by Fatal Throne- The Wives of Henry VIII Tell All (retail) (epub)
“Surely, sire, that is a good thing!” I exclaimed. “For how are your people to understand religion if they do not debate and discuss its meaning?”
Gardiner admonished me in a stern voice. “The people should look to their King and bishops to understand religion, Your Highness.”
“But—” I began, eager to engage in the argument.
And then Henry cut me off. “Exactly right, Bishop, exactly right,” he declared in a loud, commanding tone. He glared at me and waved a swollen hand in my direction. “Kate, it is better if you leave us now. My leg pains me and I must rest.”
Now I shook off the memory, assuring Nan, “Remember, Henry made me regent. I have his full trust and confidence.”
* * *
—
Perhaps I was only reassuring myself. Perhaps I should have realized that there were limits to Henry’s admiration and tolerance of a strong, capable woman. And perhaps I should have also realized I was always being compared to another Queen, an ideal wife who had been gentle and self-effacing.
For soon after that incident, Henry invited me to see a new painting he’d commissioned. I loved art and smiled in anticipation as I entered the gallery on the King’s arm.
“Isn’t it marvellous?” he cried. “It’s a good likeness of the Prince, don’t you agree?”
I managed to stammer, “It…it is a memorable portrait of your dynasty, sire.”
“Yes, indeed! You are transfixed, are you not?”
“Entirely.” I was, though not for the reason he thought.
The large, magnificent painting depicted Henry seated under a canopy rich with symbols of his reign, his arm draped across young Edward’s shoulders. Mary stood on the far right, Elizabeth on the left. Both seemed barely in the picture.
And seated demurely at the King’s side was his Queen.
But it wasn’t me, his living wife, who had brought him closer to his children. Not me, whom he had named regent. Not me, his intellectual equal. Not me. Not me.
“Dear Jane. The artist has captured her well,” Henry whispered fondly with a sigh, placing a hand on his heart.
Dear Jane.
* * *
—
In November of 1545, I published my own translation into English of Latin prayers, and hoped that Henry would be proud. To display her own skill at languages, Princess Elizabeth translated my book from English into Italian and French.
“I shall present it to Father for a New Year’s gift,” she told me, showing me her work. Her face had lost that haunted look I’d first perceived at my wedding. “Mother, do you think he will be pleased?”
“He’ll be delighted,” I told her, though I doubted Elizabeth would ever receive the love she craved from her father.
I felt sure Henry could never look at Elizabeth without recalling her mother, Anne Boleyn. He couldn’t truly see that Elizabeth was already brilliant, driven, and ambitious—just like him.
Henry would never realize that Elizabeth was his true heir.
* * *
—
The truth is that Henry never commented on Elizabeth’s gift—or, indeed, my own book. As the new year of 1546 turned to spring, Henry’s leg grew worse than ever; he was often in pain. We were together less frequently, and rarely alone. His advisors and councillors clung to him like leeches.
One evening, the discussion in the King’s room turned to a passage in the Bible. I listened for a while, and gave my opinion, which none of the men seemed to hear—not even my husband.
Henry spoke again. Frustrated at being ignored, I blurted out, “But, sire, if you read this Scripture more carefully, I think you will see that my interpretation is correct.”
Henry’s face turned red. I caught a gleam in Gardiner’s hooded eyes.
Dr. Thomas Wendy, the king’s physician, whom I counted as a friend, rose quickly. “I…I think it is time for His Majesty’s medicine and for me to dress his leg. Perhaps, Your Highness, you should retire.”
Hastily, I stood and planted a kiss on Henry’s brow. “Of course. Sleep well, husband.”
He did not reply. As I left the room, I felt his cold, pale eyes boring into my back, and I shivered under his stern gaze.
THEY LEAP AT ME LIKE DOGS
Summer 1546
They leap at me as it were so many dogs…The companies of the wicked bark at me.
—Kateryn Parr
When the storm broke, it was violent. One afternoon, a few days later, while Nan, Cat, and I were reading by the window of my privy chamber, a young servant appeared in the doorway.
I beckoned the boy close. “You assist the court physician, Dr. Wendy, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, my name is Gregory.” He reached into his doublet.
For a moment I thought he might have found a wounded bird for me to care for, but instead, he pulled out a folded parchment. “Dr. Wendy asked me to show this to you.”
“Such a mystery!” I said lightly, reaching for the paper. After scanning the words, I gave it back, hoping the boy didn’t notice my shaking hand. “Please bid your master to come here.”
“Kate, what is it?” Nan asked when he had gone.
“It’s a warrant for my arrest,” I said. “And it’s been signed by the King.”
We waited in shocked silence for Dr. Wendy. For some reason, my thoughts kept straying back to that wild, dark night when I had survived a mob of men who had threatened my life. Steadiness saved me then, it will save me now, I told myself.
My voice was calm when I greeted the doctor. “Let me be frank, sir. I believe my husband is playing at some game, though I don’t understand it. What do you know about this business?”
Dr. Wendy cast a glance over his shoulder at Nan and Cat.
“You may speak openly,” I assured him.
“Your Highness, it began the recent evening after…after you and the King had a heated debate.”
I nodded. “Go on.”
“Uh, yes…well, after you left, King Henry complained to Bishop Gardiner that it seemed to him you were becoming increasingly…”
“Outspoken and bold?” Nan suggested.
“Just so.” Dr. Wendy nodded, looking relieved he hadn’t had to speak the words himself. “The King grumbled that it was a fine thing to have his own wife trying to teach him and taking part in discussions so vigourously.”
“We can imagine what happened next,” put in Nan. “That one complaint was all Gardiner needed to take the next step. He must have convinced the King that you should be investigated. He wants to prove that you are taking reforms too far, beyond what is allowed.” Nan began to pace, as her logical mind worked out the cause and effect. “And, of course, the timing is perfect. Gardiner wants to shore up his own power.”
“What do you mean, sister?”
“Oh, Kate, take your eyes from your books and look around! The King’s health has been declining—his leg is poisoning his entire body. Gardiner is looking ahead to what will happen after he dies. That snake wants to discredit you and other reformers now, to strengthen his conservative faction at court.”
Cat nodded. “Nan has got it exactly, Kate. He doesn’t want to take the chance that the King will put you in charge as regent if he dies while the Prince is still young. So Gardiner is trying to get rid of you. He has persuaded King Henry you must be stopped.”
Dr. Wendy held up his hand. “Not quite persuaded, my dear ladies. For while it’s true that Gardiner and Wriothesley have a warrant, King Henry isn’t entirely sure he wants to go down this path.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I suspect the King has become rather weary of ridding himself of wives and having to find new ones. Nor is he entirely sure he wants to retreat from all the reforms that have taken place in the break from Rome. In other words, the King doesn’t
trust Gardiner entirely, either. He has always excelled at playing off one faction against another.
“And so King Henry slipped me this arrest warrant, tucked inside a medical book he suggested I read,” Dr. Wendy went on. “I shall return the book and the warrant without a word, but I have no doubt he meant for me to warn you, Your Highness. I believe your husband is challenging you, like a knight throwing down a gauntlet.”
Despite my fear, I smiled a little. “Dr. Wendy, when my sister and I were girls in the country, we loved to play at being knights. I shall accept this challenge. But I cannot ride blindly into battle.” Now it was my turn to pace. “Gardiner and Wriothesley are already mounted, lances at the ready. They want to run me down. We must act. But how?”
“Your Grace, you do wield one weapon rather well.”
“And what would that be, Dr. Wendy?”
“Words!” exclaimed the doctor. “Your Highness, perhaps the right words can convince the King you are a loyal wife who follows his lead in all things—including what to think about religion.”
Cat nodded thoughtfully. “Could you write the King a pleading letter begging his forgiveness?”
“No!” Nan cried sharply. “Remember Katharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn: Henry didn’t care a whit about their letters. And think about Catherine Howard: Henry may already have posted guards against you—just as he did her.”
Suddenly, I thought of Henry’s painting. There was only one Queen who could help me now.
“Queen Jane,” I said. “I must become like dear, plain, faithful Jane. I must bring the King to me.”
I looked at my sister. “Do you understand?”
“ ‘Bound to obey and serve’: the motto of Queen Jane,” Nan said softly, nodding.
“But…but how can I possibly be like Jane?” I asked desperately. “How can I…?”
Cat turned to Nan and whispered in her ear. I could only make out her final words: “Now! It’s the only thing.”
The next instant, Nan rushed towards me in a swirl of skirts. Raising her hand, she slapped me—first on one cheek, then the other.
“What are you doing? Stop!” I stumbled back, my hand to my face.
But Nan didn’t stop. She dug her fingers into my shoulders and shook me hard. I tried to break free, but she wouldn’t let go. I felt a wave of terror rise up from inside. I cried out again, louder now, “Stop this!”
“No! You must scream to save yourself!” Nan’s face was so close to mine I could make out gold flecks in her hazel eyes. “Scream so hard and for so long you make yourself sick, Kate—so ill and distraught that Dr. Wendy must send for your husband to comfort you—just as he would comfort his own dear Jane.
“Scream and cry, Kate, as if your life depends on it!”
Nan said more, but I didn’t hear it. My own awful, wrenching screams filled the room. My steadiness had gone, and I felt only a deep, horrible terror. I did not want to die.
Dr. Wendy turned to flee, as though running from a madwoman. “I will fetch the King!”
* * *
—
“Sweetheart, what is this? Dr. Wendy insisted I come to see you. He tells me you are much distressed.” Henry lowered himself painfully into a chair beside my bed, where I lay.
He looked annoyed, but at least he was here. Silently, I gave thanks to good Dr. Wendy. Now it was up to me, and, I thought, the spirit of Jane Seymour.
My heart still pounded. My cheeks still burned from Nan’s slaps. Strands of hair had escaped my cap. But Cat had made sure that the silken pillows on my bed smelled as sweet as a summer meadow. Nan had perfumed my skin with fragrant rose water.
“Oh, thank you for coming, sire, especially given the pain that troubles you. Dr. Wendy is right. I do need you, as I have never done before,” I whispered.
Nothing.
“I…I am overcome by a rumour that has reached my ears,” I went on desperately. “I have heard…I fear you are unhappy with me; that I have displeased you.” My lips trembled. I looked up into his broad face beseechingly, hoping for any sign that he still loved me.
His blue eyes stared coldly.
“Sire, I care only for your happiness. All that matters is being your obedient, humble wife and servant.” I met his eyes, so cloudy with age and constant pain.
Henry was silent for another long moment, his face impassive. I lowered my eyes demurely. I was sure he could hear my pounding heart.
“Hmmmm,” he said at last. “Well, Kate, rest tonight and we will talk again when you are more recovered.”
That wasn’t enough, I knew. Meek. Obedient. I must do more.
I slid off the bed and sank to the floor at his feet. Resting my hands on his good knee, I looked up from under my lashes, making my voice a hushed whisper. I bent forwards so that he could see the tops of my breasts peeking from my gown.
I caught a flicker of desire in those blue eyes.
“Sire, may I…may I come to visit you tomorrow evening?” I pleaded. “Just knowing that I can see you on the morrow will, I am sure, help make me well.”
Gently, Henry reached out to touch my cheek. His hand hesitated, then stroked the smooth skin above the top of my gown. I sighed.
All the while, I fought back a fear that threatened to choke me. Gardiner or Wriothesley could be waiting outside this door with the warrant for my arrest.
“Tears. These do seem to be real tears,” Henry said, almost to himself. He kissed me gently on the lips. It was a tender kiss. Was it an honest kiss?
“All right then, Kate. Come to my bedchamber tomorrow and we’ll see how we do together. I’ll be sure you are admitted.”
DANGEROUS SNARES
Summer 1546
It [is] very unseemly and preposterous for the woman to take upon her the office of instructor and teacher to her Lord and husband.
—Kateryn Parr to Henry VIII,
quoted in John Foxe, The Acts and Monuments, 1583
“He’ll try to entrap you, Kate. Be ready, and don’t let yourself be drawn into his snares.”
Nan’s warning echoed in my mind as we made our way along the palace’s torchlit halls the next evening. Nan walked a few steps behind me, Cat trailing last. I’d dressed carefully, perfuming my skin with rose water again, and choosing a kirtle of soft, silky pink. I imagined Queen Jane had favoured gentle colours over the powerful red I preferred.
When we reached Henry’s rooms, I stopped. What lies behind this heavy, polished door?
“Go back now,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Return to your own rooms.”
Cat rolled her eyes and whispered to Nan. “Did she order you about in this officious way even before she became Queen, Lady Herbert?”
“She did, indeed, Lady Willoughby. She’s the same annoying older sister she’s always been.” Nan squeezed my hand. “We’ll wait for you in your bedchamber, Your Grace. As usual.”
As Cat leaned forwards to kiss me, she whispered in my ear. “And don’t worry. I’ve hidden your parchments and writing supplies someplace Bishop Gardiner and his spies will never think to look.”
“Where?”
“In Gardiner’s bed!” Seeing my confusion, she grinned. “Gardiner my spaniel, that is. Everything is tucked safely under the cushions of his basket. And believe me, he’s been trained to growl if the bishop comes near.”
I watched my sister and dear friend walk away, then listened until I could no longer hear the rustle of their gowns or their soft footfalls. With a shaky breath, I turned around.
No one could help me now.
I stood facing the door alone. An attendant stepped forwards to open it. I took a breath and stepped through.
“Good evening, Majesty. I am much better thanks to your kind visit yesterday,” I gushed, lowering my eyes and making my way to where Henry sat on a wide cushioned chair
, his bad leg propped on a velvet-topped stool.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” I added quietly, crossing the room to sit beside Henry. With one quick glance, I assessed my adversaries. Several of the king’s advisors were present—but, to my surprise, Gardiner and Wriothesley weren’t among them. Was this simply a coincidence—or by Henry’s design?
* * *
—
After some pleasantries, our conversation turned to religion. Nan had been right: The King might not be able to hunt on horseback any longer, but he still knew how to lay a trap.
It happened almost casually. Henry asked for my opinion on a minor religious matter about which I did, indeed, have strong thoughts. If my husband intended to catch me out for my Reformist views, these men would be witnesses. I took a breath.
“Your Majesty, I cannot speak about this,” I demurred, bowing my head. “Rather I would ask you to enlighten me. For, as you know, God has appointed a natural difference between men and women.”
“What do you mean?”
“Husband, as a woman, I must always defer to your opinion. You are my anchor, my supreme head next to God on earth. I follow your lead on this point—and on all matters of religion.”
Henry harrumphed. “Not so, for lately you are become like a teacher, seeking to instruct me instead of taking direction from me.”
“Sire, you mistake me! If I have, at times, ventured to speak strongly or engage you in lively debate, it has been out of my deep love for you,” I assured him, placing my hand on his good knee.
“Love?”
“Yes, my lord. I’ve only wanted to distract Your Majesty. When we are debating and arguing, you are not thinking about the pain in your leg, are you?” I smiled and leaned closer, to give him a good view of my cleavage.
I made my voice as sweet as honey. “Dearest husband, I’ve only tried to take your mind off your infirmity—as any helpmeet would do. Everything I do, I do for you and the benefit of your great kingdom.”