by Alison Weir
He kissed her, tilting her chin so that he could look into her eyes. “I think myself in Paradise,” he whispered.
“Paradise, for me, is where you are,” she replied, wondering where she got the inspiration to say such things to him.
“Oh, my darling…” He buried his head in the crook of her shoulder. “I thank God that you are mine, my sweet Tudor rose. And I love you far, far beyond the rest. At last, I have a wife who embodies everything I admire in women: beauty, charm, a pleasant disposition, obedience, and virtue. I am blessed indeed.”
Katheryn swallowed. “I am glad to bring you happiness after the mishaps of your other marriages.”
“This is a new beginning for us both. And I am glad that we are going to be spending time alone together here. I want to enjoy you and get to know you better before we have to return to court and you are proclaimed Queen. There’s precious little privacy there.”
“When do we have to be back at court?”
“Not for five days. Five days that are just for us.” He kissed her again. “And now, sweetheart, it is time for sleep.”
He was snoring within moments. Katheryn reached for the needle.
* * *
—
She was awoken by Henry kissing her, his beard rough against her chin, his breath sour. His hands were exploring her body. Obediently, she let him do as he wished, and soon he rolled over on his back and pulled her on top of him.
“Mount me, like a horse!” he commanded, and she climbed astride him, guiding him inside her. The sight of her body in motion held him spellbound, and then his eyes closed in ecstasy.
Afterward, he pleasured her as before, and then, when they had rested a little, he kissed her and heaved himself out of the bed.
“I have something for you,” he said, like a child eager to reveal a wonderful surprise. She sat up, the sheet falling down to her waist, and watched him unlock a small carved chest on the table under the window. Then he carried it over to the bed, opened it, and tipped the contents into her lap.
“The jewels of the queens of England!” he said triumphantly, watching avidly for her reaction.
She gasped at the cascade of riches that lay before her. There must be well over a hundred pieces, she thought, all gleaming gold and precious stones. Her fingers rifled through gems of uncalculated price, ropes of pearls, watches, pendants, brooches, rings…and all hers to wear.
“They are fabulous!” she cried. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Henry!”
He was almost beside himself with happiness. “Some of these were given by my ancestors to their beloved consorts. They come with my love. I am so glad you like them.”
“How could I not?” she asked, her eyes wide with wonder.
“And these I have had made especially for you,” he said, laying a bulging velvet pouch on top of the jewels and opening it to reveal yet more. She picked up, in turn, a gold brooch with scenes from the life of Noah crafted in diamonds and rubies, a gold ship garnished with diamonds, and a rich collar with her initial set in diamonds. There were gem-studded crosses, a necklace of table diamonds, pomanders, girdles, and jeweled books and purses. There was even a gold tablet depicting the Pope lamenting the King’s break with Rome.
“Oh, Henry!” she breathed and kissed him lovingly.
She spent a very happy hour with him, admiring the jewels and trying them on, all naked as she was, until the sight of her became too much for him and he claimed her again, although with less vigor this time.
Afterward, he grinned at her. “We should be celebrating your uprising as a wife! It is traditional for a husband to give his wife a gift.”
“But you have given me so many already. The jewels…”
“Those are but your due, as my Queen. These are your morning gift.” He bent down and retrieved a silk-wrapped bundle he must have had placed on the step of the bed the day before, concealed beneath the curtains. Katheryn sat up and undid the ribbon that bound it, and the silk fell away to reveal four books, exquisitely bound and tooled in purple and crimson velvet, leather, silver, and gilt. She read the titles: there were two Mass books, a New Testament, and a little book in French, a language she could not read.
“They are beautiful, Henry,” she said, kissing him, although her heart was sinking because he clearly thought her better educated than she was. She had never read a book for pleasure in her life. Reading, like writing, did not come easily to her. “I will treasure them.”
“They are aids to devotion that I know will bring you spiritual comfort,” he said. “I have commissioned more for you, but they await the engraving of your initials. They are Latin works by the Church Fathers, Erasmus, St. John Chrysostom, and Pope Gregory the Great—and there’s an excellent book on the difference between royal and ecclesiastical power by the Provost of King’s College, Cambridge.”
Latin! She could barely read English.
“You are too good to me,” she said, “but I may need some help with the Latin.”
“Of course.” Henry smiled. “I did not expect you to know it. These are the kind of books that ought to be owned by the wife of the Supreme Head of the Church. I myself have enjoyed them and will have much pleasure in discussing them with you.”
That would be amusing, she thought dismally.
But she could not stay dismal for long. It was time for her uprising. When Henry had kissed her and gone off to the ministrations of his gentlemen, she pulled on her night-rail and robe and sent for Isabel and Margaret. She felt happy. Her wedding night had not been as bad as she had feared, and she had experienced the pleasure a wife should feel. She was Queen now, and the possessor of great riches and a husband who adored her and was good to her. And this was just the beginning!
Isabel and Margaret were discreet.
“Your Grace is looking radiant!” Isabel said, regarding her wistfully. “Oh, what it is to be young with your life ahead of you. I wish you every happiness, my dear.”
Katheryn stood impatiently as they dressed her in her scarlet gown, eager to select some pieces from her treasure chest to go with it. She chose rings, pearls, chains, and an ouche set with three rubies, which Margaret pinned to her breast. Then Isabel began plaiting her hair.
“No, leave it loose,” Katheryn said.
“But a wife must bind up her hair and cover it, Madam, from the day of her uprising. Only her husband may see it in its glory. I think the King would expect you to put it up.”
“Very well,” she said, resolving to ask Henry to indulge her wish to keep her hair unbound beneath her hood, as she had always worn it. She suffered Isabel to pin up her plaits and cover them with a French hood of black velvet and scarlet with a white band and a pearl biliment.
“Your Grace looks every inch the Queen,” Isabel declared when she had finished, then hesitated. “May I ask a favor?”
“Of course,” Katheryn said.
“My brother John is still in the Tower. It’s been months now and no word. If you feel able, could you ask the King if he will release him?”
“I will,” Katheryn promised. “I will wait for the right moment.”
* * *
—
She joined Henry for breakfast, which was served to them in the little pleasance, by his order. The morning was fair, with the sweet scent of roses perfuming the air.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his eyes gleaming.
“But I had to put my hair up. Henry, do you think I might still wear it loose?”
“You may do whatever you wish, sweetheart. You are my Queen now, and as such, you are invested with a spiritual virginity, as the mirror of our Blessed Lady, and may wear your hair as you please.”
His words brought home to Katheryn the gravity of her high rank. She now occupied the most powerful and desirable position to which a woman could aspire, and she was going to love every min
ute of it. But she was also the wife of the Supreme Head of the Church, and that would be reflected in the ceremonial that surrounded her and people’s expectations of her. She must not only be virtuous; she must strive to emulate the Virgin Mary’s example in all things: in loving the King, bearing him children—heavens, she might be pregnant already!—and in the charities and acts of mercy expected of a queen.
“I want to be worthy of you,” she told Henry, buttering a piece of manchet bread and filling it with a slice of cold beef. “I mean to carry out my duties as befits the wife of a mighty sovereign, but I am aware that I lack experience in running a great household.”
“Do not worry,” Henry said, finishing his ale. “You will have officers to do that for you. When we get to Hampton Court, I will appoint them. In the meantime, start thinking about who you want to serve you. I assume you would like your sisters to remain with you, and Sir Edward Baynton as vice chamberlain?”
“Yes, please.” Katheryn nodded.
“Most of those officers appointed to serve the Lady Anna of Cleves can remain with you,” he told her, “but we can make changes if you would like.”
It seemed that her every wish was to be his command.
“You must choose a badge,” he said.
She had not thought of this. “What do you recommend, Henry?”
“I thought a crowned rose—for my fair Tudor rose.”
“I love it!” she cried.
“And you need a motto.”
She thought for a few moments. He had been so good to her. “I want something that shows I place my whole reliance on you. I know! ‘No other will than his.’ Does that please you?”
His smile was broad. “Indeed it does. But it must be in French. Non autre volonté que le sienne. I will have it engraved on a bracelet that you can wear for all to see. And we will have your badge and arms set up in all my palaces, replacing the Lady Anna’s. I will give the order today.”
There was a discreet tap on the wooden gate.
“Enter!” the King called. And there was Tom Culpeper, looking very pale. Katheryn was shocked to see him. But, she realized, as one of Henry’s most favored gentlemen, of course he would be here. And they had done nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of.
Tom did not look at her, but fell on one knee, his face expressionless. “Your Grace, I have come to inform you that the deed you ordered was carried out yesterday.”
Henry’s smile vanished. “Thank you for letting me know. You may go.”
Tom got up, bowed, and left without a glance at Katheryn.
Henry’s face was set like stone. He sat there, pensive, not speaking.
“What’s happened?” she asked.
He started. It was as if he had forgotten that she was there. “Alas, darling, I would not have anything bad darken our honeymoon, but you will have to know sometime. Cromwell was executed yesterday. I told them not to trouble me with talk about it because it was our wedding day.”
He had had Cromwell executed on their wedding day? She could not believe it. And yet, it was oddly appropriate. Cromwell had entangled Henry in a marriage that was no marriage and caused him great trouble and grief. No wonder Henry had thought it fitting that he should pay for it on the day he took another wife.
She should be pleased that Cromwell was no more. Uncle Norfolk and all her Howard relatives had loathed him and vowed to topple him. They would be rejoicing that he was dead and that their way to power was unobstructed. Her elevation to queenship had helped to make that possible and Cromwell’s death had left a vacancy that the Catholic party would surely fill—and Norfolk and Gardiner were the men to do it. She thought of all the people who had come to grief because of Cromwell—Queen Anne sprang immediately to mind, and Sir Thomas More and Bishop Fisher, saintly men who had died by the axe for supporting the old order. Now he had been struck by his own staff.
“Never again will I rely on any one minister,” Henry was saying. “After Wolsey and Cromwell, I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, I will rule alone.” He dabbed at his mouth, laid the napkin on the table, and rose slowly to his feet. “Let us think of more pleasant things, darling,” he said. “Will you walk with me on the terraces?”
* * *
—
That afternoon, while the King was having a nap in his apartments, Katheryn ventured into the park. She could not get Cromwell out of her mind and kept wondering how it had been for him at the end and if he had suffered. He was lucky it had not been the stake for him, for Henry had told her that the late minister had been found guilty of heresy as well as treason. She supposed she ought not to feel sorry for him, yet common humanity demanded it.
The weather was still sweltering, and she was hot and uncomfortable in her damask gown. She pulled off her hood, unplaited her hair and let it drift in the breeze. It was tiring walking about in the heat and she surveyed the wide vista of the park, looking for a shady tree under which to sit for a while. A grove of them stood to her left and, as she approached, she saw the remnants of colored lanterns clinging to the branches. This place had been used for some open-air feast or revel.
She sat down on the grass in a sheltered spot, leaned back against a tree, and closed her eyes. She had not been there five minutes when she heard a deep sob coming from somewhere behind her. Startled, she leaned around to see who was there and caught sight of a black puffed sleeve sticking out from behind a tree trunk. It was a man’s sleeve, she was sure.
What should she do? Creep away and leave whoever it was to his misery? Maybe that was best, for he might not appreciate her intruding. But, as she got to her feet, a twig cracked beneath her sole and she heard a rustling behind her. When she turned around, she saw Tom Culpeper staring at her, his face ravaged with pain.
“Katheryn!” He was clearly amazed to see her. “I’m sorry, I mean your Grace.”
“Tom!” She was shocked to see him thus. “What on earth is the matter?” She knew the answer even as she spoke, and could have kicked herself for being so insensitive.
He shook his head. “You should know! When I learned that you were to wed the King, I was much grieved. I have not felt well since. And when I saw you lost to me, I was like to die. I cannot eat and I have barely slept. And I have to attend the King daily and hear him sing your praises.”
Katheryn held up a hand to stop him. “Tom, I am truly sorry for the pain you suffer, but I should not be hearing this. Forget me. I am his wife now and nothing can alter that. Now farewell. I must go.”
Picking up her hood, she turned and walked back toward the palace, leaving him standing there. She felt bad doing so, but she could not be caught talking to him alone.
* * *
—
Henry could not keep his hands off her. Whether they were sitting talking or walking in the gardens or lingering at table after meals, he would caress and kiss her, telling her how much he loved her and how it pleased him to be her servant. And this from the man who was not only a king to be obeyed on earth, but the Supreme Head of the Church, almost a god to be worshipped. It left her in awe.
They spent the time getting to know each other better. Henry liked to talk about religion and knew far more about theology than Katheryn did. She tried to show an interest, but found it hard to stop herself from yawning.
Sometimes, when he was talking about himself and what it meant to rule a kingdom, he came across as somewhat sanctimonious. For him, there was no middle ground, only moral absolutes.
“When I compare my own honesty, openness, simplicity, and chivalry with the perfidy and deceit of others, I am amazed,” he told her one day while they were sitting in the pleasance drinking ale cooled in a water bucket. “I would keep in favor with everybody, but I do not trust a single man. I keep my own counsel. I learned when I was young that fear engenders obedience, and I rule on that precept.” Suddenly, he smiled at her. “But I
would not want you to be afraid of me, Katheryn.” His hand touched her cheek.
“Oh, I am not, Henry,” she told him.
During the course of their long conversations, she discovered many facets to this remarkable man she had married. He was highly opinionated, which was not surprising because for years his opinions had been the ones that mattered. He had no conception of ever being wrong. She realized that, in the four months she had known him, she had never heard anyone contradict him.
He was also highly suggestible. For all his insistence that he did not listen to court gossip, it was plain that the impressions he got from it were never effaced. He was intensely jealous of everyone, which predisposed him to think the worst of people. In executing Cromwell, who had been his right arm for years, he had demonstrated that those he had raised high could be destroyed at a stroke. It was a chilling thought.
And yet, there was in him an almost childlike simplicity. He was devout in his religious observances. Once, when his leg was paining him, Katheryn heard one of his chaplains say that he need not kneel to adore the body of his Savior, but could receive the sacrament sitting in a chair. He’d refused, saying, “Even if I lie flat on the ground, or under the ground, I should not think I have sufficient reverence to His blessed sacrament.”
That day, he showed Katheryn his psalter, which contained seven exquisite miniature scenes, one portraying him as King David slaying Goliath, others showing him playing his harp or reading a devotional book in his bedroom. On the page where the thirty-seventh Psalm appeared, against the verse “I have been young and now am old, yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken,” she saw a Latin note in Henry’s own hand.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“ ‘A painful saying,’ ” he said, and his eyes were sad. She knew then that, more than anything else, he regretted the loss of his golden youth.
* * *
—
It was inevitable that she would see Tom in these honeymoon days, for Henry had brought very few gentlemen with him and liked to have Tom in attendance anyway. He waited at table, followed at a discreet distance when the King and Queen took their walks, or carried one of the torches that lit Henry up the stair to Katheryn’s bedchamber. More than once, she caught him staring at her mournfully, leaving her in no doubt as to his suffering. Even Henry noticed.
