The Scandal of Christendom

by G Lawrence

  “Anne… calm yourself.”

  “I cannot!” Ready tears leapt to my eyes. “Ever since I was married, and that union was made known, Henry and many others have treated me as though I am a simpleton. They talk down to me, George. Henry belittles me. He thinks I have become foolish, vapid or mindless because I have become a wife!”

  “I do not think that, neither do your friends,” he said. “But do not take every word of caution as an insult, Anne. Your friends ask you to take care for your own good. Like it or not, you are about to give birth, and although I understand very little of that experience, I do know that you must be hale to endure it.” He frowned. “Mary has said you have been most free with your tongue of late,” he said. “And have lashed her more than once when all she offered was love and advice.”

  “Jane has been more use to me than Mary,” I said, looking away. “At least she was willing to find out secrets.”

  “You should not trust all Jane tells you,” my brother said. “She exaggerates, and enjoys scandal far too much.”

  “Do you think she exaggerates about your affairs, too?” I asked waspishly. “For you, like Henry, are a good man, are you not? Who would never harm someone who loves you? Who would always be the noble gallant, working to protect and honour his wife?” I cast him a look of loathing, although I knew even then it was not George I was upset with. “You men… you are all alike. Deceivers and false hearts. You look on our love with scorn. You cast it aside as though it were a dirty cloth you have wiped your nose with.”

  George rose from his chair and bowed. “I must prepare to leave, Your Majesty,” he said in a stiff tone.

  I said nothing and watched him go. At the time I thought I despised my brother as much as my husband. But as time went on, I regretted the way George and I had parted. He was right when he said that his relationship with Jane was different. He did not love her, and had never pretended to. Henry had told me that our love was special. Had he lied?

  My anger had not abated, but Henry had left me in a state of flux. Were this still the time of our courtship, I would have left for Hever. But what choice did I have now but to remain? The liberty of the mistress was lost to me. As his mistress, and one who would not sleep with him, I had been free. As a married woman, I was nothing but his property, to do with as he saw fit.

  But at the same time, I questioned myself. Did I mean to throw away everything I had worked for, everything we had once been to each other? And where would I go? Women could not bring about divorce unless there was irrefutable evidence of true, real cruelty. Bestiality and sodomy were two of the few charges a woman could bring against her husband as a reason to separate from him. Adultery, abuse and general beatings were not enough. The Duchess of Norfolk, whose husband had held her to the floor and beaten her, did not have a case, so why would I? Henry had not hit me or forced me to do sexual acts that were against God’s laws. And where he could abandon me for adultery, I could not do the same to him. I was held captive, by marriage, by law, and by the Church.

  All I had were words that made me feel small… Infidelities which others would excuse… No, I could not leave. There was nowhere for me to go.

  Even if I was trapped, I had to make the best of what I had, even if what was left was not as good, not as wonderful, as the love I once thought I possessed.

  But he was a part of me. He was in my blood, my marrow, my bones, my heart, my soul. How could I leave Henry behind, when he had claimed so much of me? I was bound to him. Chained. Shackled. My bloodstream burned with the presence of his soul. I was tied to his heart with no means to free myself of him.

  There were times I doubted everything; moments when my traitorous heart told me I was to blame. Sometimes, when we argued, which we still did over trifles, as had ever been our way, Henry seemed to have heard my heart’s accusations against me, and added his own. He accused me of being paranoid and selfish. He told me everything was my fault. I began to second-guess myself. My heart told me to trust him, as I always had before. My mind told me to suspect him of everything. And my guilt, which he played like a lute, began to inform me that all of this was my fault.

  That was part of Henry’s power. He had me, for the first time, at a disadvantage. Shaken by his affair, weakened by illness, frightened for my unborn child, and not knowing what to think, feel or wonder, I was uprooted from the earth that once had held me firm.

  Henry infused me with doubt, and abused me with emotion. Sometimes, I did not know who I was anymore, even less did I know what was true and what was not.

  I tarried in a realm between hope and despair, and I think now, looking back, I never found my way from that place. From that moment on, I was trapped in that stark, hopeless kingdom; held tight to a stake by the hope that our love was still strong, still alive… paralysed by the terror that all Henry had ever said to me was a lie.

  On that stake I burned. Night after night I was tortured. And every day I woke to the heavy realisation that I had been brought back to life again, only to die anew, each and every dusk.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Greenwich Palace

  Summer’s End 1533

  The dreaded sweat returned that summer. It began in early August, and by the time I was preparing to enter my lying-in chamber, it was rampant. Death kept company with Pestilence, and thousands died. Katherine’s supporters said it was God’s judgement on Henry, and the fact that this outbreak coincided with the end of my pregnancy made many suppose I was about to give birth to an agent of evil. Greenwich was sealed off. Carts carrying food had to be examined and none of my ladies or servants were allowed into the city. Every day my household had to present themselves for inspection by Henry’s doctors as they checked for signs of plague. Henry and his councillors went to the country for a few days, to see if the tempest would die down, but it did not. By the time I was moving into my chamber, he was back. Nothing would keep Henry from the birth of his son.

  Henry had started an attack on Rome and its Church. In the wake of Clement’s excommunication, Henry feared his people might revolt. In truth, any who did not rise up could suffer the same terrible sentence, as to serve or honour one the Church has excommunicated is to share in their sins. Henry responded by sending out men to preach fire against Rome. His men told the people they were fortunate to have a king who had liberated them from the corruption of Rome. Some believed them, others did not, but Henry was so utterly convinced Clement had wronged him that he started to drive his men mad by repeating twenty times a day all the ills the papacy had caused him.

  “The King has become a parrot,” Norris whispered naughtily in my ear. “He says the same thing over and over and over. If I hear him speak one more time on the subject, I wager I will lose my mind.”

  I laughed merrily. Anything said against Henry was music to my ears. I delighted in hearing he was being foolish, or that his men thought him a boor. I even liked to see the second chin forming under his first, and the flabby layers about his middle. My husband was not the handsome, trim gallant he had once been. There is something about a person gaining weight, especially quickly, that makes their features spread and distort. Henry had lost his trim waist and fine cheekbones. He thought himself a fine figure of a man, but that was just another of his delusions. When I noted Norris next to Henry, I knew as all others did, that the flush of divine youth was gone from the King. That pleased me.

  My hurt heart was spiteful, resentful. If I could not inflict the pain I endured on Henry, I would delight in hearing him being spoken of with spare respect. When one is left without power, this is often what happens. Resentment and anger dwell deep inside, leeching into the skin, the mind, the organs of the body and infecting them all with malice.

  But I passed nothing on. I could not be caught defaming Henry for it would only put me in more peril. I collected their comments in a little box which I kept amongst the crumbling ruins of my heart. When I needed to, I opened it, soothing my soul with malevolence.

  As Henry
’s preachers raged against Rome, Henry had Cranmer draw up detailed pamphlets, laying bare the corruptions of the Church, and they were generously distributed. At the same time, Henry sent gifts and messages of fraternal love to James of Scotland, and kept a wary eye on the borders, as well as the activities of Spain. There was another attempt to regulate Katherine’s household, and her income was reduced to thirty thousand crowns a year. Katherine, as expected, protested this was not enough for the Queen, and demanded more. She said she would rather beg on the streets, or die, than accept the pittance she was offered.

  Sometimes I had to remind myself not to smile when I heard fresh news of Katherine’s rebelliousness. I had to remind myself that her success was my failure. As I saw her rise to stand against Henry, as I wished I could, it was easy to forget that she was my enemy. At times, I felt as though we were not foes anymore… we were bonded by the same pain, the same shame. It was as though in understanding all she had been through as his wife, I could see into her heart. I knew what wretched sorrow lurked inside her, for it had made a home in me too.

  Katherine’s new allowance was, in fact, a generous settlement, offered to appease the Emperor as well as Katherine. With the birth of my child imminent, even Chapuys attempted to get Katherine to agree to the terms. Norfolk’s spies informed us that Chapuys had pointed out, if I had a boy, Henry’s offer could become less liberal.

  But if some of Katherine’s supporters were urging surrender, others waged war. Late that August two women were arrested in London for saying Queen Katherine was the true Queen, and Queen Anne was nothing but a fraud, a cheap whore dressed up to pass for a queen. One of them was with child, but despite this, both were arrested by Cromwell’s men. They were stripped to the waist and beaten through Cheapside. When they reached the Standard, their ears were nailed to it. They stood, their ragged ears flapping in the wind and blood pouring down their white faces, declaring they would gladly die for Queen Katherine.

  Mistress Amadas, the wife of Henry’s former jeweller, and some said an old mistress of Henry’s, was arrested for making prophesies. She was, in truth, a poor, mad woman, and her husband protested as much when he tried to have her released. Mistress Amadas rambled on about dragons, burning stars and white towers. She said the prophesies of Mouldwarp were about to come true, and Cromwell admitted he believed she had been drunk when arrested. She declared I was a harlot who would burn to death and my father was a whoremaster, who had sold not only both his daughters into sin, but his wife as well. Mistress Amadas even said, when threatened with Henry’s anger, that she “cared not for the King. He is no more than a rush under my feet.” She went on to declare God was her only master, and that the Emperor would invade England, “coming to the rescue of all good wives and our King will be destroyed amid a mighty battle of priests.”

  Since many of Mistress Amadas’ words echoed those of Elizabeth Barton, the Holy Nun was accused of spreading scandal and disquiet. But these women were not alone. The Abbot of Garendon also declared that the Emperor would unseat Henry and prophesied years of trouble to come. “When the Tower of London is white and another green,” he said. “Then shall be burned two or three bishops and a queen. After this is passed, we shall have a merry world again.”

  I heard that prophesy in silence. Many times had my name been linked to the old tale that one day an English Queen would burn upon a stake. At times, I wondered if I was not already there, being consumed by a fire of my illusions.

  Amidst rumours of rebellion and prophesy of chaos, I prepared to leave court. It was the 26th of August, a hot, close day, when I heard Mass in the chapel, then hosted a feast in my chambers. Spices and wine were served and the atmosphere was gay and cheerful. I wished my heart was as light as the conversation.

  My doctors told me I would give birth within a month. I was fearful to leave Henry for so long, thinking he would return to his pretty whore, but I contented myself with the knowledge that I would emerge triumphant, with a son in my arms. Henry was jubilant at the feast, telling everyone he could not decide between Edward or Henry as a name for our boy.

  “If it were up to me,” I said. “I would call our son Henry, for his Tudor father and grandfather.”

  Henry grinned and pulled me onto his lap. “It is a good English name,” he said. “But I dither between the two. My grandfather, King Edward, was well-loved. He was a great general, and all women adored him.”

  “Many women adore you, too, my love,” I said. Too many, I thought. “I not least amongst them, or so I hope.”

  “Your love means more to me than anything,” he said, wrapping his great arms about me. “You are about to give me everything I have ever wanted.”

  A little hand of ice traced a line down my spine and I shivered. “Sweetheart…” said Henry, feeling my body jolt. “You are cold?” He glared at Jane and Elizabeth Browne, as though they should instinctively understand the inner workings of my body and commanded them to fetch a shawl. “You should take more care of your mistress,” he chided, all but snatching the shawl from Jane and wrapping it about my shoulders. “There, my love, is that better?”

  I smiled, I was not cold, but Henry’s concern warmed me. It was so easy for him. He could call on my heart to love him, and my heart would obey, in spite of me. If I could have hated him, it would have been easier. But I could not. I had always thought our love was my greatest strength, but I could see now it was also my frailest weakness.

  “It is better,” I said.

  “I will inform your women to keep you warm at all times,” he said. “I will not have you neglected.”

  “I am well cared for, Henry, I promise,” I said. “I assure you, even if everyone else missed anything, my mother and Mistress Aucher would not.” His face became serious. “What is it?” I asked.

  “You must take care, Anne,” he said. His face became naked. The mask of the King slipped, and underneath a frightened little boy was revealed. “You must return to me. I cannot lose you. I have had dreams of late… I wake sweating, flailing about in bed, terrified I have lost you. I dream that you are somewhere, calling out for me. You are scared and I cannot find you. Everywhere I turn there are people, pointing me in the wrong direction, sending me only farther from you. I want to find you, I want to save you from this horror you face, but I cannot. The people send me on the wrong path, and I am lost… lost in the darkness without you.”

  My heart sang. A wash of tenderness flowed over me. “It was but a dream, my love,” I said. “See me here, with you? There is nothing I fear as long as we are together.”

  “Sometimes I dream of my mother…” His voice trailed off.

  “I will not die.” I took his face in my hands. “I am a strong, fit woman, Henry. I will not die in childbed as your mother did.”

  “If it comes to it,” Henry insisted, his face grave, “if there comes a time when a choice must be made between you and the child, your life must be saved.” I went to protest and he put his hand against my lips. “It must be your life that is saved,” he said again. “I will not live without you. Other children, we can have in time, but you I can never replace. Without you, Anne, I am nothing.”

  My heart felt as though it had started beating again; as though it had come back to life after many weeks where I had thought it dead. I could have set my head back and crowed like a cockerel seeing the silver fingers of dawn on Midsummer’s Day! Henry did love me. This affair was nothing! If Henry was willing to sacrifice his heir for me, then he truly loved me. I felt faint with joy… with relief. There was nothing he could have said that would have cheered me more. I had no intention of obeying him. If it came to a choice between me and the babe, my child would live, not me. But to know he would give up a son for me… that I was more important to him than an heir… was overwhelming.

  “Promise me,” he urged. “I will command your midwives and doctors to do my will, but I would have you understand why that choice might have to be made. You are the most important thing in my life, An
ne. Everything else is dust and ash.”

  “I will live,” I said. “As will our son.” I leaned down and kissed him. “Set aside these nightmares, Henry. They are but wandering spirits come to test you. Soon, we will have all we have ever wanted, and I assure you, I will be at your side to watch our child grow.” I smiled. “I cannot allow you to have all the sport, can I?”

  Henry laughed heartily. “You always know how to cheer me,” he said. “Even my darkest dreams cannot reach me when your light shines upon me.”

  “Keep busy,” I said. “Until you hear the cries of our son, hunt and dance. Gamble with your men and play tennis. Then these wandering wraiths of evil will not torment you.”

  “I have much to prepare,” he said, starting to speak of the jousts, feasts and dances. “… And besides, we have a wedding as well.”

  “Whose?” I opened my eyes wide. “Do not tell me you are already bent on marrying our son to a princess, my lord? I would like a moment to hold him myself before he is handed to another woman!”

  I felt so merry, like my old self. Sorrow had made me another woman, one who delighted in evil and malice. Hearing that Henry loved me seemed to snuff out that woman like a candle. A wisp of smoke lingered in my soul, but her flame no longer burned.