The Scandal of Christendom

by G Lawrence

  “I become a madwoman,” I said, clasping her fingers. “You must forgive me. Of course you know how to care for children.”

  “Just as I know that every child is the most precious wonder in their parents’ lives,” Lady Bryan said. “I will care for your child, Majesty, as though she were my own. You will not regret placing your faith in me.”

  I nodded, turning my head away. I thought I might burst into tears and disgrace myself. Henry had assured me we would visit Elizabeth soon, but nothing calmed me in the days before her departure. Henry had allowed me to choose Elizabeth’s household, and I had selected many from Boleyn and Howard blood: Lady Bryan was my cousin, and had cared for Lady Mary in her infancy, so was well-versed in serving royal children; Lady Anne Shelton was my aunt, as was Anne Clere; Sir John Shelton, my uncle, was Steward of the Household; a young maid called Blanche Parry, who had served me in a minor capacity, had been selected to rock Elizabeth’s cradle, and Lady Margaret Douglas was to become Elizabeth’s first lady of honour. Lady Bryan had assured me she would write of Elizabeth’s progress every day, if I so wished. And I did. I told her there was nothing that I did not wish to hear about.

  But the inclusion of Lady Mary in Elizabeth’s household continued to worry me. I could not set aside the thought that Mary might do something to her half-sister. I had chosen women I could trust to protect my daughter, not only against the travails and illnesses of childhood, but, if needs be, to defend her from her jealous, bitter half-sister.

  I stood outside, watching the preparations, and my mind became lost as I thought of all that had happened.

  Autumn’s end had brought changes. My friend Margaret had left court to prepare for giving birth to her second child, and Fitzroy had been married to Mary Howard. The two fourteen-year-olds had been joined in a private, rather small ceremony at court. They made an attractive pair, but whatever lusts they harboured were not permitted to grow to fruition. Henry had not allowed the match to be consummated, saying his son was too young, and housed them in separate quarters. This meant the marriage was not legal. Mary continued in my service, and Fitzroy was constantly at court, but many wondered why Henry had not allowed them to consummate the marriage, even just once, to make it binding. I wondered if Henry was not overly happy to have his son married to Norfolk’s daughter, and was keeping a way out, if he needed it. But whatever Henry’s private thoughts, this marriage allied Fitzroy to me and my family.

  And alliances were not only formed at home. That November, François and Clement had concluded their meeting at Marseilles. François had tried to persuade Clement to increase the time allotted to Henry to leave me and return to Katherine, as well as securing the hand of the Pope’s niece, Catherine de’ Medici, for his son Henri. François also wanted the right to choose the next Duke of Milan. This, officially, was the purpose of the meeting, but everyone knew the true issue was that Clement was trying to break free of the Emperor. Alliance with France would grant Clement more freedom, but he had no intention of simply trading one master for another. Although English interests were ignored by Clement, and he stood by his excommunication of Henry, François succeeded in many areas. Catherine de’ Medici had been married to Prince Henri on the 28th of October. Perhaps learning from the experiences of his brother-king, François remained in the chamber as his son and his new wife were brought to bed, and remained until he was certain the short, ugly, and rather fat Medici girl had been deftly deflowered. Clement, too, seemed unembarrassed about appearing early the next morning, to visit the newlyweds whilst they were still abed. I pitied the girl. The fate of royal women can, at times, be worse than that of peasants.

  In early November, Henry sent his servant, Bonner, to Clement to inform him that he had appealed against the sentence of excommunication by sending a protest to Rome’s General Council. Clement was outraged. Not only had Henry refused to appear in person for the meeting, but he had gone over the Holy Father’s hallowed head by appealing directly to the Council! Clement declared that he was the pontiff obliged to hear the case, and when François heard he was not pleased either. François felt he had gone out of his way to help his good brother, and his efforts at reconciliation had been ruined by Henry. Clement told Bonner that Henry’s protest was frivolous, and it was dismissed. Du Bellay arrived in England soon after to inform Henry of Clement’s decision, and to rebuke him.

  “In Calais,” du Bellay said, “you, Majesty, and my King promised you would take a joint approach when dealing with the Pope. My master feels you have abandoned this promise, to your own detriment. You will push the Holy Father further into the arms of the Emperor, and not oblige him to accommodate your wishes. My master also reminds you that you swore to be at this meeting in person, and did not attend, leaving my master to put forth your case.”

  “Men were there to represent me,” Henry said stiffly.

  “They were not there all the time, Majesty,” said du Bellay. “And many took this as a slight, not only against Clement, but also against my master. My King was wounded to find Your Majesty had gone ahead with a plan he knew nothing about. King François promised Clement that you would undertake no new initiatives until the meeting, only to find, after the fact, you had appealed. This news struck him with the greatest despair and anger, as all the work he had done to prepare the Pope to receive your pleas with compassion was undone. My master believes that a settlement of Your Majesty’s Great Matter could have been achieved, if you had not angered Clement.”

  The King of France has nothing but contempt for his brother-king, I thought, watching Henry’s face as it grew redder and redder. Du Bellay was nervous, and I was not surprised. To come to England on such a mission was not a task to be envied. And just how angry is François, I thought, that he would censure his ally so fiercely? Usually, one always had to read between the lines when ambassadors spoke, but it was barely necessary at that meeting. François thought Henry a blundering, arrogant dullard. A prancing, strutting peacock more worried about his pride than about seeking resolution and peace, even for the sake of his country.

  In that strained meeting, François used his ambassador as a linen cloth to wash his hands of the Great Matter. He had tried to help Henry, and, in his eyes, Henry had scuppered his own boat.

  “The French King thinks he can lecture me!” Henry roared as du Bellay’s velvet cloak whispered through the doorway. “He thinks to instruct me?”

  No one dared speak. Sitting at his side, I flinched as Henry started to rant. I went to put a hand on his arm, to try to calm him, and he threw it off.

  “I will not be dictated to by children, fools and lechers!” he bellowed, staring at me with bloodshot eyes as though I was telling him otherwise.

  “Nor should you, my lord,” I said carefully. “François has no right to command you and Clement is not the injured party in this matter, you are.”

  He nodded fiercely, grasping my hand and squeezing it so tight I thought my bones might shatter.

  “Aye,” he said, his voice loud but under better control. “My Queen speaks not only sense, but truth! What cause has Clement to be offended? What cause has François? Neither has known the anguish I have borne. I have suffered to see right prevail, and bring peace to England. I have suffered to bring the Light of God to my people, and rid the ungodly Church of foul corruption! Why do they moan? I do not complain, and I am the most tested of all men!”

  You think you do not complain, husband? I thought. You whine like a rat birthing a litter of a hundred squalling rodents.

  “You have been chosen by God,” I told my husband. “You are the chosen of God, Majesty. You have suffered as He tests you, but the rewards will be greater, both for you and your people.”

  When Henry and I left that chamber, after he had spent a long time swearing, shouting and demanding answers that no man could possibly give, my hand was wrapped tight in his. When he came to me that night, he took me with zeal and passion and I understood it was because I alone had supported him. I had bol
stered his confidence, reminded him of his mission. I had told him what he wanted to hear. His passion was roused, at least partly, by my deflection of his shame.

  “You are the only one who understands me, Anne,” he whispered. “The only one.”

  “Our souls and hearts are joined to our minds,” I said. “The trinity, here in our own bodies.”

  “And your heart, soul and mind are bound to mine,” he said, lifting my fingers and kissing their tips. “That is why you understand.”

  Although that night Henry was fierce and unbound in his lust, there were issues in our bed. It did not happen every time, but it started to occur more and more. Henry was having trouble with his manhood. Sometimes it would not become hard enough for him to enter me and, at times, when it did, it would lose its courage whilst inside me. We tried to ignore it. He told me he was tired. I told him it did not matter, that I was weary too, or that we had all the time in the world… None of this was true. It did matter. If Henry could not plant his seed in me, how was I to have a son?

  “Would you like to kiss the Princess goodbye?” asked Lady Bryan. I turned and blinked. I had been lost in my thoughts of the past few months. I kissed Elizabeth and watched as her party rode away along the muddy road.

  Hatfield was not far from London, yet it felt like a vast, yawning chasm had opened between us. My daughter was just three months old. I was supposed to concentrate on the future, on the sons I would have, but all I could think of was Elizabeth. My daughter… the child who had come into this world in such glory yet found herself wanting, because of her sex. How could such an angel be unwanted? But I knew that people who had no connection to Elizabeth saw her as just another useless daughter… another of Henry’s failures.

  That was never, and would never be, how I saw my daughter.

  *

  Within days we had reports that Lady Mary was none too happy serving her sister. When she arrived at Hatfield, Norfolk asked if she wanted to pay her respects to the Princess Elizabeth.

  “The girl gaped as though I were moon-mad,” Norfolk growled, letting a slight moan of pain escape his lips as his bothersome stomach gave a rumble. “She said she knew of no other princess of England but herself, and the daughter of Madame de Pembroke was no princess at all. Mary went on to inform me that as her father acknowledged this child, much as he did the Duke of Richmond, she would treat Elizabeth as her sister, but never as Princess of Wales.”

  “Did you ever stop to consider this conversation should have been conducted in private, Uncle?” I sneered, unable to hide my contempt. “Her words have been reported all over England because you chose to ask her this before her servants, and those of my daughter.”

  “Your uncle thought that forcing Mary into a position where she could either outwardly defy the King, or accept Elizabeth as Princess, would work in our favour, Your Majesty,” said my father, trying to prevent another argument. I could not stop my lip from curling. I doubted anything so clever had been in Norfolk’s head. He thought like Henry. Thought all women should be merry to obey their lords, masters and betters. If I had not despised Mary, it might have occurred to me how similar we were.

  “If that was the intention,” I said. “Then it certainly worked. The King is furious with his daughter.”

  “Something to our benefit,” said my father.

  “True enough,” I replied and glanced at Norfolk. “Perhaps it was wise, in that regard, my lord. What else happened of which I should know?”

  Norfolk was not pleased with my, admittedly grudging, praise. “I asked her whether she had any message for the King,” he said stiffly. “And her haughtiness slipped.” Norfolk laughed like a dog barking. “She said she had none, except to inform him that the Princess of Wales asked for his blessing. I told her I was not about to say that to the King, and her shoulders drooped. She interrupted me and said ‘then go away, and leave me alone’.”

  I thought fleetingly about what George had said. That reply, “Go away and leave me alone,” was the response of a child. For a moment, I pitied her. How hard to be a child, to have known what it is to be loved, and to be cast aside like a broken pot. But I reminded myself pity was perilous. This was the creature who denied my child’s rights and liberties. There is no room for mercy when someone threatens your child.

  We heard that after Norfolk left, Mary ran to her chamber and wept.

  Mary was vastly displeased that her friend and cousin, Margaret Douglas, had been moved from her household to Elizabeth’s. Mary was permitted only one chambermaid from the vast retinue that had once been hers, but she fought on, refusing to respond to any who called her Lady Mary. In retaliation, I sent word that Mary was to be granted the meanest chamber at Hatfield and her privileges were to be revoked. Lady Bryan was not happy, but she obeyed.

  Mary requested permission to see her mother, but Henry refused, and in her misery, Mary fell seriously ill. There were immediate rumours she had been poisoned and I, of course, was the suspect. I would never have done something so underhand, but the truth matters not when rumour claims control.

  Henry sent his physician to Mary, and she recovered, but spoke openly of her terror that she was being slowly poisoned. Her chambermaid had been testing her food, but Henry sent word this was to stop. For Mary to employ an in-house tester implicated Elizabeth’s household in wickedness, and since I had chosen Elizabeth’s servants, it only added to gossip that I was trying to murder Mary.

  Chapuys protested, naturally, on Mary’s behalf, informing Henry that he was “opening the gates to the perils and insidious dangers from which may God Almighty preserve her!” No doubt the hapless hare thought I was one of those insidious dangers.

  It was not only Mary who was under siege, but Katherine too. A rumour that she was unwell had drifted about court for some months, possibly in response to reports about her injured foot, and her troubles with breathing. Her houses were not healthy, so if Katherine was ill, it was not unexpected. But Chapuys fanned the flames of gossip by racing about court, telling everyone who would listen that the Boleyns had spread rumours Katherine was dying in an effort to lay down excuses to cover our tracks on the road to murder. He compared Katherine to Wolsey, saying the same ‘trick’ had been used before, when the Cardinal was dying, and this would cover any “secret designs”.

  It was the first time I considered that perhaps the Cardinal had not died of natural causes.

  Chapuys also claimed a courtier, whom he would not name, had warned him that Katherine should keep her bedroom door locked at night. His informant warned Chapuys there was a plot, but he did not know if it was to kill her, implicate her in adultery, or pretend she was planning to flee to Spain or Scotland.

  It was possible all this peril was born from the imagination of the hysterical hare, or that he created these rumours to convince his master in Spain to take direct action. But there were some who believed him.

  There were many willing to believe anything ill said against me.

  *

  “She has been feeding well, and sleeping safe?” I asked as I cooed over my daughter.

  “The Princess has a voracious appetite and sleeps happily, Majesty,” said Lady Bryan.

  I had come to see my daughter, and once I was in her rooms, I thought nothing could make me leave again. At court, when I heard a voice sound in another chamber, no matter how deep or gruff, my mind seemed to think it was Elizabeth. These visits I made were not enough, but Henry insisted my place was at his side.

  “Tell me everything,” I said to Lady Bryan.

  “Surely, Majesty, you do not need to know everything,” she tittered as I enquired about Elizabeth’s stools.

  “There is nothing she does that is not fascinating to me,” I said sadly. “If I were here all the time, I would know. But...”

  “Duty binds us all, madam,” said Lady Bryan. “But rest assured, we are vigilant and dedicated.”

  “That is the sole comfort that keeps me sane.”

  Henry visited
Elizabeth, as did I. His visits were less frequent, but to placate me, when he went to Hatfield, he did not send for Mary. This was not only done with me in mind. Henry thought removing the grace of his presence would teach his daughter a fine lesson. For, once lost, Henry’s good opinion could only be won again by utter submission and obedience.

  This was what I was starting to learn about the man I had married. Assaulting him about his mistress had only led to him attacking me. I had more to lose than he… And Henry knew it. Somewhere, hidden deep in a place he would never acknowledge, he understood his power and would use it.

  Should it have come as a surprise? Long had I tutored Henry to believe he was all-powerful. If Henry was aware of his power, it was my fault. I had shown him how to become the king he needed to be.

  I was coming to wonder if, in trying to craft a strong king who could rule his people justly and well, if I had not, in fact, created a tyrant.