Katharine of Aragon (101 page)

All through the winter Mendoza awaited his recall.

It came at the end of the spring, when it had been decided to open the Court at Blackfriars for the hearing of the King's Matter, which was no longer secret.

THERE COULD BE NO
more delay. The summons had been sent both to the King and the Queen, and the Legatine Court was to be set up in Blackfriars on the 16th day of June.

Katharine, who during this most difficult time had not changed her mode of life, was with her daughter when the summons came.

Poor little Mary! She was fully aware of the troubles between her parents and how she herself was affected. She had lost her healthy looks and had grown nervous, starting with dismay when any messengers appeared; she still kept her feelings under control, but there were occasions when she would throw herself into her mother's arms and without a word demand to be comforted.

Now as the scroll was handed to her mother Mary began to tremble.

The Queen dismissed the messenger, but she did not look at the scroll.
She laid it aside, telling herself that she would study it when her daughter was no longer with her. But although Mary tried to play the virginals, she was thinking of the scroll and her fingers faltered so that Katharine knew that it was useless to try to keep the secret from her.

“You must not fret, my darling,” she said.

“Mother,” answered the Princess, turning from the instrument, “if you are in truth not married to the King then I am but a bastard, is that not so?”

A hot flush touched the Queen's pale face. “It is wrong even to question it,” she answered. “I will not allow it. You are the legitimate daughter of the King and myself, the only heir to the throne.”

“Yes, I know that to be true, Mother; but there may be some who insist it is not so, and if they should succeed, what would become of us?”

The Queen shrugged her shoulders. “They cannot succeed…if there is justice.”

“There is not always justice, is there, Mother?”

The Queen did not answer and Mary went on: “I was talking to Reginald of this matter. He said that no matter what the verdict of the court was, he would never call anyone but you the Queen of England, and none heir to the throne but myself.”

“So we have some friends,” said Katharine. “Why should we not have justice too?”

“Perhaps because our friends will not be in the court? That is what you are afraid of, Mother. Your friends are not allowed to stay with you here, so why should they be allowed to act as judges?”

“I think I have some friends.”

“But, Mother, what is important is that we are not separated. That is why, when I am frightened, I remind myself that if they say you are no true Queen, then I cannot be the true heir. So that if you are sent away I shall go with you.”

“My darling…my darling,” said the Queen with a sob in her voice; and Mary ran to her and knelt at her feet.

“Is that all you care about then?” asked Katharine.

“I do not care what they say of me,” came Mary's muffled answer, “if they will but let me stay with you for ever. If I am a bastard the French Prince will not want me. We shall go away from Court, Mother, you and I, and we shall stay quietly somewhere in the country, and there will be no talk of my going over the sea to marry.” She laughed on a high, hysterical note. “For who will want to marry a bastard!”

“Hush! Hush!” admonished the Queen.

“Oh, but you are afraid, Mother.”

“No…no…”

“If you are not afraid, why do you not open the scroll?”

“Because we are together now and I do not see you as often as I wish. So matters of state can wait.”

“We are both thinking of it, Mother. We do not escape it by ignoring it.”

The Queen smiled and, going to where she had laid the scroll, picked it up and read it. Mary ran to her and stood before her, anxiously scanning her mother's face.

“It is a summons to appear at Blackfriars,” she said.

“A summons? Should the Queen be summoned?”

“Yes, Mary. For the King will be summoned also.”

“And at this court they will decide…”

Katharine nodded. “They will decide.”

Mary kissed her mother's hand. “All will be well,” she said. “If they decide one way you will be the King's wife and we shall be as we were. If the other, we shall go away together, away from the Court, away from the fear of a royal marriage in a strange country. Oh, Mother, let us be happy.”

“Yes, let us be happy while we are together.”

And she tried to set aside the gloom which hung about her. She did not believe, as Mary did, that if her marriage were proved invalid she and her daughter would be allowed to slip away quietly into oblivion. But she did not tell Mary this. Why disturb the child's peace of mind, and how could she know how long such peace would be enjoyed?

THE QUEEN CAME
to Campeggio's apartment. She felt desolate; she scarcely knew this man, and yet it was to him she must go.

She had confessed to John Fisher on the previous day and they had taken advantage of their privacy to discuss the coming trial. She had not asked Fisher to come to her for this purpose, because she knew that Wolsey's spies were all about her and, although it was reasonable that she should ask the advice of a man who had been chosen to defend her, she did not want to put John Fisher in any danger, for she knew he was an honest man who would speak his mind even though his views were not those of the King and Cardinal.

It was Fisher who had advised her to see Campeggio in the vain hope that she might be able to persuade the Legate to have the case tried in Rome.

Campeggio, who could feel the beginning of an attack of the gout, was irritated by the arrival of the Queen. If only she had shown good sense she would be in a convent by now and he would be back in Italy where he belonged. He had used his delaying tactics, on Clement's command, for as long as he had been able, but it was impossible to hold out any longer against
the King's desire. What he must do now was prevent the case from reaching any conclusion, for he was certain that the King would not allow it to be said that there had never been any impediment to the marriage, and Clement dared not so offend the Emperor as to grant the divorce.

A delicate situation, especially so since his fellow Legate was Cardinal Wolsey whose own fate depended on giving the King what he wanted—and quickly.

Thus he felt irritated by the Queen who could so easily have solved the problem for them all by giving up her life outside convent walls.

“Your Grace…,” he murmured, bowing with difficulty.

“I regret that you are in pain,” said the Queen with genuine sympathy.

“I am accustomed to it, Your Grace.”

“I am sorry for all who suffer,” said the Queen. “I have come to ask you not to hold this court. I have lodged an appeal to His Holiness and have high hopes that the case will be heard outside England—where I might have a greater chance of justice.”

“Your Grace,” Campeggio pointed out, “His Holiness has already appointed two Legates. This is tantamount to having your case tried in Rome.”

“I am surprised that you should have so small an opinion of my intelligence as to push me aside with such a comment,” Katharine retorted scornfully. “If this case is tried in England all the advantages will be the King's. Have you forgotten who one of the Legates is?”

“The matter has not slipped my memory, Your Grace.”

“Wolsey!” she cried. “The man whom I have to thank for all my troubles. I have always abhorred his way of life, which is not that of a priest. He hates my nephew because he did not help him to become a Pope.”

“You should pray to God,” Campeggio told her. “He would help you to bear your trials.”

“And who,” cried Katharine, “would dare to pronounce a verdict contrary to the King's wishes?”

“I would, if the findings of the court should show me clearly that the King was wrong.”

“The findings of the court!” snapped Katharine. “Do you not know that there cannot be more than one or two men who would dare give a decision which the King did not want? So you can rely with certainty on the findings of the court!”

“Let us pray,” said Campeggio.

They did so, but Katharine could only think of the fate which was waiting for her and her daughter.

What will become of us? she asked herself. And then she prayed that whatever disaster should befall her, her daughter should remain unscathed.

THERE WAS TENSION
in the great hall at the Blackfriars Palace. The case had begun.

Never had those assembled seen anything quite like this before.

Seated on chairs covered by cloth of gold and placed at a table over which was hung a tapestry cloth sat the Legates, Cardinals Campeggio and Wolsey. On the right of the table was an ornate chair with a canopy over it; this was in readiness for the King who was expected to appear in a few day's time; on the left hand side of the table was a chair as rich but lacking the canopy, which was meant for the Queen.

Henry did not appear in person but sent two proxies. Katharine, however, arrived in the company of four Bishops and several of her women.

As Katharine entered there was a stir in the court, for she was not expected until that day when the King would be there. She did not go to the chair which was intended for her, but to the table where she stood before the Legates. There was a hushed silence in the court as she began to speak.

“My lords, I come to make a protest against this court and to ask that the case may be transferred to Rome.”

Katharine was conscious of the malevolent gaze of Wolsey and the peevish one of Campeggio. To the first she was an enemy to be ruthlessly removed; to the second she was an irritation, the woman who might, by going into a convent, have saved him so much trouble and allowed him to rest his gouty limbs in a more congenial climate. The sight of those two men filled Katharine with further apprehension and an immense determination to fight for her future and that of her daughter.

“Why does Your Grace object to this court?” Wolsey asked coldly.

“I object because it is hostile to me,” replied the Queen. “I demand to be tried by unprejudiced judges.”

Campeggio appeared to be shocked; Wolsey looked pained, but Katharine went on boldly: “This case has been referred to Rome; in due course it could be tried there; the verdict must have the sanction of the Holy Father. I protest against this matter's being tried here.”

Wolsey rose and said: “Your Grace is misinformed.” And Campeggio added: “Your Grace can be assured that justice shall be done, and I urgently pray you to take confidence in the members of this court who serve none but justice.”

Katharine turned away and, holding her head high, left the court followed by her train.

It was useless, she was telling herself. There was nothing she could do to prevent the trial.

She could only go back to her apartments and wait until that day when she, with Henry, must appear in person before the Legatine court.

“HENRY, KING OF ENGLAND
, come into the court!” The cry rang out in the great hall of Blackfriars.

Henry was seated under the canopy, and above him on the dais were the two Cardinals, magnificent in their robes of scarlet. At the foot of this dais were the Bishops and officers of the court, with William Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, at their head. There sat the counsellors of the two opposing parties; Dr. Bell and Dr. Sampson for the King, and the Bishop of Rochester and the Bishop of St. Asaph's for the Queen.

The voice of the crier, calling the King, silenced the whispers. Those who were present could not help but marvel that the King and Queen could be called into court as though they were common people.

This, it was murmured, shows the power of Rome. Only the Pope would dare summon the King of England to appear in court in his own country. Since we were ruled by one of the Pope's cardinals—our butcher's son— England has been but a vassal of Rome.

Henry himself felt a wave of anger to be so summoned. He would have refused to attend this trial; he would have stated that he had no intention of accepting any verdict but the one he wanted; but the people must be placated; they were already murmuring against the injustice done to his Queen. It was part of his policy to say: “Reluctant I am to part from her whom I believed to be my wife, but I do so on the orders of the Church.” Therefore what could he do but submit himself to the jurisdiction of the Church, making sure, of course, that his Cardinal understood how the verdict must go.