To tell Katherine that she had never been my wife would be a hurtful thing and, to one of her pious nature, a shock. I fortified myself with a large cup of wine before I walked to her apartments.
The corridor was unnaturally empty. Usually, swarms of serving-men were loitering about, showing off their latest velvet surcoats. Today it was deserted. Were they all off hunting? I felt the back of my neck; sweat was already gathering. I wished I were hunting with them; I wished I were any place but here. The guard admitted me to the Queen’s outer chambers.
There I paced the floor. I wanted to see her. I did not want to see her. At last I was gestured for. I meekly followed Katherine’s gentlewoman-usher. I
I faced Katherine. She had been at her devotions and was clearly irritated at being disturbed. After the Mass, she customarily spent an hour on her knees on a stone floor, conferring with her Maker.
“Yes, my Lord?” she asked, coming toward me. She gathered her great skirts in her hands. She still wore the fashion of Spain as it had been when she had left. I thought for a fleeting moment of Anne and her modern gowns, then I shoved the image away.
“So now I must seek an appointment with my Katherine?” I laughed. Yet why was I attempting to be jocular?
“You know the hours of my devotions—” she began.
“They are constant, Madam,” I replied.
She stared back at me in anger. I stared at her in wonder. How had we changed so? Two strangers who dreaded to confront one another. She shifted a bit on her feet, looked uneasy. I remembered that she had taken to wearing the coarse habit of a member of the Third Order of St. Francis underneath her everyday clothing. Perhaps it was itching.
“Katherine,” I said, “I have come to discuss with you a question of great importance.” I thought I should begin thus.
She moved toward me slowly. I noticed that she still wore satins by day. “Indeed?”
“Yes.” Then I stopped. How could I broach this subject? She stood in front of me like an army. “The Bishop of Tarbes was, as you know, here recently to consult about the possible betrothal of the Princess Mary to a French prince. He mentioned certain impediments—possible—”
All this time she had been staring at me, her wide eyes already somewhat wider.
“Impediments?”
“Our marriage. As you were married to my brother initially, it seems that many learned figures feel that you and I were never legally married, and therefore there is a question of Mary’s legitimacy—”
Before I could say more, she began shouting and rotating her arms like a windmill. “How dare anyone question the dispensation of the Holy Father? Both your father and mine accepted it in good faith. They both—”
Her father and mine? How long ago that seemed! Once they had been of such great consequence in our world; now they were forgotten by all but Katherine.
“—gave their consent to it! Nay, blessed it! And they were holy men!”
Holy men? Certainly not Ferdinand; and as for my father ... who knew him, truly? They had both been bound by outward obeisance to the Pope, for political show. Was that all?
“Perhaps they were.” Give her that comfort. “But even well-intentioned men make errors. And the fact is that God Himself has long ago passed judgment on our marriage. Painful as it is—”
“God?” She drew herself up at that word.
“Yes. All our children have died. We are without issue. Never before has an English King so needed an heir; never before have all his sons died; never before has a King married his brother’s wife.”
“We have Princess Mary. She lives.”
“A daughter. f the st of decorum, Anne insisted that we outwardly maintain our previous states: I as husband to Katherine, she as unmarried, eligible maiden. This was a happier arrangement for her than for me. As a “disguise,” she was compelled to surround herself with suitors and courtiers, whereas I must take my place beside the staid but seething Katherine.
In the meantime, in her own quarters, Katherine was hard at work writing secret letters to her nephew, the Emperor Charles, beseeching his help—letters which I had intercepted, with instructions for full copies to be made for my own records. Her means of protecting the marriage was foolhardy: appealing to a foreign power to aid her! She pretended to be fully English, but her actions belied it. She assumed that the Emperor could intervene in English affairs, and that I would cower before his dictates.
For my own part, I was also hard on the track of false hares. I was pursuing the Pope for confirmation that my marriage was indeed invalid. Numerous agents were also sent to Rome to procure a special dispensation allowing the case to be tried in England rather than Rome. They all failed. Pope Clement had no intention of delegating his authority. He insisted that the case could be decided only in Rome.
All the while, months passed as I waited, seeing Anne before me like a flame, surrounded by handsome young courtiers ... and one in particular, Thomas Wyatt, her cousin.
I liked young Wyatt, otherwise. He was a poet, and a good one. He was, in addition, talented in diplomacy and music. But he was a married man, and as such had no business suing for anyone’s favors, particularly his cousin’s. They had grown up together in Kent, so Anne assured me. But I liked not the way they acted together and looked upon one another. It was not seemly.
I well remember (well remember? I cannot banish it from my mind!) a fair day in May (a year after Wolsey’s foolish “tribunal,” and I as far from my heart’s desire as ever) when many of the court had gathered for the May bowls. A number of wooden pins were set up on a clipped green, and all men were to compete in tossing a heavy ball to bounce along and knock over the carefully arranged pieces. Katherine was sitting like a chesspiece on a carved chair, to watch us all, and even Brandon and Wolsey had been lured out for the festivities. Brandon had never paid the full fine for his “transgression” and therefore usually avoided Wolsey. Today, however, all was friendly and pleasant. I was especially happy that my sister Mary had ont size="3">I gripped the wooden ball I held in my hand as tightly as possible, then let fly at the targets. My ball smashed right through the center, scattering the pins like ducks. It then rolled on and on down the green, catching up to Wyatt’s.
“Ah! It is mine!” I said, pointing toward the faraway balls with my little finger, upon which was the token ring Anne had given me. Wyatt could not fail to recognize it.
He strolled forward with a smirk. Suddenly I hated the way he walked. “By your leave, Your Grace,” he said, “I must measure to ascertain the distance.” Then he began twirling something on a long chain, so that at first I could not determine what it was. Then I saw it for what it was: a locket of Anne’s. I had seen it often round her neck. He stretched out the chain mockingly and walked slowly to the balls.
I glared at Anne. She looked back at me, and all I could discern on her countenance was embarrassment. Not shame, not apology.
“I see I am deceived.” I turned and began walking back toward the palace. I should not have shown my hurt so nakedly, but I was stunned.
Wyatt continued his walk, his back to me, unaware of my anger. The rest of the gathered ladies and courtiers merely stared, or so I am told. But Katherine heaved herself from her chair and followed me across the newly clipped grass.
“My Lord,” she said.
I turned, surprised to find I had a follower. She stood there in the fresh May sunshine, heavily clad in her preferred costume and old-style headdress—a wooden one that encased her head and was overlaid with decorative material. It was so heavy it had made her sweat from the exertion of running only a dozen yards.
“Yes?”
“Stop it! Stop it now!” She was shaking. I said nothing. I could see the beads of sweat on her forehead. “I cannot bear to see you so shamed before all. And for ...” Her voice trailed off, but with a jerk of her head she indicated Anne, who had not even turned to see me go. “In front of all men. And I must watch.”
Suddenly I lashed out at h
er, as if she were the cause of it, merely for making the wounds deeper. “Then cease to watch, Madam! Cease following me about!”
She looked stricken and stood mournfully rooted as I stalked away, seeking refuge in my privy chamber.
It was cool there, at least. And empty. All attendants had been dismissed, let out into the warm May sun. At last I could pour my own wine without having to request it of some bumbling fool. Must never hurt a server’s feelings. No, never. So one must wait a good half hour for a service one could perform for oneself in a half-minute.
The wine was good. I poured another cup, then leaned down to pull off my boots. I flung each one forcefully against the farthest wall. One hit a tapestry and raised a great deal of dust. Of what use were the chamber scourers, then? Filth. Negligence. All was disgusting.
“Your Majesty, Margaret of Savoy would be displeased to see her gift treated so.”
I whirled round to face Wolsey’s bulk. He had evidently taken the first opportunity to retreat into the shade. From the way he eyed my wine flagon, I knew he was waiting to be invited to help himself. Inst size="3">“Still—” He sidled up to the wine. Suddenly he disgusted me, too.
“Take what you like. Drink it all.”
He needed no further invitation. Soon the flagon was empty. He belched —discreetly, he thought. In fact it was not. Then he turned and looked at me with the same mournful expression Katherine had worn.
“Your Grace,” he began dolourously, “it grieves me to see you so unhappy.”
“Then mend it! End my unhappiness!” I had not meant to scream, but I did. “It lies within your power!”
He knitted his brow in such fashion as to suggest that he was thinking deeply. It impressed those on councils, but I was used to it and knew it was merely a time-serving device.
“You are Cardinal! You are Papal legate! You represent the Pope in England! Do something!”
Still he stood with furrowed brow.
“Or, by God, I shall end it myself! With whatever means I must use! I care not what they are!” As I said it, I knew I meant it.
Later that evening, I waited within my chambers. Would Anne send word to me? Would she make amends, assure me that Wyatt meant nothing to her?
No. She did not.
XXXIX
But things changed from that day forward. Wolsey was at last able to badger His Holiness into granting permission for a trial to be held in England, provided another Papal legate sat alongside him. That legate was to be Cardinal Campeggio, who must travel all the way from Rome. This would take months, especially since he was old and troubled with gout, but at last I had within my grasp that which I desired above all else. My case was so clear that judgment was pre-assured, and I would be released from the bonds that grew daily more irksome.
Katherine had become ever more hovering and solicitous, acting more like a mother than a wife. Anne had continued her wayward ways, always assuring me that they were necessary dissimulations.
“If the Cardinal knew we were betrothed, he would not work so diligently on your behalf,” she said. “He intends you to take a French princess, Renée, I believe.” Her light voice skipped over the name. “He has long hated the Spanish alliance.” For some odd reason, I remember her running her slender fingers over the traced carvings of a chair as she spoke. Her touch was so graceful I watched it as I would a swan gliding on a pool. Beautiful, elegant. Like everything she did.
“So we are to deceive the Cardinal? ‘Tis not easily done,” I warned her.
She smiled. “More easily than you think.”
Her eyes had a peculiar look, and I suddenly felt uneasy. Then the look slid away and she was once again the beautiful girl I loved.
“All will be well,” I assured her. “In only a few weeks’ time it will be over. At last. And we shall be married.” I went over to her and took her hand.
She returned my touch and looked up at me. “I cannot wait, I sometimes think, to become d not wo the crest, and all else a falling off?
By this time the entire realm knew of my marital dilemma, and awaited the arrival of the Papal legate as eagerly as I. It was early spring, 1529. It had taken nearly two years and countless emissaries and missions to obtain Papal permission to hold this trial in England.
When Campeggio, the Papal legate, arrived in London, he was pleased to tell me that Clement himself had advised Katherine to follow the politically expedient policy of entering a convent, as had the devout Jeanne de Valois, freeing King Louis to remarry for the sake of the succession. His Holiness was bound to release anyone from his or her earthly marriage in order to make a heavenly one.
I was overjoyed. This solution would please all. Katherine was already on the border of the religious life, having taken the vows of the Third Order of St. Francis, and had a great proclivity for it, spending as much time in prayer and devotion as any nun. Clement would be spared a time-consuming and embarrassing trial. I would be spared the possible disapproval of my subjects, who loved Princess Katherine and were already muttering against Anne as a commoner.
In a few days Campeggio, accompanied by Wolsey, dragged himself off to see Katherine, and happily presented his proposal. Katherine refused, saying that she had no “vocation” for the convent life, but that she would agree if I also took monastic vows along with her and went to live as a monk.
The woman baited me! She was determined to mock and thwart me at every turn. It was then I began to hate her. Hate her for her smug Spanish feeling of superiority over me. She was a Spanish princess, I but the scion of an upstart Welsh adventurer. That was how she saw me. And she believed she could serenely command forces that I could not: the Emperor her nephew, the Pope his prisoner. Let little Henry do what he will in his little kingdom, she seemed to be saying with amusement. In the end I will snap my fingers and bring him to heel.
Very well, then. I should meet her in the arena—the arena of the Papal court.
It was the first time such a court had ever been held in England. A reigning King and Queen were to appear on their own soil before the agents of a foreign power, to answer certain charges.
It was to meet at Blackfriars, the Dominican convent, and Wolsey and Campeggio were seated in full array, just below my throne. Ten feet below theirs was Katherine’s. Katherine had vowed not to appear at all, as she held any ruling outside Rome to be invalid, even though the Holy Father himself had given permission for it! She was a foolish and obstinate woman!
Yet upon the opening day, she answered the summons from the crier, “Katherine, Queen of England, come into the court.”
Ah, I thought. Now she sees the justice and gravity of the case. Now at last she understands.
She came slowly into the room and proceeded to her chair. Then, instead of seating herself, she abruptly turned to her right, bypassed the astonished Cardinals, and mounted the steps toward my throne. When she was within five feet of me, she suddenly knelt.
I felt sweat break out all over my face. Was the woman mad?
“Sire,” she began, looking up at me and trying to lock our eyes in an embrace, “I beg you, for all the love that has been between us, let me ha8220;Iuspended.
As his quavering voice read this pronouncement, there was a silence, then a stirring, in the room. Clearly the case was closed, without judgment, and given back to Rome.
Then Brandon rose and banged his great hand on the table. “It has never been merry in England since Cardinals came amongst us!” he yelled. The entire gathering broke into discord. I was livid with fury.
XL
WILL:
The poor, indecisive Pope had sent many instructions to England along with Campeggio, but the most important one was: do nothing. Delay the trial as long as possible. Then advoke the case to Rome. Campeggio had merely followed advice, in this case all the more compelling because just the month before, Francis had been soundly defeated in his last desperate attempt to retake northern Italy. The Emperor had decimated his forces at Landriano, and now that al
l the dust had settled, the Pope and the Emperor had come to terms in the Treaty of Barcelona. The Emperor’s troops released Rome, and set the Pope free. The Curia and its Cardinals came flocking back to Rome, and soon the advocation of Katherine’s case (always Katherine’s, never Henry’s) to Rome had been decided in the Signatura and a few days later by the full Consistory. Campeggio had had no choice.
But Wolsey was stunned. This undercut all his power. The Pope, his spiritual master, had betrayed him. His other master, the King, felt betrayed. Between them both, he would be ground as fine as grain in a mill.
HENRY VIII:
So they thought they had won. They—Katherine, the Emperor, Pope Clement—thought they could chuckle and dismiss the problem of King Henry VIII and his conscience—never a weighty one for them. They were wrong. All wrong. But what to do?
I was finished with the Pope. He had failed me—nay, betrayed me. Never would I consult his court at Rome.
I was finished with Wolsey as well. Wolsey had failed me. Wolsey must have known of all this long ago—after all, he had seen the commissions!
Wolsey—he who was master of all facts, from the herbal remedy used to treat the Papal piles, to who was the Cardinal with the most family connections in the Curia—had proved worthless in this, my greatest concern. He had been nothing but a glorified administrator and procurer after all, not a man of vision or ideas or even insight. He had been meet enough to serve me only in my own green days.
I had outgrown him. I could do better myself.
The Autobiography of Henry VIII: With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers Page 21
