The Scandal of Christendom

by G Lawrence

  I sent for the tapestries despite the nagging thought that Mary was right. Once I was announced as Queen, I would act with decorum and responsibility. But until then, I meant to enjoy myself. My enemies had insulted me and treated me like dirt. It was time for compensation.

  And so it was with unfeigned delight that I welcomed Suffolk to my rooms on the night of the entertainment. His wife remained in the country. She could not bear the notion of me taking precedence over her, but Suffolk could not refuse. I had sent my messenger to Suffolk when he was at Council with Henry. The Duke had no way to escape without causing offence.

  The tables and sideboards were set with masses of gold plate and the walls glowed with the finest tapestry from Henry’s vast collection. My ladies were garbed in new gowns of crimson satin and velvet, and I was dressed in royal purple and gold. As Henry and I entered together, our supporters cheered. My father and mother, who had been informed of our marriage, stood beaming side by side. Never had I seen my father so proud.

  It was St Mathias’ Day, so I had ordered a feast of delicacies from the seas. Sturgeon in vinegar, pike in mustard sauce, fried whiting with minced apple and onion, trout pate pies and herring, oysters, and eels graced our tables, along with fine, fluffy, white bread, jellies, jams and sweetmeats, and kissing comfits of walnut and honey. I sat beside Henry, granted precedence above all others.

  As the feast ended and the dance began, Henry spent his time flirting with my ladies, popping up here, there and everywhere to jest and jape. He was like a little squirrel, darting about collecting nuts for winter. Whenever I started to drift away, to talk to Weston, Heneage, Norris or anyone else, Henry appeared. He made a great show of touching me, kissing me and as the evening wore on, I began to understand he was very, very drunk.

  I was not worried, no matter what he might blurt out in his inebriated state. Henry was drunk as a cardinal, but he was so happy, I wanted him to enjoy the moment. Misery had been our companion too long. It was time for joy to take his place.

  As I found the Dowager of Norfolk in the crowds and started to ask how she was, Henry danced over. “Agnes,” he said warmly, slurring. “You become younger and more ravishing every day!”

  My step-grandmother was fifty-seven, but she fluttered her long eyelashes and accepted his compliment. Henry pointed to the rich hangings and shimmering golden plate. “Tell me, Your Grace,” he said loudly. “Has not Madame la Marquise made a grand dowry and a rich marriage? All that we see now belongs to her!”

  Henry started to laugh as Agnes’ mouth dropped open. Close by, Suffolk, whom Henry had largely ignored, stumbled to a halt in conversation with Norfolk. Suffolk stared at Henry in abject horror.

  I tried to stop my grin, but I could not. It spread up my lips and I burst out laughing. Henry roared with me, and others joined in, many of them not knowing what they were laughing about. Oftentimes, it did not matter what the jest was. If the King laughed, you laughed with him.

  I led Henry away and tsked playfully. “You will give the game away, my lord,” I said as he tried to grab hold of my waist. “You are too wild!”

  “I am wild,” he said, pawing at my waist. “I am free, Anne! How am I to restrain my heart? God has at last smiled on me… I could leap from a window and float over the sea to Rome. That is how high I am.”

  “Whilst there, my lord, pay a visit to Clement and honour his head as pigeons do to statues.” Henry laughed so hard I thought he might do himself an injury. When recovered, he led me to the floor. Even drunk, Henry had no equal in the dance. But for the rest of the night, I tried to limit his intake of alcohol. I was only partly successful, and Norris eventually came to tell me that Henry’s men were taking him to bed.

  “Should I visit His Majesty?” I asked, but Norris shook his head.

  “His Majesty will be asleep long before you arrive, my lady,” he said, grinning with affection at Henry. “I have never seen him so drunk, nor so happy. We will tell him you are coming, and he will slip into contented slumber waiting for you.”

  “I will come in the morning with a tonic for his stomach,” I said. “God speed, Norris. Look after my husband.”

  “Out of love, even if not for duty, madam.” He looked at Henry, narrowing his eyes. “Now all I have to do is convince His Majesty there is better sport to be had elsewhere, and talk him up the stairs.”

  “I do not envy your task.”

  “It is an easier one than carrying the King to bed,” jested Norris. “I am no small man, but it would test me to lift but one of His Majesty’s legs.”

  I chuckled as Norris went off. Fortunately, since Henry loved Norris, and was an amicable drunkard, he left the gathering happily, enticed away with a tale of further celebrations in other rooms.

  “Well,” said a voice behind me. “I don’t believe I’ve seen a king that drunk since the night Elizabeth of York told her husband she was with child after Arthur died.” The clipping of the ivory and ebony cane my step-grandmother carried told me who was behind me. I turned and beamed at her.

  “He is happy,” I said. “Should he not express that?”

  She stared at me. Those eyes missed nothing. “I wonder if that particular memory comes to me for a reason…” she said conversationally, her tone light as a fragment of a summer flower upon the breeze. “… You will find, girl, as you grow old, your memory takes pleasure in digging up recollections of similar times and events. When you cannot rationalise something, the mind offers hints and riddles to lead your conclusions. I wonder if my memory calls up the image of Henry VII on that night because I see my present sovereign in a similar state of jubilant intoxication, or if there is another reason I think of a king being told he is about to become a father.” She leaned on her cane, looking off at the party as though she cared not what I was about to say.

  “I will tell you,” I said, taking her arm. “But it must be secret.”

  “No one lasts long at court, girl, if they cannot keep a secret.”

  “I am married, and with child,” I whispered in her ear. “At the end of March, it will be announced.”

  As I drew back, she was beaming. “Excellent work, girl,” she said, patting my hand. “Excellent work.”

  *

  Henry woke with a sore stomach and a fuggy head. “Did I behave like an ass?” he asked as I brought him a steaming cup of ginger tea.

  I laughed, climbing on his bed. “Of course not,” I said, handing him the cup. “You were England’s fine and merry monarch. Although you did ask my grandmother of Norfolk if she thought I had made a good marriage. She was a little surprised, but not as much as Suffolk!”

  Henry laughed and swiftly winced. Pressing a hand to his head, he sipped the tea. “I have an infusion of willow bark too,” I said. “But let the ginger work on your stomach first. I have found it most helpful, since your son insists on making me sick every morning.”

  “Because he is an active boy,” Henry said, stroking my belly. “Sons make a mother sicker than girls. It is the fire in their blood reacting against the dampness of the woman’s humours.”

  “You always know everything about everything,” I marvelled. “My doctors tell me much, but you explain it so much better.”

  “Because you and I understand each other’s souls,” said Henry.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Greenwich Palace

  Winter - Spring 1533

  “The Appeals Bill is in talks, and Cromwell assures me we will have a favourable outcome,” Henry said, sitting on a fine chair of brown velvet that shone like a burnished mirror of bronze. “And as soon as Cranmer is sworn in, Convocation will be asked to debate whether a man may marry his brother’s widow.” Henry set his hands behind his head and gazed at me with infinite satisfaction. “We will proceed with your coronation by the summer.”

  I danced a little jig on the chamber floor and Henry looked up, pleased. “We shall start arranging your household.”

  “Should we not wait until the bill is passed, and
Cranmer is in place?” I asked. “We have been disappointed before.”

  He shook his head. “This is our time, Anne. Nothing will hold us back. God has shown His approval. Has He not blessed us with a child?”

  “You are right,” I said. “I am foolish to worry.”

  “Soon enough,” Henry said. “There will be nothing to worry us ever again.”

  I was even more pleased when Henry told me he had again reduced Katherine’s household. “Those women are a bad influence on the Dowager,” Henry said. “And Katherine will be moved to Ampthill Castle.”

  My cousin, Jane Seymour, was one of those to lose her position. I was told she went back to her family home, Wulfhall, in Somerset. How I wished I could have been there to witness my cousin’s realisation she had backed the wrong beast in this fight!

  That night Henry and I went to bed as soon as the dusk fell, and made love through the night. The next morning, when we awoke, we were merry and playful. I thought we would couple again, for Henry seemed keen, but just as my body was growing excited and restless, he stopped. “I must make for the stables,” he said in a rush as he all but leapt out of bed.

  “So soon, my love?” I purred, assuming a naughty expression. “I had hoped to welcome the dawn in another fashion…”

  There was an odd expression on Henry’s face. He came to the bed and kissed me but did not seek to take me in his arms. “This morning, I cannot,” he said. “I think you tired me out last night, wife.”

  He chuckled, but there was an edge of unease in his laugh. “I will come to you tonight,” he said.

  “I shall think of nothing else all day.”

  As Henry left the chamber, I saw his eyes. There was fear in them.

  *

  In late February, Henry and Norfolk were engaged in talks with Chapuys’ ally, de Burgho. The Nuncio had been sent to convince Henry to agree to the brief Clement had sent the year before; to return to Katherine. Such an event was never going to happen, but de Burgho, it seemed, was making many promises in an effort to secure success. Henry emerged from their negotiations and gaily informed his gentlemen of the Privy Chamber that the Pope was on his side. He said Clement was resolved to allow the trial to be held in England, and boasted he would have a papal dispensation for his second marriage within days, fanning the flames of gossip that he and I were married.

  Chapuys was none too pleased to learn that his supposed ally, de Burgho, was comforting Henry and made his way to Greenwich to interrogate the Nuncio. Although de Burgho denied Chapuys’ charges, the ambassador left in an almighty temper, and Jane, always a hunter with her ear to the ground, told me they had fallen out.

  “Good,” I said. “As our enemies crumble, the higher we stand upon the rubble of their dreams.”

  Katherine heard about Henry’s bragging and was plunged into misery and rage. She railed, screaming that Clement had abandoned her and had stained her with the stigma of being Henry’s whore. “Clement has forced us all into limbo!” she shouted at her maids. Chapuys was reportedly distraught to see Katherine’s legendary control shatter, and assured her he would write to the Emperor and find out the truth.

  Chapuys wrote not only of Katherine’s distress, but also to warn the Emperor. Chapuys wanted Charles to lean on Clement so Cranmer would not be ordained. My father’s spies intercepted his letter and decoded it, bringing a copy to me later that week.

  “The hare is a fool,” I snorted. “The papers have already been dispatched. Henry will have Cranmer ordained before Clement has a chance to recall them.”

  “It is still dangerous,” said my father.

  “Then delay sending this,” I said, waving the letter. “I understand it must reach Chapuys’ men soon, but leave it for a few more days.”

  But Clement ignored Chapuys’ warnings. He wanted to appease Henry. The bulls arrived in England soon after and Henry sent his men out, preaching sermons against his first marriage. They praised me, calling me a virtuous lady of high position and grace, made only more worthy in comparison to wicked Katherine. On the 14th of March, the Appeals Bill was brought into the Commons, and on the 26th, Cranmer put to Convocation the question of whether a man may marry his brother’s widow. The following Sunday, he was made Archbishop of Canterbury.

  When Cranmer took his vows, he made the traditional oath of allegiance to the Pope, but added he would never obey laws that were contrary to those of God or England. Henry wrote to him, confirming that Cranmer was “under us, by God’s calling and ours”.

  My household was publicly assembled. Mary and Margaret Shelton, Mary Howard, Frances, Nan, Bess Holland, Jane and my sister were all in my train, joined by Anne Savage, Isabel Agard, Anne Bray, Mary Zouche, Grace Newport, Elizabeth Browne the witty Countess of Worcester, and Nan Cobham. Lady Margaret Douglas would soon be moved to court to serve me, along with my aunt, Elizabeth Wood and Margery Horsman, a rather outspoken lady who I found engaging. They were all daughters and wives of nobles, and excited by their new positions. I also called my old nurse from Hever, Mary Aucher, to court so she could become the Mother of the Maids, in charge of my maids of honour. I reserved a place for Margaret, who was due to give birth any moment, as Mistress of the Queen’s Robes.

  My household numbered just under two hundred souls. Henry told me he would send word to Katherine, informing her that she was to cease styling herself Queen. When he told me I laughed. Everyone was reaping what they had sown. Let Katherine feel some of the misery she had inflicted on me!

  It was a wild, wicked time. So much happened so fast… I had only to blink, and the world was altered. Events raced away like a stallion setting eyes on a mare in heat. I was dizzied by the twists and turns. For so long we had been stagnant, stale, and still. But now, a wave cascaded upon us, wrenching us from inactivity, sending us hurtling into the rushing river of possibility.

  But even as I exulted over Katherine’s woes, I followed François’ advice. I wanted my household to be above reproach. And perhaps more than that, I needed my household to be recognised as virtuous. My reputation was not that of an honourable maid. I was suspect. No matter that I had kept my virginity intact for seven long years. No matter my thoughts of religion, reform and charity. That was not what people saw. They saw a siren; a temptress who had beckoned to a king and won him with wanton wiles. I was determined this would alter. I gave each of my ladies a prayer book to hang from their girdles and told them much of our time would be spent doing charitable works, sewing vestments for the poor, or cloths for the Church. They were to attend Mass daily and be virtuous and meek.

  “But we will be merry,” I said to their somewhat downcast faces. “We will invite the greatest artists, poets and musicians to my chambers, and transform the Court of England into a mighty showcase of talent and worth.”

  The assembling of my household was only capped when I learned that my good friend Margaret, Lady Lee, had been safely delivered of a fine boy, named Henry for the King. It seemed that everything was going in our favour and nothing could make me ill at ease again, but whilst I was happy, others were less so.

  One day, seeing my sister looking sad, I took her arm. “Why the downcast face, Mary? Are you not pleased for me?”

  She smiled wanly. “For you, yes,” she said. “But as all the world revolves about you, it looks down on me.”

  “Someone has been rude, or done you harm?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing but glances. But it is surprising how much disdain a person can fit into a passing look.”

  “You are being sensitive,” I chided. “Surely, no one remembers such things. They happened long ago!”

  “The memory of scandal is long,” Mary said sadly. “It never dies. It never becomes faded. People breathe new life into it each time the tale is retold.”

  “You are the sister of the Queen,” I said. “Tell me who casts these dark looks at you and I will chop their heads off for treason!”

  She laughed, cheered by my jests. Some years later, jesting abo
ut treason did not seem so carefree.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  York Place

  Spring 1533

  In April, Parliament and Convocation passed the Act of Restraint of Appeals. The Act stressed the sovereign authority of England, stating that Henry owed obedience to no one but God. The Church of England became autonomous on that day, and I rejoiced. No more would Henry or England bow and scrape to other men! Katherine could not appeal to Rome, and Henry had the final say over everything in his kingdom. No English monarch had ever wielded such power. Henry was the temporal and spiritual leader of his people, and everything we had worked for was vindicated. The law of England, and God Himself, were on our side.

  There were very few who opposed the Act. Those who did were swiftly arrested after it was passed. Friar John Forrest, Katherine’s once-confessor, was taken into custody for speaking out for Katherine, and although More and Fisher had the sense to keep quiet after the discussions, we knew they were secretly rallying supporters and writing to Clement and the Emperor.