The Scandal of Christendom

by G Lawrence

  “If you are aware of your place,” I said, “why do I hear reports that you and Norfolk have been telling Chapuys you always opposed the marriage between the King and me unless sanctioned by Clement?” George had told me this that morning, thinking quite rightly I ought to know.

  “We said that only to appease the ambassador,” he stuttered, his face for once surprised. “You must understand…”

  “I understand perfectly,” I said. “And if you cannot use the proper terms of address when speaking to your Queen, you had better not speak at all.” I wrapped my hands tighter about my belly, thinking, in some bizarre twist of logic, that if I did so, my son would not hear what was being said. “I want you to send men to Katherine, and tell her that if she values Chapuys, and his life, he should be prevented from presenting any papal bulls or letters to the King. If Chapuys continues, tell Katherine that the King will no more be able to guarantee his safety.”

  “And does the King know of this, Majesty?”

  “He soon will,” I said. “And he will agree with me. Everyone thinks Katherine is Chapuys’ weak point, but he is also hers. You want to prove your loyalty, Father? Do as I command.”

  Norfolk and Gardiner were duly sent to Katherine carrying threats authorized by both Henry and me. Chapuys ignored the peril, but Katherine became worried for him. Two days later, George came to me.

  “Chapuys knows that his letters have been opened,” he said as my ladies retired to the other end of the room.

  “I am surprised it took him this long to figure that out,” I said. “We have been intercepting them for more than a year.”

  “It is not our intervention that he knows of,” said George. “Cromwell told Chapuys that he was aware of a command sent by the Emperor several months ago, saying Chapuys was to inform Henry of the Emperor’s intention to appeal Cranmer’s appointment as Archbishop.”

  “Why would Cromwell say that?” I asked, and smiled as I understood. “He wants Chapuys to know he is being watched.”

  “Indeed,” said my brother. “Chapuys was not happy. He thought that Cromwell had come to him to prepare him for the onslaught Henry unleashed in the Presence Chamber, but later, Cromwell said to Father that he had spoken to Chapuys to make the ambassador fearful.”

  “It may have been done for both reasons,” I said. “Cromwell does not wish to alienate Spain completely. He wants to keep the hapless hare believing they are allies. At the same time, he strikes fear into Chapuys’ heart.” I shook my head. “He is a wily fox, that Cromwell. I should not want to make an enemy of him.”

  “There is small chance of that,” said George. “Cromwell cannot speak of you unless he adds praise to punctuate every word.”

  “He is my man, and I am thankful for him.”

  “Father accosted Chapuys with the letter in the interview with the King,” George went on. “He demanded an explanation, and asked what business was it of the Emperor’s whom the King of England chose as his Archbishop? Chapuys told them his master was concerned for the welfare of his brother-kings, and only wished to point out that Cranmer was lacking experience. Father questioned him about some of the message, written in a complex cipher that they had not been able to break. Chapuys said it was to do with the papal briefs and the threat of excommunication, and had only been put into cipher to protect the King’s reputation.”

  “Father is actually doing something,” I marvelled. “That is something at least.”

  “I understand the two of you had words.” George smirked, his hazel eyes dancing. “I thought I might have to shuffle to you on my knees, and call you Majesty after every word, after what Father told me.”

  I chuckled. “Have you not always wanted to put him in his place?” I asked. “For so long Father has ruled us, moving us like pawns. It is time he understands his children are infants no more. We are well-versed in the games of court. Now I am Queen, he must bow to me.”

  “It seems you made quite an impression,” said George. “Father attacked Chapuys and accused him of wearing two faces. He said that Chapuys claimed to serve the King, but in truth only served Katherine. Father thinks Chapuys is responsible for papal briefs being distributed in England.”

  “Did Chapuys attempt to deny it?”

  “Well, obviously he realised he was in danger,” George said, toying with his jewelled eating knife. “He conducted his defence in Latin, which not everyone present understood. He spoke most eloquently, assuring everyone who could understand him that his master loved Henry, loved Katherine like a mother, and Mary as a sister. Nothing had swayed the Emperor’s devotion to Henry, he said, and any attention shown to England was but sign and symptom of that love.” George sighed. “Chapuys went on to attack the findings of the universities,” he continued. “And argued that many of the votes in Henry’s favour had been bought, but nevertheless, greater numbers had found for Katherine. He said the annulment could not be decided in England, especially before Cranmer, who was the most suspicious judge that could possibly be found, and ended by reminding Henry of the civil war between Lancaster and York. Chapuys said the men around Henry were willing to sharpen the barbs of the very roses that had once torn the country asunder.”

  “And what said Henry?”

  “Very little. He informed Chapuys that, as a foreigner, he was not well-versed enough to comment on England’s affairs, and rebuked him for questioning the sanctity and honesty of his new Archbishop. Henry said all men could trust in his choice.”

  George leaned back in his chair, flicking the end of his knife with his thumbnail. “Norfolk and Father invited Chapuys to dine, but the ambassador refused. I think he believed he might be poisoned. Father says he will have little to do with the ambassador anymore, and a rift has opened between Norfolk and Chapuys too, although I think Chapuys forded part of that gully by visiting Norfolk later and wooing him.”

  “Norfolk sways with the wind,” I said. “I already know I cannot rely on him.”

  “He did try to get Chapuys to abandon the idea of speaking against Cranmer.”

  “Only because Henry does not want Chapuys to interfere,” I said. “Chapuys and his Emperor can do nothing. Even the Pope accepted Cranmer.”

  “Perhaps they cannot,” said George. “But I think we should keep an eye on Cromwell. I know you think he is playing the ambassador, and that might be true, but they are close of late.”

  “If you wish,” I said. “But I am certain Cromwell is loyal.”

  “Cromwell told Chapuys that Henry’s sole reason to leave Katherine was because of his love and devotion to you,” George said, evidently attempting to shake my faith. “But he also said Clement wanted a good slap about the face for his dithering. Chapuys seemed to admire his honesty, and told Cromwell he was distressed at Katherine’s ill-treatment, such as the reduction of her household, and the vandalising of her badges on the Great Wall at Westminster.”

  I frowned. Certain, rather over-exuberant, members of my household had done that. I had not commanded it, but everyone blamed me.

  “Cromwell keeps the hare close in order to keep a channel open with Spain,” I said. “Did you stop to consider that? Cromwell is no fool. If everyone else attacks Chapuys, Cromwell knows someone has to play the friend. Keep an eye on him if you want, but you will uncover nothing untoward. If Chapuys trusts Cromwell, he may reveal much that could be of use.”

  I stopped as a strange sensation struck me. Inside my belly, my child moved. I closed my eyes. It was the oddest feeling, and yet, as my child shifted in slumber, such a rush of love flowed over me that I thought I might cease to breathe.

  I opened my eyes and found George at my side, his expression fearful. I chuckled and took his hand. “Here,” I whispered. “Your nephew makes his presence known.”

  My brother’s eyes widened as he felt the light movement and he smiled. “Your child has quickened.”

  “Perhaps he wants to help us with Chapuys. My son proves he is as much a Boleyn as a Tudor.”

 
George laughed, and we went immediately to find Henry. He was delighted to hear that our child was well, and set his hand on my belly, hoping to feel him move. But my child seemed to have gone back to sleep.

  “There will be other times,” I said, seeing jealous lights appear in his eyes for the thought my brother had experienced something that Henry felt should have been his alone.

  “There will,” Henry said. But as George left the chamber with Weston, I could see envy in my husband’s face.

  *

  A wedding was celebrated that week. Frances Brandon married Henry Grey, heir to the Marquis of Dorset. Held at Suffolk Place, it was a stunning event, but I did not witness it. Mindful of the Suffolks’ distaste for me, Henry asked me to stay away.

  “Why should I?” I demanded. “I am the Queen. Why should I not be there?”

  “Charles pleaded with me,” Henry said, his cheeks igniting. “My sister is ailing, and he does not want to upset her.”

  “I have done nothing to distress your sister,” I said. “Besides becoming your wife!”

  “You will stay here,” said Henry, his jaw clenching.

  “As you command, my lord.” The words spat from my mouth. When I turned, Henry was behind me.

  “Do not take it to heart,” he said gently, stroking my arms.

  “If I stay away,” I whispered. “It will be reported through England that your sister governs you, and you have more respect for her than for me.”

  “Everyone knows that is not the truth,” he said. “And what good would it do you or the child to go to the wedding? You must not be upset.”

  “It is a little late for that.”

  Henry chuckled and pulled me about to face him. “Do as I ask,” he said. “Stay here and when it is over I will come and tell you all about it.”

  I agreed, with poor grace. As the rest of court celebrated at Suffolk Place, I sat with my ladies sewing clothes for the poor. Uneasy thoughts hounded my mind. Henry had taken to ordering me to do things, rather than asking. It seemed he had taken our marriage vows literally. I did not like this. It tugged at everything I held dear about my character, and called into question the depths of his love.

  But soon, there were events to steal my thoughts from deliberating on my husband’s newfound authority.

  On the 10th of May, Cranmer invited Henry and Katherine to appear for the trial of their marriage. Katherine, obviously, did not attend. In her absence, the trial was heard, and two weeks later my good friend gave me a great gift by announcing that Henry’s first marriage was invalid, and his second was upheld. Twenty-five bishops, including Fisher, voted against, but they were the minority. Cranmer even went so far as to have a threat of excommunication levied against Henry if he dared to keep company with Katherine.

  Four days later, our marriage was officially announced as legal, binding and vindicated.

  Chapter Fifty

  York Place

  Late Spring 1533

  Early one morning I rose and sat by my window. My ladies were still wrapped in their warm woollen blankets, but I could not rest. I sat by the window and watched bold young hares scamper in the park. Usually solitary and cautious beasts, spring infested them with courage, urging them to leave their underground burrows of warmth and safety to find mates.

  I watched a hare on the skyline, long and wiry its shadow leeched into the rising sun, becoming as one with that orb of liquid gold. Shadow and flame, darkness and light… for one moment they were as one.

  When my ladies rose, chagrined to find I was already awake, they dressed me as I thought on all that was going on at court. Preparations for my coronation were progressing with swift speed. The summer approached with high winds and sweet sunshine and with the coming of clement weather, I became rejuvenated. My sickness had passed, and I found myself overtaken with a furious appetite. I had pains in my back and pelvis, but suddenly, almost overnight, I seemed to lose all my tiredness and threw myself into plans for my coronation.

  I had Nicholas Udall, one of the survivors of the Bishop of London’s cellars from long ago, write verses for my coronation. It was meant as a slap in the face for More. Many thought Udall a heretic and he had been prevented from achieving his Master’s degree for his beliefs, but I meant to honour men like him. John Leland, too, was appointed to take care of songs and pageants along my coronation route.

  At the same time, I took on Nicholas Shaxton as my almoner. He, too, had been accused of heresy, and had been forced to recant his beliefs. With Cranmer’s aid, I had Shaxton appointed Treasurer of Salisbury Cathedral.

  “I have carefully chosen you to be the lanterns and light of my court,” I said to my new men. “You will watch over the morals of my household, and teach my people above all things to embrace the wholesome doctrine and infallible knowledge of Christ’s gospel.”

  In defiance of the law, which did not apply to me, I kept an English Bible open on a desk in my room, and told my servants that if they ever found themselves at a loss, to consult the Word of God. I also had men seeking copies of the Epistles and Gospels translated from the original Hebrew into English, so my servants could have access to them too. Latimer promised to aid me and approved of my choices.

  “You are a blessed event for England, Majesty,” he said. “It is clear you mean to be a friend and protector of reformers.”

  “If ever you hear of men who need my help,” I said, “come to me. I will do all I can to preserve those who uphold the faith.”

  “Blessed be your reign, Majesty,” Latimer said, ducking to kiss my hand.

  Later that day, my chamberlain received word from Henry that Katherine’s barge was to be commandeered for my entrance to London. A week later, feeling, perhaps, a little overconfident, my chamberlain tore Katherine’s badges from the craft and had them cut to ribbons. I laughed when he told me. The removal of Katherine’s odious badges, which had haunted me everywhere I went, was a sweet event for me. Others, however, were not so pleased, seeing it as disrespectful, which it was of course. Henry reprimanded my chamberlain, but I reminded Henry that the command to take the barge and have Katherine’s emblems replaced had come from him.

  “My men acted in haste,” I said. “And perhaps without due consideration. But they only did so out of love for me. Surely you can understand that?”

  “I was displeased to find that certain supporters of yours also pulled down Katherine’s badges at Westminster,” Henry growled. “They had no right to do so.”

  “Is Katherine Queen?” I asked. Henry glared, but shortly answered I was, of course.

  “And since I am soon to be crowned, and am carrying your child, husband, should my badges not be where hers have stood so long, taunting us?” I put my hand on his sleeve. “I will, of course, tell my people to cease acting with spite,” I said. “But do you not see, Henry, how Katherine’s emblems have hurt me? You surely do not want that to continue?” I placed a hand on my belly, drawing his attention to our child.

  “I would do nothing to upset you,” he agreed, his face softening as he drew me under his great arm. “But ask your servants to moderate their enthusiasm.”

  “Of course.”

  I watched Henry leave. “We must work together, little one,” I murmured to my belly. “You and I must unite, if we are to succeed.”

  Under my hand, my son stirred. My ally had heard my call.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Greenwich Palace and the Tower of London

  30th May 1533

  I woke to a sensation of excitement, and, for a moment, forgot why. But as I gazed with bleary eyes at the gap in the window shutters, my mind reminded me why my blood felt charged and my head was giddy.

  I could see the white, pale sun. Swallows dipped through the skies, framed by clouds moving soft and sluggish in the blue heavens. The wind whistled and the skies themselves seemed to sing. It was going to be a pretty day. A good day…. Perhaps the best of all days. It was the beginning of my journey to become Queen.

&nb
sp; Today I would leave Greenwich for the Tower, and tonight I would spend time in prayer. Tomorrow, court ritual would hold dominion, bending our backs to honour hallowed customs and rites. Some traditions we remember why we uphold, and some we do not. But like the last rays of the sunlight through the black silhouettes of trees at dusk, they linger. We bow to them, as did our ancestors; line upon line of people through time falling to one knee before the sanctity of custom. It links us to our past, to the times of the ancients, to the first stirrings of life as it walked upon the world. It is another story we tell. And like so many stories, even if we remember not the origin, we keep telling them.

  Stories, customs… ghosts we honour, spirits we sanctify. The past never leaves. What cannot be conquered must be captured. What cannot be left behind must be carried.

  When custom was done with me, I would make my way through London, with a procession of thousands at my back, to Westminster, where I would be crowned.