The Scandal of Christendom

by G Lawrence

  “Is she not magnificent?” he breathed.

  “I have never seen her equal.” The Great Harry was enormous.

  At four hundred tons, she was the backbone of Henry’s navy, boasting five decks and a formidable array of cannon. She stood like a giant amongst mortal men.

  I lost Henry to his men that day. My love was a bounteous font of knowledge about the sea. He was obsessed with the intricacies of navigation, and owned a rare tidal almanac of Europe as well as a perpetual lunar calendar. He understood more about French waters than any other soul, and even his admirals and sailors bowed to his wisdom.

  As Henry chattered away to his men, I wandered the port walls. I stood on the fortifications and allowed the sea’s salt breath to wash over me. The day was bright, and the sea shone; a vast mirror reflecting the skies. Not far from the shore, cormorants stood on shining rocks, their wings outstretched to their sides as though they meant to worship the sun. They looked out onto the slow-heaving waters, cawing gently against the sound of the placid waves slapping against the rocks and the beach.

  My eyes were drawn back to Henry’s ships. It was easy to look on them with admiration, yet there was something sad about them. They stood so proud and valiant upon the waters, but they were waiting. What purpose has a warship without a war? Sadness haunted Henry’s ships. Left in port month after month, year after year, they hungered to unleash chaos upon an enemy. Henry did not feel their gnawing need, but I did. His ships were bound in sorrow, with no true purpose. Perhaps it was something similar in my heart that made me understand this. I, too, waited, perhaps in vain, for my destiny’s dawn.

  But, I told myself, soon they may have purpose. If Clement excommunicated Henry and sanctioned invasion, we would need Henry’s ships.

  *

  When we got back to London, we found Katherine had delayed her return to court upon hearing her husband was in the country. Henry was angry, but something had happened to him in the weeks we spent hunting in the country. He returned to London with a new, fresh spirit and renewed vim for our cause.

  “If Katherine wants a fight,” I said to my father. “Henry is ready.”

  Before her return, Katherine insisted on calling witnesses from Spain and Flanders to support her case, but, fearing Henry’s anger, there were few at court willing to seek out these people. Chapuys tried to gain audiences with Henry and failed. The hapless hare chased us from Hampton Court to Windsor, but found us so engaged in hunting, feasting and enjoying each other’s company that he could find no time to present his latest complaints. Chapuys turned to Norfolk. They dined on board my uncle’s barge on the Thames, and although Norfolk said he sympathized with Chapuys, he maintained Henry had been done a grievous wrong by Katherine.

  Norfolk also said he thought it would have been better had Katherine and Henry not married at all, but when he saw the ambassador’s face, added of course the marriage had produced Princess Mary who was “one of the most beautiful and virtuous women in the world,” and “a pearl”. He went on to assure Chapuys that Henry would visit his daughter, but insisted the annulment needed to be heard in England. Chapuys declared that he was surprised to find Norfolk was so well-informed about the case, and suggested he had become a doctor-at-law, like Chapuys. Norfolk naturally took this as a compliment, but I believe the ambassador was being sardonic.

  As for Mary being a pearl, perhaps Norfolk was right. After all, they are born from constant irritation.

  *

  That summer, John Grey, the Marquis of Dorset, was banished from court after I discovered he was recruiting men in Cornwall to speak against us. Grey supported Katherine, but much like his friend, Suffolk, Grey’s motivations had less to do with sympathy for Katherine and more to do with his ambitions. There was word that Grey’s son, Henry, might wed Frances Brandon, Suffolk’s daughter. If they had issue, their children would become heirs to the throne, by virtue of their grandmother, Mary Tudor.

  But these were all petty considerations to me at that moment. On the morning Henry went to face Katherine, I was determined it would be the last time.

  Katherine might have thought Henry’s anger would have dissipated by the time she arrived at Windsor Castle that July. She might have thought, in the face of her rigid insubordination, he would be broken. Neither was true.

  How I wished I could have been there to hear them! But I could not be close. Henry must see Katherine and me as completely separate. But, I thought as I walked about my comfortable apartments, this is the last time I will be forced into lesser chambers. After today, I will ensure that Katherine never sees Henry again.

  I was sick of scampering out of Katherine’s way, sick of people adoring her, and tired of hearing her constant refrain that she was Henry’s “one, true wife.” Many people thought Katherine fought on for her daughter, but it was not so. When had Katherine even mentioned the claims of her daughter, or Mary’s place in the succession? No, Katherine toiled for Katherine. She was not doing this for Henry, not for her daughter, but for herself, and for what? For pride, my mind hissed. Katherine had been abandoned once when Arthur died, and was determined never to know that shame again. She had been raised to believe her position as Queen was God-given. If Katherine was set aside, her whole concept of herself would be plunged into doubt.

  People accused me of many sins. But Katherine was no saint.

  George came to my chambers later that night. “The King wants you ready to leave at first light.”

  “I take it the touching reconciliation Katherine hoped for did not happen?”

  George let out a barking laugh. “Hardly,” he said. “There was such hostility in that room I thought the tapestry might catch fire. They argued about all the old things… the King accused Katherine of humiliating him in the eyes of Europe. Katherine accused him of neglecting her.” George lifted a finger and whirled it round and round. “And so it went on,” he said. “They ended on worse terms than ever, and the King wants to spend the rest of the summer far from her.” George’s eyes were brimming with excitement. “I think, if your plan to separate them remains in your heart, the King would be willing.”

  “I will get him to banish Katherine and Mary.”

  “Why Mary?”

  I stared out of the darkened window. “As long as Henry sees his daughter, Katherine retains a hold over him.” I turned to my brother. “The only way to eliminate Katherine is to remove Mary as well.”

  We left before dawn. As I went to turn my horse to the road ahead, I caught sight of a pale face surrounded by auburn hair at a window. Katherine was watching her husband leave her. It was but a few weeks past their twenty-second wedding anniversary.

  I held my horse still for a moment and drew myself up on my saddle, staring at Katherine. Her face did not change. That sorrowful expression remained but her eyes met mine. There was recognition there… an understanding between foes. I turned my horse away and clicked my tongue, urging my mount after Henry, who waited for me on the road ahead. When I reached him, I leaned across and kissed him. I glanced back at the window, and that sad, white face was watching us.

  Katherine looked like a ghost. Perhaps that was just what she had become.

  From this moment onwards, she would be but a memory. I would make sure of that. The time for dealing politely was done. Katherine would be sent from court and with her would go her influence. Henry would never see her again.

  From now on, there would be no Queen at court but me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chertsey Abbey and Woodstock Palace

  Summer 1531

  “The court, like England, is yours to do with as you please,” I said to Henry, playing with a small, jewel encrusted prayer book on my girdle. Chapuys had arrived to intrude upon progress by wailing about Katherine and Mary being banished from court. It had taken very little effort to get Henry to see that removing Mary as well as her mother would be beneficial. In fact, he had warmed to the notion, knowing it would distress Katherine. I gazed up from
my seat by the window. “You can banish anyone you wish.”

  “He says I am openly flouting Clement’s command to set you aside and remain with Katherine whilst our marriage is being decided.”

  It was true enough, so I could not dispute the hapless hare there. Henry was burning bridges, but some bridges need to be burned. Sometimes we need to set the past aside and look to the future.

  When she discovered Henry had left without saying goodbye, Katherine sent a messenger after him, apparently to enquire about his health. This custom had gone on since the first days of their marriage. Every three days, if they had not seen each other, they would send a messenger to receive news and send compliments. Katherine said she was surprised Henry had not bid her adieu, and wished him pleasure on his journey. Henry rounded on the unfortunate messenger and told him to inform his wife that he wanted not her ‘adieu’. He went on to tell the poor man that Katherine had caused him annoyance and sorrow in a thousand ways. He said she was stubborn, obstinate, and had ignored the just reasons and arguments set forth by his Council. When the messenger stumbled from that chamber, he looked beaten and dishevelled.

  Katherine, not taking the hint, wrote back after her messenger returned, saying she was startled by Henry’s anger. She had given him no cause to be angry, she wrote, and had undertaken her right to appeal to Rome with his permission, “as you are perfectly aware, my lord husband”.

  “I will write back,” Henry announced, his face a mottled mess of red and purple.

  “You said you would have no more communication with her,” I pointed out. I could see this for what it was. It was the same in our arguments. Henry wanted the last word. He could not stand Katherine having it, and in his anger he was allowing her to hold on to a strand of hope. Every time he wrote to her, Katherine won.

  “This will be the last one.” He spoke through gritted teeth and I shrugged.

  “Every time you write, she will answer,” I said. “Write this one, by all means, beloved, but let it indeed be the last. Katherine will not listen. Pride is blocking up her ears.”

  Henry’s letter was aggressive, bordering on rude… something almost unheard of in noble correspondence. He laid out his arguments anew, and said he knew she was lying about her time with his brother. He also included a fierce addendum, saying Katherine was not to leave the palace, visit their daughter, or even write to Mary.

  We were informed that Katherine was distraught to read this letter, and she told Chapuys, who delivered Henry’s response, that she was sure Henry must have received positive news from Rome to have penned such a missive. Later that week, Katherine had more bad news when we heard François had managed to engineer a delay in the General Council of Rome assembling to try Henry’s case. Katherine sank into despair and only more so when she was commanded to move house. Two weeks after he left her, Henry listened to me and ordered Katherine to take up residence in Wolsey’s old house of The More, near St Albans. At my urging, he sent Mary to Richmond Palace. Mary complained with as much vehemence as her mother, displeasing Henry.

  I cared not for their distress, for they had caused me enough. But whilst I wanted them nowhere near Henry, I also wanted them apart. Separated, they were weaker… Something Katherine herself had taught me by trying to drive Henry and me apart.

  When Katherine and Mary said goodbye, they were not to know it was the last time they would ever see each other.

  Katherine complained The More was one of the worst houses in England and she would rather have been housed in the Tower. Several of her advisors resigned, fearful of continuing their involvement in her defence. She had perhaps two hundred attendants who left with her, including Tom’s mistress Elizabeth Darrell and my cousin Jane Seymour, but her household was reduced. She also could not be visited with ease, which would make it simpler for us to conduct our case without interference from her supporters.

  But as some men cowered, one stood strong. Fisher fought on. His preachers were coursing through England speaking out for Katherine. I sent him a letter, saying I believed he should stay away from London and especially Parliament that year, in case he caught another fever. I admit it was a veiled reference to his poisoning. I thought I could put Fisher off by reminding him how far his enemies were willing to go. If he took it as a threat, then so be it. I had no intention of murdering the man, but sometimes a feint can be as effective as action.

  I still did not know who was responsible. My father was a definite candidate, but I had begun to wonder about some of the more zealous of Henry’s men. Henry would balk from the notion of removing one of his enemies in such an underhand way, as he would see it as unchivalrous, but there were others who might not be so virtuous. Cromwell certainly had the wit to understand Fisher was a danger to us.

  “I have word from my woman in Katherine’s household,” said my father. “Katherine is writing to Clement to say that she has heard he is thinking of holding the annulment case somewhere outside Rome, and believes he is being bribed. She thinks Clement’s wavering is forcing Henry’s hand, facilitating a break with Rome.”

  “I always said she was clever,” I said. “I agree with the Dowager of Wales.”

  My father sniggered. I had started calling Katherine this when we left Windsor, much to Henry’s surprise. The first time I had said it he had stared in shock, and then burst into reams of bellowing laughter. Katherine would have to get used to her new title. It was about time everyone started using it.

  But the abandoned Queen was not wholly without influence. Katherine was still required to attend diplomatic events with Henry, as I had been warned, but I assured myself, if done carefully, I could pluck her from this shell too. Even if Henry had to maintain the façade that Katherine was Queen to ambassadors, there would be no more private meetings, no more dinners, no more cosy, intimate chats about their daughter. It was done. Henry was mine.

  But whilst I was elated to hear the first footsteps of the end of their marriage, mine was no closer, and since I was with Henry at all times, my reputation took a greater thrashing than ever before. People did not stop to note that I had ladies and chaperones with me at all times. They assumed the worst, and thought I was holding Henry in a sexual spell, influencing him to be cruel to Katherine.

  Henry loved me, of course, but a great deal of what was done to Katherine was done on his urging, not mine. I did not stop him, and although I encouraged him, I was not the only one to blame for Katherine’s treatment. Henry’s temper could be spiteful. He rounded on de Borgho when we were at Woodstock, and told him that since Clement refused to admit Katherine was not his legal wife, it was Henry’s duty, as her master, to chastise her for obstinate behaviour.

  “While she is my wife,” he roared. “She is mine to punish! Your master therefore has no right to complain about her treatment.”

  And punish her, Henry did. In many ways, in all the ways he could. He wanted to hurt her as she had hurt him. No… I was not alone in this sin. Henry was there with me, and in many ways, he did more to hurt Katherine than I would have ever been capable of.

  *

  That July, Vaughan finally sent Tyndale’s Answer, written in response to Thomas More’s Dialogue. It was brought to Henry, and he liked it not. Aside from the notion that he was Head of the Church, Henry remained conservative in his beliefs and Tyndale’s Answer was anything but. It attacked penances, pilgrimages, pardons, purgatory and ‘posts’, the contemptuous word Tyndale used for crucifixes. It condemned the Sacraments and Church ceremonies. Henry was never going to support it. I had seen it before it went to him and I sighed to Cromwell.

  “If only Tyndale could moderate his beliefs, just a little, he would have the King’s ear.”

  “It is taxing for zealots to moderate themselves, my lady… that is why they are called zealots,” Cromwell said, making me chuckle.

  Henry indeed turned on the work, telling Cromwell it was encouraging heresy and sedition. Henry shouted at Cromwell that Tyndale lacked grace, virtue, learning, discr
etion, and every other good quality. “He is malicious, uncharitable and indurate!”

  Henry had allies in his rage. Thomas More, who was called “a lying papist” in the guide to the text, was furious, and started drafting a response… another one who did not believe in letting someone else have the last word. Their intellectual argument raged on, but if either had stopped to think about it, they might have seen they were making the same mistake as Henry had with Katherine.

  But as More concentrated his ire on Tyndale, he missed other reformists slipping in and out of court. Cranmer brought a friend to meet Henry that summer. His name was Simon Grynaeus. He lived in Switzerland and was a follower of continental reformers such as Huldrych Zwingli and Johannes Oecolampadius, and had come to forge links between England and reformists on the continent. Cranmer and he had a great deal in common, and when I met Grynaeus I found him intelligent and warm.

  “I admit I am in ignorance of some of the works of which you speak,” I said when he told me of Zwingli’s Die Klarheit und Gewissheit des Woretes Gottes, A Solemn Exhortation to the People of Schwyz.