The Light in the Labyrinth

by Wendy J Dunn - BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

  Uncle George told her that what happened today was a betrayal—a betrayal by the King. My poor aunt struggled not to weep when Uncle George said that the King had Cromwell invite Chapuys to her chamber for supper with the other ambassadors.

  Aunt Nan had been so hopeful and happy about his greeting in the royal chapel. All the court witnessed it—only for it to end with his insult when he did not come to her chamber.

  It was an unforgivable insult—all due to the King. Why else would he choose to be blind to it? Why else did he say, “'Tis not without good reason.”

  The insult was for good reason? The King allowed it to happen, moved for it to happen—so to insult my aunt. Insult my aunt? Why is he so cruel to her? I am of his blood. Pray to God I could never be so cruel.

  I want so much to stay hopeful. I know the Queen wants it, too. But daily hope slips away from us. Uncle George told her how the King met Chapuys and Cromwell in his private chamber to talk together about a matter that seemed very important to my aunt and uncle. They spoke for some time about the King’s talks with Chapuys. Uncle George said the King went straight into attack. He called the Emperor cruel and unreasonable for ignoring the rights of France. Chapuys dared to remind the King that the Emperor was the rightful ruler of Milan, not France, and Cromwell dared to remind him his council agreed to this, too. Chapuys is brave, or a fool. Pray to God Cromwell loses favour with the King because of this.

  Uncle George told us that when the King swelled up with anger, Chapuys changed the subject to the invasion of Savoy. The King replied that the French invasion was not against the wishes of the Emperor. Chapuys disagreed with great vigour—aye, brave or a fool. For support, the King summoned Cromwell and my Lord Seymour. He told Chapuys to repeat his denial once more. Once they heard him out, Chapuys left with Seymour, while the King and Cromwell talked, quietly at first. Uncle George’s spy told him the King lashed Cromwell with his tongue until the man cowered before him. A cowering Cromwell? I wish I had seen that.

  The King, furious with Cromwell, returned to Chapuys. He told him they discussed matters far too important and impossible to communicate to his privy council for an answer without Chapuys first writing them down. That stopped Chapuys’s tongue, and the King repeated it. My uncle’s spy spoke clear that Chapuys did not want to do this. Both Chapuys and Cromwell left the King’s chamber very unhappy men. Cromwell was more than unhappy; my uncle’s spy believed the King’s words left him terrified.

  Kate was writing to her mother when Madge burst into the chamber. Pale, her eyes large and frightened, Madge sat on the edge of the bed. Tears trembled on Madge’s thick lashes.

  “What is it?” Kate asked.

  “Oh, Kate, methinks the Queen is losing her wits.”

  Kate put down her quill and pushed away from the table. She sat beside Madge. “Do not speak so loud!” she whispered close to her cousin’s ear. “There are spies everywhere. Now, tell me, quietly.”

  “I told you; the Queen loses her reason. How else do you explain what just happened?”

  Her worry increasing, Kate shook her cousin’s arm. “Pray, I do not know of what you speak.”

  Madge blinked, plucking at her gown. “In front of everyone in her chamber, the Queen went up to my betrothed, my Henry, and asked him why he hasn’t yet wed me after all this time. She said I am love sick.”

  Confused, Kate met her cousin’s eyes. “Well, perchance she should have waited for a better moment—”

  This time, Madge took her arm. “You have not heard me out. There is more. Henry said—” Madge grimaced. “That fool of a man said his heart was given to another.”

  Slapped by her cousin’s words, Kate jerked back. “What? Why did he say that?”

  “Courtly games?” Madge spoke quietly. “He has great affection for the Queen.” She shrugged. “Mayhap he just forgot himself and spoke the truth to her.” She bounded off the bed, and began walking up and down, wringing her hands.

  Kate swallowed. “There is more?”

  Madge turned on her heel and came back to stand in front of Kate. “Aye, there is more. By all the saints, if times were not difficult enough without the Queen becoming crazed as if moonstruck!”

  Kate stood, her head spinning. “What did my aunt do?”

  Madge lifted her chin and her lips trembled. I never thought Madge could be fearful, but she is now. “What did she do? She laughed. She laughed like one who has lost her mind. Then she said, ‘Harry, you look for dead men’s shoes. If anything was to happen to the King, you would have me!’”

  “Jesu’,” Kate whispered; it became difficult to breathe.

  Madge sat on the bed, her shoulders slumping. “Methinks we both know why. Should we be surprised if fear and despair unbridles her tongue?”

  Kate sat beside her. “And Norris? How did he reply?”

  Madge made a face. “My fool? He realised the danger of his courtly play of words. He denied he meant that and swore to the Queen if he had any thoughts of that kind, he deserved to end his life on the executioner’s block. The Queen laughed.” Madge clasped Kate’s hand. “Coz, I cannot forget her laughter. She laughed like one without hope.”

  Later, Kate heard the rest of the story. How the fearful Henry Norris went to the Queen’s almoner and confessed the conversation. He said it meant naught. The Queen was a good woman, the ill words spoken without thought, without desire for hurt. None was more loyal to the King than his wife, and how could he be thought disloyal, one who had been the King’s friend since boyhood. What more could he do?

  It didn’t help the Queen that this was a time when the King’s council swayed fiercely between supporting the French and Imperial factions. With backing for the Queen weakening everywhere, it all seemed part of the same wind blowing at court, a wind that boded no good.

  Kate wrote in her journal:

  The King continues his dalliance with Mistress Seymour—his little White Mouse, as we all call her. He sends another purse full of sovereigns and a letter in his own hand. She sends both back to him, but with a kiss. The messenger tells the King that she fell on her knees, entreating the King to remember that she is well-born, the honourable daughter of honourable parents. She would rather die a thousand deaths than lose her honour—the one treasure she values above all her worldly goods. She tells the King he can send her gold once God sees fit to send her an advantageous marriage. None doubt at the court what advantageous marriage she means.

  Aye—she learns her lessons well.

  March and the first month of spring drew to a close. One morning, while still in her chamber, Kate received a message from Francis asking her to come back with his servant so he could speak to her alone. Alone? The lute lessons still continued but, since the Christmas kiss, the only time she had spoken to Francis alone was when they met outside her aunt’s chambers. She damped down the hope that flared in her heart, deciding the only reason he desired privacy must be due to matters concerning her aunt.

  It was close to dawn, the gloom just starting to lighten. Madge had already left to attend the Queen, so, leaving a message with their maidservant, Kate snatched her mantle, threw it over her shoulders and followed Francis’s servant out the palace and through the Queen’s formal gardens.

  The air was still with just a hint of breath now and then. Tall, kingly oaks pressed against the lightening sky, their dark forms and branches tinged and outlined by the rising sun. A silken rosy pink coloured the horizon; all around her, birds twittered in excitement, knowing morning began in earnest.

  Kate pulled her mantle tighter against the chill. A lark began its song, and then another joined in until it she walked through a chorus of hymns. Several rabbits remained unmoving on the grass, as if waiting to pay homage to the new day. The blushing sky became lighter and lighter with each passing second.

  The young sun rose above the trees by the time they reached the wild meadow that grew between the Queen’s garden and Friars’ Church. Francis leaned against a young oak tree with a h
and behind his back. He seemed deep in thought, but then he looked up. Relief apparent on his face, he stood away from the tree and strode towards her. Acknowledging his approaching master, the servant bowed to Kate and said he would wait for her in the Queen’s garden.

  The wind blew stronger, whipping her gown and skin. With the sunlight behind Francis, she blinked, trying to see his features. Then he came closer; he held a posy of flowers, their gay colours—purples, blues, yellows and reds—blazing bright against the black velvet of his doublet. He must have picked many from the wild flowers growing in the meadow.

  At last, he reached her and held out the flowers. He looked shy, younger than his years and vulnerable. Her heart quickening its beat, she smiled, taking the flowers.

  “Thank you.” Kate lifted them to her nose. “They’re beautiful.” She tucked the flowers into her girdle. “But why have you asked me here?”

  He took her hand. “I thought it time.” He hesitated and cleared his throat. “Kate, you once told me you loved me. Have those feelings changed at all?”

  Swirling in disbelief and joy, she lifted her face to his. Recent months had taught her hard lessons of caution and restraint, but still she held tightly to his hand. She said, “Why do you ask?”

  Francis reddened and bent his head. When he raised his face he wore a wry smile. “Because I love you. I know I called you young months ago. That hasn’t changed. I did not know quite what to do when you told me at Christmas you loved me. You being who you are, and you so young. Kate, I thought it safer not to play with fire. But I have come to know you since. You’ve grown into the woman I want—brave, loyal, intelligent—a woman I love and adore. I want to wed you, Kate. Would you wed me? Pray say yes.”

  His words tossed all her caution and restraint to the wind. She cried with delight, going into his arms. Violets, daisies, marigolds, purple ragged robin and vetch crushed between them and released their sweet scents. Francis bent down and kissed her, first softly and then with passion. After months apart, she melted into his body with such a sense of belonging, of homecoming. Laughing and crying, she stepped away and clasped his hand.

  “Francis, we are hand-fast in the sight of God.” Grief swept her. “We live in terrible times; it is possible that the King will not let us wed…”

  Francis embraced her. “Nay, sweetheart, I have spoken to my father about you.” He grinned. “He is on the hunt for a wife for me and was very amused to hear my tale about how Brutus did the hunting for him.” Francis stroked her face. “As soon I met you I knew you were the maid for me. Father is ready to speak to your mother about a proper betrothal. As for the King, Father is certain we need not concern ourselves about him. My lord Father is high in King Harry’s favour. All I needed was to know this was what you wanted, too.”

  Kate swung his hands, wanting to dance in her joy. “Mother will not deny me if I tell her I have already given to you my heart.” She considered him gravely. “But it cannot be yet. Not while my aunt has need of me.”

  His hands tightened on hers. “You are my loyal, brave Katherine, and I love you for it.” When Francis took her in his arms again, the wind blew around them the smell of dayspring. “Promise me one thing.”

  Questioningly, she looked up at him.

  “Stay safe, Kate; stay safe for me.”

  She blinked away tears and leaned her face against his chest. Aware of the warmth of his body, she listened to his strong heart and breathed in his clean scent. The long grass rustled in the wind and stroked back and forth on their bodies. She clutched his doublet as if she never would let go. No, until to death, I am his.

  Months ago, snow lay at their feet and the moon shone its light as he pointed out the stars to her. Under those stars, he had kissed her, really kissed her, for the first time, a kiss that led her to offer her heart and everything she had to give to him, not thinking or caring about the consequences. The cold of that night was nothing to his rejection when he took her back to the Christmas festivities. She had thought she suffered the worst that life had to offer. Now—knowing the grief suffered by her aunt when she lost her baby and the grief of knowing that her husband no longer loved her—she knew better.

  Young. She had heard it so often over the months until it became a refrain. In Francis’s arms, she owned the truth of it. She had been young, months ago. She was a green girl then, and now she owned herself a woman. A woman older than Francis and weary despite the season of spring and its promise of rebirth. Rebirth? Something must die to be reborn. But wasn’t life about change? Hadn’t she learnt that now?

  Coming to court full of resentment and jealousy about being no longer the centre of her mother’s world, Kate had wilted at home. Her cares had been petty and brought on by herself. The long winter months had shone a light on hatred, deceit, betrayal. And on how love could die.

  She touched Francis’s face and tried to smile. “I will do what I can, but you must know as I do, that none of us are ever safe.”

  18

  KATE SAT ON A CUSHION on the floor while her aunt paced up and down the room. Does Aunt Nan think the room a cage—a cage where everything closed in on her? She acts like her life has become a wasteland of hopelessness. Blind to Kate and everything else in the room, her despair was palpable.

  After a public slighting of her brother that morning, Aunt Nan summoned Matthew Parker. She stood by the window, as if deep in thought, when her chamberlain announced him. As the priest bowed low, Kate rose from the cushion at Aunt Nan’s feet, preparing to go, when her aunt waved her down. “No—stay. What I say to him I need you to hear, too.”

  Parker bowed again over the Queen’s extended hand. She gestured to the two seats close to the fire. Spring may have come, but winter still fought for and won control over the days.

  “Sit, my friend.” She sat, too, and gazed at the flickering flames—bright blue, orange and purple. They roared into arresting life when part of the log broke apart with a loud pop. Aunt Nan started. Fear swam in her wide eyes before she lowered her face.

  Parker bent towards her. “What is it, Your Grace?”

  Aunt Nan lifted her head and drew a deep breath. “I have a boon to ask of you.”

  “If God allows, I’ll do whatever you ask.” His face puckered with concern despite his smile of reassurance.

  She covered her face with her hands. When she removed them, she swallowed and raised her chin. “Matthew, care for my daughter. I’ll die easier if I have your promise that you will watch over her and be as her father in God.”

  Her hands grabbing the sides of her gown, Kate’s breathing quickened to the horror of her aunt’s words. Parker’s mouth opened and shut before he sputtered and said the words that screamed in Kate’s mind. “Die? Die, my Grace? What mean you?”

  Aunt Nan held her hands out to the fire before answering. “My friend, the game for me is almost over. Let’s not waste time in saying otherwise.”

  He swallowed. “Madam, the King may cast you off, but I do not understand why you speak of dying.”

  “I know my enemies. I will not tell you who, but one I trust has told me certain things. The day will soon come when all doors are closed to me, all doors but death.”

  Tugging his beard, Parker bent forward. “But surely the King will seek an annulment—if only for the sake of the Princess.”

  “I pray for that—I pray that my husband will not do evil. Even if what I hear of Cromwell’s plot is true.” She swung around. “He has sent his men to Henry Percy to get from him the confession that we wed so many years ago.” Her smile did not match her brooding face. “I wished it, but Hal was too afraid of his father to promise me marriage. He hoped to get his mother to do his work for us, but Wolsey discovered us first. Percy will not lie for Cromwell for the King’s satisfaction.”

  Parker frowned. “But surely, Madam, the King wants truth.”

  Aunt Nan shook her head. “My husband no longer recognises truth—or mayhap truth is something different to him. He has not been the
same man since January, since his head injury. Every day he complains of great pain. He fears death.” She firmed her chin, blinking away tears. “He fears dying without a son—so much so it drives him mad. But you know that. 'Tis my daughter I must safeguard now.”

  “Your daughter, Your Grace?” Parker coughed, his hand going to his mouth. “Pray, why do you think you must safeguard her?”

  “Matthew, pray hear me. I do not think I will be here to protect her for many days longer. I need you to vow to me that you will be her father in God. Care for my child. Ensure she has good tutors, knows her duty to God and does not forget the care of her soul.” Aunt Nan’s mouth became a thin, harsh line. “Do not let the King overlook her. She is his daughter too, after all.” Tears falling down her drawn cheeks, she turned to him, including Kate also. “Tell her that she was the one and only true consolation that the world has ever given me.”

  Parker’s face creased in sorrow and he tugged at his beard again. “I vow to you, I will do that. Believe me, I’ll not be the only one to keep watch over Bess.” Despite eyes darkened by anguish, he chuckled. “She needs watching that one—so like both her parents, and royal to the core. I’ve heard what happens when she does not get her way.”

  Aunt Nan wiped her wet face with her handkerchief. “She is very like me, with a temper that comes from both sire and dam.” Her eyes glowed from the light of the fire. “A temper to shake the world one day. I would give everything to see it.”

  Parker leaned forward, his hand on his knee. “But if God allows, there’s no reason you shouldn’t. Why think of death? You who have done so much for England and the church? Thanks to your good work, we are no longer a dominion of Rome.”

  Aunt Nan smiled. “I did none of it alone. I do not forget I have the help of good men such as you, Archbishop Cranmer, Latimer—the list goes on and on. And, of course, we must not forget the King. My husband once shared my dream of an England where religion was not a curse and abomination. But rather than build a stronger England on a religion and Bible meant for all men, he stays angry with God. God has only given him dead sons, thus he has decided to put his trust in gold instead.”