The Scandal of Christendom

by G Lawrence

  Through Jane I discovered many of his men were apparently concealing his affair. They covered his tracks. And there was more. Joanna was very beautiful. She had long golden hair and wide, blue eyes. Jane said Joanna was of a clement, temperate disposition, and many men found her passive nature attractive.

  She was, in fact, my opposite. That shook me.

  But as facts began to accumulate, I wondered if Henry had chosen Joanna, or if she had been chosen for him. Joanna was of low standing, and often served as a lesser servant to the Duchess of Norfolk. Had my aunt or even my uncle, thrust her into Henry’s path? Was this a passing fancy, or had Joanna been thrown at Henry to make him love me less and reduce my influence? I could believe this of my aunt, but I would have thought my uncle would have had more sense, since I was carrying a part-Howard King in my belly. But Norfolk would relish bringing me low.

  “The King said to Norfolk that he regretted his marriage,” said Jane, looking on with false sympathy as my face became bloodless. “He said it had cost England its Imperial alliances, and friendship with the papacy.”

  I thought I was going to be sick. Henry had said this? And had said it so that others might hear… My memory threw something into my mind; a letter I had written to Wolsey, long before his fall… “But for the future, I shall rely on nothing but the protection of Heaven, and the love of my dear King…”

  I could almost hear Wolsey’s low, throaty chuckle, echoing from his cold tomb.

  For a long time I had known that my strongest card, my only card, was Henry’s love. Without that I was almost alone. I had supporters, I had friends and family, but if Henry ceased to love me, I could lose everything. My family connections were nothing to Katherine’s, and my friends could be of little help if he turned on me. Katherine had put up a mighty fight, backed by her nephew, by ambassadors and by the Pope. What did I have?

  My one strength was the child I carried. But what if I miscarried, bore a dead baby, or gave birth to a girl?

  I did not want to see Henry. I did not want him anywhere near me; touching me with the same soiled hands he had used to stroke his stinking whore… but we had to be reconciled, not only for my survival, but for that of my child. If I had a boy, there would be no danger; my position would be secure. But if I had a girl, I needed her to be protected. For my child, I swallowed my humiliation, pain and anguish.

  “Ask the King if he will see me,” I said to Jane. “I want to speak about our argument. But tell him I mean to hear him. Tell him… I am sorry.”

  It cost me dear to utter those words. I was not sorry. I wished I had said more. I wished I had screamed, torn out his hair and hurt him as he had hurt me. It pained me to lower myself. But I knew Henry. He hated scenes, especially when he was the guilty party. I had to take from the example of another. I had to be Katherine. The irony of that was not lost on me. I understood Katherine’s pain, for I suffered the same. It compounded my grief, for now I knew what I had done to her. Guilt, mingled with anger, rage and sorrow, gnawed at my bones.

  Jane scampered away, thrilled to be so deep in this affair. For her, this was happy intrigue. When Henry arrived he was stony-faced, like a sullen child. In that moment, I despised him. But I could not show that. As he walked in, I tried to arrange my features. My courtly mask was required once more. Long had I been trained to hide all I felt. Never had I needed that skill more.

  “I want to talk to you.” I could not meet his eyes.

  “What do you have to say, madam?” Henry’s tone simmered with rage.

  “I was wrong to shout at you,” I said, betraying my own soul. “I was wounded when my women told me of your mistress.” I looked up and tears fell from my eyes. “At such a time as this, Henry… when we wait for the birth of our son… My heart died to hear that you loved another. That you loved me no more.”

  He was on me like a shot. His hands wrapped about my waist. I wept furiously, gulping, choking, as my heart, already shattered, fell into a thousand more tiny pieces.

  “They should have said nothing,” he growled. “They should not have upset you. Anne… I love you. I will always love you. I love no other.”

  Henry was not apologising. He thought the blame should rest on the women who had told me the truth, rather than on him. I clung to him; a drowning woman on a tempest-tossed sea. “I thought you loved me no more,” I sobbed, hating my weakness. I was brought low, made into this crying, wailing, feeble creature, by him.

  “I will never love another.” He took hold of my face and turned it to his. I did not want to kiss him, but I allowed it. What I wanted was to rend his flesh and slap his fat face, but all I could think was that if I dared, he would set me aside.

  Until that moment, I never understood the power he had over me.

  Henry could ruin me. He could cast me off. He could see me disgraced, friendless and abandoned. Now that I was his wife and Queen, I was vulnerable. Before, when I had ruled him as a mistress, I had held the power.

  Now, he was my master.

  The helpless, horrible fear that came from knowing I was little more than his slave, ripped through me. I thought for a moment I would pass out, for I could not breathe. He held me tight, unaware I was thinking anything more than envious thoughts about his mistress, and kept reassuring me that he loved me.

  I knew that this was not enough. Henry had reverted to form. He was a king, so he would keep a mistress. I was his Queen; my place was to accept. I should be grateful he had elevated me. I should share his bed and refuse to see his betrayal. I would bear his children, and whilst I carried them safe under my broken heart, he would betray me.

  It was not enough. Not enough for me.

  When Henry eventually left me, I felt an ache in my hands. I looked down to see them curled into fists. As I released them, stretching my fingers to relieve the pain, I blinked to see tiny red crescents upon my palms. Some were welling with spots of blood. I had dug my nails into my flesh and not noticed.

  My sister wiped away the blood with honey and arnica. If only other wounds could be so easily treated.

  When he left me, we were reconciled, at least on the surface. He suddenly became ridiculously attentive, boasted to his court about his fine wife and the son she was soon to give him.

  But that creature was another woman. She was a construct born of his imagination.

  That woman was not me.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Greenwich Palace

  Summer’s End 1533

  In apologising to Henry, I had made myself into the wife he desired. It was not a role I wanted, nor did I intend to keep playing the part, unless forced to. I would never have done so if not for fear. Every time I thought about him with that woman I wanted to rip his throat out. Then, I would never again have to hear the voice that once had sworn to love me forever.

  My apology threw Henry into guilty demonstrations of love and devotion. He spoke openly of his plans to strip the last of Katherine’s lands and estates from her and spent every moment of every day with me. Ambassadors marvelled that he could not do without me for a moment. The court spoke of how deeply he adored me. Were it not for my splintered heart jangling within me, I might have believed these were the days of our courtship.

  There is a traitor in our hearts. One who wants to cling to love. As Henry danced attendance on me, I came to think his affair might well have been but a passing fancy. There were moments, as he boasted about me, praised me and enquired with such concern after my health, when I almost thought I had imagined it. Were it not for pain keeping me company every day, I might have been able to forget.

  But I could not. I was not sure I could trust him. That hurt just as much as his betrayal. I caught myself glancing at him, wondering who he was. How long had I lived with a stranger and not known it? Which man was he? The trustworthy knight who had moved Heaven and earth to have me, or the faithless deceiver who had broken my heart?

  It is so easy to forget ills when one is offered love again. When a heart ha
s known love once, it will do anything to keep it. I loathed this pathetic need in me, yet I could not banish it. I loved Henry. All I wanted was to wake and find all of this had been but a nightmare.

  George returned to England late that August. As soon as he arrived at court I took him to the gardens and told him everything. “Doctors tell me women are more heated in their lusts than men...” My voice was sour. I sounded old. “… And yet it is always men who betray their wives.”

  “Some women are unfaithful as well,” said my brother, leaping, as so many men do, to the defence of other men just because they fear to be included in any censure against their sex.

  “Many more men are unfaithful than women,” I said. “Few women dare. If women are discovered they can be imprisoned, cast off and disgraced. All men receive is a knowing wink from the Church and a clap on the back from their friends. It is their wives who suffer, not them.”

  As you made Katherine suffer… said the traitorous voice. I tried to cast it away, but it kept coming back. I tried to tell myself that Henry had not loved Katherine, and therefore there was no true betrayal in loving me. But however much I tried to silence it, the voice wanted to be heard.

  “Henry does not love this woman,” George said. “He loves you, Anne. It is common for men to stray when their wives are with child. It is nothing.”

  “In some ways that makes it worse,” I replied, my voice as hollow as my heart. “To risk everything we have… to break my heart… for nothing?”

  “You would rather he was in love with another woman?” George shook his head. “Stop thinking like a hurt maid, and start thinking like a queen. You are allowing your anger to outwit you. These other women mean nothing. You are the Queen. Henry has chosen you. He loves you. The others, they are tools. Think of them like privy pots, Anne. Henry relieves himself into them.”

  “Is that the way you think of your mistresses?” I demanded, rounding on him. “Should I tell your lovers what you say?”

  “It is not the same for me,” he said hastily. “I find no love in my marriage, so seek it elsewhere.”

  “And what if the same should happen to me?”

  George stopped me on the path. “Henry would never do that,” he said, taking my hands. “He has fought long and hard to have you.”

  “And as soon as I am his, he finds another toy.”

  I blinked up at the glaring sun. “I, too, fought long and hard to have him, George. The sacrifices made were not Henry’s alone. Should I be grateful to become a queen like Katherine, and watch as the man I love flitters between women, like a busy bee? I sacrificed years of my life for him. I waited for him. I faced disgrace, ruin, heartache and the hatred of his people. He has given up nothing, nothing, compared to me and he has gained much to compensate for anything he has lost. Henry is Head of the Church because of me! And although he hurts me, I can say nothing. My only power lies in his love. If I lose that, I have nothing.” I finished my speech by coughing. Henry was making me sick.

  George was troubled. It was natural for him to want to defend Henry, since George committed the same sins, but he could see how unhappy I was. “Perhaps he needs a little light relief,” he said. “With you being pregnant, so soon after your marriage, he did not have long to enjoy you as a wife. When your son is born, return to your old ways. Entertain him, charm his men and dance… remind him how light and happy life is with you.”

  “And simply put up with him straying each time I am with child?”

  “It may not happen again,” George said, tearing a rose from one of the bushes. “You say ever since your argument he has been attentive. Perhaps he realises how much he hurt you and will not do so again.”

  “Or will just attempt to ensure I know nothing the next time,” I said. “God knows, he has enough men willing to aid him!” I stared at my brother. “I need to know, George. If he does it again, I need to know.”

  “Would you not rather remain ignorant and at ease?”

  I shook my head. George was trying to help me, but he did not understand. “There was talk that this woman is a sometime-servant of our aunt of Norfolk,” I said. “It is possible this was no accident but was done by design. If women are being planted in Henry’s bed in an effort to unseat me, I need to know.”

  “I will tell you, of course,” he said. “But what will you do?”

  I tossed my head back. I still had pride even if my heart was broken. “I will do the only thing I can do,” I said. “I will ensure the King loves me more than ever. Even if it breaks me, for my children I will strive. I will have his heart in my possession until my dying day.”

  *

  As August progressed, and it was almost time for me to enter my chambers, unwelcome news came. The first was from George, who had the unpleasant duty of telling his King that he had been excommunicated. Henry instructed my brother not to inform me, thinking the news might upset me further. George had already told me, and although it did worry me, I would not have wanted to be kept in the dark. Henry seemed to think I did not need to know a great deal of things now I was his wife. He was wrong. I was stronger than he believed me to be.

  The second piece of news was that Scottish raids on the borders had increased. Henry had not the money to launch war against the Scots, not after paying so much for my coronation. Had that only been two months ago? Surely eons had passed.

  The Scots rarely needed a motive to launch attacks, but it seemed their present excuse was Henry’s split from Rome. They had formidable numbers, if reports from the French ambassador could be believed, and many feared invasion was looming. Troops were sent to the borders and Henry’s spies in James’ court doubled their efforts to gain intelligence. Many feared that Spain would back Scotland, but as the month wore on, there was little to report, and we came to believe the raiding parties were bent on thievery rather than conquest.

  Henry took himself off hunting to digest the news about his excommunication. He wanted solitude to gather his thoughts, so he told me. I had to wonder if this was true, or if it was an excuse to see his mistress. Would I ever be capable of believing Henry again?

  George was only at court for a few days as he was expected by our uncle in Lyon. Clement and François were due to meet there and discuss the duchy of Milan’s successor, as well as means to remove the Emperor’s hand from Clement’s throat. Henry had been invited to the meeting with promises from France, saying that making peace with Clement would finally win him the papal endorsed annulment he had always wanted. But Henry feared being upbraided, scolded, or handed his excommunication sentence in person, so sent my brother and Norfolk to represent him.

  I was sorrowful to see George go and told him that when my child was born, I expected him back at once. “I cannot do without you,” I said. “I need to know I have at least one ally in Henry’s chambers.”

  “I will return soon,” he said. “And I am not your only friend, Anne. Norris, Weston, Smeaton, Brereton and Cromwell, they all praise you. And Cranmer thinks you a woman without fault. It is easy to believe you are alone and friendless when troubles come, but that is not the case. You have many friends.”

  “If I had as many friends as I have enemies, I could be satisfied,” I said. “Lady Mary is moving to Beaulieu. I am told people are turning out from all over England to wish her a merry journey, and offer their support.”

  “Mary is nothing.” George kissed my hand. “She is the bastard child of a liaison all men know is null and void. She cannot harm you.”

  Everyone tells me all these dangers are nothing, I thought. Is it because they do not want me to see the perils in my path, or because they do not wish to heed them?

  “She can harm my child,” I insisted. “What is to stop her making a play for throne when Henry is dead?”

  “Hush, Anne.” George glanced about, his head whipping to one side as though struck by an unseen hand. Aside from Jane and Mary, there was no one close enough to hear us. “Do not speak of death in the same breath as the King. It is t
reason. You know that.”

  “She is my death and I am hers,” I said, ignoring him. “Mary has the power to unseat my child. Mary works to destroy me, George, and she is legitimate in the eyes of many. She could bring about the destruction of my child, of my line… of me.”

  “You think too wild,” he said. “It is the babe inside you…”

  My brother did not get to finish.

  “Will any man believe I have a mind and a soul of my own?” I demanded. “I have a brain, brother, aye, and a spirit inside me. I am a person. Do not dismiss me, thinking everything I say and do is because of the child within me or the ring upon my finger!”