I knew that George was very worried. He saw what was happening, perhaps more clearly than I did.
A rumor was started about the Court that the King was lacking in the power to get children and that he was all but impotent.
This would madden Henry when it reached his ears. He would blame me as the one best qualified to set about such a rumor. Enemies everywhere. And so few friends.
When we heard that there was to be an alliance with the Emperor and that he had mentioned he was sending an ambassador to talk with the King and Queen, George's spirits rose.
He came to me that we might talk in private in my chamber.
“He has mentioned you,” he said. “That means he is accepting you as the Queen. It is a great step forward.”
I saw his point. Henry was wavering, but my fate did not rest on Henry's own subjects but those two powerful states of Europe—by necessity enemies of each other, and who were grappling for power. It was so important for France to accept me as Queen; and if the Emperor did also, I might be safe.
“The attitude has changed now that Katharine is dead,” said George. “He could condemn your marriage only while she lived. Now it seems he is letting his political needs override his family feeling. He needs Henry as an ally against François.”
“François has been a good friend to us for most of the time while the divorce was pending.”
“He has shown himself to be completely unreliable. The Emperor would be more stable. Moreover, he is a great general. He is the wisest ruler in Europe and he would be a better ally.”
“Then there is a glimmer of hope?”
George nodded. “I cannot believe that the King wants to go through all the trouble of divorce again.”
“He will have to, if he wants to marry Jane Seymour.”
“He must tire of her soon. If only the silly little thing would sleep with him, it would be over in a matter of weeks.”
“She's set on a crown.”
“You mean her brothers are for her. She is of a nature to be pushed this way and that.”
“So different from me. I think he looks for change.”
“It may be. But we have to stop it, Anne. And if the Emperor shows he is ready to accept you, it might well be that the King would forget Jane Seymour.”
“What of the Pope? What of the break with Rome? The Emperor will never accept that.”
“Emperors and Kings accept whatever is expedient. I think the Emperor wants an alliance with England. Religion is used by rulers. That is why there is often conflict between Church and State.”
And so we hoped.
My spirits rose—as they could so easily. We prepared entertainments for the emissaries. I even became friendly with Chapuys. I think, as usual, I reacted too vehemently, and I have no doubt now that my actions were regarded with cynicism by that wily spy.
Then our spirits drooped, for when Charles's mission arrived, Henry made it clear that I was not to be included in the discussions. Moreover, they failed. Presumably Henry would not accept Charles's terms.
Gloom returned and I felt as though I were waiting for a terrible disaster to overtake me.
George was disturbed. “But,” he said, “there is one fact that must make us rejoice. Cromwell is the most powerful man in England. He is another Wolsey, which is understandable since he was taught by the great man. It is Cromwell who will decide foreign policy; and Cromwell brought about the divorce and the break with Rome. He must support you. He cannot give way. If he does the foundations on which he has built his fortunes will collapse.”
That was a comforting thought. Our hopes were based on Cromwell.
Cromwell was indeed a clever man. He was very busy with the monasteries. A new act had been brought in to dissolve all those which had not a revenue of £200 a year, and to grant their possessions to the King. Cromwell, under the King's orders, was selling them to the gentry, which, according to Cromwell, was a way of involving them in the operation. Those who had come by reasonably priced land and building would regard the Dissolution of the Monasteries as a very worthy act.
Wolsey had fallen through the King's desire to be rid of Katharine and marry me. Cromwell could fall through my removal in favor of Jane Seymour.
I remembered how incensed Henry had been with Wolsey because he could not procure the divorce from Katharine. Would he be equally angry with Cromwell because he could not devise a plan to be rid of me?
I could imagine Henry's irritation. He had always had an affection for Wolsey and never had for Cromwell. I was sure Cromwell had to face some humiliating moments with his master at this time.
But I saw the man as my savior. He could not desert me. My fate was too closely entwined with his.
How determined was the King to marry Jane Seymour? That was the vital question. I, who understood him well, guessed that it was not that he desired Jane intensely. There were far more attractive women at Court with whom he could have found satisfaction and who would have been only too ready to please him. It was the basic desire for a son which I had failed to give him. It was his determination, his lust for power rather than for the female body. When he became set on a purpose, it must be carried through, for if it were not, it was a denial of his strength.
That was what alarmed me. But I thought: While Cromwell is in charge, I am safe.
How wrong I was, I was to learn later.
Henry was badgering Cromwell. He must bring out some plan for ridding him of me, that he might marry Jane Seymour. They had already tried a pre-contract with Northumberland. When they had brought it up before, Henry had been determined to quash it, for then he had been desperately anxious to marry me. Could it be brought up again? Possibly. But they would need something stronger than that. I guessed Henry wished it had not been brought forward before. It would have been easier to have made it important now if it had not already been examined and dismissed.
Cromwell had to find a way.
Having been on several diplomatic missions during his life, George was well aware of what was going on politically and the manner in which diplomats worked. He now understood that Cromwell wanted an alliance with the Emperor.
George heard that the emissaries had left and that Henry had rejected their terms. Cromwell had had a heated discussion with the King. The King was against an alliance with the Emperor. The man was Katharine's nephew and he had been responsible for much of the anguish which Henry had suffered during those waiting years. Cromwell wanted to put aside all good allies. The Emperor wanted the alliance; he was a strong man. We should understand each other better than we ever could the French.
Henry hated to be contradicted; he stormed at Cromwell. Cromwell did nothing for him. He had saddled him with the Queen and he could find no release for him. He wanted a son. He had to have a son. And so on…
Cromwell staged a coughing fit and called for wine. He said he had a fever. The King dismissed him and he retired to Stepney.
There he remained in bed for a whole week. Whether he really had a fever or was weighing up the position, we did not know. George thought the latter, for when he emerged he had clearly made up his mind.
I was soon to learn with what disastrous effect on me, for Cromwell was no longer my friend. He had become my bitterest enemy—purely as a matter of necessity, for Cromwell's actions were not dictated by personal feelings.
He had learned that he could not keep the King's favor while I was Queen of England; he could not bring about the treaty of friendship with the Emperor, for, as I learned later, Charles had made it clear that he would not treat with Henry while I was accepted as his wife.
Cromwell would do anything—however ruthless—to save his own skin and keep that power which he was building up for himself.
The year was advancing. It would soon be May—a lovely month, with the flowers bursting forth—buttercups and dandelions in the fields, ladysmocks and cuckoo flowers on the river banks. One's spirits must rise with the May sunshine.
The first
hint of alarm had come when May was almost on us and I noticed that Mark Smeaton was missing. I asked one of the women where he was. She replied that she did not know. She had seen him the previous day and he had seemed rather excited.
“Some secret,” I said. “Do you think he has a mistress?”
“Mark has no eyes for any but you, Madam,” was the reply.
I shrugged my shoulders. “That is just because I have favored him.”
“He has a romantic heart. He is Your Grace's slave.”
“Tell him when he returns that I want to know the reason for his absence.”
Mark did not return.
It was another of the women who gave me the news; and I began to feel a faint alarm.
“He was very proud yesterday, Madam. He had an invitation to dine.”
“To dine? With whom?”
“With Master Cromwell, Madam.”
I was astounded. The great Cromwell inviting a humble musician to dine!
What could it mean? Mark should have told me. I wanted to see George at once to tell him what had happened.
It was the first of May—two days after the disappearance of Mark Smeaton. He had not returned to the Court and I was full of misgiving.
But this was May Day—a very special occasion, a Court festival which had always been observed with a spectacular show of jousting.
I had not been able to talk to George or tell him of Mark's disappearance but I should see him today, for he would be one of the chief challengers in the tournament; and Norris was to lead the defenders.
I was still the Queen and must be at the ceremony beside the King, so I took my place in the loge. As Henry was coming into the tiltyard, I saw Cromwell approach him and for some time they were in close conversation.
Henry was frowning deeply, so I guessed it was not good news Cromwell was imparting. I wanted to speak to Cromwell, to ask him why he had invited Mark Smeaton to dinner, and why it was we had not seen Mark since.
Henry took his place beside me. I turned to smile at him but he did not meet my gaze; he was staring straight ahead, his mouth tight and as cruel as I had ever seen it; his eyes were cold but there was a hot color in his cheeks.
Even when the jousting began, he continued to glower and I guessed he was thinking of the days when he had been the champion. He was too corpulent now. He still rode and hunted, priding himself on the number of horses he could tire out; but he was aging fast. I knew his leg troubled him. The ulcer would not heal and it could be painful. If he had entered a joust, it would have been difficult for his challenger to stage a defeat for himself. Perhaps Henry knew that, and it was why he sat there glowering.
But there was something else which angered him.
I could not concentrate on the joust. I was wondering about Mark … and I wished I knew what Henry was thinking.
George performed with skill. So did Norris. They looked extremely handsome, both of them. The King watched them sourly. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the heat and the desire to get away. It was more than the rays of the sun; I was filled with a premonition that evil was hovering very near me.
I took out my handkerchief to wipe my brow. My hand trembled and it fluttered to the ground. Norris happened to be just below. He picked up the handkerchief on the point of his lance and held it out to me. I took it, smiling while Norris bowed.
The King was watching us. I turned to him. He looked as though he were about to choke.
I said: “Are you unwell?”
He did not answer. He stood up. There seemed to be a long silence, but it could have lasted for only a few seconds. Then abruptly he left the loge.
It was the signal for the jousting to end.
There was a certain amount of confusion—a kind of stunned silence. Then the voices broke out. No one knew what was wrong.
There was nothing for me to do but leave.
I went back to my apartments in Greenwich Palace.
The brooding silence continued…a silence full of meaning. The storm was about to break and I knew that I was at the heart of it.
Norris did not appear.
I sent for Madge. “Madge,” I said, “where is Norris?”
“I have not seen him since the joust.”
“It ended so suddenly.”
“The King was tired of it, they said.”
“He was irritated because he can no longer compete with men like Norris and my brother.”
Madge did not answer. I guessed she was thinking that I said the most dangerous things.
“And there is Mark. What can have happened to Mark?”
Madge shook her head.
“There are wild rumors,” she said.
“What rumors?”
“That Norris was arrested and taken to the Tower.”
“Norris! For what reason?”
“He had offended the King.”
“Surely not? The King is very fond of Norris. He was very close to him.”
“Perhaps it is merely rumors,” said Madge.
“How could such rumors come about?”
“They say it was when he was leaving the tiltyard. Norris was with the King. They were riding side by side. The King accused him of something… and then he called for his arrest.”
“I don't believe it. On what charge?”
Madge shook her head.
“But they say he is in the Tower.”
“What is going on?” I demanded. “Norris arrested! Mark missing! What does it mean?”
No one could be sure. Or perhaps they were afraid to tell me. Was there something they were holding back?
I wanted to talk to someone. Where was George? I sent someone to find him, but he was not to be found.
I dreaded the night. I knew I should not sleep.
How right I was! I lay in bed, turning from one side to the other, constantly asking myself: What does all this mean?
At length the long night was over. I rose. There seemed to be a silence everywhere. I fancied my attendants did not want to meet my eyes. They were all afraid of something.
In the early morning I had visitors. I was surprised to see members of the Council led by the Duke of Norfolk.
I rose as they entered my apartment, for they came unbidden and should have asked for an audience.
I demanded: “What are you doing here?”
“We are here on the King's business,” replied Norfolk.
“What business?”
“Your music man is a prisoner in the Tower.”
“Mark, a prisoner! He is only a simple boy. On what charge?”
“Of adultery.”
“Adultery! With whom?”
Norfolk looked at me, smiling. “With you, Madam.”
“Mark! A humble musician! What nonsense is this?”
“He has admitted it.”
“Oh, my God!” I cried. And I thought: Dining with Cromwell. For what purpose would Cromwell invite a mere musician to his house? To bribe him? No, Mark would never take bribes. If it were true that he had said that, they must have tortured him to make him do so. What implacable enemies I was up against. Poor Mark! His slender body… those delicate hands… What had happened to Mark? What would happen to me?
“How dare you make such vile accusations?” I demanded.
Norfolk used that favorite expression of his which had always irritated me. “Tut, tut, tut,” he said, as though I were a willful child. He added: “Norris is in the Tower… another of your lovers.”
“What wicked lies.”
“And now, Madam, we are come to conduct you to the Tower.”
“I will not go.”
“It is the order of the King.”
“I must see the King. I must speak to him.”
“His Grace does not wish to see you. It is his order that you are to be taken to the Tower.”
I felt suddenly calm. The blow had fallen. Perhaps I had been waiting for it for so long that it was almost a relief that it had come at last.
I was
in the hands of ruthless men who would stop at nothing to get what they wanted… and the most ruthless of them all was my husband, the King.
Lies were being told about me. Had Smeaton spoken against me? If he had, his “confession” must have been wrung from him with the greatest cruelty. And Norris? Norris was an honorable gentleman. But could he withstand the rack?
I entered the barge, and I felt doom all about me. It seemed such a short time ago that I had come down the river in glory.
Norfolk sat opposite me. There was a smile of triumph on his face. He had never liked me. In spite of the fact that he was a kinsman, I really believed he was delighted to see me thus. I realized I had been proud and overbearing. I had been haughty, thoughtless, quick to anger. I had not exactly endeared people to me. But I had a few faithful friends and on them I could rely completely.
He said to me almost complacently: “Your paramours have confessed their guilt.”
“My paramours?”
“Norris, Brereton, Weston… and of course the music boy.”
“I do not believe it.”
He lifted his shoulders to imply that what I believed was of no importance.
They were taking me to the Traitor's Gate.
In my wildest nightmares I had not thought of this. That he might be seeking means of getting rid of me, yes, but not this way.
I was told roughly to get out of the barge. I did so. I suddenly felt the need for prayer. I sank to my knees and prayed aloud. “Oh Lord God, help me. Thou knowest I am guiltless of that whereof I am accused.”
Sir William Kingston, the Lieutenant of the Tower, came out to receive me.
“Master Kingston,” I said, “do I go to a dungeon?”
“No, Madam,” he answered kindly. “To your lodging where you lay at your coronation.”
The irony of the situation came upon me afresh. Was it only three years ago? I thought of myself sitting proudly in my barge with my device of the white falcon and the red and white roses of York and Lancaster. I was then pregnant…never dreaming that I should not have boys. I laughed wildly and there were tears on my cheeks.
“Wherefore am I here, Master Kingston?” I asked.
He did not reply but there was compassion in his face, and that brought me a shred of comfort.
The Lady in the Tower Page 45
