“Knowing him, he won’t be subtle about it,” I added, and Wriothesley nodded.
“The troops from France?” I asked, turning toward my secretary, who nodded and began to answer before even finding the paper he needed.
“Landed in Dover last week. They are well rested, but the march north could take a month.”
I turn back to Wriothesley, my eyebrows raised. But this man, who had spent his whole life scraping at the court, had no thoughts on an army, or what to do with one. He stared back, gaping at me slightly, until I turned away, aware he would be little help to me.
I still felt the loss of Charles like a stab in the heart, but there was no time to dwell over the continued loss of my friend. Closing my eyes, leaning back slightly into the blue velvet covered chair, I tried to think of what he would say.
In truth, it did not take me long to find the answer. Charles would be offering to march out and take the troops north himself.
“As quickly as possible,” he would add, leaning toward me, letting those heavy brows make his eyes look so much more serious. “We can waste no time. You know I don’t like the man, but Norfolk can take Scotland. It is now, Henry.”
Though the voice was only within my mind, I nodded and used both hands to push myself up, so that I could lean forward as Charles would have done.
“Have them march north to join the Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Essex,” I order. “Twenty miles a day, at least.”
Wriothesley nods; I’m sure he doesn’t understand that this is a punishing pace. But it does not matter if the troops there are well rested, it matters more that they are there. That the Earl of Lennox, also untested in war, looks out and sees double the number of Englishmen standing there, ready to die for their king.
“Send word north, to York,” I continue as my secretary wrote out my orders, and Wriothesley notes them as well. “It will be next to impossible for them to resupply on the march. Fresh horses, food, and any other supplies must there waiting there for them. Within the week if possible.”
Wriothesley nods, and I know that in his inexperience, I am safe. He does not know what I am ordering is difficult. The men he will order might complain and say it can’t be done, but that is now his problem, not mine. It will be done, or else someone — Wriothesley, most likely — will pay the price.
I wave my hand and he leaves, backing out of the rooms. All that’s left is the scratching of my secretary as he finishes writing and then copying out my orders.
This is easy enough to tune out, and I lean toward the window once again, resting my chin in my hands. In a moment I will have to rise and dress for dinner, facing a court that is much diminished over the summer. Usually our progress would swing us far away from the city, south toward Kent, or perhaps west toward Ludlow and the Welsh marsh. But this summer, with the news from Scotland so good, and the plague not making an appearance, I felt safe enough to stay less than a half day’s ride from London.
Still, many men of my court had escaped to their own estates. Lord Hertford had certainly done this, though he was ordered to return by the beginning of August. I hoped by then to have news of Scotland. And then I would need every man of my Privy Council to be in attendance. Parliament may even need to be called.
With our smaller retinue, I was spending more time with Katherine. More time with her and her readings, which, while not heretical, were certainly not in line with the current teachings of the Church of England.
“Yes, but think of it, Henry!” she would say, leaning toward me over whatever platter had just been brought from the kitchen. “It would be simple to change the wordings of Archbishop Cranmer’s prayers —”
I was back to reminding her daily of her place, that as her lord and husband — not to mention her king— it was I who said what Archbishop Cranmer would teach.
This did little to deter her however, and I found myself more and more speaking to Mary, seated on my other side. In this way I heard more about my children Edward and Elizabeth, their studies together, and their hopes to come to court soon.
“Not in the summer,” I would rule, and Mary would nod at the sense of this.
I had never spoken so much with my daughter, and found that I liked hearing her views of her siblings, her ideas of the court. She never spoke of religion, of politics. Indeed, I had no idea what she thought about either, but was glad to not be talking of it. It was through Mary that I heard of my niece Margaret’s desire to return to her husband, the Earl of Lennox, and made sure she was watched. Though her son was safe in my keeping, and had been sent to live in Edward’s household, she still may try to steal away to Scotland. Even if she took nothing but news of my court, she could be dangerous.
Eventually we got word, later in August than I would like, but still during the summer progress, that the army had reached the Duke of Norfolk and he had put the fresh recruits — still sweating in their armor — out in the field with his own men. They say the Earl of Lennox awoke one morning, looked out his window, and fainted dead away at the sight.
His new list of terms appeared about the same time as Lord Hertford. My Privy Council — what can be gathered of my council, anyway — wass called the moment we had the letter.
“He asks for a hundred pounds,” Wriothesley said, a smile still on his face. “And has the good sense not to ask for any lands.”
“He can remain as Earl of Lennox,” I said, waving my hand generously. This got a laugh from the entire council.
“He seems to be in little place to negotiate,” the Earl of Surrey pointed out.
“It is nothing,” I said, nodding. “Write back that we accept his terms, and the throne of Scotland for a hundred pounds. He can return here, to my court, to receive his payment. however. And to meet his son.”
There is silence around the table. Scotland had been a thorn in our side for generations. Their men had constantly raided down from the north, had been recruited into armies that fought on our shores less than a hundred years ago. My own father had tried to subdue them by sending my sister north to marry their king, but they did nothing more than absorb her into their own barbarism.
And now they are ours.
“At least, the capital and the few lords in Edinburgh are ours,” the Earl of Surrey said, his thin face pinched.
I didn’t appreciate this dire look at our good fortune, but nodded.
“We will not be able to rest,” I agreed. “Scotland is more than Edinburgh and the Earl of Lennox. Not all of the lords will accept this rule.”
I look around the table, at the drawn faces and serious expressions. My first instinct is to leave the Duke of Norfolk where he is and to let him try to run over the breadth of Scotland, overtaking it piece by piece.
He has done well, but he is older. And the last few towns sound as if they had all but thrown their gates open for him.
“We need not a general, but a politician,” I finally said out loud. So of course, now, there is only one man here that I can turn to. The others, those who might have served me well, are all long buried.
“Lord Hertford,” I said, leaning forward to stare down my brother-in-law. “How soon can you be ready to travel north and take hold of the seat of Scotland?”
Even though he is one of the highest ranking members of my court, he still looked alarmed at being asked to take on this task. But this is the man named as Lord Protector should — God forbid — I pass before my son Edward enters his majority. He is entrusted to rule England. Certainly he will be able to control the lords of Scotland.
And as horrified as he looked at this prospect, I see across the table, Wriothesley and Gardiner looking as if they were sucking on lemons. While I doubt neither one of them — nor any of their faction — would want this assignment either, they are not pleased that Hertford now has the potential to become one of the most powerful men in the north.
“Your Majesty,” Wriothesley said, bowing slightly toward me. “Perhaps the Duke of Norfolk can remain as protector of the nor
th?”
This at least has the effect of making Hertford look alarmed, before sitting up in his chair.
“Your Majesty, I am pleased to take on this role,” he said, staring at me intently.
“I am sure,” I respond. “And Lord Hertford will work with the Earl of Essex. The Duke of Norfolk can return home. If an army is needed again, I will be happy to send him back north.”
Wriothesley looked ready to argue, but Gardiner put his hand out the stop them. I feel a bit of anger rising up at this, and know I am right to curb their power in Scotland. And I know that Lord Hertford’s honey words now have the power to go much farther with the angry Scottish lords than the Duke of Norfolk’s swords.
A wave of exhaustion overcame me, and the pain in my leg that never really leaves me felt as if a spike has been driven into it. I refused to cry out, and I bit my tongue so hard that I could taste blood. Furious that this ache has returned, I waved for the meeting to end. Once the lords have stood, bowed, and backed away from my presence, I waved forward the page boys.
“Call for Doctor Butts,” I commanded. They all knew what this meant, and two dart out of the room. I am about to yell after them, when one returned almost immediately with Heneage.
“Your Majesty,” he said, dropping to a knee, then rising up to help the two large page boys return to me to my rooms.
I am thankful once again that the summer heat has cleared out most of the court. Those men of my Privy Council had obviously scattered, either to do their own work or to plot the downfall of another courtier. We met no one but a few serving boys on the way to the room, and I thought perhaps this was just a momentary lapse.
But then the pain in my leg hit me again, so powerful that I do cry out, and the room before me turned sideways. When I am myself again, I realized I have fallen to my knees, both page boys down on the floor with me, struggling under the weight and my own thrashing about.
“Get him up, get him up,” Heneage muttered angrily at them. Then I felt his strong hands on my right side, and am lifted to my feet.
The room continued to spin, even after I am all but tossed into my bed, my bulk hitting the feather mattress hard, the strings below it groaning as Heneage shifted both of my legs onto the blankets before me.
Everyone in the room recoiled the moment he pulled down my hose. The wound on my calf has grown, doubled since I dressed that morning. The pus is pulsing, straining to escape. The smell alone almost made me pass out again, and the moment Doctor Butts entered the room, his face whitened and he whispered rapidly to both assistants, who turned and attempted to flee the room.
Coming to my side, he knelt down – not before me, but to better see the leg.
“Your Majesty —” he began, his sunken eyes glancing up to meet mine.
But I didn’t need his words, or even the look to tell me what I already knew. My wound has never been this bad.
It’s time to be bled.
Chapter Fourteen
October, 1544
Vaguely I’m aware of time passing. Doctor Butts is ever-present, and Katherine is there more often than not. Even when I can’t see Heneage, I’m aware of his presence, often hovering by the door, insisting to anyone who comes near that I’m merely resting.
But this is no mere rest. Within days of being bled, the fever took hold of me. Some days I am in my bed at Windsor, but some days I am back in my nursery, waiting for my mother to come visit. Occasionally Katherine appeared by my bed, and I couldn’t think of the right word — mother? Anne? Jane? So I fell back upon murmuring “sweetheart” to her, and she seemed to understand that I couldn’t provide anything more.
As the fever began to recede and I started to understand where I am, and who I am, Katherine returned even more. This time, Bible or reading in her hand. She was working on her own book, and often read me passages of this, her words loud in the chamber. If Heneage, silent in the corner, or Doctor Butts, who fell asleep upon her visits more often than not, found this strange, neither of them said anything.
“Stop,” I ordered Katherine one day, waving my hand weakly at her. “Stop. What are you saying in that passage?”
In the corner Heneage sat up, watching us carefully.
“It is a passage talking about how works will bring about the kingdom of Heaven,” Katherine said, lowering the book slightly. “Unlike what the Bishop of Rome erroneously says, that only his blessing can take one to heaven. That the word of a mortal man can clear the soul of all wrongdoing.”
“But that is what the Bible says,” I responded, trying to sit up. This brought Doctor Butts to my side. He shot Katherine a glance, but she pays him no heed.
“But good works will bring about the Kingdom,” Katherine argued. “It is true that the key to salvation is believing the word of Christ, but without good works —”
“This smacks heavily of Lutheranism,” I said, glaring toward her.
“No,” Katherine said, shaking her head, glancing down at her lap, and then back at me. “It is merely the idea that paying lip service to the Pope and then continuing one’s wicked ways does not mean that true salvation has been at hand. Good works are the light that shows others that Christ has taken root in the soul.”
“Then they are a symptom,” I said, shifting to try to ease the pain in my leg and the fogginess that still surrounded my brain. “And not the cause of entering heaven.”
“But without the good works, how can one be considered saved? How can one show that the light of Christ is inside of them?”
“Why must this be proved to others and not to God alone?” I countered. Katherine pursed her lips and I felt my ire with her rising as I struggled to sit up.
“We must spread the word of Christ. That was what was ordered by the good book,” she responded.
“It is a command but not the final word!” I thundered, and then Doctor Butts does move forward.
“Please, Your Majesty,” he whispered.
Defeated by my leg and angry that my wife would contradict me, I let my weight sink into the feathered mattress, the pillow sagging low under my weight.
“Go,” I ordered with a wave of my hand. “And there is no need to return this evening for supper.”
Katherine curtsied and withdrew, saying nothing else to me.
“Can I fetch anything to calm Your Majesty?” Heneage asked from the corner.
“Ale,” I responded. “And have a tray sent up. Meats. Quail.”
Heneage bit his lip and then nodded, darting out of the room. He doesn’t return immediately; there must not have been a page boy standing at the door for him to command.
The doctor moved about, looking at my leg and then moving to stir up a concoction over on my desk.
“What do you think?” I asked after a moment. The old man froze and then turned to look at me, his bushy eyebrows high.
“What do you I think about what, Your Majesty?” he asked, eyes darting towards the door, as if perhaps I was speaking to someone else.
“About what her Majesty was reading,” I responded.
He pressed his lips together, then shrugged his shoulders.
“I think that she should not have upset you so,” he replied. “And that I will try a poultice on your leg to bring down the swelling.”
“No one could make a poultice like Jane,” I sighed in reply. Doctor Butts paused slightly as he headed towards me, then continued forward to remove the soaked bandages off of my leg. It must have been the remnants of my fever, but I had not spoken of Jane willingly since her passing so many years before.
“Her Majesty was a skilled woman,” Doctor Butts agreed.
“And an obedient one,” I answered, thinking back to Jane’s meek smile. She never would have fought with me as Katherine had. If only she had lived. We could have had a slew of sons by now and I wouldn’t feel as powerless, laying here in bed with only one child between my throne and civil war.
Heneage returned as I was hissing from pain, Doctor Butts having to rip the last o
f the bandages from my leg. A large cup of ale and a platter of meats, quail among them, was in his hands and he moved swiftly to place them on the table by my bed. The mouthwatering smell helped cover up the putrid stench of the bandages, and before Doctor Butts could move to clean the wound, I quickly grabbed two pieces of meat and began to eat.
“Your Majesty,” Heneage said, remaining at my side. “Word has come that the Duke of Norfolk will be here before nightfall. Did you want to receive him tonight?”
I sighed before taking another bite of meet, letting the juices run down my chin to the pillow below. It mattered not, the entire bed was covered in food and sweat and the disgusting pus from my leg. I could tell from the look on Doctor Butts face that I would have to be lifted from the bed for the linens to be changed today.
“Yes,” I responded after a moment, a grimace on my face as the doctor dragged a dirty rag across my leg in an effort to remove some of the moisture. “You will have to see to it that I am up and dressed. We will receive him in the outer presence room. There does not need to be a large crowd.”
Heneage nodded. I could see already he was considering how best to accomplish this. The entire court was in attendance and all would want to see their king who had been bedridden for over a month. But he would manage it.
“And supper?”
I thought about it as I started in on the quail. At least the placing of the poultice did not hurt as the layering of the bandages usually did.
“Will be a private affair, in my chambers. The Duke of Norfolk and his son. Has Lord Hertford left for Scotland yet?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Heneage responded.
I nodded, thinking carefully. It would be good to have someone there to counter the Duke of Norfolk and his son the Earl of Sussex. But not the queen, who had still displeased me, or Lord Hertford’s brother, who was a hothead currently dispatched as the admiral of the navy. Finally, I shrugged slightly.
“It can be a very private affair,” I finished. It would at least give me the opportunity to hear the Duke’s report without any interruptions or arguments. The time for those would come later. After showing myself today, I would have to be seen before the Privy Council soon.
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