The Scandal of Christendom

by G Lawrence

  The next day, as I visited my daughter, I overheard Mary and Madge Shelton conversing on spates of iconoclasm that were increasing in England. Iconoclasts rejected the sanctity of religious images and often destroyed them. There had been increasing outbreaks over the past years, and even more in the last few months. Since Henry’s break with Rome, reformists were becoming bolder. I did not hold with the annihilation of idols, even though I understood the theory behind it. Images of Christ, the Virgin and the Saints were sacred, in my mind. Perhaps more than that, they were beautiful. One has only to look upon flowers to know that God created beauty. To destroy them was, to my mind, disrespectful. There were many theories put forth by reformers that I upheld, but there were also points on which we disagreed. Reform was one thing, tearing asunder all sacred beliefs, quite another.

  “What is this?” I asked, turning with Elizabeth in my arms. “More devastation?”

  “Yes, Majesty,” said Mary. “In Ipswich. Men broke into a church and destroyed images of St Petronella and a crucifix was damaged at Stoke.”

  I crossed myself and my daughter. “God forgive them.”

  “There are more and more occurrences in London, Majesty,” said Margaret. “Some say that since England has broken with Rome, we have no need to adhere to the old ways. Some men protest the worship of idols is the worship of graven images, forbidden by the Commandments.”

  “Whatever their motivations,” I said. “This is not a matter for mere men to decide. The King is the Supreme Head of the Church, and he has made no proclamation on this. Until he does, his people are required to follow his example, not take the law into their own hands.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” said Mary. “But some people always believe they know better than others.”

  I smiled. “And that is why His Majesty has soldiers, Mary.”

  Mary and Margaret laughed, but I remained anxious. Over that season we heard of men breaking into churches to smash, damage, or steal holy items, proving the infiltration of reformist thought into England was more widespread than even I had imagined.

  Henry was enraged. It was only the break with Rome that he desired… nothing of his personal view of religion had altered. To him, the destruction of idols was heresy. Henry sent guards to find, arrest, and execute men who rampaged through England’s churches.

  Creation takes time. Destruction is so swift.

  Images of saints who had watched over the men and women of England for centuries, bringing hope, love and peace, were destroyed. In a bare moment that which took years to make can be obliterated, leaving nothing to prove its existence but a pile of dust upon the floor.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Greenwich Palace

  Late Autumn 1533

  Once released from my womb-like chamber, I felt as though I never wanted to be inside again. At every opportunity, I took to the palace grounds. The bright blaze of October was ceding to the grey flint of November. I took Elizabeth into the grounds, so her infant mind could witness the beauty of the season. I held red-gold leaves before her face, watching as her eyes, mesmerized by the bright colours, followed them. We sat in shaded arbours and I sang to her, allowing my rich voice to sooth her into sleep as over us, the balmy wind blew, caressing Elizabeth’s delicate skin.

  Soon Elizabeth would be taken from me. I could not bear to think of it. The thought that I could not see Elizabeth anytime I wished… That I would have to make appointments to see my own daughter brought terrible pain. No matter how hard I tried, I could not think well of this. My daughter was being stolen from me.

  Henry was bemused by my fierce feelings. He loved his daughter, and spent more time with her than many thought normal for a father, but I knew he was not devoted to her as I was. I could not help it. Elizabeth was the most important person in the world. Perhaps this is the same for every mother, but I wondered how those with more than one child coped. I had but one child, and I was overcome by her. How did one survive, get any task done, or rest easy, with more children to claim one’s heart?

  My mother had smiled when I asked her this before her departure for Hever. With winter coming, she could not stay in London. Her chest weakened in the cold months, but it was better in the country than it was at court. When I had asked her how she shared her heart between her children, she smiled and stroked my face.

  “That is the remarkable thing,” she murmured. “For each child born, another heart grows. The more we love, the more love we have to give. It is the only element which works in this way, Anne. It is the most unselfish and glorious blessing. When you have another child, you will grow another heart, and another and another.” She touched her breast. “In here is a heart for all of you; one for each of my children who live, and all those who linger with God. A mother is a creature of many hearts, Anne.”

  I tried to concentrate on the next child we would have. Henry had returned to me and in the dark warmth of our bed, nothing had changed in practice, but even as he touched me, as he entered me, I felt a distance between us I had never felt before. It was the distance of a bruised heart and a wounded pride. It was the fact that he had never apologised, as well as his lack of understanding about my love for Elizabeth. It was the notion I had fallen in love with a man, and that man was not the person I had thought him to be.

  Part of me wanted to regret becoming Henry’s wife. It might have been easier to believe that nothing good had come from this, and to set myself into duty alone. But I had Elizabeth. She was all that was good in this world.

  And if I had only a part, only a fragmented, twisted shadow of the love I once thought was mine alone, there was still tenderness; there was still pleasure, comfort and friendship. There was just enough hope to keep me clinging on.

  Perhaps I had grown up. Life was no more as simple as once it had seemed. When I was a child, I had dreamed of a love that would defy expectations. I thought I would find a man who truly loved me, and whom I loved in return. Once, I had thought that love could solve all problems, but I knew now it did not.

  “Can we choose not to love, once love has been unleashed?” I asked Tom as we went one day to obambulate in my cold gardens. I spoke without thinking, and when I looked at his face, I realised my mistake. “That was insensitive of me,” I said, touching his arm.

  He chuckled. “The time is long since spent when I hungered after you, Majesty,” he said. “I worship you, as all men should, but I believe I was the right man to ask this of.”

  “So you think it is possible?”

  “I think if the spirit is strong, the heart can be tamed.” He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just a passing fancy.” We walked on and talked of other matters. But it was not a passing fancy. I did not know if my heart could be mastered, as Tom’s had.

  *

  “Chapuys is busy these days,” George mentioned as he, Mary and I strolled through the gardens one day.

  “What is Chapuys up to?” I asked. “I never see the man. When he hears my step he vanishes, like a ghost in the winter wind.”

  “He thinks that if he is seen by you, he will have to acknowledge you as Queen, and betray Katherine and Mary,” said my sister.

  “Yes, thank you.” My tone dripped with sarcasm. “I had no idea that was why he avoided me, sister. What good fortune it is to have you here to explain such complex matters.”

  My sister flushed. As she looked away, I saw anger burn in her eyes. I turned to George. “So?” I asked. “What is the hackneyed hare up to?”

  My brother smiled. “I think he has been increasing his network of spyery,” he said. “The Marchioness of Exeter has been in his company a lot.”

  “Gertrude has a spy network of her own,” I said. This troubled me. It came as no surprise that Gertrude was in league with Chapuys, but if she had allowed the ambassador contact with her people, rumoured to be hidden in most noble houses in England, Chapuys had access to a great deal of information and informants.

  “Can anything be proved?”
I asked. “If we were to catch them up to no good, the Spanish hare and the Courtenay boar would be fine game to pursue.”

  “I set some people on their tail, “said my brother. “But Gertrude is no fool.”

  “And her husband has access to Council meetings,” I said. “Perhaps that is how Chapuys has been so well-informed about proceedings against Mary and Katherine.”

  “Perhaps,” George agreed.

  “Just keep an eye on them,” I said again.

  “There are so many people to watch now,” said my sister. “We will be required to grow eyes all over our skin.”

  “All that needs to be done will be done,” I said firmly.

  “Of course,” said my sister.

  *

  I do not believe it had occurred to anyone, either in England or in the rest of the wide world, that Henry would ignore Clement’s bull of excommunication. Even I was surprised by how easily, how carelessly, he took Clement’s threats. He did not seem worried the Emperor would invade either, perhaps believing that if Charles had intended to do anything, he would have acted by now. Perhaps that was why, in November, Henry started to move against his daughter with zealous passion… he believed his enemies were far away.

  Mary’s household was torn asunder. The Countess of Salisbury offered to stay with Mary without a wage, out of love, but Henry dismissed her, saying he would rather have women who he knew were loyal to attend his rebellious daughter. Henry believed that the Countess, and others in Mary’s household, were responsible for encouraging Mary’s insubordination. To my mind, if there was manipulation occurring it was the other way around. It was easier for Henry to believe that his saintly daughter was being influenced against him, but that which is easy to believe is often not the truth.

  Reality is more complex than fiction.

  Henry also believed Katherine was leading Mary astray. He thought if he punished them both, they would submit. The fact that this had been done already to no avail did not deter him. My husband was not a man of original thought.

  Claiming that Katherine’s household was costing him forty thousand pounds a year, clearly a preposterous exaggeration, Henry reduced her servants. Katherine’s Chamberlain, Baron Mountjoy, was ordered to weed out those who addressed Katherine as Queen, but Mountjoy, who was devoted to his mistress, put only token effort into his investigation. He tried to retain as many of her servants as possible, and Katherine’s people protested, saying they had taken oaths to her as Queen, therefore to address her as Princess Dowager would make them guilty of perjury. A ludicrous notion. Mountjoy found himself in an uncomfortable position, and wrote to Cromwell, asking to be relieved of his post. I have no doubt his living conditions were miserable in any case. Katherine had been shifted from one little house to the next, each worse than the one before. People blamed me, whispering that I intended to murder Katherine by forcing her into unhealthy and inclement places.

  But I did not choose Katherine’s houses. Henry did. I was guilty of encouraging him in cruelty, but my husband was not without sin.

  “I have told the King to do nothing about Mountjoy’s request,” said Cromwell. “The man is old and ill. He will die soon and find release from his burden that way.”

  “But clearly, asking Katherine’s servants to act against her is not working.”

  “As I have said to His Majesty,” Cromwell said. “From now on, I assure you, Majesty, there will be direct action. Trying to get Katherine’s people to abandon her is a waste of time.”

  “And I hear Reginald Pole is writing something new.”

  “Indeed. The Pro ecclesiasticae unitatis defensione,” said Cromwell.

  “In defence of Church unity,” I translated. “That boy should have a care. His Majesty pays for his education, and Pole uses it against him.”

  “It has made his mother rather nervous.”

  “As well it might.”

  Pole’s mother was Margaret Pole, another of Katherine’s old friends. She was the daughter of the Duke of Clarence, who had been executed for treason, some claimed by being drowned in a vat of wine, by Henry’s grandfather. Pole no doubt believed that being Henry’s maternal cousin would protect him, but he stayed in Padua nonetheless. Henry was paying for Pole’s education. The young man was biting the hand that fed him.

  “Chapuys would like to see Lady Mary married to Pole,” said Cromwell, his face breaking into a grin. “His Majesty has not warmed to the idea.”

  I chuckled. What a notion! Of course the hare would come up with it. Marrying Mary to Pole would ensure that two of Henry’s enemies were bound together for life. “His Majesty will never agree,” I said. “And the more Chapuys pushes for Mary to remain in the succession, and Katherine to be recognised as Queen, the more the King will punish them.”

  “There are others who will be punished too,” said Cromwell. “The Observant Friars who went to see Katherine were questioned, Majesty, although we found little of note in their answers. Katherine was careful, too. I have a woman in her house, one whom she thinks entirely loyal, who is allowed to sit in during meetings. Katherine does not know that this woman understands Spanish and Latin. My spy told me, however, that the friars and Katherine were careful and even in Spanish they said nothing incriminating. She thought they had another method of communicating, perhaps hand signals, or via coded letter sent afterwards, and is working on discovering Katherine’s secrets.”

  “I almost pity Katherine,” I said. “To be surrounded with spies. People you believe loyal. That is a lonely thought.”

  Do you not suffer the same fate, Anne Boleyn? Katherine’s voice sounded in my head. How many of your maids leave your chambers and report directly to Norfolk or Chapuys? How much of what you say is written down and passed on? The thought made me shiver. And if Katherine, who had proved herself intelligent, could be deceived, how was I to know I had not already been taken for a fool?

  “Your compassion does you credit, Majesty,” said Cromwell. “But it is misplaced.”

  “I know,” I said. “I should not squander sympathy on her or her daughter.”

  “Or any who would see chaos rule this realm,” said Cromwell. “With that in mind, you should know Elizabeth Barton and her followers have been formally arrested and taken to the Tower.”

  “Cranmer told me to expect that,” I said. “And Fisher?”

  “Remains at liberty… for now,” Cromwell said. A dark furrow appeared on his forehead. “He is ill, and the King believes that to take him into prison would risk his life. Barton’s arrest is vastly unpopular. If His Majesty was seen to be persecuting sick men, he would lose his people’s love.”

  “Perhaps Fisher will die naturally,” I said. “He is not a young man.”

  “Perhaps,” said Cromwell. “In truth, although he is a nuisance, he is not the one we really need to worry about.”

  “You mean More,” I said.

  “I mean More.”

  “You think More a greater threat than Fisher?”

  “I do.” Cromwell eyed me with caution. “And I think you understand why, Majesty.”

  Of course I did. More was an enemy to the faith as much as he was to me. If there was one man who could stand against all we meant to do to, it was Thomas More. “And you think that you can implicate him?”

  Cromwell shook his head. “I have no need to implicate him,” he said. “More has been meeting with Barton. By the end of all this, anyone who associated with her will find they are under suspicion. That includes, unfortunately, the Princess’ godmother, Gertrude. She has also met with Barton in the past.”

  “Gertrude was never my choice for godmother,” I said. “His Majesty must consider her interactions with Barton threatening. Gertrude’s children, after all, are obscure claimants to the succession.”

  “He is troubled by that, indeed,” said Cromwell.

  “And if Rome reacts to these arrests?” I asked. “Barton is seen as a holy wonder, and Fisher and More are well respected.”

 
Cromwell smiled. It crept up his lips like the rising sun on a crisp morning. “When Rome reacts, my lady,” he said. “We shall have all we ever need to convince the King, once and for all, that Rome is allied to his enemies.”

  “And with that final shred of faith snapped,” I said, “Henry will break all remaining ties to Rome, and reform the Church, starting with the corrupt monasteries.” I looked at him. “We will have our Pope and Emperor.”

  “We will have our Pope and Emperor.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Greenwich Palace

  Winter 1533

  “You are sure she is warm enough?” I fretted beside the litter that was to take my daughter to Hatfield House. “You are certain she is not wrapped too tight?”

  It was early December, and the air was cold. I was worried for my child. Lady Margaret Bryan, Elizabeth’s governess, smiled at my anxious face and put her hands over mine. I blinked at her undue familiarity, but where such a gesture on Norfolk’s part would have incensed me, Lady Bryan’s did not. She was trying to assure me gently that my daughter was in good hands.