The Scandal of Christendom

by G Lawrence

  Preparations to renovate the royal apartments were underway at Greenwich, but I did not want to retire until the last moment. Henry needed me. It was made abundantly clear to me, during my late illness, that without me he was lost.

  *

  We spent a few weeks at Windsor, and they did Henry good. He arrived back each night with glowing cheeks and the scent of soil and bracken on his cloak. I felt terrible, but I tried not to show my pain. I was listless, weak and struggled to draw breath after only a few steps. I roasted like a side of venison turned on a spit. My clothes clung to my skin, sticking to me, and nothing brought comfort. Sometimes my heart raced even though I was still. I felt dizzy when I stood up and my skin was so pale I might have become my own ghost.

  Mistress Aucher said the only cure she knew of was to continue with the recommended foods. “Until you give birth, of course,” she chuckled.

  “I will be well enough?” I whispered, my hand trembling on my stomach.

  “No woman understands the power within her, Majesty, until she forces a babe from her quinny.”

  I burst into laughter at my nurse’s irreverence, and she cackled with me. “You will be fine, Anne,” she murmured, putting her wrinkled hand over mine. “And if you suffer doubt again, I shall just come and tell you that you will fail. There was nothing more likely to make you determined to prove someone wrong when you were a child, than being told you could not do something.”

  “I should send you away,” I said with affection. “You know too many secrets.”

  At summer’s end we moved from Windsor Castle to Whitehall for two days, as the final preparations for my confinement were made, and so I could do the journey in stages. From there, we went to Greenwich, and Henry began plans to hold a joust, as well as rounds of feasting and dancing, to celebrate the birth of his son. Physicians and soothsayers told us I was carrying a boy. Only one man, the renowned seer William Glover, dared say otherwise. He thought I was carrying a girl. Henry dismissed him without a second glance, but Glover was not alone. As Henry’s face grew more excited by the day my mother appeared troubled.

  “What is it?” I asked when another man left, with Henry’s arm about his shoulder, after divining from a plate of foul-smelling entrails that I would bear a son. “You never seem happy.”

  My mother looked uncertain. “It is just…”

  “Just what?”

  My mother sighed. “Doctors and men with the gift of prophesy… sometimes they say what a man wants to hear, rather than the truth.”

  “You do not think I am carrying a boy?”

  “I did not say that,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “But to my eye, you carry high, rather than low. To me, that has always been a sign of a female child.”

  A stab of panic ripped through me. I would love any child I bore, but Henry wanted, and needed, a son. My mother saw my crestfallen face. “I could be wrong,” she said, sitting beside me.

  “What if I have a girl?” My voice emerged as a harsh, heated whisper.

  “Then you will go on to have sons.” My mother put her arm about me. “God alone chooses the order in which we have our children, Anne. Just as He chooses which live or die.”

  “Please…” I begged. “Do not speak of death... I have waited so long, Mother, too long. I could not bear to think God might take my child.”

  “No mother can,” she said. Drawing me close, she held me. “Do not surrender to fear,” she said. “You are healthy, young… and if you have a girl, the next time you will have a son.”

  “I cannot hear this.” Hot tears leapt into my eyes and I left the room. My mother’s advice had been kindly meant, but she had tugged terrors from my heart and thrown them into the stark light of day. I had not allowed myself to linger on the possibility of a girl, or worse, a dead child, such as those Katherine had borne. What if I failed? To me, bearing a girl would not be a failure, but Henry needed to prove he had been right to place his faith in me.

  A day later, my sister-in-law Jane asked for a private audience. “What is it, Jane?” I asked when my other women had gone to the end of the room.

  “Majesty,” she said. “I come not only as a loyal servant, but as a sister.”

  “Naturally.” I wondered at the drama in her tone. “You are both, of course.” I did not like the look on Jane’s face. It was drawn into an expression of compassion, sympathy and worry, but there were sparks of excitement, even pleasure, in her green eyes. Having been brought up at court, Jane fed from intrigue as a bee sips at flowers. And just like a bee, Jane became heady when she found a sweet morsel to sup.

  Jane leaned in. “Majesty… the King has taken a mistress.”

  The shock was brutal. My cheeks flushed bright red. I felt my stomach lurch, and as it did, my child moved. I put a hand on my belly. I thought I might vomit.

  Aeons passed... I was lost in a kingdom of misery and pain. I knew not my way home.

  Henry has taken a mistress? I floated in that dizzy, dark realm of horror. Never had I been more aware of how alone I was than in the moment I learned my husband had betrayed me. How can I explain my agony? If you have suffered betrayal, you understand all I went through. If you have not, think yourself fortunate. That kingdom is a vast and lonely place. There is nothing but the beating of your damaged heart and the tearing sound of your soul being rent into pieces. Henry had cast me into that realm.

  Should I have been so shocked? It was not uncommon for kings to head into the arms and open legs of other women when their wives were with child. But I had never thought Henry would do such a thing. He had remained faithful to me for years. He had told me he loved me, that I was the only woman he had ever wanted, that I was special and we were equals in our love. Now, but nine months after our marriage, he was in the bed of another woman. As I carried our child, he had betrayed me. In that moment, I became small, insignificant and pointless. Henry took much from me. He had taken my life. Until that moment, I had not known I was living in a world of fantasy… a fantasy so deep, I could not see it. As my convictions and certainties were stripped away from me, I was plunged into horror and darkness. Truly, I was alone.

  And nothing I could do could compensate for all he had taken from me.

  I felt as though I had petrified. I was a husk of an acorn in a forest fire. My insides transformed to ash, and only a thin shell held me together. My sister saw my face, and came running.

  “Anne… what is the matter? Is it the child?”

  I leaned on my armrest. I swallowed hard, trying to prevent my last meal from exploding from my gullet. How could he do this to me? How could he do this to us? I could not answer Mary. I could barely think. I was hurt, wounded and mortified by humiliation.

  My sister went to Jane, who eagerly repeated the gossip. Mary turned on Jane, her face blazing with anger. “You should not have told the Queen!” she whispered fiercely. “You could have endangered the child!”

  “I would rather know,” I managed to croak. “I would rather know how little I mean to him.”

  My heart was breaking. Inside me it was tearing into pieces. Never had I experienced pain like it. I had to gasp for breath.

  Mary dropped down to my side and took my hand. “Anne… men stray when their wives are pregnant. This woman is nothing. She is not even a noble, and…”

  My eyes flashed to her face. “You knew.”

  My accusation struck her like a slap, and Mary flushed. “Everyone knows, Anne,” she said miserably. “I was going to tell you after the birth. I did not think it would be good for you to hear this now, when you are so close to labour and you have been so ill that…”

  “It will be for me to decide what I should know,” I snapped. Anger ignited my blood, replacing despair with fire. Did everyone think I was a dullard? Just because I was carrying a child, just because I was a wife, people seemed to think me feeble of mind and strength. I would prove them wrong.

  “Call the King to my chambers,” I said, my voice dangerously calm.


  Mary tried to stop me. “Anne… Do not do this. It will do you no good.”

  “You will address me as Queen, madam!” I screamed.

  Mary shrank back and even Jane looked afraid. But I knew Jane had enjoyed her moment. She could not bear a child for George, who she loved more than her own soul, and he kept many mistresses. Suffering had made her malicious. There is, in spiteful hearts, an urge to pass along pain. It is a sickness. But even if Jane’s motives were suspect, I was grateful. It is a terrible fate to be blithely unaware… to believe you are loved whilst everyone laughs behind your back. I would not suffer Henry making a fool of me.

  “Bring the King to me,” I said again.

  Henry came in a rush. Mary’s downcast face had made him fear for my health. “Take my women to the other room,” I said to Jane and Mary.

  “Sweetheart…” Henry’s face was desperate with terror as he clutched my hand. “What is wrong?” He glanced at my belly.

  The child, I thought bitterly. The child is all he cares about.

  “Do not call me sweetheart,” I said with venom. “There is no sweetness in your heart, sir! Not for me!”

  “What do you mean?” His grip faltered. I pulled my hand away.

  “You have taken a mistress,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

  The effect on Henry was startling. His cheeks burned bright red, his eyes went wide, and his hands shook. And, just like me, as though we were children having an argument, he crossed his arms. “That is none of your concern,” he said.

  “None of my concern?” I asked, my voice rising. “None of my concern? How can it not be my concern? I am the mother of your child! I am the woman you swore to love and be faithful to! I am your wife!”

  “And as my wife you will shut your eyes as others more worthy than you did before!” Henry shouted. “I raised you to this position. You should be grateful! I could choose to humble you again in a moment, and more than I exalted you before!” He glowered. “It is as well you have your bed already, madam,” he said, pointing at my state bed. “For I would not give it to you again!”

  I stepped backwards, stunned. My hand grasped at my throne, as if it could support me where my husband would not. Black spots danced before my eyes.

  What did he mean? That he would not marry me again, given the choice? My face drained of colour and, for a moment, I saw a flicker of hesitation in his enraged face. But as my hand faltered upon the chair his expression turned to disgust. My heart stopped beating. Never had Henry looked at me like that before. I stared into the eyes of an enemy.

  Henry stormed out and I fell into my chair. I put my head down and moaned, for once unable to care what others thought of me. My heart was being slowly torn from my chest. The love that once had lived in me was dying. And in that moment, I wanted to die. Love had been our strength, our solace. If it was dead, what was the point of living?

  But that was not the only agony I endured. I was humiliated. Everyone, all my ladies, all the people out in the hallways, had heard us. Soon everyone would know. Everyone would be laughing at me.

  Why would Henry do this? Why did he turn from me? He had threatened me, compared me to Katherine and found me wanting. Henry was not sorry. He was only sorry he had been caught.

  Henry had betrayed the sanctity of our bed and broken the pact of our love. And he expected me to turn my eyes away, like Katherine? I had thought our love was unbreakable. How long had we toiled to be together? Yet here I was, in the same position Katherine had occupied. And there was nothing I could do.

  I almost laughed. I had indeed become Katherine’s successor.

  Did you think you were different? asked a voice in my mind which sounded uncannily like Katherine. Did you think he would change for you? You are his wife now. No more can you threaten to leave him. You are trapped.

  My sister stole on silent feet into the chamber, alone. She touched my shoulder, but I just sat there, frozen. Cold dread swept over me.

  Henry had put aside one wife. If I pleased him no more, would he do so again?

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Greenwich Palace

  Summer’s End 1533

  Days of silence passed.

  I sat in my rooms, listening to Henry’s clocks. Tick tock, tick tock… they counted every moment, chimed every hour as I sat waiting like a fool, thinking he would come to me. I could not believe he loved me no more. I could not endure that thought.

  I waited. He did not come.

  Mary told me to forget the incident, and other ladies, those I trusted enough to confide in, informed me that this was common. It was the way of things. There was nothing to be done. Men would never alter and what could a woman do to change them? If the Church could not get them to be faithful, why should a wife have more success? They told me to show dignity. They told me to have pride. To my mind, dignity and pride lay in standing for what one believed, not in rolling over and accepting that which is unacceptable. Women with unfaithful husbands told me of their pain and sorrow, but admitted they too thought I should forget and carry on as though nothing had happened.

  I could not. Henry was the centre of my life. I was angry, hurt and humiliated, but I could not imagine a life in which we were not united by love, made brave and strong by its power. I had thought I meant the same to him as he to me. I had thought I was the sun in his skies.

  He had been that to me. Without Henry, my world was dark, vast and stark.

  Amongst my sorrow, there was rage. There was disbelief, disappointment and shame. How could he do this? Shame me before the whole court, before the world! Crush my heart under his adulterous heel, and grind it to dust! How could he dishonour me as I carried his son? How could he bear to touch another woman, whisper pretty words into her ear, and turn his back on our love?

  But, of course, Henry had not intended me to find out. He thought he could rut with his little whore and come to me straight after. He thought I was a dolt, without the wit to uncover his sins. Had he not made that abundantly clear ever since I had been announced as Queen? Had he not tried to make me believe I was a simpleton? Had he not tried to reduce me, diminish me… make me feel small?

  Perhaps I would have been his fool still, if not for Jane.

  Did Henry and his mistress laugh at me together? Did she lay her head upon his chest and giggle at my naivety? Had Henry ever pressed her against a door whilst they took their pleasure, as he had with me when we courted, knowing I was in the next room? Had he groaned between her thighs, excited by the idea I was so close, yet my understanding was so far away? Had he told her he loved her?

  Wrath took me high, ready to wage war, but as I reached its peak, sorrow crushed me to the ground. Every hideous thought of Henry and his mistress haunted me. At night, when my ladies were safely asleep, I wept.

  No… I could not be convinced this meant nothing. My heart was broken and my illusions, hopes and all the happiness I had ever felt seemed to leave me too. In my lowest moments, I questioned myself. What could I have done to drive Henry away? Had he grown tired of my bold spirit… weary of my confidence? All our arguments replayed in my mind. I thought of everything I had said and done over the past years and I felt shame.

  But even as I started to convince myself this was my fault, I stopped. Henry had not turned from me until I was with child. That was my crime. That was his excuse. The child he had wanted for so long, the saviour of his reign that I carried, had allowed him to find an excuse to stray.

  Other questions, ones I had no desire to face, gnawed at me. Was this the first time? All those years… Had I remained true to him as he betrayed me with other women?

  And how could I ever trust him again?

  He had married me. That was the only scrap of proof I had that I had not been played false for seven years. He had changed the world to have me. And yet… the first words out of his mouth had been to tell me to accept his infidelities, as those worthier than me had done before. Did he really think Katherine was worthier than me? Had
he thought about setting me aside before? Was our marriage not about love at all? Was it solely about Henry’s pride? Long I had known that this was one of the most powerful urges which motivated him… but was it the only one?

  When had my husband stopped loving me?

  I became withdrawn and morose. My cough grew worse and I was haunted by his threats. My mother and Mistress Aucher flapped about me, but I would tell them nothing. I was too ashamed. I ignored Mary, and asked Jane to find out more. Even though I knew it would hurt me, I had to know who this woman was.

  She was named Joanna Dingley, the daughter of Sir John Moore, a courtier of low standing. Some called Joanna, Parker, as her husband, James Dingley, had lately died and Thomas Parker was the name of her next intended. Jane discovered the marriage between Joanna and Parker was being hurried along by Cromwell, no doubt acting on Henry’s orders. Henry did not keep unmarried mistresses. In the past, the only unmarried one had been Bessie Blount, and she had been swiftly married off to prevent scandal attaching itself to his good name. Henry preferred his liaisons to remain secret, so any children could be passed off as his mistress’ cuckolded husband’s, causing no embarrassment.