The King's Secret Matter

by Jean Plaidy

  Chapter V

  THE KING’S CONSCIENCE

  Each morning when Cardinal Wolsey awoke, he would immediately be conscious of a black cloud of depression. He was not quite certain what it meant, but it was no phantom left over from a nightmare. It was real and it was hanging over him; each day it seemed to take him a little longer to assure himself that he could overcome any difficulties which might present themselves.

  On this morning he awoke early and lay listening to the birds singing their songs in the trees of Hampton Court Gardens.

  Once he could have said to himself: All this is mine. Those trees, that grass, this magnificent palace and all it contains. But that glory was of the past. He had lost some of his treasures; he must hold firmly to what he had.

  Each day, it seemed to him, he was more and more unsure of the King’s temper.

  Yesterday Henry had looked at him slyly and murmured that he had heard from Mistress Anne Boleyn’s lips that she had no love for My Lord Cardinal.

  Why should he care for the malicious words of a careless girl? He would know how to deal with Anne Boleyn if she were ever important enough to demand his attention. At the moment she was amusing the King.

  ‘Let be, let be,’ murmured Wolsey. ‘I like the King to amuse himself with women. While he does so it keeps him from meddling in state affairs.’

  And it was true that of late the King was paying less attention to state affairs; although of course, in a manner characteristic of him, he would think the ‘secret matter’ the biggest state affair of all. To rid himself of Katharine, to take a new French Princess to be his bride . . . a French bride for the King; a French bridegroom for the Princess Mary . . . what heavier blow could be struck at the Emperor?

  The King was eager that they should begin working out the details of his separation from Katharine. The difficulty was that, if the King’s marriage was no true marriage, what then of the Princess Mary? A bastard? Would François Premier want to betroth his son to a bastard?

  The situation was full of dangers. Not that he did not believe he could overcome them; but he wished the attitude of the King had not changed towards him.

  He had thrown Hampton Court to his master, and one would have thought that such a gift was something to remember for as long as they both should live; but the King did not seem to think so, for although he now proudly referred to ‘my palace at Hampton,’ his attitude to the Cardinal had not grown more kindly.

  There was no doubt about it; the King must be placated. And what he was demanding was the end of his marriage.

  Wolsey rose from his bed and within an hour of his rising he was receiving Richard Wolman, who had been Vicar of Walden in Essex and Canon of St Stevens in Westminster until the King, recently, had made him his chaplain, since when he had lived at Court.

  When Richard Wolman stood before the Cardinal, Wolsey said: ‘I have sent for you that we may discuss the delicate matter of the King’s conscience.’

  Wolman bowed his head.

  ‘You know of this matter,’ stated Wolsey.

  ‘His Grace has mentioned it to me on several occasions.’

  ‘Then you should go to him and accuse him of living in sin. Tell him that you think that as a sinner of nearly eighteen years’ standing he should put himself before his Archbishop and the ecclesiastical Court to answer the charges which you have brought against him.’

  Richard Wolman turned pale. ‘Cardinal . . . you cannot mean . . . Why, the King would . . .’

  Wolsey laughed, and lately his laughter was tinged with bitterness. ‘The King will frown at you, stamp his feet and show rage. But he’ll not forget those who serve him . . . as he wishes to be served. Go now and be thankful that you have been chosen to serve the King . . . and yourself.’

  Wolman bowed his head. ‘You can be assured of my obedience,’ he said.

  ‘That is well,’ answered Wolsey. ‘Lose no time. The King grows impatient.’

  The King narrowed his eyes and studied his chaplain. ‘Speak up!’ he barked. ‘Speak up!’

  ‘Your Grace, it is in all humility I bring this charge against you.’

  ‘You bring a charge against me!’ The voice was fierce but there was a note of eagerness in it. He was like a tame lion going through his tricks.

  ‘Your Grace, it is after much meditation and prayer . . .’

  ‘Get on! Get on!’ said Henry impatiently.

  ‘I have been considering Your Grace’s marriage, and I come, with much fear and trembling, as Your Grace’s chaplain to . . . to charge you with living in sin for eighteen years with a woman who cannot be your wife.’

  ‘What! This is monstrous!’

  Henry stamped his foot and gave such a good imitation of genuine anger, that Wolman began to tremble. ‘Your Grace,’ he said, ‘I crave your pardon. If I have offended you . . .’

  ‘If you have offended me! You come here and charge me . . . and who has more earnestly endeavoured to lead a godly life? . . . you charge me with . . . immorality.’

  Wolman fell to his knees. He was thinking: This is a plan of the Cardinal’s to ruin me. What a fool I was to allow myself to be persuaded. This is the end of my career at Court, perhaps on Earth.

  ‘I crave Your Grace’s pardon. I spoke carelessly. If Your Grace will overlook . . .’

  ‘Silence!’ thundered the King. Then his voice softened suddenly. ‘If my chaplain has a criticism of my conduct I am not the man to turn a deaf ear to that criticism.’

  ‘It was presumptuous of me, Your Grace. I pray you forget . . .’

  ‘Alas, I cannot forget. How could I forget a matter which for so long has given me many troublous thoughts?’

  Great relief swept over Wolman. This was no trick. In coming here and making the accusation he had served the King and the Cardinal as they wished to be served.

  ‘Get up,’ went on Henry. ‘Now you have spoken, and right glad I am to have this matter brought into the light of day. I married a woman who was my brother’s wife, and in the Book of Leviticus we are told that this is a sin in the eyes of God. I have been shown God’s displeasure. I have been denied a male heir. What are you and your ecclesiastics prepared to do in this matter?’

  Wolman, completely restored to confidence, began to outline Wolsey’s plan. ‘Your Grace will know that I have talked of this matter with His Eminence the Cardinal.’

  Good Thomas, thought Henry. Acquisitive, avaricious he might be, but he could be relied upon to work out a plan of action which would bring the King his desires.

  ‘The Cardinal feels it will be necessary to summon Your Grace before a Council led by himself and the Archbishop of Canterbury.’

  The King nodded. He could rely on Thomas; as for Archbishop Warham, he was a timid fellow and could be trusted to do as his King commanded.

  ‘There,’ went on Wolman, ‘the matter would be discussed, and if the Council found that Your Grace had never in truth been married . . .’

  The King interrupted: ‘I should then be free to marry.’

  ‘It would be necessary doubtless to have the matter confirmed in Rome.’

  The King nodded. Clement was a good friend to him and Wolsey. He felt jubilant.

  He clapped his hand on Wolman’s shoulder. ‘You have been bold,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eyes, ‘thus to accuse me. But we ever like bold men even when they upbraid us for our sins.’

  Gabriel de Grammont, Bishop of Tarbes, led his train into the King’s apartment, where Henry, with Wolsey, Warham and several of his most eminent ministers, was waiting to receive them.

  Wolsey was delighted because he felt that at last the alliance with France was secure. This would mean war with the Emperor. Wolsey visualised a Europe rising in unison against that young man. Henry had recently received an appeal from Clement who implored him to stand against the Emperor; if he did not, declared the Pope, Charles would shortly be the universal monarch. The Italian countryside had been devastated by his troops, and there was only one course of a
ction: England, France, and the Vatican must stand against the conqueror. The letter had come at an opportune moment and Henry had been deeply impressed by it. And when Wolsey had pointed out: ‘We must stand by Clement now, for it may be that shortly we shall wish him to stand by us’ Henry understood, and was as eager as his Cardinal for the French alliance.

  So they had helped the Pope by sending Sir John Russell to Rome with money which would enable Clement to pay his troops and assist in the garrisoning of the City. His Holiness, when he heard English help was on the way, had called a blessing on the English King and Cardinal, and had said that their friendly action had restored him from death to life.

  The moment was certainly ripe to apply to him for the Bull which would confirm that the marriage between the King of England and the Emperor’s aunt was not valid and that therefore the King of England was free to marry where he wished.

  Henry listened to the French Ambassadors outlining the terms of the new alliance which would mean certain war with the Emperor. François was not the man who would sit down under defeat; he would want to regain all that he had lost; he was waiting for his turn to impose harsh terms on Charles.

  Henry nodded shrewdly. He knew that his people had always regarded the French as their natural enemies; and that since the coming of Katharine to England they favoured the Spanish alliance. Katharine had contrived to endear herself to the people, because they thought her serious and virtuous and there were many who had profited from her charities. Henry was a little disturbed that she had made such a good impression, but the people must be forced to understand the desirability of getting a male heir. When they realised that the important men of the Church, backed by the Pope himself, considered the King’s marriage unlawful, they would be as eager as he was to accept it as no marriage at all. They would look forward to the pageantry a royal marriage would mean.

  Henry pictured it: His bride beside him in the Palace of the Tower of London where she would come before her Coronation; he saw the glittering crown on her head; he saw her sitting beside him in the tiltyard, all haughtiness gone, only gratitude and love for him who had lifted her to such eminence. And the face he saw beneath the crown, the eyes that smiled at him with a faint hint of mockery, were not those of some stranger from France but a well-known young lady, a well-loved one, one who had haunted him ever since he had first seen her at Court and who had beguiled him in the gardens of her father’s castle of Hever.

  ‘By God!’ he whispered to himself. ‘Why not?’

  He could hear her voice, high-pitched and imperious: ‘Your wife I cannot be, both in respect of mine own unworthiness and because you have a queen already. Your mistress I will not be.’

  And, strangely enough, he who had never been humble was so before this girl; he, who had looked upon the gratification of his desires as his Divine right, was content to wait and plead.

  He had to rouse himself from his reverie to listen to the Frenchmen; and when he did so the words of Grammont startled him.

  ‘There is one point which I feel compelled to raise at this time,’ he was saying. ‘Rumours are circulating concerning the King’s marriage. My master would wish to know whether it is certain that the Princess Mary is the legitimate daughter of the King.’

  Sudden anger flamed in Henry’s eyes to be replaced by immediate exultation.

  If the legitimacy of the Princess Mary was in question, who could blame him for his determination to have the circumstances of his marriage examined?

  He forced a look of intense sadness into his face and glanced towards Wolsey, who said quietly: ‘We heed the Bishop’s words. Little good can come of discussing that matter further at this stage.’

  Katharine watched her daughter riding into the Palace of Richmond and she thought: This is one of the happiest moments of my life.

  How radiant the child looked! How she had grown! Was she as happy as her mother was by this reunion?

  Mary came forward ceremoniously, her eyes lowered. It is because she fears her emotions, Katharine decided. What a Queen she will make when her time comes.

  With Mary came her governess, Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, and Margaret’s son Reginald, both good friends of the Queen. So here was further cause for rejoicing.

  Now her daughter knelt before her, and Katharine, who could stand on ceremony no longer, raised her up and embraced her.

  ‘My dearest daughter . . .’

  ‘Oh Mother, it has been so long.’

  ‘Soon we shall be alone, my darling, and able to talk freely to each other.’

  ‘That will be wonderful, Mother.’

  She has not changed towards me, thought Katharine exultantly. How foolish of me to fear that she would.

  She turned reluctantly from her daughter to greet Margaret. ‘I thank you for the good care you have taken of my daughter.’

  ‘To serve Your Grace and Her Highness is my pleasure,’ answered Margaret formally, but the gleam in her eyes was certainly not formal.

  ‘And your son is here too.’ She smiled at Reginald. ‘That gives me great pleasure.’

  So they entered the Palace, and as soon as possible Katharine took her daughter to her private apartments that they might be alone.

  ‘I have longed for this,’ she told Mary.

  ‘Oh, Mother, if you could only know how much I longed to see you. I used to kneel in the turret watching for a party of riders which would be you and your suite on the way to the Castle.’

  ‘My dear child . . . and I never came!’

  ‘No, but I always hoped. I never knew before how important hope is. One goes on being disappointed and loses it for a while, and then . . . there it is again.’

  ‘You have learned an important lesson, my dearest.’

  ‘And one day, Mother, Reginald came. That was a consolation.’

  ‘Ah, I noticed that there was friendship between you.’

  ‘Is he not wonderful, Mother? He is so clever and yet so kind. I think he is the gentlest man I ever knew.’

  Katharine smiled. ‘And you liked his gentleness?’

  ‘So much, Mother. With him I felt at peace. And after he had been with us a short time the message came that I was to return to you. We shall not be parted again.’

  Katharine did not answer. It was her duty to prepare her daughter to receive the French ambassadors who would carry news of her beauty, accomplishments and deportment to the King of France.

  And if this marriage were to take place within a year . . . or very little longer . . . Mary would be sent to France, for there could be no excuse for keeping her at home any longer. Katharine felt she could not endure another separation.

  ‘You are sad, Mother,’ said Mary. ‘Is it this marriage they are arranging for me which makes you so?’

  The Queen nodded. ‘But we will not think of unpleasant things. It could not happen for a very long time. I will tell you this: I will do everything in my power to postpone, nay prevent it.’

  Mary threw herself into her mother’s arms and cried passionately: ‘Yes, please do. Do not let them send me away from you again. Why could I not marry in my own country?’

  Katharine stroked her daughter’s hair.

  ‘Because, my darling, you would have to marry someone who is as royal as yourself.’

  ‘There are people here who are as royal as I am.’

  Katharine felt a twinge of alarm. Such words, when applied to one of the King’s subjects, could be dangerous. Buckingham had used them too often.

  ‘Edward IV was Reginald’s ancestor and mine also. So Reginald is as royal as I am.’

  The Queen was silent, thinking: Then has she thought of Reginald as a husband?

  The idea excited Katharine. And why not? It was true Reginald Pole had Plantagenet blood in his veins. Surely it was a better policy to arrange marriages rather than executions for those whose royalty could be a threat to the crown.

  If Mary married Reginald Pole, she could remain in England. Katharine visualised a
happy future with her daughter never far from her side. She pictured herself with Mary’s children who would take the place in her heart of those she had never had. If only it could be. If only she could prevent this French alliance!

  ‘Yes,’ she said slowly, ‘Reginald Pole has royal blood in his veins. I am glad that you feel affection for him because I know him to be a good man, and his mother is one of my dearest friends.’

  Mary was astute enough to read the promise in those words. She embraced her mother in sudden ecstasy as though, thought Katharine, she believes me to be all-powerful.

  But let her think that, because it makes her happy; and we must be happy in these hours of reunion.

  Later Katharine sat with her dear friend Margaret Pole and they were alone together, which gave pleasure to them both.

  Katharine was saying: ‘This is one of the happiest days of my life. I have dreamed of it ever since Mary went away.’

  ‘As she has too,’ added Margaret.

  ‘It pleases me that she and Reginald should be drawn to each other.’

  ‘They have indeed become good friends. The Princess is such a serious child that the difference in their ages is scarcely noticeable. My son considers her to be one of the most highly educated ladies it has been his pleasure to meet.’

  ‘Your son has not taken Holy Orders?’

  ‘No, he has not done so yet.’

  ‘Does he intend to?’

  ‘I think he is eager to study more before he does so. That is why he is going to the Carthusians at Sheen.’

  The Queen smiled and a thought came to Margaret which she had had before; then it had seemed a wild dream, but it did not seem so now because she believed she read the Queen’s thoughts correctly.

  Katharine went on: ‘The French marriage does not please me.’

  ‘But the King and the Cardinal . . .’

  ‘Oh yes, the Cardinal leads the King the way he wishes him to go.’

  Margaret was surprised that the Queen should speak so frankly; then she realised that Katharine did so because the bond between them was a little closer even than it had been before.