Catherine the Inquisitor

by Leigh Jenkins

  Mary’s tear-filled voice continued throughout the afternoon; she didn’t stop to begin reading to me once. And as much as tried, I remained trapped within myself.

  Chapter Nine

  September, 1530

  “Hello, Papa.”

  Had it not been for the familiar name of Papa I would not have recognized my daughter’s voice. The court had left for its summer progress some months prior and my family had left me, as they had the year before, to be chanted over by priests and tended for by my careless doctors.

  Though the current priest at my bed was new, he left a few moments after Mary’s arrival as all the other priests had learned to do. I was curious if Sir Thomas was still paying for their silence or if I was considered such a non-threat that no one was even spying on me.

  My daughter gave a deep sigh and sat down on the edge of my bed. It took a few moments of struggle for me to open my eyes, the first time I had done so since she had last been here. When my sight cleared and I was able to slightly focus on what I was gazing at, I saw my daughter, sitting demurely on the bad as she always had, her eyes turned towards the window on the other side of the room.

  I was shocked by the change in her, and she surely must have noticed the change in me. Though the doctors had trained my throat to swallow heartier broth, I was still wasting away and could see that my arms, which rested on the top of the covers, had become frail. Though I could not see them, I knew that sores covered the back half of my body that had been confined to this bed for a year and a half. When the doctors spoke around me at all, they used words like miracle and by the grace of God. I, instead, thought of my condition as more of a nightmare.

  My daughter, however, had grown into a young woman without me there to witness it. She had her mother’s face but my mouth and eyes, and her hair tended more towards red than the dark color Catherine’s had turned. She was now fully grown and at fourteen I found it hard to believe that Catherine had not yet sent her to the Continent to be married, either to her cousin Charles or one of King Francis’ boys.

  “I do not know how to begin, Papa.” Mary’s words startled me, her voice clear but distraught. I wished I could ask her to tell me as she had once told me of Anne Boleyn, but now I had no way of reassuring her. Instead, I had to wait.

  “Sir Charles has returned from the crusade with what was left of our army. King Francis, who was leading the expedition, never even made it to the gates of Jerusalem before being repelled. I must share with you that the Duke of Norfolk became ill on the journey back. He was buried in Tournes in France, and his son has been raised up as the new Duke of Norfolk by Harry.”

  Mary grew silent at this and shifted to look down at her hands. She let the silence stretch out around us, and I was quickly becoming afraid of what she might say. She had always hesitated to tell me anything that she thought may upset me, a fact that frustrated me as much as it endeared me to her. It was some time before she spoke again.

  “And I have to tell you that Harry and Mother are talking of Harry’s coronation.”

  I knew then that I would be trapped by this body forever, for if there were any words that could have returned me to life, it would have been those.

  Mary glanced up at me, and I knew she could feel my anxiety. I had learned to blink on my own and was now doing so rapidly, not stopping until Mary placed her hand on my upper arm. The previous fall we had devised a way for me to speak with her through blinks, to at least convey yes and no, if I needed more water dripped through my lips. These rapid blinks carried none of that finesse, instead giving off waves of anxiety.

  “Peace, Papa. There is nothing that can be done about it. I have spoken with Sir Thomas and we will speak with Sir Charles when he returns. Your sister Mary has already spoken out about the plan, though the Lord only knows how she heard of it. Mother is furious with her and she has returned to her own estates.”

  Questions burned in my throat to be asked. I started blinking again, hoping that Mary would tell me more, that she could explain on what precedent they were planning his coronation, and who would dare agree to this.

  “It is not entirely unusual, Papa.” Oh bless the child; I sometimes thought she could read my mind.

  “Mother is already citing Margaret of Anjou and her son Henry. She says that your condition is no different than King Henry the Saint’s when he would descend into one of his trials of madness. It is actually worse, she argues, because then King Henry could at least care slightly for himself. Though he was not aware of his surroundings, he could at least function. Whereas, you, you –“

  Mary paused here but did not cry. I had not seen tears from my daughter since she returned from her first summer progress after leaving me behind. I could only imagine what had happened to her that summer, but after then she had ceased to cry over me, instead visiting me as she always had with a book and as much of the latest court chatter as she could learn.

  “Whereas you are immobile. I have never spoken to Mother of your awareness and shall not. She no longer sees either you or me as a threat and I think it is better to remain that way. Until Sir Thomas can be certain of success, we must keep you safe.”

  There was a deep breath before she continued, her voice even more rushed than before.

  “And it has gotten worse, Papa. It is now known about the city that the dungeons in the Tower of London are being well used for heretics and nonbelievers. The Jews who once fled here from Spain to escape the Inquisition there have once again scattered, traveling I believe to Germany though they will find no safe haven with Martin Luther either.

  The merchants have grown unhappy. Under grandfather and you they had grown prosperous; your willingness to allow the Jews in to do business was profitable for them. Now, however, the price of flour has grown six times this year alone. There is a famine in the land and Mother has let it be known that this famine is God’s obvious fury with the people of England, that we have allowed heretics to prosper in our land. We must convert the nonbelievers or die, she says.”

  Mary shook her head, her auburn hair falling out of her hood, which she reached up to release. It was then that I noticed how conservative her clothing was; a gabled hood was being taken down from her head, uncovering her hair. Her collar climbed all the way up her neck and she had rolled her sleeves up over her hands to get them out of the way.

  “And I hesitate to say this next piece. Although I had expected it, this is her worse grievance against me. I am set to be married, Papa. I will travel to Spain next summer to be married to the Emperor Charles. He wanted me this summer, but Sir Thomas was able convince him that next year would be a more agreeable timeline.

  “And then I will be gone from here and who shall be your ally then? Sir Thomas retains his seat on the council but is considered an outsider. Sir Charles was sent to lead the crusade as soon as Mother could move him out of the way. Cardinal Wolsey keeps the rest of the council in line with Mother’s thinking; he has grown even more prosperous under her. Any heretic found guilty is burned and their lands go not to their families but to the church – and I fear to line the Cardinal’s pockets.

  “We visited Hampton Court during the progress and it is too grand, Papa. I could see that Harry was envious of the palace, but he is not yet strong enough to control the Cardinal like you did. But if he is crowned king, who knows how far his laws will reach? Now he at least does not have the support of Parliament, but if he was crowned, this —“

  Mary stopped, biting on her lower lip.

  “If he was crowned, then this Inquisition in England would continue without stop.”

  Mary’s words echoed around the chamber and the full force of them struck me. I had naively thought this had all been a play merely for power, and I was sure that in Wolsey’s case it was. But I remembered the certainty that Harry had possessed when overseeing Anne Boleyn’s trial and Catherine’s frenzied religion in the past decade. They were not merely playing for power or wealth. They were playing for a higher purpose; they belie
ved their actions would serve God. And that made them even more deadly.

  Mary spoke no more that afternoon and left without a word when the next priest came to stand over my body. I watched her leave the room before closing my eyes, left alone to think over what could be done.

  The next day it was not Mary but Thomas More who came to see me. This alarmed me, as Mary had not missed a day by my bedside as long as she was in London. I waited until he had sent the priest away before opening my eyes; I immediately began blinking them in an attempt to show my distress.

  “Fear not, Harry. I asked Mary not to come here today. I am planning on meeting here with someone today and I did not think it would be wise to have her present.”

  Thomas smiled at me grimly before walking to the window. He visited me at least once a week when the court was here, but never without Mary and he seemed to be having trouble with the idea that he could talk to a corpse and it would be able to listen.

  I was becoming frustrated with his silence when another set of footsteps entered the room. My herald and page had been dismissed the first time the court returned from progress, I suppose when it became obvious that there was no swift recovery to be had.

  Thomas moved from the window and went to the young man who had entered, grasping his hand. “Sir William Brereton, thank you for coming to meet with me here.”

  “It is my pleasure,” the man answered, giving a slight bow to Thomas. His eyes slid over to where I was laying.

  “Is he—“

  “I suggest you bow to your king as you always would.”

  To my surprise, Sir William bowed deeply three times, falling completely to one knee after the third bow. Beside him, Thomas gave a sad smile before leaning out a hand to lift him up.

  “His Majesty is in no position to give you permission to rise. Also, there is no need to bow to him as you bow to Her Majesty the Queen and Prince Henry.”

  Brereton nodded nervously and stood, his eyes going between me and Sir Thomas.

  “When you said you knew somewhere safe to speak, I did not realize you meant here,” William said.

  “It is one of the few safe places, a place where Cardinal Wolsey does not send his spies and a place that Queen Catherine would not dare to visit. It is the only eye in the middle of the storm.”

  “I would think it would be a most dangerous place.”

  “Perhaps three years ago. And three years ago it was; there were many meetings held within these walls that spoke of the dissatisfaction with what was happening in the kingdom. It may surprise you to learn that Princess Mary took a large part in these discussions.”

  “What happened?”

  Thomas hesitated a moment before responding.

  “Queen Catherine had consolidated her power well. When the Pope called for a crusade to the Holy Land, she and Cardinal Wolsey agreed that we would send an army. She placed my greatest ally, Sir Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk at the head of that army. Likewise, the Duke of Norfolk was sent. I thought it to be a lucky sign; these two men would have an army at their disposal.

  But Queen Catherine had chosen the troops well. Every marquis, baron, or lowly lord who brought soldiers to march to Jerusalem had been hand-picked by Cardinal Wolsey and were dedicated men, not only to her but to the cause she had set out for them. Sir Charles wrote to me that there was no chance these men would fight for anything but the Holy Land.

  “And with two of our greatest allies gone, the few other members of the council I held in confidence began to slip away. No one would agree to be on the losing side.”

  Sir William nodded with a faraway look on his face. Thomas gave him a few moments before bringing him back to the conversation.

  “But you are new here at court, Sir William,” Thomas said in a lighter tone of voice. “What dissatisfaction could you possibly have that could warrant you wanting to speak to me?”

  “It is true I am new to court, but I was sent here with a purpose,” Sir William said, nervously stumbling over his words. “You see, my father has spent the last three years grooming me so I would be accepted here. Particularly by Queen Catherine and Prince Harry.”

  “Why them in particular?”

  Sir William was quiet for a moment.

  “Sir Thomas, have you ever seen a heretic burned?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry to say that I have.”

  “Slowly?”

  Thomas closed his eyes and I could see the memory of Anne Boleyn’s burning almost on his face. Mary’s description and what I heard later still haunted me to this day.

  “Yes.”

  “Three years ago, the agents of Queen Catherine entered my village. My father, Sir Harold Brereton, was the only local gentry. All the peasants there answered to him. It was a happy village, prosperous and peaceful. No man had marched out to war since the Battle of Flodden in 1483.”

  “Go on,” Thomas said.

  “The agents found three women. The baker’s wife, a governess, and –“

  Sir William stopped speaking, and I could see that he was struggling not to break down.

  “And my sister. She was set to be married later that year. We had always been very friendly with the villagers. There was no reason not to be. But Isabel had begun a true friendship with these two women. Improper perhaps, but my father allowed her what happiness she could find.”

  I thought of my own daughter, Mary, and how I had indulged her as a child. Had I been able, I would have indulged her even further in the months leading up to her wedding day and her departure from our family.

  “One of the women, the baker’s wife, had a book. By Martin Luther. She had read some of the passages aloud to the two other women.”

  Thomas had paled slightly and was shaking his head. He obviously knew the outcome to this story, but did not move to stop Brereton’s telling of it.

  “It didn’t matter that Isabel was thirteen, just like it didn’t matter in Cambridge that a woman was pregnant or in York that one man was blind. They burned all three women, tied them together to the same stake. That prolonged the torture, and it took them longer to — to die.”

  At this, Sir William’s voice did break and he stumbled over the next words.

  “I was groomed to come here and put a stop to the agents that are spreading across the kingdom. My father knows there is no way to bring back Isabel, and I know it as well. But this cannot be allowed to happen to any other family.”

  Brereton pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tried to dry his eyes. Thomas kept his eye on him as he dragged his hand across his face, pulling his tired eyes down before turning and taking a seat on a small stool by the window.

  I let the story wash over me, remembering some of the details that Sir William had choked out. Mary had informed me of the atrocities being committed in the name of the crown, but surely she had not known of these. A child, a woman with child, and a blind man? It distressed me that Catherine could allow men who were scouring the country in her name to be so ruthless.

  In my chamber, alone except for a priest, I had plenty of time to remember the past. But now a memory came to be unbidden, of my mother when my father had announced Arthur’s marriage.

  Mother had come to visit my sisters Margaret, Mary and I in our chambers when my father had arrived, a letter clasped in his hand.

  “You will be so proud, Elizabeth.”

  My mother looked up, probably as startled as we were that he had addressed her by her first name.

  “And what have I to be proud of?”

  She was distracted for a moment by Mary, who was too young to understand that something of significance was happening. Her nursemaid came to take her away, allowing Mother to stand and wait for my father’s answer.

  “It is all settled. The Infanta Catalina will travel here from Spain to be married to our son Arthur. Four long years of negotiations have come to pass.”

  My mother smiled, but anyone who knew her could tell that she was merely being courteous and that there was no true e
motion behind it. My father could not tell.

  “That is great news for your kingdom.”

  “Yes, it will raise our standing considerably. She will travel here in five years’ time, when both she and Arthur reach fifteen years of age.”

  My father turned to leave when Mother suddenly called him back.

  “Yes?” he asked distractedly, his mind already on other matters.

  “I would like to ask, what concerns have been raised about her upbringing?”

  “Her upbringing?” my father asked, amused. “She was raised in one of the finest courts in the world by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella.”