms. I started to strip the furs from my shoulders before I even reached my chambers. Henry’s huge fireplaces were a feature in almost every room. They were a display of wealth and luxury, but also practical and clever. Ambassadors in particular were grateful for them. Hailing from warmer climes, they often struggled to keep patience with England’s weather.
I smiled as I remembered Henry’s boyish face as he unveiled those plans to me… so long ago, it seemed. His eyes had lit up with the idea, and his hands, so strong and capable, had been unable to restrain themselves from flying about as he moulded the air with his designs.
My heart flooded open to this memory, when I was full of certainty that all we needed was to be together. Was I so wrong? Could we not be happy? Perhaps, if the world was not always getting in our way.
As I wandered into my chambers, I was lost in thought. But then I stopped and stared at the ghostly scene before me.
The room was empty. Not of furnishings, or hangings, but of people.
My rooms were never empty. My women were always in attendance and gentlemen servers too. Petitioners arrived each day, maids of honour flitted about, chamberers cleaned and noble guests came to call. But the beautiful chamber was utterly deserted. Candles flickered uncertainly, wary to be so alone. The fire burned with no one to warm. Had I wandered into a dream?
Edward stopped behind me and also stared in amazement. “Where is everyone?” I asked in the hushed tone one adopts when alone.
Seymour had no answer, but his hand darted to his sword and he moved in front of me.
“Is anyone here?” My voice was eerie. It bounced from the walls, disappearing into the silent chasm.
A shape appeared in the far doorway. For a moment, the great shadow loomed like a demon of my dreams. I could see blue eyes, like fire, glinting in the gloom.
Then the figure stepped into the light. It was Henry.
I let out a laugh, a sudden, high expulsion of relief. My breathing resumed and I walked forward, so relieved it was not some creature of my nightmares, that I failed to see the pain on his face until I was right before him.
A greeting of love and affection stalled on my lips. “My love,” I said gently. “What is wrong? Where is everyone?”
He took my hands, looked at them, and then at me. His face softened as he saw my concern. Henry was a sentimental man; proof of genuine affection touched him deeply, most likely as he was so used to hearing sycophantic falsehoods. He yearned to be loved for the man he was, not the crown he wore.
“Beloved,” he said gently. “I have sent your ladies away to spare them having to give pain to the mistress they admire and love. That task falls to me. And much as I wish to spare you any hurt, I must tell you of a horrible accident.”
My eyes widened. “Who?” I said, fears leaping into my head. “Elizabeth?” I was weak at the thought. His arms reached out as the blood drew back from my flesh.
“No, no,” he said holding me. “Our daughter is well and hearty, and your family too. But you must come with me. This will not be easy.”
He walked me into my bedchamber. On the bed, on a velvet cushion of crimson, as though sl
eeping, was my little Purkoy.
But he was not sleeping. Even in slumber, Purkoy would move his ears, twitch his nose and scamper after imaginary rabbits.
Purkoy was dead.
With a strangled cry, I rushed to the still body of my dog. As I touched him, I felt the stiff muscles and the hideous rigor of a body touched by the hand of Death. My hands roamed, quivering over him. His underside was battered and smashed, thick with blood. They had laid him out so I would see his good side, but as I took hold of him I saw the bloody horror underneath.
One of his beautiful eyes was sealed shut with caked blood. The side of his head was crushed like a rotten apple. I could see shards of skull, winking white in the guttering yellow candlelight. One of his legs was twisted at an impossible angle, broken and bent. I fell back. My legs gave way, and I slumped to the floor, my hand against my mouth as I started to cry.