The King's Secret Matter

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘I think not,’ said the Cardinal, rising and smoothing the red folds of his robe as though to remind himself and Cromwell of the importance of Rome. ‘The King has always been devoted to the Church.’

  Cromwell bowed and Wolsey said: ‘I must go now to His Grace. I have a matter of some importance to discuss with him.’

  The lawyer walked from the apartment at the side of the Cardinal, his manner obsequious. He was thinking that Wolsey was growing old and that old men lost their shrewdness. Then his problem was pressing down upon him: What will Cromwell do when Wolsey has fallen? When would be the time for the parasite to leave his host? And where would he find another?

  Cromwell’s eyes glinted at the thought. He would leap up, not down. Was it such a long jump from a Cardinal to a King?

  The Cardinal had summoned Thomas Abell, the Queen’s chaplain, to appear before him and the King.

  ‘He will be here in a few minutes, Your Grace,’ Wolsey told Henry.

  ‘And you think he is the man for this mission?’

  ‘I am sure we could not find a better, Your Grace, for since he is the Queen’s chaplain, the Emperor will think he acts for the Queen.’

  ‘It seems a marvellous thing,’ said Henry peevishly, ‘that there should be this delay. When . . . when . . . when shall I be granted what I wish? How much longer must I live in this uncertainty?’

  ‘As soon as we have the brief safely in our hands the case can be opened. But let us not despair of the Queen’s entering a convent.’

  ‘She is a stubborn woman,’ grumbled the King.

  ‘I know, Your Grace, but she pins hope to this brief. Once it is in our hands her case will crumble.’

  A page entered to say that Thomas Abell was without.

  ‘Send him in,’ commanded Wolsey.

  Thomas Abell bowed low before the King.

  ‘Now to our business,’ said Henry.

  ‘It is His Grace’s wish,’ said the Cardinal, ‘that you should leave at once for Spain. You are to go to the Emperor and hand him a letter from the Queen. He will give you a certain document, and this you are to bring to His Grace with all speed.’

  ‘Your Grace, Your Eminence,’ said Thomas Abell, ‘gladly would I serve you, but I must tell you that I have little Spanish and I fear that would be an impediment to me in this mission.’

  Henry looked at Wolsey who said quickly: ‘You shall take a servant and interpreter with you.’

  ‘Then I shall set out with all speed. There is a man in the Queen’s household who would make a good servant and is moreover a Spaniard. I refer to Montoya. If this man could accompany me I should have no qualms in setting out immediately.’

  ‘Let it be so,’ said the Cardinal. ‘You should leave tomorrow, and in the meantime it is His Grace’s wish that you should have no communication with the Queen. You must carry with you, apart from this one, no letters from the Queen to the Emperor. To do this would incur the King’s displeasure and, as you know, you could then be accused of high treason.’

  Thomas Abell said he understood, and withdrew in order to make his preparations for the journey, while Wolsey summoned Montoya that the importance of his journey might be impressed upon him.

  When he left the King and the Cardinal, Thomas Abell was thoughtful. He was to carry a letter from the Queen to the Emperor, and this letter was to be given him by the Cardinal. He was not to take any other message from the Queen to her nephew. It therefore seemed to him that the letter which he carried, although in the Queen’s hand-writing and purporting to express her wishes, had no doubt been written under duress.

  Thomas Abell was a deeply religious man. His position at Court had by no means increased his ambitions, which were not for worldly gain. He was a man who cared passionately for causes; and it seemed to him that the Queen’s cause was more worthy than the King’s.

  There had been a moment, as he confronted the King and Cardinal, when he had almost refused to obey their orders. No, he wanted to say, I refuse to work against the Queen in this matter of the divorce.

  That would doubtless have been construed as high treason and he might have been hustled to the Tower. Such a possibility would not have deterred him in the least. Indeed, he had a secret longing for a martyr’s crown. But it had occurred to him that by accepting this commission he might serve the Queen’s cause more effectively than by refusing it.

  He obeyed the instructions and did not see the Queen before he left, her letter safely in his scrip; the voluble Montoya riding beside him.

  They travelled across France and the journey was tedious; but there was much to talk of as they went, for Montoya was well versed in what was known throughout the Court as the Secret Matter; he filled in gaps for Abell; so that long before they came into Spain, the chaplain knew that the Queen had been forced to write the letter he carried, that she knew that, once the brief left the Emperor’s safe keeping, her case was lost, that she had tried to reach him by means of Franciso Felipez who had been set upon and all but killed by the Cardinal’s men.

  So Abell made up his mind; and when he reached Spain and was taken into the Emperor’s presence, with Montoya to translate, he told the Emperor that the Queen had been forced to write the letter asking for the brief, and that unless the Emperor kept the original in his hands the Queen would have no redress; he had, moreover, worked out a plan that a notorially attested copy, which would be valid in any court, should be made and the original kept in safety in Spain.

  The Emperor listened gravely and thanked the chaplain, who he saw was his aunt’s very good friend. He assured Abell that the copy should be made and he himself would ensure that the original brief would be kept in the royal archives at Madrid.

  Abell was delighted with the success of his mission and, while he waited for the copy of the brief to be made, he started to write a book in which he set out the Queen’s case; and the more he worked, the clearer it became to him that the King based his desire for a divorce on false premises.

  Abell now had a cause for which he was ready to give his life.

  He was eager to return to England, there to hand the copy of the brief to Wolsey, and complete his book which he would eventually publish, no matter what the consequences should be.

  Chapter IX

  ‘COME INTO THE COURT’

  Henry was growing more and more disturbed. He had noticed the change towards him in the people’s attitude. When he rode in the streets there was no longer the spontaneous outburst of cheering; and the approval of the people had always been very dear to him. Anne was growing restive; she continually complained and accused him of making promises which he was unable – or unwilling – to keep. The knowledge of his impotence in this matter infuriated Henry.

  Moreover the popularity of the Queen had increased since the plan for the divorce had become known. If she appeared at a balcony crowds would collect and shout: ‘Long live our Queen!’ as though to remind all who heard them – including the King – that they would not allow her to be cast aside for the sake of Anne Boleyn. Anne herself had on one or two occasions been in danger from the people. They called her the ‘whore’ and shouted that they’d ‘have no Nan Bullen as their Queen!’

  Moreover the copy of the brief had arrived, and that was useless for Henry’s purpose while the original was in the Emperor’s keeping. The Pope, weak in health and weak in purpose, vacillated between the King and the Emperor, desperately trying to placate first one, then the other.

  But the Emperor was nearer at hand and more formidable, so Clement had declared that, since Campeggio seemed unable to proceed with the trial in England, the whole matter had better be referred to Rome.

  ‘Tried in Rome!’ shouted the King. ‘A fine state of affairs. What hope should I have of obtaining a divorce if the matter were tried in Rome under the whip of the Emperor!’

  No. There must be no more delay. They must go ahead with the trial even though the brief did remain in the Emperor’s hands. He must rely on Wolsey who knew
full well, the King malevolently reminded himself, that if the case did not go in the King’s favour Master Cardinal would have a great deal for which to answer.

  In the meantime he could not endure his unpopularity with the people and sought to remedy this by making a public pronouncement of his difficulties. He therefore called together as many of the burgesses of London who could be squeezed into the great hall of Bridewell Palace, led by the Lord Mayor, aldermen and many from the Inns of Court; and on a dull November Sunday afternoon he took his place on a dais and endeavoured to put his case before them.

  Henry was always at his best when he played a part, because his belief in the part of the moment was absolute.

  He was a glittering figure, standing there on the dais, the light filtering through the windows making his jewels scintillate; he was exceedingly handsome, standing in his characteristic attitude, legs apart – which made him look so broad and sturdy – his glittering hands folded across his blue and gold doublet.

  He surveyed the crowd before him with the benevolent eyes of a father-figure, for he had already assured himself that what he wanted was for their good rather than his own.

  ‘My friends,’ he cried, ‘there is much disquiet throughout the land because up to this time God has denied me my greatest wish – to give you the heir who would naturally follow me. This matter has for some time gravely disturbed my conscience, and I doubt not that there have been many evil rumours in the streets concerning it.’

  He went on to remind his audience of the prosperity they had enjoyed under his rule.

  ‘My beloved subjects, it is a matter of great concern to me that one day I must die and be no longer with you. So I wish to leave you one, whom I have trained to take the burden of kingship from my shoulders, one on whose head I could contemplate the placing of my crown and die happy. There are some among you who may remember the horror of civil war. If this country were to be plunged into like horror on my death, my friends, my dear subjects, I believe I should have lived in vain. I wish to live in friendship with France and so I plan to marry my daughter to a French Prince. I wish also to live in friendship with the Emperor Charles, for I know full well that this country’s disagreements with him have caused certain hardship to some of our people.’

  There was grave nodding among the assembly. The clothiers had cried out again and again that they could not live if they could not sell their cloth in the Flemish markets.

  ‘It was during the negotiations for my daughter’s marriage that a point was made which has caused me great perturbation. The French ambassador, the Bishop of Tarbes, has raised the question of my daughter’s legitimacy. It was a point which I could not ignore since, my friends, this matter had for some time given me cause for uneasiness. I have since consulted bishops and lawyers, and they have assured me that I have, for all the years that I have believed the Lady Katharine to be my wife, been living in mortal sin.

  ‘Ah,’ went on Henry, ‘if it might be adjudged that the Lady Katharine is my lawful wife, nothing could be more pleasant or acceptable to me, both for the clearing of my conscience, and for her own good qualities, and conditions which I know her to be in. For I assure you all that beside her noble parentage she is a woman of gentleness, humility and buxomness; yea, and of all good qualities pertaining to nobility she is without comparison. So that if I were to marry again I would choose her above all women. But if it be determined in judgment that our marriage is against God’s law, then shall I sorrow, parting from so good a lady and a loving companion. These be the sores that vex my mind. These be the pangs which trouble my conscience, for the declaration of which I have assembled you together. I beg of you now go your ways, and in doing so form no hasty judgments on your Prince’s actions.’

  The meeting was over. Henry left the hall, and those who had assembled to hear him went into the streets where they stood about in little groups talking; but the theme of their conversation was still sympathy for the Queen.

  Iñigo de Mendoza, who had learned of the King’s oration at Bridewell, sat down to communicate with his master.

  ‘There is nothing I can do here,’ he wrote, ‘to further the Queen’s cause. The King is determined to have an end of this matter and there will be a trial. The Queen’s chances of receiving justice at the hands of the judges are slight. She needs an ambassador who is also a lawyer. I therefore implore Your Excellency to recall me from a post which I have not the ability to fulfil.’

  All through the winter Mendoza awaited his recall.

  It came at the end of the spring, when it had been decided to open the Court at Blackfriars for the hearing of the King’s Matter, which was no longer secret.

  There could be no more delay. The summons had been sent both to the King and the Queen, and the Legatine Court was to be set up in Blackfriars on the 16th day of June.

  Katharine, who during this most difficult time had not changed her mode of life, was with her daughter when the summons came.

  Poor little Mary! She was fully aware of the troubles between her parents and how she herself was affected. She had lost her healthy looks and had grown nervous, starting with dismay when any messengers appeared; she still kept her feelings under control, but there were occasions when she would throw herself into her mother’s arms and without a word demand to be comforted.

  Now as the scroll was handed to her mother Mary began to tremble.

  The Queen dismissed the messenger, but she did not look at the scroll. She laid it aside, telling herself that she would study it when her daughter was no longer with her. But although Mary tried to play the virginals, she was thinking of the scroll and her fingers faltered so that Katharine knew that it was useless to try to keep the secret from her.

  ‘You must not fret, my darling,’ she said.

  ‘Mother,’ answered the Princess, turning from the instrument, ‘if you are in truth not married to the King then I am but a bastard, is that not so?’

  A hot flush touched the Queen’s pale face. ‘It is wrong even to question it,’ she answered. ‘I will not allow it. You are the legitimate daughter of the King and myself, the only heir to the throne.’

  ‘Yes, I know that to be true, Mother; but there may be some who insist it is not so, and if they should succeed, what would become of us?’

  The Queen shrugged her shoulders. ‘They cannot succeed . . . if there is justice.’

  ‘There is not always justice, is there, Mother?’

  The Queen did not answer and Mary went on: ‘I was talking to Reginald of this matter. He said that no matter what the verdict of the court was, he would never call anyone but you the Queen of England, and none heir to the throne but myself.’

  ‘So we have some friends,’ said Katharine. ‘Why should we not have justice too?’

  ‘Perhaps because our friends will not be in the court? That is what you are afraid of, Mother. Your friends are not allowed to stay with you here, so why should they be allowed to act as judges?’

  ‘I think I have some friends.’

  ‘But, Mother, what is important is that we are not separated. That is why, when I am frightened, I remind myself that if they say you are no true Queen, then I cannot be the true heir. So that if you are sent away I shall go with you.’

  ‘My darling . . . my darling,’ said the Queen with a sob in her voice; and Mary ran to her and knelt at her feet.

  ‘Is that all you care about then?’ asked Katharine.

  ‘I do not care what they say of me,’ came Mary’s muffled answer, ‘if they will but let me stay with you for ever. If I am a bastard the French Prince will not want me. We shall go away from Court, Mother, you and I, and we shall stay quietly somewhere in the country, and there will be no talk of my going over the sea to marry.’ She laughed on a high, hysterical note. ‘For who will want to marry a bastard!’

  ‘Hush! Hush!’ admonished the Queen.

  ‘Oh, but you are afraid, Mother.’

  ‘No . . . no . . .’

  ‘If you
are not afraid, why do you not open the scroll?’

  ‘Because we are together now and I do not see you as often as I wish. So matters of state can wait.’

  ‘We are both thinking of it, Mother. We do not escape it by ignoring it.’

  The Queen smiled and, going to where she had laid the scroll, picked it up and read it. Mary ran to her and stood before her, anxiously scanning her mother’s face.

  ‘It is a summons to appear at Blackfriars,’ she said.

  ‘A summons? Should the Queen be summoned?’

  ‘Yes, Mary. For the King will be summoned also.’

  ‘And at this court they will decide . . .’

  Katharine nodded. ‘They will decide.’

  Mary kissed her mother’s hand. ‘All will be well,’ she said. ‘If they decide one way you will be the King’s wife and we shall be as we were. If the other, we shall go away together, away from the Court, away from the fear of a royal marriage in a strange country. Oh, Mother, let us be happy.’

  ‘Yes, let us be happy while we are together.’

  And she tried to set aside the gloom which hung about her. She did not believe, as Mary did, that if her marriage were proved invalid she and her daughter would be allowed to slip away quietly into oblivion. But she did not tell Mary this. Why disturb the child’s peace of mind, and how could she know how long such peace would be enjoyed?

  The Queen came to Campeggio’s apartment. She felt desolate; she scarcely knew this man, and yet it was to him she must go.

  She had confessed to John Fisher on the previous day and they had taken advantage of their privacy to discuss the coming trial. She had not asked Fisher to come to her for this purpose, because she knew that Wolsey’s spies were all about her and, although it was reasonable that she should ask the advice of a man who had been chosen to defend her, she did not want to put John Fisher in any danger, for she knew he was an honest man who would speak his mind even though his views were not those of the King and Cardinal.