The Autobiography of Henry VIII: With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers (88 page)
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Authors: Margaret George
BOOK: The Autobiography of Henry VIII: With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers
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“Not past September,” Van der Delft replied. “He has family business then—a wedding.”
“Ah.” I smiled. “I also. I have my own wedding.”
The ambassador grinned. “Your own, Your Majesty?”
“Aye. Ah, ah, do not mock me, sir”—I began laughing, as I could see his surprise and unasked questions—“although I know ’tis a temptation.”
“I wish you happiness,” he said simply.
“I do truly seek it,” I answered.
“Then you shall find it.” He looked straight into my eyes. I liked him; he seemed honest. We would not spar and parry, as I had done with Chapuys, but that was well enough.
“I pray so. I shall wed the widow Latimer, as soon as all is set in order. Now, though, as to this war business—Charles and I have settled satisfactorily the title confusion, as being addressed as ‘Defender of the Faith,
etc.’
will content me. I lack but the proper means—in winds and moneys—to come to France before spring. But I shall do so, and in person. You may tell your master that I will lead my soldiers myself, as I did in the glorious campaign of 1513—the Golden War!”
etc.’
will content me. I lack but the proper means—in winds and moneys—to come to France before spring. But I shall do so, and in person. You may tell your master that I will lead my soldiers myself, as I did in the glorious campaign of 1513—the Golden War!”
My God, I grew excited just thinking of it! Oh, my blood stirred! To wear armour again, to camp again, to hold war council meetings in the field-tent ... how sweetly it beckoned!
As soon as he returned to London, I spoke to Bishop Gardiner about my intention to wed Kate Parr.
“I wish you to marry us,” I said.
“Not Cranmer?” His tone was distant, judging. Yes, Gardiner was jealous of Cranmer, jealous of his closeness to me and his privilege in sharing so much of my life.
“No. It must be someone whose orthodoxy is beyond question, as Lady Latimer is suspected—unjustly, of course—of leaning toward the Reformers. Your performing the ceremony will silence those tongues.”
“Will it, Your Grace?” Still he appeared aloof, cool, uncommitted.
“As best they can be,” I retorted. “Nothing ever silences tongues altogether.”
“Are you so very sure she is not a Reformer?” Each word was measured out and flung at me.
“Because her foolish friend Anne Askew goes about preaching? Each person is responsible for his or her own soul. Wto me aave to nurse me—“and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.” Her voice was faint. Had something given her pause? The “sickness”? The “forsaking all other”? For she was young....
“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” He looked round at the company, smiled his thin February smile, and said, “I do.”
Then, taking our right hands together, he directed me to say:
“I, Henry, take thee, Katherine, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance: and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
Marriage promises. They took in both sides of life: no sooner did they say “better” than they said “worse,” no sooner “richer” than a quicker “poorer.” In the midst of our greatest happiness they were worded to remind us of woe, and bound us to include wretchedness in with our rejoicings.
Kate then repeated the same vows.
Gardiner took from me the ring I had for her, plain gold, with no engraving at all. I put it on her finger, her cool slender finger. “With this ring I thee wed,” I said, “with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen.” There. It was done. How differently I would fulfill these vows than I had with my previous wife.
“Kneel,” said Gardiner, and we did so, upon the blue velvet cushions laid before us. “O eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all mankind. Giver of all spiritual grace, the Author of everlasting life: send Thy blessing upon these Thy servants, this man and this woman, whom we bless in Thy name: that, as Isaac and Rebecca lived faithfully together, so these persons may surely perform and keep the vow and covenant betwixt them made, and may ever remain in perfect love and peace together, and live according to Thy laws: through Jesus Christ Our Lord, amen.”
“Amen,” murmured the people.
“Forasmuch as King Henry and Katherine Parr have consented together in holy wedlock,” said Gardiner, addressing the whole company, his voice rising, “and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands: I pronounce that they be man and wife together.”
He raised his hands over our heads. “God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Ghost, bless, preserve, and keep you: the Lord mercifully with His favour look upon you: and so fill you with all spiritual benediction and grace, that ye may so live together in this life, that in the world to come ye may have life everlasting. Amen.”
We rose, man and wife. The gathered company broke into movement, embracing, swaying together, laughing. We turned to them and accepted their good wishes, joined them in celebrating.
Mary, the bridesmaid, came to us and threw her arms around us both. She kept her eyes averted, but I spied tears spilling down her cheeks. She had known Kate for a long time, ever since Kate first came to London with nd keep You must be exhausted from your journey. Tell me, the crossing ... how was it? I have never been upon water....” Deftly she led me by the hand, toward my withdrawing chamber. Her talons rested lightly on my sleeve. I hoped the claws would not damage the material.
I awoke in the late twilight. I had lain down completely dressed, even to my shoes, stretched out on my back. I felt fine, rested, even blissful. I must have been exhausted, I could see that now. That was what Dr. Butts had been concerned about, the sapping of my energy. Yet so enticingly was it sapped, with the excitements of war, I had been unaware of the toll it was taking on me. Now I would rest, and there would be no visitations from my demons.
Boulogne was a prize well worth an hallucination or two. The phantoms would fade, but Boulogne would remain.
The French ambassadors came straightway. I allowed them my gracious permission to cross the Channel in safe conduct, to receive them and hear their proposals. From the start it was hopeless, as my terms—that I keep Boulogne, and that the French cease their provocations in Scotland—were impossible for Francis to accede to. The envoys promptly retreated, and by late October they had made the hazardous Channel crossing and returned to Paris, where Francis intended to spend the winter in cosy ensconcement with his mistress Anne, Duchesse d’Estampes. So much for the French.
As for Charles, he and I sent a volley of accusations against one another. His preposterous claims were that (1) I had evaded the agreed-upon march on Paris; (2) I had used the siege of Boulogne (falsely prolonged) as an excuse to avoid a true mutual commitment; (3) I had agreed that Charles could act as “Arbiter of Europe,” and that was what he was attempting now to do, and why he had made separate, private peace with Francis; and (4) I should hand Boulogne over to him in his capacity as arbiter, and he would award it as he saw fit.
I, in turn, had grievances against him, mighty ones. I flung them at him, but he failed to react, or even to refute them. I said that (1) Charles was guilty of treason toward me, that we had agreed that either of us might negotiate separately but neither should conclude a treaty without the other; (2) Charles was bound by treaty to act as my ally, not as a negotiator between France and England; (3) English merchants in Spain were being subjected to the Inquisition; and (4) Spanish troops had entered French employment.
But these were futile, rearguard gestures. The truth was that I had lost my ally and stood naked to whosoever wished to attack me. Even the Pope was proceeding to call his General Council, which would meet at long last in Trent, not in Mantua. I was beleaguered and abandoned, alone on my island kingdom.
Even that would not be so fearsome, if the island itself were only united. But half of it was given over to enemies, French sympathizers. I kept my Border troops busy harassing the Scots, making pitiful little raids into their territory. In one of those, my troops had accidentally desecrated the tombs of the Earl of Angus’s ancestors in Melrose. This turned Angus against us—he who had been our stoutest ally—and he and Francis, as well as the infant Queen’s council, began plotting for revenge. The form that revenge would take was a Franco-Scottish invasion. The plans were (my spies were able to ascertain this much) for France to send a force to Scotland via the northwest and another just to the Border in the east. Released from bothering with Charles, the rest of the French forces could attack England from the heast by sea. Francis could raise an immense fleet if he so desired, and since the prevailing winds were from the south across the Channel, he could effect a landing in almost any season.
I was half sick with worry about these things, when Gardiner insisted on a special audience with me to raise alarmist concerns about the growth of the Protestant faction in our midst.
“In your absence this summer they have grown like pestilent weeds,” he said. “But unlike weeds, the frost does not kill them. Nay, they hibernate in winter, meeting secretly in one another’s homes, spreading their sedition, infecting others with it.”
I was weary of this, weary of having to stamp out things, prune the kingdom, control sedition. Ungrateful, malicious dogs! There were always such, prowling and sniffing about the kingdom, lifting their legs and pissing on the rest.
“Let them but show their faces, I’ll cut them off,” I promised.
The Great Turk continued to correspond with me, for mysterious reasons of his own. He inquired after the crocodile—which was miraculously thriving, having been quartered near the hot springs in Bath, in the southwest part of the country—and offered to send me eunuchs for my court. He himself, he wrote, was luxuriating in winter retreat in Constantinople. How did we ever endure those northern winters, he asked? One January in Vienna had been enough for him. He sent me a Koran. A month later another long, chatty letter arrived. Suleiman was a friendly fellow.
I must confess I enjoyed his communications. They took me far away to a confusing but perfumed land, made me forget the chill-induced misery I grappled with daily in the palace.
CXXV
T
hat I was miserable that winter, I readily record. Only Kate served as a comforter, and I thanked God every day that I had had the grace to make her my wife. For she was a source of grace to me. She was a quiet spot to which I could always return, who was never sharp or cross or unable to give.
hat I was miserable that winter, I readily record. Only Kate served as a comforter, and I thanked God every day that I had had the grace to make her my wife. For she was a source of grace to me. She was a quiet spot to which I could always return, who was never sharp or cross or unable to give.
The children revered her as well, and she brought out the very best in them. They were gathered together in the palace under her tutelage, and I felt, at last, that we were a family. Kate, mother of none of them, and “wife” (in the carnal sense) of no one, yet made us a family. That was
her
special grace.
her
special grace.
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