Katharine of Aragon

by Jean Plaidy

  “He had better be,” said the King. “In any case he's banished from Court and has been ordered not to see the girl again. His duty now is to marry Mary Talbot as soon as possible, and we shall see that that is done.”

  “Ah well, Henry, then the matter will be settled. But I am surprised that you should feel so strongly about it.”

  “You are surprised!” The King's eyes were fierce. “Let me tell you that the welfare of the young people at my Court is my greatest concern.”

  “I know it well.”

  The King strode from her apartment; and she continued to wonder why he should have been so incensed by such a trivial matter.

  She saw Anne Boleyn a few days later, and all the sparkle seemed to have gone out of her. She was dejected and sullen.

  Poor girl! pondered the Queen. She is heartbroken at the loss of her lover.

  She wondered whether to send for her and offer her comfort; but decided that would be unwise, and tantamount to acting against the wishes of the King.

  A week passed and she remembered that she had not seen the girl; so she asked one of her women if Anne Boleyn was still at Court.

  “No, Your Grace,” was the answer, “she has returned to Hever Castle on the King's command.”

  Banished from Court! And simply because she accepted Percy's offer of marriage.

  The King's anger was unaccountable.

  AS THE CARDINAL bent over the documents on his table his usher entered and told him that a merchant of Genoa was craving an audience with His Eminence.

  “What is his business?” asked the Cardinal.

  “He would tell me nothing, Eminence, except that he had merchandise to show you which he would show no other, and that he felt sure you would be willing to grant him an interview if you would but look at the nature of the articles he has to lay before you.”

  Wolsey was thoughtful. Was he right when he fancied there was a hint of subtlety in the merchant's words? What was the nature of the merchandise he wished to show? Could it be information—secret information?

  A year ago he would have had the merchant told that he might call again; since his defeat at the Papal election he had added that to his caution which he had subtracted from his dignity.

  “Bring the man to me,” he said.

  Cavendish retired and returned in a few moments with a dark-skinned man who carried a bag in a manner to suggest that what it contained was very precious indeed.

  “You may leave,” Wolsey told Cavendish; and as soon as he was alone with the Genoese, the man set down his bag and said: “My lord Cardinal, I am not merely a merchant. I come on behalf of one who is eager to negotiate with you.”

  “And who is that?”

  “The Duchesse of Savoy.”

  The Cardinal was silent. He knew that in truth this man was a messenger from François Premier, because, in everything François did, his mother, Louise of Savoy, was firmly behind him. Therefore if this man did indeed come from the Duchesse, it was tantamount to coming from the King of France.

  At last Wolsey spoke. “For what purpose are you here?”

  “My lady Duchesse knows full well the perfidy of the Emperor, which Your Eminence has so recently had reason to deplore. She believes that England would be happier in friendship with the King of France than with this perfidious Emperor. She knows that the King of England is deeply involved with the Emperor, that the Princess Mary is the Emperor's betrothed; but she feels that a greater understanding could be possible between France and England if Your Eminence and she were friends. She sends you letters which I bring to you; and if it should please Your Eminence to answer these letters, your reply can be safely trusted to my care.”

  “Your credentials?” asked the Cardinal.

  The merchant opened his bag and produced papers which Wolsey studied.

  These told him that he was in the presence of Giovanni Joachino Passano, a man whom he could trust; Passano was in England as a merchant and would carry on that trade. If the Cardinal could find lodgings for him it would make their meetings easier to arrange and he would be always at his disposal as the go-between for correspondence between France and England.

  The Cardinal was thoughtful.

  He was determined to end the war, the cessation of which was necessary for England's solvency; he was equally determined to show the Emperor that he could not neglect his promise to Thomas Wolsey with impunity. Secret communications with France would be useful at this moment.

  “I shall lodge you in London with a servant of mine in whom I have the utmost trust,” he said. “As a merchant of Genoa it will be understood that you are constantly travelling between London and the Continent. I shall study these papers you have brought to me and it may be that I shall wish you to carry my answers to the Duchesse.”

  “If that is so, Your Eminence, I shall be at your service.”

  “Let me see the articles you have brought with you to sell.”

  For the next ten minutes the Cardinal examined the exquisite cloth which the merchant showed him; then he summoned one of his pages and told him to send in a certain servant, one who did not live in the Cardinal's intimate entourage but had his lodgings in London.

  When this man arrived he said to him: “Here is Giovanni Joachino Passano, a merchant from Genoa, who has brought me rich cloth. I wish him to return to Genoa in due course to bring me more, but for the time being he needs lodgings in London. Take him into your house, that he may be near at hand when I wish to give him my orders.”

  The servant was delighted to be so selected and assured the Cardinal that the Genoese merchant should have the best room in his house, and all the respect deserved by one whose merchandise pleased the Cardinal.

  Wolsey nodded his approval in a manner which implied good services would not be forgotten.

  And so the agent of Louise of Savoy—who was naturally the servant of François Premier—had his lodgings in London; and the Cardinal often called him to Hampton Court, where they would remain together and alone, sometimes for hours at a time.

  THE KING CAME riding to Greenwich from Hever Castle where he had been spending a night as the guest of Sir Thomas Boleyn. As soon as he reached the Palace he summoned the Cardinal to his presence.

  He greeted Wolsey with the pleasure he habitually bestowed upon his favorite minister, but there was a change in his manner which baffled the Cardinal.

  He seemed almost subdued, which was rare in Henry; he looked more like a boy than ever and there was a certain gentleness about him which the Cardinal had never seen before.

  “‘Twas pleasant in the country,” he said. “I declare Boleyn's castle of Hever is a restful place in which to spend a night.”

  That was strange also. When had Henry ever asked for restfulness?

  “Your Grace took but a small party with you?”

  “‘Twas enough. I declare, Thomas, I am weary of ceremony on every occasion.”

  “‘Tis pleasant for Your Grace to escape now and then; and may I say that it is doubly pleasant for your servant to see you again.

  “Good Thomas,” murmured the King, but the Cardinal felt that his attention was elsewhere.

  Was this a good time to let him know that it might not be difficult to make peace with France, to whisper in the royal ear those first drops of poison regarding the Emperor? It seemed likely while he was in this gentle mood.

  “Boleyn entertained me royally at his castle,” went on Henry musingly. “I thought I would show my gratitude by granting him certain land. You might see what we could do for him.”

  “It shall be so, Your Grace.”

  “I had thought of elevating him to the peerage … as Viscount Rochford.”

  “This would take time, Your Grace.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Henry testily. “But it is in my mind to do so.”

  “He is a fortunate man to have found such favor in Your Grace's eyes, particularly as his daughter so recently offended you.”

  “Ah… the girl.” Th
e King began to smile. “A haughty wench, Thomas. I saw little of her during my stay at Hever.”

  “She was absent from her home?”

  “Indisposed.”

  “Your Grace was doubtless glad not to be bothered by the presence of the girl, preferring the company of her father.”

  “Bold,” mused Henry, “and haughty.”

  “Your Grace believes this indisposition to have been sulks on account of banishment from Court. The saucy wench should be clapped into prison for behaving so.”

  “Nay nay,” said the King. “I do not disturb myself with the vagaries of girls. I believe her to have declared she will be revenged on you, Thomas.”

  Thomas laughed. “Should I tremble, Your Grace?”

  “I notice she has flashing black eyes and the look of a witch. She blames you for sending Percy back to his father.”

  “She should blame Percy for being so easily persuaded, or herself for choosing such a lover.”

  “As usual, Thomas, you speak good sense.”

  Wolsey bowed his head in appreciation of the compliment and went on: “Your Grace, I confess I am disturbed about the war.”

  “Ah yes.” The King seemed reluctant to end the discussion of his trip to Hever.

  “I do not trust the Emperor.”

  “I begin to agree with you, Thomas.”

  “We have been pouring our resources into war and have so far not gained a foot of French soil. If Your Grace considers our expenditure…”

  “I am considering it, Thomas, considering it with great sadness.”

  “Look at the progress the Emperor has made. He has driven the French from Italy. But what gain to us is that? He has strengthened his frontiers in the Netherlands and Spain. That is good… for the Emperor. I would say, Your Grace, that in Charles we have another such as Maximilian.”

  Henry nodded and his face darkened, as he remembered how he had been duped by Charles's grandfathers—the Emperor Maximilian and Ferdinand of Aragon.

  “I had hoped much from the rising of the Duke of Bourbon against François,” said Henry.

  “And we hoped in vain, Your Grace.”

  “Well, Thomas, what can we do?”

  “I should be ready to forget all that we have spent on this enterprise and put out feelers for a separate peace with France.”

  The King's frown sent a shiver of alarm through the Cardinal. Fleetingly he wondered what Henry's reaction would be if he discovered that Giovanni Joachino Passano paid regular visits to him, not to sell him cloth but to carry letters back and forth between the chief of the King's ministers and the mother of François. One thing was certain; he was playing a dangerous game.

  The King was like a child who had set his heart on a certain glittering bauble; in this case the conquest of France. Such a project was an impossibility—Wolsey knew.

  “Dispatches from the Emperor have been increasingly gloomy, Your Grace.”

  Henry stuck out his lower lip like a petulant child.

  “I have poured money into this project,” he began.

  “And the Emperor asks for more, Your Grace. He says that unless we provide it the entire enterprise may be fruitless. It would appear now that even the Pope …” Wolsey's voice was faintly bitter. “… whom he helped to elect, is uncertain of him!”

  “Ah, the Pope!” said Henry, and an alert expression had crept into his face. He knew it had been a bitter disappointment to Wolsey that he was not elected, and he wondered how he himself would have fared, robbed of the services of his Chancellor. It seemed to him in that moment that there was a tinge of disloyalty in the Cardinal's disappointment. “You were overeager to leave us, Thomas,” he said with a trace of petulance.

  “Solely that I could have worked for England from the Vatican.”

  Henry was sorry for his suspicions. “I believe that to be so,” he said. “Well, it did not happen as we wished it, Thomas. But Clement is a good friend to you and to me.”

  “He could not be the friend of one and not the other,” said Wolsey.

  “‘Tis true,” answered the King. “And I rejoiced when he confirmed your Legateship for life, and gave you the Bishopric of Durham.”

  “Your Grace is good to me.”

  “Well, you have a King and a Pope as your good friends, Thomas; I wonder which you value the more.”

  “Your Grace does not need me to answer that question.”

  Henry smiled well pleased, and the Cardinal knew that no rumors had reached him concerning the French spy in their midst.

  “Then Your Grace would not be prepared to think of peace?”

  “Thomas, there is one reason why I stand firmly with the Emperor and, no matter what our losses, there I shall remain. Do not forget that he is betrothed to the Princess Mary. While he adheres to that promise we must forgive him if he breaks some others.”

  The Cardinal then understood that he must continue to work in secret.

  THE QUEEN and her daughter sat with some of the women of the Court busily working with their needles. As they bent over their work one of their number read to them from Thomas More's Utopia; this was a custom which Katharine remembered from the days of her childhood, when her mother had sought to have the hands usefully employed while the mind was exercised.

  Katharine's life was becoming increasingly busy. She spent a great deal of time with her daughter, whose education was, she believed, in constant need of her supervision. Her daughter was her greatest joy, and while she had her with her she could not be unhappy. Mary was now nine years old and it was distressing to remember that in three more years she would be expected to leave her home and go to the Court of the Emperor. Three years was such a short time. But I must not be selfish, thought the Queen. My daughter will be a great Queen, and it is not for me to regret that which is necessary to make her so.

  Nevertheless, she wished to have her with her at every moment of the day, so that none of the time which they could spend together would be lost.

  Now they were working on small garments which would be given to the poor women who had babies and no means of clothing them. Katharine was alarmed by the growing poverty among some classes in England; she knew that many people were wandering from town to town, village to village, homeless, sleeping in barns and under hedges, working when they could, eating when they could; and, as was inevitable in these circumstances, now and then stealing or starving to death.

  Thomas More, when he came to her intimate suppers, had on several occasions spoken of his growing anxiety about the new conditions in England. He had pointed out that the prosperity of the upper classes was in some measure responsible for the poverty of the lower. There was a great demand for fine cloth which meant that many of the landowners, deciding to keep more sheep, took small-holdings from the men who had hitherto farmed them, and turned them into grazing land. The land which had been rented to them lost, turned out of their cottages, hundreds of these small farmers had become vagabonds.

  Thomas More had said that the enclosing of land had so far affected no more than about five percent of the entire population but he felt that to be a great deal.

  Katharine was therefore doing all she could to right this evil, and she had appointed her Almoner to distribute funds from her own purse to the poor. She set aside a regular portion of her income for charity and took a great pleasure in providing the needy with clothes and food. Thus, temporarily, she abandoned the tapestry which she delighted to work and set herself and her women making garments for the poor.

  Thus they were sitting together when a page entered to tell the Queen that the Seigneur de Praet, the Emperor's ambassador in England, was without and begging an audience.

  As it was rarely that she had an opportunity of seeing her nephew's ambassador, she said that she would receive him at once; and this meant the dismissal of all present.

  Seeing the look of disappointment in Mary's face she took the child's hand in hers and kissed it. “Go along now for your practice on the virginals,” she
said. “When the Seigneur has left I will come and hear how you are getting on.”

  Mary smiled and curtseyed; and the Queen's eyes remained on her until she had disappeared. Almost before the ladies had all left the apartment the Seigneur de Praet was being ushered in.

  Katharine received him with graciousness although she did not feel the same confidence in him as she could have had in an ambassador of her own nationality. But the Seigneur, as a Flemish nobleman, was preferable, in Charles's eyes, to a Spaniard. Katharine had to remember that Charles was more Fleming than Spaniard because he had spent very little time in Spain and had been brought up in Flanders, so it was natural of course, that he should choose Flemings rather than Spaniards to represent him.

  The Seigneur was a very grand gentleman and he had already been unwise enough to show his lack of respect for Cardinal Wolsey on account of the latter's humble birth. It seemed incredible to him that he should be expected to treat with one who, so rumor had it, had spent his infancy in a butcher's shop.

  As for the Queen, he found her so Spanish in some ways, so English in others, that he had never felt on very easy terms with her. Moreover whenever he had sought an interview he had always found it difficult to reach her; and he suspected the reason. The Cardinal contrived this—and for what cause? Because, for all his outward protestations, he was no friend of the Emperor.

  Now de Praet was excited because he had made an important discovery and was determined at all costs to lay it before the Queen. Strangely enough on this occasion he had found no difficulty in reaching her.

  As Katharine welcomed him and he bent over her hand, one of the women who had been in the sewing party slipped away unnoticed from the group of women who had just left and went swiftly into the anteroom adjoining the Queen's apartment. There she took up her stand near the door and very quietly lifted the latch so that it was slightly ajar without seeming to be so.

  “Your Grace,” said de Praet, “it is a great pleasure to find myself at last in your presence.”

  “You have news for me from the Emperor?”

  “No, but I have discovered treachery which I must immediately lay before you. Our enemy is working against us. Your Grace knows whom I mean.”