by G Lawrence
I could understand his terrors. I had worried that my age might inhibit my fertility. I wondered then that neither of us had taken a moment to talk about it.
“The King dropped a heavy hint about you,” George said. “He said whilst some doubted his virility, it would be proved soon to be as hale and strong as that of any other man.”
“And what said Chapuys?”
“Nothing, he was on the other side of the Presence Chamber,” said George. “But believe me, he heard.”
“He will hear much more when he sees Katherine.”
*
On the eve of Easter Saturday, it was announced to the court that Henry and I were married, and I was Queen.
I went to Mass attended by sixty ladies, my dress dripping with Katherine’s jewels. My pleated gown, made of golden cloth of frieze and studded with diamonds, billowed in the light wind. I held my head high as I processed through court. With Mary Howard carrying my train, I entered the church to the deafening sound of trumpets blaring out a royal salute. Throughout the service, Henry watched his men closely to ensure that they were showing due deference, and after Mass, nobles were told to go to my quarters and pay court to their Queen.
Even those who had supported me were taken aback. Suddenly everything was happening at once.
On Easter Sunday, churches all over England were instructed to lead prayers for the new Queen. Baffled subjects bowed their heads and prayed for me that day, not knowing what had happened… Had Katherine died, suddenly? Some people, catching a whiff of Henry’s plotting amongst the incense in the air, refused to pray for me. Others denounced me, calling me a witch and a harlot who had tricked the King with spells. Some congregations walked out. All who did so were arrested and Henry sent guards to silence people with threats. Men who failed to control their wives, and many women were, not unexpectedly, on Katherine’s side, would find themselves in the Fleet.
In truth, it was perhaps a bit premature to make the proclamation since Henry’s first marriage had not yet been found officially invalid. I alternated from outright joy to easy anger, but Henry was certain Cranmer would satisfy him, and laughed off my unease when I confronted him.
“You should not fret, my love,” Henry said. “It is the office of every good husband to make choices on behalf of his wife. Rest easy, Anne. I have everything under control. Busy yourself with your new household. There is no call for you to take an interest in this.”
He patted my arm, as though I were one of his hounds, making for another part of the room to be clapped on the back by his friends. I stared after him. I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
Throughout our relationship, Henry and I had shared decisions and confided in each other. But now that our marriage had been announced, Henry seemed to expect me to obey him without question or hesitation. Did Henry expect me to suddenly alter, become docile and placid, as Katherine had so often pretended to be? Had I not proved my worth? Had I not shown that I was a clever, worthy, and able woman?
I might have expected this from another man. I had never thought to encounter it from Henry.
But I kept silent. Shouting at him on such a day as this would do me no good, but I made up my mind to ensure Henry understood I was not a queen like Katherine. I was no passive partner. Why should I not speak my mind? My mind was as good as his, if not better! Should I be pushed aside? I thought not.
Berate Henry that day, I could not. Allow him to shove me to one side, I certainly would not.
*
Whilst Katherine’s supporters in England had been silenced, those abroad had not. In the Low Countries a faction emerged. William Peto, the Observant who had preached the odious sermon comparing Henry to King Ahab, led them, along with his fellow friar and partner in rebellion, Henry Elstow. They were living in Antwerp, having fled Henry’s anger after they were released from custody, and started to preach sermons and distribute pamphlets supporting Katherine. Vaughan told Cromwell that Peto, and others like him, were sending information to More. He said More’s agents were being careful, and he could uncover little, but he was sure More was in communication with these troublemakers, and was sending them money.
“Surely, you should tell the King,” I said to Cromwell.
“I am not yet sure that More’s activities, even if Vaughan could uncover them, are of true note, Your Majesty.”
“I still think he should know.”
“I am hoping, Majesty, that if I hold back, More may embroil himself in something darker, something solid we can take to the King.”
I considered this. When Cromwell had disagreed with me, sore wounds had torn anew. Henry’s flagrant dismissal of my opinion had cut me, and when I thought another was doing the same, salt was sprinkled on those lesions. But Cromwell was right and he was not attempting to subdue me. I had to remember when I was angry with one person not to take it out on another.
“Very well,” I said. “I will follow your lead… but this cannot remain our secret forever, Cromwell.”
“I understand perfectly, Majesty,” he said. “Now you are married, all decisions should be shared.”
Shared. I thought. Indeed. At least one man understood.
*
As it transpired, it was a mistake to keep More’s activities from Henry. Later that week, Doctor Currein preached a sermon in front of the court. I suspected immediately that More had had a hand in it, for Currein spoke of heretics and their lack of faith in the Sacraments.
“It is no wonder such errors abound,” Currein bellowed. “When there is, even now, a prisoner who is kept unpunished at the King’s pleasure, and who writes nefarious texts and slanders against the Holy Sacrament. No man seeks his reformation. No one goes to punish him. Is it any wonder, then, that such heresies are allowed to flourish and blossom?”
That afternoon I heard Henry had ordered Cranmer and Cromwell to bring Frith to trial. It was obvious this was who Currein had been speaking of as, in his works, which had been widely distributed, Frith had denied the bread and wine of Mass were the body and blood of Christ. He, like Tyndale and Luther, argued the Sacrament was symbolic. Frith had ignored my advice.
“I instructed him to heed you, Majesty,” wailed Doctor Butts. “But he would not listen. Tyndale also told him to avoid the Sacraments on pain of death.”
“Tyndale advised his friend well,” I said. “As did I… but there is no stopping some men.” I set my hand on his shoulder. “We did all we could,” I said. “But some men cannot be silenced, even for their own good.”
“Only their own good in this life, Majesty,” said Butts quietly. Butts and I held different opinions about the Sacraments. I honoured them, as he questioned them. Unlike Henry, however, I respected the opinions of others and their right to question aspects of their faith.
“More sent a letter to His Majesty,” Butts whispered. “Reminding him that the title of Defender of the Faith was granted for his defence of the Sacraments and he, being a most faithful Catholic prince, would do his people good to rid the world of such evil. He also stressed that Frith was a false friend to the faith, and the King had been misled about him.”
“More flatters even as he undermines,” I hissed.
There was nothing I could do for the young man. He had sealed his fate. I had no doubt it was More who had pushed Currein into speaking against Frith. Even though he had no power at court, More was happy to use his friends to feed his obsession.
Frith burned at the stake, refusing to recant his beliefs. That day, as a pall of smoke floated over London, I sat back in my gilded chair, and thought sadly that even though I was Queen, I seemed to have no power to stop wicked men.
*
“You should not hide your condition,” said my father, gazing with disapproval at my gown of crimson silk, with a panel to conceal my pregnancy.
I looked down at the dress. I already had people calling me a witch; I hardly wanted anyone taking up the old refrain of whore. I would announce my pregnancy when Henry’s mar
riage was officially dissolved and ours was recognised. Not before. My child must be protected.
“I am in a better condition than you expected me to be, Father,” I quipped waspishly. “Seeing as I am now Queen.” My father blinked. “I have got where I am on my own merit,” I went on. “And largely on my own spirit and resolve. You forget yourself, Father. Queens are not to be instructed by their subjects.”
He stared at my haughty face. I confess there was great satisfaction in bringing him down. I was tired of men who thought I needed their help in knowing what to do and how to behave. Why should I listen to my father? Were it not for me, the risks I had dared take, the perils I had courted, we could still be where we were a year ago… with me wasting my time and youth, waiting for men to act.
It is rather easy, when one is affronted by the actions of one member of a sex, to suppose that all others of that clan are one and the same.
“My utmost apologies, Your Majesty,” my father said stiffly. “I was but trying to impart wisdom.”
“You were trying to impart orders,” I said. “And know that will be borne no more, Father. Once, I was your property, but now I am your sovereign. You are my master no more, Father. I am yours.”
Leaving him gaping, I left the chamber with my sister. As we cleared the door, Mary and I fell on each other, weeping with laughter. We held each other, gasping for breath. We needed to say nothing. Each of us had suffered under our father. The time of his power was done.
*
“I have received a fine letter from my daughter,” said Henry as he entered the chamber, brandishing it in his hands.
“I am pleased,” I said. “Lady Mary has been informed of our marriage, then?”
“A week ago,” Henry said, handing me the missive. “She demonstrates prudence and wisdom, and shows herself to be my true child!”
I was amazed to think that Lady Mary could have written anything about our marriage which would have pleased Henry. But as I read, I realised Mary was a great deal cleverer than her father imagined. The letter said nothing about our marriage. It attempted at all times to skirt the issue, did not refer to me at all, merely said she was joyous to hear her father was so happy, and she only wished that state would continue. Mary was a dangerously bright creature. Even at the tender age of seventeen, she knew how to play her father. She had flattered Henry’s vanity, making him feel secure in the knowledge that his daughter desired his happiness above all things. Henry had seen what he wanted to see, but I saw what Mary was up to. She would worm her way back into his affections and work against me. With an advocate for Katherine in Henry’s ear, much could be achieved should anything go wrong with my pregnancy. Was Mary hoping I would die? I was thirty-one, a comparatively old age to bear my first child. Did she pray I would perish, and my child with me, leaving her at liberty to claw her way back into the succession?
I was more annoyed than I could say to see Henry beaming, expecting me to be pleased. He was being played for a fool, and was too fool to see it! But ranting against Mary would not help me unless I had proof.
“That is wonderful news,” I said lightly, handing back the letter. “Your daughter demonstrates the intelligence of her father, rather than the spite of her mother.”
“It has made me most content to receive this,” he said and sighed. “All that was rotten in my life is falling away, and goodness blooms in its place.” He touched my belly. “And when our son is born, Anne, everyone will see how wrong they were. This child is the sign of God’s approval.”
As he left, Smeaton came forth with some of Henry’s men to entertain my ladies, but I heard nothing of their merriment. I was lost in dark thoughts. Mary was clever, that much was obvious. She had shown she could hide her feelings, for that letter must have cost her dear. And now Henry adored her again.
The little worm had crawled back into his garden of grace. I would have to spill salt upon Henry’s heart to force her out again.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Greenwich Palace
Spring 1533
May arrived with strange portents. People said that two fish had been caught in the Thames, measuring thirty feet in length and eleven broad. The female was said to be carrying two cubs in her belly. She was found at the Tower of London and the male at Greenwich. People took this strange occurrence as a portent of evil, and linked it with a spate of suicides and accidental deaths in or near the Thames.
And it was not only fish who were behaving oddly. The hapless hare was fast losing his mind.
“He came to the King unannounced, at midnight, Majesty,” said my father as he visited my chambers with Norris in tow. “The King was just about to go to bed, and then in marched Chapuys.”
“What made him come at such an hour?” I asked.
Norris shrugged. “He came to speak about the Lady Mary,” he said. “But in all honesty, Your Majesty, he looked wild. Looking into his eyes, I might have believed he had been hunted through a forest by a pack of wolves.”
“His Majesty refused to see him at that hour,” said my father. “So I took the ambassador to Norfolk. Chapuys refused to divulge anything, saying his message was too important to allow it to reach the King through the lips of other men. He protested that His Majesty had never denied him an interview, and he could not think why he would do so now.”
“Chapuys would say that,” I said scathingly. “He abuses his diplomatic privileges often. But he must have known that the King was going to bed?”
“The King roused himself,” said Norris. “Your father and uncle, my lady, tried to get the ambassador to reveal why he had come at such an hour, but Chapuys refused to be drawn out. Eventually the ambassador agreed that the hour was too late, and left. The King was most put out to have risen from bed for no purpose. Chapuys is coming back tomorrow.”
Chapuys was graciously received by Henry, despite his peculiar behaviour. They talked about the Emperor, and his campaigns, but eventually Chapuys got to the point. He informed Henry that he was aware of attempts in Parliament to refute Katherine’s rights, and told Henry if he did not remonstrate with him, he was not doing his duty as ambassador.
Henry offered Chapuys nothing but silence, so the ambassador resorted to fawning, begging Henry to hear him. He told Henry that he was setting a bad example for the faith, and whilst it might have no effect on his present kingdom, it could have ramifications for his heirs.
Henry contested all that Chapuys had to say, and ended by declaring, “I have given you full satisfaction on all points, what else do you want?”
Chapuys, realising he was in trouble, flattered Henry more, then went on to tell Henry how the Emperor felt about all that was happening in England. Henry refused to hear him, saying that he wanted to know if what Chapuys said were sentiments that Charles had actually expressed, or if they came from the ambassador. Chapuys had to admit that of course they were his words. He had not had time to write to the Emperor, and certainly had not had time to get a response. He ended by telling Henry he was acting thoughtlessly by ignoring the threat of excommunication, to which Henry shouted, “Go on like that, and I will lose my temper!”
Chapuys managed to calm Henry, and the rest of the interview passed without further incident. Chapuys was good. He could gauge exactly how far he could push before Henry lost his temper, and was able to soothe him too… tricks I had still not mastered.
“Chapuys wanted to know that Katherine would be better treated and Mary would be safe,” said my father as Norris left us to go back to Henry.
“And went away with no such reassurance,” I said. “But I wonder what got into Chapuys?”
My father coughed. “There are rumours that the Lady Mary is in danger of being poisoned,” he said, adding, “Majesty,” as an afterthought.
“By me, I suppose?”
My father spread his hands. “Of course the rumours are nonsense, but people say you fear Mary, Majesty. Getting rid of her would allow your child a clear path to the succession.”
<
br /> “My child already has a clear path,” I said. “Lady Mary is a bastard.”
“Although everyone with sense knows that, Your Majesty, there are others who maintain otherwise.” He shook his head at my baleful expression. “It will do us no good to hide from what our enemies preach, Majesty. You should be aware of any danger.”
“Are you instructing me again?” My tone was dangerous. I wanted to let my temper and frustration loose. People were questioning the rights of my child? I could not allow that to happen. My hands stole about my growing bump, as though I could shelter my son from those who would assault him.
“Merely attempting to advise, as has ever been my place, Your Majesty.”