“There is a rebellion currently happening in York, Kent, and in London,” Francis said.
“And how would you know of this, if you had not incited the rebellion yourself?” she snapped.
“Your Majesty,” Thomas interjected, obviously trying to regain control. “We have merely heard about the plans for these rebellions. We have not cultivated them or encouraged them. These men who are rising up against your rule speak about how the government of England has turned against them. For three years its citizens have been hunted, burned and punished for sins that have been imagined by the inquisitors that work in your name.”
“They are not imagined. What we do is the work of God.”
Catherine’s belief in her words was undisputable; she was not fighting for the crown, but for God.
“I know you believe you are doing the work of the Lord,” Sir Thomas said. “But you are destroying this country. Too many of its citizens have died. You ask why Mary has been chosen above her brother, whose zeal for the Church has cultivated the destruction of England. I know you do not agree with us, Your Majesty, but we have the backing of the rebellions as well as the troops led by Sir Charles Brandon. We would like a peaceful transition of power, but are prepared to fight if we must.”
“And what would happen to me and my son, the prince?”
“You may remain here at court,” Thomas responded. “There will be no place for you on the council, but you will remain the Queen and the Prince as presumptive heir. His position will only be changed on the word of His Majesty, the King.”
Once again, Catherine turned to look at me, lying helplessly in my bed. I met her stare with as much power as I could.
“And of Cardinal Wolsey?”
“He will be tried for treason, Your Majesty. He, more than anyone, has carried out your orders with a vengeance that is unbecoming of a man of the cloth.”
“So, you will destroy him. And what of Cardinals Hastings and Fisher?” Catherine moved to the window, her back to the room full of men plotting against her.
“They are not yet Cardinals,” Thomas answered. “They will also be tried for treason.”
“And the outcome of these trials?”
“That will be for their peers to decide.”
Catherine laughed harshly at that; she knew that these trials would be merely a formality. When the rest of the council understood the power shift that had happened, they would react accordingly and throw their power behind Thomas and Charles.
“Mother,” Mary spoke, “You must understand that I do not mean to disrespect you. But too many atrocities have happened for us not to speak up. Sir Thomas is correct; no more of the commoners have to die. If Cardinal Wolsey or the bishops cooperate with us, they do not have to die either. But I can no longer stand aside and watch you disrespect my father and his kingdom.”
Catherine didn’t turn to face her daughter or make any move to respond. I watched her intently, the only one in the room who could see her face.
“The other countries will not accept it,” Catherine finally said, looking for another argument.
“I believe history has shown that France and Spain rarely care who is ruling England, as long as we keep them happy,” Charles quipped.
Catherine nodded and the others waited on bated breath to see what she would say next. Only I witnessed the small wave of her hand out the window.
It took a moment for me to realize what I had witnessed and I began immediately to glance around the room, trying to draw someone’s attention to me. But everyone’s focus was on the back of the Queen, waiting to see what her next words would be. I was helpless to inform them that what came next would be not words but action.
A lone pair of boots could be heard thudding down the hall, when a page boy suddenly appeared unannounced.
“Your Majesty!” he cried out, his gasping breaths racking his small body. He dropped down to one knee and remained down even after Catherine gestured for him to rise.
“Yes?” she asked, her voice betraying nothing.
“Your Majesty, Prince Henry has died,” the boy said plainly.
“He has—“ Catherine took in a deep breath and staggered backwards. All three men moved, but Sir Thomas was there first and caught her, lowering her shaking body into a chair.
“Explain,” Thomas barked.
“When Geoffrey went to rouse the prince this morning, His Majesty was ill. A doctor was called for immediately. We did not wish to disturb Your Majesty today,” the boy quickly explained. “Doctor Butts could not be found, but another doctor was brought quickly. Based on what His Majesty had expelled, the doctor said that he had consumed bad beef. He called for his herbs but before they could be brought, Prince Henry had died.”
“No,” Catherine said, her voice shaking. “We merely need to pray. He is, he will be fine if we only —”
With that Catherine turned and left the room, her herald and two page boys following. After a glance at me, Thomas and Charles Brandon swept out of the room, trotting quickly behind Catherine. Mary turned to me, shock across her face.
“Papa?” she asked, sinking down onto the bed next to me, but I conveyed that I did not understand what was happening either. Anxiety had crawled into my stomach; it seemed too perfect. The only thought I could have was that this was a trick of Catherine’s, a way for her to take Thomas and Charles out of the room to arrest them.
“He can’t be —“ Mary said, reaching up brush my hair out of my eyes. Her hand trailed down my arm and then stuck on something slightly behind my pillow.
Glancing over her shoulder, Mary saw that the rest of our companions had wandered into the hallway, leaving William Carey to guard the doorway. Quickly she pulled to her a small folded letter. With a look at me, she broke the seal and began to whisper what she read.
“A letter addressed to His Majesty the King and the Princess Mary, from Sir George Boleyn.
“Your Majesties, although I know it to be against your wishes, I have poisoned Prince Harry. So as to no arouse suspicion, I have paid a doctor to claim that the cause of death was due to the raw meat Prince Harry consumed the previous evening.
“I wish for Your Majesties to be assured that I worked alone. No other companions of ours knew of my plans, nor did any member of my family. Indeed, I must beg for Your Majesties’ pardon, that no action will be taken against my parents or sister. I have deceived them as I have deceived you, plotting revenge for my sister’s murder. This has been my plan since I returned to court, and as I did not believe our coup would achieve its desires, I judged that this evening would be the time to take my revenge.
“I will be on the Continent by the morning. I suggest that you allow the lie I have constructed to be believed; there is no need to give chase against me.
“All transgressions will be paid in time. Signed, George Boleyn.”
Mary looked up at me, angry tears forming in her eyes.
“He had no right to do this,” she said. I agreed and let the anger I felt at George Boleyn wash over me. Whatever else had happened, he had still murdered my son, and had deceived me and Mary. But there would be time for anger later; the sound of Catherine’s thick shoes could be heard in the corridor and before I could squeeze Mary’s hand, she swept into the room. We must prepare for whatever Catherine had planned for us.
“The prince is dead,” she said, her voice flat. Taking two further steps, she dropped into a straight back chair close to the bed. Thomas and Charles led our companions behind her and I knew from their faces that my wife spoke the truth.
Mary, before turning to look at her mother, quickly crinkled George Boleyn’s letter into a small ball and shoved it under the covers with me. With a squeeze of my hand, she rose from my bed and crossed to Catherine.
“Mother,” Mary said, falling to the ground beside Catherine. She reached out for Catherine’s hands, and held them close. “Mother, I am sorry to hear of our kingdom’s loss.”
“I —“ Catherine started, looking
out over Mary as if she had not heard her. “I did not even say goodbye. I came here for you.”
Cardinal Wolsey, who had grown even fatter than when I had last seen him, entered the room, his eyes downcast, aware that he was walking among enemies.
As if she was in a dream, Catherine looked down at her daughter. Mary remained on her knees, holding her mother’s hands to her chest.
“But now you are everything,” she said hollowly. She looked to the side once again and then nodded her head. Quickly, she rose from her chair and looked down at Mary.
“Stand,” she ordered and Mary scrambled to her feet, looking alarmed.
“Your Majesty,” Catherine said, dropping to her knees and taking Mary’s hands to kiss them. “You are now the heir to the throne of England.”
Mary took a small step back, but could not escape her mother’s grip. Her shocked face turned to me and after a moment I recognized her look. It was the same plea for help that I had often used on Sir Thomas or Cardinal Wolsey in council meetings, begging for them to please tell me what to do. I could remember Henry looking at Bishop Hastings that way, asking him what he should do. But this was the first time such a look had been given to me.
I smiled; the first time I could remember doing so. I let my eyes move slowly over to where Charles and Thomas stood, expressions of shock on their faces. Neither had noticed the exchange between me and my daughter.
Mary glanced at them before looking back to me. She smiled and blinked away the tears that had gathered in her eyes. Her lips moved with a gentle “Thank you, Papa,” before she looked down at her mother.
“Rise, Mother,” she said gently. “There is much to be done. And the late Prince Henry must be given a Christian burial. Cardinal Wolsey?”
“Yes, Princess —“ Wolsey stopped and cleared his throat. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“You will plan my brother’s burial,” Mary said simply. Wolsey’s head turned quickly.
“Your Majesty, certainly one of the bishops can —“
“No, Cardinal,” Mary said, her voice regal. “You.”
Wolsey glanced at Catherine but my wife was silent, her gaze on the floor next to our daughter.
Wolsey blinked once and then bowed before leaving the room. He had been at court long enough to understand the turn of power.
“Sir Thomas,” Mary said. “We should disband the council as it is. I will call a new council after the new year.” Mary’s voice wavered slightly and she glanced towards me. However, my face remained blank except to direct her gaze once again to Sir Thomas. Her questioning look turned to him and he smiled.
“Excellent, Your Majesty,” he said with a bow. “We can discuss a new council when you are prepared.”
Mary nodded and looked towards her mother but it seemed that Catherine, white with shock over the loss of her son, was not prepared to say anything. With a smile, Mary turned to look at me, her face strong and proud.
I felt my lips curling into a smile as well even as I let the darkness climb through my mind and overtake me. I knew that Catherine was merely in shock and would not permit Mary to be crowned until her eighteenth birthday, three years away. But I felt for the first that time that I could rest easy, knowing for the first time that both my kingdom and daughter were safe.
Catherine the Inquisitor Page 14