Above All Others

by G Lawrence

  I did not tell Bess’s parents that their daughter was buried in a mass grave near to the Abbey of Waltham. I could not. It was too much to see them brought so low already. I assured them that I would give money to the Church for prayers to be said in her memory. Although I had read much to make me doubt that God required prayers to be said, or bought, from the Church to allow His children into Heaven, I knew that these folk believed in such things. I wanted to bring them comfort, and so I hid my own feelings. When I rode back to Hever, my father berated me for putting myself in danger.

  “But there are no new cases within our lands, my lord father.” I took my riding gloves off and my hands trembled with weariness. The short ride had taken much from me. I would need to rest to recover my strength. “I promise you, there was no sign of the sweat at their farm. I had to go, father… Bess was my servant and my responsibility. It is better that they hear ill news from me, than never to know what became of their daughter at all.”

  “Send a servant next time!” he shouted, glowering at me. “We cannot risk you again! If you are gone, Anne, then so are all our plans and hopes!”

  I sniffed, turning to him with my chin raised in defiance and my back straight with bristled anger. My tone was cool, even if my emotions were not. “It is pleasing, father, to hear you are so concerned for me… Although less pleasing that my value to you is measured solely by your ability to further your own ambitions through me.”

  I swept past him and into the house, leaving him sputtering. I was angry at him for his treatment of Mary, and I knew, now, there was nothing I could do or say that would really drive him from me. It hurt that he was not, as my mother had been, relieved to see me live merely because I was his daughter. My father was only glad of my victory over Death because of the position and prestige he would gain when I married the King. Such truths stung, even though I had known his ways all my life… When you find yourself disappointed in a parent, it is a cruel and harsh sensation. When you understand that he sees you only as a means to an end and does not cherish and love you as a parent should, the pain, and the sense of loneliness that pain brings with it, is indescribable.

  But I hardened my heart. At least I had a mother, a sister and a brother yet living who loved me for me. My father’s attitude increased my conviction that I should help Mary, if I could. If he would not do his duty to his children, then we would have to look after each other.

  Tom and Margaret Wyatt wrote from Allington. Their father had refused permission for them to visit until the sweat was entirely gone from Hever’s household. Some of the servants were still recovering, but in truth we had been fortunate. Many other households, who did not have the likes of Dr Butts and Mother Stephens at their service, had lost many. Of those who had sickened at Hever, we lost only two; one kitchen maid, and one young page. The sickness did seem, in general, to have carried off more men than women, and Margaret protested to her father that this meant she should be allowed to come and see me, but he refused.

  “Soon enough, my dear friend,” Margaret wrote, “we will be together again. Rest in the knowledge that we pray for you every day and that we both long to see you again.”

  Bridget wrote to me too. She had lost, Catherine, one of her youngest children to the sweat, but her husband, Nicholas Harvey, and the rest of her enormous brood were safe. She was distraught for the death of her daughter, and told me Catherine had been a sweet child, but she was grateful that the rest of her family had been spared. I sent a gift to Bridget of a silver ring with a skull on it, as a death memento for Catherine, and tried to console her.

  Later that week, the welcome figure of my brother rode up to Hever and before he had even dismounted his horse, I was by his side, laughing and jumping up and down like a child. He leapt gamely from his horse and embraced me. I had never been so happy. This time of illness and darkness had made me realise the precious friendship I shared with my brother, and how close I had come to losing it.

  We spent some time together in the great hall by the fire, in the long gallery, walking and talking and, on warm afternoons, we wandered in the gardens. The air was no longer polluted by the scent of burning vinegar. The sweat was abating all over England, although in London it was still rife. George told me that all the nobility had fled London, and were either tending their sick, or in their own homes, warding off the disease by seclusion, or use of charms, prayers and even spells.

  “Tom told me he visited you.” George plucked a rose from my mother’s beautifully tended crop and handed it to me. “I am glad the two of you are truly friends once again.”

  “And I,” I said, lifting the glorious bloom to my nose, inhaling the sweet scent. “Tom has been a good friend and worthy companion to all of us. He risked a great deal for us, George. I will find a way to repay him for his kindness.”

  George looked at me slyly. “The King has been seeking Tom’s companionship also, even before this disease sent him into seclusion,” he confided. “Partly for his good friendship, and partly to assure himself and others that there was never anything between the two of you.”

  I looked sharply at my brother. “There never was anything between me and Tom. Henry knows that, surely?”

  “Nothing that would show now, anyway,” George said, earning himself a cuff around the head.

  “There was never anything between me and Tom!” I exclaimed. “He asked me to be his mistress long ago and I refused. Do you doubt me? Or do you think that I only mean what I say when a king asks me?”

  George chortled. “Nay, sister. I should not doubt your word for the wide world… After all, soon I shall call you not sister first, but Queen, and I should not be foolish enough to displease my Queen for anything.”

  I held out my hand and laced my fingers through his. “You, above all people George, shall always call me sister first.”

  George smiled but it quivered into a grimace. “I thought we were lost to each other,” he said seriously. “I feared for you.”

  “And I feared for you, George. We are a close family, but perhaps you and I are the best of friends in it.”

  “Then so shall it be,” he nodded. “I shall protect you and your interests always.”

  “As I shall you and yours,” I promised.

  We walked into the house, and I gave the rose to one of my servants to dry and preserve. I wanted to keep this token of this day, to remind myself of all I had, and all I had nearly lost.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Hever Castle

  Summer 1528

  George was with us for a week. Each day when I awoke, my first happy thought was that my brother was nearby. After so long a time of worrying for him, fearing for his life, it was glorious to know I could come downstairs to find him there. We rode out through the marshlands and hunted together in the woods and fields. We spoke on matters of religion, reform and the court. George was one of the few people I could truly unleash my heart with, and he with me. Even with Henry I had not been entirely open on my thoughts on reform. But with my brother, I could discuss anything. One day, I found him reading a pamphlet, and asked what it was.

  “A report on the visions of the Holy Maid of London,” he said and made a face of dissatisfaction. “She pleads with the people of England, asking that we act against the horrors that she believes have been brought upon England by Lutheran beliefs infiltrating into minds and thoughts. She pleads for the common people to remain within the bosom of the Church, and tells them if they hold true to their belief in the Church, in its leaders and in the Pope, then we will have no more plagues come to punish us.” He tossed the paper to a sideboard and shook his head. “That woman seems to hold more authority over the minds of the people than any other.”

  Elizabeth Barton, known as the Holy Maid of London, or the Nun of Kent, was a serving wench who had, in recent years, risen to great prominence in the popular imagination. Born a peasant, Elizabeth had been working in a house in Aldington when she began to have visions, both of the future and of th
e Virgin, of Christ and of God Himself. A voice came from her which was not her own at such times. Her lips would not move, but a deep voice would speak of her visions to those who gathered to hear her.

  She had grown increasingly famous and popular. The common people flocked to hear the unearthly, and some believed, divine, voice which emanated from her. Many members of the clergy supported her, and some of her prophesies had come true; she had, for example foretold the death of a child in the house in which she served. She was a staunch defender of the Church, and had urged people to look to their religious lives with more strength and honesty. Henry and Wolsey had both met with her in the past, and found her impressive. None of her visions were at odds with the Church, and so she had been largely accepted by the clergy and was well-beloved by the common people. Some at court were, however, suspicious of her predictions and her motives. Sir Thomas More had noted, at times, predictions were attributed to Elizabeth Barton that she had not actually made. He suspected this was done by her admirers, who wanted to increase the glory credited to her name. There were some who suspected she was not divine, and was merely acting a part to gain notoriety and attention.

  The Nun of Kent was most outspoken on the matter of heresy, and condemned it utterly in all forms. She thought Lutherans and others who worked for Church reform were simple heretics. She would not accept the value of their theology, and condemned them. For this blindness, this lack of vision, I did not think Elizabeth was a good influence on the common people.

  But Elizabeth’s message was clear and simple, which appealed to many. Elizabeth’s message; to obey the Church and her clergy in all matters, to trust them to know what was good for us, to never question their practises, or note their sins, was dangerous in my opinion. Elizabeth Barton and people like her would have us all acting as mindless dullards, devoid of thought or conscience. But to the Church, and to many of her followers, she was an angel who could do no wrong; a holy woman, a living saint, a soul blessed by God.

  “She is supported by the Archbishop Warham and Bishop John Fisher,” I said, taking up the note and glancing at it. “Henry met with her some time ago, and he found her most convincing.”

  “The girl is a fraud.” George curled his lip derisively. “A poor servant, who seeks to make herself into a prophetess to gain wealth and acclaim!”

  “She refuses all wealth and riches, George,” I protested, putting the paper down. No matter if I did not believe in the Nun’s visions, I could not allow him to speak falsehoods of her either. “She lives in a bare cell and gives her wealth to the Church. I do not believe she is truly touched with the Holy Vision, but I will not allow you to say such about her… Whatever her motives, I believe she has true faith in her own visions. She believes what she says is true.”

  “She does it, then, for notoriety,” he said. “The King only likes her because she has often spoken against rebellion, but he will not like what she has been saying lately.”

  “What?” I asked, grabbing at the note again. I had only skimmed the words previously. I knew that George would find Elizabeth Barton irritating because she was so set against the works of men like Luther, and others, whom he admired. I had not thought there was something new here.

  “She speaks out against the King’s Great Matter, sister…” George said. “She opposes it, saying that the judgement of the Pope who issued the original dispensation for Henry and Katherine to marry was correct. She says that the union was honest in the eyes of God and there is no sin attached to it… And she has proof of this… The Virgin Mary came to visit her one night and told her this was truth.”

  I let out a snort of annoyance, and George grinned. “So…” he teased. “Not so stalwart in your defence of her now, are we, sister?”

  I scowled. “I said that I believed she was not out for wealth, brother,” I snapped. “I also said I believe that she believes in the truth of her visions, not that I believed in them!”

  “To follow that line of thought, I would have to be a cleverer man than I am…” he shook his head. “But you must understand, sister… there are many who think highly of her opinion. There are those who will follow her lead. The trial of Henry’s marriage inches closer, and the Nun of Kent has thrown her support behind Katherine. Another supporter for Katherine’s side, and an influential one, could cause problems.”

  “And Wolsey will no doubt inform Henry of this with great relish,” I spat bitterly. “He tried to convince the King that the sweat was an expression of God’s displeasure with the annulment proceedings. Now he will have the Holy Nun on his side!” I frowned. “This is not good for us.”

  “So you understand my concern.”

  “Of course… now,” I replied. “Henry is a superstitious man. He will not like this development.”

  “She has not openly said that the King is in the wrong,” he mused. “Only that his belief is wrong. She does not dare to openly insult the King, but says he requires guidance.”

  “And how long before she starts to blame me, as all about the country seem to, brother? How long before she stirs the people up and they think to rebel?”

  “She speaks often enough against rebellion, Anne,” he assured me. “She promotes peace and calmness… I do not think that will become an issue.”

  “That is true, thank you, George,” I murmured. “But still… I like not that Wolsey has another weapon to use against me. You see how clever he was when the sweat raged? He knows Henry’s terror of sickness… Wolsey thought he could pounce on his master when he was at his most vulnerable. He thought if he scared him with God’s displeasure then Henry would give up. He must have thought he could later convince Henry that God simply did not want him to marry me, and then the fat bat could place his own choice for Queen on the throne....” I let out a tense breath. My cheeks tingled. My blood was hot and irritated in my veins. “And now, Wolsey will no doubt use this peasant girl to further his own wishes. He will use the Nun against me, I know it.”

  “We will keep an eye on her, and on Wolsey, Anne,” George said, standing. “I promise you.”

  I smiled at his concerned face. “Have you written to Jane, as yet?” I asked and was rewarded with a sour expression and a curdled sigh. “She was frantic about you, George,” I said earnestly. “Her father had to restrain her from flying to your side in your sickness.”

  George snorted, walking away from me. “A good thing that he did!” he exclaimed. “For having her weeping and mooning over me would have surely finished the last of my strength!”

  “Do not be so cruel to one who loves you,” I warned. “And she does, George! More than anything.”

  George turned to me and glowered. “Jane loves a vision and a hope,” he said unpleasantly. “She does not know or love me, sister. She looks on me and allows all her dreams flow into my skin. In truth, she knows nothing of me. She is shrill and bitter when I stay away, and when I come to her she clings, accuses and weeps. What man could stand to come home to such a creature? She has beauty a-plenty on her face and in her form, and in that alone I am blessed for at least with much wine within me I can stand to lie with her… But inside, Anne… she is a hidden and strange creature. I hate the way she treats me, as though I am her property, as though I can go nowhere and do nothing unless she can see me… She opens my personal letters, goes through my trunks and chests, and produces items she has stolen from me to accuse me of whatever fantasy has popped into her head that day!” He shook his head. “Accuse me not of cruelty, sister, for I am more kind to her than she deserves. Another man would have cast her off, as our father has already suggested. It is only through pity that I do not do as he has asked. I do not beat her, I do not send her away, but love her, I cannot.”

  I stared at him. “She goes through your things?” I asked, rather shocked.

  He laughed without humour. “Aye, and reads my papers, questions my friends in her sly, jealous way, and is at times vindictive to women she thinks I have bedded about court.” He ran a hand through hi
s hair. “I do not say that I have been faithful,” he admitted. “I do not say I am a saint. But I am no more a villain than other men, and I never bring my mistresses into the house to shame her. I am discreet, and so she should have no cause to be angered at me.”

  I sighed. “I am sorry, brother,” I said. “I did not know things were so bad.”

  “Sometimes they are not,” he admitted. “Sometimes, she can be a sweet and loving woman, and if I have enough wine or ale in me, I find her bonny.” He heaved a sigh to echo mine. “But she is not what my heart wishes for, Anne.” The corners of his lips lifted into a gentle, if somewhat envious smile. “I do not love her as you love Henry, or as he loves you.”

  I went to my brother and put my arms about him. “If you do not wish her there, then I will not bring her to my household again,” I declared. “For although I pity Jane, you are my brother and I am loyal to you first.”

  He shook his head. “She likes being near you, Anne,” he said and chuckled at the surprise on my face. Jane and I had known each other for years, but I never would have thought of us as close… I had never thought she actually enjoyed my company. “She likes being close to the intrigue,” he continued, explaining himself. “It makes her happy, and occupies her so that she is not haunting me… Keep her with you.”