The Sixth Wife: The Story of Katherine Parr

by Jean Plaidy

  And the Queen? Ah, the Queen was a good and earnest woman, but was she made of the stuff of which martyrs were made? That would doubtless be proved. Anne prayed for the Queen—not for her safety, but that she might show courage when the time came.

  She went to her apartments and as soon as she entered the room she was aware that something had happened to it during her absence.

  It was some seconds before she noticed the disorder; and a few more before she saw that in the shadows by the hangings were men-at-arms.

  One of them came forward as she entered, and two more took their stand on either side of her.

  “Anne Askew,” said he who stood before her, holding a scroll in his hand, “I am ordered to arrest you on a charge of heresy. It would be well for you to come quickly and make no resistance.”

  She saw then that they had found her secret store of books and the writing she had done; but instead of fear, she felt an exhilaration. She had expected this for a long time and she found that she could welcome it.

  They took her down the river by barge.

  Calmly and silently she watched the play of light on the river. She looked at the great houses with their gardens which ran down to the water’s edge, and she wondered, without any great emotion, whether she would ever see them again.

  The great gray bastion of the Tower was visible now, strong, invulnerable.

  Her eyes were shining as they took her in by way of the Traitors’ Gate. She remembered that through this gate they had taken the martyrs, Fisher and More.

  She was helped out of the boat; she stepped on to the slippery bank and followed the jailor into the cold building, up a staircase, through dark passages that stank of blood and sweat and the damp of the river.

  The jailor jangled his keys and to many the sound might have been like notes of doom; but to Anne Askew it was but the jingling of the keys which would open the doors of Paradise to the martyr.

  THE ELEGANT AND most witty Earl of Surrey was sprawling on a window seat in his apartments at Hampton Court Palace. He was in that reckless mood which was becoming habitual to him. Thirty-one years of age and a poet, he was a member of the greatest and most noble family in the land, and there were times when he felt his ambition to be so strong that he was ready to do the most foolhardy thing to achieve it.

  Death! He thought of it often. He had lived so near to it all his life that he felt an intimacy with it. So many of his House had died violently and suddenly. None of them could ever be sure which one of them would be the next to die. His family was guilty of the gravest offense against the King: They had a claim to the throne. The Howards of Norfolk were, some said, more royal than the Tudors. The King could never forget that, and he was constantly on the alert for a sign that the Howards were giving this matter too much consideration.

  “Have a care!” said Surrey’s cautious father often enough. But, pondered the young poet, idly playing a few notes on his lute, there comes a time in the life of a man when he no longer wishes to take care, but rather to be reckless, to stake everything…to win, or pay the price of failure with his head.

  Wild plans were forming in his mind. This had begun to happen when the King had told him that he had decided to send Edward Seymour, Lord Hertford, to Calais as Governor in place of himself.

  These accursed Seymours! Who were they? Surrey asked himself rhetorically. An upstart family! And because young Jane had married the King, the Seymour brothers were fast becoming the most important pair in the country.

  Surrey called one of his men to him and cried: “Go to the apartments of my sister, the Duchess of Richmond, and tell her I would have speech with her. Tell her it is of the utmost importance.”

  The man went while Surrey sat playing with the strings of his lute.

  He was thinking of his sister, Mary; she was beautiful with that striking beauty of the Howards, the mingling of dignity with personal charms. Mary had been married some years ago to the King’s illegitimate son, the Duke of Richmond, and she was now a widow, ripe for a second marriage.

  The Howard women had always pleased the King, though briefly. Surrey’s father, the old Duke of Norfolk, Lord Treasurer of England, was not in favor with the King just now and had not been since the unhappiness caused Henry by Catharine Howard. Surrey smiled. But the King was old now, and his fancy would not stray so easily, and he, Surrey, did not see why a Howard woman should not retrieve the family’s fortunes.

  He was madly impatient. He played with the idea of quartering the arms of Edward the Confessor on his escutcheon. Why not? He was entitled to do this by the grant of Richard the Second, because of his descent from Edward the First. Flaunting those arms would proclaim to the court that Surrey and his family considered that they had more right to the throne than the Tudors.

  Imagine the royal ire at such daring! And what then? wondered Surrey. “To the Tower, my lord Earl. Off with his head. He has committed the mortal sin. He is more royal than the King!”

  Surrey burst into laughter. His maternal grandfather, the Duke of Buckingham, had lost his head in 1521 because he had a claim to the throne.

  I believe I will do it, he thought, for I am tired of living at the command of the King, tired of seeking the royal favor, tired of placating the angry frown. Is this how men become when they live perpetually on the edge of danger?

  His father would call him a fool. The old Duke had been a doughty warrior, a cautious man. He had been less cautious in his hot youth when he had fallen in love with his wife’s laundress and raised Bess Holland to the position she enjoyed as mistress of one of the most important men of the time.

  Surrey thought of the endless strife Bess had caused between his parents. Was life worth the trouble it brought? he wondered.

  He doubted it.

  His sister came into the room and, throwing aside his lute, he rose to greet her.

  “You have something to say to me, brother?”

  “You grow more beautiful every day. Sit beside me, sister, and I will sing you my latest verses which I have set to music.”

  Mary Howard, Duchess of Richmond, looked at him with sly amusement. She knew he had not asked her to visit him merely to hear his verses.

  “I have a new poem,” he said. “Even the King has not heard it yet.”

  She listened, but she was paying little attention to the words.

  She could think of nothing but a certain handsome gentleman who dominated her thoughts and desires. It was long since Richmond had died that lingering death, and she wanted a husband. She had been fond of the young Duke—such a fine, handsome man, and the image of the King—until disease had claimed him. But what was her feeling for the Duke of Richmond compared with this passion which now obsessed her?

  Her father had started it. He had said to her: “These Seymours are our enemies. Who are they, these upstart gentlemen? Miserable squires, claiming kinship with the King. Daughter, we cannot fight these mighty rivals, but we could link ourselves with them.”

  “By marriage?” she had asked.

  And then a great excitement had been hers, for there were only two brothers and the elder was married. It was the younger, the swaggering sailor, whom her father had in mind.

  Sir Thomas! The merry twinkling eyes, the jaunty beard, the charm of the man! No sooner had her father spoken those words than she could think of nothing but marriage with Sir Thomas, and he had continued to dominate her thoughts.

  Surrey dismissed his attendants.

  “Well?” she said. “Your news?”

  He smiled at her idly. “Sister, you are very beautiful.”

  “So you have already said. There is no need to repeat it, though a compliment from a brother is to be cherished, as there is often plain speaking in families. What do you want of me?”

  “I? Nothing. I have had thoughts.”

  “And those thoughts?”

  “They have taken Anne Askew to the Tower.”

  “I know. She is a heretic. What has that to do with me?” />
  “I saw her… this very afternoon. She was sitting in the barge, her arms folded across her breast. She looked a veritable martyr, which I doubt not she will be ere long. Sister, what does this mean? Have you thought of that?”

  “That another heretic is to pay the price of her folly and her treason to the King.”

  “She is a great friend of the Queen’s, and yet they have dared to take her. Gardiner and the Chancellor are behind this, depend upon it. They would not dare to take the Queen’s great friend if they did not think her Majesty was out of favor with the King.”

  “And what of this? We know what favor she enjoys. If he were his old self he would have had her head off by now, and doubtless that of some other lady who had been unfortunate enough to share his throne after her. But he is sick and she is a good nurse. So he keeps her beside him.”

  “He is not always so sick. I have seen his eyes grow misty and his voice gruff with desire when a beautiful woman passes before him.”

  “He is too old for such pleasures.”

  “He will never believe he is too old. He has indulged in them too freely. There will always be his thoughts, his desires, his belief that his powers are not yet past.”

  “And what would you say to me? Have you brought me here to tell me what the court knows already and has always known?”

  “Nay. The Queen’s days are numbered. Poor Katharine Parr! I am sorry for her. She will go the way of others.” He smiled. “We should not be saddened. It is the fate that threatens us all. We should look on it stoically, for if it comes not today, then it may come tomorrow. The Queen’s place will be taken by another lady. Why not you, my sister?”

  She was hot with anger. “You are asking me to be the seventh? To prepare myself for the ax?”

  “Nay. Be not the seventh. Be the honored mistress. Smile on his Grace and do not say, ‘Your mistress I cannot be!’ as poor deluded fools have said before you. Say this: ‘Your mistress I will be.’ Thus you will keep alive his desire. You will rule him and bring our house back to the favor it once enjoyed.”

  “How dare you talk to me in this manner! You shame me. You insult me. And the King…my own father-in-law!”

  Surrey shrugged his shoulders. “You were the wife of his bastard son. There is no true relationship to him in that. Moreover it will not be necessary to get a dispensation from the Pope, for his Holiness no longer carries weight in this realm. The King would get dispensation from the King, and that should be an easy matter. The royal conscience would no doubt be appeased with the greatest ease, for I doubt not that though the King’s conscience is the master of the King’s desires, the King’s desires are so subtle that they will once more deceive the conscience.”

  “Brother, you talk with folly. You are proud and foolish. One of these days your tongue will cut off your head.”

  “I doubt it not. I doubt it not. And, Mary, dear sister, there are times when I care not. Do not think to ally yourself with lowborn Seymour. I would stand against uniting our family with that one.”

  She cried: “More foolish than ever! To unite ourselves with the King’s brother-in-law would be the best thing that could happen to our family.”

  “And to its daughter—who lusteth for the man?” he taunted.

  “You go too far, brother.”

  “Do I, fair sister? I will tell you this: Seymour looks higher. He looks to the Princess Elizabeth. Who knows—he may get her. Unless the King decides to execute him, for that may be necessary in the process of getting rid of the Queen. Seymour had his eyes on Her Majesty at one time, you remember. Master Thomas Seymour is as near the ax as any of us, even though the King may call him brother. Nay, dear sister, do not long so for one man that you cannot see the advantage of casting your glances at another. Be bold. Be clever. Love Tom Seymour if you must, but do not lose the opportunity of restoring your family to greatness through the grace of His Majesty. I tell you he is ripe… ripe for seduction. And the ladies of our family are most accomplished in that art.”

  She rose and swept haughtily from the room.

  Surrey watched her, plucked a few notes from his lute, and was still playing when a messenger came and told him that his presence was required in the King’s music room.

  THE KING SAT on his ornate chair in that chamber which was reserved for the playing of music.

  He was surrounded by his courtiers, and the Queen sat beside him. She looked fair enough, sitting there in her scarlet hood; the pearls, which made a becoming edge to it, suited her complexion. Her skirt was of cloth of gold and cut away to show a crimson velvet petticoat. Crimson suited Kate, thought the King. If she would but give me a son I should not be displeased with her.

  But she was meddling with religion; and he liked not meddling women. He was now persecuting Lutherans as heretics, and Papists as traitors. Religious matters in this realm had become complicated; and what annoyed him so, was the fact that this need not be. All he wished men to do was worship in the old way, remembering that their King, instead of the Pope, was head of the Church. It was simple enough.

  His most comforting thought at the moment was that François across the water was ageing just as he was. He doubted François had more than a year or two of life left to him; he suffered malignant pain, just as Henry did; and the thought of the French King’s pain helped Henry to bear his.

  Matters of State had been equally trying to them both of late. Neither of them had gained much by the war they had been waging against each other.

  On Henry’s return to England, the Scottish campaign had gone against him; the French had launched an attack on Boulogne, which, thanks to Hertford, had withstood the attack. But at the same time French ships had entered the Solent and actually landed at Bembridge and tried to force their way into Portsmouth Harbor. But Lisle had caught the foreign fleet and driven it back; and disease aboard the French ships had been a strong ally of the English.

  Henry had ridden this storm like the mighty ruler he could be. Ruthless, he did not hesitate. Taxes, “benevolences,” were extorted as they never had been before. His enemies thought that surely his long-suffering people must rise against him. He was a tyrant, a murderer, and many had suffered cruelly at his hands; if there had ever been a moment when he could have been overthrown that was the moment. But the people of England recognized him as their King; he was the strong man; they trusted him to lead them from their trouble. Cheerfully they paid what was asked of them; and during those uneasy months the King had forgotten everything but that he was a King and his country was in danger. He coined his own plate and mortgaged his land; if he did expect his people’s untiring effort, he gave his own contribution also. He had always played for popularity with the people; now he reaped the benefit of that popularity. To those who lived close to him he was a murderous tyrant; to the people he was the dazzling King.

  And so, England held fast behind Henry. The French were driven back; a decimated army returned to France. François was as eager as Henry for peace, and they had made a settlement. Henry was to keep Boulogne for eight years, after which time the French might bargain for its return. Trouble continued in Scotland, but there was now a war on one front only.

  The King could rest a little from his tribulations and give himself to pleasure.

  Now there was Surrey entering the music room, as elegant as ever and as insolent. Why was it that Surrey aroused the King’s anger nowadays? He was a good poet, a fine gentleman, but he was arrogant, and each day his insolence was growing. And with Surrey, there was his sister, Mary—Henry’s own daughter-in-law—a comely girl, with the Howard beauty, and the Howard slyness, the King did not doubt.

  She knelt before Henry and, as she lifted her eyes, he looked straight at her. She flushed a little as though she read something in his glance which had not been there. She seemed shy and fluttering, dazzled by the radiance from the royal countenance; and Henry felt that sudden pleasure which that look on a woman’s face had never failed to give him. It was as though they
expected to look into the face of a mighty monarch and had seen there instead a desirable man.

  The King’s eyes softened and his gaze followed the girl as she stepped back and took her place with the Queen’s ladies. Expertly, in his mind’s eye, he divested her of her velvet and her jewels. “I’ll warrant she’s as comely without as with her adornments,” he told himself; and the room seemed diffused with a more gentle light, and there was a lifting of his spirits that almost smothered the throbbing of his leg.

  Gardiner and Wriothesley were in attendance; they looked smug on this day. Something afoot there, I’ll swear, thought the King; and when I’ve heard this music, I’ll have it from them.

  There was Seymour, now Lord High Admiral. The King smiled. How that young man reminded him of himself! The ladies liked Seymour and Seymour had once had his eyes on the Queen, the rogue! But he had never let them stray very far from the Princess Elizabeth. She was another on whom the King must keep a watchful eye.

  But at the moment he could not keep his eyes from Mary Howard. She outshone all the women, he decided; and he fancied he saw a resemblance in her to little Catharine Howard.

  The instrumental piece which the musicians were playing had come to an end. It was charming, and he would reward the fellow who had written it.

  “Bravo!” cried the King. “Bravo! There’s naught that soothes the troubled mind as certain as sweet music.”

  “I trust,” said the Queen, “that Your Grace’s mind is not overtroubled.”

  “A King, wife, must of necessity have much upon his mind.”

  Wriothesley, who never lost an opportunity of flattering his royal master, murmured: “It is fortunate for this realm that Your Majesty sits on the throne.”

  Henry lifted his heavy lids to glare at his Chancellor. Too ready, was this Wriothesley, with his honeyed words; true though they were, the rogue was too ready. Yet, as ever, flattery was sweeter in the King’s ears than the sweetest music.