Judge The Best

by G Lawrence

  I gaped, stunned. “How do you know?” I breathed.

  She took my hands. “Cromwell,” she said and I blushed deeper. “Please, Your Majesty, do not make yourself uncomfortable. I would that this were not necessary, but I understand, as you do, that there is more to marriage than four legs in a bed, as they say.”

  I saw nothing in her eyes but sympathy. It humbled me. “And Your Majesty has granted such beneficence to my family and to myself, shown the people of England the truth of the Word of God, and led the King to embark on a revolution of change, and all for the betterment of the faith. You have been an example to us all. If you were to ask me to lay down my life for you, I would, but since you ask this of me, I will do it.”

  I grasped her hand. As tears gushed from my eyes, I fell from the chair to kneel at her side, and, in a manner most unbecoming a queen, wrapped my arms around my cousin and wept. Mary held me as gentle as a mother should hold her child.

  She wiped my eyes with her sleeve. “My family owes all that it has to you,” she said. “I am no man to wage battles for my lord, but a woman may fight for a cause where a man would be unable.” She paused. “If I can attract the King to my bed and keep him on the side of all that is right and good. If I can keep the wolves that would support foreign powers and sinners away, I will.”

  “Mary,” I murmured. “I am so afraid.”

  I was unsure where that admission came from. Was, even then, my heart frightened that Henry might seek to replace me? France had abandoned me, England detested me and Spain was hostile. I had little political worth, and I brought much ill. My only strengths were Henry’s love and the possibility of a son. But he gave his love to others, and his seed too.

  Yes… I was afraid even then. I was trapped in marriage, and never would I own my liberty again. The only course was to keep striving; fighting for Henry’s love with whatever weapons came to hand. I could not go back. I could not retreat. For as long as it took, however much blood was spilt, however badly I was injured, I had to keep fighting. Henry could and should have been my ally in this battle. But at times, he was my enemy.

  “Be not afraid, my lady,” Mary said, holding me to her breast. “You have many friends, and when a son is born, you will be revered as you deserve.”

  “You speak such comfort when I ask such a filthy thing of you.”

  “We are on the side of the angels, madam,” she said warmly. “God will forgive us. He knows sometimes hard choices must be made to counter evil. He will not forget your sacrifice. God will know you do this not for yourself, but to prise the King from the clutches of evil.”

  Would He? I knew not.

  “You are my great friend,” I whispered. “And all that you do will not be forgotten.”

  She wiped my face with her silken sleeve. “I serve you, Majesty,” she said stoutly. “And I will never betray the trust you have placed in me.”

  I wiped my eyes and looked with appreciation on the beautiful, intense face of my cousin. Never had I felt such gratitude.

  To my shame, due to the jealousy that would later infest me, I would not always show Mary Shelton my appreciation, as I should have.

  *

  I told Mary Shelton I did not want to know anything that went on between her and Henry. I commanded her to never tell anyone I had asked her to undertake this task, and to be discreet with Henry, whilst working to oust the parrot. She agreed, and I attempted to turn a blind eye.

  But I could not help myself. A horrible, hungry, grating, insistent need to know consumed me. Seeking truth is like that sometimes. Ignorance would be easier, lighter, more freeing… there is good reason it is said to be bliss… yet we cannot remain ignorant when we know something is going on.

  When my other women were engrossed in court gossip, I went to Mary. I could not keep hurt and envy from my voice as I quizzed her. I had set Mary on this path, but I resented her. I was grateful to her even as I hated her. I was not one woman in those days. The whoremaster told me her swift progress was good, for was it not what I had wanted? The woman, whose heart was shattering into dust, told me to punish my cousin.

  Did you ever do the same? I asked Katherine. Mary Perrot was one of your women, once. Did you select her for Henry, thinking she might draw him away from me?

  Never would I have stooped so low.

  Never had you the need, I replied. You had the might of Spain behind you. I have nothing. I have been forced into this by Henry. If I do not provide a woman who is loyal to me, he will take from the offerings of my enemies.

  Tell yourself that, if it brings comfort.

  In vain did I attempt to cast out Katherine’s voice and reconcile myself to the idea of Mary in Henry’s bed. I was a lost soul, brought low by all I had suffered and all I feared. My temper was fragile, glass in my hands. My heart a blackened, motley mess of distrust and anxiety.

  And just as I could not restrain my ill feelings for Mary, I could no more contain them about Henry. He was the reason I had had to tear my heart from my chest. The reason I was forced to go against my morals. Some days I could not even meet his eyes, fearing he would see the loathing in them.

  Mary knew of my mixed emotions. She was careful, tactful and discreet. I stopped pressing her for details, but when I saw my husband blush as she entered a chamber, I knew. I could see infatuation in Henry as the skylark sees the first light of dawn. Towards the end of January I was certain she was entertaining him at night.

  I wept bitter tears, knowing I was the author of my unhappiness. But results came swiftly. The parrot was distressed to find she was not called for as often as before, and Dingley remained in the country. Henry became warm towards me, often coming to my chambers on surprise visits. It was then I knew that Mary had done her work. I had a friend in Henry’s bed, speaking well of me.

  This helped my fortunes, but not my heart. To distract myself, I threw my efforts into welcome work when Cranmer came to me with a mission.

  “Jean de Denteville has written, madam,” he said, speaking of one of François’ men. “He believes the noted scholar, Nicholas Bourbon, is in some danger in France. There is talk he will be detained for his beliefs.”

  I had heard of Bourbon. Marguerite de Navarre was an advocate of his, and he was a friend of Erasmus. Bourbon preached humanist principles and supported reform. Given François’ growing predilection for persecuting reformists, I could understand how this gentleman had encountered trouble.

  “How can I help, Eminence?” I asked. “Would you have me write and attempt to protect him? I am willing to try, my friend, but King François has made it clear he has little friendship to spare for me.”

  “But perhaps if you intervened with the King, my lady, something could be done?”

  “I will speak to His Majesty.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Cranmer was wearing a strange expression.

  “What is it?”

  “You seem troubled, Majesty.”

  “It is nothing. There have been some issues between the King and me, that is all.” I gazed into my friend’s eyes and tears leapt from mine. “Of late he has been sweet and kind, but I worry sometimes that he no longer loves me. Once I thought our love was the strongest element on earth; stronger than steel or iron, mightier than the crashing waves of the ocean, or the sun in the skies. I thought nothing could come between us. But now… he puts things in the way of my love, and I do the same.”

  Cranmer reached for my hand. “It is easy, in times of strife, to believe that this is the way everything will remain,” he said. “It is easy to suppose, when one is lost in darkness, that light will never return. But you know this is not true, my lady. All that is good or ill are but temporary states. The wheel turns and everything changes. You and the King are the strongest couple I have ever met, Majesty. You fight and bicker, but in the end, you always return to each other. There have been sorrows, and this has put strain on you both, but you must turn to one another rather than thrusting love away.” My friend patted my hand
. “When you are united there is nothing you cannot achieve. If you wish to heal this rift, do so.”

  “You are right,” I said. “I should talk to him.”

  “You should. But if you cannot find the words to put this right, talk of other things. Become friends again. In that way each of you will be reminded of how and why you came to love the other.”

  “You are a wise man, Cranmer,” I said. “Perhaps it is a pity for women that you became a priest. I think you would have made a fine husband for a fortunate lady.”

  A fleeting look of something I could not place fluttered across his eyes. If I did not know better, I might have thought my good friend had a secret he was loath to share.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Whitehall Palace

  February 1535

  Religion was on everyone’s mind that winter. How could it have been otherwise? With Cromwell readying his men for inspections and the monasteries quivering in their comfortable shoes, with the new Pope proclaiming the old Pope’s sentence of excommunication on Henry still held, and the Spanish making a ruckus in their harbours with their formidable fleet, faith and religion were all of which anyone could speak.

  Some men added to the growing controversy without intending to. Doctor Carsely, a canon of Wells Cathedral in Somerset, was reported to Cromwell for leading prayers for Katherine. When this was investigated, Cromwell excused the man. “He is close to eighty,” he said to Henry and me. “And fast losing his wits. He said afterwards that he had meant to lead prayers for you, madam, and forgot himself.”

  “Tell the canon I forgive him his slip of memory,” I said.

  But even if this one man had made a mistake, others spoke ill and meant it. Although it was illegal to speak against me, or the supremacy, many dared to. In some minds they were one and the same evil. A vicar in East Sussex was found with a little book in his possession which argued against the supremacy, and a friar at Blackfriars in London earnestly declared he wished to see all supporters of the new learning upon a stake, with Henry joining them to die a “violent and shameful death”. Not surprisingly, these people were swiftly arrested.

  At court, discussion on religion was more temperate. Henry loved to sit as judge when matters of faith were debated. Few dared to argue against him, but I was one. Sometimes it was necessary to argue with Henry, so he might understand opposing viewpoints. One was the transubstantiation of the host. Traditional religion held that this was the moment when the wine and bread of Mass become transformed into the body and blood of Christ, and whilst I upheld that miracle, I wished Henry to understand why others did not.

  Henry was a passionate man, and men with such temperaments can, at times, find themselves caught up in a maelstrom of ideas. People sometimes said Henry was easily led, but this was not exactly true. He was firm in his beliefs and ideals, but he could also become so fanatical about a new idea he rushed ahead with it, refusing to listen to anyone who opposed. Of late he had been angered about those who would doubt the transubstantiation, and I wanted to demonstrate to him that even though some radicals thought it should cease to be used in the Mass, most reformers, even those who did not believe the miracle, thought the ritual should remain.

  At times, Henry only saw in shades of black and white. But there were many hues of softer, less glaring, colour. If my husband was a painter, I would be his palette.

  “It is shown, in the glory of the Mass…” I said to Weston who was attempting to take the other side of the argument, with little success since he did not understand the points I had given him before we began the debate. “… That wine and bread are transformed by the will of God into the body and blood of Christ. But even those who do not believe in this wonder do not wish to see it banished from the Mass. Am I correct in thinking so, Master Weston?”

  “You are, my lady,” said poor Weston, hastily glancing at his notes. I had never seen eyes move so fast. Weston looked as though he had a host of crawling spiders in his sockets.

  Realising the man I had selected to put forth these issues was not capable, or perhaps was too afraid Henry would lock him away in the Tower for speaking on the heretical beliefs of others, I went on.

  “For whilst all good souls believe in the transubstantiation, even those who question it would not take it from the Mass, knowing that such rites and rituals serve to refresh the minds of the godly, and bring us back into contact with God the Father. Those who argue for its removal believe too much emphasis is put on this ritual, detracting from the Mass. And for those who do not understand Latin, as the Mass is spoken in, this may well be the truth.”

  I looked up at Henry on the dais. “I put it to you, my lord, as our judge, that if all men could understand the Mass in their own tongue, there would be no confusion. The superstitious influence of the Mass, which radical reformers dislike, is born from hearing God’s Word in a foreign language. Read the Mass to a man in his mother tongue and he will understand not only the ritual and rites, but the wonder of God. In that way alone can man find his way to God the Father; in perfect love and understanding.”

  “The Queen argues well,” Henry announced, “and manages to be as kind to heretics as she is to poor Master Weston… who clearly did not read his notes before standing to debate.”

  Everyone, including Weston, laughed. The young man did not mind being called out. He had a gentle soul. That was one of the reasons I was so fond of the lad.

  “The Queen makes an interesting point,” said Henry. “That even those who deny the power of the host do not deny its use to lead us to God. For my part, never shall I be convinced that the host is anything other than the transformed body and blood of Our Lord, presented to God anew in each and every Mass. But the Queen has given me much to think on.”

  Henry leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with enjoyment. “Do you think, my lady, that the common man, if granted the Word of God in his own language, would take the wrong path as many learned scholars have done, and believe in that which we take to be heresy?”

  “It is the office of the Church, led by you, Majesty, to translate to the common man that which he fails to understand. I do not say we should give all men the Bible and no guidance, for even the most learned pupil requires aid from time to time. What I do say is that allowing the common man to hear the Mass in his native language would bring him closer to God and strip away superstition that has prevailed for so long. When all men may hear their God, and understand Him, they will be brought to greater understanding of their faith. This breeds only comfort and consolation. They will require the clergy, led by you, to guide them so they might understand the more difficult aspects of their faith, but I believe having the light of God shining upon them would lead only to greater goodness.”

  “So you would have all men who are able to, reading the Bible?”

  “I would, my lord.”

  This was a contentious point. Many thought only nobles or heads of households should be allowed to read the Bible, should it ever appear in English. I did not. Some distrusted commoners, thinking them ignorant. But if they were this was not their fault. How is a man to educate himself if he is not granted the means to do so? I wanted there to be more trust, more faith in the people of England.

  “For what harm is there to man in the Word of God?” I went on. “For the majority of people, intense study of the Bible is not required. They can read the Word of God, and understand the stories and parables. Academics and scholars will study the harder passages and in those where the Scriptures conflict, scrutinize God’s meaning, and reveal it. But for the common man, a general understanding will suffice, and for clarity, this should be conducted in their own language.”

  “My Queen would make every man a wise one,” said Henry with affection.

  “I would have everyone know the true comfort of their faith,” I said, “to possess a close understanding of God, bringing solace in times of hardship.”

  Henry enjoyed these discussions. I was careful when selecting subjects, and engin
eered them so that even topics he was revolted by could be worded so as not to cause offence. And as these meetings became more frequent, he became more affectionate. There had always been many elements in our relationship. The physical attraction we had held for each other might have faded somewhat, becoming habit rather than need, but the fire of our minds burned strong.

  That night he came to my bed, and it was as easy as it had been when Elizabeth was conceived. When he was confident, there were no problems. In the darkness, as he stroked my body and groaned against my shoulder, I felt pleasure for the first time in months. Our marriage was not perfect. There were more people in this relationship than there should have been, but at times like this, when I held my husband close and felt his need for me, and only for me, I thought nothing could tear us apart. Even Death would not separate our souls. We were joined, bonded, we were as one. When we were united, we were stronger than any tempest, and when apart, weaker than a new-born lamb.