by G Lawrence
I spoke warmly of the Archduchess, and all she had taught me. When Henry joined me, flowing to the place where all light and beauty were to be found at court, he was pleased. “My Queen is the most generous of all women,” he said, patting my knee. “For she sets aside all slights of the past, and looks to the future.”
“I am glad we are to come to rapprochement with the Emperor,” I said. “I loved his aunt like a mother, so I hope to think on him as a brother.”
“And so shall he be, if our plans come to fruition,” said Henry.
I glanced at Cromwell, chatting to my brother and his wife and I smiled. If all things I had planned came to fruition, another Wolsey was about to fall.
Later that night, as I prepared to receive Henry in my bedchamber, Jane Seymour was combing my hair. I did not like to have her close, but much as I had sat above Cromwell when he came calling, I liked to remind her of her place.
As she pulled the ivory comb through my dark locks, she caught a snag and tore out a chunk of my hair. I gasped in pain and my hand lashed out, at first simply to deliver a smack to her wrist. It was not uncommon for masters to chastise servants in such situations, still less for a queen to rebuke her women. But as my hand flashed out, my eyes followed. Dangling from her throat was a pendant, held by a long golden chain, tied about her neck by a ribbon. Hidden inside her gown during the day, it had come loose, and hung before my eyes. As I saw the image on the centrepiece, I wondered if she had intended for it to be seen.
It was a miniature of Henry.
I caught the pendant as she tried hastily to retrieve it and pulled it towards me. Jane, her body lumbering across my shoulder, made a slight noise of distress. It angered me and I tore the necklace from her throat, snapping the delicate ribbon.
Holding it in my hands, I rounded on her. She was staring at me with wide eyes, her face even paler than normal. I stared at the portrait. Henry had sent me a bracelet bearing his image when we were courting, and I owned many more he had given me since. Now he had granted one to this girl. I almost laughed. How many such items did Henry have, to use so he might convince foolish women that he loved them? Were there drawers of them in his chambers?
“A pretty bauble,” I said, wondering when I had come to sound so like Katherine. “What an expensive little whore you are, cousin. What did this trinket buy the King? Your maidenhead?” I sneered at her. “Although by what I have heard about you at court, there is nothing left to purchase.”
“It is not so,” she whispered. “Please, Majesty, may I have it back?”
“It is not yours,” I said. “And neither is the man whose image it holds.” I stepped forwards. How I longed to strike her!
“The King is my husband, cousin,” I said. “I would advise you, rather than disgracing your family still further by making yet another daughter of the Seymour line into a husband-snatching jade, you should find your own husband.” I shook my head and laughed. “If any would take such a witless, colourless, oafish whore as his wife!”
Several of my ladies, who had no love for Jane, laughed. The girl was utterly mortified. “Get out,” I said. “And come not near me again. I do not want my person contaminated by you.”
Less than an hour later, Henry arrived, but he was not, as had been his habit, escorted by his men or in his night clothes. “You will cease to abuse your women!” he roared, not bothering to wait for my ladies to leave.
I was sitting at my mirror. Without turning, I held out my hand and allowed the necklace to unravel from my palm. The chain ran, sliding from my skin, until I caught its end. The little portrait bobbed in the air between us. “When will you cease to abuse our love?” I asked quietly.
I turned. His face was almost purple in the candlelight. His hands were at his sides, clenching into fists. But as he saw the necklace, and his face clouded with unrest, I realised he had not been told the full story. No doubt Jane had run to her lover with a tale of woe, weeping that her mistress was cruel, unreasonable and malicious. She had not told him about the necklace. That was a mistake on her part. She did not know her man as I did.
Henry was suddenly embarrassed and looked away from me.
“If you must give the same gifts that once you gave to me out of love, to others for lust,” I said calmly, “have them conceal them better. She wanted me to see this, Henry. She wanted me to be hurt and you allowed her the means. I would beg you not to do so again, if you have any respect for me.”
I got up and put the necklace into his hands. “You may grant your image to any you think worthy,” I said. “But know that when you give yourself to others, I am heartbroken.”
He left without another word, and did not come again that night.
I went to the wall. Hanging there was a gilt clock. It was a pretty thing, made for Henry and for me. Ornamented in a classical style, it was intricate and delicate. The weights that hung below were inscribed with our initials surrounded by lover’s knots, and our mottos, Dieu et Mon Droit and The Most Happy.
I stared at it for some time, thinking of the past. There had been a time we were knotted together, bound to each other’s souls. There was an echo of that still, even now. I could hear it, a whispering voice on the wind… a murmur of something born that will not die.
The next morning, he invited me to the archery butts, and we took turns shooting against each other. There was no further mention of my abuse of Jane. And I never saw that necklace on her again.
I thought I had won a victory. I thought I had shown him what she was. But all I had done was push Henry to conceal his ardour with greater cunning. His lust for her did not die, nor did it retreat. He hid it, and in doing so, concealed his true, and dark, intentions.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Whitehall Palace
March 1536
“Do you think to add weight to your moral reputation by offering a room to a court whore?” I asked Cromwell as he entered. “Do you think to transform your chambers into a brothel?”
Cromwell started. At court, it was usual to at least start with polite greetings before heading into more dangerous waters, rarer still that someone would actually say outright what they meant.
“My lady, I know not of what you speak.”
“You gave your rooms to the Seymours,” I said. “So Thomas and Edward might use their sister as a tool for their ambition, and sneak her into the company of my husband through your secret doorway.”
In the aftermath of my assault on Jane, Henry had gone oddly quiet. No more did he attempt to berate me about my behaviour. My success, if that is what one may call it, had led to me deciding the time was ripe to confront Cromwell. I had no power to dismiss Jane. It was up to Henry who would serve in my chambers, and he would not rid me of his jade. But Cromwell was another matter. It was about time the man learned I was no idle adversary.
“Do not attempt to deny this,” I said. “And besides, although it adds nothing to your character, Master Cromwell, it is not unusual to find men acting as whoremasters for their King. I just did not expect such behaviour from you, since, as the Vice-Regent of spiritual affairs, I thought you might wish to be seen as a man of morals, rather than of depravity.”
I set my hands on my hips. “I cannot tell you to do otherwise. The rooms are yours, after all, but you should know that I do not look on this with a kindly eye, and you have brought me to question you in this matter, and many others.”
“If I have offended, madam, I can only protest that I am the King’s servant.”
“It is good to hear you say this, for I thought you might have forgotten,” I said. “You overreach your authority on so many matters one might come to believe that you thought yourself the King.”
Cromwell shifted uncomfortably. It was dangerous to accuse a man of thinking he was as high as Henry, and it had the effect I desired. I wanted Cromwell uneasy. This was no time for subtlety, this was war and I was about to fly my pennant into the wind.
“I admit myself mystified, Majesty,” said Cromwell. “I kno
w not of what you speak.”
“I speak of many things, Master Cromwell,” I said, accentuating his common title. “The King has not decided which of Spain or France he will offer his gracious friendship to, but you attempt to decide the matter for him. The fate of many lesser monasteries is by no means settled, yet you have already started handing out favours to your slathering minions. You once professed friendship to me, yet you allow the Seymours space and time to trip their little whore out in front of the King.”
I eyed him with a dark expression. “I once thought you a true advocate of the faith,” I said. “But your actions have shown you are not. You have fallen to sin, Master Cromwell. You are a slave, mastered by greed, avarice, lust and power. I see plain that you care nothing for the faith, for you are willing to destroy it in return for riches. There was one who once betrayed our Lord in return for a bag of silver… do you take from his example? And tell me, what would your late wife, a woman I have heard spoken of with great respect for her upstanding character, think of you providing jades for the King?”
A faint hint of colour in his usually controlled cheeks told me what I needed to know. His wife, dead these many years, would have been ashamed of him. A sliver of that shame touched him now, even through all the layers of self-preservation and guile he had built about his soul.
“I am tempted to extend my investigations,” I went on. “My men are looking into your reports, Cromwell, but I wonder if I should ask them to look back further… into the accusations against More and Fisher. Rich was sent on your order, was he not? My brother found it strange at the time that a man as clever as Thomas More could have resisted incriminating himself in conversation with you, and yet fell for the wiles of Richard Rich, a man who is so incapable of concealing his slimy nature that all who have sense avoid him. It seems remarkable, does it not? Almost as if this intricate web were made of lies, rather than truths?”
I could almost see the heat evaporating from his body, rising in waves at his neck, floating into the air. “Majesty, by your reckoning, I am indeed at fault,” he said, “but I swear to you that all I do, I do for the King.”
“All you do, Cromwell, you do for yourself. I know that, and my husband is no dullard. Soon he will understand too.” I shook my head. “You thought to pit yourself against me, did you not? You thought to undermine me, using the Seymour wench as a tool. You worry I will support France over Spain, and fear I will steal the plunder you aim to pillage from the monasteries. You have tried to sneak past me, but it will not work, Master Secretary. I have a keen eye… I can see a snake in sunlight. I would advise you to cease supporting the Seymours, and work for me again, or face the consequences.” I waved a hand. “You can go.”
Cromwell bowed and made for the door.
“Cromwell?” I called. He turned and I met his eyes. “Take a moment, in the days that follow, to think upon your old master,” I said. “Remember the Cardinal.”
As Cromwell left, he stumbled and had to catch the wall for support. I went to the card table with my ladies and enjoyed a raucous afternoon of laughter and wagering. I could not laugh enough. It was a dangerous move to call someone out at court, for I had revealed much, but Cromwell had seen how close Henry and I had been of late, and he knew my power over my husband. By calling him out I had, I hoped, given him good reason to fall in line.
“And I win again!” I announced, smacking my hand, flush with four kings, down on the table as my ladies squealed with delight and horror.
“None can best you today, Majesty,” said Nan with admiration.
“No,” I said, setting my smiling face on the arch of my interlocked fingers. “They cannot.”
*
“A dinner party of my enemies,” I said to my brother. “Chapuys should have invited me as guest of honour, should he not? And served spleen as the first course!”
I laughed. Despite the fact my brother had just informed me that Chapuys had invited practically every person at court with a grudge against me to his house, I felt elated. Cromwell had been meek and subservient since I had accosted him, and Henry was attentive.
The dinner party the hapless hare assembled had included the Courtenays, and Henry Pole, Lord Montague. Montague was the eldest son of Margaret Pole, the Countess of Salisbury, Katherine’s friend. His brother was the infamous Reginald Pole, who was still abroad writing his In Defence of the Unity of the Church against Henry. Courtenay and Montague were peers of the realm, and they had been joined by Katherine, the widowed Dowager Countess of Kildare, Henry’s half-cousin.
“Did you find out what their conversation was about?” I asked.
“No,” said George. “But I would wager it was not flattering to you or any of our faction.”
“Well, if Montague managed to speak on any other subject besides his lineage I would be much astonished,” I chuckled.
George laughed with me. Montague was notorious for speaking long, dreary, and often about his royal connections to Edward IV, but as George finished laughing, he looked at me in surprise. “What?” I asked. “You think that I should be downcast? That I should hear of my enemies uniting and quiver in my velvet slippers?”
“I did expect you might be a little less merry,” he admitted.
“That is what they want, is it not? They want to drive me into restless sorrow and have me wallow in it, slowly drowning. But they know not who they deal with. Perhaps I had forgotten, too, George. I may be older, but I am no weaker. If they want a fight, I shall give them one, and they will see which dog they should have wagered on… Not the large one that all thought would win, but the small, canny beast who rises from the earth to snap his opponent’s throat.” I slipped my arm through my brother’s and smiled. “Yes,” I said. “They will have a fight.”
“Then know that Cromwell will be one of the dogs you face,” he said. “You say he has been humble since you confronted him, but I hear much of his plans for the monasteries and Spain.”
“Then he has chosen his side. As I have mine. I will not allow him to destroy the religious life of England, George.” I sniffed. “They like to call us names, our enemies. It is perhaps therefore ironic that the ones who will save the Church will be the Boleyns.”
“Perhaps they will cease to call us more Lutheran than Luther.”
“I care not what they call me,” I said. “I care what God sees. He will note that we are on the side of good.”
“And when He does, He will reward you with a son for England.”
“I hope that may be the case, but even if it is not, at least I will know I did all I could… that I did all that was right. I have done much wrong in my life, but perhaps, with this, I can make amends.”
I almost turned. Once more I had felt a hand on my shoulder, offering support. Katherine approved of me. I almost laughed that our two souls, disjointed and separate for so long, should be brought together over religion. I felt her approval. It cheered me.
“What do you mean to do?” asked my brother.
I looked up at the grim evening sky. March had been both bright and wet, alternating her days as though she cared not to choose whether to allow England to bask in warm sunlight or drown in a deluge of rain.
“The time for dealing in the shadows is done,” I said, looking out the window to see the Lenten Moon rising high in the heavens. “It is time to enter the light.” I looked at my brother. “My almoner is to preach in a few days. I have a sermon I would have him perform. Soon, we will have more allies.”
“What allies?”
“The Church itself.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Greenwich Palace
April 2nd 1536
The day before my almoner, John Skip, took to the pulpit, I was informed that Chapuys and Cromwell had met, although no one knew what had been said. But from this, I understood Cromwell was seeking to bolster his position with support from the Imperialists. Since Henry remained undecided about Spain and France, I stored this information away, ready to use
against Cromwell.
That afternoon, George and I were closeted with Skip and my chaplains, preparing the speech. I wanted it to be perfect. It had to show my position clearly. This was the first trumpet blast of war; the moment when my armies rode into battle. The first strike had to hit Cromwell hard and true. I wanted him staggering, caught unawares, his forces divided, and plans askew.
On the 2nd of April, I walked to the royal chapel with my ladies. Everyone was there, and as I took my place beside Henry, I smiled at Cromwell. Little did he know he was about to get the greatest surprise of his career. What we were about to do was dangerous. My almoner was about to accuse Henry and his advisors of pursuing personal gain over morals, but Skip was undeterred.
“I would not be a true follower of Christ if I balked from speaking out for his Church,” said my good man when I had asked him if he was ready for what might come.
“You are a soldier of God, and you will have my protection.”
