Truth Endures

by Sandra Vasoli

  For most of that time I spoke while his back was to me until, at last, he whirled around and spat that he could no longer TRUST me! That I had deceived him time after time and had not kept my promises to him. How could he ever feel hopeful about us again, he snarled? He did not know.

  I had to make him understand, and so I talked and talked until I was hoarse and Elizabeth grew restless in my arms. I believe at the end he was slightly mollified, but I feared it was not to be the same between us. Perhaps ever again.

  There were loyal friends who provided me with dire inside information. They warned that there were enemies including Nicholas Carew, my own uncle Norfolk and the vindictive Seymours, all followers of the Pope and the Roman Church, who conspired to capitalize upon the distance which had become apparent between Henry and myself in order to supplant me, and place the Catholic princess, Mary, firmly back in the line of succession. In their view, if I were to be abandoned by Henry and supplanted by a new queen, it would offer the ideal opportunity to restore the one true church in England. It just might also pave the way for the powerful rise of a new familial dynasty.

  And who did they want as their new Queen?

  Jane Seymour, of course.

  Tower of London

  May 1536

  I was no stranger to threat or confrontation. This time, though, I had not only myself to think of. So, feeling very uneasy following the distressingly strange setting of that last week in April, I sought out Matthew Parker, another of my chaplains whom I held in high regard. Parker was a learned and kindly man, and I had always found his perspective to be heartening.

  Quite baldly, I asked Matthew, with great earnestness, that should anything happen to me – were I to be deposed, for example - would he provide protection for Princess Elizabeth? He was clearly taken aback by the question, and seemed quite ill at ease with it, but when I insisted, he agreed and gave me his word that he would be her benefactor. His commitment allowed me some relief.

  My moods veered wildly from fear and despair to hope that my marriage with Henry might still be saved and, in fact, revived. Then I learned that a visit to Calais was in the offing and that I was to go with Henry. Delighted, and indeed surprised, I suddenly felt I could breathe freely again and immediately began to prepare for what I hoped would be this chance to renew fully our broken relationship. Surely this was a very positive indication that he was willing to consider renewing his faith in me: in us. After all, we had always been at our closest during our travels. Undoubtedly this diversion was just what we desperately required.

  Feeling jubilant for a change, I looked forward to May Day; always a lighthearted celebration. Better still, the very next morning, 2 May, Henry and I and our company of travellers were scheduled to depart for Rochester on the first leg of our journey to Calais.

  This year the May Day revels were to be marked by a jousting tourney. I took my place in the berfrois with the ladies to watch the competition from the seats closest to the riders and near to the King and his men.

  Henry, thankfully, was not competing in this event, and because I did not have to watch and worry about his safety, I felt a greater sense of calm than I had in some days. We cheered and waved to the crowd and competitors, and I was enjoying myself, so I did not take notice immediately when a messenger arrived to speak privately in the King’s ear. Maggie, sitting next to me, nudged my arm, however, and I looked up in time to see Henry and several of his courtiers stand and hurriedly abandon their seats. I caught only a glimpse of Henry’s expression – it was not reassuring: set hard with displeasure.

  They disappeared from view while the rest of the court present were left whispering and wondering what had occurred to cause the King to leave in such haste. Maggie and I exchanged glances of concern: Henry had not looked my way; he had not passed me a message explaining his departure – I had no idea where he had gone and was bewildered. Something did not feel right.

  Mind in a whirl I stayed for the remainder of the tournament, yet comprehended little of its outcomes. But how could I? As each moment passed my instincts screamed ever louder that something was terribly amiss. The evening was spent in my chambers, alone. I had no appetite, ate little, and slept even less.

  Henry did not make a return appearance in the following day’s tennis matches. I had planned to attend, and so I did: sitting in the stands with several ladies, pretending – but not knowing - who played or who won. At its conclusion, as I left my seat, I was met by a royal messenger. He very stiffly told me that I was to present myself to the Privy Council of the King, by the King’s orders, immediately.

  My heart pounded, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. A guard accompanied me to the council chamber. Upon entering I saw three men - the Duke of Norfolk, the brother of my beloved mother, Sir William FitzWilliam, and Sir William Paulet - awaiting me, their countenances most solemn.

  I felt the bile rise in my throat but summoned all my courage, took a deep breath, and greeted coldly, “Good day, gentlemen. Please explain what purpose have you to summon me in such a way?”

  Their response was beyond anything even a madwoman could have anticipated.

  Norfolk - my own uncle - replied, “Madame, we are here to inform you that you are charged with evil behavior. You are accused of having intimate relations with several men, including the musician Mark Smeaton and the Groom of the Stool, Sir Henry Norreys. What say you to these charges?”

  I stood unblinkingly while I tried to understand what had just been said. How could this possibly be? My hand flew to my throat, willing it to speak. My voice, thankfully, remained strong despite my inner terror.

  “Sirs, you make of me accusations which are of the most preposterous and repugnant nature. In no way, and at no time, did I ever conduct myself but with the utmost respect and love toward my husband, the King. Never have I strayed – neither in thought nor in deed! Release me immediately!”

  Norfolk made little attempt to conceal a smug smile.

  “Nay, we shall not, Madame. You have already been fully implicated. Two of the men named in this vile scheme have already admitted their guilt, the fact of which His Grace the King has been informed. You will not be released: instead, you will only be permitted to return to your chambers, where you will be watched.”

  Ashen-faced I was escorted in stony silence by the three nobles to my Privy Chamber, where they left me under the eyes of a royal guard. Laughably, the servants had provided lavish food and drink for my repast - indeed, a dinner fit for a queen! - but I touched nothing and paced about the room doing my best to control my horror. Before very long had passed, Norfolk returned, along with a group of the King’s esquires, with a writ – the warrant for my arrest!

  They were to take me to the Tower ...

  Here, the turmoil of those hours – nay, day after endless day – becomes so distressing that it is difficult to maintain a concise telling of what happened. My mind swirled incessantly – sometimes it remained sharp, well-functioning: at others I might well have been that madwoman, indeed. Throughout it all, I endeavored to maintain my dignity although I could never, for one blessed moment, rid my thoughts of those poor men who had been accused – so unjustly … so falsely! - just to serve the purpose of tumbling me from the throne.

  With pathetically few belongings thrown hastily together in a leather satchel, I was placed on a barge and rowed to the Tower. I remember little of that journey other than how chilled I became, with the wind-torn sheets of spray adding to my misery. Finally, we disembarked, and I was met in the Tower grounds by Sir William Kingston – a man whom I had always been friendly with: the man who had assisted me so pleasantly during my coronation, and whose wife was one of my ladies in waiting. His face was sombre, and I sensed his pity.

  Struggling to keep my composure, I asked, “Mister Kingston, shall I go into a dungeon?”

  Gently he placed his hand on my arm, “No Madame, you will go
to the lodging you lay in at your coronation.”

  His eyes were kind, and I just broke down at that small mercy. I cried, and through my tears and near hysteria, reflected, “It is too good for me!” after which we began walking toward the Queen’s apartments. I called out, “Jesu, have mercy on me!”

  So distraught did I become that they had to stop momentarily so I could gather myself.

  When we arrived at the Queen’s chambers, I feverishly stalked the rooms while Kingston remained, awkward and silent. I then found, to my even greater discomfiture, that I was to be served by Mary Scrope, Lady Kingston, and two other ladies with whom I had never been close … an aunt, Elizabeth Boleyn, and Lady Shelton, Madge’s mother. I also had at my service Margaret Stonor, and a former lady in waiting who had pretended to be my ally but whom I had always suspected was not - Margaret Dymoke, Lady Coffin.

  All of these women had questionable allegiances, as I was well aware. Even more so when I discovered they had been appointed to their duty by Master Secretary Cromwell himself – who had instructed them to record anything, and everything, I did and said.

  That evening, as I sat at the table with Constable Kingston, I still could not eat, and so I talked instead. I told him with no uncertainty that I was completely clear from the company of any man except my husband. I asked him where my father was since he had not been in the tiltyard – whereupon Kingston replied he had seen him earlier in the day, at court. I thought then of my lady mother, and that recall alone was almost enough to bring me to my knees.

  Then an abhorrent concern came to me, and I asked tremulously, “... and Master Kingston, where is my sweet brother? Please tell me?”

  Kingston hesitated a moment, then informed me that he had left George at York Place earlier in the day. I was relieved, but not entirely reassured.

  After a short period of most agonizing silence, during which I again lost control and began weeping, I found myself musing aloud how Norreys, who was now imprisoned in the Tower as well, had unwittingly implicated me in such an awful plot – all stemming, I realized, from his drunken, foolhardy behavior that night in my chambers. And then, of all unlikely alleged lovers, there was poor young Mark Smeaton? How utterly absurd – that I would make the King a fool for a poor, uneducated and unworldly musician!

  Finally, I pleaded, “Mr Kingston, pray tell me, will I die without justice?”

  I asked, yet I knew …

  Gently he responded. “Madame, even the poorest of subjects hath justice.”

  Really, I thought?

  It was laughable.

  In the several days which followed my arrest, I made a mighty effort to balance myself. At times, I experienced a modicum of peace – usually when deep in prayer; but mostly because the pain of my circumstance was nigh to overwhelming, made yet more excruciating when I was told by Kingston that, along with Smeaton and Norreys, Sir Frances Weston and poor William Brereton had also been accused of adultery with me, and were now imprisoned.

  God’s tears - they were Henry’s closest friends!

  It was horrifying. Did even my enemies think I had no respectability at all? Had they not known me since I was first at court: a girl of 22 years? Had I ever been reputed to be morally loose in my behavior?

  But in moments of clarity I came to know what it was about. All too well. I would be conveniently removed, making way for another Queen, another faction – another wife more malleable. More fertile. And I knew who was behind the stratagem. For uncharacteristically he made no appearance; instead visits to receive Kingston’s reports were handled either through his secretary, Sadler, or in an even more cowardly manner – secretively - so I would be denied any chance to confront him in person.

  Thomas Cromwell.

  Only finally did Master Kingston muster courage enough to tell me what I believe I already anticipated - that my brother George, my blood, my dearest friend and constant defender, had been arrested after being accused of knowing me, his sister, carnally. When I heard of this, I ran for a basin and heaved and heaved until my insides had no more to relinquish.

  Therefore, my fate was predestined, and brutally clear. Yes, there would be a trial. Would it exonerate me? Of course not. How foolish I would have been to have harboured that vain hope for even a second. I was well aware of how these situations were contrived. I was considered a traitor, and therefore, I would die, and along with me five innocent men - Smeaton, Weston, Norreys, Brereton, and my beloved sibling, George Boleyn. Surely not even God would forgive my accusers for what they intended to do.

  And what about Henry? Was my sense of betrayal worse than his must have been when persuaded of these odious lies? I knew very well that he was a man whose need for absolute loyalty was almost childlike. I had watched him be hurt before, only to strike back without mercy upon even the slightest suspicion that he had been forsaken. So, I could well imagine his pain and resentment, his great willingness to believe even the most outrageous of untruths, when informed that he had been cuckolded beneath his very roof, and by his best friends - even by his own brother-in-law! His frenzy would have been uncontrollable.

  But then, as I had been the idealized object of his veneration for so long, and we had loved so deeply – that could not be denied – I wondered, if only I were able to see him, to speak with him, might I just be able to convince him that he was being deceived into believing such accusations?

  So I insisted upon an audience with the King. That demand, passed through Kingston, to Ralph Sadler, Cromwell’s devoted personal assistant, and thence to Cromwell – the master conspirator - was flatly and quickly denied. I doubted whether Henry was even consulted, the decision being made for him.

  Left with no recourse, I asked if I might at least compose a letter to my husband and have it passed to him. Surely this could not be denied me? After all, I was imprisoned but not convicted. And I was still Queen.

  To my surprise, I was told by Kingston- although undoubtedly the instruction came from Cromwell - that I would be permitted to dictate a short letter, but that it would be scribed for me and then sent on to the King.

  Left with no alternative, I agreed.

  I knew precisely what I wished to say to Henry. It was not to be a letter from an anguished prisoner begging for her life from her King. No – instead it would contain the words of a dearly beloved wife to her cherished husband. For that is what I still considered us to be.

  The writing of the letter, on 6 May, four days into my imprisonment, proved a sombre, but momentous event. Constable Kingston was present, along with other witnesses: Lady Boleyn, Lady Coffin, Lady Kingston, and the scribe, Master Ralph Sadler - of course, it had to be he: Cromwell having sent his most devoted henchman to record my words.

  I sighed. So be it, they would each hear what I knew, in my heart, to be the last words I would ever convey to the man who had been my life’s love, my King, and my second self.

  As Sadler sat with quill poised, I began:

  “Sir, your Grace’s displeasure, and my Imprisonment are Things so strange unto me, as what to Write, or what to Excuse, I am altogether ignorant; whereas you sent unto me (willing me to confess a Truth, and so obtain your Favour) by such a one, whom you know to be my ancient and professed Enemy; I no sooner received the Message by him, than I rightly conceived your Meaning; and if, as you say, confessing Truth indeed may procure my safety, I shall with all Willingness and Duty perform your Command.

  But let not your Grace ever imagine that your poor Wife will ever be brought to acknowledge a Fault, where not so much as Thought thereof proceeded. And to speak a truth, never Prince had Wife more Loyal in all Duty, and in all true Affection, than you have found in Anne Boleyn, with which Name and Place could willingly have contented my self, as if God, and your Grace’s Pleasure had been so pleased. Neither did I at any time so far forge my self in my Exaltation, or received Queenship, but that I always looked for such an A
lteration as now I find; for the ground of my preferment being on no surer Foundation than your Grace’s Fancy, the least Alteration, I knew, was fit and sufficient to draw that Fancy to some other subject.

  You have chosen me, from a low Estate, to be your Queen and Companion, far beyond my Desert or Desire. If then you found me worthy of such Honour, Good your Grace, let not any light Fancy, or bad Counsel of mine Enemies, withdraw your Princely Favour from me; neither let that Stain, that unworthy Stain of a Disloyal Heart towards your good Grace, ever cast so foul a Blot on your most Dutiful Wife, and the Infant Princess your Daughter:

  Try me, good King, but let me have a Lawful Trial, and let not my sworn Enemies sit as my Accusers and Judges; yes, let me receive an open Trial, for my Truth shall fear no open shame; then shall you see, either mine Innocency cleared, your Suspicion and Conscience satisfied, the Ignominy and Slander of the World stopped, or my Guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or you may determine of me, your Grace may be freed from an open Censure; and mine Offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace is at liberty, both before God and Man, not only to execute worthy Punishment on me as an unlawful Wife, but to follow your Affection already settled on that party, for whose sake I am now as I am, whose Name I could some good while since have pointed unto: Your Grace being not ignorant of my Suspicion therein.

  But if you have already determined of me, and that not only my Death, but an Infamous Slander must bring you the enjoying of your desired Happiness; then I desire of God, that he will pardon your great Sin therein, and likewise mine Enemies, the Instruments thereof; that he will not call you to a strict Account for your unprincely and cruel usage of me, at his General Judgement-Seat, where both you and my self must shortly appear, and in whose Judgement, I doubt not, (whatsoever the World may think of me) mine Innocence shall be openly known, and sufficiently cleared.