Henry grinned. “We must not question the wishes of our elders and superiors.” He swept a mock bow. “She believes you have need of me. Though as I recall, the last time she saw us together I was not writing letters for you.” He moved toward me again but I kept my distance.
“She can be forgetful.” I was only too aware of what had happened with Henry in the duchess’s chapel, of the way he had been able to excite me, of his urgent kisses.… Yet I was also well aware that even then our passion had grown stale, and that Henry had become demanding and difficult. I had been only too glad to leave Horsham and Henry behind. I had thought I would never see him again.
But I realized that life in my grandmother’s household was unpredictable. She was indeed forgetful. She had lapses. Quite possibly she had no memory of what had gone on between Henry Manox and me, or of her wrath at our secret meetings, our embraces. Quite possibly Henry’s father, her neighbor, had approached her and asked her to employ Henry in her household—and in her forgetful state, she had agreed. But what made her think I needed a secretary?
“She may be forgetful,” Henry was saying, “but I am not.” His voice took on a harsh edge. “I remember well that you denied me—your maidenhead.”
I began to feel alarmed once again. We were in a small room, the only way out was down an unlit corridor, or back into the courtyard where the miscreants lurked. I had no candle or lantern. What if Henry decided that having rescued me, he had the right to make love to me? I used the only defense I could think of.
“I kept my maidenhead—for someone more worthy.”
I could tell that my retort stung.
“And who is that, pray? I asked the duchess whether you were betrothed, and she said no.”
“We are handfasted,” I said—and then wished I hadn’t. It was, after all, our secret.
“And you bed him?”
“Gladly. Willingly.”
He glared at me, silent, angry.
At length he said, “You were prettier when you were younger. Next time you are in danger, call for your lover to save you.” With that he strode off down the dark corridor, leaving me to find my way back, through the darkened kitchens, to the upstairs salons.
* * *
The next time I went to see the king I took Jonah with me, as Grandma Agnes had advised. Having been missing for two days he had found his way back to me, though I noticed that he kept his distance from Francis.
King Henry received me in a beautiful large room with intricately patterned wooden wainscoting and rich Turkey carpets in tones of red and gold. He sat in a Flanders chair, dressed less magnificently than he had been when I went to see him with my seven companions. He wore a fair linen shirt wrought with red silk and a velvet jerkin, velvet breeches edged with satin, white hose and soft red slippers. His hose were held in place around his knees by handsome garters studded with amethysts. On each hand were several garnet and amethyst rings.
I could not help but admire the elegance of the room, the king’s finery, the carved ceiling. Everywhere I looked there was beauty. And in front of the king, on a low table, was yet another beautiful object: a miniature palace, intricately carved in wood, its turrets and crenellated battlements in perfect proportion, flags flying from its towers and miniature statues in its gardens.
“Your Majesty,” I said as I was shown into the room. I began to kneel in reverence but the king dismissed the gesture with a wave of his hand.
“Come, Catherine. Look at this. Is it not exquisite? This, I am delighted to say, is my new palace. I am going to call it Nonsuch, for there is, I believe, no structure like it in all of Christendom.”
Another Flanders chair was brought for me and I sat down, Jonah clinging to my neck and whimpering softly.
“How fascinating,” was all I could manage to say. “Even in miniature it is a work of art.”
“I designed it myself. It took me nearly a year. Of course there were builders to advise me, but the overall design is my own. Work has already begun. A whole village was torn down to make room for the palace.”
“What became of the villagers?” I asked in alarm.
The king waved his hand once again. “They went elsewhere, I suppose. What is that to you?”
I opened my mouth to answer, then shut it again. I did not want to appear argumentative. But I could not help thinking, had the king really destroyed the homes and gardens and livestock of an entire village community? And done so quite heartlessly?
“Do you know what day the work on the new palace was begun?” He looked at me expectantly, his face alight with pleasure. “Of course you don’t. How could you? It was the day my son reached the age of six months. And almost thirty years to the day since I came to the throne. I tell you, Catherine, this palace will outshine every other royal residence in Christendom!”
“I look forward to seeing it—when it is complete. How soon do you imagine that will be?”
He shrugged. “It depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not we have to go to war against the imperialists, and the French, and most of the Italians!” was his impatient answer. “If I listened to Crum, I’d be terrified that the whole of Europe is about to descend on our island, cannon and catapults and all! He doesn’t want me to build Nonsuch—but if I listened to him, I’d never do anything bold, anything worth doing! No one would fear me, or this realm either. I tell you, Catherine, a king dares not live timidly!” He slapped his thigh.
I could not help smiling. He was so wrapped up in his plans, so full of passion and energy—like a much younger man. Like Francis at his most energetic, only Francis was always more careful, more measured, in what he undertook.
“What do you think, madam?” the king asked me suddenly.
“I? Why, sire, I cannot form an opinion about such grand matters. I am far too ignorant.”
“You are too modest. I want to know what you think.”
I sighed. How to answer such a question, from the king himself, in such a setting? But I saw that I had to try.
“Sire, I will do my best. It seems to me that since you have been king for thirty years, you have great experience to draw from. And if you will pardon me for saying so, you have the strength and force of a much younger man. It must be that experience, and that strength, that lead you to make great plans, devise great palaces. How could you let anyone advise you to go against your nature?”
“Aha!” he cried loudly. “Spoken like a Howard! A true Howard, not your ugly uncle Tom! A true Howard, your grandfather, the old duke. Now, there was a bold commander. He would have swept Crum aside with one swing of his lance. I hope your tutors have taught you about your grandfather, Catherine.”
I remembered a portrait at Lambeth, somewhat indistinct and darkened with age, of a resolute man who resembled father. I had been told that this was “the old duke,” my grandfather.
“A little. I have seen his portrait.”
The king nodded, and looked thoughtful. “He fought for my father at Bosworth Field. And for me, when I was young, and won a great victory over the Scots at Flodden. He was a worthy and valorous knight.”
During the silence that fell, Jonah began to whimper. I soothed him and stroked him. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence. The king liked to talk on and on. But when he paused, I felt no awkwardness between us. In time I was bold enough to start to speak again.
“Your Majesty, I wonder if I might ask you, on my father’s behalf—”
“Ah, yes. Your father.”
“Your Majesty, he desires a post in the household of—of—your queen that is to be.”
“Yes, and so do a thousand others,” the king said, slapping his knees and grimacing and getting to his feet. I was reminded, watching him, that despite what I had thought earlier about his youthfulness, his enthusiasm and energy, his body was beginning to fail him.
“May I tell father that you are considering him?”
“Tell him what you like. But nothing will b
e decided until the lady is chosen. And that must wait.”
Our eyes met. Once again, as on our earlier meeting, I saw a look, not of shock this time, but of recognition. He saw my mother in me.
“I will tell him that he is not entirely out of your thoughts. Along with a thousand others.”
The king reached out and touched Jonah’s back, gently. Jonah let out a small cry.
“Perhaps the monkey would like the post of major-domo. Or he could be Pantler for Nuts and Apples.”
A valet entered just then, bowed, and waited to be acknowledged.
“Yes, what is it?” the king said irritably.
“Your Majesty, Lord Cromwell sends me to inform you that the Lutheran bishops from Cleves await you.”
King Henry swore under his breath.
“Damnable Lutherans! Quarrelsome, mumpish, high-sounding old pedants! A bunch of dour old maids in clerk’s gowns, that’s what they are! Correcting my Greek! Mine! I knew my Greek when they were babes in arms…”
Jonah shrieked, and leapt out of my grasp. He ran toward the wall and began climbing up the tapestry.
Horrified, I tried to grab him but he only climbed higher. I was afraid he would ruin the precious stitchery, and that the king would be furious with me.
“Your Majesty, please forgive Jonah, he goes wild sometimes. Oh! Your beautiful tapestry!”
But King Henry was laughing.
“Never mind, I have dozens more in the storerooms at Baynard’s Castle. Remind me to take you there sometime, Catherine. You would love the chests of gowns, old gowns, from long ago. Some that were—in your family—”
Jonah clambered nimbly down and dropped to the floor, then ran up onto my lap again.
“He knows who his mistress is, doesn’t he?” the king said absentmindedly.
“Bring him to see me again, won’t you. I’m so glad you like my Nonsuch. There is so much more to tell you, I have only just begun. The thing is designed to rival King Francis’s finest palace, you see—”
Once again the valet made his presence known, by discreetly shuffling his feet and quietly coughing.
“Yes, yes, I haven’t forgotten.”
The king turned to me. “Will you come again, Catherine my dear?”
“If Your Majesty wishes it.”
“I do. I do indeed. Now I must go—and debate whether worshippers ought to receive both bread and wine during the mass, or only bread—whether priests ought to marry—whether Christ had a human nature or a divine nature—ah! We must reach agreement on all these things, you see, or I cannot marry Cleves. I mean, the lady from Cleves.”
“Surely our Lord Christ had both a human and a divine nature.” I spoke without thinking.
“Thank you, Catherine. That will be our first point of debate. I will cite you as my source. Let me see, I shall cite Jerome of Alexandria, Gregory of Nazianzen, and Catherine of Lambeth. My three principal authorities.” He grinned, then clapped his hands loudly. Immediately two servants appeared.
“My doublet! The new one with the French sleeves! And bring me a pisspot, before I burst!”
I took my departure, promising to return, confident that I had provided the king with diversion and pleasure. As I left the room half a dozen servants came rushing in, carrying a splendid doublet of red silk and maroon velvet, a thick gold chain studded with rubies as large as hen’s eggs, and a large white bowl.
* * *
Henry Manox was a nuisance to me from the moment he appeared in my antechamber, accompanied by a servant carrying writing materials, scrolls, and two large ceramic inkwells bearing the Howard crest. He was peevish and rude, demanding and cross. He made mistakes in the few letters and documents I required of him. He spilled ink on my old carved wooden desk—an heirloom, lent to me by Grandma Agnes, who was rapidly becoming my benefactress in all things.
Not only did she decree that I was to have a secretary, she told the household steward that I was to be given my own separate suite of rooms, with a bedchamber and an antechamber for the secretary’s use. I was also to be driven to the palace whenever the king summoned me, and in case he summoned me to Hampton Court or Greenwich, I was to be taken there by barge immediately. My least wish was to be gratified. If I was in conflict with anyone I was to be given the advantage.
When I walked by, heads turned. Whispers began. Officials who had never before even glanced at me now approached me, asking if there was anything they could do for me. Gifts began arriving, and letters begging for my help. Letters reached me, pleading for me to have unjust legal decisions overturned, or to supply the needs of poor widows. I was asked again and again for alms.
I had become someone of significance in the Lambeth establishment. I was talked about. Attention was drawn to me. My cousins were envious: envious of the fine new wardrobe Grandma Agnes provided, the clothes much richer and more becoming than Charyn’s, envious of the attention I was receiving, above all envious of the interest the king was showing in me—which was, of course, the reason for all the special treatment and attention.
But Francis cautioned me that any sudden prominence I might attain could just as suddenly and swiftly come to an end.
“That is the way of it at court,” he said blandly. “People achieve notoriety, or the illusion of importance, only to be toppled rapidly from their height. Slippery places, courts.”
“I thought you were pleased that the king is showing me favor.”
“I am—only from all I am hearing from the chamber gentlemen, his attention to you is likely to be shortlived. They are saying that the king will have to agree to marry the lady from Cleves, even though he doesn’t want to.”
“What of the disputes over matters of faith?”
“They will be put aside.”
“Do you know this for certain, Francis?”
“No—but the wagering makes it appear likely. The odds in the privy chamber favor the Lady Anna.”
I bristled.
“So my fortune is to be determined by a cast of the dice.”
He laughed drily. “Hardly that. Your fortune—and England’s fortune—rests with the strength of armies and alliances. If our king marries the lady from Cleves, the fighting men of Cleves—and of other Protestant forces—will protect us from the French and the imperialists. Or so Lord Cromwell hopes. The wagering is of minor importance, except to those who win or lose.”
I grew weary of hearing these speculations. I could not understand them, not really; I could follow the logic of what was said, up to a point, when I heard Francis and others talking of England’s future, and the likelihood of war. But it all seemed like a giant house of cards, fragile and flimsy. What if the Emperor Charles should die? Or what if King Henry should die, as had nearly happened only recently? What if the immense and fearsome armies of the Mohammedans should invade our lands, and sweep all before them? Surely it would not matter then who the king married. The soldiers of Cleves could not prevail against the forces of Suleiman the Magnificent.
All was risk and hazard, or so it seemed to me, all was fortune and luck. No matter how clever or how cautious we tried to be, we could be swiftly toppled from whatever height we attained.
My tutor had told me of the goddess Fortuna, worshipped by the Romans—or was it the Greeks? At any rate, the goddess was all-powerful, and no human effort could sway her. The ancients believed that she decided whether we lived or died, whether we attained our goals or failed miserably.
It is a sin to worship pagan idols, I know, but if asked to name the mightiest force in the world, I would be inclined to say it was Fortune, for even the Lord God cannot seem to preserve us all from harm, and our fates are not written in the Bible, but weighed out in Fortune’s scales.
* * *
When Henry Manox came to Lambeth as my secretary, Francis changed. He disliked having Henry near me, and treated him with icy disdain. Francis was a gentleman’s son, while Henry’s father was a mere landed knight, with no title or wealth. What was more, Francis ha
d mastered the art of courtesy, while Henry could be boorish and unmannerly.
“I dislike having that churl near you,” Francis said loudly, in Henry’s hearing. “Can you not persuade the duchess to remove him?”
“Girlish little popinjay!” Henry snarled back. “I could knock you over with one of these inkwells.”
The rivalry between them made me uneasy, especially since I had told Henry that Francis and I were handfasted, and had bragged that we were lovers. It was not long before the two men came to blows, and Henry threatened to tell the duchess of our secret bond. Francis, ever practical, bribed Henry to keep what he knew to himself. But the hostile rivalry continued, and Francis was never the same again.
He did not see me or speak to me for days at a time. He was irritable and easily upset. His smooth, even-tempered manner was gone, replaced by ill humor and an air of silent reproach.
Things were not easy for me. I belonged to Francis, yet I could no longer take comfort in his company. And though Henry’s presence made me tense, it was also undeniably exciting. Of course I did not tell him that, or admit that I enjoyed the disturbing thrill and tingle that ran along my spine when he came near me. I did not tell him, but I’m sure he knew all the same. We both felt the disquiet of emotion.
Henry had a raucous temper, he thrived on discord. He had little to do as my secretary. He was bored and restless. He sought out the brawlers sent at night by Lord Cromwell to challenge the Lambeth men. He fought—and having fought, he drank.
And being drunk, he sometimes sought me out. I hid from him as best I could, sometimes taking refuge among the servants in the scullery when nowhere else seemed to offer safety. One night, however, Henry found me there, quivering with fear, and before I could escape him he lunged at me. One of the scullery boys threw me a knife before running off and I yelled at Henry that if he didn’t leave me alone I would stab him.
He laughed. He was twice my size and no doubt many times my strength. Yet somehow I found the courage to point the knife at his crotch and stand my ground. I saw that he was reeling, he could not stand straight. A shout from the corridor distracted him, and in that moment I darted out into another room where pots of liquid were boiling over open fires.
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