In the Shadow of the Crown

by Jean Plaidy

  Then, of course, there was Reginald. How grateful I was for his company. He had said that he would not stay in England but I think perhaps my need of him made him change his mind. He was very fond of my mother and, like us all, greatly saddened by her suffering.

  I would be thirteen years old in the February of the following year. Perhaps I flatter myself but I am sure I was like a girl at least four years older. My education and upbringing had done that for me. Moreover at an early age I had been aware of my responsibilities and of a great future either as the wife of a monarch or as ruler in my own right.

  I was often in Reginald's company—indeed, I believe he sought this, for he was clearly eager that it should be. The only brightness in those days was provided by him. What was so gratifying was that he treated me like an adult, and from him I began to get a clearer view of the situation. My father was very fond of Reginald, for he had a great respect for learning. He would summon him and they would walk up and down the gallery talking of religion and, of course, the subject which was uppermost in his mind: his desire to do what was right; his fears that he had offended God by living with a lady who was not in truth his wife. All that he told Reginald, seeking to win his sympathy in his cause, I believe, for he cared very much for the opinions of scholars.

  It must have been difficult for Reginald, whose sympathies were with my mother and me, to choose his words carefully, for I was sure if my father thought he did not agree with him he would be very angry. Sometimes I trembled for Reginald during those encounters, but he was clever; he had a way with words and he did learn a great deal of what was in the King's mind during these interviews. But I knew my father's temper and I was uneasy.

  My father was, in some ways, a simple man. He made much of Reginald, calling him cousin and when they walked along the gallery putting his arm round Reginald's shoulders. At the back of his mind would be the memory of what his father had done to the Earl of Warwick because he feared people might think that Plantagenet Warwick had had a greater claim to the throne than Henry Tudor. Later, when I began to understand my father's character more I could believe that he wanted to make much of Reginald because he was placating Heaven in a way for the murder of Reginald's uncle.

  What uneasy days they were when we never knew what momentous event was going to erupt.

  So my consolation was Reginald.

  He it was who told me that the Pope had now been released and was at this time in Orvieto trying to build up a Court there.

  “He is in a dilemma,” said Reginald. “The King is demanding judgement in his favor, and he is too powerful to be flouted. But how can he defy the Emperor?”

  “He should do what he considers right.”

  “You ask too much of him,” said Reginald with a wry smile.

  “But surely as a Christian…”

  Reginald shook his head. “He is still in the hands of the Emperor. But, who knows, next week everything could be different. He is in too weak a position to defy anyone.”

  “Then what will he do?”

  “My guess is that he will prevaricate. It is always the wise action.”

  “Can he?”

  “We shall see.”

  And we did. It was Reginald who told me, “The Pope is sending Cardinal Campeggio to England.”

  “Is that a good thing?” I asked.

  Reginald lifted his shoulders. “We shall have to wait and see. He will try the case with Cardinal Wolsey.”

  “Wolsey! But he will be for the King.”

  “It should not be a case of either being for one or the other. It should be a matter of justice.”

  “I fear this will make more anxiety for my mother. I worry so much about her, and I think she worries too much about me. I think she is fighting for me rather than herself.”

  “She is a saint, and it is true that she fights for you. But you are her greatest hope. The people love you. You strengthen her case. The people cheer you. They call you their Princess, which means they regard you as heir to the throne. They will not accept another.”

  “I never thought anything like this could happen.”

  “None of us can see ahead. None of us knows what the future holds for us.”

  “Reginald,” I said, “you won't go away yet?”

  He looked at me tenderly. “As long as I am allowed to remain here, I will.”

  He took my hand and kissed it.

  “I hope you will never go away,” I told him. He pressed my hand firmly then released it and turned away.

  I knew there was some special feeling between us, and I was glad that there had been no marriage with the Emperor Charles. My betrothal to the little Prince of France I did not consider. I was certain that it would come to nothing.

  It must… because of Reginald.

  IT IS AN OLD story now. Everyone knows that Cardinal Campeggio did not arrive in England until October, although he had left Rome three months before. He was so old, so full of gout, that he had to take the journey in very slow stages, resting for weeks when the attacks brought on by discomfort were prolonged.

  Reginald, who was very far-sighted in all matters, confided in me that he believed Campeggio had no intention of making a decision. How could he when the Emperor would be watching the outcome with such interest? He dared not give the verdict the King wanted, because it would displease the Emperor, and to go against the King would arouse his wrath.

  “What a position for a poor sick old man to be in!” he said. “It is my belief tht the Pope sent Campeggio because of his infirmity. Why should he have not sent a healthy man? Oh, I am certain Campeggio has his instructions to delay.”

  Reginald understood these matters; he had traveled widely on the Continent and he had an insight into politics and the working of men's minds.

  How right he proved to be!

  I heard from Reginald that the King was in a fury. He had told him that this man Campeggio was determined to make things more difficult. “ ‘He has come here not so much to try the case as to talk to me. As if I needed talking to!' he cried. He cited his sister of Scotland, who divorced her second husband, the Earl of Angus. Louis XII of France had been divorced from Jeanne de Valois with little fuss. Why all this preamble because the King of England was so concerned for his country, to which he must give a son, and was merely asking for a chance to do so? So he went on. He gripped my arm so fiercely. I was glad he did not expect me to speak.”

  “Oh, you must be careful.”

  “My dear Princess, you can rest assured I shall be. What alarmed me— forgive me for disturbing you, but I think you should see the case clearly— is that the King flew into a rage when the Cardinal suggested that the Pope would be only too ready to amend the dispensation and make it clear that the King's marriage to the Queen was valid.”

  “I know he does not want that. He is blinded by his passion for this woman.”

  “That… and his desire for a son.”

  “How can he be sure that she can give him one?”

  “He has to risk that, and he is determined to have the opportunity to try.”

  I was glad we were prepared, for shortly after that Campeggio and Wolsey called on my mother.

  I was with her when they arrived and made to leave but she said, “No, stay, daughter. This concerns you as it does me.”

  I was glad to stay.

  They were formidable, those two, in their scarlet robes, bringing with them an aura of sanctity and power. They wanted to impress upon us the fact that they came from the highest authority, His Holiness the Pope.

  They hesitated about allowing me to stay, but my mother was adamant and they apparently thought my presence would do no harm.

  Wolsey began by citing cases when royal marriages had for state reasons been annulled. The one my father had referred to with Reginald was mentioned—that of Louis XII and Jeanne de Valois.

  “The lady retired to a convent,” said Wolsey, “and there enjoyed a life of sanctity to the end of her days.”


  “I shall not do that,” replied my mother. “I am the Queen. My daughter is the heir to the throne. If I agree to this, it will be said that I am expiating the sin of having lived with the King when not his wife. This is a blatant lie, and I will not give credence to it. Moreover the Princess Mary is the King's legitimate daughter, and unless we have a son she will remain heir to the throne.”

  Wolsey begged her to take his advice.

  She turned on him at once. “You are the King's advocate, Cardinal,” she said. “I could not take advice from you.”

  Campeggio leaned forward in his chair and stroked his thigh, his face momentarily contorted with pain. “Your Grace,” he said, “the King is determined to bring the truth to light.”

  “There is nothing I want more,” retorted my mother.

  “If this matter were brought before a court, it could be most distressing for you.”

  “I know the truth,” she answered. “It would be well for all to know it.”

  “Your Grace was married to Prince Arthur. You lived with him for some time. If the marriage were consummated…”

  “The marriage was not consummated.”

  “This must be put to the test.”

  “How?”

  “Those who served you when you and your first husband were together might have evidence.”

  My mother gave him a look of contempt. She had for some time regarded him as one of her greatest enemies.

  “Would your Grace confess to me?” asked Campeggio.

  She looked at him steadily. She must have seen, as I did, a poor sick old man who had no liking for his task. He might not be her friend but he was not her enemy. Moreover, he was the Pope's messenger and she trusted him.

  “Yes,” she said, “I would.”

  I was dismissed then, and she and Campeggio went into her private closet. She told me afterward that he had questioned her about her first marriage. “I told the truth,” she said. “I swore in the name of the Holy Trinity. They cannot condemn me. The truth must stand. I am the King's true wife and I will not be put aside.”

  I WAS NOW PASSING into one of the most distressing periods of my life up to that time. It is well known how the legatine court opened in Blackfriars in 1529 and when my parents were called to state their cases, my mother threw herself at my father's feet and begged him to remember the happiness they had once shared and to consider his daughter's honor.

  I could imagine his embarrassment and how he declared that, if only he could believe he was not living in sin with her, she would be the one he would choose above all others for his wife.

  I wondered how he could utter such blatant hypocrisy when everyone knew that his passion for Anne Boleyn was the major reason for his desire for a divorce, for she would not become his mistress but insisted on marriage.

  It is common knowledge that my mother declared that she would answer to no court but that of Rome, that she withdrew and when called would not come back. I still marvel at my father. I wondered how he could possibly maintain that his reason for wanting the divorce was solely due to his fear of offending God when all knew of his obsession. Because he felt I was an impediment to the fulfillment of his wishes on account of the people's attitude toward me, and the fact that I was undoubtedly his daughter, he was eager to get me married and out of the picture. The possibility of my marrying the little French Prince was becoming more and more remote, and in any case it would not come about for years. And at one stage the King had the effrontery to suggest a marriage between myself and Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond. How could he, while pretending to be so disturbed because of his connection with his brother's widow, suggest marrying me to my half-brother!

  It was well that this suggestion did not become widely known, but I did marvel that the possibility had entered his mind and that the Pope should consider the idea and be prepared to provide the necessary dispensation. It brought home to me the fact that most men were completely concerned with their own grip on power and would do anything, however dishonorable, to keep it. I was developing a certain cynicism.

  I was not surprised that my mother was in despair. How could she, in such a world, ever expect justice!

  “What think you?” she said to the Countess. “Will any Englishman who is the King's subject be a friend to me and go against the King's pleasure?”

  Reginald grew more and more convinced that Campeggio had received orders to bring the matter to no conclusion and that his task was to delay wherever possible. This he seemed to do with a certain skill, while my father grew more and more angry as the case dragged on and nothing was achieved.

  That which Reginald had prophesied came to pass. The Pope recalled Campeggio. It was announced that the case was to be tried in Rome. My mother was jubilant, my father incensed. They both knew that Rome would never dare offend the Emperor as far as to give the verdict the King desired. He naturally refused to leave the country.

  During those weary weeks my mother and I were sustained only by each other and our friends. The scene around us was changing. Anne Boleyn was now installed at Court; she was the Queen in all but name; but still she kept my father at arms' length. Thus she kept her power over him. Wolsey was in disgrace; he had failed; according to the King, he had served his master, the Pope, against the King, and that was something my father would not endure. Poor Wolsey! I could feel it in my heart to be sorry for him. To have climbed so high and now fall so low—it was a tragedy, and one could not fail to commiserate just a little even though he had been no friend to us. He had worked for the divorce; where he had failed was not to work for the marriage of the King and Anne Boleyn.

  Campeggio had left the country, and the King was so furious with the old man that he commanded his luggage be searched before he embarked for the Continent. Campeggio complained bitterly at this indignity—a small matter when one considered what was happening to Wolsey.

  Thomas Cranmer had leaped into prominence by suggesting the King appeal to the universities of England and Europe instead of relying on a papal court. This found great favor with the King who guessed—rightly— that bribes scattered there could bring the desired result.

  I was heartily sick and weary—and completely disillusioned—by the whole matter.

  When I look back on those three years 1529 to 1531, I am not surprised that my mother's health, and mine also, deteriorated. She was really ill and I was growing pale and suffering from headaches. But at least we were together most of the time, although I had a separate household at Newhall near Chelmsford in Essex. My mother was still living as the Queen and moving from place to place with the Court, but she was being more and more ignored, and often the King would leave her and go to some other place with Anne Boleyn. I at least was comforted by the constant company of the Countess and her son.

  I knew I gave some concern to the King. Not that he cared for my welfare but he believed I was an impediment to the granting of the divorce and that, if it were not that she was determined to fight for my rights, my mother would have gone into a convent by now and the whole matter could have been settled.

  It was sad to see my mother growing more and more feeble in health, although at the same time her resolve was as strong as ever and grew stronger, I think, with every passing day and new difficulty.

  We would sew together and read the Bible. She liked me to read to her. She told me once that the path to Heaven was never easy and the more tribulations we suffered on Earth the greater the joy when we were received into Heaven. “Think of the sufferings of our Lord Jesus,” she said. “What are our pains compared with His?”

  We used to pray together. She it was who instilled in me so firmly my religious beliefs. Religion was our staff and comfort. I shall never forget how it maintained us during those days.

  My mother and I were so close that I think we sometimes knew what was in each other's minds. I know she longed for death—though she clung to life because she believed she must fight for me. She would never give the King what he asked, for that
would mean that she accepted the fact that I was their illegitimate daughter. She wanted me to be a queen. She wanted me to rule the country with a firm and loving hand. She believed that there were not enough religious observances in England. The people, on the whole, were not a pious race. They were too preoccupied with amusement and finery and bestowed too little attention on sacred matters.

  “You need a strong man beside you,” she said to me once.

  “My lady, I am betrothed to the son of the King of France.”

  “That will come to nothing. The friendship of kings is like a leaf in the wind. It sways this way and that, and when the wind blows strongly enough, it falls to the ground, is trampled on and forgotten. I do not wish to see you married into France.”

  “I dareswear I shall marry where it pleases my father.”

  “My dear daughter, if I could see you married to a good man, a man of deep religious convictions, someone whom I could trust, I could die happy. I want to see you protected from the evil of the world. I want someone who will stand with you, for your position could be difficult in the days ahead. It is my most cherished dream to see you on the throne of England, and I want you to have the right man beside you when you are there.”

  “Where is such a man?” I asked, although I knew of whom she was thinking.

  Again she read my thoughts: “My child, I think you know. His mother and I have watched the growing friendship between you. It is more than friendship. His mother has seen it … and we are of one mind on this matter.”

  I flushed and said quietly, “But it would be his choice?”

  “Has he not made that clear? He was to leave England. He was to go back to Italy to complete his studies, but he is still here.”

  I was suffused with happiness. If it could only be! If I could be spared that fate which befell most princesses, to go to a foreign land, to a husband whom I had never seen…if it could be Reginald!