Shaking the Throne

by Caroline Angus Baker

  ‘I shall keep all excitement for public display, Thomas,’ Henry continued. ‘I shared my pleasure with Anne and all those who have overheard such words, for we are never truly alone. The Boleyns shall be somewhere in the palace, no doubt huddled together, planning to take over the world with their royal heir. Some days I think old Thomas Boleyn thinks himself the King, not the Lord Privy Seal. He is that, and Earl of Wiltshire, at my command only, and yet he walks around with his stubborn face and haughty tone…’

  Cromwell paused but Henry did not finish his sentence. ‘I think everyone wishes for a stable country, Your Majesty.’

  ‘I more than any other,’ Henry said and tossed his hands in the air in frustration. ‘I shall be cautious this time, and as the baby progresses, then I shall gain more hope, I am certain. Anne would not leave my side all summer long while in progress. The people dislike Anne, but she would refuse to hide away. Every night she begged me to come to her bed.’

  Cromwell had to destroy the last queen, so Henry could be in that bed, and now Henry complained of the opportunity. Cromwell had redefined religion in England and rewrote the laws of the country, so Henry could be able to slide into Anne’s bed every night. There could be no more fickle master than love.

  ‘We stopped at Wulf Hall for a week on progress, as you know,’ Henry continued. ‘It was marvellous to see the Seymour family again. Old Sir John and Edward have healed their rift over John bedding Edward’s wife, and she is now dead, and they remarried young Edward.’

  ‘Indeed, Edward has married Lady Anne Stanhope,’ Cromwell replied.

  ‘What was it everyone says of her?’

  ‘That she is more presumptuous than Lucifer.’

  Henry laughed in reply. ‘I wonder what Edward sees in young Anne.’

  ‘Perchance she does not like Edward’s father as much as his first wife did?’ Cromwell offered, and Henry roared with laughter again. ‘The Seymours be a fine family, though one other son, Thomas, can be a difficult man.’

  Henry nodded, deep in thought. ‘Ten children, lucky man, old Sir John, though I know he has lost many young, including his first-born son.’

  ‘But three sons and three daughters all still living,’ Cromwell said. ‘One of the younger daughters, Lady Elizabeth, was widowed a year or so past. She wrote to me, to gain another marriage.’

  ‘What, to you?’ Henry scoffed.

  ‘I think she would be a fine match for my Gregory, as she has produced two children already. Lady Elizabeth has been away from Queen Anne’s court for some time after the birth of her second child, so soon after her husband’s death.’

  ‘Lady Elizabeth is much younger than the other sister among Anne’s ladies,’ Henry replied. ‘The Lady Jane.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Lady Jane Seymour must be ten years older than her sisters. I must confess I pay little attention to the ladies in Queen Anne’s company unless I am given particular reason to judge them.’

  ‘Is she not a true beauty, though, Thomas?’

  Cromwell stopped for a moment to remember which of the three Seymour girls Henry spoke of; all he could remember was a plain girl, most pale and never with more than a few words to utter.

  ‘Lady Jane served both Katherine and now Anne. The Seymours a loyal family to the throne, ready to serve, with fine minds and ready courage.’

  Cromwell remained silent. Yes, Edward Seymour was a fine enough man, though Cromwell thought him a little boring; Cromwell threw the best parties in the court, so when a man like Seymour stood quietly during festivities, Cromwell took little notice.

  ‘Lady Jane is not tall, but she is one of the finest ladies I have ever laid eyes upon,’ Henry continued to touch upon this woman. ‘Jane is a woman of charm, not in just appearance, but also of character. Jane is simple and chaste, so gentle, almost meek. And she comes from fine stock, one of ten children.’

  At once Cromwell saw the situation; while dining at Wulf Hall with an old friend, Henry noticed Jane Seymour, who had been at court for at least five years, mayhap even ten years. Jane was well enough to be a suitable as a mistress, for she was quiet and discreet. But no man had married her in all the time at court, so she was no doubt dull like her brother.

  ‘As you say, Your Majesty, a fine, chaste woman.’

  Henry sat up straight in his chair and looked Cromwell in the eye. ‘I like Lady Jane very well, Thomas. How could I be so blind to such a lady for so long?’

  ‘You wish to take a new mistress now that the Queen is with child, Your Majesty?’ Cromwell asked. ‘It would be understandable…’

  ‘No, Thomas, I have Lady Worcester as a mistress. I mean not to take Jane as a mistress. What can be made can be unmade, do you not think?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Thomas, you are the Queenmaker, I know they call you the Queenmaker behind your back…’

  ‘Amongst other names, Your Majesty.’

  Henry laughed once more, and Cromwell noticed the change in the King’s character. Now Henry sat upright, his eyes bright again. Oh no, could it be love? Cromwell had a country to run, never mind Henry’s constant need for romance.

  ‘If I were to leave Anne, I would need to go back to Katherine, would I not?’

  Cromwell broke out into a coughing fit; he could not discern why, probably the shock of the question. Henry looked so worried he poured Cromwell wine and handed it to him.

  ‘Your Majesty, I suppose that would be true,’ Cromwell croaked after taking a sip. ‘You could leave Anne and return to Katherine, claiming you were deferring back to Rome.’

  ‘I will not defer to any person, for I am a king!’

  ‘Precisely, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Could I take a new wife, someone like the fertile Lady Jane, if I were to leave Anne?’

  ‘Leave Queen Anne?’ Cromwell cried. ‘You have a woman, whom you love, carrying your child and she is your legal wife. The precious son you crave is in Anne right now.’

  ‘Yet she has produced nothing but a girl and dead sons, Thomas!’

  ‘As has Frescobaldi, but I would not set her aside.’

  ‘You are not the King of England!’ Henry boomed. He paused and regained his posture again, leaving Cromwell ever more worried for his own safety. ‘Of course, if Anne were to give me a healthy son, I would honour her as my wife for all of my days. But she has not yet done that.’

  ‘Then perchance all you can do for now is wait, Your Majesty. Care for Anne, nurture her health as the child blooms.’

  ‘And the Lady Jane? She is too virtuous to be a mistress.’

  ‘Lady Jane can continue to serve Queen Anne, as a mark of her good character,’ Cromwell bluffed. Now he unfurled the letter in his fingers. ‘Your Majesty, I come bearing a letter from the Duchess of Suffolk.’

  ‘Young Catherine?’ Henry asked. ‘What has Charles done to her now? With child again? He married a girl so young she would have been in the nursery with his sons he got on my sister, had they lived.’

  ‘Duchess Catherine writes on behalf of her mother, Lady Maria. She is still the closest friend to the Dowager Princess Katherine.’ Cromwell paused and waited to see Henry’s response to hearing of his last wife and her best friend. Henry’s face clouded, but he held his tongue. ‘Lady Maria requests permission to visit Lady Katherine at Kimbolton Castle.’

  ‘I have denied Katherine her closest ally for years, why should I change now?’

  ‘Because Lady Maria believes that Katherine is desperately ill, Your Majesty. They believe Katherine’s health to be failing.’

  ‘Katherine’s health has been failing for years,’ Henry scoffed. ‘I suppose my daughter Mary will seek to see her mother also?’

  ‘Perchance, Your Majesty, if Katherine were to die…’

  Henry’s eyes met Cromwell. Henry could be free from the shadow of the great Katherine of Aragon. He had known her since she married Prince Arthur five and thirty years past and been an enemy for the last ten years.

  ‘You think I should a
llow Katherine to see the Baroness in her final months of life?’

  ‘It could do no harm. Besides, if Katherine were to fail now, then the threat of war with Emperor Charles would be removed forever, and you could form an alliance with Rome as needed.’ The sooner that Cromwell made an alliance, the sooner Nicòla would get her annulment.

  ‘It could be a trap, Thomas. No, Lady Maria may not see Katherine, nor any person else if they ask. My daughter, Mary, may not see her mother, even if she is to die. I cannot trust any person. Katherine and Mary could plot against me. If they do not accept Anne was my queen, they cannot speak nor write to one another.’

  Cromwell knew both women had secret letters sent between them but thought not of it. ‘As you wish, Your Majesty.’

  ‘If Katherine meets her end and Anne delivers of a boy, I am saved, and God shall smile upon our Reformation,’ Henry said. ‘It will be nothing but good news for us in the coming new year, Thomas. Send someone to Kimbolton Castle; send your Waif. Then we shall know the truth about Katherine’s condition. If you are to be trusted, Thomas, then we can send only the Waif.’

  Cromwell nodded and raised his glass to Henry who replied with a grin. As long as Henry kept away from Jane Seymour, peace may come to the court. Cromwell had sent Nicòla to watch over Wolsey’s final hours all those years ago, and she would agree to such a trip, even if he loathed to part with her. Anything to keep the Cromwell queen on the throne.

  F

  Chapter 30 – January 1536

  even if a lye is beautiful, you still face the trouth in the end

  Kimbolton Castle, Huntingdonshire

  ‘Tis a long trip for one so delicate.’

  ‘Tis a long trip for one so old.’

  Nicòla eyed Eustace Chapuys standing in the main hall of Kimbolton Castle, some 65 miles from London. Indeed, it was a long way to ride in the grip of winter, and Nicòla was forced to miss the epiphany celebrations with her daughter. But to come face to face with Chapuys, whom she had not spoken with since punching him some nine months prior, was an added punishment.

  Chapuys sniffed at the suggestion of his advancing age. ‘I come as soon as I read Queen Katherine’s health passed beyond the point of salvation. Yet, as I have seen these past days, the Queen is in better health.’

  ‘I am glad to hear such,’ Nicòla replied, her hands still in the grip of her riding gloves. The four days ride had been hard, in poor weather, though as the secretary of Thomas Cromwell, she now travelled with a large party of guards and stayed in the best manors along the way. A far cry from the days of riding north to see the final days of Cardinal Wolsey many years ago while poor, outcast and alone.

  ‘I am to take my leave and return to London at once,’ Chapuys replied, and tugged on his fur overgown. ‘What would bring the Waif so far north? Does Cromwell want to have someone to watch the Queen’s death?’

  ‘I come at the behest of King Henry, not my master,’ Nicòla replied. ‘Secretary Cromwella would find no joy in the death of the great Katherine.’

  ‘The Queenmaker would find no joy in her death? What a preposterous notion,’ Chapuys laughed, his voice suddenly raised. ‘At last the concubine could be the true wife of Henry if Katherine were to pass.’

  ‘Queen Anne has been queen for three years. I was there in parliament when it was decided. I was there at the Convocation of Canterbury when the law was ruled valid. I was there when Henry married Anne.’

  ‘Are you to chide me for calling Katherine a queen, still?’ Chapuys mocked her. ‘Are you to run to your master and tell of how I call Katherine a queen, and not the whore? Everyone in this household calls Katherine the queen. She is the true queen.’

  ‘I care nothing for the titles you give, Ambassador,’ Nicòla replied. She pursed her lips, thin and cold from the long ride. ‘Indeed, no one cares for your thoughts.’

  Chapuys looked to argue, but paused as a woman came into the room. It was none other than Lady Maria de Salinas herself, Katherine’s great friend, the same one Cromwell denied permission to visit Kimbolton Castle not weeks ago. Nicòla bowed at once to Lady Maria, who recognised Nicòla.

  With Chapuys quickly dispatched, Lady Maria took Nicòla by the arm and began to lead her through the hallways of the cold and neglected castle. The walls and floors were bare, only a few candles dotted in rooms and halls, no fires lit. Katherine continued to live in her constant position of poverty. Nicòla could only send a little personal funds to Katherine without being caught, and clearly no amount was enough to run a household like Kimbolton.

  ‘Baroness Willoughby, I confess I did not expect to see you hither,’ Nicòla said as the women walked alone towards Katherine’s chamber.

  ‘Indeed, I am not to be hither at all. I rode as hard as I could in this weather and lied that I was thrown from my horse on the journey. I begged for shelter and a place to rest after my accident, and they let me in through the servant’s entrance. Once inside I was able to come to Katherine’s side and revealed my appearance.’

  ‘And Queen Katherine? Ambassador Chapuys tells me that she is much recovered.’

  ‘Katherine has been dreadfully unwell, but yes, God has smiled upon her these last days. Indeed, Katherine has eaten food and kept it down, something not done for some time. She has sat up a few times, and even let out a little laugh. The Bishop of Llandaff is within, in case Katherine needs to take confession, and her will has been readied, and Katherine wrote a beautiful letter to the Princess Mary. I swear Katherine shall go to her death claiming she is England’s true queen. I know your Cromwell thinks not.’

  ‘That matter is not what I come to discuss, but to report on Katherine’s health directly to Henry. His Majesty wanted no official party sent hither, indeed no one knows of my trip, other than my master. King Henry shall not believe any words from Chapuys.’

  ‘The Ambassador loves Katherine, and has even more love for Mary, and yet he does not stop with the gossip!’ Lady Maria groaned. ‘But alas, his presence did help Katherine’s spirits these last days. Chapuys left only after making Bishop Jorge swear he would get a deathbed confession about whether Katherine ever consummated her marriage to Arthur.’

  ‘Ever to the last, Katherine’s life must be pulled apart to satisfy the frail affairs of men,’ Nicòla mused.

  ‘Quite right, Mr. Frescobaldi.’ Lady Maria stopped at a door and pushed it open to reveal a bedroom for Nicòla’s use. ‘I must confess, I did hear the Duke of Florence seeks an annulment to remarry.’

  ‘Yes, it be true, and much to my sister’s relief,’ Nicòla smiled to Lady Maria, who smiled in return. Some women had a lifetime of experience and did not question Nicòla or her appearance.

  ‘Please, Mr. Frescobaldi, do take your rest. Katherine sleeps at peace for now, and I dread to wake her, for peaceful slumber evades Her Majesty many days and nights.’

  Darkness fell over Kimbolton before Nicòla woke in the bed; all afternoon had passed. She jumped awake, lost in unfamiliar surrounds, her eyes scanning the dim room, only lit by a dying fire in the grate. Sounds shuffled beyond the door; someone must have knocked, startling Nicòla from her treasured rest.

  A young lady-in-waiting stood with her hands clasped when Nicòla opened the bedroom door, her clean clothes all ruffled by her sleep.

  ‘Forgive me, Mr. Frescobaldi,’ she said, and Nicòla recognised her as Elizabeth Darrell, the same lady-in-waiting she met on the last trip to Queen Katherine. Thomas Wyatt spoke of Lady Elizabeth often, the latest object of his affections.

  ‘Pray speak, what be the time?’ Nicòla mumbled as she shook herself awake.

  ‘Shortly after midnight,’ Lady Elizabeth replied. ‘The household is much quietened at present, but alas, Queen Katherine has taken a turn. Sorry, I presuppose I am not to call her a queen in your presence.’

  ‘Forget the titles imposed by kings, Lady Elizabeth. Please, show me to the Queen at once.’

  The pair hurried along a freezing hallway and the bedroom door opened
to quite a sight. There slept the magnificent Queen Katherine, her long grey hair waving upon soft pillows as her face sat at rest. But her complexion – far from the pale beauty of years gone by, now Katherine appeared gaunt, her skin a mere blanket over bone. Her lips were almost blue in colour, and her hands poked out through white sleeves, appearing like the curled claws of a dead bird.

  The room was by no means empty; around the room stood Katherine’s last few faithful attendants, all in a state of distress. Lady Maria sat upon the bed next to her friend of forty years, a weak smile acknowledging Nicòla’s arrival.

  ‘I must say sorry for my absence,’ Nicòla said as she crept closer to the enormous bed.

  ‘Queen Katherine has been most comfortable and at peace for the day and into the evening,’ Lady Maria said from the side of the bed. ‘She has only recently woken and complained of pain.’

  The Bishop approached Nicòla with a worn expression. ‘I am Jorge de Athequa, Bishop of Llandaff, and Queen Katherine’s confessor. Her Majesty requested you be present while she receives communion.’

  ‘Now?’ Nicòla whispered as she saw Katherine’s eyelashes flutters against her cheeks. ‘You mean to hold communion outside of daylight hours?’

  ‘I know it is forbidden; however, I fear Her Majesty will not survive until the break of day.’

  ‘What changed?’ Nicòla asked as Katherine opened her pale blue eyes. ‘I was informed of recovery.’

  Katherine’s tired eyes took in the people around the room as she turned her head on her pillows. She attempted a weak smile to Lady Maria on the bed, and then she looked upon Nicòla. Katherine moved her dry lips and Nicòla knelt at the bedside.

  ‘Frescobaldi, I am relieved it is you who was sent by His Majesty, my husband,’ Katherine whispered as she looked Nicòla right in the eye. ‘I knew he would not let me die without his watchful eye upon me.’