In the Shadow of the Crown (10 page)

“But they concern me,” I pointed out.

“You are thinking of your right to the throne. If your father does not have a son, you will be Queen one day. Would that mean so much to you?”

I hesitated. I was remembering the months at Ludlow where I had had my own little Court. Power. Yes, there was an intoxication about it. It would be my right to follow my father, to rule the country… unless there was a brother to replace me. “I see,” he said, “that ambition has already cast its spell over you.”

“Are you not ambitious, Reginald?”

He was silent for a while. “I think we all have the seeds of ambition in us,” he said at length. “Some might have ambition to possess a crown; others for a peaceful life. It is all ambition in a way.”

“You could advance high in the Church.”

“I am not sure that I want that. I want to see the world…to learn. There is so much to be discovered. When you are older, you will understand. And now … do not grieve. This will pass, I am sure. Your father is restive. Men sometimes are at certain periods of their lives. He is disappointed because he has no son. He looks around for reasons. This will pass. It must pass. The Pope will never grant him what he wants. There is the Emperor Charles to be considered.”

“Why the Emperor?”

He said gently, “The Emperor is the Queen's nephew. He would never agree that your mother should be set aside. It would be an insult to Spain. The Emperor is the most powerful man in Europe… and his recent successes have made him more important than ever. The sons of the King of France are his hostages.”

“My bridegroom is one of them.”

“Oh, these treaties, these marriages! They hardly ever come to anything when they are between children.”

“You comfort me, Reginald.”

“That is what I shall always do if it is in my power.”

He stooped and kissed my forehead.

I was thankful for Reginald.

THE ONLY BRIGHTNESS during that anxious time was due to his presence and the fact that I was under the same roof as my mother.

She and the Countess were often together; they had always been the best of friends. They were often in deep conversation, and I was sure my mother was completely frank with the Countess, for she trusted her absolutely.

I had grown up considerably since leaving Ludlow; and when I was in that pleasant spot I had emerged from my childhood to get a notion of what it really meant to rule.

But to be plunged into this tragedy which surrounded my mother had brought a new seriousness into my life.

I wished that I knew more. It is frustrating to be on the edge of great events and to be afforded only the sort of view one would get by looking through a keyhole.

Reginald was often with us, and the four of us would be alone together—my mother, the Countess, Reginald and myself. I am sure that both the Countess and her son did a great deal to sustain my mother, but there was little anyone could do to lift the menacing threat which hung over her.

She had suffered neglect and poverty after Prince Arthur's death, when her father did not want her to return to Spain and my grandfather did not want her in England. For seven years she had lived thus until my father had gallantly and romantically married her. I think she feared that she would be forced into a similar position to that which she had suffered before, if the King, my father, deserted her.

She had great determination. She was going to fight…if not for herself, for me, because my fate was so wrapped up in hers.

She was pleased to see my friendship with Reginald, and it suddenly occurred to me that she and the Countess would be happy to see a marriage between us. Instinctively I knew it was a subject often discussed between them. I was excited by this prospect. How wonderful it would be to marry someone one knew, rather than to be shipped off to some hitherto unseen prince because of a clause in a treaty.

I began to think how happy I could be with Reginald. I was eleven years old. He was twenty-seven or -eight. That was a big difference but we were good friends and could be more, for I, brought up on the rules of Vives, was more learned than most people of my age and there had been a rapport
between myself and Reginald from the start. It was not so incongruous as it might seem. He was a royal Plantagenet, and if I were to be Queen one day he would be King. The people would like to see the two Houses joined. That was always a stabilizing factor. It would be like the alliance of the Houses of Tudor and York, when my grandfather Henry VII had married Elizabeth of York, daughter of Edward IV, thus putting an end to the Wars of the Roses.

It was a wonderful, comforting thought during those months.

I was often present when the Countess and my mother talked together. I think they had come to the conclusion that now I was aware of the King's Secret Matter, it might not be harmful for me to know more of it, for, after all, I was deeply involved in it.

Thus it was that I learned of those farcical proceedings when my father had been summoned to York Place where the Cardinal lived in sumptuous splendor.

There the King had allowed himself to be charged with immorality because he was living with a woman who was not, in the eyes of the Church, his wife.

The idea of my father's being summoned anywhere by his subjects was ludicrous. But meekly he had gone; humbly he had listened to their accusations—which, of course, he had ordered them to make. Archbishop Warham had presided.

“John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, was present,” said the Countess. “I have always held him to be one of the most saintly men I know.”

“It was Doctor Wolman, I believe, who was making the case against the King,” added my mother.

“And Doctor Bell was the King's Counsel,” said the Countess. She added scornfully, “I can imagine it. ‘Henry, King of England, you are called into this archiepiscopal court to answer a charge of living in sin with your brother's wife.'”

“It is so false. It is so untrue!” burst out my mother. “I was never Arthur's wife in truth.”

They seemed to have forgotten my presence, and I sat there quietly, trying to efface myself lest they should remember me and cease to talk so frankly.

I could imagine it all… that scene with my father looking shocked and anxious. It was a grave charge which they were bringing against him. If he had not wished it to be made, those who made it would have doubtless lost their heads by now. The case for the validity of the marriage was that, on account of Arthur's health, the marriage had not been consummated. Pope Julius II had given a dispensation, and the King had innocently believed that all was in order.

“And now the Bishop of Tarbes has said this monstrous thing …” said my mother.

She looked at me and stopped, and the Countess abruptly changed the subect.

But they had aroused my suspicions. I must discover what the Bishop of Tarbes had suggested.

They were subdued after that, and their conversation was constrained. I knew I was ignorant of a great deal regarding this matter. But after a while they could not resist the temptation to talk of it, and then they seemed to forget my presence.

The Countess said, “Archbishop Warham is an old man. Old men seek comfort. He wants to live peacefully in his old age. He will agree with all the King wishes him to.”

“And we know what that is,” said my mother tragically.

“Warham declares that, if the marriage with Arthur was consummated, you were truly his wife and therefore the King has married his brother's widow.”

“It was not. It was not. I tell all it was not. I was a virgin when I married the King.”

“John Fisher is an honest man. He declared that the Pope had given the dispensation so that the King could suppress his fears. He had no doubt that his marriage was a good one. There was a Bull from the Pope to legalize it. There was no need for the King to question the validity.” The Countess looked at my mother with the utmost sympathy and, seeking to comfort her, went on, “The King spoke so well of you. He said that through the years of your marriage he had found in you all he could hope for in a wife.”

“Save this one thing,” said my mother, “and that of the greatest importance.”

“It is only the suggestion of the Bishop of Tarbes …” She paused. Then she went on, “We know differently. It is not an unusual occurrence. It is just that this is the King…”

“And his need for sons.”

“He said that, if he had to marry again and if it were not a sin to choose you, you are the one he would marry. He would select you among all others.”

“Words,” said my mother bitterly.

#x201C;Words hiding the truth.”

They were silent again. The the Countess said briskly, “Well, they have settled nothing.”

“I believe the King is very disappointed with them. He greatly desired the matter to be settled.”

The Countess took my mother's hand and held it firmly.

“It cannot be,” she said. “The good men of the Church would never allow it… nor would the people.”

“I think you underestimate the determination of the King,” said my mother sadly.

I sat there quietly watching them. I knew this was by no means an end of the matter.

IÑIGO DE MENDOZA, the Spanish ambassador, called to see my mother and was with her for a long time.

The Countess was silent and withdrawn. It was no use trying to get her to talk. I wished that they would not leave me so much in the dark. They were thinking that I was too young to understand. I chafed against my youth. My future was involved. I should know. This matter concerned me. And I was determined to find out all I could.

In time I learned what was said to have aroused the trouble. It had come about during the betrothal celebrations. The Bishop of Tarbes had said that, since the King was questioning the validity of his marriage to the Queen, did that not throw some doubts on my legitimacy? The King of France was very ready to agree to a proposed marriage between his son and me if I were Princess of Wales. But how would he feel if I were an illegitimate daughter of the King?

Henry Fitzroy would be heir to the throne if he were legitimate—as a bastard he could never be that. And now some people—including my own father—were attempting to prove that I was in like case.

My father lived in fear of offending God by living with a woman who was not in His eyes his wife. My father was emphatic. He could have accepted the judgement of the Bishop of Rochester but he did not.

He had his reasons.

It was the first time I had heard the name of Anne Boleyn.

WHILE THIS WAS GOING on, a terrible event took place which was to shock the world for years to come.

It was the sacking of the City of Rome. Everyone was talking about it. Tales of horror were on every lip. It was incredible that such terrible deeds could be perpetrated by man.

Reginald talked to me about it. As a deeply religious man, he was much affected.

“There has never been such a tragedy in the history of the world,” he said. “It was the Constable of Bourbon's men.”

“The French…”

“No. No. Bourbon was on the side of the Emperor. Bourbon and
François had been warring together for years, and Bourbon was fighting with the Emperor.”

“So the Emperor's allies did this terrible thing.”

“The Emperor would never have agreed to it. Nor would Bourbon himself if he had been alive. He was killed at the beginning of the affray. Had he not been, he would have controlled the rough soldiery, I doubt not. No man of education would ever have allowed that to happen. It is a blot on Christendom. I do believe Bourbon had no wish to attack Rome, but his men were unpaid, they had marched for miles and they were hungry. There was only one way to retrieve something from the campaign: loot. And where could they find it in more abundance than in the City of Rome? They stormed the city. There was no defense. They decimated the churches, they stole rich ornaments. They were all determined to make up for their months of hardship, lack of spoils, lack of food.”

It was hard for a girl of eleven to understand all the horrors which took place during those fearful five days when the soldiers pillaged Rome. I heard later of the terrible happenings. The nuns, hoping their robes would protect them, were seized at the altars where they knelt in prayer and were lewdly stripped of their robes and raped in the most horrible manner. Drunken soldiers roamed the streets. There were mock processions in the churches. The fact that foul deeds were performed in holy places had lent a fillip to the disgusting behavior of these wicked men. They brought prostitutes into the churches. They mocked God, the Pope and all Rome stood for.

Pope Clement VII had escaped to Castel Sant' Angelo with thirteen of the cardinals. There he was safe from the mob.

But he was at the mercy of the Emperor, and my father was seeking papal help in annulling his marriage. The Emperor would never allow the Pope to help my father divorce his wife.

So the Sack of Rome had a special significance for the King.

WHEN I HEARD the name of Anne Boleyn, I determined to find out all I could about her.

There was no doubt that she was the most attractive woman at Court. Before I had known what part she was going to play in our lives, I had noticed her. She dazzled. She had all the arts of seduction at her fingertips. Brought up in France, there was a foreignness about her which I suppose some men found attractive. Her magnificent dark hair and her big, luminous eyes were her great beauty, but everything about her was arresting. It was clear that she paid great attention to her dress. I heard she designed her own clothes. The outstanding feature of her elegant gowns was the hanging sleeves which hid the deformity on one of her fingers. Her enemies used to
say that she had a mark on her neck which few had seen because it was always covered by a jeweled band. It marked her as a witch, they said. I was not sure about that, but there were times, when my hatred for her was at its height, when I made myself believe it.

She had come from the Court of France whither she had gone when a child in the train of my Aunt Mary Tudor who went there to marry the ageing Louis XII. She had not returned until soon after the occasion of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, on account of the rapidly deteriorating relations between France and England. She was then to marry Piers Butler because there was some dispute in the Boleyn family about a title, and the marriage of Anne to the son of the Butlers had been arranged to settle the matter.