Shaking the Throne

by Caroline Angus Baker

  ‘Men decided my fate and used God as an excuse.’

  ‘You do have some fight in you,’ Katherine scoffed.

  ‘I am a daughter of a merchant, a moneylender. I have travelled through Europe and studied law and finance with some of the greatest minds. God gave me a fine mind, but I alone nurtured and educated that mind. My honour was taken by a man who should not have done so, and I became the creature I am now, the beast you see before you. I did so to avoid the shame of having no virtue while the man who took my honour went on to take the highest role on Earth. I am who I need to be. I am married to the man my father chose, and he took the inheritance my father gave me. Master Cromwella simply lets me be who I am in my disguises. Cromwella may be a man and he may be my master, but he has not forced me in any way. I can respect no other master but him.’

  ‘I must confess I like your defiance, Frescobaldi.’

  ‘The King, in his own wisdom, knows of my truths. King Henry allows me in his court in my guise as a hidden creature. He tolerates my being, he indulges my needs and is entertained in return. He may see me as a conduit to the Pope, but I am as free as any woman can be, given the hand dealt to me by God.’

  ‘And how is my husband? Is he well?’

  ‘King Henry is well and healthy, Your Majesty. He had been much disappointed in the birth of his daughter, but he has other things to make him merry.’

  ‘His false marriage to the whore?’

  ‘The marriage is calm, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Shall Henry ever turn back to the Catholic faith?’

  ‘King Henry has turned his back on little of the Catholic faith, Your Majesty. While he has accepted the beliefs of Protestant marriage and its ability to end marriages, he continues his rituals and prayers in the Catholic faith.’ And that was true; Cromwell was trying to banish idolatry and yet it appeared daily in churches where Henry worshipped. Archbishop Cranmer was displeasured over the whole situation as he tried to reform the people in his loyal congregation.

  ‘And my daughter?’

  ‘Princess Mary has been moved to Hatfield, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Do you think you could get Mr. Cromwell to petition Henry? So that Mary and I can write to one another?’

  ‘I could but try, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Is Mary well?’

  ‘Princess Mary has been ill but Hatfield has physicians available and Henry has allowed Mary to see the physicians freely.’

  ‘Does the bastard Elizabeth live at Hatfield?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty. Princess Mary is with her sister.’

  ‘Half-sister. Bastard sister,’ Katherine spat and Nicòla nodded in agreement. ‘Tell me, did the King send you to gain news from me? To spy on me?’

  ‘I was sent, Your Majesty, to get the last of your jewels.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘The royal jewels are possessions of the King.’

  ‘You mean possessions of his false wife. My jewels shall not adorn Christendom’s greatest whore!’

  ‘Alas, Suffolk has been ordered by the King to take your jewels, including your Spanish jewels.’

  ‘Those jewels were given to me by my mother, Spain’s greatest queen and warrior! Never shall they be given to the whore. They belong to the Queen, and that is me. They will one day adorn my daughter.’

  The strong knock at the door startled both Nicòla and Katherine. The Duke of Suffolk entered moment later, bowing low in respect as Nicòla stood. Suffolk looked to the Queen and took a long pause.

  ‘You have come to pull my chamber apart, have you not?’ Katherine asked.

  ‘I am afraid that is the nature of it, Your Majesty. You are to move to Kimbolton today. It is but six miles. Any items you are free to keep shall be sent to you in coming days.’

  ‘But I am ill,’ Katherine said and grabbed Nicòla’s hand. ‘I cannot go today! Please, do not take the items that belonged to my dearly departed mother!’

  ‘I am under orders to move you today, Your Majesty,’ Suffolk sighed. ‘I have orders to remove you by force.’

  A group of ladies-in-waiting huddled in the doorway, ready to help their Queen so no male hands dared touched her.

  Katherine stumbled to her feet and held Nicòla’s hand to steady herself. ‘Please, do not let my jewels adorn a whore,’ Katherine cried, tears in her pale blue eyes. ‘Not everything of the past must be crushed. A woman’s life is hard enough!’

  ‘Your Majesty, Kimbolton is made ready for you. It is a pleasant enough manor and you will be comfortable until your personal effects arrive.’

  Nicòla stood helpless as men appeared in the room from a small side door, ready to pull the warm haven apart on Henry’s orders.

  ‘Please,’ Katherine cried as her ladies rushed to her aid. ‘For mutual love and respect of the Pope, please do not take my things from me, for they belong to my daughter.’

  ‘I will help your daughter, I swear upon my life,’ Nicòla said.

  Queen Katherine fell into her ladies’ arms as she was pulled from the room in tears. As she left the room, Nicòla glanced to Suffolk and held his brown stare. They both knew the injustice of Katherine’s life and could do nothing to save her now. It was the life of a woman; for it could easily be Nicòla dragged away, banished from her own daughter one day, all on the whim of a man.

  C

  Chapter 8 – March 1534

  hystory is a set of lyes all agreed on

  Hampton Court Palace, London

  Music played during dinner, but Cromwell barely heard it. He could not be sure if it was the wine or the prosperity that made him drunk with happiness. He sat in Hampton Court’s vast dining hall, golden tapestries lining the long room. Henry and Anne sat at the head table together while around one hundred invited courtiers sat down to the finest meals. They now forgot the Lord Chamberlain’s seating arrangements several hours in, people mingling among the tables, allowing Nicòla to sit at Cromwell’s side at their table of ten. Everyone could eat whatever they wanted, though Cromwell had the best of everything. A tray of oysters sat before Nicòla, though she did not eat. Neither the swan, nor the venison, nor the veal, nor the pheasant. She would smile at proper moments when others laughed in merriment, cheered at Cromwell’s latest wins, but then her sullen face would return. Her petite fingers held her wine, but she seldom brought it to her lips.

  Around the table sat Bishop Gardiner and his beaked nose, Sir Thomas More, freshly forgiven for his recent misprision charge, and stuttering Norfolk. Lord Chancellor Audley sat there too, his waistline expanding by the month, much like Cromwell’s, the scourge of a good life. Missing was the pompous Duke of Suffolk, as his son Henry, of only ten years, had passed away. The boy was the King’s nephew and the second time Suffolk had lost a son bearing the King’s name. But that was all hidden away at Westhorpe Hall. It was forbidden to mention the death of the King’s nephew, the son of Henry’s late favourite sister.

  The Act of Supremacy had passed in parliament, but it was Cromwell, not the King, who reigned supreme. The Act stated Henry and his heirs were to be the only Supreme Heads of the Church in England, under the title Ecclesia Anglicana and could enjoy all the honours and dignities, immunities, profits and commodities of said dignity. They could not call the Pope “the Pope,” only the Bishop of Rome. Every prayer book in England needed to be altered.

  The Act of Succession stole freedoms even further. Now, every person over the age of fourteen years would swear an oath, swearing against an allegiance to the Pope, and instead to the King himself. They had to swear Henry and Anne’s marriage was lawful, and only Princess Elizabeth and further siblings could be heirs to the throne. Any person who refused was now against the King, and that was treason, and Cromwell would make sure everyone who spoke against the King would be punished with all fierceness. Even to speak against the Oath was misprision, and now that could be punishable by death. Even to speak, wish or think of harming the royal family, its realm, its laws, its titles was high treason, and high tre
ason carried a death sentence. They held every man and woman in England under pain of death against the laws Cromwell created for His Majesty. Finally, the last part of the Annates law, started two years ago, meant they could send no money to Rome; profits from the Church stayed in England. Now that money went straight to the King’s Exchequer, which Cromwell also ruled. The level of power in one man’s hands had never been greater, and everyone knew it.

  Lord Chancellor Thomas Audley raised his glass from across the table in Cromwell’s direction, and Cromwell shifted his gaze away from Nicòla at his side. ‘Thomas, I cannot believe all you have done for this most mighty of nations.’

  Cromwell bowed his head in respect to Audley. ‘You helped word this precise law, so I must not take all the credit. To you also, Norfolk.’

  Norfolk acknowledged Cromwell as he stuffed his mouth with oysters.

  ‘Do you feel much pride, Mr. Cromwell?’ More asked, where he sat with chunks of pheasant before him, a knife stabbed into the flesh. ‘In your heart, does it feel right to take away the power of the Catholic Church?’

  ‘You are pardoned of misprision charges, Sir Thomas,’ Cromwell replied. ‘I think it prudent for you to quieten your temper and your Catholic sympathies. Misprision is a charge of high treason now.’

  ‘You want my head on a spike, do you?’ More challenged him.

  ‘I seek only peace.’ Cromwell threw More a smug grin.

  ‘We shall have peace,’ spoke the ever-tepid Archbishop Cranmer. He too raised his glass to Cromwell, and they smiled at one another. ‘We shall have a safe and pious reformation in this country. I shall see to it personally that every church adopts the Protestant faith.’

  ‘And Cromwell will see everyone opposed will be punished with much cruelty,’ Gardiner sniffed. ‘But at least you released old Bishop Fisher from the Tower at last.’

  ‘Fisher begged for a pardon, like the King wanted,’ Cromwell said and gulped the last of the wine. At once a servant stepped forward to refill the cup. He glanced down the table to see Ambassador Chapuys staring at Nicòla. They had not spoken since Chapuys’ threat to expose Nicòla’s identity six months ago. Chapuys had held his tongue all that time – he knew to expose the Pope’s favourite courtier would cause much anger back in Rome. Cromwell could have Chapuys beheaded if he had to, and Chapuys knew it. Cromwell knew how untouchable he was and revelled in the power.

  ‘So, what is next for the all-powerful Thomas Cromwell?’ Gardiner asked across the table. ‘For surely as the sun rises in the east, you have done all you can for the King.’

  ‘I seek to do none but the King’s will and pleasure. Should we all not do so?’ Cromwell asked the table.

  ‘Does your heart not hang heavy with the weight of pain you cause in this realm?’ More asked, his beady eyes frowning from the other end of the long table.

  ‘You hold your faith in high esteem, Sir Thomas. For my heart shall not be hurt as I ruin the laws set upon us by Rome. They shall not harm me as I hunt out corruption, abuse, bribery, adultery, idolatry, and superstition from the lives of every Englishman living.’

  ‘And you should not hurt for that, Thomas,’ Cranmer said. ‘I rule the convocation and shall help the people of the realm with reformation, not harm them.’

  ‘The only ones harmed shall be secret papists, who favour the Bishop of Rome over their own anointed sovereign,’ Cromwell added.

  More and Cromwell stared at one another and Cromwell knew the time had come. Sir Thomas More would never denounce the Pope in favour of the King, even with Henry being his closest friend for years. Chapuys was the ambassador the Holy Roman Emperor, excused from taking the Oath. But Norfolk was not, Gardiner was not, and as both deeply Catholic, Cromwell would love to see them wince in agony to submit to the Reformation. Nicòla would sign without pause; for she stood at Cromwell’s side day by day, hour by hour, as he tore the Church apart. Her pope, a sick old man desperate for her companionship, would never see her again.

  Just the thought of crushing these men once placed so high above him made Cromwell laugh out loud, to the surprise of all at the table. He grabbed Nicòla’s hand and held it, despite being in full view of the guests. She smiled and pulled her hand away, no doubt to bring Cromwell to his senses.

  ‘Surely crafting the laws of the land at the pleasure of the King is dangerous, Thomas,’ Gardiner said.

  ‘I think the will and pleasure of the King should be law. That could be my next law.’

  ‘So, you admit wanting to rule this country yourself,’ Norfolk said. ‘I am certain that is treason.’

  ‘I want to serve my sovereign,’ Cromwell laughed. ‘For there is a woman at the King’s side, Queen Anne, with the heir to the throne in her sweet belly at this moment. Yes, all the rumours are true, Queen Anne is halfway to creating a son.’

  ‘You said that last year and we gained Elizabeth,’ Gardiner snorted.

  ‘You are either for these changes or you are against, Stephen,’ Cromwell warned. ‘No one is safe any longer. Your past allegiances, past positions or past deeds mean nothing in this new age.’

  ‘Cromwell!’ the King bellowed, and the dining hall fell into immediate silence. Cromwell stood and nodded, regarding his king. ‘You seem entertained this evening.’

  ‘I was just telling your guests I believe your will and pleasure should be law in this country.’

  ‘That would make quite a country indeed,’ Anne said and took Henry’s hand.

  ‘A strong law to serve your future son, Your Majesty,’ Cromwell said, and he heard Gardiner scoff across the table.

  ‘Do recite some of the Oath of Succession you wrote with Audley and Norfolk and our dear absent Suffolk. Your mind can surely remember every word, Cromwell,’ the King continued.

  ‘Whatever be your will, Your Majesty.’ Cromwell looked out over the noble faces looking back at him. ‘You shall swear to bear faith, truth, and obedience alone to the King’s majesty, and to his heirs of his body of his most dear and entirely beloved lawful wife Queen Anne, begotten and to be begotten.’

  ‘So help you God, and all Saints, and the Holy Evangelists,’ Cranmer called out.

  The King applauded Cromwell and it forced everyone to abide and join. Henry gestured for Cromwell to sit and he slipped back into his seat, ignited by all the wine, cheer and confidence.

  ‘We shall have no opposition, shall we, Cromwell,’ Henry said, more to the party than to him.

  ‘No, Your Majesty. Even from cowards such as Bishop Gardiner.’

  Several gasps echoed around the hall as Gardiner stared back at his once friend, now an adversary. But Cromwell felt far from finished.

  ‘Bishop Gardiner has done little, all but nothing, to aid the creation of the Succession, and does not like the strict wording of the Oath. Gardiner stomps around the court with his long nose and greedy eyes, ready to tear down any person who talks ill of his precious Bishop of Rome.’

  People laughed quietly in their seats, partly due to the comments at Gardiner, possibly more due to Cromwell’s audacity to speak such before the King. But Henry laughed too, and Gardiner rose from his seat, bowed to Henry and left the room, followed by one hundred pairs of eyes, all wide in wonder.

  Cromwell felt Nicòla’s foot move against his own under the table. He glanced at her and she looked right back at him, her green gaze surrounded by an angry brow. Cromwell had gone too far.

  But Henry agreed not with Nicòla’s worry. ‘Gardiner will be most tempered in the morning,’ the King laughed, and everyone joined. ‘Fear not, Cromwell, for I shall make sure everyone at court swears to the Oath and their position.’

  From the far corner of the dining hall, a messenger entered and went quickly to Ambassador Chapuys’ side. Nicòla gasped beside Cromwell; the letter bore the official seal of the Pope himself. Just for Nicòla to think of the Pope made Cromwell’s heart ache.

  The King must have noticed the messenger also. ‘Tell us, Ambassador, what is so urgent from Rome that you
cannot wait.’

  Chapuys raised his wide eyes from the parchment and moved his lips, with no sound forthcoming.

  ‘Speak up!’ the King commanded.

  Chapuys threw a look to Cromwell and at once Cromwell jumped from his seat and snatched the letter from him. The Pope’s handwriting once more, not seen by Cromwell’s eyes for quite some time. Clement’s wide scrawling letters, attached to the large official red seal of this office. Cromwell’s silence affected the King at once.

  ‘Cromwell, with me!’ the King commanded, and he jumped from his seat, causing everyone to rise in a panic to pay respect.

  Cromwell flew past everyone, catching Nicòla’s eyes for just a second before he left the hall into a private room. Henry stood feet wide apart, hands on hips as if bracing for ruin.

  ‘What be the news from Rome?’ Henry begged, and wiped sweat from his top lip.

  ‘Pope Clement the Seventh of Rome, after seven years of deliberations, has ruled in the matter of your marriage to Katherine of Aragon. The Pope has ruled the marriage entirely valid under God’s law.’

  ‘Under God’s law?’ the King screamed and shoved Cromwell hard in the chest. Cromwell tripped, landing hard on his back. ‘God’s law is my law!’ Henry screamed, spittle flying onto Cromwell’s clothes.

  ‘Tis too late,’ Cromwell implored the King. ‘England has broken from Rome and the laws of this man no longer matter in the affairs of England.’

  ‘Get up.’ Henry stepped back from Cromwell.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ Cromwell said as he struggled to his feet, his head spinning with wine and confusion. ‘The Pope can rule in the judgement of Katherine if he so desires. But the law of England states he has no jurisdiction over affairs. The Queen in England is Queen Anne, who is at dinner, right now, carrying your legitimate heir.’

  ‘Oh, Katherine will adore this news. She shall receive the judgement at Kimbolton, and she shall hold the paper to her chest and thank God and the Pope for the ruling. All she wants is to be queen.’