Lady Susan stared at me, wide-eyed. "Then let us both take ourselves to a nunnery. Surely a life of prayer and service to God is better than a life of enslavement to some toothless, evil-smelling wretch or to either my brother or yours."
I forced a smile. "The king wouldn't permit it. And when I become queen, I can't very well rule from behind the convent walls."
"When you become queen? Mary, you'll never be queen! Don't you understand that? The king will have his way and marry Anne—he'll make her the queen and she'll give him a son. That leaves you out, like it or not."
"It's treason to speak that way!" I cried, my temper suddenly getting the best of me.
Susan whirled around and glared at me. "It's not treason, madam—it's the truth. Who makes you think otherwise? Salisbury? That strange little ambassador, Chapuys? Your mother, the queen, shut up like a prisoner in a wreck of a house no better than a dungeon? Can't they see what's so plain to everyone else? Can you not see it, Mary?"
"I order you to keep silent!" I shouted. "I order you to get out of my sight!" I was nearly screaming, my hands pressed to my ears to block her words.
Lady Susan dropped quickly to one knee and bent her head. "I beg your pardon. Your Highness," she murmured. Then she picked up her petticoats and began to run back toward the palace.
I started to call out for her to wait for me, but then I thought better of it. Lady Susan was wrong. I would be queen! But in my heart I knew that everything Susan had said was true. I had no future. I had never had a future. It had all been a lie.
CHAPTER 11: Reginald Pole
The sun dipped low, and servants went from chamber to chamber, lighting the candles. I stood by the open window, the weather being unusually mild for Eastertide. Lady Susan and Lady Winifred sat nearby with their lutes. As the sky deepened from lavender to violet, I watched a lone, dark figure make his shambling way along the rutted road.
"Another wretched beggar, no doubt," Winifred observed.
The dogs had begun to snap and howl at the tall figure in ragged garments. He fended them off with the staff he carried. I looked again, more carefully. Could that be..?
Abruptly I turned away from the window. My ladies put down their lutes and prepared to follow, but I shook my head. "Stay," I said, and rushed out in search of Salisbury.
I found the countess in the pantry, conferring with the cook. "Come," I said, and she followed me into the passageway.
"It's Reginald," I whispered. "I'm sure of it. He has come disguised as a beggar. He's outside now. Oh, Salisbury!"
"I'll see to it at once, madam."
I hurried back to the chamber where Susan was attempting to teach Winifred a new tune on the lute. I slowed my steps and took care to enter calmly, as though nothing unusual were happening. The maids stopped playing and made their curtsies as always. "I must change to another petticoat," I said. The maids glanced at each other but were silent.
Nothing in my wardrobe was right for receiving a visitor, especially this visitor. Not only had Cromwell not sent money for clothes, he had dismissed my mistress of the wardrobe. Usually I dressed simply in a plain woolen kirtle. My choice for dressing up was limited to the blue petticoat and bodice that Salisbury had made for me to wear to Sunday mass.
Susan helped me into it, lacing up the back. Then she combed my hair until it fell over my shoulders in a shining ripple of red-gold.
I held up a mirror of Venetian glass and studied my image. I could see Susan's puzzled look reflected in the glass and longed to tell her about the disguised beggar, the mysterious visitor that was Reginald Pole. But I could not risk this, so I said nothing. The questions still haunted me: Was Susan loyal to me? Or would she betray Reginald—and me as well—to Norfolk, to Anne, to the king?
I had already given away too much with my eagerness and with this sudden change to a different petticoat. To give the appearance of being calm, I opened a book, the works of Saint Augustine, and handed it to Lady Winifred. "Please give us the pleasure of reading to us," I said. Presently Salisbury joined us—face powdered, a chain with a jeweled cross around her neck—and showed complete interest in Winifred's stammered reading. Once I managed to catch her eye. She nodded slightly, which I took to mean that it was Reginald and that a meeting had been arranged. Or so I devoutly hoped!
At last I could bear it no longer. "Have we a visitor below?" I asked Salisbury coolly.
"A mendicant monk, I'm told," Salisbury replied just as coolly. "When he begged alms, the chamberlain invited him to stay the night. He's being fed with the other servants and will pay his respects before his departure on the morrow, if the princess wishes."
How aggravating! Reginald would be eating porridge with die servants while we dined with the waiting maids, unable to speak of this exciting turn of events. As we left the table, Salisbury managed to whisper, "Chapel. Ten o'clock."
The hours dragged by. I went through the motions of an ordinary evening, aware that Susan was watching me. My consolation was that somewhere in the vast reaches of the palace, Reginald was keeping up his pretense as well.
I read from the writings of Plutarch in Greek. Salisbury read aloud a passage from the Acts of the Aposties that she found instructive. At last the maids-in-waiting were dismissed and retired sleepy-eyed to their chamber. Or was Lady Susan only feigning drowsiness?
Salisbury and I exchanged glances and walked slowly to the chapel to say our evening prayers. As we knelt before the altar, the only sound was the murmur of our voices. "Gloria in excelsis Deo..." (Glory to God in the highest).
I heard the creak of the chapel door. "Laudamus te" (We praise thee). I felt a faint breeze, heard the door close again and the latch click in place. "Benedicimus te" (We bless thee). Eyes closed, I listened to soft footsteps approaching. "Adoramus te" (We adore thee). I sensed a presence beside me and forced myself to remain still. "Glorificamus te" (We glorify thee). Then a familiar voice joined ours:
"Gratias agimus tibi propter magnam gloriam tuam..." (We give thee thanks for thy great glory).
Not until the last amen was uttered did I permit myself to open my eyes and gaze at the man kneeling beside me. Even in the ragged clothes of a mendicant monk, Reginald's piercing blue eyes and wide, generous mouth were unmistakable. "Your Highness," he whispered.
"Reginald." It was all I could allow myself to say as I reached out to touch his hand. His was warm; mine, cold.
He rose and kissed his mother. "It's safe for us to talk together here," Salisbury said in a hushed voice, "provided we don't stay overlong."
"I've come to make my farewells to you both," said Reginald in a husky voice. "The king has ordered me to leave England at once. He forbade me to come here, but I couldn't leave without seeing you. God knows when I'll return—certainly not as long as your father lives, Mary. Henry is in a rage against me. He'd kill me if he could, and he may yet if I don't get away quickly."
"But what have you done, my son?" cried Salisbury in anguish. I pressed a handkerchief to my lips, afraid that I would cry out in fury against my father.
"I wrote the king a letter opposing his divorce. I confess that I wasn't temperate in my words. I wrote that Lady Anne is another Jezebel. I reminded King Henry of the fate of Jezebel with her painted face, thrown from her window and trampled to death by horses and her flesh eaten by dogs."
Salisbury looked frightened. "This was not prudent, my son."
"But it is the truth! Anne Boleyn is a sorceress who has bewitched the king. And Cromwell! What sort of man has the king chosen to sit at his right hand? A flatterer and a scoundrel. Henry is nearly bankrupt. He was one of the richest men in all of Christendom, but he's squandered his vast fortune in wastefulness and excess. Now he's given Cromwell the task of finding money to fill the royal treasury. The new taxes he's imposed are crushing the people. The kingdom suffers."
Reginald turned the full intensity of his piercing blue eyes on me. "I'm happy to get away from court, Mary. But I'm paying a price for my frankness, f
or it is taking me away from those I love best."
I gazed at his dear face. I felt both great happiness, knowing that I was among those he loved best, and also the deepest sorrow, knowing that he must leave us. But I was not prepared for what he said next:
"You may count on this: The day is coming when the people of England will rebel. They will rise up against King Henry and put you on the throne as their queen, Mary."
I was too shocked to reply, but the countess was on her feet at once. "Hush!" she warned. "You speak treason, Reginald. Don't ever say that to anyone."
Sorrow turned to fear. Candles gleamed on the altar, but most of the chapel lay in darkness. I thought I saw a figure moving—perhaps the old priest charged with the care of the sacred vessels— but it might have been my own shadow. I shivered, more from dread than from cold. Reginald noticed and placed his rough cloak around my shoulders. It was still warm from the heat of his body, and I drew it close around me.
"I'm already in danger. Mother," said Reginald. "As soon as I sent that letter denouncing Lady Anne, I became one more enemy to be gotten rid of. I wanted so much to spend a little time here with you." Then he turned to me and once more took my hand, which was trembling. "And with you. Your Highness. But I must flee. I'll go to Rome to take my final vows as a priest. You do understand, don't you, Mary? My calling is to serve God, not the king. It may be a very long time until we meet again— perhaps not until we're reunited in God's Holy Kingdom." His fingers tightened on mine.
I shut my eyes, unshed tears pricking at the lids.
"May we have your blessing before you leave us?" I asked in a quivering voice.
Reginald released my hand. He laid one strong hand on my head and one on Salisbury's. "Pax vobis-cum" he said. "Peace be with you.'"
With my eyes still squeezed shut, I felt the warmth of his fingers on my cold brow, knowing it was the last time I would feel his touch. "Et cum spiritu tuo" I murmured. "'And with thy spirit,'" the formal response.
I REMEMBERED how my father had boasted when I was a tiny child, ''Ista puella nunquam plorat—this girl never cries.'" But later that night as I lay in my bed, I let the tears trickle onto my pillow. He's gone, I thought. It is Reginald I have loved, I will never see him again. Never again. Never again.
CHAPTER 12: Queen Anne
The year I turned seventeen was the worst year of my life. The fault was Anne's.
For six years my father had been trying to divorce my mother so that he could marry Anne. He had argued with the pope, tried to persuade a council of churchmen, and threatened my mother, and none had bent to his will. But I knew that the king would not give up; he would succeed in spite of all.
Anne would not give up, either. She was nearing thirty, and although she was many years younger than the king, she, too, was showing the signs of age. She must soon find a way to marry the king and give him a son—or lose her chance to be queen.
And find a way she did.
Late in the spring of 1533 Chapuys brought me the news at Beaulieu: "Anne is expecting a child," he told me before we had even begun our usual walk around the garden. "The king has married her. Now she will be queen."
"Married her!" The shock was so great that I grew faint. Chapuys steadied me to prevent my toppling over. "How is that possible? He's married to my mother!"
"They were married in secret in January," he said, his hand on my elbow, "when Anne discovered that she was pregnant. For a half dozen years she's played a difficult game, tempting the king but never yielding to him. But she grew desperate; the game had gone on too long, and she was in danger of losing him. Becoming pregnant was the last card she had to play. She played that card, and he has married her. So it appears that she won."
Overwhelmed with shock and anger, I drew away, stammering, "But—but has it become common knowledge? Does everyone know?"
"Yes, madam, everyone knows. On Easter Eve Anne revealed her secret at the Great Vigil. When the candles were lighted, Anne stood in the place of honor, glittering in diamonds and cloth of gold and ermine, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, who now number in the dozens. The priest—a toadeater, a disgrace of a churchman!—spoke of her in his sermon as *Queen Anne.' If I were not a coward I would have leaped to my feet and denounced the whole affair. At the end the trumpets blew a fanfare, and 'Queen Anne'"—Chapuys spat out the words— "and her small army swept out. Every knee bowed to her, as though she were a true queen and not merely the Great Whore."
I struggled unsuccessfully to master the waves of emotion that swept over me. "What will happen now?" I managed to ask at last.
"Now the king must find a way to get the divorce, if the child of this evil union is to inherit his crown."
For weeks after Chapuys's visit I lived in torment, struggling to make sense of this dreadful turn of events. Then early in May while I sat at my studies, my attention was drawn by the noisy appearance at the palace gates of a procession of knights and henchmen in the king's livery. At their head rode the duke of Norfolk, Susan's father. He demanded that everyone in the household assemble in the courtyard as he read out the official proclamation.
"Catherine of Aragon is no longer the wife of King Henry, and therefore she is no longer queen," Norfolk thundered. "Henceforth, Catherine will hold the title of princess dowager."
I closed my eyes, willing this nightmare to stop, but it did not. "It is further proclaimed," Norfolk continued, "that Mary, daughter of Catherine of Aragon, has been declared illegitimate and therefore unfit to inherit the throne." It was as though a knife had been shoved between my ribs.
Then Norfolk thrust the document under my nose, so that I could read the signature myself: Henricus Rex. It is a tribute to the training I received from Salisbury that I did not spit in the man's face.
"God save the king!" Norfolk declared, and his knights and most of those in my household replied, "God save the king!"
Through the whole humiliating scene, I held myself rigidly upright and silent. Norfolk was glaring at me. His hooded eyes gave him a reptilian appearance. "Madam?" he asked.
"God save the king," I said, looking straight at him. "God save us all." I turned and walked away.
As soon as they had departed, green-and-white pennants snapping in the May breeze, I crumpled. Salisbury came to me, shutting the door to everyone else. When Lady Susan knocked and begged to be allowed into my private chamber, Salisbury tried to send her away, but I interrupted, "Let her come."
Susan rushed in, her face streaked with tears. "My father is a swine," she cried. "I hate him for the horrible things he said to you! He ignored me except to order me to return to London for the coronation of Queen Anne I I refused."
"But you must go, Susan," I said gently, struggling to set aside my own feelings. "It's not disloyalty to me or my mother. Your father commands you. It will be a festive scene. You might even have a merry time. And perhaps you will see your beloved, the earl of Chichester, and he will have a pretty gift for you."
Lady Susan stared at me, her mouth a shocked O. "Madam," she began, "surely—"
"Surely I'm teasing you," I said, managing a faint smile. "Do go. It won't help my cause at all if you refuse, and it could even happen that our fathers will decide between them that you've become too much my friend and they'll send you away. Go, and listen and watch closely, and bring back news of what you hear and see."
KING HENRY ORDERED nearly everyone to be present for Anne's coronation. Most of my maids-in-waiting were summoned by their fathers, who were among the king's courtiers. There was much excitement and laughter in the maids' chambers as Charlotte, the prickly-tongued mistress of the maids, directed them in their preparations. After they had gone, Salisbury and I were left to ourselves at Beaulieu for nearly a fortnight.
I brooded, thinking of my mother, whom I had not seen in six years. How had she responded to the visit of Norfolk and his men at her home? I could not speak even to Salisbury of the pain and anger I felt on my mother's behalf But I did confide the plan
I had devised: "Now, while the king's attention is taken up with the coronation, I intend to ride to my mother with a few trusted servants. There are many loyal country people along the way who will help me."
Salisbury was horrified. "Madam, you don't realize what a dangerous undertaking this would be! At every turn in the road are bands of thieves who won't hesitate to slit your throat. Further, the king has spies everywhere, and when he learns that you disobeyed his orders and set out to visit the queen, you'll both be punished. Have you forgotten his temper?"
"I have not forgotten."
"And I beg you to remember this: You must not risk your own safety, because someday you shall be queen. The crown will rest upon your head and the responsibility for the country upon your shoulders. I say this because I know it's what your mother, the queen, would say to you."
"Then I shall not go," I said unhappily. After a silence I added, "They say my mother must now be called princess dowager."
"In my heart Catherine is queen, and I shall think of her as queen until that title is yours." Salisbury smiled sadly. "We all have our rebellions. That is mine."
THE MAIDS-IN-WAITING returned from London, unable to conceal their excitement about the coronation. I sent for flagons of hippocras, and we all refreshed ourselves with goblets of the spiced wine while the ladies talked. I couldn't help myself I insisted on hearing every detail, no matter how painful it was.
"I was there when Anne's barge arrived at Tower Wharf," said Lady Susan. "She had traveled from Greenwich with hundreds of other boats, all decorated with flowers. The Tower guns saluted her, and the ships moored out in the Thames fired their guns as well. The din broke windows in the Tower."
I remembered riding with my mother in the royal barge with my mother's emblem, the pomegranate, painted on its sides. Memories of those happy times of my childhood clashed with this harsh new reality. "My mother's emblem—," I began.
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