by G Lawrence
*
That night, Cranmer, Norfolk and Audley came to my prison. No more would I call those rooms my chambers, for as opulent as they were, their furnishings and carpets, their gold plate and fine pewter were nothing but bars.
My gilded cage. My pretty prison. The falcon had been caught. Finally, I was the true servant of the King, just as he had always desired.
You have me in your power now, I said to Henry in my mind as I watched the men file in. This is what you always wanted, isn’t it? For me to bow to you? To know that I am your slave?
He had never had this when I was with him. How greatly he must have desired it, to treat me so ill, to murder his best friends, in order to gain it.
Cling to this feeble power, Henry of England, I thought. But know you have not broken me, and never will. I am not your possession, not your tool, nor your slave. You may take my life, but you will never claim my soul.
“We have visited the others already, my lady,” said Cranmer, his eyes boring into me. I wondered what lies he had been told to make him look on me with such distaste.
“I must say to you, madam,” he went on. “There is no one in the realm, after my lord, the King, who is so distressed at your bad conduct as I am, for all these gentlemen well know I owe my dignity to your good will and…”
“My lord Bishop,” I interjected, cutting him off. “I know well what is your errand. Waste no more time. I have never wronged the King, but I know well he is tired of me, as he was before of the good lady Katherine.”
“Say no such thing, madam,” he said, his brow furrowing, although I could see doubt forming in his eyes. “Your evil courses have been clearly seen and if you desire to read the confession which Mark has made, it will be shown to you.”
“Confession,” I spat. “Has any other man spoken against me, my lord Archbishop, or am I to be condemned on the lies of one man alone? One man who vanished from court and was taken to Cromwell? One man who was no doubt abused to extract what they wanted from him?”
I stared at my old friend and shook my head. “Go to!” I cried. “It has all been done as I say. The King has fallen in love with Jane Seymour and does not know how to get rid of me. Well, let him do as he likes. He will get nothing more from me and any confession that has been made is false, as God is my witness!”
Norfolk broke in. “Madam, if it be true that your brother has shared your guilt, a great punishment indeed should be yours and his as well.”
“Duke, say no such thing,” I retorted, rounding on him. “My brother is blameless, and if he has, at times, come to my chamber to speak with me, surely he might do so without suspicion, being my brother, and they cannot accuse him for that. I know that the King has had him arrested, so that there should be none left to take my part and speak for me. You need not trouble to speak with me, for you will find out no more. There is no more to tell. We are innocent, and if the court finds us guilty, it will be not for the sake of any evidence, but for the will and wants of the King, who wants to be rid of me, and for Cromwell, who would remove his rivals from court.”
Cranmer was looking from Audley to Norfolk as though he had heard none of this. Had he expected me to announce my guilt? Did my old friend think so little of me?
“Did they not allow you to visit the others, Cranmer?” I asked. “Did you not hear this from the mouths of my brother, Norris, Weston and Brereton? Or did they only allow you to see Mark, snivelling in his cell?” I turned to my uncle. “What did you promise him, my lord, to make him confess? Clemency… a pardon… or will he be granted the death of a noble person?”
I laughed as I saw a flicker pass through Norfolk’s eyes. “That is it, is it not?” I asked, my tone sardonic and jaunty. “You will grant Mark the position in death he ever envied in life. He will die as a noble where he lived as a commoner. A pretty pass, my lords. I congratulate you. You have done your task well and I have no doubt you will make sure you profit from it.”
“You show courage, niece,” drawled Norfolk, content in the knowledge it mattered no more what I said. “But it will do you no good. You will pay for all you have done.”
“God will be my judge,” I said. “If not here on earth then in Heaven. And He will be yours, Norfolk, and yours, Audley.” I looked at Cranmer. “And He will judge you too, Eminence, you and the King. I have no fear of what the Almighty will find in my heart. Will you be able to say the same?”
As Cranmer left, I could see I had made an impression. I had no doubt he had been lied to, and Cromwell must have been convincing in order to turn my faithful friend from me in such short time, but I had laced doubt in his mind, and that pleased me. I cared nothing for Norfolk, for Audley or for Cromwell. Let them believe what they liked. But Cranmer I did care for. He was the last friend I had on the outside, and perhaps that was why they had tried to turn him.
There was nothing he could do, but I did not want to go to my grave with him thinking ill of me. A part of me, still untainted with the brush of hatred, could not bear that I would die and he would go on living, thinking me this monster they had created.
That night I dreamt of the tower again. Katherine stood at my side, her hourglass eyes fixed on me.
“My time is almost spent,” I said.
“It is.”
“You are my death as I am yours.”
She smiled. “Finally, you understand.”
I did. Whilst she had lived, Henry had been forced to stay with me. Set me aside, and they would send him back to her. When Katherine died, the last shadow of her protection had fallen. A protection she never intended to offer, and yet had. With her gone, Henry could take a new wife. He could get his sons.
“I saw this tower so many times in these dreams,” I said. “I never understood that it was Fate.”
“Fate… Time… Life…” she said, looking at the flowing blood, the dusty sand and the tower. “They are one.”
She looked at me. “We are dust,” she said. “Specks driven into the winds of Fate. We know it not, but our paths were decided long ago, before we were born, before those who sired us were… before time began and before Death came for men.”
“And soon will come death,” I said. “And the end.”
She smiled wider. The hourglasses in her eyes gleamed under the light of the burning sun.
“This is not the end, my sister,” she said. “Nor is it the beginning. There is no end and no beginning to the sands of time or the thread of destiny. There is only continuation. There is only eternity, infinity… perseverance… and you must surrender to it.”
“Surrender…” I said. It was not a word I had ever welcomed.
Katherine smiled. “This is the one battle, sister, where you gain more from surrender than you will by waging war. Surrender to the infinite, and you will gain your true self.”
“This is not the end,” I said, watching blood as it flowed from the stones.
“This is not the end,” Katherine said.
Chapter Seventy-Four
The Tower of London
May 12th 1536
Defying common practice, the trials of those of common blood were held first. This would allow our accusers to establish my guilt before I even came to trial, for how could these men, Norris, Weston, Smeaton and Brereton, have committed adultery with me if I was not involved? My brother and I would be condemned before we had a chance to defend ourselves. None of us were going to escape with our lives, or honour, intact.
But that did not mean we should not try.
My one consolation, and it was a slight one, was that Tom and Page were not called to trial. Perhaps there had not been time to fabricate evidence against them, or they had made a deal with Cromwell. I knew not which. If they had made a deal, I could not think ill of them. Smeaton, I despised, for having spoken against me and my friends, but now that had happened, there was little that could be done for us. If Tom and Page had found a way to save themselves, so be it. At least there would be two fewer deaths.
I watched the men taken from their towers and led to the river. They were to be tried at Westminster, in the great hall where not so many years ago I had sat before the court to feast on my first night as Queen.
I already knew what the judgement would be. Cromwell had assembled a hostile jury. Kingston had informed me who was to sit, and the names brought a cold shudder to my bones. The foreman was Edward Willoughby, a man much in debt to Brereton. William Askew was a friend of the Lady Mary. Walter Hungerford was a dependant of Cromwell’s, widely rumoured to favour the company of men, which, in light of the new laws on sodomy, granted Cromwell ample leverage. Giles Alington was wed to Thomas More’s stepdaughter, and therefore had reason to look for revenge. Sir John Hampden was related to William Paulet, Comptroller of the royal household, and was in Cromwell’s pocket. William Musgrave was after Cromwell’s favour for failing to deliver charges of treason against Lord Dacre. Thomas Palmer and William Drury were great friends of Henry’s. Robert Dormer was known to oppose the break with Rome. Richard Tempest was Cromwell’s friend, and Thomas Wharton was an ally of Henry Percy’s, who, by now, was no doubt terrified that his offer of marriage, made to me so long ago, would see him too in the Tower.
Theoretically, defendants had the right to refuse any member of the jury they thought biased. But it was frowned upon in trials related to treason, incurring more ill-will from the panel of jurors. I was told that John Champnes, the ex-lord mayor, who was almost blind, had been replaced by William Sidney, but Sidney was close to Suffolk, and so this replacement had done us no good. There was only hope that Henry might show mercy, for it was clear no quarter would be granted from those who sat in judgement.
And there was a catch… in previous cases, such as with Wolsey, clemency had been offered if the defendant did not show resistance, and pleaded guilty. Wolsey had done so. He had thrown himself on the mercy of the King. I feared Norris and the others might do the same, might walk the same path as craven Mark, and plead guilty to sway Henry into mercy.
They were at a disadvantage from the start. In legal courts, there was no assumption of innocence, with guilt to be proved. Our courts were not so fair.
There was no counsel for the defence, as there were in some other countries. The accused had to defend themselves. Hearsay would be admitted as fact, and they had no prior knowledge of the evidence or accusations they would face… but the jury would. They would be well-prepared, and willing to give whatever sentence the King desired.
Of course, by now, my friends must have known some of the accusations. They had been pressured to confess and it is hard to confess to something without knowing what it is. But the evidence and full list of accusations had not been shown to me, and I suspected, not to any of us.
Those men walked into Westminster Hall without shield or sword, without understanding or preparation. Lambs to the slaughter…
But my fear that they would plead guilty, to save themselves, was misplaced. In terror, I misjudged my friends.
“They all pleaded not guilty, my lady,” said Kingston that night. “All besides Mark Smeaton.” His voice was incredulous. It was almost unique to find prisoners declaring they were innocent.
For a moment I could not breathe. I put my hand to my heart, thinking it would burst from within me. That these men, my friends, would stand with honour and plead innocence was beyond my reckoning. What nobility was theirs!
They had defied Henry, defied Cromwell. And even if this would not save our lives, the people would hear, and remark upon it. God would hear them.
They had shown their true hearts. They had stood for me and for their honour, even to the detriment of their lives.
All besides Mark. He had damned us all. With just one voice crying out that he had, indeed, had relations with me, the jury would convict, and convict they had. Kingston told me that Mark had said he deserved to die. I wondered if he thought so because he had betrayed us all.
“Many thought Brereton would be acquitted,” Kingston said. “He said he deserved to die a thousand deaths for his sins, but that he was not guilty of what he was accused of. He asked the people to judge the best of him.”
Judge the best, I thought. A pale, thin, yet sacred cry in this wicked world.
“Alas for Mark,” I said. “I fear his soul will suffer punishment for his false confession.”
“They were all found guilty,” said Kingston. “And sentenced to death.”
“It was already decided,” I said. “Long before they went to trial. It matters not. The people will hear of this and so will God. I tell you, Master Kingston, it will not rain in England until we are released. God will send a plague upon these lands that look no more to His justice or will, but to greed, want and lust.”
He could not tell me more. I, too, would go unarmed to my trial. I would have two days to wait, as the court did not sit on a Saturday or Sunday. Two days to prepare myself. No doubt my foes would think that, being a weak woman and hearing of the sentence upon my friends, I would fall to pieces, and be a poor, easy opponent. They thought that leaving me here, to sit and wait for days, would unhinge me. I would come to them a weeping, distraught woman. Easy prey. Easy pickings.
They were wrong.
I would not go quietly to my own death. I would stand and proclaim my innocence as these brave men had done before me. They would not find a weak and feeble woman cowering before them, but a strong one. One who knew her worth and her virtue. One who understood she had nothing to fear, for even if they sent me to death, I would be upheld in the hands of God.
Finally, in the face of death, I had found true power. It was not something to be found at court, or in a bag of gold. It was in the strength and courage of my heart, and the endurance of my everlasting soul.
“They have been sentenced to be hung, drawn and quartered,” said Kingston. “But many say the King will show mercy and commute the sentences to beheading.”
“Mercy,” I laughed. “Is that mercy, then, Master Kingston? To send an innocent soul to death by swift means rather than slow? The King may commute the sentence on these good, guiltless men, but God will not commute His sentence upon the King. For His Majesty is guilty still of murder, is he not? He takes lives not for justice and peace, but for the wishes and wants of his heart. He will murder to be rid of me and take a little wife who will play the sweet and humble Queen. God sees his heart, Master Kingston. There is no hiding from the Almighty.”
Kingston looked worried, and I waved a hand. “Go to,” I said. “Listen not, if you have not the stomach... But all I say is truth. Your lord and master has allowed himself to be deceived in order to have what he wants; a quiet life and a quiet wife. He will have obedience, he will have submission, for after this, who will dare to defy him? He will have me as he always wanted me; subject to his will. He will have the life he desires. And he will murder his friends and the woman he protested he loved in order to have it.”
I laughed. “What small goals are these after all we did together! How tiny can ambitions become! He will have what he thinks he wants, but it will not satisfy him. He will become bored of dull, plain, Jane, and what then? If, in a few years’ time, she does not bear a son, I think you will have a new guest here, Kingston. Another Queen to entertain in the days before her death. When she comes here, tell her what I said. Tell her I am glad she has come to the same fate. I understood only when I suffered as Katherine did what I had done to her. Little Jane, my pallid cousin, she will endure the same. But I will forgive her, for perhaps she, like me, thought she was doing all she did for love. Tell her that, Master Kingston, when she is sent here on trumped up charges so Henry might be rid of another wife who did not live up to his ridiculous fantasies.”
“My lady, if any were to know what you say …”
“What? The King would be unmerciful?” I laughed loudly.
“I will report nothing of this conversation,” he said, glancing at me with both sympathy and fear. “But you must collect yourself.”
He was right. That was what I had to do. If I was to face trial, with a jury led by my enemies, I had to be calm.
If, I thought, for no other reason than to give them all a good scare.
I started laughing again, and I could not stop. They fed me a potion of opium, which I did not want to take lest I said things that were untrue, or they claimed I had, but as I insisted Mistress Aucher was to sit with me, I was assured I would have some protection.
In truth, I should not have feared. What more did they need from me to cement their falsehoods in the minds of others? They had a web of lies and I was stuck fast in its centre. They had painted a portrait, with me as Guinevere and the men as Lancelot. Thrust into that frame, I was bound, held captive by the poor reputation I had earned and by Henry’s abandonment. What more did they need? Nothing.
They had Henry. That was enough.
The next day I was told my household had been broken up. This could only be done on Henry’s orders. I had not faced trial, but Henry was already assured I would be found guilty.
