by Alison Weir
Meanwhile, the King had arrived in France and had laid siege to the city of Boulogne. The campaign had worked wonders for his health, as Chapuys noted in August, saying that he 'works better and more than I would have thought'. In fact, Henry was in his element, and was enjoying himself as much as he had on his earlier campaign in France, more than thirty years before. It was a relief to find that, despite encroaching age and infirmity, he could still mount a horse and bully the French. If he could not recapture his youth, he could at least enjoy this Indian summer.
On 9 August, the Queen wrote to Henry to tell him that she had dispatched the Earl of Lennox to Scotland in the hope that he would be able to seize the reins of government there, and she imputed the enthusiasm and speed with which he was carrying out his mission to serve a 'master whom God aids'. God, unfortunately, was not disposed to aid this particular venture, which was doomed to end in failure since Lennox's feeble efforts to grasp power were ineffectual. Not knowing this as yet, Katherine set out on a short progress in order to avoid the plague which was raging in London just then. News of her coming sent local gentry into hasty flurries of preparation; the Countess of Rutland, learning that Katherine was at Enfield and would be staying with her two nights hence, wrote to her father, Sir William Paston, asking him to send her some fresh fish, as 'here is small store, and the court is merry!'
Katherine was still worrying about the King, and she had not had news of him for some time. Even her enemy, Lord Chancellor Wriothesley, was moved by her concern.
God is able to strengthen His own against the devil [he told her] and therefore let not the Queen's Majesty in any wise trouble herself, for God shall turn all to the best; and sure we be that the King's Majesty's person is out of all danger.
Feeling somewhat cheered at his words, Katherine wrote yet another letter, which is now lost, to her husband, and sent him some venison, which he loved. At last, on 8 September, he wrote to her in response to her enquiries about certain domestic matters:
Most dearly and most entirely beloved wife,
We recommend us heartily unto you, and thank you as well for your letter as for the venison which you sent, for the which we give unto you our hearty thanks, and would have written unto you again a letter with our own hand, but that we be so occupied, and have so much to do in foreseeing and caring for everything ourself, as we have almost no manner rest or leisure to do any other thing. And whereas you desired to know our pleasure for the accepting into your chamber of certain ladies in places of others that cannot give their attendance by reason of sickness, albeit we think those whom you have named unto us as unable almost to attend by reason of weakness as the others be, yet we remit the accepting of them to your own choice, thinking nevertheless that though they shall not be meet to serve, yet you may, if you think so good, take them into your chamber to pass the time sometime with you at play, or otherwise to accompany you for your recreation. . . . No more to you at this time, sweetheart, both for lack of time and great occupation of business, saving we pray you to give in our name our hearty blessings to all our children, and recommendations to our cousin Margaret [Douglas] and the rest of the ladies and gentlewomen, and to our Council also. Written with the hand of your loving husband,
Henry R.
Three days after this letter was written, the King realised that the inhabitants of Boulogne would not withstand the siege for very much longer. Wrote Chapuys: 'I never in my life saw the King so joyful and in such good spirits and so elated.' Henry told one of the Emperor's generals that he had vowed to bring France to submission and was now fulfilling that promise. 'I have been all my life a Prince of honour and virtue,' he said sanctimoniously, 'who never contravened my word, and am too old to begin now, as the white hairs in my beard testify.' His elation was justified, at least for the time being. On 14 September 1544, Boulogne fell to him; four days later he entered it in triumph, riding through the streets at the head of his army. On the same day, the King of France was forced to sign a peace treaty with the Emperor at Crepy.
In the meantime, Katherine Parr had been staying with the Countess of Rutland at her medieval castle at Oakham; the Queen had brought with her all three of her stepchildren, to keep them safe from the plague. From Oakham, she issued strict orders to the Council, commanding them to make a proclamation that no person who had been in contact with a plague victim was to come near the court nor was anyone to allow any courtier into a house where there had been infection, 'under the Queen's indignation and further punishment at her pleasure'. These sensible measures effectively eliminated any threat of danger to the Prince and his sisters, and to Katherine herself. Fortunately, by late August the epidemic was on the wane, and the Queen deemed it safe to return to Greenwich, where she was when she heard news of the fall of Boulogne.
Katherine was well aware of the importance of her husband's victory, and she immediately ordered that a general thanksgiving be offered up in all the towns and villages throughout England, in gratitude for the taking of the city. These special services were held on 19 September. And to her husband, Katherine wrote: 'I thank God for a prosperous beginning of your affairs, and I rejoice at the joyful news of your good health.'
Late in September, the Queen went to Hanworth for a short break from state duties. There, she read the Lady Mary's translation of Erasmus's Paraphrases, and was very impressed with it; at the end of the month she returned the manuscript with a letter full of warm praise, suggesting that Mary have it published, as it was a 'fair and useful work'. Mary declined to do so, but Katherine replied that she did not see 'why you should reject the praise which all deservedly would give you; yet I leave all to your own prudence, and will approve of that which seems best to you.' Mary responded by saying she was willing to have the work published, but only under a pseudonym, to which Katherine answered that in her opinion Mary would 'do a real injury if you refuse to let it go down to posterity under the auspices of your own name'. Her words made Mary relent. The translation was printed and widely read, receiving high praise from scholars such as Nicholas Udall, Provost of Eton College.
After leaving Hanworth, the Queen returned to Greenwich, there to await the King's homecoming. On 30 September, a triumphant Henry disembarked at Dover, and travelled as fast as possible to see the wife from whom he had been parted for three months. It was a happy reunion, the King and Queen openly showing their affection for each other, and their pride in each other's achievements during the past weeks. Katherine may well have reflected at this time that, if she had given up the chance of a marriage more to her liking with Thomas Seymour, she had at least achieved a measure of contentment with the King, who had been consistently loving and kind to her.
For the remainder of the autumn, Henry diverted himself with his favourite pastime, hunting. His recent burst of energy had not yet spent itself. This was, however, the last time he would ever engage in such pursuits.
In October that year, Sir Thomas Seymour's embassy to the Low Countries came to an end and he returned to court. The King knew very well how things had once stood between Seymour and Katherine, and once again appointed Seymour to an office that would necessitate his being away from court for long periods, that of Lord High Admiral of England. Evidently Henry was still suspicious of Seymour's intentions towards the Queen, although no breath of scandal or hint of impending infidelity tainted her good name. Whatever her private feelings were, she hid them well, and paid no more attention to Seymour than to anyone else, while he, following her lead, betrayed by no sign that there had ever been anything more than friendship between them.
At Christmas, Chapuys took the opportunity to thank the Queen, on behalf of the Emperor, for all that she had done for the Lady Mary, to which she 'replied very graciously that she did not deserve so much courtesy. What she did for the Lady Mary was less than she would like to do, and was only her duty in every respect.' As to maintaining the friendship between England and Spain, Katherine told the ambassador that she 'had done and would do nothing to
prevent its growing still further, and she hoped that God would avert the slightest dissension, as the friendship was so necessary and both sovereigns were so good'. Chapuys could not help admiring her. She was, in his opinion, a very pleasant and well-meaning person, whose goodwill could be used to advantage when it came to preserving the alliance between his master and Henry VIII. Yet Chapuys feared he would not be there to use this advantage: he was growing old and nearing retirement, and was so infirm that he was now confined to a kind of wheelchair on occasions. He had already applied for his recall, and was awaiting the Emperor's assent.
New Year arrived, the beginning of 1545. The Lady Elizabeth sent her stepmother her own translation, neatly written in fine italic script, of Margaret of Navarre's book,Le Miroir de I'Ame Pecheresse,a devout meditation on the love of a Christian soul towards God and His Christ. Elizabeth hoped that there was nothing in it 'worthy of reprehension', and begged that no other person than Katherine be allowed to see it, 'lest my faults be known of many' as 'it is all imperfect and incorrect' and 'in many places rude', with 'nothing done as it should be'. This was the kind of gift Katherine liked best, and she was deeply touched that her young stepdaughter should have gone to such trouble. And when she turned to the first page of the work, she read the dedication: 'To the most noble and virtuous Queen Katherine, Elizabeth, her humble daughter, wisheth perpetual felicity and everlasting joy.'
In March, the King's health took a turn for the worse, and he was down with 'a burning fever' for several days; this seems to have affected his leg, and he suffered more bouts of agonising pain. His illness did not improve his temper, which was further aroused by reportsofheresy within his realm, which was spreading at an alarming rate. Henry himself had never approved of Lutheranism. In spite of all he had done to reform the Church in England, he was still Catholic in his ways and determined for the present to keep England that way. Protestant heresies would not be tolerated, and he would make that very clear to his subjects. As a result of his enquiries, twenty-three people were arrested and examined at this time, among them a woman called Anne Askew. This Anne was twenty-three, and had not long since applied to the King for a legal separation from her husband, Thomas Kyme, who had quite literally thrown her out of doors and kept her from seeing her two children. It has often been alleged that at some time in her life Anne was acquainted with Katherine Parr, but there is no evidence to substantiate this, though Katherine was certainly sympathetic towards Anne Askew for she secretly shared the same Protestant views. Under questioning, Anne Askew admitted to being a Protestant, whereupon she was put in prison to wait further examination and lay there for many months. Queen Katherine would one day have reason to regret ever having heard of her.
The summer of 1545 was a sad one for several reasons. Katherine's ward and former stepdaughter, Margaret Neville, died, having appointed her 'dear sovereign mistress, the Queen's Highness' as her heir, since she was 'never able to render to her Grace sufficient thanks for the godly education and tender love and bountiful goodness which I have evermore found in her Highness'. Then, in May, Eustache Chapuys, who had been the Emperor's ambassador to the court of Henry VIII since 1529, informed the King that he was at last being recalled to Spain. Henry, saddened at the prospect of losing an old sparring partner, went immediately to the Queen and warned her of the envoy's imminent departure. The next morning, as Chapuys sat sunning himself in the palace gardens, he saw Katherine approaching, accompanied only by a few attendants. She told him that the King had told her he was coming to say goodbye, and said she was
very sorry, on the one hand for my departure, as she had been told that I had always performed my duties well, and the King trusted me; but on the other hand she doubted not that my health would be better on the other side of the sea.
Chapuys could, she added, do more there to maintain the friendship between England and the Empire, which he had done so much to promote, and for this reason she was glad he was going. After more pleasantries, the Queen begged Chapuys to 'present to your Majesty [i.e. the Emperor] her humble service' and 'to express explicitly to you all that I had learned here of the good wishes of the King'. She then took leave of him. Chapuys left England shortly afterwards and died a few months later. In his place, the Emperor appointed a new ambassador, a Dutchman, Francis van der Delft.
Death also claimed, on 22 August, Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, one of the King's oldest and closest friends, who left a widow with two young sons. The elder, Henry, aged ten, succeeded his father as duke, and was sent to join the household of Prince Edward. Here, the regime was tough. In fact, both the King's younger children were subject to a rigorously strict education, which - as Edward later recalled in his journal - was to 'satisfy the good expectation of the King's Majesty, my father'. This was having the effectofturning both Edward and Elizabeth into intellectual prodigies, who devoted almost every waking hour to books and religious exercises. When Edward was called out of the schoolroom for martial exercises, Elizabeth would practise the lute or viol, or occupy herself with needlework. It was the King's wish that Queen Katherine personally supervise the education of his children, a task for which she was eminently suited. Nor did she neglect her own intellectual pursuits. On 6 November 1545, she published - with the King's approval - a collection of prayers and meditations she had collated, under the excessively wordy titlePrayers and Meditationswherein the mind is stirred patiently to suffer all afflictions here, to set at naught the vain prosperity of this world, and always to long for the everlasting felicity: Collected out of holy works by the most virtuous and gracious Princess Katherine, Queen of England.
The book was widely acclaimed. The universities of Oxford and Cambridge begged the Queen to become their patroness, an honour she gratefully accepted. In reply to her letter, Roger Ascham, then fellow of St John's College, Cambridge, wrote:
Write to us oftener, erudite Queen, and do not despise the term erudition, most noble lady: it is the praise of your industry, and a greater one to your talents than all the ornaments of your fortune. We rejoice vehemently in your happiness, most happy Princess, because you are learning more amidst the occupations of your dignity than many of us do in all our leisure and quiet.
The Queen's book represented a real breakthrough in an age when only the most privileged women were fortunate enough to receive an education. Not even the Lady Margaret Beaufort had achieved as much, nor Katherine of Aragon. Two of the finest female minds of the century were fortunate enough to be moulded under Katherine Parr's influence - the future Elizabeth I and, later on, the Lady Jane Grey. Katherine's court was already a centre of feminine learning, and competition for places in her household was fierce. Even male scholars sought her patronage. One, Francis Goldsmith, could not find words enough to praise her, save to say that 'Her rare goodness has made every day a Sunday, a thing hitherto unheard of, especially in a royal palace.' Nor had her high rank affected Katherine's essential humanity and warmth. She was sympathetic towards poor scholars, and did her best to assist them whenever she could. Sometimes she sent them to Stoke College, of which she was patroness. Matthew Parker, who had once been chaplain to Anne Boleyn, was put in charge of them, and it was his duty to ensure also that the children of the Queen's tenants and farmers received an education 'meet for their ages and capacities'. Not surprisingly, Parker was moved to point out that all this could be done 'at no small cost and charge', but the Queen felt that no outlay was too much to pay for something she held dear. The money to fund her scholars and educational projects came entirely from her privy purse, nor would she turn away any poor scholar who came to her seeking assistance.
In the late autumn of 1545, while staying at Windsor, the King suffered some kind of attack, which laid him low for a time. On Christmas Eve, he was reported by the new Spanish ambassador to be 'so unwell that, considering his age and corpulence, fears are entertained that he will be unable to survive further attacks'. Henry was suffering terrible pain from what seems to have been venous thrombo
sis in his leg, and there was nothing his doctors could do to alleviate it. The Queen did her best to cheer him, and would sit by his bed and try to involve him in what he loved best, a lively dispute, preferably on some theological matter, in order to take his mind off the pain. Yet these seemingly innocent domestic interludes caused concern to the conservative faction at court, who believed that the Queen's sympathies were with the Protestant heretics and that she was being urged by the reformists to convert the King. The Seymour brothers, the widowed Duchess of Suffolk, Lady Hertford, and Lady Dudley - the last three being members of the Queen's own household - were strongly suspected of having infected Katherine with their private views, and as the King showed favour to them all, there was little anyone could do about it. Yet staunch Catholics such as Gardiner and Wriothesley believed that if the King knew the true beliefs of these people then he would deal with them as he had dealt with other Protestants. This might be one way of bringing down the Queen and removing the dangerous influence she had upon Henry VIII.
It is hardly likely that Katherine was unaware of the danger in which she stood, yet she refused to be intimidated. She knew very well that several persons in her inner circle were Protestant converts, and she also knew that heretics risked a dreadful penalty. She realised, therefore, that she should proceed with the utmost care. She had seen that the King's love could easily turn to hatred, and she did not imagine that he would react kindly to the news that his wife was a secret Protestant.