by G Lawrence
She nodded. “But my uncle is sure to disapprove.”
I smiled. “Leave it to me and I will ensure you have your choice of groom.”
Margaret’s smile was like the dusk’s sun; brilliant yet waning. She feared to lose love. As I bathed in its light, my eyes were drawn to my sister-in-law. Jane was back at court, but seemed none too happy about it. She had been cool and detached when I greeted her at Reading, and when, later, I had tried to explain why I had not petitioned Henry for her, she was dismissive.
“I was to blame, Majesty,” she had said. “I should not have taken matters into my own hands.”
From her tone, I surmised she did not consider herself to blame at all. I had not sent her to pick a fight with Mary Perrot, but Jane seemed to think I had. She blamed me for her months away from George, and perhaps thought I had riled her into attacking Henry’s mistress.
But that, like so many other fantasies, was in Jane’s febrile imagination.
*
I could distract Henry from his woes in the country, but everyone in London wanted him to remember them. There was discord. Henry was being named a tyrant, albeit quietly, since to speak such words aloud was tantamount to a death sentence.
A week after More’s death, Bishop Stokesley preached in London on Henry’s behalf, surprising everyone, since Stokesley had been More’s greatest ally. The Bishop was not talented at public speaking and was given to stammering and stumbling over his words. At St Paul’s he went before the crowds and spoke about Henry’s union with Katherine, calling it ungodly and perverse. Cromwell was at his elbow.
But as one man spoke for us, others decried. A woman named Margaret Chancellor had been arrested in May. Drunk when she was hauled into prison, she had declared I was a “naughty, goggle-eyed whore” and Katherine was the true Queen. When interrogated, she swore she had only said such because she was intoxicated, and remembered not her words. She was whipped, and released. But there were others.
Reports flooded in to Cromwell and Richard Rich of people who had spoken against Henry, me, and the supremacy. Many thought England was seeping into a deathly pit of sin. And as is common, in all times when suspicion reigns, false reports arrived. It did not take much for a man to be arrested in those days, and when he was, it was his word against that of another. Some people disliked and feared the changes in religion, but there were those who accused men on flimsy evidence, for revenge.
The malicious, the drunk, the mistaken, the outspoken, the forgetful… none were spared. It was treason to speak against royalty, and no one would be forgiven for having a feeble memory, or outwardly defying Henry.
Henry Percy was heard speaking against me. He echoed the accusation of my uncle and called me an infamous whore, earning him a spell away from court, accompanied by threats against his life. In France, François started to inform people I was a harridan. He told people “how little virtuously she has always lived,” and started to speak of gossip that I had joined a plot, dreamed up by Norfolk, to place Mary Howard on the throne at Fitzroy’s side.
Not that I would have put such a ridiculous scheme past my uncle, but I knew of no such conspiracy. Why would I seek to set my cousin on the throne when my daughter was England’s heir? And what did François have to accuse me of in terms of my reputation? I had taken no lovers in France, and had refused him often enough. It was also intensely hypocritical, for he was one of the most promiscuous men alive. Was it possible he was jealous, even through the distance of years, miles, and sea? I suspected not. François had enough willing women to satisfy any carnal desire that came sweeping across his over-active loins. He was simply trying to discredit me, and he knew the best way was to call me a whore.
Or… had he thought back to the night he had been my saviour, and decided I, like all women in the world, must be to blame for a monster attacking me?
Henry reacted boldly. Orders went out to remove the Pope’s name from prayer books and priests were to cease to lead prayers for him. Preachers marched forth to ensure that Henry’s subjects knew the truth. The King’s titles were reaffirmed at every Mass. Prayers were said for me, for Elizabeth and for Henry. Katherine and Mary were to be forgotten. Cromwell’s spies were everywhere.
Everyone who would not bow would be punished. Anyone who spoke out would be silenced. Everyone had to prove their loyalty. Everyone had to choose their side.
Chapter Thirty
Ewelme, Abingdon and Sudeley Castle
July 1535
We left Reading for Ewelme, one of the houses of the Duke of Suffolk, and the skies were rich with the scent of cut hay. Warm and sweet, it flew on the wind like a flock of birds. Scythes swept in hayfields and the earth came alive with ancient songs as churls chanted to keep time. In the hands of experienced men, the scythe became an extension of their arm; sweeping effortlessly out at ankle height, slicing through the hay with a hiss as golden stalks fell. Hedgers’ sickles, too, flashed in the afternoon sun, their bright, well-crafted blades glinting as men laid hedges to keep cattle and sheep safe.
Young grey partridges had grown strong on their infant wings, and bees bustled in fields of purple clover, flying home to their hives, ready for men to plunder their sticky, amber riches. Some errant bees took on human habitations long-since abandoned, making homes in empty rooms where generations of ghosts dwelled. Farmers collected honey to use for food, although some was always put aside for mead and megethlin.
In the woods, sow badgers were weaning cubs, teaching them to gather grubs from the thick leaf mould. The call of the blackbird sounded in the hush of dawn, and robins sang to the trees. Jackdaws hopped about the waysides, their bright, beady eyes searching for grubs and beetles. May bugs winged into the air, making an unsettlingly loud buzzing noise, as they flew on delicate wings, with their downy antlers testing the skies for trouble. In oak forests, purple butterflies floated in the dim light like petals. Maids hung fresh washing on hawthorn hedges, infusing the already sweet air with the scent of soapwort. Honeysuckle brightened the gloomy shade and fleet-footed deer stepped delicately through bracken and bramble, ready to fly at any moment.
At Ewelme Suffolk greeted us. His new wife, Katherine Willoughby, was seven months with child and took that excuse to fail to attend many of the feasts given in our honour. I knew her pregnancy was not the reason. Katherine Willoughby was the daughter of Marie de Salinas, one of the Dowager’s greatest friends. Like her mother, she supported the former queen, not me. When I did see her, the sight of her belly made me sad and anxious. I needed her state, yet I feared it. The twin sides of my soul were in conflict as I gazed upon her belly. I was glad she did not come into our presence more than she did. It was agony to look upon her.
One morning, I stood beside my horse, doing nothing more than breathing in the air and feeling the sun radiating upon my riding hat. A plume of white feathers crowned my cap, and I could see them, dipping and bending in the wind. My horse nuzzled my hand, his nose as velvet in my palm. I felt at peace, as though nothing more could come to harm me. I knew it was only temporary, a state of calm brought on by the peace of the countryside, by separation from the city, but I relished it. For as long as it would stay with me, I wanted to retain it.
“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Henry asked, breaking the spell upon me by speaking close to my ear.
“I am,” I said. In that moment, truth be told, I felt I could face anything.
*
As we pushed on with progress, Cromwell was moving too. More’s death spurred Cromwell on, as did the wealth of mounting dissent. He understood he had to prove himself.
I was wary, not only for his late, rather suspect, actions against my brother, but for other reasons too. I did not want reform to descend into anarchy where the innocent would be persecuted along with the guilty.
What need had anyone to create falsehoods when there were sins, many and varied, already present in the Church? Pardons, indulgences, payments and debts collected by the Church for services, over-indul
gence of food, wine and any indulgence with women… Greed, corruption and wanton living, the worship of idols over God and the tyranny of Rome… all of this was what we should be fighting, not phantoms born from the mischief of story-tellers who embellish tales to make everything delightfully scandalous. I believed this was a danger of the path we had taken. In order to persuade his master that the Church was rotten to the core, Cromwell might create stories to shock Henry.
Perhaps the sins of the clergy had become so normalized, so commonplace, in English minds that Cromwell sought other means to alarm his King. Perhaps he was simply trying to keep his head upon its broad shoulders. Or perhaps, as my mind whispered, telling me not to be so generous, perhaps my brother was right and Cromwell wanted money, prestige and power. If he could get Henry to move against the monasteries, he could have all he wanted.
But I had kept faith with Cromwell for many years and I hoped something of goodness was left in him. I had been cool with him since our argument, but I was optimistic this state was temporary. He was a wise man, unlike Wolsey, and would not dare to take me on as an enemy. My position was fragile, it was true, but Henry and I were closer that summer than we had been for many months, and everyone could see it. When I was in favour, there was no man who could rival me in Henry’s affections. Even when we fought, he still listened to my counsel. No… Cromwell was no fool. He would not dare oppose me.
And my faith in Henry blossomed anew as did my love. Henry was serious about his role as Head of the Church. It was no mere title to him, and no matter what anyone said, was not just a convenient excuse to be rid of Katherine. Henry believed. He was the chosen of God, and it was his place to set everything right. That was why I believed I could reach him about the monasteries. If the right part of him could be convinced at the right time, dissolved monasteries would be put to educational use, and many might be saved to be reformed.
But although Henry wanted everyone to understand and support him, he would not allow the oath to be demanded from Katherine and Mary. The blood spilled at Tyburn and the Tower had caused enough problems. To demand they swear would be to place a kindled stick to a line of gunpowder. For now, they were left alone.
At the end of July, as we reached Sudeley Castle, Cromwell arrived to catch up on affairs of state. It was rare to see Cromwell out of London. As much as the waters of the Thames, he was part of the city. On rare occasions he had come to Windsor or Hampton Court, but more often than not he was in London. He did not even summer at his country estates. London had been his home as a boy, so perhaps he felt an attachment to it when he returned as a man. But it was also the crucible of thought, commerce and activity, and if any man was born for work and toil, for noise and trade, it was Cromwell.
He greeted me with great affection, which pleased me. I thought perhaps we had left our troubles behind. I wanted him as an ally, so if my warnings had been understood, I would be satisfied.
Henry, too, was happy to see him, but instructed him to keep this, our first meeting for some time, short, as he wanted to get into the park before the morning was spent. Luckily enough, and with his usual gift for reading his prince, Cromwell had brought with him very little of what I am sure was a mountain of work accumulating on Henry’s behalf, and suggested that we talk first on the pleasures of our progress, and second on the monasteries.
“It must be agreeable that you keep more private company here than on other stops on this progress,” Cromwell said to us. “The peace afforded by the lack of suitable quarters must be welcome, Your Majesty.”
I smiled. Sudeley Castle had been neglected for a while, much to our benefit. Once the state rooms had been improved upon by the usurper, Richard III, before the castle had passed to Jasper Tudor after Bosworth, but the castle had not been well cared for in subsequent years. The royal chambers were opulent and comfortable, but some of the castle was uninhabitable, which had led to the rest of the court seeking rooms a mile away at Winchecombe Abbey. Henry had been somewhat distressed to see the state of the neglected parts of the castle, seeing as fortifications pressed heavily on his mind, but the reduction of our households, riding parties, and hangers-on, had afforded greater privacy.
After we had passed time talking of Reading, I turned to Cromwell. “Let us speak of your investigations,” I said. “I have told His Majesty that I earnestly hope some of the smaller houses might be saved or reformed as educational establishments, for without the corrupting influence of Rome, there is hope that corrupt men may find the Lord of Heaven through His Majesty.”
Henry smiled warmly and squeezed my hand.
In Henry there was great potential for goodness. He possessed a simplicity which called to the better natures of men, something that if allowed to mature, would, I was sure, make him as wise as any of the Old Testament fathers. There were other sides to Henry; malice, spite, pride and suspicion… but there was, too, much good in him. No man is perfect, but most possess something of good. In time, I thought, he will become a father to his people and a true leader in the army of Christ.
I believed in him. Is love blind? I have often wondered. But I think not. I saw Henry’s faults as well as his virtues. Had the best of his character prevailed, much would have been different.
“The investigations go on apace,” Cromwell said. “My men have uncovered a great deal.”
Henry was scandalised to read Cromwell’s reports. His face turned grey as he learned of sordid entertainments and boundless gluttony.
“Let us send men,” I said. “I will send mine with Cromwell’s, as we discussed. When they see our servants, my lord, they will seek better ways.”
It was agreed, but as we went to leave Cromwell that night, I saw him watching me. He knew what I was up to. He did not want my men going with his. He feared what they might uncover.
Chapter Thirty-One
Sudeley Castle
July 1535
Those first few weeks of progress, as we moved from the outer rim of the capital, out and into the glorious country of the west of England, were as happy as I could ever remember. Freed from constant strain, Henry and I were close, and tender.
Release from the shackles of the capital granted our marriage new life. We ignored our problems and our sorrows and laughed, talking of trifles. Our time was taken up by hunting, hawking and feasting under soft-shaded trees. We spoke of Elizabeth, and considered several new country seats for her and her household. It may all sound trivial, but those few months of peace, where I was loved again, meant everything to me.
Each night we feasted on the finest foods, wines, meats and breads that each house had to offer, and every morning we rose fresh and eager to ride out into the clean summer air. There is nothing like a break from all that has weighted heavily on a person to refresh and relax the mind and body.
Some mornings, when we did not rush away with the dawn to hunt, Henry and I would lie in bed, snoozing, jumbled together so you could not tell where he ended and I began. We took pleasure in each other as we had not done in a long time.
“Although it is much a part of you,” I said one morning in bed. “I like you more without your crown.”
“Treason!” he shouted and kissed me heartily. “There is no one like you, my Anne. Even if I were lost to all but you, I would still have everything I needed. As long as you are mine, all others can leave.”
“I love you, Henry,” I said and my eyes filled with tears. I did not speak of all we had tried so hard to ignore, but that did not mean I did not remember.
“Cry not,” he said, catching my tears with a gentle finger. “God has seen fit to test us, and we will endure. We have come through Hell. In time, I will hold the proof of God’s approval in my arms, and we will make this country the greatest any have ever known.”
I nuzzled against his hairy chest and kissed it. “You are right,” I said. “God rewards the faithful. We must be patient.”
Henry slid a hand between my legs. His clever fingers gently rubbed back and forth. “Of c
ourse I am right,” he said. I moved my legs apart and felt him enter me, slowly but deftly, as his hands cupped my naked breasts. “I am the King,” he panted in my ear. “I am always right.”
*
“Where is it?” I demanded of my ladies. “I thought you had taken care to ensure all my gowns were packed?”
My ladies were distraught they had missed this gown. It was a work of glory; purple silk and golden cloth. I did not look well in it, but that mattered not. Henry had asked me to match his costume at a feast that was to be held to mark the end of our stay at Sudeley.
It had pleased me he had asked this, for I had seen his wandering eye light on a new lady in my train. Jane Seymour, my pallid cousin, appeared to be the present delight of my husband’s lusts. Quite why, no one could understand, for she was not only pale of appearance, but colourless of character. Since joining my household, Jane had been meek, and so mild compared to my ladies of spice and excitement that she all but went unnoticed.
Aside, that was, to Henry.
Perhaps it was her humble nature and quiet ways that attracted him. Henry was a man of diverse passions. He usually sought out women of fire and spirit, but now he seemed to want more tepid company. He was tiring of Mary Shelton, and looked for something else, something new. Jane was about as far removed as you could get from women like Mary and me.