In the Shadow of the Crown (21 page)

Bishop Fisher and Sir Thomas More were in everyone's thoughts. Those two noble men had done exactly what the monks had. What would their fate be? The King had been a close friend of Sir Thomas More. He had loved the man—as many did; he had often been seen walking in Sir Thomas's riverside garden, his arm about his shoulders, laughing at one of those merry quips for which Sir Thomas was renowned.

What will happen to Sir Thomas? people wondered. The King must find some excuse to save him. One thing was certain: Sir Thomas was a man of high principles. He was not one to deny what he believed merely to save his life.

All over the country bishops were ordered to insist that the King's supremacy should be preached.

The Pope intervened. He created Bishop Fisher a cardinal. I could imagine my father's fury. He retorted that he would send the bishop's head to Rome for his cardinal's hat.

That seemed significant. Nothing could move the King.

On the 22nd of June Bishop Fisher went out to Tower Hill and was beheaded. On the 6th of July Sir Thomas followed him. A silent sullen crowd looked on.

This was the King's answer. No matter who disobeyed him, they should die.

The execution of Sir Thomas More sent a shiver through the country and waves of indignation abroad. The Emperor was reputed to have said that he would rather have lost his best city than such a man. The Pope—a new one now, Paul III—declared that Sir Thomas More had been excellent in sacred learning and courageous in his defense of the truth. He prepared a Bull excommunicating my father for what he called the crime. The King, of course, snapped his fingers at the Pope. He was nothing now. He could send out bulls for excommunication as much as he liked. They meant nothing in England, which was now free of his interference.

Even François Premier was shocked and remarked on my father's impiety and barbarism…as did the Emperor, but the former needed him as an ally, and political power came before pious indignation. There were nobles all over the country who would have welcomed the Emperor if he came in arms, but he could not do that. He was engaged in the conquest of Tunis, and he could not start a war on another front.

So these monarchs of Europe could do nothing to prevent my father's keeping a firm hold on his power and changing the course of religious history in England.

The country had submitted to the new Head of the Church and he had given examples of what would happen to those who acted against him. They had seen his treatment of his wife and daughter; and they had seen the execution of his friend, Sir Thomas More.

They knew their master.

EVERYONE WAS AWARE that the King's passion for Anne Boleyn was fast waning, and he made no attempt to hide it. She was a woman who could never be humble; it seemed that she had complete belief in herself. And who would not, after the lengths to which he had gone to get her?

I had passed into a new phase, for, as the concubine's star waned, mine…well, not exactly rose but it began to show a faint light below the horizon; for if the King should discard Anne Boleyn, what excuse would he make for doing so? If he should decide that his marriage with her was no marriage, might he not discover that that with my mother was?

It was all wild speculation, but when a man breaks with the Church of Rome he is surely capable of anything.

If it should so happen that I be taken back in favor, it would be unwise for people to treat me scurvily. I was sure this was the thought in many minds and I had suffered such hardship that I could only rejoice in the change.

Many of my women talked freely now, and I began to learn more of what was going on.

Then there was a change again. The concubine was pregnant. It was a setback to those who had been hoping to see the end of her. Everything depended on the child. If it should be a boy she would be safe forever.

Disquieting news was brought to me of my mother. It was December and bitterly cold. I used to lie in bed wondering what it was like at Kimbolton with that icy wind blowing over the fens. I could visualize her on her knees praying. She would not stop doing that. I could picture the comfortless room, the inadequate clothing, and I would think of her as I knew she would be thinking of me.

The news was whispered to me by one of my women. “Madam…my lady… the Emperor's ambassador is going to the Queen, your mother.”

“What?” I cried. “But how? It is forbidden for her to have visitors.”

“Madam, the King is permitting it because…”

I felt sick with fear.

“Because… the Queen is very ill?”

She nodded.

A terrible despondency descended on me. This was what I had feared for so long.

I was avid for news. I asked everyone who might know something, and there were several who were eager to please me now. There was nothing to comfort me.

Christmas had come—a joyless season for me now.

My mother's health was a little improved, for she had seen Chapuys, and there was something else which had cheered her. My women told me all they knew of it.

The Emperor's ambassador went to Kimbolton on New Year's Day, and later that day there appeared at the castle gates a woman begging for shelter. She was cold and had fallen from her horse and was in dire need. Because she was clearly a lady of noble bearing, she was allowed to enter the castle.

“Who do you think she was, Madam?” asked my woman.

I shook my head.

“Lady Willoughby, the lady who came with your gracious mother from Spain. The Queen and Lady Willoughby embraced and swore that they would never be parted again. Lady Willoughby said she would die rather. That and the visit of “the ambassador cheered her mightily.”

I was greatly relieved.

She has spirit, I told myself. She will recover.

IT WAS THE 11TH of January…a date I shall never forget. Lady Shelton came to my room. She said, “I have come to tell you that your mother is dead. She died four days ago.”

Her face was a mask. She had lost a little of her truculence now but she managed to convey her dislike of me. Perhaps it was more intense for being subdued, now that her mistress Anne Boleyn was no longer sure of her position.

I was stunned. I had been expecting this for so long but now that it had come I was deeply shocked. I wanted desperately to be alone with my infinite sorrow.

“Leave me,” I said and I must have spoken imperiously for she obeyed. Dead! I should never see her again. For so long I had been parted from her but I had always hoped to. And now she was gone and there was no hope. Never again…

Oh, the cruelty of life…of people who satisfy their wanton desires by trampling on the lives of those about them.

How had she been at the end? There would be no more pain for her. I should rejoice that she was safe in Heaven and far from her miseries. I should have been with her. I thanked God that Lady Willoughby had found a way of getting to her. That would have been a great comfort to her.

My woman came in. She stood looking at me, her eyes brimming with sympathy. I shook my head at her. “I wish to be alone,” I said.

She understood and left me, and I was alone with my grief which was what I wanted.

How had it been at the end? I asked myself. I wondered if I could see Lady Willoughby, who could tell me how she died. But I should not be allowed to, of course.

I sat in my room. I could face no one. I dressed myself in black and thought of all we had been to each other. I recalled endearing incidents from my childhood—some of them when my father had been present. We had been a loving, happy family then.

I was horrified when I learned that, hearing of my mother's death, my father's first words were, “God be praised! We are now free from all fear of war.” Did he remember nothing of those happy days? Had he not one morsel of tenderness left for her?

He was justifying himself, of course. He wanted to believe that my mother's death was a reason for rejoicing. There was no court mourning. Instead there were celebrations—a grand ball and a joust. The people must
remember that her death had delivered them from war. In the tiltyard at the joust he performed with great skill. He was the triumphant champion. He was telling the people that he was the leader, the one they could trust to take them away from the devious Church of Rome. At the ball he dressed in yellow—yellow jacket, yellow hose and yellow hat with a white feather. The concubine was dressed in yellow too.

How could he care so little for one who had never harmed him and who had always been a dutiful wife?

I became obsessed with the idea that my mother had been poisoned. It would have been so easy and, as they made no secret of their delight in her death, my suspicions might be well founded. I could think of nothing but that. How had she died? I must discover. I asked that my mother's physician and apothecary should come to see me.

When he heard this, my father asked why I should need a doctor. He could understand that I felt a little low in the circumstances, but I should get over that. Chapuys, however, talked to my father and, to my surprise, at last he agreed to allow me to see them. No doubt he was softened by his pleasure in my mother's death; moreover he knew there would be silent criticism of his treatment of her, and he did not want to show more harshness toward me at this time.

One of my maids brought me a letter from Eustace Chapuys in which he advised me to be brave and prepared for anything that might happen, for I could be assured that there would be changes. He also sent me a little gold cross which my mother was most anxious that I should have.

I was deeply moved and I was in a state of indifference as to what might happen to me. There were times when I wished with all my heart that I was with my mother.

In due course the physician arrived, with the apothecary, and from them I learned the details of my mother's last days, and of how delighted she had been at the arrival of Maria de Salinas, so much so that briefly her condition improved. The two friends had not been parted for an hour since Maria arrived, and my mother was in better spirits than she had been for a long time. Her talks with the ambassador had cheered her also. Eustace Chapuys had departed on the morning of the 5th of January. He had left her in a mood of optimism, believing that, if she could continue with the companionship of Lady Willoughby, she would recover.

“It was in the early hours of the morning of Friday the 7th that it became obvious that she had taken a turn for the worse,” said the physician. “At daybreak she received the sacrament. Lady Willoughby was, of course, with her. Her servants came to the chamber, for they knew the end was near. Many of them were in tears. She asked them to pray for her and to ask God to forgive
her husband. Then she asked me to write her will, which I did. She told me that she wished to be buried in a convent of the Observant Friars.”

I said, “But the King has suppressed that order.”

“Yes, my lady, but I did not tell her. It would have distressed her. It was ten o'clock when she received Extreme Unction and by the afternoon she had passed away.”

“Was there anything… unusual about her death?”

“Unusual, my lady?”

“Did you have any reason to suspect it might have been something she had eaten or drunk?”

He hesitated and I shivered perceptively.

“Yes?” I prompted. “There was something?”

“She was never well after she had drunk some Welsh ale.”

“Do you think…?”

He took a deep breath and said quickly, “She was not ill as people are when they are poisoned by something they have taken. It was just that she seemed… feeble after taking the beer.”

“Did the thought occur to you that her condition might have something to do with the beer?”

“Well… there have been rumors…Yes, the thought did occur to me that it might have had something to do with the beer. But it would have been an unusual substance … not one which would be recognized as a poison.”

“Ah,” I said. “So the thought did occur to you.”

He was silent.

Then he went on, “After she died …” He paused. Evidently he was trying to decide how much he should tell me. He seemed to come to a decision. “Eight hours after she died she was embalmed and her body enclosed in lead. I was not allowed to be present… nor was her confessor.”

“It seems as though they were in something of a hurry.”

He lapsed into silence.

I wanted to ask him outright if he believed she had been poisoned, but I could see how uneasy he was. One simple remark could lose him his life.

I felt I could ask no more; but the suspicion remained in my mind.

How had she died? Had she been poisoned? Heaven knew her health was in a sorry state, and those who wanted to be rid of her would surely not have had to wait very long.

The thought hung over me, and I felt it always would. I should never know the truth now.

I was angry and desperately unhappy. I had lost the one I loved most in the world, and I should never recover from that loss. But she would be happy
now. She had lived a saintly life; she would be at peace in Heaven. It was what she had been craving for over the last years.

ONE OF MY MAIDS came to tell me the news. My father had had an accident. It was at Greenwich during a joust. He had been riding a great warhorse when suddenly the creature had fallen to the ground, taking my father with him.

There was terrible consternation. Everyone present thought my father had been killed, for he lay unconscious on the ground. They carried him to his bed and gathered round it. It would seem that this was the situation which had been most feared. The King dead… and no heir to take his place except the baby Elizabeth. And might there not be some to think that she was not the true heir to the crown?

He was not dead and very soon recovered but this incident did stress the need for the King to live a good many more years until a healthy son could appear to take over from him. At such a time as this, his death would cause great trouble in the country.

No one would have thought that my father could be near to death. He was strong and could still outride all his friends; he was always the champion of the games—though perhaps there was a little contriving to reach that result, and the most agile always managed to fall in just behind him. To win in a paltry game would be foolish if by doing so the winner risked the King's displeasure. But this did bring home the fact that even one as hale and hearty as my father could be struck down at a moment's notice.