The Scandal of Christendom

by G Lawrence

  “I will think about it.” I did not like the notion, but I could see the sense in it. “But I would not want to put him off coming to my bed.”

  “There is no danger to a child in the first months,” she said. “And besides, sister, the King cannot stay away from you. The suggestion that you might be carrying his child would never put off a man so lost in desire as he.”

  I nodded. Long ago, I had shied from the notion of playing Henry. That reservation remained in my heart, but it was buried under layers of self-preservation and the understanding that, at times, Henry needed to be pushed.

  “Very well,” I said. “But speak of this to no one.”

  Jane put her finger to her lips. “I have always been good at keeping secrets.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Greenwich Palace

  Winter 1532

  “I am pleased you got to him first, Cromwell,” I said. “If that butcher-boy, More, got hold of him, you can be sure he would use him for firewood.”

  “Which is why I moved fast, my lady.” Cromwell ran a hand over the cap in his hands. “I have arranged for Frith to be held in the Tower, but in loose confinement and unshackled. More and his friend Bishop Stokesley are desperate to get hold of him, but I have told them His Majesty is most interested in this young man, and he wants to decide his fate.”

  John Frith was the young, charming scholar that Henry had agreed could be useful, as long as he abandoned his love for Tyndale. Frith had tried to leave England just as we had sailed for France, but his ship had been cast back, and he had found himself arrested again. Fortunately, arriving in England a week before us, Cromwell had taken custody of the young man, otherwise there could well have been another good soul sent to More’s bestial bonfires. Even though he was not Chancellor anymore, Thomas More had not abandoned the persecution of heretics. He could not order them to their deaths, and fortunately had not had the authority to command Cromwell to surrender Frith, but the Church still loved their most able fire-flint. They granted More power where Henry would not.

  “I was hoping you could help me keep him safe, my lady. I wish the young man well. He has a fine mind, and if he could just temper his beliefs slightly, there is much I could have him do for us.”

  “I will praise him,” I said. “If you do the same, two people His Majesty trusts and loves will be speaking with the same voice.”

  “And the only detractor is More.” Cromwell grinned. “He wrote to the King about Frith, but his opinion does not hold the same weight as once it did.”

  “His Majesty cannot even bear mention of More if in the right temper,” I agreed. “His disloyalty wounded the King.” I tapped my lips. “Gardiner was Frith’s tutor when he was at Cambridge,” I said. “Perhaps I could convince the King to release Frith into his custody.”

  “And you think Gardiner would agree?”

  “Gardiner has been desperate to prove his loyalty ever since the submission of the clergy,” I said. “He will do as he is told, like the little dog he is.”

  Cromwell let out a small snort of mirth. Then his face clouded over. “There is another matter, my lady.”

  “What else?”

  “It is Elizabeth Barton.”

  “The Holy Nun?” I asked. “What of her? Has she been making more promises the King will burn in Hell?”

  “Perhaps more dangerously, my lady, my men have reported that she has been writing to Queen Katherine.”

  I frowned. It was bad enough that the Nun was disparaging Henry and me in public, but communicating directly with Katherine was another matter. It occurred to me, however, dangerous as this was, that it could be useful if Katherine responded to a woman who had prophesied Henry’s death. “And has Katherine answered?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” Cromwell said. It was uncanny, at times, how Cromwell appeared able to read my thoughts. “The Queen has remained silent. If she had replied, we could have used that against her. The King is already unhappy with the Holy Nun and she has committed treason by foretelling his death.” He paused. “Both More and Fisher have invited her to their houses of late,” he said. “They refute her prophesies, and refuse to comment on them publicly, but they are keeping company with her.”

  “I feel for Barton. I think she is a poor, mad girl whom men have taken into their custody and used. I do not believe she speaks for God. I think she is told what to say.”

  “I believe the same, my lady.” Cromwell ran a finger along the brim of his hat. “But her prophesies, no matter who devises them, are dangerous. I mean to keep an eye on her, and if there comes a chance to remove her from public view, I believe it should be taken.”

  “I agree,” I said. “Although with sorrow. It seems to me that women are often used by men. Barton is a tool. Rather than have a doctor care for her, as they should, her keepers encourage her wild thoughts. But I agree she is dangerous, for she pulls people away from the vision of the Church we are trying to bring to life. She is a papist, and that will never change.”

  “I will keep an eye on her, my lady,” he said. “And the other I will keep on Katherine.”

  “Spare a glance, from time to time, for More and Fisher,” I added. “If they are entertaining Barton, or encouraging her, they are traitors.”

  “I had the same thought, my lady.”

  “Is there any news of Cranmer?” I could not keep the slight note of terror from my voice. Weeks, months, had passed with no news. We needed him back and we needed him in position. If I fell pregnant, we had to be married swiftly.

  “Hawkins sent word that he is on his way,” said Cromwell. “But more than that I do not know.”

  “The King will be angry if he continues to delay,” I said. “And what is keeping him? Surely he must be eager for his new position?”

  “Perhaps not, madam,” said Cromwell. “He is a humble man. The honour might be too much for him to comprehend.”

  “Whether he can comprehend it or not, he needs to heed His Majesty and come to court!” I exclaimed. “This is getting faintly ridiculous.”

  “I will send Vaughan after him, my lady,” Cromwell said in a soothing tone.

  *

  Christmas was coming. There was a sense of excitement in the air. Henry and I celebrated with feasts of fish. We ate fine carp and rich, thick stews of herring, eel and salmon. Whilst cracking oysters and feeding them to one another, we spoke of Christmas and the entertainments, Masses and celebrations we would oversee. Infused with new energy, Henry spoke about holding a joust in the New Year, and riding in it.

  “It has been too long since I competed,” he said, stroking my leg. “I feel so rejuvenated, Anne. I am a new man!”

  I giggled as his hand crept upwards. The linen tablecloth hid his caress, but it made me shiver to feel him stroke me, and it was no less exciting that he was doing so before the whole court, and yet none knew what we were up to…

  And as this season of new life and hope unfolded, I realised something. I had no need to lie to Henry, as Jane had advised. My monthly courses stopped. My breasts became tender and started to swell. I was nauseous in the morning and felt tired all day. Sometimes, after Henry had risen to go about his business, I spent time in company with my privy, vomiting into its round, clean bowl.

  The signs were there, and I was sure.

  I was carrying Henry’s child.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Greenwich Palace

  Christmas 1532 - Winter 1533

  That Christmas, John Frith was released into Gardiner’s custody on my urging. I had ensured he was treated well in the Tower, even sending baskets of food and books to him in secret. One of the Tower guardsmen, Thomas Phelips, was my creature, and he brought visitors to Frith, men whose company I knew he would enjoy. Doctor Butts, my old ally, was one of them. I wanted Frith to understand that if he turned his quill to work for us, he would gain much.

  And it was not only men and food that entered and left the Tower, for Frith was busy whilst incarcerated, writing
a tract against John Rastell, More’s brother-in-law. Rastell was a printer, and had brought many of More’s anti-reformist texts into wide circulation. Frith’s works were smuggled out of the Tower, copied, and distributed about London by his followers. I made sure he had quills and ink enough, for if Frith was disposed to do More any harm, I could only think well of that.

  Works against my enemies, I did not mind, but I told Butts to caution the young man to be careful what he wrote about other, more delicate subjects. “Tell him to avoid writing about the Sacraments,” I instructed Butts. “His Majesty honours them, and Frith must be careful.”

  “I have a letter from Tyndale advising much the same, my lady,” Butts whispered. “I have been allowing his letters to reach Frith, for there is much wisdom in them. He, too, advises the young man to have a care.”

  I had often thought Tyndale and I shared much in common.

  “I did not hear you, just now, good Doctor,” I said with a conspiratorial smile. “I believe you said Frith was eager to travel over hills and dales. I, too, will be glad when he is at liberty.”

  Butts smiled, understanding I could not admit knowing anything of Tyndale. Henry had not forgiven him. It would be perilous to admit any knowledge of his doings, and especially dangerous to have allowed Tyndale to communicate with Frith.

  Tyndale was a lost cause. I had other battles to fight.

  One of those was to marry again, on English soil, and have our union acknowledged. And if I was pregnant, as I believed I was, we had to move swiftly.

  In the days before Christmas, servants went out into the parks and gathered in greenery. They arrived back laden with baskets and bundles of shining ivy, silver-green mistletoe and bold green holly. Red berries were strung up with glimmering green leaves, made into garlands for the palace doors, and wound about the stairs, entwined with red silk ribbon, making the palace feel as though it were a realm of fairies. Ivy was not allowed to dominate the decorations, as some of our more superstitious servants found its associations with graveyards too great, and feared it might bring Death to our door. As I wandered out to gaze upon the finery of Christmas, Tom walked with me. I saw his eyes flit to the holly, and a smile began to work its way up his mouth.

  “What is it that has you so amused?” I asked.

  “The servants obviously believe you are the master of the house,” he said in a low voice.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Tom extended a hand to a bundle of holly riding the main stairs. “More female holly than male,” he said, pointing at the smooth leaves, bare of prickles. “This means you will be master of this house in the coming year.”

  I laughed as he jested about getting me a pair of hose and a doublet for New Year’s, but later, I came to hope that Henry had not noted this. He was a proud man. If he thought his servants believed I was master of the house, he would be insulted.

  After the last austere fast on Christmas Eve, where as well as abstaining from meat, no eggs or cheese could be eaten either, we came together for Mass on Christmas morn. Church bells rang all over London, and the kitchens were in a riot of activity, making a feast for that night. We danced and drank and ate our way through Christmas Day in high spirits, and after, when Henry and I staggered to our bed, we were the least discreet we had ever been.

  “I care not!” cried Henry, lifting me off my feet and carrying me into his room. He was more than a little drunk, and I was rather afraid he would drop me. “Let the world know of our love!”

  That night, if anyone had been in doubt before, they could be no longer. We were lost in our passion for each other.

  *

  New Year’s came and Henry gave me more cloth than I had ever seen to make even more gowns for my wardrobe. He also told me that work on Hampton Court was shortly to begin too, to make new apartments for me. I presented him with a new saddle, a hunter’s cloak and cap and seven new mastiffs. He admitted himself delighted, but when I heard he had sent gifts to his daughter, I became less so. Henry had sent Mary a golden cup, along with a gilt cruse with a cover.

  “Will he never cease to pander to that girl?” I asked Anne Savage, a new lady of my chambers. She was a client of Brereton’s and his good friend, so I had allowed her to enter my service. Anne had been long at court, and knew her job well, but she was also friendly, witty and pleasant to be around.

  “They are not very imaginative presents, my lady,” Anne pointed out.

  “Indeed,” agreed Elizabeth Browne, the Countess of Worcester who was with us. “His Majesty sends goblets to many people, my lady. This is not special treatment, and the Princess will understand that.”

  “You have a point,” I said, smiling at both of them. Suddenly I felt happier. Henry ordered in large numbers of golden cups to be distributed to many nobles. This was no personal, thoughtful gift. If anything it was a sign he only thought of his daughter as just another noble.

  One evening, a crisp, cold night in January, Henry entered my chambers. “The weather is so fine,” he said, looking from the window. “Will you join me for hunting tomorrow?”

  “Nothing would please me more,” I said. “But I wonder if I should.”

  Henry was bemused. He knew I loved the chase as much as he. “Are you unwell, my love?” He put a hand to my brow. “You do not feel feverish.”

  I smiled. “It is not my head I fear for, my love,” I said, taking his hand and moving it to my stomach. “It is my belly.”

  He was baffled for a moment, then his face cleared. “Anne… you do not mean…?”

  “What do you think I mean?” I teased.

  “Trick me not,” he said, drawing me close. “Are you…?”

  “My courses have stopped,” I said. “I lift my nose, and I smell mice scampering in the walls and dough rising in the kitchens. I am sick every morning, but never have I greeted the sight of the inside of my privy with more joy!”

  Henry roared with laughter. “My God,” he said, pulling me close. “My God.”

  “God meant us to be together, did He not, my lord?” I asked. “You have only to look at me, and I fall pregnant with your son.”

  “And you are certain?”

  “We can wait another month, if you wish,” I said. “But in my heart I know.”

  “We can delay no longer,” Henry said, flushed and worried. “You must be acknowledged.”

  “It must be soon,” I said. “If I start to show before an announcement is made, people will question our son and his inheritance.”

  “No one will ever question our son.” Henry’s voice was fierce. “Fear not, Anne. I will go to Cromwell this very moment and tell him there can be no more delays.”

  “But without Cranmer as Archbishop…”

  “Clement has agreed to his appointment,” said Henry. “We will have him consecrated soon. And we will be married again before that. Once Cranmer is consecrated, we will announce that you and I are already married. I promise you, Anne, it will be done.”

  My face must have looked anxious, as he cradled me in his arms like a babe. “It will be done, Anne,” he said again. “No one will question our child.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  York Place

  25th January 1533

  The Feast of the Conversion of St Paul

  I smoothed my dress, cursing my hands for shaking. It was early in the morning. The court was still abed, and even the servants were not up yet. My chamber was lit by the glow of candles, flickering gently on table-top and in sconces. Only my sister and Jane attended me. We did not want everyone to know what we were up to.

  Today was my wedding day.

  Of course, we had already gone through a service of sorts in France, but this was different. We were to be married on English soil, surrounded by a small party of English men and women. The priest, Doctor Rowland Lee, who was also Henry’s chaplain, had been deceived, for Henry had told him that Clement had at last sanctioned our marriage. Only a few of Henry’s men were to attend the ceremony. No
rris, Thomas Heneage and William Brereton were to escort Henry, and my sister, Jane, and Anne Savage, my trainbearer, would serve me. Margaret was gone from court as her confinement was drawing near, and not even my mother and father would be there. George, too, was absent in France. I would have liked George present. He would have steadied my nerves.

  I felt like weeping and laughing at the same time, as though my body wanted to thrust all the emotions I was struggling to contain up and out of me. I thought I might come apart; a ball of yarn unwinding as it tumbles across the floor. I could have curled up in bed and sobbed, or run about the palace screaming for joy. I was within myself, and apart from myself. I was, at the same moment, both lost and found.