Aunt Nan’s words returned Kate to her last journey on the river. That also had been the day of her aunt’s crowning, when she had accompanied her grandparents in the barge belonging to the Boleyns. Now, on another sunlit day, they journeyed the same way—past the majestic Cluniac Abbey, past the Isle of Dogs where the King kept and trained his hunting dogs, past busy wharves and ships being made ready for the sea. They passed an empty gibbet that stood as warning to those who chose piracy as a way of life.
Too soon the foreboding Tower came in sight. Last time, it had marked a happy arrival, but not today. No, not today. This time, the looming Tower threatened death.
Kingston, the Lieutenant of the Tower, waited to greet them at the end of their journey. Leaving the barge behind, Aunt Nan halted in the shadow of the dungeons.
“Am I to go there—to that horrible place?” she asked Kingston as he bowed over her hand. She half-turned one way, then the other, as if seeking escape.
He smiled at her with reassurance. “Nay, your Grace. You will be lodged in the same apartments where you stayed for your coronation.”
Aunt Nan stood there as if she struggled to understand, as if reality had lost all meaning and all sense, other than to mock her with its destruction. She fell to her knees and wept.
Kate’s heart thumped hard as she wiped her own wet cheeks. A sea of tears. I am swept out from shore in a sea of tears. Will I ever find my way back again?
At last, Aunt Nan lifted a white, tear-streaked face. “'Tis too good for me.”
Then she laughed and laughed. Kingston, Lady Boleyn, Mrs. Cosyns and some of the guards seemed to pass the same judgment: the Queen had lost her reason.
Cold in body and spirit, Kate gathered her cloak tighter around her. My aunt has lost everything else, why not that too?
Kingston did not lie. Aunt Nan was taken to the apartments built for her in those days of celebration. The first day and night passed. Kate, like the other women attending the Queen, slept on a pallet in Aunt Nan’s bedchamber. Or made the attempt to sleep.
Defeating Meg and Kate’s earnest attempts to turn the conversation to other matters, all that first night, Lady Boleyn and Mrs. Cosyns had disturbed Aunt Nan’s peace by asking her questions. Lady Boleyn seemed to take particular delight in the downfall of her niece.
“I always thought you’d bring shame to your kin,” she said with contempt. “I thank God Mary and Madge are free of you at last. You never deserved their loyalty—a mistress who did not protect them. Both my nieces suffered in your service. Mary breaks her heart over a man who can never wed her, and Madge… How could you ask my daughter to put herself in the King’s way? You’ve shown yourself a woman with no honour, niece.”
“Bed with her musician, can you believe that?” Mrs. Cosyns asked Lady Boleyn. “Would you and I ever cast as low as that?”
Like one slapped unfairly, Aunt Nan spun around in shock. “I am innocent.”
Ignoring her, Lady Boleyn laughed loudly. “He’s not the only one. They tell Francis Weston and Henry Norris, Madge’s betrothed, are also her paramours.”
For hours and hours, they tried to draw from Aunt Nan words she would later regret. Sometimes she did speak—a ramble that often tripped her up.
“Aunt,” she said, “I chastised Weston for dallying with Madge.” She was silent for moment. “When I chastised him, he said to me that he and Henry Norris came to my chambers not for my attendants, but because of the high regard they had for me.” She laughed then. “Was this what they based their lies on? Something that happened twelve months ago? If they did, then they forget how I defended my honour. Am I fool not to know that my reputation would lie in ashes if rumour spread that I, the Queen of England, acted the wanton with men?
“And Mark Smeaton? Is it my fault that he desired to act above his station? I did not encourage him, but others did, giving him coin as payment for his music and dancing. My brother also favoured him with gifts from his own clothes coffers, but the King was always Mark’s greatest benefactor. He thought it amusing whenever Smeaton dressed in the trappings of a lord, because the trappings came from him. Even so, I had to soothe the King’s temper when Smeaton began to garb himself and his servants in livery. He grew so overbearing in his pride that he turned his back on his past and disdained his own father. Bourbon was so right about Smeaton; even honey becomes bitter if overused.”
Aunt Nan fell silent, clasped her hands in her lap, before rushing on. “I was not amused when Smeaton told me that he was heart-sore over me. I put him in his place and reminded him of his poor degree and that the play of courtly love was only permitted for those of higher station. Smeaton has his talents, but he annoyed me with his artificiality and his constant flattery.” She swallowed, her lips moving as if she fought for control. “I am married to the King. Why would a man of that wit, or any wit, tempt me? I am a faithful wife to my Lord King.”
She was like a lute string pulled to breaking point. The judgmental silence of Lady Boleyn and Mrs. Cosyns only made her talk go more around in circles.
Lady Boleyn gestured meaningfully at Mrs. Cosyns. She nodded and leaned forward. “Why did Norris swear,” she interjected into Aunt Nan’s ramble, “that you were a good woman to your almoner?”
Aunt Nan shrugged wearily. “I bade him do so.” She turned to Mrs. Cosyns and her aunt. “You both know the story—Norris and I engaged in a foolish conversation. It meant nothing, I swear it, and I swear I only wished to remind Norris that he neglected his duty to Madge.”
Lady Boleyn snorted. “You swear! You told Norris he was heart-bound to you and waited for dead men shoes.”
Aunt Nan bowed her head and tightly clasped her hands before her. “I spoke without thinking, Aunt. I spoke through the hurt of knowing my husband no longer loves me, or of the times I was left lonely for his company. Or alone in his company. I spoke my foolish words to Norris because I no longer have my Harry. I am unwanted and discarded—so much so I am brought to this place.” She turned to both her aunt and Mrs. Cosyns. “But perchance my husband is only testing me. Surely he will soon call me back to him and all will be forgiven?”
Kate wiped away tears. Even Mrs. Cosyns and Lady Boleyn seemed moved at last to compassion, and decision. They got up.
“‘It has been a long night,” Lady Boleyn said. “Niece, we have talked enough, and you must rest.” She reached out a hand. “Come, Nan, come and let me help you to bed.”
Reaching for her aunt’s hand, Aunt Nan stood and swayed. Lady Boleyn put her arm around her and turned to Kate and Meg. She snapped, “Help me.”
Kate and Meg, together with Lady Boleyn, walked Aunt Nan to the bed.
Aunt Nan, her face etched with despair, sat on its edge, seemingly unaware as they removed her gable and her gown. At last in her shift, she lay in bed. Rolling to face away from them, she curled up, half-hugging her knees to her. Her thin shoulders shook and shook.
Kate met Lady Boleyn’s conflicted gaze. Her heart drumming in her ears, Kate sought desperately for words, words with real substance, with real strength—words that would batter down the wall that stood between her two aunts. She wanted Lady Boleyn to realize she judged Aunt Nan too harshly. But like a drawbridge drawn up under attack, Lady Boleyn broke her contact. With a shake of her head and a tightening of her mouth, she hurried away, sitting beside Mrs. Cosyns. Both women turned their heads towards Aunt Nan’s bed.
Meg came to stand beside her. “Lady Boleyn is right. The night has been long. Why not you and I try to get some sleep?”
“But the Queen—” Kate’s desperation pushed her a step towards her aunt.
Meg grabbed Kate’s arm and pulled her back. “Leave her for now.” She led Kate away. “We cannot help her if we wear ourselves out by refusing rest when we can get it. Who knows what the morrow will bring? Come, Kate, let’s sleep while we may.”
Early the next day, they learnt of Uncle George’s arrest.
“I am very glad,” Aunt Nan said, “that we will
both be so nigh together.” She paused, averting her face to the shadows. “When I think of our early lives, it was I who always followed after George. Now, at the end, it seems my sweet brother follows me.” She reached for Kate’s hand. “What do I do with you? I had hoped your uncle would have arranged your safe conduct back to your mother.” Her face became tense with thought. “Perchance Parker can make the necessary arrangements.”
Kate bolted up. “I will not go, Aunt.”
“What mean you? Am I not still your Queen?”
Kate came to her and sank to her knees. “You are my Queen, and I am yours to command, but pray, Aunt, not in this. Do not send me away.”
She laid her head on her aunt’s lap then, breathing in her scent of rosewater.
Silent, Aunt Nan stroked her hair before letting out a long sigh. “Very well, if you really wish it. I just pray you won’t live to regret it.” She sighed again. “I do not see any happy end to this.”
The fifteenth of May—the day of the trial. The women brought out costly gowns for the Queen to pick from. She selected one, discarded it, selected another, and so it continued until she turned to her women with her finest gown—made for happier times.
Her women robed her—kirtle over smock, gown over kirtle. At last, they finished and stood aside. With her combed hair falling loose and straight down her back, Aunt Nan looked every inch the Queen of England prepared for ceremony. Kate bit down upon her trembling lip. This day witnessed a ceremony in which no other Queen of England had ever played a part.
Kate gathered everything she needed to do her aunt’s hair. When she returned, Aunt Nan sat on a chair, waiting for her to begin.
Dividing and plaiting her aunt’s long hair, Kate then pinned the plaits tight around her head. Kate finished and wiped the tears from her face. Her aunt’s hair looked a crown.
Kate had expected to be left in the chamber to wait for the Queen’s return from the trial. But her aunt asked her to come.
“I need you there,” Aunt Nan said. “I need you to know the truth of this day to tell my daughter.” Her aunt embraced her. “I am proud of you, Kate. You have kept up your courage day by day. But I must warn you. Do not expect justice. 'Tis gone too far for that.”
Kingston and his guards took them a huge chamber close to the apartments where they had been placed at the Tower. Despite its size, it was full to overflowing with hundreds and hundreds of men sitting in high stands all around the room, the judges at one end. Norfolk and Suffolk, both known enemies of the Queen, sat amongst the judges. Encircled by men and close to the Queen, Kate shuddered. Is this how an animal feels? An animal cast in a pit and baited for entertainment?
Norfolk sat right above them. Ignoring Aunt Nan’s efforts to catch his eye, he kept his face stony, like one belonging to a statue and not a man. Kate’s heart swelled, squeezing her throat until she could barely breathe. Why does our uncle Norfolk hate my aunt? An image came to mind of him at the door to the Queen’s chamber, and it seemed she heard him again cry out, “The King is dead.” Even if he believed his words, the way he brought the news to her aunt was vile and cruel. Had he meant for Aunt Nan to miscarry her son?
The Royal lion rampant hung from rafters at the end of the chamber. Now and then, the banner flapped and fluttered in a draught—just one of the many reasons for Kate to shiver.
Yet another thing caught Kate’s attention: a man in the stands, his face stark and white, and haunted. Kate turned to Meg Lee in question, giving a slight gesture in his direction. “The Earl of Northumberland,” Meg whispered.
Kate knew the story from her mother. Aunt Nan had once hoped to wed him, before the wooing of the King.
The trial began with the reading of the charges. Treason. Adultery. Incest. Each word made Kate tremble; her chest hurt from holding her breath. But Aunt Nan remained stoic and calm. She just straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin—a woman ready to make battle against ludicrous charges. Her courage strengthened Kate. And her pride in her aunt; it became like a shield to withstand the day.
The claims became even more preposterous. Kate bit back her own denial when they claimed Aunt Nan had committed adultery during the months of her last pregnancy. How could that be? How could she have been unfaithful then? With her aunt often ill because of pregnancy, Kate was amongst the group of her women who had rarely left her side during that time.
Aunt Nan’s mouth opened as if to laugh when the court official read out that her women had hidden Smeaton in a closet in her bedchamber, bringing him to her when she asked for her nightly marmalade.
Kate swayed, as if tottering on the edge of a sticky jar of the stuff. She seemed to fall, fall, fall. Like a helpless insect, she, too, would not be able to escape. More and more, the trial became a congealing mess of deceit and lies and plots.
Aunt Nan stayed calm and rebutted the accusations, one by one. She told them the men had never been her lovers, and that she was the loyal and loving wife of the King. Her voice carried strong in the chamber as she said that she never plotted the King’s death, or promised Norris she would marry him if free to do so.
“Of course,” Aunt Nan said, “my brother Rochford visits me in my chamber. We speak together every day, but I swear to God, there is no evil in our relationship, just the bond of brother and sister.”
Around the chamber, many stern, pitiless faces altered to admiration—few men seemed untouched by Aunt Nan’s words.
But the time arrived for the jury to come to its decision. Short minutes passed before Norfolk stood up to call out the guilty verdict. The ground opened at Kate’s feet, at his words “…to be either burnt or beheaded—to be decided at the discretion of our merciful King.” Again she fell. And fell and fell into an abyss.
Aunt Nan stirred and straightened. Kate padded closer to her. “God,” her aunt said softly, as if simply in prayer, “you know if I have merited this death.”
Men watched her, as if they waited to see what she would do next.
A loud thud echoed in the chamber and started a commotion amongst the judges. The Earl of Northumber-land was carried out, his body limp and senseless. Aunt Nan inhaled a sharp breath, her face struggling with composure. As they removed the Earl in silence, she clasped her hands before her.
The Duke of Norfolk stamped his staff to return the room to order. “Do you have any more to say?” he asked Aunt Nan.
She met his eyes and shook her head. “I am ready for death,” she said. “I only regret that innocent persons must lose their lives because of me. I am a faithful wife to the King. My only sin against the King has been my jealousy and lack of humility. I think you know well the reason why you have condemned me to be other than that which led you to this judgement.”
She bent her head and cleared her throat, shifting in her seat. “I willingly give up my titles to the King who gave them.”
The abyss was without end. Seeking a handhold, Kate balled her hands. She feared the moment she lost her last remnant of control. She wouldn’t be able to stop crying. Meg came to her then. She clasped her hand and shook her head.
Her aunt stood, curtsied to the judges. Without another word, she made her way out of the chamber. The Constable of the Tower followed close behind her and, behind him, the royal executioner. He held the sharp edge of his axe towards Aunt Nan.
Kate’s heart drummed, a beat that seemed to count out his heavy steps. She followed with the other women. She trembled, feeling so cold, so despairing. All her fear had become a reality. Death. It had come to death.
Death. It had come to death.
Kate wrote in her journal that night. Her tears spilled over, spattering the parchment. Aunt Nan condemned—and now Uncle George.
Father Parker came and told us. My good and most beloved uncle defied the King in speaking up for his defense. Uncle George so impressed his judges that there had been some hope that he would be acquitted. Father Parker thought the judges wanted to be merciful after bringing down the sentence upon Aunt Nan.<
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That foul dog Cromwell put an end to that hope. He had a letter signed by my uncle’s wife. The lies she told! How could she say she had witnessed the incestuous relationship of my uncle and aunt? She also wrote that she heard them speak of the King’s lack of virility in the bedchamber. I have never heard my aunt and uncle speak of such matters.
I weep. I cannot stop weeping. But what use are my tears? Uncle George! He is condemned to a traitor’s death, to be hanged, drawn and quartered. My aunt has not stopped crying since hearing the news. I must go to her now so we can pray together that the King will allow my good uncle the mercy of the axe.
21
KATE DREAMT. She dreamt of Cranmer. “I am a good man,” he said. “Good, but imperfect.” He smiled sadly at her. “We are all imperfect.”
“But are you not a man of God?” she asked.
He shook his head a little and rumbled out a deep laugh. “Do you think men of God are perfect? They are men like other men. I know my sins.”
The dream changed, and he wept in a beautiful garden. All around him, roses bloomed. He gestured to them. “Kate, another archbishop, a man who served men rather than the God he vowed his life to, planted the red and white roses in celebration, in tribute—to honour and mark the joining of two noble houses, Lancaster and Tudor. He had much to do with their joining. Look at them now. So many roses. See how the wind blows?”
All around them, red and white petals swirled.
Cranmer laughed a laugh that seemed more like a sob. “See how the white and red marry? So gently, so tenderly.” He rubbed at his face. “None of this belonged to that marriage of long ago; none belongs to this marriage I weep for now.”
The old man stood there, looking left and right, seeming uncaring of the tears running down his face. “See the petals, Kate. See the blood.”
The petals became droplets of blood that showered on them. They dropped on her face and hands, and soiled her clothes. Her stomach heaved.
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