by Jean Plaidy
He banged his fist on the table in an excess of fury. I cried out in alarm, but on this occasion he had no thought even for me.
“This,” he cried, “is that fellow Pole’s doing!”
He was on his feet, shouting. He strode to the door. He gave orders. There was an immediate Council.
I did not see Henry all that day, and when I did, he was preoccupied. I managed to soothe him a little. I listened to him. I sympathized with him while he shouted that he would subdue those Yorkshire oafs. It was of no great moment, but he was a sad man.
He was in a mood of self-pity.
“Katherine, I have given my life to this country. Is it not an amazing thing that there should be those of my subjects who can be so ungrateful?”
“It is,” I soothed. “When you have given your life to them.”
He took my hand and held it.
“You understand, do you not? You see how I suffer through these ungrateful people?”
“Oh I do, I do.” He kissed me.
“It was the happiest moment of my life when I looked across that table and heard you singing my song,” he said.
Sir John Neville was soon suppressed
“They had not a chance,” Jane told me. “They were defeated before they started. They will soon be wishing they had never been born.”
The King said: “I have an unhappy people to govern. I could reduce them to such poverty that they would not be able to rebel.” His face hardened and took on that cruel look which always made me uneasy.
I must see the parade of the prisoners with him. As they passed, I watched that cruel smile on his face. They were taken to the Tower from whence they would be taken to Tyburn, where they would be hanged and taken down before they were dead, to suffer that which I could not bear to contemplate.
It came to my mind to ask the King to spare them, but even I knew that would be folly. I must remember that I dare not go too far. So I saved myself in time from begging for their lives.
The King was happier that night. He was quite sentimental about his care for his people and how misguided they were to attempt this rising. It was all a matter of the Church again. He was the Head of the Church now, but there would always be those who would question it … until they saw the folly of it, as these men now did.
“It is this fellow Pole who is behind it,” he railed. “I was fond of him. I cared for him. I paid for his education.” There were tears in his eyes. “It was my conscience. His mother is the daughter of the Duke of Clarence, brother to Edward IV; and my mother, Elizabeth of York, was the daughter of that Edward, that King. You see how closely we are linked. It was the marriage between my mother and my father that united the Houses of York and Lancaster. Alas, men are ambitious. Reginald Pole could not forget that he was descended from Edward IV and Richard III. I even suspect him of having had his eyes on the throne. A King’s lot is not always a happy one, Katherine. I know you have thought it is. You have seen the pageantry, the pomp and the feasting. But it is not always so. Then I need my Katherine to soothe me … not a woman who will argue of this and that, but one who will be there to comfort me, to take my mind away from the wearisome matter of governing. Do you understand that, wife?”
I nestled against him. “I understand that I always want to give you what you want.”
He was happy then. The rebels of Yorkshire were all in the Tower. Tomorrow there would be the spectacle of their execution.
Neville would be taken back to York. He should perish where he had started the trouble, that the people might see the fate of those who turned traitor to the King.
There was a sequel to the Yorkshire rising. The Countess of Salisbury was sentenced to death.
I was horrified. I had thought of her comfortable in her furred nightdress, and considered how delighted she must have been to receive it. And now she was to die.
I was not so foolish as to think I could plead for her. I knew the King would give me a great deal if I asked it, but I had glimpsed his rage at the very mention of Reginald Pole, and I knew I must not stretch his indulgence too far.
As was my habit, I tried to forget what I did not want to hear, but it was difficult to banish thoughts of the Countess from my mind. I felt an urge to know what she felt about the manner in which she was being treated. I talked to Jane Rochford.
“It is reported that she has declared she has committed no crime,” she told me.
“Is it true that she was not involved in the Neville rebellion?”
“It is what she says. But many will tell you that the revolt was supported by Reginald Pole, and she is his mother, so it is very likely that she helped her son. Ever since the King broke with Rome, there have been those who are for the King and others who cling to the Pope, and Cardinal Reginald Pole most naturally supports the Pope.”
“Then she is guilty,” I said
“She declares she is not. But she would, would she not?”
“But if she is innocent, she must not be executed.”
“She is certainly guilty of being in the royal line.”
“Oh, Jane, you make the most daring statements!”
“I only say them to you. It is because I speak to you as I would to myself. You must forget what I have said as soon as I say it. It is because I am so close to you.” She added, with a grin: “Your Majesty.”
“Jane, I wonder how right you are.”
“We can only wait and see.”
“Be careful, Jane.”
“Your Majesty must be so, too. Remember, what a Majesty says can mean more than the words of a simple lady-in-waiting. Forget not who sent clothes to her. That could be a rash act … more than making a remark as to whether she is guilty or not.”
But Jane did look a little subdued. I think she was wondering whether she had gone too far.
The following day the Countess walked out from the Tower to Smithfield Green, which was close by.
The Lord Mayor, with several other prominent Londoners, came to witness the end of the Countess. The block was a low one and no scaffold had been erected. The Countess prayed for the King, the Queen and the young Prince Edward. She also spoke movingly of the Princess Mary, whose governess she had been, and whom she had openly supported when the King was trying to divorce her mother in order to marry Anne Boleyn. The poor Countess had not had a happy life since that time, and this was largely due to her opposition to the King’s wishes. And now … she had come to her death. Having said her prayers, she held her head high and, standing by the hastily erected scaffold, she announced to the watchers that she was condemned to die as was the fate of traitors.
“But,” she said in louder tones, “I am no traitor, and if you will have my head, you must win it.”
I could not believe this when Jane reported to me. She was romancing, as she could do at times.
“It was a moment of horror,” Jane went on. “The headsman caught her and dragged her to the block. He could do no other. Was he not acting on the King’s orders? He forced her down. She was weak. Do not forget, she had spent a year in the Tower. He struck. The first blow missed her neck. So he hacked again … and again and again … until he had her head from her shoulders.”
I covered my face with my hands. “It was not so! It was not so,” I cried. “I do not want to hear.”
“I was not present,” said Jane. “But that is the tale as I heard it.”
And if that account of the Countess’s death was not exactly accurate, there was no doubt that something similarly horrific had occurred. People crossed themselves when they spoke of it. The King would not have it mentioned in his presence. The woman might have been royal. Her son might be a traitor. But, for the comfort of all concerned, she was best forgotten.
The Duke of Norfolk was begging an audience with me. I liked that. The mighty one humbly begging to see me! Graciously I agreed to see him.
He was looking embarrassed and uneasy as he bowed, which I supposed was because he must show the necessary respect due to t
he Queen, who was, after all, only the silly little niece whom he had hitherto despised.
His first words were: “Your Majesty, I trust this is a time when you will remember that I am your uncle, who wishes you nothing but good fortune.”
“Your Grace is kind,” I said, rather flippantly.
“I would serve you well.”
“Your Grace has something to say to me?”
“That is so. We have just been made aware of the discord in the North.”
“I was of the opinion that the King had settled that matter.”
“Praise God, he has put down the revolt and punished those who have been responsible. But the King is uneasy.”
I looked surprised. “He has not told me.”
The faintly contemptuous lift of his lips was hardly perceptible, but it was there.
“The King, I know, is very concerned for your comfort. He would not wish you to be worried with such matters.”
“The King does confide his troubles to me, I should tell you.”
“Indeed he does. He often speaks to me of his growing love for our family, and he is grateful to the Howards for having given you to him.”
I did not like this reference to the magnanimity of the Howards. Previously they had always considered me unworthy of them. But I was the one who had captured the heart of the King. They seemed to forget that I had, without effort, done that which they had all spent their lives striving to do.
The Duke went on: “I was referring to this trouble in Yorkshire which, as Your Majesty says, the King has settled. The King fears there may be other insurrections, and that is something he greatly wishes to avoid.”
“Indeed he does. It is a most disturbing matter, with so many men going to their deaths.”
“Traitors,” said the Duke. “The King will not have traitors in his realm. There was the Countess of Salisbury.” He coughed slightly. “It came to my ears that Your Majesty had supplied the lady with garments—furred garments.”
“The nightdress was furred. She needed it against the cold. And there were hose and boots.”
“The Countess was the King’s prisoner.”
“She was a lady unused to the hardships of prison.”
“As she had been in the Tower for a year or more, it is to be presumed she was accustomed to them by that time.”
“My lord, such hardships are something to which one never grows accustomed.”
“It is the fate of prisoners. And this, Your Majesty, was the King’s prisoner. I must stress that point. Now, if you had consulted me …”
“Your Grace was not one I would consult regarding an errand of mercy.”
He flinched a little. I fancied he was growing angry. Oh, I had undoubtedly changed since I had become the Queen, beloved of the King.
He went on: “I should have warned you that it is a little unwise to … er … show friendship toward the King’s enemies.”
“The King has not mentioned this.”
“The King is indulgent … to some. Your Majesty has not, I dare swear, discussed the matter with him.”
“I had not thought it of any great importance.”
He forgot then that he was talking to the Queen, for he said sharply: “Then ’twas a pity you did not give the matter more thought.”
“I believe the Countess derived much pleasure from the gifts.”
“I doubt not that she did … in more ways than one. There is much trouble in the country. I would speak to you of that.”
“Pray do,” I said. We were indeed changing. It was the first time he had ever thought it necessary to talk to me of the country’s affairs.
“When the King removed the Church from Rome, there were many in the country who were deeply disturbed, and it is their intention to take it back. This the King will never allow.”
“I am aware of that.”
“It causes strife. There will be others like Neville. There is a division in the country. Times are dangerous. You are a great comfort to the King, and I rejoice in that, but do not try him too far. You must strive to remain as you are now. That brings good to the King … and our family. Your task is to soothe him. Never attempt to try his patience.”
“Do you suggest that this is what I have done?”
“Your Majesty,” he said, remembering who I was once more. “I am your uncle. I have always had your well-being and that of our family in mind. For the good of the family and the country, you must keep the King’s favor. I hope you will allow me to speak my mind.”
“I was under the impression, my Lord Duke, that you always did.”
“If, when Your Majesty decides to take some action … something which might be misconstrued by some as being a little rash … if you came to me, I could advise you as to its wisdom. Believe me, there are some matters so intricate … so open to misconstruction by one’s enemies, that they need the utmost care in handling.” He meant, of course, that they were beyond the understanding of simple people like myself. “For instance, the clothes you sent to the Tower.” He shook his head slowly. “If you had asked me, I should have advised against that.”
“It is a matter long forgotten, my lord. The lady is now dead … hacked to pieces, I hear.”
He held up his hand just like the uncle of old. I knew what it cost him to treat me with respect, and I was beginning to feel impatient with him. Did he intend to play the wise uncle of a stupid girl all my life?
“The King believed her to be a traitor,” he went on. “She was aiding her son, who was aiding Neville. She died for that reason. That is enough. I would ask you … I would pray you … to consider before you take such an action again. A word from you will bring me immediately to your side.”
“I suppose I might send for anyone if I needed them,” I retorted with a laugh which, to my annoyance, seemed to border on a giggle.
“This is a serious matter. You could very easily do that which would prove unseemly. You are not in your grandmother’s home now. You are in a dangerous place, niece. I am here … ready to help you. I will advise you on all occasions.”
“I have no doubt that you would do that, but let me tell you, Uncle, that I have done very well so far without your help, and I propose to go on doing so.”
He was really angry then. It was only because he was so accustomed to protocol that he could restrain himself from striking me, I was sure.
He stepped back a few paces and muttered: “I have done my best. I ask Your Majesty’s leave to retire.”
I gave it readily, fury raging within me.
It was some time after before I asked myself what I had done.
When I received the letter from Joan Bulmer, I read it with great concern: it was only after a closer perusal that I began to feel a qualm of uneasiness. It brought back memories I would rather suppress.
I had believed I had loved Francis Derham until I had met Thomas, then I had realized I had been overwhelmed until I came to know true love. I had indeed loved Thomas, and if events had turned out as we had hoped they would, I should have been very happy with him. But the King had seen me, and I had had no alternative but to go to him.
I was happy now. The King’s devotion was wonderful. I enjoyed seeing his face soften when he looked at me. It was easy to keep him happy. Love-making was so much a part of my life. I think it had been meant to be since the day when Manox had begun to initiate me. I can only believe that there are some people like that.
And now Joan Bulmer. She had married and acquired the name Bulmer since our acquaintance. I really did not want those people whom I had known in the past to be near me now. I had been a little uneasy when I had heard that Katherine Tylney was in the household. It was not important, I told myself. It was just that I would rather they were not there.
I looked back over parts of her letter. It was quite a long one.
If I could wish you all the honor and good fortune you could desire, you would never lack health, wealth, long life, nor yet prosperity.
There wa
s nothing wrong with that. It appeared that her marriage was not a happy one, and she went on to ask for a place in my household, for she desperately needed to get away from her present circumstances.
I know no remedy without your goodness. You could find the means to get me to London. If you could write to my husband and command him to bring me to you, he would not dare disobey. I beseech you to find a place for me. The nearer I were to you, the gladder I would be of it. I would write more unto you, but I would not be so bold for considering the great honor you are toward, it did not become me to put myself in presence: but the remembrance of the perfect honesty that I have always known in you hath encouraged me to do this.
I know the Queen of Britain will not forget her secretary, and favor you will show.
Your humble servant with heart unfeigned,
Joan Bulmer
No, I did not like it. The reference to my honesty, my humble servant. I tried to thrust my misgivings aside.
I did not reply to the letter for a few days, and then I found myself watching for another letter from Joan Bulmer.
This was foolish. Joan and I had been on fairly friendly terms. She was now in dire straits, poor girl. Had I not always been ready to listen to the trials of others and help if I could? Not that I had had much chance of doing so in those days, but they had always known I was sympathetic and would help if I were able.
No, this was just the letter of a woman in distress. She was unhappy. She wanted to be away from her husband, and at Court. I could understand that.
I was not quite sure of my feelings. Perhaps I was too uneasy to look clearly at how I felt. I kept wondering what the King’s attitude would be if he knew that the Duchess had come into that room and had seen me rolling on the floor with Francis Derham. I pictured those little eyes sinking into his fleshy face with fury. I was wise enough to realize that by no stretch of the imagination could he picture himself in a similar position. His obesity … his bad leg … and I knew that thought would irritate him beyond control.
There was another matter which disturbed me, but only faintly.