The Unfaithful Queen: A Novel of Henry VIII's Fifth Wife (30 page)

“As Your Majesty wishes,” I answered, though with a sinking heart. I would not be able to endure another year, I thought. Not another year of the king’s caprices, his sudden enthusiasms and equally sudden fits of moodiness and gloom. I could not wait that long to escape from my role as queen, a role that was becoming a rat’s nest of worries, worries growing greater by the day.

The rebuilt stables were stocked with swift post horses ready to carry messages between York and King James’s palace at Berwick. My husband sent a message as soon as we arrived, to say that we were settling in and to inquire when the Scots party would be coming. Then we did our best to make ourselves at home.

Much to the king’s relief the citizens of York proved to be as submissive and peaceable as those of Lincoln had been. Thousands of former rebels came to kneel before him and ask for his forgiveness. They swore to him that if only he would be a good lord to them, and bear them no malice for their former misdeeds, they would pray for him—and for me and Prince Edward as well. The king received these humble acts of submission in good spirits, and though he told his guardsmen to be on the watch for troublemakers and malcontents, and to take careful note of any lawlessness, there was no sign of any trouble.

Instead we found that the citizens of York had gone to great expense to make their town worthy to receive us, with elaborate banqueting and pageants in the decorated streets, banners and flags waving, and speeches of welcome from the mayor and aldermen. I heard no grumbling or mockery as we passed the noisy crowds, only the twang of northern accents and cries of “When will you give us another prince?”

It was mid-September when we arrived in York, and the chill nights and cool days of fall kept me in my fur-trimmed nightdresses and fur-lined cloaks. When a storm broke at the start of our second week in the town, and no message had arrived from King James, my husband began to worry that bad weather might hinder his nephew’s plans to come south. As so often when worried, he went tramping in the hills and hunting, leaving me to occupy myself in my tent.

But my tent had become the last place I wanted to be. Spending the long hours of my idle day with Francis, who simply would not leave my side, was tedious in the extreme, and the tedium was only made worse by Tom’s displeasure at having Francis near me so much of the time.

“Why don’t you just have him stay in an antechamber until needed?” Tom wanted to know. “Or if you must, give him a small tent of his own?”

I could hardly explain why not, I did not want Tom to know of Francis’s hold over me. As it was, the two men were at odds, every time Tom came near me I worried that they might come to blows. I told Tom only that the king, who knew nothing of my former relations with Francis, had given him the post as my secretary and that I had not had any choice but to accept him.

Days passed, the skies stayed cloudy and the Scots did not come. Nor was there any message from Berwick. It began to look as though all my husband’s expense and effort had been for naught. He was offended—and disappointed. His anger flared when reports were brought to him of Scots war parties coming across the border in murderous raids and burning the fields and barns of the English.

“So this is how my hospitality is rewarded! With killing and destruction! Assaults on my subjects! My nephew offends me by ignoring my invitation. Even my sister stays away!” the king shouted. “Well then, I’ll send my soldiers to burn their fields and murder their folk in revenge! Three hurts for one!”

*   *   *

“There is talk,” I heard Uncle Thomas say gruffly. “While you have been away these three months, there has been much talk. Some of it must have reached the ears of the Scots.”

Uncle Thomas had left our progress a month earlier and ridden south to London. Now he had returned, looking and sounding somber. We sat at supper, the king and I and Uncle Thomas and the few royal advisers who had come north with us. I noticed that my uncle did not look at me, or address me. He had been morose and oddly silent during the meal. I assumed he was tired from his journey, but as the platters were cleared away and he began to speak I sensed a darker mood descending. He had somber matters to convey.

“Once again the Reformers among us are speaking out.”

“Not those dreadful theologians from Cleves,” my husband said. “I have had quite enough of them.”

“No. It is the moralists, the ones who say your court is a cesspit of wickedness.”

The king raised his one eyebrow. “I have been denounced as wicked ever since I was a lad, since I first came to the throne. There are always purists who denounce sin, no matter how venial. And I am no saint.”

Uncle Thomas paused. When he spoke he sounded unusually tentative.

“It is not your sin they speak of, Your Majesty.”

The king looked at him, frowning. “Whose then?”

He shrugged. “The camp followers, for a start.”

The king threw up his hands. “All armies have whores! If they didn’t, the men would rape all the honest women within reach!”

Uncle Thomas persisted, but in a lower tone.

“Your court is said to be polluted by lust. I am only repeating what is being said. There is wantonness.”

“Who is spreading these lies?”

“Those who fear a return to the old ways, the old teachings. Before you became head of the church. They fear what they call the laxity of the papists. They favor the more extreme teachings of the Genevan, John Calvin. They desire further reform in our church. And, as always, they desire power for themselves. They wish to destroy the influence of my family. The Howard family.”

King Henry slapped the table. “I am no papist! And I will tell anyone who listens that there will be no running back to the pope in this realm! The laxity of the papists indeed! Not while I am sovereign here! And as for the Howards—” His gesture indicated tolerance.

“If I may speak more openly, Your Majesty,” my uncle went on, “it is being said that King James did not come to meet you here in York because he has heard your court is impure. The Scots disliked your putting aside the lady from Cleves. They dislike your present marriage even more—indeed they are bold enough to say that your wife is childless because the Lord has sealed her womb. It is His judgment against the wickedness of your court.”

At his words I gasped and crossed myself. At the same moment my husband gave forth a roar of outrage and tottered to his feet—he had drunk a good deal of ale and was unsteady.

“You dare to repeat such slander in my presence!”

“It is necessary that you should know what is being said. I would be remiss if I did not tell you. None of your other councilors are brave enough, it would seem.”

The others at the table murmured uneasily at this sharp exchange.

The king glared at Uncle Thomas.

“Just who is saying this?”

“It is not only one—there are many. And their numbers are growing. But I have heard the name of a certain man, John Lascelles, a bush preacher. His is an unusually loud voice of disapproval. He denounces your court.”

“John Lascelles, John Lascelles. Who is this John Lascelles? I never heard of him. One moon-mad lunatic preacher!”

“He speaks for many. There are murmurs of criticism even among the most thoughtful and sensible of your subjects. They wonder why you don’t put a stop to the waywardness of your household.”

“Enough!” the king shouted, slapping the table once again and making his flagon of ale bounce. “I will hear no more of this, from you or anyone else! There are always troublemakers spreading tales at court, especially when I am not there to shut their mouths. When I return to London this babble of scandal will cease. As for my nephew, I believe it is the bad weather, and nothing else, that has prevented him from coming to meet me as he promised. There will be other summers, other progresses. Or mayhap he will come to London for a visit. Yes, I think that would be even better.” The king grinned at the thought.

“Let him come south, when the chill winds of Scotland drive him to seek a warmer clime. By then, Lord willing, I will have a new son to show him, and make him envy me even more than he already does!”

*   *   *

The tents were folded and loaded onto carts, our furnishings packed and our provisions gathered for the journey southward. The great lodging my husband had created for his meeting with King James would soon be deserted. The gardens were already blighted by the nightly frosts and harsh winds, faint cracks had appeared in the newly mended walls—badly mended, as it seemed. The fires had gone out in the hearths and under the immense cauldrons in the renovated kitchens. And in the stables, chaff and straw blew about in the wind, with only the warm yeasty smell of the horses so recently installed there remaining behind.

My women were packing my things. But my cousin Catherine Tylney, I noticed, was hurriedly putting her own clothing and other possessions into a large chest and two smaller baskets.

“Why such a rush?” I asked her. “We will not be starting our journey until noontime tomorrow.”

She looked flustered. “Your Majesty,” she said, “Uncle Thomas has ordered me to leave your household today and go south with him and his party.”

Something told me that this order had to do with the unpleasant talebearing he had disclosed at supper.

“Did he say why? Is it possible he has arranged a match for you?” We both knew that wasn’t likely, but it was the most optimistic possibility.

“He hasn’t said so.”

“But you will be returning to my household as soon as we arrive at Hampton Court, will you not?”

“I cannot say what is in Uncle Thomas’s mind.” It was unlike my cousin to be evasive. Her tone and manner worried me. Her brow was wrinkled in worry.

“Very well then, Cousin Catherine.” I left her to her packing and sent one of my grooms to find another of my Howard relations, Richard Singleton, a more distant cousin who was among my husband’s yeomen of the chamber. The groom had some difficulty finding him, but eventually returned, to report that, like Catherine Tylney, Richard had been ordered by Uncle Thomas to pack his things at once and leave the king’s suite to return to the south with him.

I asked Lady Rochford to take a message to Tom, to tell him I needed to talk to him.

We met just at dusk. The courtyard was full of carts and wagons, carriages and barrows. Men moved briskly among the vehicles, carrying heavy sacks of provisions, coffers and trunks. I heard shouts of irritation, barked orders, as the last of the light waned and torches were being lit so that the work of loading could go on into the late hours.

“I cannot be away long,” Tom cautioned me. “The king is pressing us to hurry. He is eager to be back at his southern court.”

I told Tom about my uncle’s disturbing revelations and about the king’s angry response. I confided that I was feeling very uneasy, especially after learning that Uncle Thomas had ordered both my maid of honor and my distant cousin Richard to leave my household and travel with him.

“And two of the king’s chamber gentlemen also,” Tom put in. “Both are Howard relations. Also I overheard that your uncle William is going to be recalled from France.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But it would seem that the Howards are closing ranks.”

“Why would Uncle Thomas do that?”

Tom shrugged. “Fear, most likely. The threat of a challenge to his power. It is the way of the court, is it not? Those who have power must constantly guard it against the assaults of those who would take it from them. It was the same when Lord Cromwell was brought to ruin. Your uncle Thomas withdrew his servants from Lord Cromwell’s household, then the assault on his authority began. Within a month he was in the Tower, awaiting execution.”

He was right. I remembered how, at the time Lord Cromwell was about to be deprived of his offices, a number of my relatives and in-laws who were members of the Lord Privy Seal’s household were ordered to leave and given posts in the royal household. My uncle had been gathering his family around him, as he appeared to be doing now.

And then there was Englebert. Just as we were preparing to leave York and begin our homeward journey, he vanished. No one saw him go, or noticed when he left or in which direction he went. It annoyed me that he would leave my service without a word, especially after he had been such an attentive and reliable servant. It occurred to me that he might not have left at all, but rather that he might have suffered an accident or worse. There were vagabonds and robbers in the countryside, no one could ever be completely safe. And Englebert had enjoyed riding alone, as he had when I had sent him to Hull. He disdained the protection of guardsmen. I wondered, was it possible he had come to harm? I had no way of finding out. I had to let his disappearance remain a mystery—and a disturbing one.

We set out for the south, our long train of carts and wagons moving slowly, hampered by roads in poor repair and windblown trees that fell in our path, by streams that overflowed their banks and turned the roads into quagmires. On we slogged, impatient at the constant delays, fretting at the discomforts we seemed to meet at every turn. My own discontent was greatly increased by the fact that I saw Tom so rarely, and so fleetingly. I watched for him, constantly hoping to see his tall, lithe form riding past or to observe him when he and other gentlemen of the privy chamber accompanied the king to my tent in the evening. I longed to be alone with him, even for an hour—and we did manage to be alone together, twice, thanks to Lady Rochford’s clever arrangements. But we dared not try for more than that.

We dared not try—because Francis was always there, watching what I did and said. His hovering presence made Tom irritable—and the last thing I wanted was for the two men to quarrel, arousing my husband’s suspicions. So I went without Tom’s cherished company for most of our long journey southward, until at last we arrived at Hampton Court in the last week of October, weary and bedraggled, greatly in need of rest and better news.

*   *   *

But there was to be no rest. For almost at once we learned that once again, Prince Edward was very ill.