Shaking the Throne

by Caroline Angus Baker

  ‘One day, you shall sit beside me at all events, Nicò, I swear it. I wish I could kiss you at this moment.’

  ‘Hush, for you have indulged in much cheer and must quieten your tone!’

  ‘No, I must leave this party and take you back to my rooms. For I have been offered several women, some noble, some whores, to stretch the enjoyment of my new appointment. Fools; they know not I have the most precious jewel of all in my bed.’

  Nicòla rolled her green eyes but her smile continued to twinkle. ‘With permission, Master Cromwella, I shall retire to your apartments and ready the rooms for your arrival after the evening is done.’

  ‘Thank you, kind secretary,’ Cromwell said and gave a smug grin. He could wait not to leave the event and have her.

  Cromwell waited until Nicòla disappeared before he presented himself before the table of Henry and Anne. Henry leaned over to Anne, his cheek almost pressed against her shoulder, wine and warmth wearing down Henry’s usual public face. Only when he saw Cromwell bow before him did Henry sit up straight.

  ‘The man of the hour,’ Henry said and raised his glass. ‘I trust all is well in my kingdom, Thomas.’

  ‘Indeed, Your Majesty. Lord Wiltshire tells me that Her Majesty is in a delicate condition of great cheer.’

  ‘England deserves a great cheer,’ Anne said with a smile. Pretty smiles seldom graced Anne’s face since the death of her son last summer. But that had passed, for another baby would grace the royal nursery.

  Cromwell bowed again. ‘I shall retire, Your Majesties, as tomorrow I shall begin my work under my new title and continue my work on all my other posts.’

  ‘We shall have to ennoble you soon enough, Cremwell,’ Anne said as she took Henry’s hand. ‘Sometimes I fear you have more power than Henry, yet you are unliked in England, so perchance you understand many of my fears.’

  ‘I am only hither to serve, Your Majesty.’

  ‘From tomorrow, you shall start serving me by pulling down monasteries and punishing those who upset my queen,’ Henry said, his cheery smile gone.

  ‘Worry not, all will change, Your Majesty, as we banish fake relics and immoral sin.’

  ‘I hope so, Thomas, I hope so. I have raised you high, and it is time I had total control. There be nowhere for traitors to hide in Cromwell’s England, I hope.’

  ‘Nowhere, Your Majesty, I will stake my life upon it.’

  F

  Chapter 17 – February 1535

  better to be coomforted with a lye than hurt with the trouth

  Whitehall Palace, London

  ‘Be it true?’ Thomas Wyatt asked under his breath.

  ‘Be what true?’ Henry Norris replied.

  The pair sat together with Nicòla, in the weak winter sunlight which trickled through a large window into the Queen’s apartments. When Nicòla came into Anne’s rooms, it instantly reminded her that they were once the main rooms of York Place, Cardinal Wolsey’s palace, these rooms Wolsey’s private offices. Now the rooms were opened and light, Anne sitting on a throne of a chair, on a pedestal, higher than the other seats so she looked down on everyone. A queen above everyone in every respect.

  ‘The lady.’ Wyatt gestured with his head at Lady Margaret Shelton. The pretty cousin of the Queen, Margaret had dark hair always pulled back, her round face sweet with an affectionate smile for Norris.

  ‘If, and I say, if, I wish to marry again, I shall take my time in asking for Lady Margaret’s hand,’ Norris said with a sniff.

  Wyatt was only teasing; he knew Norris had no intention of marrying Lady Margaret. Norris was the head gentleman of the privy chamber to the King, keeper of the privy purse; Norris was the one who snuck Henry’s mistress into his rooms, out of sight of Anne’s spies. Lady Margaret had been the bed-mate of King Henry for a year now, luckily still not pregnant. The notion that Norris wished to remarry was a lie for when he was spotted with Lady Margaret. Norris could sit in the Queen’s room daily, playing spy for the King, and know when to take the mistress to the monarch.

  ‘If you were to marry,’ Nicòla said to Norris, ‘I am certain the King would reward you handsomely.’

  Wyatt laughed under his breath. The King always married his mistresses off when he got bored, with a cash payment to the husband who wedded the soiled goods. And Lady Margaret’s time was almost complete.

  ‘I have larger issues, for my brother, John, who is usually an usher in Henry’s outer chamber, is much worse in his illness.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear it,’ Wyatt said and threw a look to Nicòla; no more teasing for the day.

  Nicòla sighed. ‘I do wish I could return to my work,’ she muttered, as she watched Lady Margery Horsman and Lady Margaret Douglas playing with a dog which Anne kept in her rooms. ‘I know not how courtiers bear sitting about for so many hours a day just to pay favour to the Queen.’

  ‘I would not wish to be attendant to Secretary Cromwell,’ Norris replied. ‘For that task appears utterly thankless.’

  ‘It has its advantages,’ Nicòla replied and looked out the window to the Thames behind her. Just the thought of being on the water created nausea.

  A sharp cry brought Nicòla’s attention back to the room. Anne, who had gone to sit by a window in the dark corner where she could rest her swollen feet, cried like a wounded child as she held her stomach. At once, everyone in the room was on their feet; the pregnant Queen in pain brought abject fear in all hearts.

  Lady Jane Seymour was at Anne’s side in a heartbeat. ‘Tell me what you need,’ Jane said as she tried to help Anne to her feet.

  ‘I want my baby,’ was all Anne could wail in reply.

  ‘Fetch Dr. Butts,’ Nicòla said to Wyatt, and he left without a second look. ‘Norris, tell the King at once that Anne is ill.’

  ‘No,’ Anne pleaded. ‘Henry will divorce me if I lose another baby.’ Tears rolled down Anne’s ever-paler face. She clutched her stomach, her ladies all desperate to hold their Queen.

  But even from a distance, Nicòla could see the blood appearing on Anne’s silver gown. The moment Anne saw it too, she cried even louder. This was no place for a man, but Nicòla forgot all about being safe in her guise, and only thought of the moment she bled out her own precious son.

  Nicòla helped Anne through the doorway to her bedroom, while Nicòla and the women laid Anne on the soft sheets. She rolled onto her side, her hands cupping between her legs, her palms instantly covered in blood.

  ‘If my son dies, so shall I,’ Anne wept, her black eyes shut tight.

  The other ladies all stepped back in fear of what was happening. Nicòla glanced over at them, all inching closer to the doorway, but refused to do the same. Nicòla knelt beside the bed, her face close to the Queen’s. ‘Your Majesty, I shall do anything you command.’

  ‘Tell no truths to Henry,’ Anne whimpered. ‘Henry cannot know the cause.’

  Nicòla glanced to the women in the doorway, all huddled together in a mass of worry and damask gowns. Only a few were married; none had children. They had experienced none of the fate of their Queen.

  ‘Tell me, what do you feel in your hands?’ Nicòla asked quietly. She could not dare look under Anne’s clothes, for Nicòla was a “man,” and could never presume to act in such a way.

  ‘I want Georgie,’ Anne wailed as another pain seared through her stomach.

  ‘Lady Jane, fetch your husband and your father-in-law at once. Lord Rochford and Lord Wiltshire are entertaining in the King’s rooms today.’

  ‘Please, help my baby,’ Anne cried out loud. She writhed on the bed as she rolled onto her back, which showed the full horror of the blood on her dress. Her ladies all gasped in fright, which made Anne opened her eyes in panic. She brought her hands to her face, speechless by the blood before her.

  ‘Everyone out!’ Nicòla cried as she jumped to her feet. She could rely on none of these women. ‘Go and wait for the Boleyns and the doctor. No one leaves the Queen’s rooms, lest you suffer the anger of my master!’<
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  The moment the door shut, Nicòla climbed onto the bed and Anne sat up, sweat running from her dark hair, now untying itself from delicate pins. ‘The pain has paused but a moment,’ Anne whimpered.

  ‘I am a man in clothing only,’ Nicòla said. ‘Do you trust me?’

  Anne nodded, clutching a handful of her silver silk, blood smearing its shiny fabric. Nicòla carefully pulled Anne’s dress higher and higher. Her knees upwards were stained with blood, pooling and smudging on her delicate skin. Nicòla did not have to take all of Anne’s dignity, for she did not need to pull at the dress right up to see what was happening. A lump covered in blood sat among the fabric. A baby? Nicòla could not be certain. Anne would only be two months gone; most women knew nothing of their child now. Nicòla knew little of other women’s monthly courses. Were all women the same? Living as a man, the conversation would never arise.

  ‘Your Majesty, do you often get pain with your courses?’ Nicòla asked and looked to Anne’s face rather than the smears of blood.

  Anne nodded a weak gesture. Nicòla pulled Anne’s dress down a little and laid the Queen onto her back. ‘My courses are a constant blight upon me,’ Anne sniffed, tears still rolling freely.

  ‘How many courses have you missed?’

  ‘I missed this month, and last month.’

  ‘Could it be that you are not with child, but simply missed a course by accident, only to suffer double now?’

  Anne’s weeping eyes shot straight to Nicòla. ‘Could it be true?’

  Nicòla shrugged, for the only baby she ever lost was almost fully grown. Monthly courses were not dinner conversation in the Cromwell Chambers. ‘Perchance only God knows of such things.’

  ‘I was not with child, I was wrong and got a terrible course,’ Anne said. She seemed much better at once. With the lump out and all the accompanying blood, the pain appeared to have lessened. Anne still held her stomach, sweat on her pale brow, but at least the screaming stopped.

  The bedroom door banged open and there stood Thomas and George Boleyn. George ran to the bedside at once, not even seeing Nicòla sitting at the feet of the Queen. Thomas Boleyn strode in with a heavy slam of the door. ‘We have sent for the doctor,’ he announced. ‘What have you done to the child, girl?’

  ‘Father,’ Anne wept as George helped his sister to sit. ‘Frescobaldi says perchance I was not with child at all, it is but women’s courses. God has decided to not give me a baby.’ Anne stopped as another pain came on, her frown burrowed, but she panted rather than cried out this time.

  Boleyn’s eyes shot to Nicòla. ‘What would you know of this? Why would you, a creature to Cromwell, even dare to be hither?’

  ‘Nicòla helped me, Father,’ Anne said as she used a bloody hand to wipe a tear from her lips. ‘You know Nicòla’s truth.’

  Boleyn paused; he long knew the truth about Nicòla, and cared not, as he cared for no one about him other than his own family.

  ‘Tis a fine plan to tell the King of a simple problem with women’s courses,’ Boleyn muttered. ‘But you must leave us,’ he commanded Nicòla. ‘Tell everyone who shall listen – Anne did not lose another child. There was no baby. If Henry hears this, he is less likely to abandon his wife. Get Cromwell to spread this news.’

  Anne broke into fresh tears and George held her close, rocking his sister with great care. Nicòla had no choice but to leave Anne with her family, who cared more for her womb than of her welfare.

  Nicòla charged past the ladies-in-waiting, not even troubling with eye contact, just as Dr. William Butts entered the Queen’s rooms. Nicòla only gestured to show the doctor the way and left the rooms without a whisper. With luck, Dr. Butts would reach the same conclusion that Anne had never been pregnant, or at least the Boleyns could persuade him. Henry would replace Anne if she lost another child, Anne thought so herself. But they would not consider a misunderstanding of her condition such an issue, Henry could simply slip back into Anne’s bed again rather than having a mistress shoved into his.

  Nicòla spoke to no one until she entered the Cromwell Chambers. With nothing more than nods of acknowledgement to the guards and clerks, Nicòla charged into Cromwell’s private office where he sat, surrounded by half a dozen clerks, all receiving instructions, the mail chest open on Nicòla’s desk.

  ‘Uscire!’ Nicòla ordered everyone out, her voice as deep and loud as she could muster.

  The sound of her voice snapped Cromwell’s head up from his papers in a moment. With a double click of his fingers, he dismissed all the young men, who filed out without a word or look. Nicòla slammed the doors on everyone the moment the final footstep left the office. ‘Poor tidings, Tomassito.’

  Cromwell held his hands upwards towards her in search of news. ‘Tell me and we shall fix all.’

  ‘Not this,’ Nicòla sat down across the desk from her master. ‘Anne has lost the baby.’

  ‘God in heaven,’ Cromwell groaned and placed his face in his hands. Nicòla watched his greying dark curls bounce a little as he shook his head in despair. ‘How could this happen once more?’ he mumbled through his fingers.

  ‘All is not lost.’

  Cromwell looked up again with a stern brow. ‘How?’

  ‘Anne permitted me to look up her skirts.’ Nicòla paused Cromwell’s eyebrows raised so high they almost disappeared into his hair. ‘Tis but a long tale. But the Queen was in pain, bleeding, and no one dared to touch her anointed body. Anne allowed me to check the problem. There was blood, there was pain and some… how you say… coaguli?’

  ‘Clots,’ Cromwell replied. ‘A clot of blood. Did you see this ill-fortuned mess?’

  ‘I did see and it did not look like the presence of a child, with my limited knowledge of the whole process.’

  Cromwell nodded slowly and took a deep breath. A difficult matter for any man, no matter his knowledge. ‘So, Anne was pregnant, but is no longer?’

  ‘Anne admitted to having difficulty in this womanly trouble, so God may not have given her a child, not a whole healthy one.’

  ‘I am glad Anne had you there, and not me. Has Henry been sent for?’

  ‘Yes, Norris was present, and he sent for the King. Wyatt got Dr. Butts to the Queen’s rooms and Lady Jane got the Boleyns. They shall manage the truth before they tell the King of the loss.’

  ‘Supposed loss.’

  ‘Anne seemed amiable to the notion that we tell the King it was a poor calculation of dates, not a miscarriage.’

  ‘I too am amiable to that cause. Henry shall be much placated by this news.’

  ‘Henry would not forsake Anne, would he? For their love is true, is deep. Henry changed a nation for Anne’s love.’

  ‘I am marked by wrinkles over the change,’ Cromwell shrugged. ‘But you know Henry’s temper. But no, I truly believe he shall tarry with Anne, despite matters such as this. But he has not yet fully recovered from the loss of last year’s son, so this shall not come as good tidings. We must set to distract Henry as much as we can, so our Queen remains safe in her position. And pregnant once more in great haste.’

  ‘Anne shall need time, a few weeks at least before we push her into the marital bed,’ Nicòla warned. ‘Henry shall know of this by now.’

  ‘I shall set out to find our King at once and try to limit this damage. The Boleyns are present and that is of great relief.’

  ‘What if Katherine was right?’ Nicòla pondered. ‘What if God truly does not believe in the marriage of Henry and Anne?’

  ‘Tis the people who must agree on the marriage. Or they shall set all alight, starting with us. Henry’s anger is the only consideration for us now.’

  Nicòla sighed and rested her elbow on the desk, her eyes resting in her palm. ‘Henry is not the only consideration, Tomassito.’

  ‘What else? Do you mean Anne?’

  ‘No, me. I have considerations.’

  ‘What?’ Cromwell’s tone changed in an instant. Nicòla looked up to see a worried expression.
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br />   ‘Queen Anne has been wondering of a child of late. She is a mother, she knows the signs. But perchance she was wrong. Perchance there was simply something within her causing illness and it played upon her desperation.’

  ‘Tis possible.’

  ‘And have I got the same illness? I have not suffered from my courses for three months. I must conceal my courses, so I never forget them, due to…’ Nicòla made a waving gesture at her body, not wishing to discuss this with Cromwell.

  ‘You have missed three courses and said nothing?’ Cromwell squeaked.

  ‘Queen Anne was too hasty in speaking up, and now she is paying for it with humiliation and despair.’

  ‘Are you with child?’ Cromwell whispered.

  ‘I fear it is possible.’

  ‘There shall be no despair for you!’ Cromwell said as he leapt from his chair. He rounded his desk and knelt before Nicòla still in her seat. ‘There shall be no humiliation for you.’

  ‘But I am afraid, Tomassito.’

  Cromwell took Nicòla’s hands in his; he was almost fifty and the signs of a hard life showed against Nicòla’s much darker but younger skin. ‘We know not why God does such things.’

  ‘God was angry at us when we handed religious power to Henry instead of the Pope. We placed God’s power in Henry’s hands, and we paid for it, our tiny son ripped from my body, gone to God before even being baptised. We now seek to take more power away from the Catholic Church. What shall God do this time?’

  ‘Perchance God has taken enough, for he has denied Henry a son yet again.’

  ‘I am too old to bear a child, already I am five and thirty years! It shall not be a royal baby this summer, but another Cromwell baby. How shall we hide such?’

  ‘The court shall go on progress without me,’ Cromwell said. ‘We shall create an excuse. All shall be gone from London, and Austin Friars can be home to the child, with Jane and Gregory in attendance.’

  ‘What if I am wrong, like the Queen?’

  ‘What if you are right?’ Cromwell grinned. ‘You are my wife, if by God if not by law, Nicò. I rule this country, so I can make certain you have this child safely.’