Shaking the Throne

by Caroline Angus Baker

  ‘Frail and carnal lust… inserting her tongue into her brother’s mouth, and he in hers… vice provocations… crazed with lust… bedding Norris just six weeks after the princess’ birth… bedding Weston and giving him money… carnal appetites to seduce a musician thrice…’

  Cromwell rattled away all these accusations about imaginary events, along with dates in 1533, 1534 and 1535… suggesting her pregnancies resulted from men other than the King… accusing the Queen of acts in places she did not visit, with men who were not present. Yet no one on the jury questioned anything, for they all sat there so Henry could have a new bride. Every lord asked questions of Anne and every time Anne could give a calm, composed and logical explanation, but it mattered none, for the executioner had sailed from France. Henry was a fool to dismiss a woman like Anne Boleyn.

  ‘Lady Anne,’ Norfolk addressed his niece without her royal title, ‘do you wish to s-s-peak to the court?’

  Anne looked straight to the judges. ‘I confess I did not always give the King the humility to which was owed, considering his kindness and respect he bore me. I took it into my head at the time to be jealous of His Majesty, but with God as my sole witness, I did no other wrong by my husband. I regret that such person’s names hither today are to die for sins abused by my friendship and fealty, for those men die for me most unjustly.’

  Norfolk paused in his seat; the jury did not need time to consider a sentence, as Cromwell had prepared all with Norfolk, wrote out the words of the sentence himself. But Norfolk wiped a tear from his old cheek.

  ‘Anne Boleyn, because you h-h-have offended against our sovereign the King’s Grace, b-b-by committing treason, by committing adultery and incest, w-w-we attaint you of these crimes. The law of this r-r-realm stands you deserve death, and the j-j-judgement is you shall be burned here in the Tower of London or t-t-to have your head smitten off, as d-d-decided at the King’s pleasure.’

  Sick Henry Percy cried in his seat and slipped, landing on the floor in a panic as servants struggled to collect their sick master. Cromwell heard a woman cry out in the crowd, no doubt someone who knew Anne well. He turned back to face Anne, and she stared right back at Cromwell, her black eyes calm. But she turned away again and faced her tearful uncle as he urged the crowd to be silent again.

  ‘My lords,’ Anne said, and the crowd fell silent. ‘I will not say your sentence is unjust, nor presume that my words shall change your convictions. I believe you have your own reasons for what you have done; but you have removed those reasons from what you said in this court, for I am innocent of the offences. I have been a faithful wife to the King. I confess to jealous fancies and suspicions of him, and I did not use discretion and wisdom always. Think not I say this to prolong my life. I know these, as my last words, will award me nothing but I wish to defend my chastity and honour. I would willingly suffer many deaths to deliver my brother and the other men from their sentences, but as it pleases the King, I shall willingly go with these men in death. I shall lead an endless life with them in peace and joy, where I will pray to God for the King and for you, my lords.’

  As the voices in the Great Hall rose again and Norfolk struggled to establish order, Cromwell turned away and headed out through a small side door. He needed not to see Anne dragged away by Kingston again, and he still had to see George abused and sentenced to death. The plan had always been to get the death sentences commuted. Henry had no such desire to being merciful. Nicòla may soon get released from the Tower, but her dear friend Anne Boleyn, and many others, like sweet Smeaton, would all be dead by the time Cromwell’s love breathed fresh air outside her cell. Years of service, hard work and determination to gain Anne as the Queen had all come undone with an adultery charge, undoing the royal marriage in only two weeks. Cromwell knew he had scant chance to convince Henry to allow them all to live, but he had to try. Try just one more time to appeal to Henry’s soft side, which once adored Anne.

  F

  Chapter 45 – May 1536

  after the first lye, nothing will be beelieved

  The Tower, London

  ‘O Lord, Jesus Christ, Redeemer and Saviour, forgive my sins, just as You forgave Peter’s denial, and those who crucified You. Count not my transgressions, but, rather, my tears of repentance. Remember not my iniquities, but, more especially, my sorrow for the offences I have committed. I long to be true to Your Word and pray that You will love me and come to make Your dwelling place within me. I promise to give You praise and glory in love and in service all the days of my life. Amen.’

  Nicòla sat on her knees of her cell, her eyes closed, with her hands together before her face while she prayed. Night had long fallen; midnight must have passed. The night felt much harder than the day, where she could see people, the sun moved in the sky. Once night fell, the despair of being locked away without any company made the hours seem unending. Wyatt in the next cell knew precious little, but both had a window out to the green within the Tower grounds and had seen a scaffold being erected on the grass over several days.

  The plan was to discredit the Queen and most of her faithful followers. But the plan had not at all gone the way Nicòla expected; Cromwell had pushed it all further than she expected. What of the King, what did he think as news of his wife’s adultery no doubt made him feel belittled, not even manly enough to satisfy one woman?

  The sound of a key in the door brought Nicòla to her feet in a rush. She pulled her warm overcoat from the bed and thrust it over her nightclothes. Could this be it? A late-night interrogation?

  But the weary face which appeared told a different story. ‘Sono così content di vederti!’ she cried.

  Cromwell waited until the door locked again. ‘I feel pleased that you feel pleased to see me!’

  Nicòla threw herself against Cromwell, an embrace so tight that Cromwell would have felt her loneliness and desperation just in the way her hands grabbed at him, how tight her arms wrapped around him.

  ‘Do you plan to let me go?’

  Nicòla shook her head, her face buried in his neck, sweet relief found in the smell of a man against her. Cromwell lifted her off her feet and shuffled towards the bed where he sat her down, and sat beside her, taking her hand. Nicòla could not bear to touch his face; Cromwell’s bottom lip fat and split, the skin of his cheek bruised and raw.

  ‘The King?’ she asked.

  Cromwell brought his hand to his face, and Nicòla noticed his fingers were red from a fight. ‘Indeed, His Majesty did not like a proposal I put to him.’

  ‘What proposal?’

  ‘That we spare Anne and the traitors the sentences of being burned or hanged. I begged Henry not to execute Anne, regardless of the crime.’

  ‘And Henry beat you?’

  ‘Shoved me to the ground and kicked me. Henry said Anne has tried to destroy his manhood and he must punish her, for it is Anne’s fault that England has no heir.’

  ‘No male heir.’

  ‘Henry walks the garden daily with Jane Seymour and her family. Spends all his time with them. If I am to survive, I am to encourage this new pairing, and announce their betrothal forthwith.’

  ‘The scaffold?’ Nicòla gestured to the window.

  ‘I ordered it built a few days ago, once Henry commuted the traitors’ sentences to beheading. He beat me yesterday but sent for me after dinner and repeated that he wants them all beheaded hither in the Tower, not quartered over at Tyburn. I believe Henry wants it done; they are no longer trusted friends and courtiers, but enemies and tyrannous snakes to be removed from this Earth for their crimes.’

  ‘Were you tempted to tell Henry we made up the adultery charges?’

  ‘What would you have me say? I lied about the whole thing, Your Majesty? He might like that, for now he can have a new wife. It removes the Boleyn family and all their supporters. If I create Queen Jane, then I will return to favour. Had we not come up with this plan, it would be my head on that scaffold tomorrow, or your head. We had to choose, and I believe in w
hat we did, even if I want no one to die.’

  ‘Do you regret all of this?’

  Cromwell turned to Nicòla and looked at her in the eye for a moment ‘No. I regret nothing, for we all knew what could happen when we came to court and made our lives hither. I felt I had to shake the throne, and I have done so. I am sorry for Mark Smeaton, I am, but I needed a commoner no one came for, asked for, begged for, and Smeaton was perfect. Weston’s father, Sir Richard Weston, offered me some £100,000 to spare his son, though I know not how he would come up with that money. Weston’s wife has sent men on Weston’s behalf to plead his case, but all is of no use, for nothing can change now unless Henry pardons the men. Weston has debts of almost £1,000, enough to destroy his wife, so I have ordered that debt wiped, to spare her any further pain. I spoke to Weston just now, to tell him Henry changed his sentence to beheading, and he cried, thinking he had many years left to play the courtier and raise a family.’

  ‘You spoke to Weston yourself?’

  ‘I have spoken with each of them, as Henry sent me to tell them of their sentences myself. I think he did so to inflict more pain upon me. But I did my duty. Brereton spat in my face, Norris would not share his last words, and Smeaton, I sat with him for some time.’

  ‘Can I see Mark before his death?’

  ‘No one else is to see the prisoners, and I am sorry for it, Nicò.’ Cromwell sighed. ‘I know you cared for Smeaton, and I told him so, but I cannot allow you to see him, on the King’s orders. I spoke to Wyatt just now and made sure he is being treated well. I will release you both in coming weeks.’

  ‘I am to be released?’ Nicòla said, her voice almost a whisper in surprise.

  ‘Yes, as there is no evidence against you or Wyatt, two men caught up in the mess. The King approved your release.’

  Nicòla could hold it no longer; she burst into tears and hunched over on the bed, relieved to hear the news she could go home, see her daughter, live her life once more. Being separated from Jane made Nicòla want to be sick. Queen Anne would feel the same over Elizabeth.

  ‘I went to see Queen Anne too.’

  Nicòla sat up and Cromwell wiped tears from her cheeks with his reddened fingers. ‘Her Majesty wished not to see me, instead wept when Kingston told her of my arrival. But she sent me a message – that she chose not to destroy the Waif, for the creature’s punishment shall be an eternity by my side.’

  ‘Condemned to be at the side of the man who framed a queen for incest and treason,’ Nicòla sniffed. ‘That is a harsh punishment.’

  ‘Is it a burden you can bear?’

  ‘It is as you said – either Anne and her supporters fall so low, or we do. Still, to think they shall condemn her…’

  ‘I tried to have the sentences commuted, though I cannot say I feel sad to see most of the men gone, though Smeaton was your friend. Every day at court is a struggle for survival. It pleases Henry that I ordered a French executioner ahead of time.’

  Nicòla shook her head as her tears stopped. ‘The King has become something of a monster. Once a man so in love has become a cruel, vainglorious tyrant.’

  ‘We can only pray now, pray for a calmer world. I will risk Henry’s wrath once more and beg for Anne. But think of what we did to Katherine, move her from manor to manor, slowly reduce her income, her household, until she grew sick and died alone. Is banishment any better than execution? Both are deaths, but one is quick.’

  ‘Yes, but banishment offers the chance of a pardon.’

  ‘When Henry marries again, there would be no hope for Anne Boleyn, but Henry’s temper would flare knowing she still walked the Earth. If Anne dies, we are safe. We can move on with the Reformation and worry no more over the Oath, or about the question of which princess is more legitimate than the other. We only need to hope Jane Seymour bears a son. Henry said he was happy to spare Anne’s life if I put my head on the block in her place. Most assuredly that is a threat I take with all seriousness. If Henry can turn so coldly away from Anne, he can even more easily turn away from me. I must do everything to make Jane a queen, and a loved queen.’

  ‘Can we hope to survive to create yet another queen? We shall be queen killers, queen destroyers, not Queenmakers.’

  ‘I will do everything in my wide powers to ensure we see a new queen on the throne and all will soon forget the reign of Queen Anne.’

  Nicòla nodded in agreement as she studied the lines of Cromwell’s face. He bore tiredness not seen since his brush with almost fatal illness. This trial and illness were not that far removed, for in both cases, death sat just outside the door.

  ‘Gli uomini dovrebbero sia per essere trattati bene o schiacciati,’ Nicòla quoted Machiavelli. Men should either be well treated or crushed.

  Cromwell raised just half a smile. ‘Perché possono vendicare le ferite più leggere, di quelle più serie che non possono.’ Because they can avenge the lighter injuries, more serious ones they cannot. ‘May I tarry hither tonight?’

  ‘Hither, in my cell?’ Nicòla scoffed. ‘Why would any person ever wish such a thing? I have been in this room for weeks, locked away from the world. Am I forced to watch executions from my window tomorrow?’

  ‘It is a hard truth, but yes, as will Anne and George from their windows.’

  ‘Anne is right now in her royal rooms,’ Nicòla commented. ‘But the others destined to die await close by in the Beauchamp Tower I believe.’

  ‘No one locked hither in Bell Tower shall be harmed,’ Cromwell said, but Nicòla could not raise a smile. ‘If I am to witness the deaths of Lord Rochford and the other men, all because of my planning, I wish to watch it hither with you. Perchance we can get the guards to allow Wyatt in here tomorrow as well. For your safety, we cannot allow your release tomorrow, and I fear for my safety in public tomorrow. We have defeated the Boleyns, but we are not safe yet.’

  ‘Perchance we never will be safe.’

  ‘Do you know who else is imprisoned in this tower? Sir William de la Pole, nephew to the old King Edward. Pole’s father was the second Duke of Suffolk, his mother Elizabeth Plantagenet, sister of King Edward and King Richard. They have imprisoned him for as long as you have been upon this Earth, Nicò. His claim to the throne is stronger than…’ Cromwell’s dipped his voice to a whisper… ‘stronger than King Henry’s.’

  ‘Whisper no such treason, for spies lurk in the walls,’ Nicòla replied.

  ‘I know, for most of them are in my employ,’ Cromwell said with a wry smile. ‘And for tonight they can report that I left the Tower after failing to obtain an audience with Anne Boleyn.’

  ‘You should leave while you have the chance, for Henry may change his opinion at any moment. What if Henry regrets his decision to execute Anne? He shall come for you.’

  ‘Henry is planning every aspect of Anne’s death while planning his future with Jane Seymour. It is Henry who wants Anne’s head, not me.’

  ‘Tom, remember you are the one who imprisoned me hither. I could hold an anger towards you, for the lies, the deceit, the torture of my friend Mark.’

  ‘Let me spend time curing you of that anger.’

  ‘I am so lonely, Tomassito, and that loneliness, the confinement, is stronger than any anger. You must kill Anne to stay alive and I am on your side.’

  Waking up in a bed next to a warm body reminded Nicòla of being a person, not just a prisoner. It would be a gruesome morning for May 17. The sun would not shine in the sky, as if even the weather felt sorrow for the day ahead. Nicòla woke before dawn and watched Cromwell sleep beside her. He turned and fussed all night, unable to ease his mind into a state of calm. In the next tower, the prisoners would wake to a day of executions. Poor Anne would wake to the day she watched her brother beheaded. George Boleyn was never part of the plan; he was to just fall from favour once they attainted his sister. It had been the ladies of Anne’s chambers who hinted that Cromwell should also take down Lord Rochford. The Earl of Wiltshire would see his daughter and son executed, but walk
away from court with his life, back to his wife at Hever Castle. Mary Boleyn was far away with her common husband, and her most recent child, a daughter named Anne. Mary seemed wise to tarry far from the court. Anne’s uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, had disappeared from court too, so Cromwell had said. But the pompous Duke of Suffolk stayed to see Anne die, and with much joy.

  A bell tolled in the distance, loud enough to wake Cromwell beside her. He brought Nicòla into his embrace, unwilling to wake.

  ‘We cannot ignore this day, Tomassito,’ she whispered in his ear.

  ‘I know,’ he replied with a groan like a schoolboy who did not wish to attend his lessons.

  ‘Be it true I can see Wyatt today?’

  Cromwell opened his eyes and sighed. ‘I must away. I shall see if Kingston will allow the three of us together for the executions. Norfolk was the Lord Steward of the trial, not I, so I cannot decide about release. Norfolk ordered they could not release you or Wyatt until after Anne’s death.’

  Cromwell, who slept in his clothes, gave Nicòla a long kiss goodbye before he climbed from the bed and banged against the door for the guard to come. ‘Prepare for release,’ he ordered Nicòla from across the room. ‘I have already made sure they give you and Wyatt the best food and that they clean your cells for you. Dress in case I can get you released today.’

  The sound of the key echoed, and the guard appeared, who seemed unsurprised of Cromwell’s presence in the room. ‘Arrivederci, amore mio.’

  ‘Arrivederci, cara, Tomassito,’ Nicòla called back from the bed, hidden by the half-open door, out of sight of the guard.

  ~~~

  Dressed and readied, Nicòla sat by the small window of her room. The scaffold was complete, and a crowd formed before it, ready to watch death’s exhibition. The wind blew off the Thames, over the walls and onto the green between the Bell Tower and the stronghold White Tower in the centre of the fortress. Nicòla watched women hold their billowing gowns and men hold down their soft caps as they stood in the cool breeze of the cloudy day. She recognised many people as suspected; the Duke of Suffolk was there, as was Nicholas Carew. Courtiers poured onto the green, though Eustace Chapuys was not present. The Lady Mary most likely needed his company in Hertfordshire, some twenty-five miles north of London. Half of Nicòla wanted to hide away from the frightful mess too, but this was her idea, to discredit the Boleyn supporters. This resulted from her idea, the result of the threatening meeting with Jane Seymour three weeks ago. Just three weeks ago.