Catherine the Inquisitor

by Leigh Jenkins

  “Yes, but I do have the concern about what she has witnessed and what she will choose to do here in England in the name of her parents.”

  “What would she do?” my father’s tone turned dark, but my mother refused to cower.

  “The monarchs of Spain have tortured and murdered those not of the Catholic faith for years. There is an inquisition happening in their country. and I dread to think of what it would do if it spread here to England.”

  There was strength behind my mother’s words and my father seemed taken aback. A few minutes passed before he responded.

  “Catalina is a young child. Her father assures me they are already referring to her as Queen Catherine of England, so she will be adjusted to the idea. When she comes here, she will cease to be Spanish and she will become English. She will be taught, in particular by you, my wife, on how to behave and to act. Any showing of Spanish fanaticism would be a criticism on you.”

  With that, he turned and swept out of the room. I was afraid of our father’s anger, but my older sister Margaret stood and walked over to Mother.

  “Mama, do not be afraid,” she said, confident at nine years old. “Catherine will become English as I will become Scottish upon my marriage. And it is as Father has taught me — queens only weld so much power. Father and Arthur will never allow her to have the kind of power that her mother Isabella has.”

  My mother smiled at Margaret, a sad smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  “My dear, I am sure you will find that queens can weld much power. And there are things that child has been taught by her parents that I could never hope to fix. The Spaniards live different from us and Catalina has been raised during a time of war, as both your father and I were. She will see everyone who does not agree with her as a threat, and that in and of itself makes her a dangerous enemy. “

  The memory stopped there and as I returned to my surroundings I realized that both Sir Thomas and Sir William had left my room and the priest had re-entered to disturb my thoughts with his chanting. But how foolish I had been to not remember Mother’s advice. She had seen, long before I had, what a formidable enemy Catherine could be. And I had recklessly ignored the nights that Catherine had spoken to me, fondly recalling her mother Isabella.

  Queen Isabella had led chargers when her husband Ferdinand had been absent from the battle field. Catherine had been certain that her mother had been called by God to eradicate all nonbelievers from Spain — and this belief had driven the entire country first into war and then to lead one of the largest inquisitions in the history of the Catholic Church.

  I had thought these merely memories, but my mother had been right. Catherine was not remembering her mother, but believed her mother’s calling to have truly been from God. And what was worse — I am sure she now saw this calling to be hers as well.

  Mary returned the next day and, despite my frequent blinks, she merely continued to read to me. What was worse is that she read to me in Spanish, she briefly explained that she was trying to perfect her pronunciation in the year she had left before her departure.

  I knew there was precious little time left that I would have with my daughter and my nights were plagued with thoughts of what my days would be like once she was gone. I had, of course, gone months at a time without her presence, but then I had at least lived with the hope of her return to break up the monotonous days. Without that, I was afraid I would truly go mad like King Henry the Saint had, or that I would slip from this world entirely.

  A week of Mary’s visits consisting only of reading to me in Spanish passed before my room was once again used by Sir Thomas More. When Mary arrived at my rooms that morning, I waited until I heard the retreating footsteps of the priest before opening my eyes. I was immediately surprised. Light had just started to crawl onto my bed covers. Mary was here much earlier than she usually was.

  Instead of taking her normal place at my bedside, she instead began to pace at the end of the bed, walking in and out of my line of sight. She refused to look at me during this; I do not think she even knew my eyes were open and trying to watch her. Her pacing continued until the light had entered the room fully, and I heard a new pair of footsteps approach the doorway.

  “Princess Mary?”

  My daughter turned to look at the voice and bowed slightly at the figure.

  “Sir William Carey, thank you for coming. Please, feel free to step into the room.”

  The man entered my line of sight and I watched him perform the same complex ritual that Sir William Brereton had before Mary rose him to his feet, but without the same admonishments Thomas had used. It struck me then where I had last seen this man. It had been four years earlier, as he had pulled his sobbing wife onto his horse and turned to follow the Boleyn family out of the gates. I had an intense desire to ask him what had become of his wife Mary, and if she was still so affected by her sister Anne’s death. But there was no way to ask him this and I could not believe that Mary would think to ask him.

  Carey took a place by the window, blocking some of the sun from falling on my bed. Mary no longer continued her pacing but sat on a small stool along the opposite side of the room. The two of them spent a long time in silence before another voice entered the room.

  “Princess Mary,” Thomas bowed first to my daughter and then turned to William Carey. “And it is a pleasure to see you again, Sir William.” Thomas bowed toward my bed as he often had in the old days before his eyes slid over to Sir William.

  “And your family, Sir William. How have they been in the past three years?”

  “Ah, Sir Thomas, I am sure you heard of George Boleyn fleeing to the continent?” Thomas nodded his head but let the man continue.

  “Well it has broken my wife Mary’s heart. It is merely our children, young Catherine who is seven years of age and my boy Henry who is five, who give her the strength to continue.”

  I saw Thomas More’s eyes glance over to me. I knew what he was thinking, but there was no way to inform him that Mary had already had Henry when I had begun my affair with her; indeed, the boy had been over a year old. He knew of my only bastard, Elizabeth Blount’s son, also named Henry. I could only hope that he continued to make sure the young boy was well cared for through Lord Clinton, the boy’s stepfather.

  “Well, we will continue to pray for Lady Carey’s soul.”

  Mary’s voice carried through the room and both men turned to face her, bowing at the same time. She nodded her head but didn’t stand. Though she had protested to me of her frustration with her mother, there were still times when she reminded me so strongly of Catherine. Though it alarmed me that Mary held the possibility of following in her mother’s footsteps, as Catherine had done, now it was soothing to see my daughter in command of her emotions and willing to lead.

  “Sir Thomas?” Sir William Brereton’s voice came from outside the hallway and he quickly entered the room, bowing to both Sir Thomas and William Carey. With a slight nod Thomas drew his attention to Mary and he dropped to his knees, once again performing the complicated bowing ritual. Thomas pulled him up just in time for him to turn to me and perform the entire ritual again.

  “We represent the only faction at court who as of now is prepared to fight against the new propositions put forth by her Majesty Queen Catherine,” Thomas said as he raised Brereton from the floor again. He nodded to Carey who moved swiftly to close the door.

  “I have a hard time believing the nobles are allowing this,” Carey said as he returned to his spot by the window. “To place the crown on the head of the son while the ruling monarch still lives is unprecedented. There should be an uproar.”

  “It is not entirely unprecedented,” Brereton responded. “King Richard had himself crowned while his nephews were locked in the tower, they being the rightful heirs to throne.”

  “Yes, but there were proclamations passed before then, declaring the two sons of King Edward to be bastards.” Thomas countered. “Cardinal Wolsey is pushing for a crowning with no explanat
ion of why the crown is no longer fit to sit on the head of the rightful King.”

  “But would it be wise to have him ask that question?” Mary stood to join the three men, as they turned to her in surprise. “It could jeopardize our cause to have anything public announced.”

  “You say King Henry is aware,” Brereton said, glancing towards me. “If so, then we should make that known. Why is this secret kept from his wife and court?”

  Even Mary turned towards Sir Thomas, waiting for his answer.

  “I have spent the past three years in prayer and hope that King Henry would awaken and lead us once again. I know Mary has devised a means of communication with him and I believe he understands what has happened to his kingdom in his absence. It is my belief that Queen Catherine, if she knew of is awareness, would not hesitate to move him further from the court and isolate him more than he already is.”

  “Well what is the proposal?” Carey asked. “Your hopes have obviously come to nothing. Queen Catherine is ready to now crown her son and together they will rain terror down upon the country of England. The bards already have named her Catherine the Bloody. More commoners have been executed in the past three years than there were dead during the Cousins’ Wars. The taxes that have been raised for these crusades are crippling and those who cannot pay are taken in to be tortured, and believed to be heretics.”

  “Pease, Sir William,” Thomas said, raising his hand. “We all know of these atrocities.”

  “Yes, but does his Majesty know?” And with that, Carey stepped away from Thomas and came to kneel before my bed. He waited for only a short moment before raising his head to meet my gaze. And he began to speak the first words that had been directed towards me since Mary had returned from the summer progress.

  “Your Majesty, the kingdom of England is dying. Your wife holds the council in an iron grip and Cardinal Wolsey leads the church down a path of destruction. There have been uprisings that have been brutally suppressed. In York, the town that the rebels marched from was utterly destroyed. The army sent by Queen Catherine overtook the village and every person in there was hung: not just every man, but the women and children as well.

  “Now Prince Harry wants to become king. With the power of Parliament behind him, he can take these royal proclamations and put them into law, what he dictates will become precedent for the rest of English history. A princess from Portugal has been found for him to marry. Their offspring will continue along these barbaric lines unless they are stopped.

  “The Princess Mary says that you are conscious and able to communicate. Very well then, what are your orders? Shall we let them continue? Or is it your orders that we do everything in power to stop their rise? There has never been a female monarch of England, but it is not against the laws of the land. I am proposing that we fight for the Princess Mary to take the throne as regent for her father and to allow her to lead us out of this religious intolerance. What says ye, Your Majesty? Shall we support the Princess Mary and overthrow your wife and son’s rule?”

  The entire room was silent as he held my gaze. It took only a moment for Mary to focus on my eyes and I made sure to blink the appropriate number of times.

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  “That means yes.”

  Chapter Ten

  October, 1530

  Now there were constant visitors to my chambers. Sir William Carey had called back George Boleyn and the lad had brought wit and three minor members of the court into our circle. Sir Thomas began to speak with the clergy and soon there was no priestly chanting over my bedside. All of the priests Catherine had appointed had been discreetly exchanged with men who were loyal to what Sir Thomas had dubbed the “Puritan” cause.

  Mary had asked me if I wanted the priests to be silent. With my affirmative answer, the priests had begun to be the watchmen for the group, once bursting in to tell Sir Thomas that Queen Catherine was currently en route to my chambers.

  Sir Thomas also recruited Richard Rich, the lawyer we had once left behind to spy on Harry’s establishment at Ludlow. He was still deep in Harry’s confidences, but being a practical man, could see how Harry’s fever for religion was quickly draining the country of its resources and drawing up resentment from the commoners.

  “I know not what the winning side is,” he explained when he was brought before me. “But I believe this to be the right side. And for once I will endeavor to bring about righteousness and not merely power for myself. I once believed money and power to be the only masters I could ask for. Now I have a higher cause to dedicate my services to.”

  After that speech, he left the room and Sir Thomas ordered for one of George’s friends, Sir Francis Weston, to keep a sharp eye on Richard Rich.

  Sir William Brereton had begun talking to the guards who followed the court wherever it traveled and had learned that Sir Charles Brandon would return from Jerusalem with the little army he had left within the fortnight. Though it could not be guaranteed that those men would be loyal to me, I knew Brandon would be and I knew the charms and influence he could have over men he had led into battle over the past year. I had little doubt that our numbers would vastly grow once he returned.

  And in the middle of all this action was my daughter Mary. She brought in no additional supporters and rarely contributed to the conversations and arguments that were whipping around my bed chamber all day. She was, however, always present and exuded a calming presence over everything that happened, legitimizing what many nobles, and my wife, would consider treason.

  But, most importantly, Mary was a spy. She had asked Catherine to assist her with her Spanish lessons so that she would be the most pleasing to her new husband. Now, every morning before the business of the day commenced, she would speak with her mother for an hour. Catherine was thrilled that Mary had returned to the fold, as she saw it, and would answer anything Mary asked as long as it was in Spanish.

  It was through Mary that we learned Catherine’s plan of declaring me unfit to rule, citing the disposition of King Henry the Saint and King Richard the second, whose inability to rule more than a hundred years before led to the Lancastrian line of the Plantagenets taking the throne when Richard displayed overt acts of tyranny.

  That fact that Catherine was prepared to take these actions against me shocked me and for the first time in the past month I closed my eyes voluntarily during the daily meetings that happened in my chambers. I had recognized that she was power-hungry, but to so obviously move against me, the rightful king, seemed more than I considered her capable of. Sir Thomas quickly ushered everyone who was there out for the day and it wasn’t until I felt Mary once again take my hand that I opened my eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Papa,” Mary said. “I know it is hard to think on. Although I must admit, what we are planning here does not seem much better. Yes, I will rule in your name and will consult with you on how things should be constructed, but that is how Mother and Harry began two years ago. Power so quickly consumed them. What if it consumes me as well?”

  Mary closed her eyes and lowered her head, distress covering her young face. In the past month it had been so easy to forget that she was still in many ways a child, too young for the task we had placed in front of her.

  Instead of wishing for it and trying to wrap my mind around the task, I relaxed my body, which had been so tight over the past years, and felt my hand in hers. After a moment, I squeezed her clasped hand, my success overwhelming me as well as her.

  “Papa?” she asked, her eyes shooting up to meet mine. She squeezed my hand again and after a few moments I found that I could do the same. Her face broke into a grin and she looked as happy as I had seen her since my accident. She made as if to stand up and fetch back the men who had left the chamber but then sank back into the bed, the smile never leaving her face.

  “No, Papa. This is for us. I will tell the others tomorrow, but right now, this is for us.”

  “He is becoming more aware?” George Boleyn’s grinning fa
ce beamed down at mine. Mary had alerted him to my success the day before, the moment he had entered the door. She seemed as proud as a mother of her newborn over the fact.

  “Everything that supports his awareness is a step for us, to prove that what we are doing is correct,” George continued grinning, looking back and forth between me and Mary until Sir Thomas entered the room.

  “Sir Thomas!” George cried, bounding over to him. “And my dear brother William Carey. The Princess Mary has excellent news for you today.”

  The two men bowed to Mary as was customary, while George slipped out past them to fetch ale and wine to celebrate, he said.

  “Yesterday while speaking to him, my father was able to squeeze my hand. It’s the first sign of physical activity I’ve had from him since he began opening his eyes.”

  Sir Thomas’ face split into a grin and he immediately came to my bedside, in his excitement failing to bow to me, and instead taking my hand.

  “Harry, is it true?”

  I squeezed his hand as I had done with Mary. The older man tried to jump while still retaining his grip on my hand. All he succeeded in doing was dropping the many papers he had brought.