Fatal Throne_The Wives of Henry VIII Tell All

by M. T. Anderson

  Before I could respond, the King and Wriothesley joined us. Gardiner took his leave with a slight bow. “I look forward to hearing more of your ideas, Your Highness.”

  “Oh, yes, you will both be quite impressed. My Kate is brilliant!” Henry beamed. I leaned under my husband’s protective arm and smiled at them serenely.

  So long as I stood close to Henry, I knew Wriothesley and Gardiner could not touch me.

  As we strolled to the manor in the glow of the late-afternoon sun, Henry reached for my hand to kiss it. “What an enjoyable day, Kate.”

  “Have I truly pleased you, sire? If so, I wonder if I may ask two favours.”

  “What? You don’t have enough jewels, sweetheart?” Henry’s blue eyes narrowed.

  “It’s nothing like that, husband!” I laughed and squeezed his arm. “No, it’s simply that I hope you’ll allow me to help guide the education of Edward, and Elizabeth, too. Perhaps we could discuss suitable tutors together.”

  “Why, yes, of course. And the second matter, Kate?”

  I took a breath. “I…I wonder, Henry if we might have all three with us for the holidays for a family Christmas.” I knew that while Mary had rooms at court, Edward and Elizabeth lived in separate households, under the care of others entrusted with their upbringing.

  “A family Christmas,” Henry repeated. “So you sincerely desire to be their stepmother, Kate?”

  I nodded. “My fondest wish is to bear you a son someday. But I also pledge myself to being a loving mother to all three of the royal children.”

  “And so you shall be!” Henry squeezed my hand and teased, “And perhaps, wife, we can turn our attention tonight to the prospect of your becoming a mother.”

  I laughed—and, to my surprise, it was a genuine laugh.

  * * *

  —

  By the time we returned to court in late fall, I’d lost my early fears of Henry—and of being Queen. I felt freer to share my opinions with my husband, and to speak my mind on the role of universities, foreign affairs, the education of his children—and, of course, religion.

  I also began to make my own mark on Hampton Court. For the public reception room, I designed an elaborate mantel and six gorgeously painted panels incorporating my initials. And, rather than gossip, I established debate, learning, and discussion as the norm in my household.

  “You look lovely tonight, Kate. Those milk baths you take certainly do seem to make your skin glow,” said Nan, about six months after my marriage. Henry wasn’t well and had left me in charge of entertaining a Spanish duke.

  Nan arranged the folds of cloth behind me. “This gown of crimson satin and brocade becomes you. But be careful not to trip on the long train.”

  I looked at my sister and grinned. “I would have stumbled long before this without you, dearest Nan. How can I thank you?”

  Nan reached over my elaborate costume to whisper in my ear. “Just keep the King happy, Kate. And stay alive.”

  A WELL-MANAGED BOLDNESS

  Summer 1544

  A well-managed boldness is the virtue of monarchical courts…

  —William Parr, Lord Horton, Kateryn Parr’s uncle

  “Kate, I have something to ask you,” said Henry one evening as we sat on a bench in the gardens of Hampton Court. “And I think it is something that will please you.”

  “You know my motto, sire: ‘To be useful in all I do.’ ” I smiled and put my book in my lap. The scent of roses drifted on a light breeze. The daffodils were long past, but I realized we were not far from where Nan and I had been the previous spring. How much had changed!

  My husband and I were alone, a rare occurrence of late. Whenever we were together, Wriothesley and Gardiner seemed to be underfoot. Plotting, I thought. Those two are always plotting.

  In addition, Henry had been consumed by an escalation in conflicts between England and our neighbours. He was determined to control Scotland, and when France gave aid to the Scots, he had decided to retaliate and capture the French city of Boulogne. The prospect of riding off to battle again had energized him.

  “Kate, I’d like you to be in charge—to serve as regent—while I am away in France this summer,” Henry announced. His blue eyes twinkled: He knew this request would delight me.

  I gasped and Henry grinned, showing me a glimpse of the young, vibrant leader he must once have been. “Now, sweetheart, don’t get too excited. The campaign shouldn’t take more than the summer, and I will want my throne back when I return,” he teased. “But you have a sound head on your shoulders, and good men here to advise you. I won’t worry at all.”

  “Husband, it is the highest honour you could have bestowed on me,” I said. “And I promise to be worthy.”

  I admit I was excited by the prospect of being in charge of all England. Though it was also a serious responsibility, since part of my duties would be to keep the country free of invaders.

  But my first act as regent had nothing to do with politics. While the younger children usually lived with their guardians and households away from court, I brought Elizabeth and Edward to Hampton Court Palace for the summer. I had a particular reason for doing so.

  “Prince Edward has been trained to rule since birth,” I told Nan and Cat one evening as we strolled through the gardens, with Gardiner sniffing at our heels. “But now that Parliament has passed a new Act of Succession, it’s possible that Mary and Elizabeth could sit on the throne someday.”

  “Does Henry know you are bringing all three children here?” asked Nan.

  “Yes, I told him I would watch over them while he is gone.”

  “But I expect you didn’t tell him exactly why you’re so keen to have the girls with you,” said Cat. “And then there is Gardiner.”

  Her spaniel paused in his exploration of a hedge and barked at hearing his name.

  “What about Gardiner?” I whispered.

  “I heard that when the King proposed making you regent, Gardiner spoke against it. He does not like your growing influence with Henry. And I am sure he is troubled by the prospect that you might ‘infect’ the royal children with your reform-minded religious views.”

  “Let him stew.” I shrugged. “Clearly, my husband trusts me in all things. And the fact is, Henry’s daughters have never seen a woman at the helm before. I want them to see one now.”

  And so they would.

  Mary and Elizabeth watched as I read dispatches, listened to advisors, and then made my own decisions. They saw me give orders—orders that sometimes seemed to anger the men around me—especially Thomas Wriothesley and Bishop Gardiner.

  When Henry wrote asking for two thousand spades, shovels, and mattocks for use in digging trenches for the assault, I announced to my advisors that I would arrange for a man in my household, Sir Robert Tyrwhitt, to get the tools made and loaded onto vessels.

  “Are you sure Your Majesty wishes to be troubled by this matter?” Gardiner asked, casting a glance at Wriothesley from his deeply hooded eyes.

  “I would be happy to handle this for you,” added Wriothesley.

  “Gentlemen, the King entrusted me with this task, and I am quite capable of seeing that it is done to his satisfaction,” I told them firmly.

  “But—” began Gardiner.

  “That is the end of the matter, Bishop,” I reprimanded him. “Let us now take up the next piece of business.”

  Bishop Gardiner flushed with embarrassment.

  Later, I mentioned the incident to Nan. “Perhaps you should have tried to flatter him,” she said with a frown.

  * * *

  —

  Just as I predicted, in September the King returned to England victorious. After he landed, I set out for Kent without the children. I wanted to meet him on his journey to London to assure him the realm was at peace.

  As we parted, Elizabeth gave me a rare hug. She was just eleven, bright as an autumn day, with lively brown eyes and burnished red-gold hair. “Someday, I want to be a Queen like you, Mother,” she
whispered.

  “We can’t know the future, Elizabeth,” I replied softly. “But if it’s God will that you sit on the throne, it won’t be merely for a short time as regent. It will be your life’s work.”

  After that, I signed no more letters as Kateryn the Queen Regent. But I didn’t forget the thrill of action, the self-confidence I’d gained in my own abilities—and my conviction that in Henry’s eyes, I could do no wrong.

  It would prove to be a dangerous mistake.

  SO FAR TO FALL

  1545–1546

  When we were girls, Nan and I often stayed with Uncle William’s family. Our four girl cousins kept dogs, horses, pet birds, and cats. I especially recall a kitten named Ginger that loved climbing trees. Claws outstretched, she’d venture higher and higher, until suddenly she’d look down and wail piteously.

  In the year after I served as regent, I became a bit like Ginger. I forgot how far I was from solid ground—and just how far I could fall. Instead, I climbed higher.

  I convinced Henry to increase his support for universities, and continued to make my household a centre for learning and religious studies. My ladies and I read Scriptures aloud, debating their meaning and their role in our lives.

  And, like the headstrong, overconfident Ginger, I sometimes forgot myself, chasing after ideas and enjoying the thrill of debate when I was with Henry and his advisors. I was full of my own power, secure in the knowledge that my husband loved me not just for my body, but also for my mind.

  And then I climbed even higher still: I began to write.

  Nan came upon me in my privy chamber on the very afternoon I’d ordered more parchment. Like a cat presented with a bowl of cream, I was almost purring with contentment.

  She cocked her head and looked at me quizzically. “Whatever are you doing, Kate, with that foolish smile on your face?”

  “I’ve begun a great project, Nan,” I began, unable to contain my excitement. “Now that I am better at both Latin and Greek, I shall publish a book: my own translations of psalms and prayers into English. All of Henry’s people should be able to read the Word of God in their own language.

  “And if this goes well, I just may write a book containing my own prayers and reflections on how to follow the Word of God.”

  “Translating Scripture may be acceptable, but publishing your own prayers?” Nan’s face grew pale. “Does Henry know?”

  I brushed her qualms aside. “No, but we often discuss Scriptures when we are together. I’m sure he will be proud to have such an accomplished and educated Queen.”

  I was trying not to think about a remark Bishop Gardiner had recently made. He and Wriothesley had been in Henry’s rooms with me when the discussion turned to the importance of having the Bible available in English.

  “I allowed it so that citizens might read the Word of God directly,” Henry said. “But now I hear they are arguing about the meaning of Scriptures on the streets, and even in taverns.”

  “Surely, sire, that is a good thing!” I exclaimed. “For how are your people to understand religion if they do not debate and discuss its meaning?”

  Gardiner admonished me in a stern voice. “The people should look to their King and bishops to understand religion, Your Highness.”

  “But—” I began, eager to engage in the argument.

  And then Henry cut me off. “Exactly right, Bishop, exactly right,” he declared in a loud, commanding tone. He glared at me and waved a swollen hand in my direction. “Kate, it is better if you leave us now. My leg pains me and I must rest.”

  Now I shook off the memory, assuring Nan, “Remember, Henry made me regent. I have his full trust and confidence.”

  * * *

  —

  Perhaps I was only reassuring myself. Perhaps I should have realized that there were limits to Henry’s admiration and tolerance of a strong, capable woman. And perhaps I should have also realized I was always being compared to another Queen, an ideal wife who had been gentle and self-effacing.

  For soon after that incident, Henry invited me to see a new painting he’d commissioned. I loved art and smiled in anticipation as I entered the gallery on the King’s arm.

  “Isn’t it marvellous?” he cried. “It’s a good likeness of the Prince, don’t you agree?”

  I managed to stammer, “It…it is a memorable portrait of your dynasty, sire.”

  “Yes, indeed! You are transfixed, are you not?”

  “Entirely.” I was, though not for the reason he thought.

  The large, magnificent painting depicted Henry seated under a canopy rich with symbols of his reign, his arm draped across young Edward’s shoulders. Mary stood on the far right, Elizabeth on the left. Both seemed barely in the picture.

  And seated demurely at the King’s side was his Queen.

  But it wasn’t me, his living wife, who had brought him closer to his children. Not me, whom he had named regent. Not me, his intellectual equal. Not me. Not me.

  “Dear Jane. The artist has captured her well,” Henry whispered fondly with a sigh, placing a hand on his heart.

  Dear Jane.

  * * *

  —

  In November of 1545, I published my own translation into English of Latin prayers, and hoped that Henry would be proud. To display her own skill at languages, Princess Elizabeth translated my book from English into Italian and French.

  “I shall present it to Father for a New Year’s gift,” she told me, showing me her work. Her face had lost that haunted look I’d first perceived at my wedding. “Mother, do you think he will be pleased?”

  “He’ll be delighted,” I told her, though I doubted Elizabeth would ever receive the love she craved from her father.

  I felt sure Henry could never look at Elizabeth without recalling her mother, Anne Boleyn. He couldn’t truly see that Elizabeth was already brilliant, driven, and ambitious—just like him.

  Henry would never realize that Elizabeth was his true heir.

  * * *

  —

  The truth is that Henry never commented on Elizabeth’s gift—or, indeed, my own book. As the new year of 1546 turned to spring, Henry’s leg grew worse than ever; he was often in pain. We were together less frequently, and rarely alone. His advisors and councillors clung to him like leeches.

  One evening, the discussion in the King’s room turned to a passage in the Bible. I listened for a while, and gave my opinion, which none of the men seemed to hear—not even my husband.

  Henry spoke again. Frustrated at being ignored, I blurted out, “But, sire, if you read this Scripture more carefully, I think you will see that my interpretation is correct.”

  Henry’s face turned red. I caught a gleam in Gardiner’s hooded eyes.

  Dr. Thomas Wendy, the king’s physician, whom I counted as a friend, rose quickly. “I…I think it is time for His Majesty’s medicine and for me to dress his leg. Perhaps, Your Highness, you should retire.”

  Hastily, I stood and planted a kiss on Henry’s brow. “Of course. Sleep well, husband.”

  He did not reply. As I left the room, I felt his cold, pale eyes boring into my back, and I shivered under his stern gaze.

  THEY LEAP AT ME LIKE DOGS

  Summer 1546

  They leap at me as it were so many dogs…The companies of the wicked bark at me.

  —Kateryn Parr

  When the storm broke, it was violent. One afternoon, a few days later, while Nan, Cat, and I were reading by the window of my privy chamber, a young servant appeared in the doorway.

  I beckoned the boy close. “You assist the court physician, Dr. Wendy, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, my name is Gregory.” He reached into his doublet.

  For a moment I thought he might have found a wounded bird for me to care for, but instead, he pulled out a folded parchment. “Dr. Wendy asked me to show this to you.”

  “Such a mystery!” I said lightly, reaching for the paper. After scanning the words, I gave it back, hoping the bo
y didn’t notice my shaking hand. “Please bid your master to come here.”

  “Kate, what is it?” Nan asked when he had gone.

  “It’s a warrant for my arrest,” I said. “And it’s been signed by the King.”

  We waited in shocked silence for Dr. Wendy. For some reason, my thoughts kept straying back to that wild, dark night when I had survived a mob of men who had threatened my life. Steadiness saved me then, it will save me now, I told myself.

  My voice was calm when I greeted the doctor. “Let me be frank, sir. I believe my husband is playing at some game, though I don’t understand it. What do you know about this business?”

  Dr. Wendy cast a glance over his shoulder at Nan and Cat.

  “You may speak openly,” I assured him.

  “Your Highness, it began the recent evening after…after you and the King had a heated debate.”

  I nodded. “Go on.”

  “Uh, yes…well, after you left, King Henry complained to Bishop Gardiner that it seemed to him you were becoming increasingly…”

  “Outspoken and bold?” Nan suggested.

  “Just so.” Dr. Wendy nodded, looking relieved he hadn’t had to speak the words himself. “The King grumbled that it was a fine thing to have his own wife trying to teach him and taking part in discussions so vigourously.”

  “We can imagine what happened next,” put in Nan. “That one complaint was all Gardiner needed to take the next step. He must have convinced the King that you should be investigated. He wants to prove that you are taking reforms too far, beyond what is allowed.” Nan began to pace, as her logical mind worked out the cause and effect. “And, of course, the timing is perfect. Gardiner wants to shore up his own power.”

  “What do you mean, sister?”

  “Oh, Kate, take your eyes from your books and look around! The King’s health has been declining—his leg is poisoning his entire body. Gardiner is looking ahead to what will happen after he dies. That snake wants to discredit you and other reformers now, to strengthen his conservative faction at court.”