by G Lawrence
In truth, some did have shady pasts. The deceased William Betts had been associated with a scandal in Oxford in relation to banned books, and Latimer and Parker had been involved with the case of Thomas Bliney, a martyr who had died for the reformist cause, but was widely viewed as a heretic. They held a united front, but disagreed amongst each other often enough. Foxe, Hilsey and Cranmer found Latimer too extreme. Indeed, he was accused of being a Lollard in some quarters, and Shaxton was more a traditionalist than a reformer. But I did not mind private debate, as long as in public we stood united.
I was not one to close my mind. There was much in the reformist cause I agreed with, and an equal amount I did not. But I was willing to hear all… a virtue not common at court where everyone guarded their opinions and stuck to them like mussels to the rocks of the shore.
Court, at that time, was a hotbed of ideas and theories. It excited me. The pursuit of knowledge is not the preserve of but one man. It takes many to form a new world. My clergy were innovative, passionate men, and I encouraged them to share thoughts and ideals.
It was not so simple anymore to speak of reformists and conservatives. Even amongst evangelicals there was disagreement. New factions seemed to form each day. There were Lutherans, who were coming to be called Protestants because of the manner in which Luther had nailed his protestations against the Catholic faith on the door of his church. There were Anabaptists, who believed that only adults should be baptised, so they might fully understand the pact they made with God. There were evangelicals, like me, who followed the teachings of the old Church, but wanted reform. There were those who believed not in the act of transubstantiation, nor the worship of icons, but upheld other Sacraments.
The old way, of one unified practice of religion, was being torn apart, and in its place was a multitude of people, all coming to God in their own way. Of course we could not allow everyone to make their own faith and follow it. There had to be order or all would fall to chaos, but I, unlike so many others, did not shut my ears. I listened and I learned. If only all men could do the same, the world would be a different place… a kinder place… a more welcome existence.
I smiled at Doctor Butts. “I will grant allowances for all these men,” I said. “Speak to my treasurer, he will grant you the funds.”
“That is more generous than I dared to hope, Majesty,” said Butts, his face alive with happiness.
“We work for change here and now,” I said. “But we must not forget the future. These men will lead it. It is important they are chosen well, so they might guide my daughter’s generation to a better world.”
“We can only hope that time will come,” said Butts.
“Hope alone does not suffice. We must act. We must make the world as we want it to be. God will aid us, but we must take the first steps.”
Leaving Butts and returning to my chambers, I entered to find Henry almost alone with Jane Seymour. His men were to one side of the chamber, along with my sister-in-law, but Henry and Jane were close together. As I entered they snapped apart.
“Should you not be at your duties, Mistress Seymour?” I asked, quivering with anger. “If you have not enough to occupy your time, I can ensure you are granted more offices.”
Jane hastily withdrew and Henry was angry. “Can you not restrain yourself and flirt with your whores in private?” I asked waspishly as his men and my women took to an adjoining chamber. “You could at least show respect for me by attempting to hide your passion for that witless worm.”
“Speak not,” Henry growled.
“And so in silence, do I become the wife you wish for?” I asked, sneering. “You would have another Katherine. You would have me hide my love and attend only to duty whilst you make a mockery of our love.”
“You could never be a wife or Queen as Katherine was,” he said, his voice and temper rising. “She was reserved and modest. You flit about your chambers, flirting with all and sundry, disgracing yourself.”
“Then I match my husband well, do I not?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“I should never have married you,” he said. “Repeatedly, you have cursed my seed with your venomous womb. Perhaps the men who whisper that you are my sister are right.”
“If there is sin in that matter, my lord,” I said, swallowing the sting of his barb. “Then it is yours alone. Unlike you, and your saintly Katherine, I did not rut with one of your relatives. Our marriage was absolved of sin by dispensation, and if God censures either of us, it is you, for your infidelity.”
Henry stared at me with eyes of evil. I held my head high. No more would I be abused into submission. He left.
By the end of that week, Henry and I were barely speaking.
*
The first of December had seen the first payment of a new tax, set at ten per cent per annum, on all clerical incomes. Smaller religious houses protested they would not have anything left, but they were largely ignored. Other houses, less given to protest, surrendered their money and with it their courage, knowing if Cromwell’s men came knocking, corruption was bound to be discovered. Like Syon, they submitted for survival.
Friction between Spain and England had led to some of England’s most vital markets in the Low Countries coming under threat. Trade continued, but there was constant concern it would cease, bringing poverty. This, combined with the Hanse merchants threatening to close the Baltic, troubled many. With its rich reserves of grain, the Baltic was crucial, especially since England’s harvest that year had not been good. Supplies were short. It was said that half of England’s crops had been lost, first to the glaring sun and then to the unending rain, making it the worst season in more than eight years. Parliament found it impossible to levy the taxes that Henry had declared he required to build fortifications, and the plague, which had come calling in the summer, had not abated.
It was said I was a witch, an emissary of Satan, sent to bring England into company with famine, death, plague and war… the heralds of the apocalypse.
Those who spread such rumours evidently ignored everything I did to aid the poor. They were too busy selecting what ‘evidence’ to follow, and ignoring everything that did not fit their theories, to see sense.
Strife was our companion and conditions for rebellion were ripe. Hunger may make even the most loyal man a traitor. Common people did not understand the break with Rome, or the new religious changes. They thought Henry was on a path to destruction, and would take England with him. Many wanted him to take Katherine back and return to Rome, a series of events inexorably shackled together in many minds. Without me, there would have been none of this chaos, men said. Were I to be removed, peace and amity would be restored.
Henry’s preachers went out, spreading word that if England was being tested by God, we would rise to the challenge. But even as the words “whom the Lord loves, he chasteneth,” were cried from the pulpits, people were muttering that this was no test from the Almighty, but a punishment.
Talks were going on to prevent one of the apocalyptic heralds coming for England: war. François wanted Henry to join him in the conquest of Milan, but the Pope was equally keen to see François and Charles unite against England. Ambassadors at every court in Europe barely had time to sit down, so busy were they with plots, negotiation and subterfuge. Disinformation was rife.
Although I despised their King’s comments about me, I put my support behind the French. I also asked Henry to pursue alliance with the Schmalkalden League, although he told me that Gardiner had attacked the notion, saying if we allied to the League, they would dictate all that Henry did. My husband was already angry, as the League had asked for more money than he was willing to offer, and also wanted him to defend the Lutheran doctrine they upheld. Henry was never going to support Martin Luther. He despised the man. Henry thought the German Princes were testing him, trying his patience, and, since I had suggested alliance, he blamed me for the failure of the talks.
When Henry was angry with me, I was to blame for everyth
ing.
And it was amongst this chaos that the hapless hare came to court one afternoon. He went to Cromwell, who was becoming Henry’s gateway to the world, asking for permission to see Henry, and it was granted. The hare found Henry in the jousting grounds and said that he wanted to see Katherine, as she was rumoured to be dying. He also put forth the notion that Lady Mary should be allowed to see her mother too.
“The King embraced Chapuys,” said Norris when he and my brother came to update me. “The King had already heard that Katherine was on her deathbed and was overjoyed by it.”
“The ambassador did not look as delighted as the King,” said the dry voice of my brother. “The King discussed England’s relations with France and Spain, and was not cordial about François. The King said that when Katherine died, the Emperor would have no further cause to meddle in England’s affairs.”
“Chapuys was shocked,” said Norris. “He said that Katherine’s death could bring no possible good. He was sent away, but later the King called him back, to say he had word that Katherine was in extremis and even if he left immediately Chapuys was unlikely to reach her in time.”
“He told Chapuys that Katherine is ailing fast,” said Norris.
“Is it so surprising?” I asked. “She is over fifty and refuses to take much food or drink, for fear of poison.”
“Chapuys says she has suffered pains in her belly and has become unable to take food,” said my brother. “The King professed concern, but seemed more merry than sorrowful. He slung an arm about Chapuys and led him about, parading him before the French ambassadors.”
“When Chapuys left, however…” said Norris, leaning forwards. I caught the scent of his skin, a mixture of rose perfume and his own scent. It was beautiful, intoxicating. “… with permission to visit Katherine, His Majesty sent a messenger after him, to tell Chapuys that her death would remove all barriers to friendship with the Emperor, and the King was considering allowing Lady Mary to visit her. The King asked Cromwell to send someone with Chapuys, and Vaughan was dispatched.”
“I doubt he was sincere about Mary,” I said, sitting back so Norris’ scent could not distract me. “Henry would be too worried this sickness is a feint, and that Katherine means to steal Mary from England.”
“That was just what Cromwell said,” my brother noted. “You think the same.”
“We do not,” I said. “Cromwell would destroy the faith, as I would heal it.”
“Allow me to offer an amendment,” said my brother with a droll grin. “You think the same in terms of politics, not policy.”
“I am not sure even of that,” I said. “Cromwell and I are on opposing sides. I do not see how both of us may survive this struggle.”
Only a few months later, I had good reason to linger on the importance of those words.
Chapter Forty-Five
Greenwich Palace and Eltham Palace
December 1535 – January 1536
Chapuys wasted no time. Mary’s request to see her dying mother was flatly denied, despite Henry’s declarations he would consider it, but the hapless hare could not worry for his princess now. He had to make haste to reach his Queen.
Katherine’s physician sent word to court that she was close to death. This had come about, he wrote, after Katherine partook of a draught of Welsh beer. Earlier in December, Katherine had rallied, and her doctors were encouraged, but after that cup of beer, she went into a rapid, steady decline. The beer, a favourite tipple of Katherine’s, was rumoured to have been poisoned. Naturally, my kin were blamed.
Chapuys made haste, but the hapless hare was outstripped by another of fleeter foot.
We spent Christmas at Eltham, with Elizabeth, and passed a merry time with our daughter. On New Year’s Day, I handed out golden medals bearing my image to Norris and my husband’s other men, and Henry presented me with yards of gold and green satin. Lady Lisle, who had given me Purkoy, sent a gift of gold beads with matching tassels.
“Lady Lisle was going to send you a new puppy,” Norris whispered in my ear. “But I instructed her not to.”
My eyes swam with tears. Considerate, caring Norris had known I would find such a gift unbearable. I had not kept a hound since Purkoy. I could not. He was irreplaceable.
Sometimes, when I was low, I could almost feel his wet nose nudging my hand; almost feel the brush of his silken coat against my cheek. Many mornings, when I woke, I looked for him without thinking. I missed my little friend.
“She toyed with sending an ape,” said Norris. “But I said that would be unwise.”
I laughed, pulled from depression. I hated apes. They reminded me of Katherine and her pitiful, rocking capuchin.
“What does she wish in return?” I asked.
“She would like a livery kirtle,” he said. “In Your Majesty’s colours. That way all will know she is a part of your household, even in Calais.”
“I will find a suitable one,” I said, making a note to tell Margery Horsman to send one.
And as we celebrated, a visitor came to Kimbolton Castle.
It was early in the evening. Snow was falling, covering the fens with shimmering light. A knock rang upon the door of Katherine’s house. Cromwell’s men, who had the report from her servants, told us later that Katherine’s stewards were much amazed to see a woman, clearly a noble by her gown and jewels, standing bedraggled at their door. She explained she had fallen from her horse, and required aid and shelter to recover. They let her in, and presented her to Katherine, but no introduction was required. They fell upon each other with tears and laughter, for this traveller was none other than Marie de Salinas, Lady Willoughby, Katherine’s oldest friend.
News of Katherine’s illness had travelled swiftly and although the Dowager was not allowed visitors, especially ones like Salinas, who were her loyal supporters, Marie had risked all and gone to her friend. Armed with the pretext of her fall, she won her way into Katherine’s house, and once there, she would not leave.
Later, Marie would claim to Katherine’s steward that the letter permitting her visit was on its way, but everyone must have known Henry would never have granted permission. Perhaps some concern did fall upon the man, for he tried to stop her, but Marie slammed Katherine’s door in his face. I could not help but admire her spirit.
By all reports, Katherine could not sit or stand, but had to lie in her bed near the fire. She could not eat or drink, and the pain in her stomach had stolen sleep from her, but she was overjoyed to see her friend. Salinas vanished from the house as quick as she had arrived. She had fulfilled her mission to see her friend one last time. No doubt Katherine told her not to stay, so Henry would not punish her.
Chapuys joined Katherine on the 2nd of January, amused and cheered to hear of Salinas’ adventure. They held their meetings before witnesses, so their discussions could be reported to every man and woman in England, and so that Henry would not attack Katherine’s friends, assuming they conversed of treason. Vaughan was called in, as were a very surprised Bedingfield and Chamberlain, Katherine’s stewards. True to her oath never to deal with her captors, Katherine had not spoken to, or seen either of those men for more than a year.
“It is a relief to me, my friend, that I may now die in your arms and not disappear like a beast,” Katherine said to Chapuys.
“Stay with us, my Queen,” Chapuys urged. “The peace of Christendom depends on it.”
Katherine smiled gently, and led him to other topics of conversation. After an hour, she sent Chapuys away, claiming she needed rest. That afternoon, Chapuys was recalled, and they spent hours talking. Whenever he tried to leave her, fearing to make her sicker, she would not allow it.
Chapuys stayed for four days, reassuring Katherine, for she had entered a time of unrest. She was worried for her daughter, and England, she said, and wondered if the problems in England had not, in fact, been caused by her refusal to stand down as Henry’s wife.
Katherine had at last come to understand that her pride had driven
Henry to break with Rome. Chapuys denied this, and told her that even if the break with Rome had occurred for her resistance, it was Henry who had made it so. He also said that God sent heresies to confound the wicked and laud the righteous. It was not for either of them to question the Almighty.
Katherine seemed reassured, but the truth was that she was correct. Katherine was as much a catalyst for the royal supremacy as Henry, or me.
Just as Cromwell and Henry were ready to start celebrating her demise, Katherine improved. Chapuys decided to leave, so he might petition Henry to allow a visit between mother and daughter.
But the hare hoped too soon.
On the 6th of January, Katherine knew Death was close. She could feel Him at her back, waiting. At midnight, she started to ask what time it was, knowing that Mass could not be sung, and the Sacrament may not be administered, at night. Her confessor, Jorge de Athequa, offered to break the rules, explaining that God would understand, but Katherine was not one to surrender, even to Death, until she was ready.