by G Lawrence
Fear can make us do things we never thought possible. I could excuse myself, saying terror made me into a monster, but evil can only take root in a heart willing to entertain it. I wanted to protect my daughter and myself. That was my reason, but it is not an excuse. I did ill in allowing evil to dictate my actions.
Not long after Henry rode away from his daughter, rumours began to surface at court about her mistreatment. It was said that Mary had no clothes, she was being kept in dire poverty, she was, naturally, being slowly poisoned, and had been refused permission to attend Mass. It was also said that Lady Shelton abused Mary. I knew how that rumour had been born. Once, in a fit of anger, hearing that Mary had refused yet again to wait upon her sister, I had shouted at the messenger to tell my aunt to “box Mary’s ears, as an accursed bastard!”
At the time, I meant it. It was not unusual to beat an errant child. When I thought of all the beatings I had taken as a girl I would have been hard-pressed to remember exactly how many I had endured. The difference was, for Mary, that she had rarely been beaten as a child. The threat, therefore, might well have carried weight. When we are unfamiliar with an experience it is daunting. I might have spoken in anger about granting my aunt permission to beat the daughter of the King, but in truth I did believe that a few hard whacks might pummel some sense into the unruly girl. I would not, however, have ordered it done without reason.
But if that was true, the rumours about her clothing, or the way she lived at Hatfield were not. Why would anyone prevent her from hearing Mass? That was put about by the hapless hare to convince everyone that England was tumbling into heresy. It was true Mary was not allowed to leave Hatfield to hear Mass at the local church, but that was done for safety’s sake. She could attend Mass in the private chapel, but neither Henry nor I wanted Mary out amongst his people. When I questioned George about these rumours, however, a blush crept across my brother’s fine cheekbones.
“Norfolk and I told Lady Shelton to punish her for any infraction,” he admitted. “And Father wrote to her about treating Mary badly until she gives in.”
“And none of you thought to inform me?” I asked. “You must know I am blamed for everything that happens to Lady Mary?”
“Our aunt refused, in any case,” said George. “She wrote back to Father that even if Mary was a bastard, she deserved respect and kindness because of her goodness and virtue. She said she would punish her if she disobeyed, and threaten her with beatings if she was disrespectful to Elizabeth, but otherwise, our aunt would treat her as one of her own.” He paused. “Our aunt also said that Mary is kind and gentle with Elizabeth,” he said warily. “Mary calls her sister, and our aunt wrote that she has made Elizabeth some clothes, of a fine quality.”
“They do still check everything, don’t they?” I asked. “In case Mary should sneak pins laced with poison into Elizabeth’s clothes?”
“Do you think she would be so evil as to murder a baby?”
“I do not know if she would see it as evil,” I said. “She believes I am the servant of Satan. It is easy to excuse evil if you believe you have the goodwill of the Almighty on your side.”
“Elizabeth has a household of people about her who love her and would never allow anything to happen to her.”
“I cannot help my fears. They are as natural to me as breathing.”
My aunt had a hard task. Mary demanded privileges such as riding, walking and taking her meals at different times to the rest of the house; all things Lady Shelton had been told not to allow. My aunt was in the unenviable position of ensuring the safety of my daughter, as well as Katherine’s, and was aware that if either became ill, or died, she would be held accountable. She also did not want to be too hard on Mary in case she ever won back her father’s favour and became restored to the succession. My aunt tried to be fair, and appease both sides, but my family saw her as ineffectual and to Mary she must have seemed a demon. My little daughter slept peacefully in her cradle, unaware of the tension in her house, as Mary battled Lady Shelton, and my aunt tried to respond in a manner that would please me and Henry, as well as Mary’s supporters.
If there was no poison at Hatfield in vial or food, there was in the air.
*
That February, Cromwell wrote to Bishop Fisher, berating him for supporting Elizabeth Barton. Cromwell accused him of negligence and perhaps complicity with her prophesies. Moving on from the Bishop, Cromwell lunged for Thomas More. He accused the former Chancellor of having conspired with Barton, implicating him in the accusations against her for treason.
“The King has removed More’s pension,” Cromwell told me as he took a cup of ale from Nan. “But More argued convincingly. He said he had had few dealings with Barton, and everything she had said to him was reported to the King. We might land Fisher, but I wonder if More will escape our net.”
“I want that man stripped of his liberty,” I said, wishing I could grind my teeth.
“Clement heard about the investigation,” said Cromwell, cupping his ale in his hands. “He has refused to issue further papal bulls for the creation of bishops.”
“What business is it of the Bishop of Rome, if something is done in England?” I asked. “The King is the Head of the Church here, not Clement the constantly-confused.”
Cromwell chuckled. “I had the same thought, my lady,” he said. “That is why I have come to you. This act of defiance on Clement’s part might convince His Majesty to finally give up all hope of reconciliation. We need to start investigating religious houses for corruption, and for secret ties to Rome. If this is used well, the King might at last be convinced that reform is needed. His people are ready for it. Many thirst, like you and I, for all that is holy to be made new, for the glory of God.”
“So you want me to speak in favour of this?” I asked and waggled my finger. “This is too easy a sale, my good master merchant. You know I would do anything to see the Church made new, fresh and clean.”
“I had hoped as much,” he admitted. “But I do not like to suppose. I prefer to know.”
“What is your plan?”
“When the King hears of Clement’s refusal to allow the appointment of bishops, he will be angry,” Cromwell said. “You and I will convince him, my lady, that his people must be made aware of the rottenness in the core of the Church. I mean to employ printers and writers to pen more pamphlets about the Pope, Rome, and all their wrongs. Then, when Parliament is recalled, we will put forth the Act of Succession. All men will swear the oath, which will declare you as Queen, Mary illegitimate and your children the true heirs to the throne. It will be easier to pass this when all men understand the corruptions of the Church.”
“And you will confirm, also, the supplication of the clergy in law?”
Cromwell nodded. “Although they accepted His Majesty two years ago, it will at last be law that the clergy are subject to the King.”
“Then we will have truly broken from Rome, at last.”
“And any man who will not swear the oath, will be a traitor.”
My eyes shone. “That is all I could ever ask for. It is a strange thing, Cromwell, to be crowned Queen and yet have men say you are none. I feel as though I have hovered between identities for ten years. I was not a mistress. I was not a wife… I was made Queen. I was not recognised as Queen. My daughter is too young to understand such uncertainty, and I thank God for that blessing. By the time she is grown, all of this will be settled. She will never have to know the pain of wavering between states of being.” I leaned forward and took his hand. “You have granted us security; a gift I can never repay.”
“I thank you, Majesty,” he said. “But I have to admit I have another motive, albeit a lesser one, for pushing this forth.”
“You want to capture More.”
“I want to capture More.” Cromwell smiled and I returned it. This silly habit we had, where I spoke his thoughts aloud and he confirmed them, was becoming our little ritual. “More is too dangerous to be left alone,”
Cromwell went on. “The King does not want to harm him, but admits he is greatly angered More will not support him.”
“More promised to never speak against the King,” I said. “But he is a lawyer, like you, Cromwell. More understands that not speaking against a person is not the same promise as speaking in support of their enemies. As long as More upholds the clergy and Rome over the King, he is acting against my husband, and against England.”
“I think the same,” said Cromwell. “More, like all nobles, will be forced to swear the Oath of Succession, or face the consequences. Soon, madam, we will know who are our enemies and who our friends. And this Act will allow us to punish those who refuse your title, and who defy the King.” Cromwell sipped from his cup. “It will allow us to get on with the future.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
Richmond Palace
Winter 1534
A medal was struck that winter, bearing my image on one side with the inscription “A.R. The Moost Happi”. I chose this motto, my first as Queen. It echoed the song I had written where I had said that if the marriage of Henry and Katherine was no more, I would be “the happiest that ever was.”
Tom, with his usual flair for poignant poetry, composed a verse for me which included these lines. Some who read it thought it spoke of God, but Tom told me it was written for me and Henry.
After great storms the calm returns,
And pleasanter it is thereby.
Fortune likewise that often turns
Hath made me now the most happy…
…Wherefore despaired ye, my friends?
My trust always in him did lie
That knoweth what my thought intends,
Whereby I live the most happy.
The Most Happy… It was how I felt, in some ways. Margaret had been safely delivered of another boy, and although we had lost Bridget, I rejoiced to hear that Margaret was well. With Elizabeth thriving, another babe in my belly, men doing my will about court, and my unseen hand guiding Henry, I was happy. But there were trials sent to plague me: Mary and Katherine; the distance between Elizabeth and me; suspicion that my husband was untrue… These thoughts haunted me.
But the motto was true in many ways. When we had a son, when the oath was sworn by all… I would be content.
That March, the Act of Succession went to Parliament. Mary was declared a bastard in the same breath that Elizabeth was made heir. Katherine was disgraced as I was gloried. The Church would become known not as “The Church in England,” but the “Church of England”. Parliament would remove Rome’s authority and hand it to Henry. That April, the swearing in would begin, first the nobility and then the clergy.
At the same time Parliament passed other laws. The Dispensations Act outlawed payments made to Rome from certain households and The Second Act of Restraint of Annates diverted more payments usually made to Rome into royal coffers. The submission of the clergy was also confirmed by statute. Cromwell was securing our future, and that of England.
“I mean to make Cromwell my principal secretary and chief advisor,” Henry said to me as we dined.
“He has been those things in all but name for some time,” I noted. “But I am pleased to see a loyal servant rewarded.”
“Thomas has worked long and hard,” said Henry. “I will see him elevated to the peerage one day.”
“He thinks it is not enough, Henry,” I said. “To have your lords swear the oath. Cromwell says that all your subjects should be made to swear, and I think he is right.”
Henry was displeased. “I did not want you worried with trifles.”
“This Act, this oath… they are about the security of our children,” I said, willing him to understand that I was not devoid of a mind. “I would be horrified to be left out of such discussions. You must understand, Henry, my instincts are to protect our children. Please, my love, I will take all care whilst I carry our child, but this is as important to me as it is to you.”
Henry covered my hand with his. “I know that, of course,” he said. “The only reason I did not want you to know of this yet is because nothing of this kind has been done before. To make all men swear, not just nobles, but all my subjects… it will take a long time to achieve.”
“There are many things, are there not, which take a long time to achieve, yet prove worthwhile?” I asked, leaning forward. “You and I, this marriage, our children… all this was a long time coming, and yet we succeeded.” I sat back and smiled. “And, my lord, the evidence of our righteousness is proved in my body. Not a year married, and already one fine daughter in the nursery with a handsome young prince racing after her. God blesses us.”
Henry knelt at my side. “I work so hard to protect you,” he murmured. “That sometimes I forget your courage and strength. God forgive me if I ever try so hard to keep you and our children safe that I forget to seek your counsel. You are the wisest woman ever I have known.”
How my heart sang to hear him say that! I stroked his face, my heart warmed by the blood of his love. “And God forgive me, Henry, if I ever think ill of you for protecting me,” I said gently. “But there are ways and means to all matters, my love. I stand with you, always. Together, Henry, there is nothing we cannot do. Shelter me, by all means, my love, but do not keep me in the dark. I am your Queen, but I will be a soldier for our children should it be demanded of me.”
He put his head against my belly, just starting to swell with the suggestion of a baby, and sighed with deep contentment. “You are my Diana,” he said. “And you are right. I will make sure you are informed.” He looked up. “But promise you will take care, and will not become too excited. Although I adore your passion, you would not want to harm my son by becoming wrathful with anger, or depressed by sorrow.”
“Of course not,” I said. Little do you know, husband, how well informed I am about all that passes at court and in the country, I thought. And even if you did not choose to keep me informed, others would.
“After all men have sworn,” Henry said, his voice muffled against my belly. “There will be none to doubt your position or that of our children ever again. You will be Queen not only by right of marriage and coronation, but in law, with every man of England honour bound to uphold you. Never again will you be thought of as a mere noble’s daughter. Cromwell has taken care of that. Until your death, or mine, you will be Queen; never reduced in power or authority, never to be made a mere lady of England again.”
A ghostly finger reached out and traced a line down my spine. I shivered, although I knew not why. I think, looking back, some shadow of the future was standing at my side, trying to warn me. Then, there was no reason to suppose that my being firmly made Queen was anything but good news, but a time would come when I would have cause to regret the idea that I could never again be made into a mere lady.
*
The Oath of Succession made it treasonous to speak against Henry, me, or our children, and with all men, high and low, having to swear, Cromwell was certain we could root out dissenters.
“No one will be able to mask their allegiance any more,” he said one evening as the shadows drew close and the keening wind started to howl outside like a lost hound.
“And all traitors shall be discovered,” I said, picking up Purkoy from the ground where he was whining at my skirts. I nestled him in my arms and he turned around twice, making a bed upon my grand skirts of crimson velvet. “If only all hearts were as loyal as yours, little one,” I said, stroking his head, soft and white as pure silk.
“The loyalty of dogs is always greater than that of man,” said Cromwell.
“They know their masters.”
“So shall all men, soon,” said Cromwell. “There is no room for neutrality anymore. Either the men of England are with the King, or against him.”
“In truth, my lord,” I said. “You have redefined treason.”
It was included in the Act that treason included wishing, writing, or “by crafty images” practising or attempting bodily harm to the ro
yal family. It was treason to deprive Henry, me or our children of our royal titles, as it was to publish or produce slander against us, or express opinion that the King was a heretic, an infidel, usurper or tyrant.
“You swear to bear faith, truth and obedience alone to the King’s body and to the heirs of his most dear and entirely beloved lawful wife Queen Anne, begotten and to be begotten,” said the oath. “Further to the heirs of our said lord according to the limitation in the statute made for surety of succession in the Crown of this realm and not to any other within this realm, nor foreign authority or potentate… And that to your cunning, wit and uttermost of your power, without guile, fraud or undue means, you shall observe, keep, maintain, and defend the said Act of Succession… against all manner of persons of what estate, dignity, degree or condition…”
The Act and the Oath tied up everything between them. Cromwell had left no room for manoeuvre. There was no place to hide.
That March, Clement published his official verdict on the marriage of Katherine and Henry. He stated it was valid, but no one in England was listening anymore. Even those who wanted to hear the Pope could barely catch his words over the roar of reform sounding over their heads.