Above All Others

by G Lawrence

  “Even if it is so,” I said waspishly, “I cannot believe it would take so long for the man to depart Rome. I fear, my lord father… I fear that this is a tactic they use against us. Perhaps the Pope is not so keen to give Henry all he wishes, despite his assurances to our envoys.”

  “Perhaps…” he agreed. “The Pope is in a difficult situation, of course…” He tapped the parchment against his lips. “If only Katherine would see sense,” he mused. “Then, the Pope would be able to set aside his earthly concerns, and decide as he should, with the courage of his faith. If Katherine raised no objection, there would be no need for this trial at all.”

  “I hold small faith in the courage or the spiritual strength of the Pope,” I said shortly, playing with the embroidered sleeve of my new crimson gown. “We have seen often, through the pages of history, that popes place worldly concerns before spiritual ones. I fear this will be the case now. The Emperor may not have Clement in chains, but he holds many of his lands and much of his country by force. If only the French could prevail over Spain! Then I know that we would have honest and true judgement. But with the Pope all but prisoner, I fear we will not. He will listen to the persuasions of politics rather than the passion of true faith. He will heed military might, rather than the majesty of God.”

  My father sniffed. “That,” he said, “is true enough.”

  “What more can be done?” I asked, my tone pleading. I had been so happy but happiness is such a weak friend, easily stolen away by the cares of the world, by a hard word… by the resurrection of trepidation. Happiness quails and flees before such foes; a young lad pissing himself at his first sight of battle…

  Father looked back at Wolsey’s hand on the parchment. “If the envoy is delaying,” he muttered, thinking aloud, “then I wonder at whose bidding he does so?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I come to question whether this delay is truly as it says here… or if someone leans on Campeggio to make him dither? Either the King of England or the King of Spain will have to be disappointed. What if someone is asking Campeggio to delay?”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Do you speak of the Pope, my lord father, or of Wolsey?”

  “In truth, it could be either,” he stood, flapping the letter at me. “I will take this to Norfolk,” he went on, “and see what he makes of it. Your uncle has men in Wolsey’s household, and women about Katherine. We will see if they know whether anything has passed from either the Queen or the Cardinal to Rome about Campeggio. If we can discover that, we can use it against them.”

  “What good will any of this do us?” I stared helplessly at him. “All this subterfuge… I get no younger as these months pass by, father… Henry is impatient, and so am I.”

  “So are we all, daughter,” my father said. “But if there is someone in our midst working against us, their removal will only help our cause, and speed things up for you and the King.” An almost gentle light entered his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I would have said he was gazing at me with affection.

  “We all wish to see you married to the King and on that throne,” he said. “Norfolk and I are working in every way we can to help, Anne, never believe otherwise. The King is certain that once this envoy arrives, all will be well, but we must prepare to fight our enemies, even those pretending to be our friends, as we prepare for victory. Wolsey does not want to see you on that throne. He has let that sentiment slip to his intimates on more than one occasion. We must keep an eye ever trained on him, if we are to succeed.”

  “I would rather that all our efforts were concentrated on the annulment,” I said sullenly.

  “But if Wolsey was no longer constantly in the ear of the King, daughter, and if Norfolk or I were installed there instead, do you not think our cause would move faster?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You never miss a chance for advancement, do you, father?”

  He grinned tightly. “Never,” he admitted. “But remember that our advancement is yours, too, Anne. And just think how satisfying it would be to bring the Cardinal down.”

  “Henry says he is our best chance to secure the approval of the Pope.”

  My father nodded. “And he may well be right, but let us not forget that the King is blind when it comes to those he loves. He sees not Wolsey’s avarice and greed, nor seems to note the Cardinal’s carnal adventures… The Cardinal is as corrupt as he is ungodly; he gleans money from the Church and from Henry’s people. When monasteries are dissolved for poor practices or slattern ways, into whose pocket do you think that money goes? Not into the King’s, that is for sure.” His expression hardened. “If Wolsey stands in our way, we will remove him.”

  “I would not miss him.”

  “The King has started to doubt Wolsey, I believe,” he continued. “He demanded to know why it was taking so long for Campeggio to leave for England. The Cardinal has had to do a lot of grovelling this week.” He brandished the parchment like a sword. “If you can persuade the King that these delays stem from Wolsey, then his confidence in his chief minister will be further unsettled.”

  “I do believe that both cardinals are delaying.” I shrugged. “And so will I say to the King.”

  “Speak kindly and gently to Henry, Anne,” my father warned. “At times you are too passionate… He finds it refreshing, different, now… but he will tire of it eventually. He is, at heart, a conservative man of traditional values. You play the part of the bold mistress now, but in time you will have to be the obedient wife. Will you be ready to tame yourself so?”

  “Henry loves me the way that I am,” I bristled. “He fell in love with me for who I am, and wants to marry who I am… He does not want another Katherine.” I waved a hand at my father. “What is between my future husband and me is between us, my lord father. It is I alone who has brought us to this place. Do not question the manner in which I speak to Henry. He wants an equal beside him, and it is me he loves… That is how it is.”

  “Well enough,” he agreed with a sigh. “I cannot argue with that. The King is more in love with you every day, my love. The annulment has become his sole care and worry. I will trust in you to continue as you are, but do not be too obvious, that is all I ask. Question… Lay the seeds of doubt, speak in offhand conversation about your cares and worries. Often the more softly laid the seed, the stronger it will grow.”

  “I will do as you say,” I agreed. “But I will not tell falsehoods to Henry, father… I will tell him what I know, or what I believe to be true, but I will not lie. I intend ours to be a match not only of love, but of honesty.”

  He offered me an oily smile. “And I am sure it will be… Just keep in mind that this is becoming a vast game, Anne, one of many players. I know you love the King, and he you, but in order to forward our cause, we may need, at times, to manipulate Henry as well as others.”

  I gaped at him but before I could protest, he made to leave. “Think on it, daughter.” He kissed the top of my head. “And remember that even if such methods need to be employed, they are necessary. Sometimes… we have to do such things for the ones we love in order to show them the way. You do no ill to the King if you are acting in his best interests. If the ones we love cannot see the right path, it is up to us to guide them… to move them as pieces on a chessboard, for their own good, and for ours.”

  My father left me with difficult thoughts. I did not want to turn Henry into a tool to get what I wanted. I did not want to start our life together lying to him, manipulating him… Such thoughts were abhorrent.

  I decided that I was not going to do as my father asked. I would continue as ever I had and be honest with Henry. But I did think on my father’s words about the Cardinal. Was it manipulative to say what I thought about the Cardinal, but to express those concerns in ways such as my father had advised rather than blustering at the King? Would modifying my behaviour be manipulating my beloved? I knew not, and the notion made me uncomfortable. But I also knew that Wolsey was not about to be troubled by such questions
of morality… He would not worry about lying to or manipulating Henry in order to remove me. I was in the midst of a dangerous game. The one strength I had was Henry’s love. I had won that love by being myself, and I decided to continue as I thought best.

  I would not lie to my beloved, but, if the need arose, I might take my father’s advice, and offer Henry my concerns in a way that might sprinkle seeds of doubt more effectively. Such thoughts troubled me… but if it was the only way to win, the only way to be with Henry and to take my place as Queen, then it would have to be done. Wolsey would play any hand and use any weapon he had… I had to be prepared to do the same.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Waltham Abbey

  Summer 1528

  In June, all my dreams were almost wrested from me. That summer arrived wet, warm and sticky. The skies were heavy both with cloud and sunshine. Rain fell often but did not cool the earth. On clear days, when cloudless skies shone glaring blue and the sun baked England, it was too hot to go outside. The palaces of court began to ripen with the stench of sweat, piss and bodies itching in the heat. Large downfalls of rain and summer storms threatened the crops of England, and many were worried that famine might come to the poor because of this. But whenever these storms erupted in the skies, they brought no relief from the heat, or the foul air.

  It was the perfect weather for one thing… plague.

  We began to hear rumours of deaths spreading through the towns of England. Plagues of quick-spreading illnesses were an ever-present danger during the warmer months. This was one of the reasons the court and King moved out of London in the summer, to avoid the risk of illness. Henry was horribly afraid of sickness and considered himself an expert in making cures and medicines. Some of the King’s men, George especially, found Henry’s obsession with sickness and its cures to be rather amusing. They laughed about it… when Henry was not there, obviously. But I understood his fixation. Henry was the last male heir of his line. His father had borne two sons, and yet Henry had only one child; a daughter. Were Henry to die, there were fears that the many distant heirs to the throne would battle for its possession, since none believed a woman, or a girl in this case, could be strong enough to hold the country together. Henry’s father had brought an end to the civil war which had assailed England for so long before his rule… should it come to pass that strife would return with the death of his son? I knew such thoughts plagued Henry.

  The idea that he had not yet done his duty to his country and sired a legitimate male heir was a terrible weight for him to bear. His miserly, suspicious father had succeeded where he, the young god-like giant of a son, had failed. That was why Henry was obsessed with curing disease. He delved into the subject to arm himself against his fear. He would not be taken from his destiny by a fever or die before his duty to his country was done. He would live, and he would have his heir. This passion, this drive, was as strong within him as his love for me. Henry was used to succeeding in everything he did. He was a strong, fit and healthy man. He was skilled at archery, hunting, tennis, jousting, riding and wrestling. That was why his lack of an heir was so painful. It was his one failure, in a life of success. To those who have always found achievement easy, failure is the worst of sins.

  But I was going to help him. I would give him an heir. I would give him the son he so longed for.

  The longing within me to have Henry’s children, to see them grow and play at his knee, to hold a child of my own in my arms, was almost as strong as the desire to share Henry’s bed as his wife. I wanted to be a mother. I was ready. I yearned for children. At times, the desire to be a mother was so strong in my breast that I thought I might cease to breathe. My brother and Tom might chortle quietly to see Henry with his pills and potions, but I, who understood Henry so well, understood his fears and the solution to them. When we had children, all would be well.

  Even as we listened to growing reports of sickness spreading through England, we waited for Campeggio. The envoy, it seemed, was unable to travel by horse, or to walk, but had to be carried all the way to England in a litter. Needless to say, he was not making swift progress. We had reports that villagers he encountered on the way thought they were seeing a man doing penance; a shrunken, hunched and groaning figure with a long beard, travelling through the heat of summer. Some even came out to give offerings to him, thinking he was obviously on pilgrimage. The road was so painful for Campeggio, apparently, that long rests had to be taken along the way. Campeggio positively crawled to England. Neither Henry nor I were best pleased.

  Wolsey begged for Henry’s patience, citing Campeggio’s age, his gout, and his many other infirmities, but assuring both Henry and me over and over that he was the best man for this task. I groaned to hear of the snail-like pace of Campeggio, but soon enough, there were other things to worry on closer to home.

  The plague had begun to seep into London at the start of May, which was unusually early for Death to come pounding at our doors. In the first days of June, as the plague settled deep into the city and the pall of death hovered with the haze of heat on the cobblestones of London’s streets, the court fled to Waltham Abbey in Essex. I went with them, although I am sure Katherine wished she could order that I stay behind to die. Thousands in London died of the plague they called the sweating sickness. People fell ill with alarming speed, looking well one hour and sick unto death the next. A raging fever, profuse sweating, troubled dreams and unconsciousness assailed the victims, and every day we heard reports of more people succumbing to the dreaded sweat. The cities were closed up, curfews were put in force and people tried desperately to avoid contact with each other.

  Those who could, nobles in the main part, quickly fled the packed streets of the towns and cities. London became a ghost town. Her usually busy streets emptied and shops, churches and markets were closed. The dead were buried carefully, but quickly, and cures, charms, trinkets and amulets of protection were everywhere. People wore cloths soaked in vinegar and herbs to prevent the disease from entering their bodies through the foul air. Courtiers carried heavily scented pomanders and unicorn tusks to protect themselves, purchased from merchants and peddlers who assured their customers these items would ward off the illness. Even as Death stalked amongst us, some were willing and able to turn a tidy profit from such horror.

  It was whilst we were at Waltham that several men of the King’s chamber, my brother included, fell ill of the sweat. Henry forbade anyone to go near them, and took swift flight from their company, retiring to private apartments and only allowing selected courtiers near him. Those who had been out in the streets or in close contact with the sick were barred from approaching him, on pain of death. I was out of my mind with worry that George may worsen and die, but I could not go to him. Henry would not allow it.

  I was also not allowed near Henry, not because he feared I might have the illness, but because it had reared its head in his household. He did not want to risk me, he wrote. “We must be separated now, my dearest and only love, for your own safety. I cannot allow you to come near my household. I will not risk losing you, even though I will miss you every day and know myself bereft of hope until I see your beautiful eyes once again. Send messages to me, and I will do the same to you. Ensure all that comes into your chambers is rinsed or scrubbed with good vinegar or strong ale, and there will be no way for the sickness to spread and endanger you.”

  Henry’s letter finished with a vast list of precautions I had to take to prevent sickness. The messenger who delivered it also brought a potion Henry had made himself, to strengthen the body against the sickness. Pungent with juniper to ward off evil spirits, chicory to bestow invincibility, and feverfew to prevent fever, it was a disgusting concoction. But knowing that Henry was learned about medicine, I drank it. I almost vomited after the first mouthful, but managed to keep it down. It did not make me feel hale.

  I wrote to Henry, begging that he command his messengers to bring me constant news of my brother. The thought that I might lose George c
onsumed me. I could not rest, despite Henry’s man coming with hourly messages that George still lived. Henry had sent his best doctors to tend George and put the lives of others at risk to check on the progress of my brother. Should I have worried for those I put at risk to bring these messages? Perhaps… but I could only care then for my brother, not for the lives of others. We are, all of us, selfish creatures when we fear to lose ones we love. I prayed to God each day, asking for His intervention. I pestered God, telling Him George was a man of goodness and faith, begging Him to save my brother. I could not sleep, or eat. Each day I paced my chamber. Each time the messenger came I rushed at him, searching his face for news that my brother was dead. Yet each day, George thankfully survived. My soul was desperate. I could think of little else.

  One afternoon at Waltham, while I was preoccupied, worrying about my brother, I noticed Bess behaving oddly. She was ghastly pale, shivering, and pressing her head to the cool stone wall. She was not making any noise. I wondered how long she had stood thus while I failed to notice her, wrapped up as I was in my fog of fear for my brother.