by G Lawrence
But even then, everyone knew it was not mere words.
It was a declaration of war.
Chapter Eight
York Place
January 1531
In early January we received the sorrowful news that the Archduchess Margaret of Austria had died. Chapuys went to Henry to ask whom Henry wanted to represent him at her funeral. There was no mistaking the grief in Chapuys. My brother told me his eyes flowed with ready tears and his usually sure voice trembled. Henry consoled the ambassador, telling him he had also greatly admired Margaret. But for Henry, this was an opportunity. Margaret had supported her nephew, and stood on Katherine’s side. Her replacement might be more malleable. Margaret had been aware that I was seeking to take Katherine’s place, but however fondly she had remembered me from the time I had served her, she was not about to abandon family.
This had hurt me, even though I understood. Margaret would always see me as a servant, and it seemed no one liked to see a mere lady rising high in life. Even those whose positions appeared secure were threatened by me. If Katherine could be replaced, who would be next? Were the courts of Spain and France to be overrun by mere merchants claiming they were kings? I believed this was why some amongst Europe’s royalty were so against me. I brought into question all they believed by challenging a queen for her throne.
No matter how disappointed and hurt I had been to find Margaret, my old mentor, supporting Katherine, her death struck me hard.
I went to the window on the morning I heard of her death and gazed out. The January trees and their bare branches were a haze of brown against the barren, grey sky. The light on the horizon was brilliant. It crested over the darkened grounds, thrusting them into gloom, for its radiance was too bright, too beautiful to be contained. In a pond, there shone a second sun. Paler than her radiant cousin who ruled the skies, this orb was long, stretched, undulating over the surface of the black-silver water. She glittered; a star fallen to earth. She would fade, this second sun come to grace the earth… fade just as Margaret’s light had.
I looked away. For Henry, Margaret’s funeral was a chance to gather information about who the next ruler of the Low Countries would be. It was an opportunity to seduce Margaret’s successor, to find an ally. For me, this death was not a beginning. It was an end… the end of a glorious, beautiful soul who had been snatched from the world. It seemed unreal that Margaret could be gone. How could a person so vital and strong succumb to Death? I had not seen Margaret for years, but when I heard she had died, she consumed my thoughts. Grief is like that. One day you think yourself in control of your life, then this usurper moves in and does not leave. He settles in your heart and makes a kingdom there. There is nothing you can do, no arms or men to call to your aid. You must accept the interloper and bend to his will.
Margaret had been more than a mentor, she had been an inspiration. She had been the first to notice me, to draw me from the crowds of other women and set me before her court. She had inspired me to understand that women could, and did, hold power in this world, and had minds as hale as those of men. She had been like a second mother, and although I had only spent two years at her court, they had defined my character.
Margaret, in so many ways, had been the model I had tried to emulate. Her calm beauty, her way of controlling all men and situations… I had wished many times to possess even a sliver of her grace, poise and control. Margaret was master of all situations. I could not even master my own temper. She had never surrendered to sorrow and her court had been a place of wonder and music; an extension of its mistress’ character. There, a young, graceless girl had been crafted into a lady, like a stick of clay moulded by a sculptor.
How could such a dazzling sun fade?
Death knows the value of our friends. He delights in stealing away the most valuable, the most worthy. They are rich pickings to add to his vast kingdom; assets to weigh against the world of the living. Death knows our hearts. He knows where to steal from, to cause the most pain.
“Chapuys was in a terrible state,” Henry said when he joined me, throwing himself down beside me on the floor cushions before the fire. “I thought he might, for once, be off his guard, so I asked who was to replace Margaret. Quick as a stoat, his eyes changed from sorrow to suspicion. All he would tell me was that his master would make a suitable replacement. Then he went to Katherine, as usual.”
“Chapuys admired the Archduchess?” I asked quietly. I had no love for the man, but this made me think on him a touch more warmly. In sorrow we find strange friends. A memory of Margaret’s hands washed into my mind; long, elegant fingers plucking at the strings of a lute. She had been so talented. I wondered if I would ever be able to hear a note played, and not think of her.
“He did.”
“She was easy to admire.”
Henry finally noticed the tears in my eyes. He looked puzzled for a moment and then realisation dawned swift and terrible. “What a fool I was to tell you like that!” he said. “I am so sorry. I all but forgot you once served her.”
“It was long ago,” I said, shaking my head as though it did not matter. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
“Do not seek to hide grief from me, Anne,” said Henry, shuffling towards me. “We must share all things; good and bad, pure and evil… for we are made equals by our love. Do not hide your tears.”
“I often thought that she was like a mother to me,” I said, allowing my tears to escape. “And now she is gone.”
“I remember only too well the loss of my mother,” Henry said, his voice catching. “She died trying to do her duty, attempting to provide another heir when Arthur died. My father could never leave anything to chance. With Arthur gone, he only had one heir, and I was never enough for him.” He frowned at the fire. “Had he not pushed her, had he believed that I could be the heir he wanted, she might have lived.”
“Henry, you are the greatest king in the world,” I said, putting my hands to his face. “You know that, do you not? Your father did not find you wanting. He just desired another heir to ensure the succession.”
“He never intended me for the throne,” said Henry. “All he ever spoke of was Arthur. Even though my brother was sickly and weak, our father saw himself in Arthur as he never did in me.”
I stared at Henry in astonishment. Long had I known this was how he felt about his father. I had gleaned as much from all he had said, and everything he had omitted over the years. But to hear Henry voice such a desperately sad notion aloud was rare.
“Whatever your father thought, he has been proved wrong,” I said. “No one could have done what you are doing, Henry. No one else would have had the courage and strength to stand against Rome. And if your father did not see himself in you, that is because you took after your mother, and her father, King Edward. The blood of York is strong in you, my love.”
“Perhaps that was what my father resented,” said Henry. “That I looked like a Yorkist King, rather than him. My mother, too, resembled her father, but with all the charm and beauty of her mother. Perhaps he resented that too, and that was why he did not try to stop her having another child.”
“Your mother would have done her duty no matter the cost,” I said softly. “Perhaps your father pushed her into it, but I believe she would have done so anyway. She knew how important it was, just as I do.”
Henry kissed my forehead. “There is something of her spirit in you,” he said, running a finger down my throat. “In you, I see her courage, and her gentleness. Others do not see you as well as me, but all her best qualities are within you.”
“And like your mother, I will do my duty,” I said. “You will have sons.”
“And I cannot wait until we are able to get to the making of them.” Henry looked about, checking where my women were. “Do you think we could slip into the next chamber, so I might comfort you in private?”
I chuckled. I knew well what Henry’s idea of comfort was. And I was not unwilling. There is something abo
ut death that brings on the urge for carnal pleasures. What better way to strike at Death than by showing how alive you are? Henry and I were careful. We never went too far, but we knew how to please each other.
He took my hand, leading me away from the milling crowds that always haunted our steps. In his arms, against his body, I lost my sorrow for a while. As I cried out, trying to keep my voice low as he buried his lips and tongue between my legs, I left grief behind, as I was transported to a world of pure sensation, where there was nothing but my love, and me.
Grief would return. He is an unwelcome guest who never leaves once he has arrived, but Henry could steal me away. At times, I thought him all-powerful, for in so many ways, although it might appear I held all the power in our relationship, he could master my emotions.
When love is true, we each become masters of the other. If love remains true, we mind not our servitude. We each hold the whip, and we are each bound in chains; silver bonds, unbreakable by the will of man or the changing fortunes of the world. Our chains hold us fast, yet they set us free. Clinking shackles that we come to love to wear.
*
A letter arrived from Rome that January, warning Henry again that he was not to marry without papal permission. Clement’s weary riposte, the threat of excommunication, was included. It was his last bastion of bullying. I was not mentioned by name, but since the letter spoke of Henry’s “mistress”, it was clear who the Pope was talking about.
Henry spent the morning wearing a face of flint and I was furious. How dared Clement? Did he think he still held sway over England? It was not to be borne.
Later, I went out into court with Henry, and we made sure everyone saw us together. We put on a fine show of merriment. If Clement thought he could intimidate us, he was wrong. Every attempt to separate us only made us more determined. It is like that with love. The surest way a father may thrust his daughter into an unsuitable match is to attempt to prevent it. Clement thought his titles meant he was a father to the world, but if Henry had once been his dutiful, obedient son, he was no more. Clement had raised a rebel. People were amazed to see us so undaunted. Clement’s letter was supposed to be secret, of course, but since Henry had spent that morning raging, shouting loud enough for even the Emperor to hear from distant Spain, everyone at court knew of it.
Whilst I was chatting to Francis Weston, one of Henry’s pages, I noticed Stephen Gardiner hovering, waiting for a chance to speak to me. I put a hand on young Weston’s sleeve as his lips gambolled on, lost in his exuberance.
“You must excuse me, Master Weston,” I said and smiled gently as the young man’s face fell.
I was fond of Weston. It was hard not to be. He was just turned twenty, ten years younger than me and twenty younger than Henry. Weston had served at court since the age of fifteen, but had only found his way into Henry’s intimate circle in the past few years. He was married to a young woman named Anne Pickering, and the couple were presently childless, but it seemed a happy match. Weston was a shrewd card player, dangerous to wager a hand against, and was one of the few who would best Henry at tennis. He had a long nose, which had a slightly bulbous end. This should have made him unattractive, but it did not. There are some people who are beautiful in face and form, and others whose attractions run deeper. Weston had all the grace of youth, and the boundless enthusiasm of a puppy. I could have almost thought of him as a little brother, were it not for his obvious attraction to my charms. I was not unfamiliar with men lusting after me. At court it was normal to have admirers, whether true or false, but with Weston there was no guile. I had often thought that he looked up to me, and not knowing how to esteem a woman without loving her, confused admiration and amorousness.
“I will return to our conversation anon,” I said to Weston. “But there is another who wishes to speak to me.”
“Of course, my lady,” he said, flushing. “I should not have monopolised your time.”
“You did nothing of the sort. It is a pleasure to converse with you, Weston.”
As the young man tripped off happily to enter Henry’s party not far away, I turned to Gardiner and lifted my eyebrows. “You were hovering, Master Gardiner?”
“I feel I should inform you, my lady, of a conversation between your uncle of Norfolk and Ambassador Chapuys,” said Gardiner, the profound frown between his eyes burrowing deeper.
“What was so momentous about this conversation?” I asked, gazing about. The halls of court were merry with noise and people. The scent of sweat kept company with wood smoke from the hearths and dried herbs hidden in the rushes. Henry was laughing with Tom and George. Even at this distance I could hear Henry braying that the Bishop of Rome was nothing for England to worry about.
“Norfolk took Chapuys aside this morning, at chapel,” said Gardiner. “He was told to prepare the ambassador to meet His Majesty.”
“I know,” I said. “The King told Chapuys that the Pope is in error. Clement is seeking to placate Katherine, and the Emperor, rather than acting upon his conscience.”
“Indeed,” said Gardiner. “The Duke told Chapuys the same, but he also told the ambassador that he was warning him of this as a friend, my lady.”
“Should that surprise you, Gardiner?” I asked. “Norfolk and Chapuys have much in common.”
“I just thought you should know, my lady.”
“I thank you for thinking of me. Do you know if they spoke of anything else?”
“They went over the old arguments,” said Gardiner. “And Norfolk showed Chapuys the seal of King Arthur’s tomb. Norfolk pointed out the inscription that the King was Emperor of England, France, Belgium, Germany and Romania.”
“Did Chapuys try to deny that kings of England have a right to the Empire?”
Gardiner smiled. “Actually, my lady, he admitted he did not know who King Arthur was.”
I chuckled. “Not even when his beloved Katherine was once wed to his namesake? Chapuys displays a perilous lack of understanding about the country he professes to know so well.”
“Chapuys told Norfolk that His Majesty ought to consider what had happened to ancient empires, like Persia and Macedonia, if he was considering conquests like those Arthur obviously made to build his empire.”
“His Majesty is not considering invasion of other lands.”
“Chapuys was deliberately misinterpreting Norfolk, my lady,” said Gardiner. “Either that, or because he has served his avaricious master for so long, he thinks all princes are bent on continual conquest.”
“What more was said?”
“Little else, my lady, but Chapuys did inform Norfolk that some of his fellow ambassadors both in England and Rome were laughing at the King’s recent publication of bulls about his conscience. They do not believe he acts from any impulse other than his love for you.”
“Let them laugh,” I said. “Let them all stand to one side of these events and think themselves wiser and better men for chortling at one who takes the world in his hands and makes it better. Visionaries are always laughed at by lesser men. Soon they will laugh no more. They will look on in wonder.”
“Yes, my lady.” Gardiner’s eyes searched mine. He wanted to know what it was that was planned. As a member of the clergy, he was right to fear what Henry might be plotting, but much as I would have loved to crow long and loud about Henry’s plans, I was not about to give warning to Gardiner. Supporter of mine he may be, but he was also a man of the Church, and as such, his loyalty was suspect.
“Thank you for informing me,” I said. “If you hear anything else you think I might find interesting, do tell me.”
“Of course, my lady.”
I went to Henry. “It is a fine day,” I said, toying with his sleeve. “Why do we not take some friends and food to the gardens, and hold a little feast outdoors?”
“I will send a man to the kitchens, and have my musicians fetched.” Henry’s loving eyes sparkled. He knew what I was thinking. To hold an entertainment outside, where everyone would see u
s, was an even grander gesture than merely flitting about court to demonstrate we did not fear the Pope.
But that afternoon, as we sat under blankets, eating almond comfits and pies of beef and mushroom, I saw Henry’s eyes cloud over. The musicians were playing, and our friends danced upon the frosty ground. To eyes that watched from the palace, it must have looked as though we had not a care in the world, but I knew Henry. For all his bluster, he was tense. We had to move before the Pope could publish a bull of excommunication and make Henry the target of all his present enemies, and many more new ones. We had to move before Henry once again lost his courage.
Sometimes I felt as though I were the wind pushing the seas themselves to form waves.
*
Parliament opened in the second week of January, and Henry was ready to face the Convocation. He came to see me on the morning before he left and found me sitting in a window seat at Greenwich, a copy of Confessions, by St Augustine of Hippo in my lap.