“But Your Majesty,” Wriothesley finally stammered. “We have a number of troops.”
“They can easily be recalled,” I countered. “Or left, it matters little.”
“We are merely a few towns from taking Paris, perhaps …” Hertford argued. And though it was rare for these two men to agree with one another, something about their accusing faces finally brought back the anger that had been missing since Charles died.
“And who will go to lead the troops?” I thundered, rocking forward, the stool that held my leg tipping to the side as I let my leg crash to the ground. Below me three bricks shattered, but that only helped to add to the affect, as my voice was not as strong as it had once been.
“Will it be you, Hertford? Or perhaps you, good bishop?” I yelled, pointing at both men in turn. “Who could we spare, who could even consider traveling to France?”
“Your Majesty, I would be honored —” Surrey began, but then he had to duck as I had thrown the velvet pillow at his head.
“You?” I roared. “So that you can lose your troops the same as your worthless father, who no one can even find?”
Cheeks flushed, he ducked his head down, but said no more.
“There is no one left,” I continued, my voice choking on the words. “There is no one left.”
Slumping back into my chair, I waved for the page boys, who helped me to my feet. Though I was swaying precariously, I waited until every man had stood and bowed toward me before speaking again.
“You will recall the troops from France. They will be prepared to march on Scotland. And you will not question me again.”
The men remained down as I am led from the room, but one boy stumbled over the clumped rushes at our feet, and I knocked him aside. He remained hunched against the wall, gasping for breath, even as another page boy — smaller but more sure-footed — popped up to take his place under my right arm.
Heneage was there when I entered my chambers, already ordering the page boys to check the bed with a sword, making sure there are no ills waiting for me amongst the feathers.
“Leave it,” I snapped, my voice still scratchy. Nevertheless, the three page boys in the room leapt high in the air, and scrambled from the room.
“Shall I fetch anything for your Majesty?” Heneage asked, unfretted by my mood. “Dinner? Or perhaps the queen?”
“You can fetch me nothing,” I said, sinking into the mattress. At the last moment, the two boys let go of my arms at the same time and my head fell back with a thud.
“Fools!” I roared, but I had nothing to throw at them. With a glance at Heneage, he nodded and they scrambled from the room. “Keep them, and you with that smirk, out of this room!”
Heneage bowed as he exited, shutting the door gently behind them.
Despite my exhaustion, I could not sleep. I could do nothing more than turn with limited motion as my leg ached, and then began to pulse with pain. I could not catch my breath, could not calm my mind.
It seemed that, now risen, my anger would never cool.
****
Word of my mood had obviously spread like wildfire throughout the court. Save for Heneage, I had few visitors over the next two days.
Finally, on a morning so cold I addressed the page boys to demand two more fur-lined cloaks be thrown over my shoulders as I sat at my desk, Heneage opened the door with a small bow.
“Her Majesty the Queen wishes to visit Your Majesty,” he said, not rising before me.
The papers and letters on my desk swam before me. I had not made sense of a sentence since rising for breakfast. It was nothing but the same arguments, the same letters from Emperor Charles asking why I was not supplying my men in France. When we had made this alliance last year, I could not get him to answer my queries; now it seemed he had nothing better to do than spy on my men.
“Send her in,” I nodded. “And bring in two of the stronger boys. I’ll be lowered to my bed for rest. And send for Chancellor Wriothesley.”
Heneage hesitated for only a moment, but it was long enough.
“Speak,” I barked, both of my hands slapping the large desk and sending the papers scattering to the floor.
“Wriothesley has traveled to Suffolk, something to do with the estates of the late duke, I believe,” Heneage finally said.
“Without consulting his king?” I demanded. Heneage opened his mouth to respond, but instead just stood there gaping like a fish. There was nothing to be said, nothing to be done about it until he returned.
“Fine, then find his secretary, or at least Bishop Gardiner. They will be able to contact him about — this …” I finished, gesturing to the discarded letters of Emperor Charles.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Heneage said, bowing as he exited the room. Katherine entered, almost running into him as he backed out the door.
“Your Majesty,” she said, dipping into a curtsey. I waved her up.
“How has the court fared?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level.
“They all mourn your absence,” she responded, her voice strong compared to mine. “And we have been in constant prayer for your health.”
I nodded as two of the larger page boys came in, looking relieved to see the queen. She moved toward the fire, her dark gown brushing up against the ashes that hadn’t been swept out in over a week. She was not allowed to turn her back on me, but made sure her attention was elsewhere as the two boys heaved me out of the chair, all but dragging my bad leg, and dropped me onto the bed.
“Pillows, more,” I ordered and one bolted over to a chest, grabbing four large pillows to help prop me up.
“One for the leg,” I gestured, unable to keep the impatience out of my voice. The boys exchanged a small glance and then the other bowed from the room and returned quickly with a red velvet pillow that had obviously just come from someone’s chair.
“Can we be of any more service?” the older one whispered, keeping his eyes on me.
“Bring that stool by the bed for the queen,” I ordered, and he dragged it over. I saw the other glance about for a pillow, but Katherine waved him off.
“That will be all,” she said, but with a smile. Both boys seemed pleased by her words, and almost tripped over one another as they backed from the room.
“You don’t have to be quite so courteous,” I cannot help but saying. But Katherine only smiled and pulled out her small book.
“It costs me nothing,” she responded. “Shall I read?”
“What is it today? The Bible? Or perhaps your own writings?”
Katherine at least had the decency to blush, but picked up on my teasing tone.
“I would not be as presumptuous as to read those to you today,” she answered. “But these are psalms, written by a gentleman, John Calvin.”
“I have not heard of him,” I countered, narrowing my eyes at her.
“This is not a banned book,” she answered mildly. “Bishop Gardiner keeps me well aware of what is allowed and what is not. And it is merely a book of psalms, not instruction. The gentleman is from — Geneva.”
I lean back against the pillows with a small sigh. The book may not be banned today, but depending on what she read from it, there was a good chance it could be banned tomorrow. Did she know the risk she was taking in reading it to me?
Noticing that she pulled the sheets out from another book, where they had been carefully folded and concealed, I realized that she did know. And the fact that she felt the need to conceal these pages — banned or no — made me wary before she even uttered the first line.
The words were beautiful and washed over me, Katherine’s melodic voice lulling me into a safe sense of security. But even through the prose, I could hear the dangerous ideas, understand why Katherine would be drawn to them.
Still, I said nothing, allowing her to read. It harmed no one for me to hear these words, but once she was done, the pages must be burned and Katherine must understand the gravity of her error.
The sun had climbed beyond my windo
w when the knock came. Before I could call out, Heneage opened the door.
“Bishop Gardiner, as you requested, Your Majesty,” he called out. Immediately Katherine attempted to fold the pages and return them to the book, but she was close enough that I was able to reach forward and snatch the pages. As my fingers closed over hers, tearing the sheet slightly as I pulled, every drop of color drained from her face.
“Your Majesty?” Gardiner said, kneeling before the bed.
“Yes, write to Wriothesley at once. Make sure he is clear to Emperor Charles that we will not be returning to France after Lent,” I ordered, waving the papers to indicate he could rise to his feet. “And these.”
Gardiner reached out, taking the sheets in his hands and glancing down at them, bewildered.
“These are all to be entered onto the banned list.”
His eyes wide, Gardiner nodded, quickly scanning the list. I looked to my wife, whose hands were clasped painfully together, her eyes downward. Yet I could still see the tears slipping down her face.
“Make sure everything by this John Calvin is banned,” I added. Gardiner nodded at this, and moved swiftly to the fire, adding the pages to the flames one at a time. Katherine jerked, as if she might fly toward him to stop him, but held firm.
For a moment only the crackle of the flames could be heard and then a small commotion outside the door. After a moment it opened, and my daughter Mary appeared, a harried-looking Heneage right behind her.
“Your Majesties,” she said, dropping into her trademark deep curtsey, before rising quickly with a smile on her face.
“It is my cousin, the Lady Margaret Douglas. The baby will be here any moment.”
Chapter Eleven
April, 1544
“Your Majesty, it’s a boy.”
Twenty years ago, these words would have filled me with joy. Had filled me with joy, when the love of my youth had given me a son who was dead within two months. A dozen years later, those words had struck me again, and then my beloved Jane, was gone within the month. And still, I live in fear every day that my boy Edward will follow her.
This is not my son. It is my grand-nephew, a term that makes my bones ache and my body sag against the chair I’m propped up in, and chances are it will die before it can even be churched. Certainly before he can grow into a man, make policy, or lead a battle.
But for now, word of a son is all I need, and I beckon to Gardiner. This boy, no matter if he lives to be sixty or dies before he leaves the cradle, will serve his purpose.
The bishop knelt before me, head bowed.
“Send word to Wriothesley. Have him notify the Earl of Lennox that the King of England holds his newborn son, named Henry in my honor. See what his new price for Scotland is now.”
Gardiner nodded, and beside me I saw Katherine flinch, before looking into the fire.
“You do not approve?” I asked. We are seated in my presence chamber, but it is strangely empty. Perhaps the courtiers have rushed to the other side of the palace to where Lady Margaret is still lying in. More likely, they are simply used to me being in my bed, and word has not yet spread that I am out.
“It is hard, hearing a young babe be treated like a chess piece,” she responded.
“Well, that is what all subjects are,” I countered. “And it is what the good book says we are in God’s hands.”
“I think you will find that the Book of John argues —”
“I think you will find that the Book of John says what I decree it says, madam!” I thunder, turning toward her as I struck the edge of my chair. My leg, still propped up, kept me from reaching out any closer, so I hit the edge of my chair again. “I am the head of the Church of England, and I will not be corrected by my wife, no matter how holy she may believe herself!”
Katherine’s head ducked down low, her cheeks blazing, and tears formed on her face. Her eyes took on the hollow look they had held so often of late, and she nodded toward the door, the tremble of her chin barely noticeable.
I turned and noticed the Earl of Surrey in the doorway. Unlike any other courtier, who would have had the good sense to back away before seen, he stood in the doorway like a son who caught his parents in an embrace. Instead of an earl watching a king berate his queen.
“You have not even a herald about, Your Majesty,” he said as greeting. “Shall I announce myself?”
I am sure his attitude would win him praise in France; his witty comments would endear him to any queen in any other court. But all I could see was a spoiled boy who enjoyed having the upper hand.
“You can approach, but only with news,” I said, waving him forward. He quickly performed his bows and offered an extra for the queen, who can do little to conceal the tears on her face.
“I do come bearing news, from my father the Duke of Norfolk,” the earl said, his easy smile showing that he assumed this statement would please me.
“Well, get on with it then,” I said. “Has he been found?”
“He has not only been found, but he is on the move north. He says he has recruited five hundred more men, and confiscated several hundred heads of cattle from a few Scottish lords who managed to find him as well. Two of them paid for that entanglement with their lives.”
This at least, like the baby, was good news and would help with the Earl of Lennox. But still I could feel no joy at this news, instead only the pulsing anger that had consumed me since the loss of Charles.
“And he has sent the Earl of Essex, around east through Northumberland, where he has recruited an additional thousand men. They hope to meet in Melrose by the end of next month, and then march north toward Edinburgh.”
A small gasp came from the queen and, regardless of my anger, I reached out to hold her hand. Her brother, despite my misgivings, had remained with the fighting and done well. But I knew she still worried for him.
She squeezed my hand gratefully and rewarded me with a smile.
“This is good news indeed,” I said. “Strange that he wrote to you of it before his king, though.”
The smile on Sussex’s face quickly disappeared and the stammering began.
“He — that is — my father wrote to me …”
Finally, I waved him off. There is nothing to hold against this foolish boy. And any treason or foolhardy attempts to undermine me can be taken care of once Scotland had been conquered.
“You will report all this to the Privy Council tomorrow,” I ordered after a moment. “And send for my secretary. We must write to the duke, telling him what we expect and have for him.”
Sussex looked confused for a moment, glancing about, possibly hoping to see my secretary standing behind him, waiting to be summoned. Instead, he found the chamber as empty as it was when he first entered. He backed away, mumbling as he does so. Finally he exited, still comically looking for someone to relieve him of the burden of finding my secretary.
“I would not be surprised if dinner passed before your secretary appears,” Katherine said, risking a small smile at me.
“I will be surprised if he appears at all,” I countered, frowning.
“If it pleases Your Majesty, I will go and fetch him, as well as rouse a few page boys, and make sure you are well attended to.”
My brow furrowed at this, and Katherine smiled as she rose from her chair.
“It seems the Earl of Lennox left behind, in his haste, a number of barrels of wine and ale. Someone had the idea that, with the birth of his son, he would have offered them to anyone who passed his chambers, had he remained in London. So they took the liberty of bestowing the wine and ale upon themselves. But certainly there are a few who did not partake, or who have slept it off by now.”
I can’t help the laugh that escaped my throat – the first in months.
“Well, I cannot fault the boys for partaking, though I wish some had been brought to me,” I said as she began to back from the room. Katherine smiled, warmer this time.
“I will see if any remains, though I would not b
e hopeful.”
And then my wife was gone.
****
Katherine proved much more helpful than Surrey ever would. My secretary and two bottles of fine wine made their way to me within the hour. Dispatches were quickly sent north toward any location the Duke of Norfolk might consider; I was hopeful one of the four copies of my missive would reach him within the week.
His son did at least give a proper report the next morning to my Privy Council. It was agreed that, despite wherever the duke ended up, that aggressive negotiations from the Earl of Lennox should continue.
The next two weeks passed with little to note. John Calvin’s works were quickly added to the list of banned books, and general searches were made of every courtier’s chambers. But either his words of poison had not spread to my court yet beyond Katherine, or those who read his works were adept at hiding evidence. Unfortunately, I feared it to be the later.
At least my leg finally healed well enough to allow me movement, even if I still required assistance getting in and out of bed. But the pus no longer ran freely from my leg and it could now take a large portion of my weight. Heneage assured me that my limp was hardly noticeable.
Katherine threw herself into preparations for the christening of Lady Margaret’s son. At first this did little to bother me, but soon I began to miss Katherine’s appearances in my chamber. There was no more reading, either from psalms or writings, or even from the Bible. No announcements about my son Edward or daughter Elizabeth, who would write to Katherine about their studies. I began to miss seeing my wife’s face appear, a small grin as she held up a sheaf of papers, saying something along the lines of, “Your daughter has completely mastered Greek, Your Majesty. She is truly a wonder.”
Eventually I sent word to her rooms, seeing if she had heard from either child. But it was not my wife, but my daughter Mary, who appeared in the door to my presence chamber.
“The Lady Mary,” my herald announced, glancing down slightly. My heralds still had such problems with the protocol of announcing my two daughters, both who had been born to the title of princess, and then, through the actions of their mothers, been lowered to the status of bastard. But Mary entered as if she had not noticed his actions, curtseying before my chair.
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