by Jean Plaidy
The gatekeeper told her that none could be admitted to the Castle unless carrying a written permission from the King to do so; but the woman wept and begged him not to leave her without shelter in this bitter January night.
The gatekeeper was touched by the piteous spectacle the travellers presented, and consented to allow their leader to see Sir Edmund Bedingfeld whom the King had appointed steward to Katharine, but who was in fact her jailor.
When the woman was in his presence, her hooded cloak wrapped tightly about her shivering body, she entreated him to allow her to warm herself at a fire, and she was taken into the hall of the Castle.
“Tell me,” she said as she stretched her white hands to the blaze, “is the Princess Dowager still alive?”
“She is,” was the answer.
“I had heard that she was dead,” said the woman sombrely. “I fear she soon may be.”
“I pray you let me see her.”
“Who are you?”
“I have letters to prove my identity.”
“Then show them to me.”
“This I will do in the morning. They are now in the possession of my women.”
“I should need to see them,” said Bedingfeld, “before I could allow you to visit the Princess Dowager.”
The woman went to her two servants who were standing some distance away, but instead of speaking to them she suddenly ran to the staircase and began to mount it.
Bedingfeld was so astonished that he could only stare after her, and in those few seconds she took the opportunity to get well ahead.
“Who is your mistress?” he demanded of the women; but they shook their heads and would not answer; and by that time the woman was at the top of the first flight of stairs and had come upon one of the Queen’s maids.
“Take me to the Queen. I am a friend whom she will wish to see.”
Bedingfeld cried: “Halt, I say.”
The maid did not listen to him and turning began to run, while the visitor followed her.
The door of Katharine’s bedchamber was thrown open and the maid cried: “Your Majesty, Lady Willoughby has come to see you.”
Then the Queen tried to raise herself, and Maria de Salinas ran to the bedside, threw herself on her knees and embraced her.
When Bedingfeld entered the room he saw the two women in each other’s arms. He saw the tears on the Queen’s wasted cheeks; he heard her say: “So Maria, you came to me; so I am not to die alone. I am not abandoned like some forgotten beast.”
The Queen’s eyes met his over the head of her faithful Maria, and she said: “Leave us. My dear friend has braved much to come to me. I command you to leave us together.”
And Bedingfeld turned quietly and shut the door.
THERE WERE NOT MANY days left; and Maria de Salinas did not leave the Queen’s bedside. She told Katharine of how she had made the perilous journey unknown to anyone, because she had determined to be with her mistress.
“Oh Maria, how happy you have made me,” sighed the Queen. “The pity of it, there is little time left for us to be together.”
“Nay,” cried Maria, “you will get well now that I am here to nurse you.”
“I am beyond nursing,” replied the Queen; “yet not so far gone that I cannot rejoice in your dear presence.”
Maria refused to leave the Queen’s bedchamber, and during the days that followed she it was who nursed her and sat by her bed talking to her.
There were times when Katharine forgot that she was in her bed in dreary Kimbolton, and believed that she was in the Alhambra at Granada, that she wandered through the Court of Myrtles, that she looked down from her window on to the Courtyard of Lions; and that beside her there was one, benign and loving, her mother Isabella. Maria sitting at her bedside could speak of those days and, with Maria’s hand in hers, they spoke the language of their native Castile; and it seemed to Katharine that the pains of her body and the sorrows of her life in England slipped away from her. Here was sunshine and pleasure amid the rosy towers, she saw the sign of the pomegranate engraved on the walls—the symbol of fertility which she had taken as her own, she forgot with what irony, because the years had slipped away and she was young again.
Maria watched her with startled eyes, for she knew that Katharine’s life was ebbing away.
She sent for the priests and Extreme Unction was given. And at two o’clock in the afternoon of the 7th of January 1536 Katharine died.
WHEN THE NEWS was brought to Henry he was jubilant.
“Praise be to God,” he cried. “We are delivered from the fear of war. Now I shall be able to treat with the French; for they will be fearful that I shall make an alliance with the Emperor.”
There was another reason for his pleasure. She had been a perpetual embarrassment to him while there were men to believe she was still his wife.
He dressed himself in yellow from head to foot and wore a waving white plume in his cap, declaring that the revelries were to continue because there should be no period of mourning for a woman who had never been his wife.
Queen Anne followed his example and dressed in yellow. Like the King she was relieved by the death of Katharine; but there was a shadow across her relief. She was aware—as were many at Court—how the King’s eyes would light with speculation as they rested on a certain prim but sly maid of honor whose name was Jane Seymour.
Now there was a feverish gaiety about the King and his Queen. Death was waiting round the corner for so many. But through the Court strode the King, the little Elizabeth in his arms, demanding admiration for his daughter. Some wondered what the fate of that other daughter would be, remembering a time when he had walked among them with Mary in his arms.
“On with the dance!” cried the King; and the musicians played while the company danced with abandon.
Queen Katharine was dead; More was dead; Fisher was dead. They formed part of the procession of martyrs.
Dance today! was the order of the Court, for who could know what tomorrow would hold? Whose turn would come next?
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Catherine of Aragon, Garrett Mattingly.
The Divorce of Catherine of Aragon, James Anthony Froude.
History of England, James Anthony Froude.
The Lives of the Queens of England, Agnes Strickland.
The Political History of England (1485–1587), H. A. L. Fisher.
The National and Domestic History of England, William Hickman Smith Aubrey.
Henry VIII, A. E. Pollard.
The Private Character of Henry VIII, Frederick Chamberlin.
The Wives of Henry VIII, Martin Hume.
Henry VIII: A Difficult Patient, Sir Arthur S. MacNalty.
Henry the Eighth, Francis Hackett.
History of England under Henry VIII, Edward Lord Herbert.
British History, John Wade.
England in Tudor Times, L. F. Salzman.
The Dictionary of National Biography, Edited by Sir Leslie Stephen and Sir Sidney Lee.
Abbeys, Castles and Ancient Halls of England and Wales, John Timbs and Alexander Gunn.
Life of Wolsey, Cavendish.
Wolsey (Great Lives), Ashley Sampson.
ABOUT THE BOOK
When Catalina, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, sets sail to England, she leaves her beloved homeland forever to become Katharine, wife of Prince Arthur and future Queen of England. But when her sickly husband dies before the marriage has been consummated or the full dowry paid, Katharine finds herself stranded in England, a hostage to negotiations between her parents and King Henry VII. After years in England, her household is impoverished and their future uncertain as they hope for the one event that will restore Katharine’s honor and position: marriage to Henry, Arthur’s younger brother and heir to the throne of England. Finally, the willful Henry chooses Katharine as his bride, saving her from poverty and despair—as he will remind her throughout their marriage.
The marriage and reign of Katharine and Henry starts
full of hope and pageantry, as Henry indulges his love of sport and masques and affectionately dedicates all to his bride. Katharine shows herself to be a wise and capable Queen, responding expertly to Henry’s moods and leading his armies as regent during his absence. But as Katharine’s numerous pregnancies yield only a single surviving daughter, Henry sees her failing at her most important task: to produce healthy male heirs. Meanwhile Henry, who prides himself on his virtuous life, begins to make excuses for extramarital dalliances, and the aging Katharine must compete with younger and gayer ladies of court.
With Henry’s attentions wandering from his wife to his mistresses to his rival powers in Europe, the powerful and ambitious Cardinal Wolsey guides affairs of state. As Katharine’s nephew Charles assumes his power as Emperor and François takes the throne in France, the wily Wolsey is in place to negotiate policy for England. But none can hold the King’s loyalty when the King’s own pleasure demands otherwise, and as Anne Boleyn ingratiates herself to Henry, her own path to the throne derails Wolsey’s to the papacy. As the downfall of some of England’s most elevated will prove, Henry’s power and pleasure come first in England.
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
1 During her early years in Spain, Katharine is frequently guided by her mother’s words about what is expected of a princess of Spain. Discuss what was expected of a Spanish princess, taking into account Isabella’s specific advice as well as Ferdinand’s expectations and the realities of Katharine’s experience. How does this advice guide her behavior as princess, and then as Queen?
2 Katharine lives in England for years, with her welfare largely dependent on the whims of Henry VII and the diplomacy of her father’s ambassadors. In the end, her patience seems to be rewarded—again by the whim of a king. What do you make of her obedience in staying in England all those years? Was this a wise gamble? Were any other options open to her? What might have happened if she had taken a more active role in her own fate or continued as ambassadress after de Puebla’s retirement?
3 In the years after Arthur’s death, is Katharine herself aware of—or interested in—the value of her marriage for Spain, or is she simply hoping to secure a comfortable future for herself and her attendants? Does her reaction to news of Francesca’s engagement say anything about how her hopes for her own marriage may have changed? Is her view of the arrangements for Princess Mary’s marriage consistent with what she hoped for in her own?
4 What do you think would have become of Katharine if Henry VIII had not chosen to marry her? Would she have remained in England? Where else might she have sought to marry?
5 Discuss how circumstances in Spain and England would have been different if Katharine and Juana’s roles had been reversed. Would Katharine have tolerated Philip’s philandering? Would she have stood firm in her claim to Castile, or allowed Philip’s flag to fly beside hers over Spain?
6 What do you make of Ferdinand? What are his defining qualities as a ruler and as a father? Is his treatment of Juana kinder than Philip’s was? How does his inconsistent correspondence with Katharine reflect his feelings toward her? Discuss how his reflections at the end of his life comment on his view of himself and his role as a monarch.
7 Discuss Henry’s relationship with his conscience. How does he make moral decisions? What, in his eyes, makes him a virtuous man?
8 During the course of the book, Henry is attracted to many women other than his wife, but Bessie Blount and Anne Boleyn intrigue him more than most. What is it about each of them that attracts him? What hope does Anne have of holding his attention? What advice might you offer her to safeguard her position?
9 How does Henry’s love of pageantry guide his reign and his marriages? Is he, to some extent, merely playing the role of the virtuous king? Do you think Katharine is right when she believes he is still thinks like a pleasure-loving boy? If not, when does this mentality end? By the end of the book, is Henry deluded and misguided, as Katharine often considers him, or is he a fully cognizant tyrant? Is there a middle ground?
10 Discuss Henry’s relationship with Ferdinand and Maximilian, the two elder rulers who were able to outmaneuver and deceive him. How did Henry’s interactions with them help educate him as a ruler? How does this education at the hands of Maximilian and Ferdinand affect his dealings with the next generation of rulers, Charles and François? In what ways do Henry’s natural qualities help or hinder his standing with the European monarchs?
11 What kind of a pope would Wolsey have been? Discuss how his election to the Vatican would have affected his hidden family and his relationship with Henry. Would his loyalty to the English King have led him to work for England’s interests, or would he have abandoned his former friend and benefactor to establish his own power as pope?
12 How would you describe Henry’s priorities as King? Can you identify one or more guiding principles to his reign? What do his words and actions with the pregnant Katharine when he is on his way to battle in France—and again on his return, after her miscarriage and defense of England—say about how his many goals relate to each other? Does this relationship remain more or less consistent through his reign?
13 What might Cardinal Wolsey have done to secure his position with the King? Is there any way that he and Anne Boleyn could have peacefully coexisted? Discuss what factors you consider most significant in Wolsey’s downfall.
14 Discuss Katharine’s relationship with the women of her household, which included Wolsey’s spies and noble beauties to attract the king as well as loyal Spanish friends. Were they more a danger to her or a comfort? How were they most useful to her? How were they most harmful? In what ways did Katharine learn to choose whom to trust, and whom merely to tolerate? Do you think she made the right decisions?
15 What, if anything, would have satisfied Henry? Can you imagine a wife who could have answered all his needs—or an arrangement allowing his needs to be met by others—that might have kept peace in the palace? A military victory that would have given him the triumph he longed for? Were any of his goals truly attainable, or was he destined to always want more?
MURDER MOST ROYAL
JEAN PLAIDY
A NOVEL
Contents
Title Page
Epigraph
The King’s Pleasure
The King’s Secret Matter
Happiest of Women
No Other Will Than His
A Reader’s Group Guide
Defiled is my name, full sore
Through cruel spite and false report,
That I may say for evermore,
Farewell to joy, adieu comfort.
For wrongfully ye judge of me;
Unto my fame a mortal wound,
Say what ye list, it may not be,
Ye seek for that shall not be found.
Written by ANNE BOLEYN in the Tower of London
The King’s Pleasure
IN THE SEWING-ROOM at Hever, Simonette bent over her work and, as she sat there, her back to the mullioned window through which streamed the hot afternoon sunshine—for it was the month of August and the sewing-room was in the front of the castle, overlooking the moat—a little girl of some seven years peeped round the door, smiled and advanced towards her. This was a very lovely little girl, tall for her age, beautifully proportioned and slender; her hair was dark, long and silky smooth, her skin warm and olive, her most arresting feature her large, long-lashed eyes. She was a precocious little girl, the most brilliant little girl it had ever been Simonette’s good fortune to teach; she spoke Simonette’s language almost as well as Simonette herself; she sang prettily and played most excellently those magical instruments which her father would have her taught.
Perhaps, Simonette had often thought, on first consideration it might appear that there was something altogether too perfect about this child. But no, no! There was never one less perfect than little Anne. See her stamp her foot when she wanted something really badly and was determined at all costs to get it; see her playing shu
ttlecock with the little Wyatt girl! She would play to win; she would have her will. Quick to anger, she was ever ready to speak her mind, reckless of punishment; she was strong-willed as a boy, adventurous as a boy, as ready to explore those dark dungeons that lay below the castle as her brother George or young Tom Wyatt. No, no one could say she was perfect; she was just herself, and of all the Boleyn children Simonette loved her best.
From whom, Simonette wondered, do these little Boleyns acquire their charm? From Sir Thomas, their father, who with the inheritance from his merchant ancestors had bought Blickling in Norfolk and Hever in Kent, as well as an aristocratic wife to go with them? But no! One could not say it came from Sir Thomas; for he was a mean man, a grasping man, a man who was determined to make a place for himself no matter at what cost to others. There was no warmth in his heart, and these young Boleyns were what Simonette would call warm little people. Reckless they might be; ambitious one could well believe they would be; but every one of them—Mary, George and Anne—were loving people; one could touch their hearts easily; they gave love, and so received it. And that, thought Simonette, is perhaps the secret of charm. Perhaps then from their lady mother? Well…perhaps a little. Though her ladyship had been a very pretty woman her charm was a fragile thing compared with that of her three children. Mary, the eldest, was very pretty, but one as French as Simonette must tremble more for Mary than for George and Anne. Mary at eleven was a woman already; vivacious and shallow as a pleasant little brook that babbled incessantly because it liked people to pause and say: “How pretty!” Unwise and lightsome, that was Mary. One trembled to think of the little baggage already installed in a foreign court where the morals—if one could believe all one heard—left much to be desired by a prim French governess. And handsome George, who had always a clever retort on his lips, and wrote amusing poetry about himself and his sisters—and doubtless rude poetry about Simonette—he had his share of the Boleyn charm. Brilliant were the two youngest; they recognized each other’s brilliance and loved each other well. How often had Simonette seen them, both here at Hever and at Blickling, heads close together, whispering, sharing a secret! And their cousins, the Wyatt children, were often with them, for the Wyatts were neighbors here in Kent as they were in Norfolk. Thomas, George and Anne; they were the three friends. Margaret and Mary Wyatt with Mary Boleyn were outside that friendship; not that they cared greatly, Mary Boleyn at any rate, for she could always amuse herself planning what she would do when she was old enough to go to court.
