by J P Ceark
The morning sky brightened into noon and then darkened into evening. Various tournaments came to an end throughout the day and winners were being celebrated.
Queen Katherine presented prizes at the final feast, including to those men who had excelled at the joust. William Carey was one such man. Mary viewed his triumph with false merriment. Queen Katherine looked directly upon her and smiled with warmth before returning her gaze to William.
‘Does married life suit you?’ Anne asked.
Mary took a sip of wine before answering, ‘Well enough.’
‘You still think on him,’ Anne whispered while looking in the direction of the French King.
‘It’s foolish, I know.’
‘Be thankful you have been returned to respectability.’
‘Aye,’ Mary spoke out loud but inwardly thought on her unhappiness.
The musicians began to quicken the tune and people gathered around to dance or observe. Henry and Francis took to the centre, dancing, hopping about one another, making a scene of highly comical significance. The impression given was that the pair were good friends and able to be foolish in each other’s company, but Katherine’s relaxed satisfaction revealed something else — her own private victory over Francis. Henry had arranged to meet with her nephew and to discuss a Spanish alliance.
To signify the end of the evening and of the meeting between the two courts, all the ladies of each court lined up to curtsey to the kings. Mary stood apprehensively awaiting Francis’ gaze; she had waited for this moment since she first arrived. She kept her eyes low, daring not to glance up until King Francis went to engage her.
‘Lovely Mary Carey,’ King Henry introduced her to him.
‘Once Boleyn,’ Francis remembered. ‘Your spirited nature is missed at my court. I was heartbroken when you left. I cried for days …’ he continued to tease and then placed a kiss on each cheek.
‘Is this why my ambassador has achieved so much? It is thanks to his beautiful daughter. Aye, I understand,’ Henry chuckled while keeping his voice low, so not to embarrass her. ‘She is Madam Carey now. A good woman of faithful heart,’ he pressed on Francis but noted her blushes.
‘Pity,’ replied Francis, making Henry roar with laughter. But they moved away to kiss the next girl and Mary could only smile on as if unknowing of their meaning.
She held onto her display of empty happiness, but inside her heart had broken. Francis had not lingered on their memories as she had. She expected some recognition, a momentary look between them that signified a bond, but none was there. No feeling of loss, remorse or disappointment.
It crushed her naïve reality, the desolate emotions weakening her. She fought to conceal it, her foolish infatuation, her damaged vanity.
March 1539
Hever Castle
The sun had moved from one side of the window to the other as the day wore on. Thomas had busied himself with accounts and prayer. It had been much later in the day when he heard the approach of horses stampeding into the courtyard. With sudden excitement he went to get out of his chair to witness the arrival of whoever came. His legs, however, immediately buckled beneath him. He collapsed on the tiled floor, his hands and hip bruised.
‘Ah!’ Thomas yelled out. Robson was away from him, in the courtyard. He laid there waiting for assistance. He stared up, out through the window at the sky and prayed once more. He was too pragmatic to pity his own decline.
‘Thomas!’ shouted Cranmer as he appeared in the room and viewed his old friend half-dead on his back.
‘I thought the view better from here,’ he explained weakly.
‘Aye,’ nodded Cranmer while he took his friend’s weight, aiding him back into his tapestry chair decorated with fine gold leaf, one of a few items remaining at Hever. ‘Dr Butts is due sometime between today and tomorrow. Robson has reassured me,’ Cranmer explained, but Thomas seemed disinterested. ‘I have also communicated with your daughter, Mary,’ Cranmer began again, but Thomas sniffed with indifference. ‘She is coming to Greenwich to meet me but has expressed her desire to see you.’
‘No, I won’t have her distressing me. I wish not to see her! Some blame me for Anne’s ambition but she too had her guilt.’
Cranmer said nothing and let the silence linger.
‘I knew nothing of the King’s interest in her. I had not noticed his sly glances nor his insistence she attend his hunting parties or masquerades. If my brother-in-law had consulted me, Mary would never have been used as she was.’
‘So Mary isn’t initially to blame?’
‘She was his pawn … but I knew none of it … don’t condemn me as others have!’ he shouted with real anger. ‘Mary had her own resentments, I cannot be held responsible! I cannot, Cranmer! She blamed me for her ill judgement, her weaknesses but I never encouraged any of it! I admit my mind was oft for the country’s business and our eldest son had died,’ he explained but paused to slow his breath. He remembered when his son had died, to his shame, he did not mourn. He had agreed to join the King for a meeting with the Emperor Charles and that took precedence. Elizabeth had buried their son alone. ‘I did what I thought best, I fear no judgement!’
‘What of your own judgement? The burden you carry within yourself?’ Cranmer urged.
‘I’ve fought every sabotaging thought. I know what my sins are, I live with it, ‘tis my cross to bear.’
Cranmer refused to bestow religious relinquishing of guilt. ‘Thomas, you exist in the past and have done these last three years.’ He dropped his head with defeat and then whispered, ‘Redemption is in faith alone, my friend. Search yourself to find truth, responsibility, and then find remorse.’
‘I need no redemption,’ he said defiantly. ‘We’ve been through this. No, I have asked you here for another purpose, dear Cranmer.’ He changed subject with a softening of his voice. ‘Find another family for Robson to serve? You remember his loyalty to me … that night. I owe him a debt of gratitude, to secure him a new position is all I can think in way of thanks.’
‘Is that all?’ Cranmer asked.
‘It matters to me, I wouldn’t ask otherwise.’
Cranmer nodded. ‘Rest assured, it’ll be done.’
June 1520
Calais
‘My Lord,’ spoke Elizabeth, brightening a little on seeing her husband in the Queen’s presence chamber while the other women mingled and chatted in groups.
‘Elizabeth … where is Her Majesty?’ Thomas looked about him with bewilderment.
‘She is in council with the Cardinal,’ Elizabeth explained.
‘Aye?’ Thomas walked over to the door, looking about him while others were diverted with conversation. He could hear clearly what was being spoken behind it.
He heard the voice of Queen Katherine: ‘Should my nephew agree to marry my Mary, their destiny shall be a glorious one. Glorious for England as well, to rule an Empire.’
‘I believe it is in England’s best interest to be of the strongest alliance with the Hapsburg Empire, Your Majesty. Please be in no doubt of my devotion to a strong union between our two great realms. A secret treaty has been signed to honour our commitment to the union,’ spoke Wolsey.
‘God has made his intention clear and it is for Mary to rule with my nephew. A single Christian monarchy for Europe. Such an alliance would crush the French and lands lost to the Spanish kingdom can be gained back once more. She’ll give birth to a boy who will one day rule the largest Christian Empire known. Bringing God to all sinners and beyond. That must be His design and I must suffer for it, like the Virgin Mary who sacrificed her son. I needed to sacrifice mine.’
‘I pray for happier years ahead of you, Majesty.’
‘I can bear it, for I know God’s plan,’ she replied happily.
Pressure built in Thomas’s head. The cunning cur had moved with power beyond the Privy Council … beyond parliament. The Field of Cloth of Gold had been a failure to strengthen the French cause. He moved away with Elizabeth, his mind now
consumed with duplicity. Wolsey had purposely bankrupted the King, so not to partake an allegiance with France.
‘How is it he is above the rights of noble men? God’s blood, how has no one slain him …?’
‘Thomas, pray calm yourself and speak for what purpose you come?’
‘Silence, wife. Wait upon the moment,’ he cautioned, but then Queen Katherine appeared with Wolsey next to her.
‘Master Boleyn.’ The Cardinal looked quizzically at the ambassador. ‘What brings your presence here?’
‘I must retrieve my wife. I should return her later,’ he explained to the Queen.
‘Very well, do you wish for Mary as well?’ Katherine asked while looking in the direction of his pretty daughter occupied with Jane.
‘This matter concerns my wife alone,’ he explained while glancing at Mary, acknowledging her briefly. He took Elizabeth by the arm and led her away.
* * *
She waited until Thomas led her back to their rented rooms in the town where they had been resting the last few days. ‘My Lord, I now grow concerned,’ she began while searching his face for information.
‘As well you should,’ he spoke softly, taking one of her hands in his. ‘I received word from Hever, this afternoon. Thomas died two days ago,’ he spoke while regarding her, the sudden announcement rendering her motionless. ‘Elizabeth,’ Thomas spoke, unsure if she would speak again.
‘You went to the door,’ she realised.
‘Sorry?’ he questioned.
‘The Queen’s door … you knew of the death of our son but you cared more for state business?’
‘It took me by surprise, curiosity got the better of me and I must accompany the King when he goes to meet the Emperor. I was … I cannot make Thomas live!’ he suddenly yelled.
‘Our son is dead!’ she shouted. ‘And you distract yourself with state affairs and intrigue but I must go home to bury our son!’
‘I grieved for him when he first got ill, I knew he would not outlive us. God’s blood, woman! What am I supposed to do?’
‘Show something relating to human bereavement … With every one of my failed pregnancies, your relief was sickening to me! I said nothing of your empty emotion but inside I was sickened by you! Your only concern was the burden upon your purse!’
‘You think because I do not fall about myself, that I do not drop to my knees and wail like a lunatic, that somehow I am devoid of hurt? Never judge me! Never think to know me!’ He glared at her but soon retreated to a table in order to read through some accounts for funeral payments.
‘Is this another example of your care for money alone?’ Elizabeth asked, then fell to the ground, sobbing.
‘I made a vow to be a husband of merit, a vow I’ve honoured with every credible characteristic I could possess. Never have I given you fear of financial insecurity, never threatened you, been discourteous or demanding. If fault is to be found within me then, aye, perhaps I’m not sentimental, but my promise was never to be so.’
She wouldn’t look at him while he spoke or when he sat at the table to view his accounts.
Thomas viewed his wife’s defeated body and walked towards his travelling chest. He counted out some coins and placed them in a leather pouch.
‘Here.’ He dropped the bag in front of her eyes, landing on the floor with an unpleasant chime. ‘For the burial,’ he explained.
March 1539
Calais
William manoeuvred the two mules onto the road. He then went to touch Mary’s face tenderly, but she pulled away, aware of Amy and Catherine staring with impatience.
‘Should you have need of me, send a messenger. Forget the fee — I’ll be with you as soon as you need me,’ he promised with affection.
‘You’re a man of faultless character, I’ll always bless my fortune … I fear Father’s generosity may come with stipulations—’
‘Enough! Quit this burden of blame! You didn’t ruin me … nothing your father can offer will be enough for us to change our course.’ He stopped short of saying her father had actually ruined her and he could never feel sorrow for an action that had brought him joy. ‘Come along.’ He helped her into the saddle.
Amy had seated herself on the mule and waited beside her mistress.
Mary waved her husband adieu and moved in her seat to be more comfortable. ‘It’ll be a short ride and then we’re at the port of Calais,’ she reassured her.
‘I can’t wait to go to court; never did I think that I would see a home of a king.’
Mary smiled and put her arm around the young girl, squeezing her tight. ‘There is nothing sadder in life than to be born royal, pity our King. For we can reinvent ourselves but he is forever cursed with error of judgement, forever reviled. There’ll never be any escape for him, his mistake will mark him always.’
‘Surely though to see the many candles burn and the food in abundance, it’s a fortune anyone would die for?’
‘I suppose when you live in an environment for a long time, you see more of its faults than its privileges. I am happier now, with my cottage and my market days, than I ever was at court.’
The mules had moved into a steady pace and Mary was pleased to speak, as if to unburden her guilt at giving up a life full of security and pleasure.
‘What was it like to live in a palace?’
‘As you imagined, every luxury never far from your fingertips, excitement and folly. But there are powerful causes at play. If someone is of benefit, they will paint it as if they’re doing you the favour, when their motives are solely to advance themselves.’
‘Is that what happened to you?’
‘Aye, and from the very people I thought to trust — my family.’
Twelfth Night 1520
Greenwich Palace
The Great Chamber was aglow with candlelight. Tables were laid with pies, goose, swan, pigeon, jugged hare, game, wild fowl and capons. Most were glazed with honey, spiced heavily and decorated. Huge towers of marchpane decorated in gold leaf rested in the centre of the benches. King Henry and Queen Katherine resided at the top table; Princess Mary and Cardinal Wolsey, equal in status, sat either side of them.
The Duke of Norfolk walked over to his niece and forced a place for himself, though it was far below his own status. ‘Niece, well met.’
‘Uncle Howard.’ Her face was a picture of concern.
‘Dear niece, fear not, I thought you looked unwell, would you like assistance?’
She hesitated but admitted, ‘I do feel unwell, Uncle … but William will aid me.’
‘Ah, he is occupied with the King, come along with me.’
Surrey glanced towards the King and noticed how the King’s eyes lingered on Mary. He raised his chalice to Henry. Mary viewed the pleasantry without interest.
‘I should ask his permission before I leave,’ she reasoned while viewing her husband from a far.
‘Aye, very well,’ Surrey replied, frowning. He kept a grip of her arm and dragged her towards William. ‘Your wife complains of ill health,’ he spoke sternly to William.
‘Aye, what of it?’ William replied in the same hard tone.
‘I note her fullness, boy!’
William took Mary by the arm. He gave a slight bow to the Duke out of courtesy but spoke no more on the matter. He escorted Mary out of the hall. An instant blast of cold air revived her.
Three young servants came running past with yule logs to throw on the fire. ‘Better? Come Mary, let us return to the merriment.’
‘William, I have pain,’ she whimpered, clutching at her stomach and crouching down. ‘I think I’m pregnant.’
‘Shit!’
‘Please, I beg of you … help me.’
William’s arms came beneath her, lifting her up to be at eye level with him. He carried her through the corridors and into the rooms they occupied. There was something peculiarly comforting about seeing the servants, people she rarely considered of any worth.
‘She’ll need a midwife,’ i
nstructed one of the servants to William. ‘I’ll go.’
* * *
The pain came over in waves and delays. In her mind, Mary voiced prayers, words repeated through devotion and desperation.
‘I should return to the King,’ William said helplessly.
‘Be gone then.’ The words were cold but the tone gentle as weakness descended. She was dripping in sweat and blood was pouring from her.
The servants brought wine and linen while the midwife’s presence became known to Mary. She stared at her through a distant haze of confusion. The midwife spoke to her but fear and pain muffled all her senses, only the agony of fire and pressure could be realised.
‘Mary,’ the midwife said again, attempting to focus Mary’s attention on her. ‘The child is lost.’
Sweat still poured from her; the room was tightly sealed, as if an evil presence was about them, windows were blacked out and the fire continually stoked. A servant handed her her rosary. She held it tight, repeating the Hail Mary.
‘You’ll have to give birth to a still,’ began the midwife, ‘on my instructions …’
* * *
The recovery was rapid but Mary spent the days resting in bed by the fire. Through the night she would have some disturbing thoughts, but as she drifted between sleeping to awake, it was difficult to distinguish her dream world with actuality.
The candle was burning low, a dying flame flickering about the room. She stared at it, attempting effort to question her senses. There were voices coming from the adjacent room adding to her disorientation. She tried to hone her ear to the voices but she needed to get closer to the door.
She moved from her bed, her feet unsteady beneath her; gradually the voices became clear.
‘I did not realise you were residing at court,’ William spoke, provoking Mary to still her breath.
‘It’s a short return from Ireland. More troops and more money are needed … but that’s another matter. I come to speak to you on the matter we discussed before you wed … We had an agreement …’ Earl Surrey spoke.
