Moth To The Flame

by Angela Warwick

  Later that same evening, whilst Wyatt was partnering her in the dance, he suddenly informed her “I have the chance to travel to Italy on a mission with Sir John Russell”.

  “Oh Tom!” she exclaimed, almost missing her steps in her dismay. “You will go?”

  “I would rather stay near you” he told her passionately. “But in view of the King’s interest in you, it may be better for me to be abroad. He regards me as a rival, no matter what he says, and he can be a dangerous opponent”.

  “You are right” she conceded sadly. “It would be safer for you to be away from the court, especially now….” Her voice trailed away.

  “Especially now what?” Wyatt hissed, suddenly angry. “You have not become his mistress?”

  “Oh no” she reassured him quickly. “It is just… oh…I may as well tell you, if you promise to keep it to yourself”.

  The dance ended and he stood looking at her expectantly. Motioning him closer, she whispered “The King has asked me to marry him. He is obtaining a divorce from the Queen”.

  “Oh, Nan!” Tom shook his head in disbelief. “Is this what you really want?”

  “Of course not!” she retorted petulantly. “If I had been seriously looking for a husband I would have married you years ago”. Looking into his troubled green eyes, she continued. “Wish me luck Tom. A fickle suitor makes an even more fickle husband, no doubt”.

  “I do wish you luck” Wyatt told her ardently. “You will certainly need it, but the thought of you in his bed makes me want to …. !” Sensibly he stilled his words, but his very stance, with body tensed and face flushed, spoke far louder than the treasonable words he had so nearly uttered.

  Seeing his agitation, Anne said gently. “We must part now Tom, before the King sees. God speed, my love”. Then she was gone, slipping through the crowd towards the royal dais. He watched her out of sight and then without a word to any, left the great hall to prepare for his journey.

  Despite her assumed gaiety, Anne’s heart was heavy that night. Panic periodically assailed her as she wondered how she would bear her royal suitor’s caresses from day to day without sight of that face she loved so dearly.

  Anne and Henry were supping privately in her chamber one evening when a hot, dusty messenger was ushered into their presence. The date was 1st June 1527; Anne knew she would always remember it.

  Although exhausted, the messenger managed to gasp out that the Imperial troops of the Queen’s nephew, the Emperor Charles V had mercilessly sacked Rome. The Pope, in fear of his life, had fled to the Castel St Angelo overlooking the city, and was virtually a prisoner.

  As the man was escorted to the kitchens for rest and refreshment, Anne looked into Henry’s shocked face and said dully “this then is the end of our hopes. The Emperor will never allow the Pope to declare his aunt an incestuous wife”.

  Henry heaved a great sigh for he believed her to be right. “We will not give up!” he shouted suddenly, banging his fist on the table as he spoke. “Somehow Wolsey must reach the Pope; I will order him to travel immediately!”

  Within two days Anne and Henry stood on the water steps at Hampton Court watching the pretentious prelate preparing to leave by barge on the first stage of his journey. His was a sumptuous retinue for he was determined to travel in style and comfort. As the barges began to pull away, Wolsey and the King exchanged glances, and in that moment Wolsey knew that it would be the worse for him if he did not succeed in his mission. Later, as Anne and the King were exploring Wolsey’s great house, like two children whose mother has gone out, Henry told Anne that he would need to leave her to her own devices for a while as he had to see the Queen. “Why?” she burst out indignantly.

  “No need for hysterics Nan” he reproved her gently. “I just feel that the time has come to inform Catherine of my intentions. I wish to be fair to her”.

  Dumbly Anne nodded and watched him go, her heart singing.

  The approaching interview with Catherine had been preying on his mind for days and he was glad that he had finally steeled himself to do it. She and her ladies were quietly sewing when he walked in on them unannounced and became uncomfortably aware of many eyes regarding him with amazement; it was so long since he had ventured near. Catherine held his gaze for a few moments; her expression stony, before saying to her ladies in her deep, still heavily accented voice, “leave us, ladies. The King and I would speak alone”.

  As the door closed on the last of her waiting women, she looked at him with reproachful eyes. “It is many weeks since you last visited me Henry”.

  “I know” he blustered, “affairs of state, you know … “

  She did not reply, keeping her eyes fixed on him. He stared back, trying to hide the distaste he now felt for her; she was only forty-two but looked so much older. Yes, she had experienced many sorrows in her life but she still had no right to look so dowdy! There were many women he knew who were her age and older, yet they had kept their looks. The one who immediately sprang to mind was Elizabeth Boleyn; she was close in age to Catherine yet looked a good ten years younger. He hoped Anne would look as lovely as her mother in later life.

  Catherine spoke, startling him from his musings. “Do you wish to speak to me or merely stare at me?”

  Thrust back into reality, he immediately began to speak his mind. “We have no living sons Catherine” he began.

  “And is that my fault?” she interjected. “I have given birth to four male children; we cannot question God’s right to call them out of this world”.

  Glaring at her, he continued. “The bible states that no man may marry his brother’s wife and have issue. So therefore … “.

  She cut in again. “We have Mary”.

  “She may die any day!” he snapped, his patience fast disappearing. “Kindly do not interrupt your King, Madam!” Taking a deep breath, he continued. “For some months my conscience has been troubled by this matter. God has not smiled on us Catherine, for we have done a great wrong. The only remedy is for us to separate; you must leave court and choose a house in which to spend your retirement”. His speech had gone well, he decided, as he turned to Catherine expectantly.

  She had pulled her embroidery frame to her and was calmly continuing with her sewing. Without meeting his eyes she said “I have been expecting something of this nature for some time. So it is official; you wish to put me away in order to take a new young wife to your bed”. She paused and turned reproachful Spanish eyes to his. “But it is not your conscience which is aroused my Lord, merely your lusts! This is a cock and bull story which you have concocted in order to be rid of me and deny our daughter her right to the throne!” Her point made, she returned her attention to her work. Whilst Henry alternately sighed and stamped his way around the chamber she threw in her final barb. “Some weeks ago I wrote to my nephew informing him that I believed you wished to be rid of me, possibly by divorce … “

  Henry wheeled round on her “You did what?” he thundered.

  “I believe you heard me the first time Henry” she continued calmly. “The Emperor my nephew will have received my despatch before the sack of Rome. Perhaps it is what prompted him to take the eternal city and imprison the Pope.

  Horrified, Henry clapped his hands to his eyes. That the Queen may be behind the Emperor’s actions had not occurred to him or Anne. However, upsetting Catherine would only make her all the more obstinate, so he quickly changed tactics.

  His voice gentle, he said “Catherine?” She looked up at him in surprise and he continued. “Catherine, agree to a divorce and retire from here. You may choose where you wish to live and you can take Mary with you. I give you my word that the pair of you will want for nothing”.

  She listened to him, open mouthed. He had not changed; he still refused to listen to things which did not please him. All her proud Spanish royal blood arose in her and she sprang to her feet, knocking aside her embroidery frame in her violence, her eyes shining with conviction. In a voice as loud and powerful as his, she
cried, “nothing shall induce me to give up my position as Queen of this realm. I am your true wedded wife and Mary is your heir. You may disown me if you choose, but I shall fight for my daughter until the day I die!”

  For a moment, Henry’s courage failed him; all the spirit of her dead mother, the redoubtable warrior Queen Isabella looked from Catherine’s eyes. Without a word, without even changing his expression, he left the room.

  Alone again, Catherine sat down in her chair with a bump. Her heart broken by this cruel betrayal she stared wordlessly at the door through which he had passed; stared until the picture became hopelessly blurred as she, a proud daughter of Spain, collapsed in tragic, bitter tears.

  Some weeks later, Henry received that for which he had long been waiting; a letter from Cardinal Wolsey. Excitedly he read it, and then sent a page to ask the Lady Anne Rochford to join him immediately.

  Minutes later, she entered the chamber. “This is our chance, sweetheart” he told her, handing over Wolsey’s despatch.

  Quickly she scanned it, reading one part aloud “… with Your Grace’s approval I am sending three of my retinue to bribe their way into the Pope’s presence. They will persuade him to hand over the administration of the Catholic Church for the duration of his imprisonment to myself and a select group of Cardinals”. She tapped the letter with her other hand, her eyes shining. “You mean this is our chance to send Doctor Knight on the real mission?

  “The ideal opportunity!” Henry told her gleefully. “I have already drawn up the annulment papers; they now require only the Pope’s signature before we can be married. Doctor Knight will be riding for Dover within the hour!”

  Chapter 19 – Sweating Sickness

  The weeks following Doctor Knight’s departure were fraught with tension for Henry and Anne. They had expected word to come from Wolsey once the envoy reached him, but although they looked at all hours every day for messengers from abroad, none came.

  One autumn night, Henry and Anne were holding one of their frequent musical evenings with about a dozen friends, when a page appeared at Henry’s side. “Cardinal Wolsey has arrived from France” he whispered. “He wishes to know where Your Grace will speak with him”.

  Before the King could answer, Anne rose to her feet and said coldly “Tell him he must come where the King is. Bid him enter”.

  Unceremoniously, the Cardinal was ushered into the music room. He was dusty and travel stained and held himself as though he were a very old man, looking ill and tired. The King was all bluff heartiness. “What brings you home so quickly Thomas?”

  The Cardinal replied, “I felt I had done all I could Your Grace. I have left your envoy Doctor Knight working in my stead”.

  “Is there any news?” Anne interjected.

  “None that I know of” Wolsey replied, failing to hide his look of dislike as he met her eyes. “Although I do have some matters of a private nature to discuss with the King”.

  Imperiously Anne waved her hand, addressing the onlookers. “It seems our music must be at an end for this evening my friends. I pray you leave the King and myself for we would speak privately with the Cardinal”.

  One by one the assembly gathered up cushions, music and instruments and left the chamber.

  “Well?” asked Henry eagerly, turning to Wolsey. “What news?”

  “Francis has agreed to a double alliance” Wolsey replied, “although I am now given to understand that Your Grace never intended taking the French princess to wife”. Lips pursed, he fixed a cold glance on the king and saw him exchange glances with Anne.

  Pompously Henry stated “I have decided that my subjects would not be inclined to tolerate another foreign alliance due to the failure of the present Queen to produce a male heir”.

  Wolsey kept his gaze fixed on the King’s face. “In which case …” he prompted.

  Henry continued eagerly. “In which case I have decided to select my future bride from amongst my own people; the English”

  At this, Wolsey switched his gaze to Anne, who stared stonily back, a small triumphant smile curving her lips. Wolsey barked “You Grace has made his choice?”

  Smiling, Henry reached for Anne’s hand and held it to his lips, and then drawing her closer to Wolsey said “I believe there is no other more suited to queenship than my Lady Anne Rochford”.

  Wolsey’s eyes swept her contemptuously. “None indeed” he agreed reluctantly.

  Aware that her power over the Cardinal was complete, Anne felt that she was living her finest hour. “You will work to place me on the throne?” she asked.

  Watching the pair of them, Wolsey grudgingly replied that he would do all within his power to bring the matter of the divorce to a speedy conclusion, fully cognisant of the fact that he had little choice.

  “Good”. Satisfied, Anne flashed the Cardinal a brief smile. “The King and I are agreed that you should remain here in England and liaise with Doctor Knight, who should by now be in Rome”.

  Wolsey inclined his head in acknowledgement, then begged leave to retire and rest after his long journey. The King dismissed him thankfully; maybe now with Wolsey on their side things would begin to happen at last.

  As the door closed behind the crestfallen Wolsey, Henry turned to Anne and said gently, “were you not a little hard on him sweetheart?”

  “Maybe” she admitted apologetically. “But he must be made to see that we are truly set on our course, Henry. The way that he looked at me just then; he still believes me to be just a passing fancy. I am sure that he will delay the divorce if he can, hoping that in the meantime you will tire of me”.

  The King took her into his arms. “We must trust him Nan” he told her. “But by God should he try any delaying tactics, or rouse my anger by not paying you the deference due to you as my future wife, he will find himself tumbled from his high estate and lodged in the Tower!”

  Christmas that year was a joyous affair; the first letters had been received from Doctor Knight in Rome and it looked as though everything was going to plan. Shortly after the New Year’s Day revels, Wolsey begged, and was granted, an audience with the King.

  “Problems, Thomas?” the King asked, noting the Cardinal’s troubled expression.

  “Of a kind, Your Grace” he admitted. “I have today received a communication from the Pope. Clement says that he would be able to see his way clear to granting your divorce were he in happier circumstances. However, still being under the power of the Emperor, he fears for his life should he grant your desire.

  Henry sighed wearily. “I knew things were going a little too smoothly. What now, Thomas?”

  Confidently, Wolsey continued. “I suggest we reply to Clement and ask him to send a representative from the Vatican in order that we may try the case in England. Obviously this legate should be empowered to grant the divorce, should he be satisfied as to the grounds”.

  “You think Clement would agree?” Henry’s voice was full of hope.

  Wolsey shrugged his shoulders. “I can think of no reason why he should not. The selected legate could sanction the divorce thus relieving Clement of the responsibility”.

  “Excellent!” Henry leapt to his feet and prepared to terminate the interview. “Petition the Pope to send his legate and do all within your power to bring him to England with all speed. I must away now to acquaint the Lady Anne of these new developments”.

  The Cardinal watched him go; heaving a sigh for the old days when he had held full sway over his monarch; when there had been no scheming female to impose such a strain on their relationship. The Lady Anne Rochford was proving to be an adversary indeed, and the Cardinal wondered if he had the stomach for the upcoming battle for control over the King.

  June 1528 was said to be the hottest in living memory. The court was at Greenwich, grateful for the cool breezes which came off the river, but ever watchful for the pestilence which never failed to raise its head in such conditions. On 14th June came the news which all dreaded, but expected; the sweating sickness h
ad arrived in London and was fast tightening its grip on the population.

  The King tried to suppress his panic at the news. His greatest dread was, and always had been, that some disease would carry him off leaving his country without a prince to succeed him. His physicians however felt that for the time being, the court was safe. The disease so far was confined to an area of the city far from Greenwich.

  But as was its way, overnight the disease crept into the palace, attacking several of the kitchen skivvies. No person close to the King was afflicted, but Anne woke up to find one of her maids well within its grip and fighting for her life.

  On the King’s orders, the court had been making ready to remove itself well away from danger; to Waltham in Essex. Anne however knew that Waltham was not for her. She was well aware of the unwritten court rule that any person who had been in contact with a dangerous disease was to keep from the King and leave the court without delay. There was no alternative; she prepared to leave for Hever.

  Again she wandered her home’s quiet, peaceful surroundings; thankful in a way to be away from the chaos and intrigue of the court in order to relax and recharge herself. The divorce was still some months away, she calculated, therefore she would need to continue to hold the King in thrall until she could achieve her ultimate ambition.

  Her sister Mary and brother George arrived at Hever only a few days after her own arrival. The news from court was bad; many had died and Mary’s husband William Carey was among the latest to be afflicted. Mary had brought her son with her in an effort to escape infection.