The Light in the Labyrinth

by Wendy J Dunn - BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

  Kate shifted on the floor, struggling to understand Aunt Nan’s words. Was she saying the King had turned away from God? Rejected God? How could that be? Every day, morning and night, the King prayed in chapel. Who did he pray to if it was not God?

  Her aunt looked back at the fire, cupped her cheek in her hand and sighed. “My heart tells me that Cromwell will one day discover the error of his way. As King Minos found to his peril, gold always fails in the end; how can it not when it sows the seeds of destruction?” Her shining eyes reflected the flames. “God forgive me, I thought I would do better than Katherine of Aragon. Like her, I could do nothing to save the monasteries that did nothing but good. As God is my witness, I tried to save them.” She swung around again. “God help me, Matthew, all I wanted was reform, not destruction, not the breaking up of true men of God who were simply the custodians of our very history—the keepers of England’s heart.”

  She laughed as if mocking herself. “I know I am a vain, sinful woman, but I took an oath when I was crowned Queen—I have thought of it every day since.” She bent, briefly laying a hand on Kate’s shoulder. “Listen, this is something I want you to tell Bess when she is older.” She held out her hands as if in vow, and then brought them to her chest. “When the sacred oil was placed on my breast, I prayed to be a good Queen. I asked God to help me learn the meaning of true sacrifice, for the good of England and its people. The words I said were not empty, but the charter to map out the rest of my life. I swore then to sacrifice my life for England. I just didn’t know I swore a true sacrifice, or the little time I would have to be England’s Queen. I believed my husband wanted a true queen. I was mistaken.”

  Aunt Nan pealed with laughter. “Another one of my sins—arrogance. I should have taken more heed of the woman I supplanted. Until her false marriage came to an end, she was humble with the King, acted with wisdom, and gained her desires through womanly wiles. I, on the other hand, once believed Henry thought me his equal. I was a fool, Matthew—a vain, arrogant fool. I looked down on most women, believing my gifts made me greater than them. I believed God meant for me to be Queen. And now the game is almost over, and I am terrified about what will happen to my daughter. What if he treats Bess the same as Mary?” Her hands rose to hold her temples as if in pain.

  Kate licked her dry lips. Her worry for her aunt swelled into a gale that tossed her around like a galleon in a storm. Again, life seemed to leave her rudderless and helpless to withstand the waves threatening to drag her under.

  “Dear God—I treated her shamefully, too.” Aunt Nan leaned closer to the priest. “She is stubborn like her mother. Mary will never recognise me as her Queen—even with her mother dead. Elizabeth is a bastard in her eyes—the child of the Concubine. What could I do when she refused my hand of friendship time after time, or even my offer to be like another mother to her? She said to agree would conflict against her conscience and honour.” Aunt Nan clasped her hands together so tightly her knuckles became white. “Now I pray for her to forgive me; all I want is for her to be a good sister to my child.”

  Parker reached to clasp her hand. “Shall we pray together, my Queen?”

  She gave him an unhappy smile. “Why not? Praying is all I can do now.” She swallowed. “I was willing to give my blood when I was crowned, and, if my husband so decides, I am ready to give it now.”

  The days grow light and warm, yet they remain dark at court. My poor aunt. All know of Cromwell’s hold on the King. All know about Lady Jane. She no longer acts the mouse, but a cat making ready to pounce on its prey. Aunt Nan is rarely alone with the King. I suspect that was why my aunt played a desperate hand on Passion Sunday. She asked Skip, her almoner and a man loyal to her, to preach a sermon that none could mistake the meaning of.

  For months, I hardly noticed John Skip amongst the many who served in the Queen’s household. But this small, soft-speaking man seemed a lion when he roared out from the pulpit that Sunday: “Which among you accuse me of sin?”

  All of once, I became aware of the great discomfort of the chapel’s bench, while all around people stilled and hushed, listening to him speak of the injustice of holding up the sins of any single clergyman as if it was the sin of all men of God.

  “My Gracious and most noble Majesty,” he said. “I call upon you to use wisdom and ignore those evil counsellors who tempt you to go down the road of ignoble actions.”

  The King flushed then, while nearby, Cromwell’s hands became like fists making ready to defend.

  I clasped my own hands, digging my nails into my palms as I listened to Skip’s words. My aunt sat close by, and very silent, her head bowed in humility, but what he said seemed to come from her own mouth. Many, many times, I have heard her speak of Esther and her husband, the Persian King, Ahasuerus. My aunt prayed often to God to help her be an Esther for England.

  In the chapel, Master Skip looked straight at the King and at Cromwell. He spoke of Ahasuerus’s sinful counsellors who had led him astray and almost caused the death of his innocent subjects without any just cause. He spoke of ancient customs and how important they were to England. He shouted about the decay of universities and the necessity of learning. Aunt Nan made a movement then, and I knew, without question, this sermon was directed purely at the King. My stomach ached. Master Skip and my aunt are brave, but I began to drown in my own terror. Terror for my aunt. For several heartbeats, it seemed she and I were only people in the chapel when Master Skip began to measure out his words slowly and carefully. He told of Esther, and how she saved the Jews by exposing the evil of the Ahasuerus’s counsellors. He told of Haman, who ended up dying the death meant for Esther’s protector. He told of Ahasuerus’s gratitude to his Queen, and how he recognised her, once and for all, as a woman who not only loved him, but also was ever his friend.

  The King, his face red, shifted with anger, a movement echoed by Cromwell when Skip told the court that Solomon lost all nobility at the end of his life by allowing his lust to flourish so that he took to him many wives and concubines.

  Skip was summoned to the King’s chamber straight after the service, and I heard from my brother of their meeting. “How dare you!” the King had shouted. “How dare you preach seditious doctrines and slander me, my counsellors, my lords and nobles and my whole Parliament?”

  The King’s fury included my aunt, too. That same day, the King stormed into the Queen’s chamber. I guessed she had expected him. For hours, she sat reading, but at times she raised her face with the air of someone who waited. When her chamberlain announced the King, she fell to her knees. Her women and I did likewise. He didn’t allow her to speak. He shouted at her to remember her place, his hands opening and shutting as if he wished to strangle her. I felt so frightened for her that I shifted closer to her on my knees, not caring if the King noticed me. My heart only slowed its beat at the King’s departure. My aunt wept. No wonder—he left her chamber as if he could not bear to stay in the same room with her.

  My aunt’s fight became one of desperation. With the fire already an inferno, she added more fuel to keep it so. Knowing their good influence with the King, she pulled out her cards of Latimer and Cranmer.

  Latimer preached the next Sunday. His message, too, was easy to understand. If the monasteries must be sold, then let the gold go to a good and worthy cause. Cranmer also sang the same song.

  It seems my aunt is determined not to fail in one thing. She may not have given England its Prince, but she will do anything to prevent the wholesale destruction of England’s monasteries.

  On the twenty-ninth of April, Kate was alone with her aunt in her privy chamber when her chamberlain entered and bowed. “Your Grace, Marc Smeaton begs to speak to you.”

  Disturbed from her reading, Aunt Nan frowned. “Smeaton? He begs to speak to me?” She swung around to Kate before nodding to her chamberlain. “Let him enter, but pray both of you stay. I wish you to hear whatever he has to say. I hide nothing.”

  At the door, Smeaton bowed first and
then bowed again when closer to the Queen. He was white and drawn, and breathing unsteadily.

  Several heartbeats passed before Aunt Nan spoke. “Why do you come here without my command, Marc? I have not asked for you.”

  “My Queen, Master Cromwell has asked me to come to his house at Stepney to sup with him.”

  Aunt Nan closed her book and put it aside. She swallowed. “And what of it?”

  “Madam, do you not think it strange? He has never paid any notice to me before, and now he invites me to supper at his private dwelling.”

  Tapping her fingers on the wooden armrest, Aunt Nan’s gaze travelled around the room. “Why go then if it disturbs you so?”

  “My Queen, I cannot refuse Master Cromwell—not one who is so close to the King. 'Tis like a command for one in the King’s service.”

  Naked of all expression, she averted her face. She murmured, “And when do you sup with Cromwell?”

  “Tonight, Your Grace.”

  “Tonight,” repeated Aunt Nan. She pulled her girdle tighter on her too slender waist. “And you will go?”

  “Madam, what choice do I have if I wish to safeguard my position at court?” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple going up and down. “Madam, what do I say to him?”

  Aunt Nan raised her fingers to her French hood, trailing them down her face and curling them against her cheek. “Say to him? What else but the truth.” Her face became stern. “And, Marc, in future do not come here unless I send for you.”

  “But, my Queen—”

  Aunt Nan stood. “Aye—I am your Queen, and I say I do not wish you here unless I send for you.” She turned to her chamberlain. “Pray, escort Master Smeaton outside. Now!”

  The two men left, and Aunt Nan’s eyes flashed with anger. She held on to the back of her chair with shaking hands. “So Master Cromwell questions yet another servant. When will it end, Kate? When will it end?”

  When will it end? One thing leads to another—cause and effect.

  Still with her aunt, Kate wrote in her journal when a secret message arrived from Uncle George. Aunt Nan read it and lifted a face white with worry. Folding the letter to put in her pocket, she spoke hoarsely. “Cromwell has played his hand, niece. Your uncle writes that Smeaton is in the Tower.” She swallowed hard. “There is no reason for it other than what I feared. Cromwell uses Smeaton to get at me.” Her hands at either side of her throat, she took a deep breath and let it out. “What am I to do?”

  “Could you not speak to the King?” Kate asked. She tottered on an edge of cliff, ready to fall. This man, her father, seemed fixed on a path to destroy her beloved aunt.

  “He has not spoken to me in days. I do not know if he would speak to me now.” She whipped around to the door, as if a thought had just come to her. “Come with me, Kate.”

  “To the King?”

  “Aye, but first I will go and get our daughter. Surely he cannot refuse to speak to the mother of his child.”

  Aunt Nan lifted her skirts then and almost ran to her daughter’s nearby nursery. Kate hurried behind her. Once she fetched her daughter, Aunt Nan hurried to the King’s chamber. But his guards refused her admittance, telling her the King was closeted with his ministers and must not be disturbed.

  “Not be disturbed?” Aunt Nan repeated. In her white face, her pupils engulfed her dark eyes. “Not disturbed?”

  She rushed out to the gardens overlooked by the King’s chambers.

  “Harry, I beg you, listen to me. Don’t turn away. I am your wife.”

  Scared and feeling very ill, Kate stood at Aunt Nan’s side. She swayed with dizziness below the lattice window of the council chamber. She still reeled from when the King had looked down at them. It was like a physical blow. Now faced with his immobile back, Kate trembled, uncertain which was worst—scorched by the fire of the King’s hatred or feeling the bridge breaking apart beneath her feet. Why does he refuse to listen to his wife?

  Aunt Nan bowed her head, defeated. Bess, frightened, reached to touch her mother’s cheek. Her aunt lost all control. She straightened to her full height, faced the window, and screamed: “Harry! What have I done?” Her voice broke under the weight of her tears. “I beg you, for the love we once shared, speak to me.”

  Kate rubbed her wet eyes and lifted her face to the sky. Blue like a robin’s egg. Not yet May, the magic of spring pushed back the memory of a dark, oppressive winter. The walled garden was in its full glory, with promise of more to come. Budding roses, sheltering oaks returning to verdancy, the mating songs of birds. With so many beauties of life all around and evidence of life made over, afresh, Kate prayed hard. Dear God, let the King speak to her. Do not let this be the end.

  Bess sobbed, hiccupping whimpers that went on and on. Aunt Nan clutched her close. “Do not cry, sweetheart. We must be brave.” Aunt Nan kissed her face quickly, over and over. “We must not weep. Do not blame your father for believing my enemies. He loves you, ma belle, loves you. You’re his daughter and precious to him.”

  The King had vanished from his window. Aunt Nan gave the window a final look and then hurried from the garden, heading to her chamber. Bess still crying, her mother started one of her nonsense stories. Following close behind, Kate seized upon the flow of words, listening, wanting them to take her to another, better place than this. But she could not be like her little cousin, who now laughed as her mother told her about how a rabbit tricked a lion out of his dinner and lived to tell the tale. Nay, Kate could not laugh. Will I ever laugh again? Despite the bright, sunlit day, darkness closed in on them.

  Nearing the entrance to the palace, Aunt Nan sang softly Bess’s favourite lullaby:

  Lullay, thou little tiny child, lullay bye, bye, lully, lullay.

  Lullay, thou little tiny child, lullay bye, bye, lully, lullay

  Kate’s sight blurred. It was the same lullaby William Carey had once sung. No matter what, the memory of his love meant she would never stop calling him Father in her heart. Blinded by tears and falling behind, she cleaved onto her aunt’s pure, comforting voice as if she, too, was a little child. But it was not enough. Grief made it difficult to breathe and forced her to find the nearest seat.

  Heavy feet tramped near her. She rubbed away her tears, her throat closing in fright. Soothing her little child, Aunt Nan did not notice the men closely following her. Their shadows merged, broke away, and merged again. All the while Aunt Nan sang to her daughter.

  19

  AS WAS THE PATTERN OF HER LIFE NOW, Kate kept close to her aunt. Today, she sat near her in her chamber with a small group of her closest women. The late afternoon had darkened and grown cold, so much so, Meg Lee drew the curtains to help keep the room warmer and lit more candles.

  Seated on her favourite chair, Aunt Nan leaned an elbow on the armrest, cupping her cheek in her hand, her eyes turned towards the fire in the hearth. She was quiet, her pale skin taut over the fine bones of her face. Shadows bruised the hollows of temples and cheeks. Through blurry tears, Kate blinked away an image of a fleshless skull, pulled back to months ago when she had come to court to attend her aunt. That first day the ravens had flocked amongst the skulls on the gateway to London Bridge. More than that. They had fought over the flesh of the dead. Why think that? Why think that? Feeling helpless, she shifted closer to the warmth of the fire. Orange, red and blue flames licked and ate the huge log.

  Aunt Nan sighed and moved. She began to laugh, a hand covering her mouth. “What say you about the King, my husband, today? Was it not strange to see him leave the tournament so early?” This time her laughter cracked. Quiet again, she was all eyes, all emotion.

  Trembling, Kate held her hands out to fire, but the warmth it gave to her body did not lessen the anxiety that chilled her heart. With part of the log breaking away, pictures flashed in her mind from the day. A gusty wind flapped the pennant flags. The King and Queen sat together in the royal stands. Around them milled a crowd of courtiers. All boded well—at first.

  Small explosions popped
in the fire and tall flames shot up. One side of the log crumbled and fell with a plop to the blackened brick floor. Aunt Nan had tried to make the King smile. She jested with him about the competitors. She sang softly and then asked if he liked her new song. Answered by his silence, she turned her attention to those competing, calling out to them, encouraging them. When she let fall her handkerchief to Henry Norris, a message from Cromwell arrived for the King. The sun lost its final warmth and the bright day turned black. Without a word, without one last look at his wife, the message still in his hand, King Henry bounded up, snapped a command at his men, and left the stand.

  The flames burst again, their pops breaking apart Kate’s recollections. She swivelled around to Aunt Nan. From the moment the King left her, she had looked like this: abandoned, lost, frightened. A woman of sorrows.

  Kate slept the night on the trundle bed in her aunt’s bedchamber. Or tried to sleep. Aunt Nan woke several times in nightmare until Kate’s deep sleep had been cut asunder by her aunt’s terrified scream. Damping down her own terror, she listened to Aunt Nan weep. But not for long. She slipped into her aunt’s bed and put her arms around her.

  “It will be all right,” Kate murmured. “It will be all right.” Her lie left her heart heavy. For what seemed an eternity, she lay awake, unable to sleep.

  The next morning came—the second of May. Like the day before, the sky was blue and promised another exquisite spring day. Despite her disturbed night, Aunt Nan arose early and Kate joined the other women to help her to dress.

  Her aunt, more picky than usual, changed her mind about several gowns before choosing one of her most costly. She fussed even over her hair, demanding the plaits be pinned decoratively at the back of her head. Then she fussed over the choice of headgear that would cover it. It seemed she wanted to ensure perfection.