The King's Secret Matter

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘I shall not allow Mary to receive the French ambassadors tomorrow,’ went on the Queen. ‘I shall make the excuse that she is too weary after her long journey from Ludlow. Depend upon it, I shall do all in my power to prevent this proposed marriage. Nor do I despair of so doing. Monarchs are fickle, and François more fickle than most. Mary was betrothed to this boy once before, you remember. There was great enthusiasm . . . even a ceremony . . . and then a few years later it was as though that ceremony had never taken place.’

  ‘The Princess is sensitive. One does not care to think of her in a foreign court. And I believe that that of the French is the most licentious in the world.’

  The Queen shuddered. ‘How I should like to make a match nearer home for her. There are more worthy men in England than across the seas.’

  The two women had drawn closer together; they were not Queen and subject merely, not only lifelong friends; they were two mothers discussing the future of the children who meant everything in the world to them.

  While the Queen sat with Margaret Pole, Iñigo de Mendoza called at the Palace and asked for an interview with her. It was imperative, he declared, that he see Her Grace without delay.

  When the message was brought to the Queen, Margaret, without being bidden to do so, left her presence and Mendoza was ushered in.

  Katharine saw from his expression that he was extremely agitated, and his first words told her why.

  ‘The Cardinal is working to separate you and the King; he has called together certain bishops and lawyers that they may secretly declare the marriage to be null.’

  Katharine could not speak. She knew that the King no longer desired her; that his disappointment at the lack of a male child continued to rankle. But to cast her off as a woman who had been living with him all these years outside the sanctity of marriage, was unthinkable. Such a thing could not happen to a Daughter of Spain.

  ‘I fear I have given you a great shock,’ said the ambassador. ‘But it is a matter which must be faced quickly. This must not be allowed to happen.’

  ‘It is the Cardinal who has done this,’ said the Queen. ‘He has long been my enemy.’

  ‘He could not have done it without the King’s consent,’ the ambassador reminded her.

  ‘The King is a careless boy at heart. He is tired of me . . . so he allows Wolsey to persuade him that he should be rid of me.’

  ‘Your Grace, we must act immediately.’

  ‘What can we do if the King has decided to rid himself of me?’

  ‘We can do our best to prevent him.’

  ‘You do not know the King. All that he desires comes to him. He takes it as his Divine right.’

  ‘He may have his will with his own subjects, but Your Grace is of the House of Spain. Have you forgotten that the Emperor is the son of your sister?’

  ‘They care little for the Emperor here now,’ said Katharine wearily.

  ‘Your Grace,’ the ambassador replied almost sternly, ‘they will have to care.’

  Katharine covered her eyes with her hand. ‘So this is the end,’ she said.

  ‘The end! Indeed it is not. Your Grace, if you will not fight for yourself, you must fight for your daughter.’

  ‘Mary! Of course . . . she is involved in this.’ The Queen had dropped her hand, and the ambassador saw how her eyes flashed. ‘Are they saying that Mary is a bastard?’

  ‘If the marriage were declared null, that is what I fear she would be called, Your Grace.’

  ‘That shall never be,’ said the Queen firmly.

  ‘I knew Your Grace would say that. I beg of you, be as calm as you can, for it is calmness we need if we are to outwit those who work against us. It would be helpful, I am sure, if you could behave as though you know nothing of this which is being called the King’s Secret Matter. The only help we can hope for must be from the Emperor and in view of existing relations our task is made difficult. I beg Your Grace to speak of this matter to no one until we have found a means of conveying the news to my master, your nephew.’

  ‘This we must do without delay.’

  ‘Your Grace is right. But to send a letter might be to act rashly. I feel sure that everything that leaves my hands is in danger of falling into those of the Cardinal’s spies. We must find a messenger who will go to the Emperor with nothing written down, who will tell him by word of mouth what is happening here in England. Let us discover such a man, who must be humble enough not to excite suspicion, yet loyal enough to keep his secrets until he arrives in Spain.’

  The Queen, knowing that the ambassador spoke wisely, agreed.

  ‘I will call on you tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘By then I hope to have some plan. In the meantime I trust Your Grace will give no sign that we have wind of the King’s Secret Matter.’

  When Mendoza left her, Katharine sat for a long time, very still, an expression of melancholy amplifying the lines on her face.

  Such a short while ago she had felt so happy because her daughter was returned to her. Now her happiness had been shattered, for she knew that the greatest calamity which could befall her was threateningly near.

  ‘There are times,’ she murmured, ‘when I think God has deserted me.’

  As Henry prepared to set out for the Cardinal’s Palace of York Place, a complacent smile played about his mouth, and his eyes were gleaming with satisfaction in which humour mingled.

  It was an amusing situation when a King was summoned to appear before a court, charged with immorality. He believed that those lawyers and men of the Church must be telling themselves that here was the most tolerant King on Earth. He might have had them all clapped into the Tower for their presumption. But what had he done? Meekly accepted the summons to appear before them and hear his case thrown from the prosecuting to the defending counsels like a ball in a game.

  He was certain that the outcome of the case would be that he was found guilty, after which there would be nothing to do but his penance for his sins, receive absolution and marry again that he might do his duty to his country and give it a male heir. The Pope would be called in to have the dispensation, which Julius II had given, declared invalid, but he need have no qualms about that; Clement was the friend of England. It had been a clever stroke to answer his appeal for help against the Emperor. Wolsey was to be commended for his farsightedness.

  So the King set out for York Place in high spirits.

  As he stepped from his barge he studied the Palace and thought how grand it looked. It was the town residence of the Archbishops of York and thus it had passed into Wolsey’s possession; but the Cardinal had added a magnificence to it which it had not possessed before, and although it may have lacked the grandeur of Hampton Court it was a very fine palace. Henry’s eyes smouldered a little as he surveyed it. Hampton Court was now his, yet he felt a little resentful that a subject should possess such a residence as that of York Place.

  He was slightly mollified when he entered and was received by the Cardinal who exchanged with him a secret look which was meant to imply that the stage was set and in a very short time they would have achieved their desire.

  At the end of a hall on a dais Wolsey took his place beside William Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury.

  Among those gathered in the hall were John Fisher, the Bishop of Rochester, who was said to be one of the wisest and saintliest men in England, Dr Bell who was to be the King’s Counsel, and Dr Wolman who was to state the case against Henry’s marriage.

  Dr Wolman opened the proceedings against the King.

  ‘Henry, King of England, you are called to this archiepiscopal court to answer a charge of living in sin with your brother’s wife . . .’

  Henry listened with the shocked appearance of a man who, in his innocence, has been caught up in a sinful intrigue, and when Wolman had stated the case against the King’s marriage Dr Bell rose to speak for him.

  His Grace had, it was well known, married his brother’s widow, but it was said that the marriage of Prince Arthur and the I
nfanta Katharine had never been consummated. The reigning King, Henry VII, had expressed his desire that this consummation should not take place on account of the bridegroom’s youth and delicate state of health. And when he died, six months after the marriage, Katharine had stayed in England and in the year 1509 had married their sovereign lord. A dispensation had been received from Pope Julius II, and it was the defence’s case that the King had married in good faith and that it had not occurred to him that his marriage could be anything but legal. Then the Bishop of Tarbes had made a suggestion, and it became clear that this was the result of some pernicious rumour he had heard. It was the King’s desire to stand by the finding of this court, but he was going to ask them to say that his marriage to Katharine of Aragon was a legal one.

  Henry’s eyes narrowed as he studied Dr Bell, but Wolsey had assured him that they could trust Bell. He must put the King’s case in such a manner that it would appear to be a case for the defence. But Bell would know how to act when the moment came.

  Wolman was on his feet; he did not think the marriage could have remained unconsummated during the six months the married pair lived together. It would be remembered that they travelled to Ludlow with their own Court and there made merry together. If the marriage had been consummated then, Katharine of Aragon had been the wife of the King’s brother in actual fact, and Wolman maintained that the marriage was illegal.

  When it was Henry’s turn to speak he did so with apparent sincerity, for he had convinced himself that it was solely because he wished to stand unsullied in the eyes of God and his subjects that he was glad the matter had been brought to light.

  ‘I can but rejoice that this matter has been brought into the light of day,’ he told the court. ‘Lately it has much troubled my conscience. I could not understand why our prayers should be unanswered. The Queen’s persistent ill health has been a matter of great concern to me, and I trust you learned gentlemen will unravel this delicate matter that I may peacefully return to my wife or – which will cause me much sorrow – declare that our marriage was no marriage and our union must end without delay.’

  William Warham listened intently. He lacked the guile of Wolsey and he was coming to the end of an arduous life. He was in his seventies and often it seemed to those about him that he was failing. He was simple enough to believe that the reason for this enquiry was the fact that the Bishop of Tarbes had raised the question of the Princess’s legitimacy. He was anxious to give the matter his most careful attention with the hope that he might lead the members of this court to come to the right conclusion.

  The details of the King’s marriage were discussed at length; Katharine’s arrival in England was recalled, followed by her marriage to Arthur which had lasted only six months.

  ‘If that marriage was consummated,’ said Warham, ‘then the Queen has most certainly been the wife of Prince Arthur, and the King could be said to have taken his brother’s wife.’

  ‘Which,’ sighed the King, ‘according to the Holy Word is an unclean thing. Such unions shall be childless, says the Bible. And behold a son has been denied me.’

  ‘But there was a dispensation from the Pope,’ put in the Bishop of Rochester. ‘I think Your Grace should not reproach yourself.’

  ‘The Pope would have been under the impression that the marriage had not been consummated, when he granted the dispensation,’ said Wolman. ‘If it could be proved that the marriage had been consummated, then clearly there could be no marriage between the King and Katharine of Aragon.’

  ‘I think,’ persisted Rochester gently, ‘that the King should suppress his qualms, for there seems little doubt that his marriage is a good one and that the Bull, which legalised it, was sufficient to do so.’

  Henry studied John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, from beneath lowered lids. He found it hard to hide his animosity. A curse on these saintly men who expressed their opinions with freedom even before their rulers. Fisher was the Queen’s confessor and clearly her partisan. Wolsey should not have included the man in this court. It was folly to have done so.

  Warham was weak and growing simple in his old age. Warham could be handled. But the King was not sure of Fisher.

  By God, he thought, I’ll have him in the Tower, beloved of the people though he may be, if he dares to stand out against me.

  ‘My lords,’ Wolsey was saying, ‘I beg of you to come to a quick decision in this case, for the matter is grievous to the King. His Grace is perplexed. If you decide that his union is unlawful, remember it will be necessary for him to part from the Lady Katharine at once, and this will afford him great sorrow for, though he be not in truth her husband, he has a husband’s affection for her.’

  Warham’s gentle grey eyes were sad. He was thinking of the Queen who would be deeply disturbed if she knew what was happening at York Place.

  Henry was now on his feet telling the court how devoted he was to his wife, how there was no other motive in his heart but the desire to free himself from a sinful union that he might live in peace with God. Katharine had been his wife for eighteen years, and he had found in her all he had hoped to find in a wife.

  ‘Save in one thing!’ His voice thundered. ‘And that, gentlemen, is this matter which is of the utmost importance to my kingdom. Our marriage has not been as fruitful as we wished. We have but one daughter. Again and again it seemed that my wife would produce the son for whom we prayed each night and day; but we were disappointed. It is not until now – when the Bishop of Tarbes comes to my kingdom with his revealing enquiry – that I see the divine pattern of these continual misfortunes. Ah, gentlemen, if you decide that my marriage is no marriage, if I must part with her . . . whom I love dearly and have always regarded as my wife . . . then your King will be the most unhappy of men. For the Lady Katharine is of such virtue, such gentleness and humility, possessed of all the qualities pertaining to nobility; and if I were to marry again – and it were not a sin to marry her – she is the woman I would choose above all others.’

  As he spoke he seemed to see a vital young face laughing at him, mocking him. There was more than a trace of mockery in Anne. It was part of her witchery and it enslaved him.

  He found himself answering her in his thoughts: Well, ’tis for our future. Were I to tell these Bishops of my need for you, they would never understand. Poor old fellows, what could they know of what is between us two!

  But the mood passed quickly, and in a few moments he was believing all he said. The little mouth, which had grown slack as he thought of Anne, tightened and became prim. I should never have thought of casting off Katharine but for the continued gnawing of my conscience, he told himself; and he immediately believed it. Katharine was the woman he had insisted on marrying eighteen years ago; it was not because her body had grown shapeless, her hair lacked lustre, and that she provoked no physical desire in him that he would be rid of her. It had nothing to do with the most fascinating woman he had ever known, who still kept aloof and would not submit to him, yet maddened him with her promises of what would be his if she were his wife. No, he told himself sternly, Anne was apart from this. He loved Anne with every pulse of his body; his unsatisfied desire was becoming more than he could endure; and since he had discovered that no other woman would suffice in her place, he was making secret plans now to give Anne what she wanted. (By God, she asks a high price for herself, a crown no less. But worth it, my beauty!) Yet, he assured himself, but for the demands of conscience he would never have questioned his marriage to Katharine. It was solely because he feared he was living in sin, and must quickly cease to do so, that he was here before his bishops and lawyers this day.

  ‘This matter cannot be settled in any haste,’ said Warham. ‘The findings of the court must be examined.’

  Henry fidgeted. He was almost on his feet. He wanted to shout at them: You idle fellows Time to examine your findings! What do you want with that? I tell you I want a divorce, and, by God, a divorce I shall have or clap every man of you into the Tower.


  But in time he saw the horror which was dawning in the Cardinal’s eyes and restrained himself with difficulty.

  So the court was adjourned.

  The King was with the Cardinal when the messengers arrived; these were messengers with no ordinary tidings; they demanded that they be taken with all speed to the King’s presence, assuring those who tried to detain them that it would go ill with them if the news they carried were kept from the King an instant longer than it need be.

  When this message was brought to Henry he said: ‘Let them come to me at once.’

  They came in, travel-stained and breathless from their haste, their eyes alight with the excitement of those who have news which is such as is heard once in a lifetime.

  ‘Your Grace . . . Your Eminence . . .’ The words then began to tumble out. ‘Bourbon’s troops have attacked Rome. The city is in the hands of savage soldiery. The Pope has escaped with his life by shutting himself up in the Castle of St Angelo. The carnage, Your Grace, Your Eminence, is indescribable.’

  Henry was horrified. The Pope a prisoner! Rome in the hands of lewd and savage soldiers! Never had such a disaster befallen Christendom.

  The Constable of Bourbon, the declared enemy of the King of France, was siding with the Emperor, and his army it was which had launched this attack on Rome. Bourbon himself was dead; indeed, he had had no desire to attack Rome; but his army was reduced to famine; there was no money with which to pay them; they demanded conquest and would have killed him if he had stood in their way.

  So on that fateful May day this ragged, starving, desperate army had marched on Rome.

  Bourbon had been killed in the attack but his men did not need him. On they had rushed, into Rome.

  Never had men and women seen such wanton destruction; the fact that this was the city of Rome seemed to raise greater determination to destroy and desecrate than men had ever felt before.

  The invaders stormed into the streets, killing men, women and children who were in their way; they battered their way into the palaces and great houses; they crammed food into their starving mouths; they poured wine down their scorching throats. But they had not come merely to eat and drink.