“You know, Princess Mary, that something like this had happened once before.”
“I did not,” my daughter’s voice rang out. “Please enlighten me.”
“It was at the birth of your brother, Prince Harry. There was a great tournament to celebrate his birth and your father rode in the lists. He rode against Lord Pembroke, may the Lord rest his soul. His saddle became loose and your father was thrown from his horse. When he regained consciousness inside the tent he could not move in any way shape or form, aside from being able to open his eyes. He could hear the voices of those around him and feel pain, but he told me later it was like being trapped within a prison. A few days later, in his own bed, he awoke and it was no more than a nightmare that was quickly forgotten.”
“Quickly forgotten?” Mary asked, her young voice incredulous. “Perhaps it should not have been so quickly forgotten, now that we are here again.”
“Yes, I suppose you are right.”
“Yes, I am,” she answered, sounding for all the world like her mother. I wanted so badly to speak with her and to thank her for what she had given me in these past few months, but I could not control my body any more than before. It seemed that wanting would not be enough.
“May I ask Sir Thomas, what would you tell my father if he was with us?”
“It hardly matters now,” Thomas, replied demurely.
“On the contrary, I believe it matters a great deal,” Mary argued. “Sir Thomas, my father trusted you above all others. If I am to be of any help to him, you must be able to speak to me as you would speak to him.”
“Well,” Thomas said with a small sigh. “Then I suppose I would tell him what has happened since his fall. The last time this had happened I helped him plan the fall of the Duke of Buckingham, a man who was looking to betray your father. But that had been easy to explain. The Duke had always been too proud. What would I say now?”
“You would have to tell him of the council. Of Cardinal Wolsey calling himself Lord Protector and my mother and brother sitting with him, dictating the laws of England.”
“You understand quite a lot for a child of twelve.”
“Nearly thirteen.” She corrected. “And not a normal child of twelve, but a princess. We must understand more than a child.”
“Of course, you are correct,” Thomas said. I could hear the smile in his voice. “But how could I tell him how the world continues to turn without him?”
My friend and my daughter were ignorant of the fact that they had just informed me of this, of the power that my wife had taken. Of the betrayal that Cardinal Wolsey had committed by calling himself Lord Protector — a title only used when the king had died and his son was not yet eighteen years of age and too young to take the throne. Or, once before, when the king was mad.
I wanted to cry out to tell them that I was not dead and that these traitors must be punished for the sins they had committed. I wanted to warn Thomas of Catherine and Harry’s growing discontent and intense dedication to the faith. And I wanted more than anything to protect Mary from what would surely come.
At first I thought that all of this intense wanting had merely given into delusion but I soon realized that the swirls of color were not my thoughts but colors attacking my sight. I was unable to focus my eyes but soon the swirling mass bled away to form shapes and I could see the outline of my daughter who was glancing away from Sir Thomas. It took a few moments for her to look back at me and the look of delight on her face was worth the dark nights I had spent with the only the droning priests to keep me company.
“Papa!” she immediately ran to my bedside, grasping my hand to hers again. But even though my eyes had opened the rest of me refused to move.
A moment later Thomas More’s head appeared next to my daughter, his face more serious than hers.
“Oh, Sir Thomas! He’s opened his eyes, he must be coming out of this coma –“
“Your Majesty, if you can hear us, you must blink,” Sir Thomas said.
But there was nothing. I tried to control my eyes, but it was impossible. I could not even shift my gaze from Sir Thomas’ face to Mary’s.
“Sir Thomas, what has happened?”
Mary’s look became crestfallen as he turned towards her, his grim face already giving her an answer.
“I believe it is like before. Where he is aware but cannot move.” He turned back to me, placing a gentle hand above on my forehead, smoothing back the hair that was slick with sweat.
“Oh Harry, I’m so sorry.”
Mary began crying afresh, her small voice breaking. She had not even noticed Sir Thomas’ use of my old nickname, instead just lying back down over my hand like she had before.
Sir Thomas moved away from my bedside to give my daughter privacy, but did not leave the room. After a moment he moved out of my eyesight and I could hear the heavy door shut gently, the first time I could remember its closing.
Mary regained control of herself quicker than I expected, and Sir Thomas reappeared to help her wipe away her tears.
“Princess Mary, I need to speak with you. You must let me know when you are ready to hear me.”
“I am ready now,” she said, her voice young and much weaker than I was used too.
“Very well,” Thomas began with a sigh, “I do not believe your mother or brother should know of what just happened. They are making plans that are far above what I can anticipate. Any progress your father makes cannot leave this room or reach their ears.”
“But the priests —“
“Leave the priests to me. You will find in time that there are ways to silence any man.”
There was another brief silence before Mary spoke up.
“You believe my mother and brother are planning to hurt my father?”
“Not hurt, no,” he said quickly, “But they are ready to use the power that has come to them. And your father was in the way of their plans. I do not think they are actively planning on hurting him, but they would not welcome his recovery either.”
Mary nodded.
“I would like to use this chamber to meet with men who I believe are loyal to your father and who will not approve of the changes your mother and brother are planning on bringing to England.”
“What changes?”
“I am not sure as of yet. They have spies around me but I do not have spies around them. But based on the events of the past summer and calling of Parliament in three months, I would like to be prepared for anything.”
Sir Thomas backed away from my bed a few feet, trying to judge Mary’s reactions to what he had just said.
“I have not yet found anywhere at court that would be safe for me to speak with those who are not sympathetic to Queen Catherine. I am not planning on harming her or your brother, but there must be a way to stop them from controlling the government of England. A government that is not rightfully theirs to command.”
“I understand,” Mary said, looking down into her hands. “I will not speak of this to my mother or announce any of his recoveries.”
Sir Thomas smiled gently down at my daughter.
“I believe that would be best.”
“Mother always comes to visit him before supper— and to make sure that I leave his chambers. She will be here shortly.”
“Then I must not be here.”
And with that he turned to look at me, his forehead creasing as he frowned.
“I am very sorry, Harry.”
And his hands reached out and gently shut my eyes.
The next priest had been allowed back into the room and Mary had hidden the book she was reading as she always did before her mother came to visit.
“Her Majesty the Queen!”
Catherine entered and her footsteps ended at the foot of my bed, as always.
“Mary, before I ask you to leave, I would like to speak with you about what happened here today.”
“Yes Mother?”
“I heard that Sir Thomas More visited. He spent over an hour in here
with your father. What was said?”
If I had possessed control of my breath I would have held it, waiting to see how Mary would respond to her mother. The Mary I knew was loyal to her mother and would never have considered betraying her as Thomas would have done. Her answer would give me a good idea of how much had changed at the court since the tournament.
“Nothing much, Mother. What would he say to Papa? He asked me a few questions about Papa’s condition but as you know there has been no change.”
“Yes, it is most unfortunate.”
The two women were silent and I felt Mary let go of my hand and rise from the bedside.
“If I may go now Mother, I would like to change before supper.”
“Yes, that is acceptable, Mary.”
I heard the light footfalls leave the room but Catherine did not seem to follow her. The priest’s chanting was the only sound in the room for a long while and I was beginning to think that Catherine had left and I had not heard her when her voice echoed around the room.
“Father Wearly, who was here when Sir Thomas More visited?”
“I- I believe it was Father Orbein, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you, you may continue.”
With that the priest’s chants picked back up. Catherine stayed for only a moment more before turning and walking out.
There was no way of knowing what the outcome of Catherine’s meeting with Father Orbein was. Mary continued to visit me every afternoon as always, now often leaving before her mother would arrive to demand her presence for supper. The only difference was now Mary would appear and after the priest was safely in the outer room, lift my eyelids open for me. They managed to stay open on their own and one afternoon we both felt the victory when I managed to open them on my own.
There was not a change in our daily activities until early one afternoon I heard the voice of my herald.
“Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk!”
Mary once again put down her reading and turned away from me. I could not see the door and it took a moment before Brandon’s face appeared in my line of vision.
“Princess Mary,” he said, bowing deeply and doffing the cap that sat on his head. “It is an honor to be in your presence.”
Mary curtseyed slightly and rose from her place on the bed, careful to not block my view of Suffolk. It amused me that even in these dire circumstances, Charles’s greeting still sounded like it was being made in the middle of a dance. It was the first piece of amusement I had had since my fall.
“Welcome dear, Duke. I am sure my father is glad of your presence as well.”
“So it is true?” he asked, dropping his voice and stepping a few feet closer to Mary. “He is aware?”
Mary glanced towards the door to make sure their conversation was safe from the priest before responding.
“I do believe so. Sir Thomas More certainly believes him to be.”
Charles smiled at my daughter and then looked to me. His smile faltered but remained on his face.
“Yes, Sir Thomas was right. That is the same look he had last time this occurred. It was me in the tent with him and the doctors, you see. I wish I had not let them bleed him.”
“Well, he will not be bled this time,” Mary said confidently.
“You will not let them?” Charles asked with a grin.
“It is not a concern of my mother’s,” Mary responded, her voice grave.
“Ah,” Charles responded. “The council doesn’t see the need.”
“Sir Charles, you are on the council,” she countered. “So it would be just as fair to say that you do not see the need.”
I could see Charles giving Mary the same measured look that Thomas had, to see if she was ready for what he was about to say. Although I had never seen this kind of strength in my daughter, Charles obviously saw it.
“I am on the council in name only. There is little that is conducted through us, almost all proclamations and laws are through Cardinal Wolsey, Queen Catherine, and Prince Harry.”
“If Sir Thomas approached you, he must believe you are dissatisfied with this.”
“Yes, most dissatisfied,” Charles said with a sigh. He had never been one to keep his emotions in check. “I had hoped that the council would be viewed as an interim body, something to continue the running of the country while King Henry was unavailable. However, I am now finding that it is a mere puppet of the plans of others.”
Mary turned to look at me, Charles remaining a few feet behind her. I could see the light grin on her face but when she spoke there was no trace of it in her voice.
“You think it wise to speak of this to me? It is, after all, my mother and brother who you criticize.”
Charles’ face fell immediately, he had once again spoke without thinking of what he was saying or to whom — a trait that had made him amusing to me but not always the most trustworthy of courtiers.
“I am very sorry, Your Highness, I did not think. I of course was not making a complaint of the council, merely stating how I believed it was operating. I do not think that —“
“Peace, Sir Charles,” Mary said gently. “I will not report this to my mother or brother. However,” she turned back to face the older man, “You must learn to control your tongue. Sir Thomas’ plans to help my father cannot be treated lightly or spoken about with anyone outside a small circle of confidants. Confidants that Sir Thomas will choose. By sending you here he obviously meant you as one of them. But you will be no help to us if you cannot hold your thoughts. In fact, you will be worse than no help, for you could destroy this group and any chance we have of helping my father.”
“I am — sorry, Your Highness. I will endeavor to control my actions and my words in the future.” Charles said all this with a swift bow and when he came up his face was shocked. For an eleven-year-old girl Mary was able to exude an enviable presence and could see what these men needed to do even more clearly than they could. Though it broke my heart that she felt she must do this, I had never been prouder of her.
“You will speak to my aunt, your wife, the Dowager Queen of France,” Mary dictated. “Not of this, or of the plans made here, but she will be able to instruct you on how to become a more discreet courtier. This is necessary for our plans to succeed.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” If Charles felt any anger at being instructed by a child, it did not show on his face.
“You are welcome to stay here with my father or to go.”
With that Mary turned back to me and took her place at my bedside. Charles looked lost for a moment before opening his mouth.
“Your Highness, I will depart, but if I may make an observation before I leave?”
Mary’s mouth pulled into a small line.
“You may.”
“I believe your father would be very proud of you.”
With that, Charles turned and exited the room but his leaving did not concern me. Instead, I was merely thankful that he had put such a smile on my daughter’s face.
My least favorite part of the endless days were the doctor visits I had to endure every morning and evening. The only consolation I had was that they visited while Mary was away. It was merely in front of the priests that I had to endure their rough hands pulling my weight up from the bed as one of the poured a tasteless broth down my throat. Another would massage my neck until I began to swallow naturally. Though I had little sensation of my own body, it was clear that I was losing weight as over the weeks the doctors had to exude less and less energy to pull me into position.
I was also thankful that Mary had not yet witnessed any of the bowel movements associated with this act that occurred twice a day.
My anxiety for her after hearing her conversation with Charles Brandon had continued to grow, but every afternoon she still visited me without fail. I patiently listened to her voice read to me for a few more weeks before one afternoon she entered and waited for the priest to step outside before sitting down and taking my hand.
“Papa,” s
he whispered, leaning towards me. “Papa, tomorrow is my twelfth birthday. Please, Papa, you must wake up for this.”
I opened my eyes for her as I had learned to do but could move nothing else. I had no control over my gaze, it continued to stare past my daughter, to the point that she was forced to move into my line of sight.
“Papa, you do not understand. I need you. Mother and Harry are the authorities in the land. And Sir Thomas and Sir Charles cannot gather enough support. The number of burnings has grown; there is one almost every day now. And Sir Thomas says that the Pope will soon be asking for volunteers for another crusade to the Holy Land. He says that England does not have the resources to support this, but that will not matter to Mother and Harry. Please, Papa.”
Catherine the Inquisitor Page 10
