The King's Secret Matter (32 page)

The Queen clasped her hands together. ‘I knew I could trust Charles,' she cried. ‘He is immersed in his wars, but when a matter of vital importance arises, such as this, he would always stand by his family. His support will make all the difference in the world.'

‘I am in agreement with Your Grace,' said Mendoza. ‘And we should not forget that the Pope, without whom the marriage cannot be declared invalid, is at your nephew's mercy. Here is the letter he sends to you.'

Katharine took it eagerly and as she read it a smile of triumph touched her lips.

Charles was horrified; he was shocked beyond measure. It would seem that the King of England had forgotten, so long had his wife been in England, that she was a daughter of the House of Spain. He was sending Cardinal Quiñones, the General of the Franciscans, to Rome with all speed; he would look after her affairs there; and she could trust her nephew to watch over her cause and help her. Clement VII, still in Castel Sant' Angelo, was too wise a man to flout the wishes of the Emperor.

Katharine put her lips to the letter. ‘God bless you, Charles,' she murmured. ‘Families should stand together always.'

She felt the tears touch her eyes, for she was reminded suddenly of Charles's mother, running wildly round the nursery in the days when they were children, trying to quarrel with her sisters and brother; and their mother drawing the rebellious child to her and explaining that sisters and brothers should never quarrel; they must always stand together against the rest of the world if need be.

Oh to be a child again! thought Katharine. Oh to be back there in Madrid, in Granada, in Valladolid . . . under the loving wing of that best and wisest of mothers . . . never to grow up, never to leave the nest!

Then she thought of her own daughter. Had she remained a child herself she would never have had Mary.

She laughed at her folly. She should feel exultant because Charles had answered her cry for help.

The Cardinal had returned to England, and, hearing that the King was in residence at Greenwich, he sent his messenger to the Palace to tell Henry of his arrival and ask where His Grace would wish to receive him.

Henry was in good spirits when the messenger arrived; a pageant was being enacted before him and it had been the work of Anne Boleyn, her brother George and some of the bright young poets who were members of their set. Henry was finding these young people far more to his taste than the older men and women. Moreover Anne was the leader of the group, and where Anne was, there Henry wished to be.

Anne, imperious in her beauty and fully aware of the hold
she had over the King, bold, flamboyant and arrogant, had already taken upon herself the role of Queen which she expected shortly to be hers in fact. She seemed to delight in shocking those about her by taking such liberties that the King would never have tolerated from anyone else and yet meekly accepted when coming from her.

So when the messenger asked where and when His Grace would wish to receive the newly returned Cardinal, it was Anne who answered in her sprightly way: ‘Where should the Cardinal come except where the King is?'

There was a breathless silence. Would the King endure such boldness even from her? Was she suggesting that the Cardinal – still the greatest of the King's ministers – should come into the ballroom, travel-stained as he must be? Was she ordering him to come in as though he were some lackey?

Apparently in the King's eyes she could do no wrong, for he laughed aloud and said: ‘That's true enough!' and repeated: ‘Where should the Cardinal come except where the King is?'

‘Your Grace will receive him here!' said Wolsey's messenger, aghast.

‘You heard His Grace's command,' answered Anne sharply.

So the messenger bowed himself from their presence and went to Wolsey who, with the stains of travel on his red satin robes and sweat on his brow, a little breathless from the journey, very weary, hoping for a little time in which to bathe himself, change his linen and rest awhile that he might collect his thoughts and frame his conversation with the King, listened in astonishment.

‘To go straight to his presence! You have not heard aright,' he insisted.

‘Your Eminence, it is the King's command, given through the Lady Anne, that you should go to him at once.'

The Lady Anne! So she was with him. She was already the Queen of England in all but name. And that would come, for the King demanded it. And he, poor fool, had helped to sow the seeds of that desire for divorce in the fickle mind; he, who had had dreams of a French alliance, a permanent bulwark against the Emperor, had helped to bring the Lady Anne – his most bitter enemy – to where she now stood.

He could do nothing but obey; so, weary, conscious of his unkempt appearance, he went into the ballroom and made his way to the King.

It was as he had feared. There stood the King, and beside him the Lady Anne. The others had moved away leaving the three of them together.

‘Your Grace . . . my lady . . .'

The King's eyes were not unkind; but they showed he was absentminded; their blue was shining with pleasure in his companion, desire for her; even as they stood, his hand caressed her shoulder.

And she smiled at Wolsey – the enemy's smile, the smile of one who inflicts humiliation and rejoices. It was as if she were saying to him: Do you remember Anne Boleyn who was not good enough for Percy? Do you remember how you berated her as though she were some slut from the kitchens? This is the same Anne Boleyn who now stands beside the King, who says, You shall come to us now! and whom you dare not disobey.

‘I trust you have good news for us, Thomas,' said the King.

‘The mission went well, Your Grace.'

But Henry scarcely saw his minister. Good news meant for
him one thing. When could he go to bed with this woman, accompanied by a good conscience?

This was a more dangerous moment than any the Cardinal had yet passed through; he felt now as he had felt when he had heard the bell's tolling at Compiègne, when he had seen the charcoal drawing of a Cardinal hanging on the gallows. No, his apprehension went deeper than that.

He knew that this day there were two people in England who were in acute danger. And if one of these was Katharine the Queen, the other was Cardinal Wolsey.

Chapter VII

T
hrough the winter which followed, Katharine tried to ignore her fears. She continued to live much as she had lived before; her days were made up of sewing, reading, prayers, listening to music and playing an occasional game of cards with her maids.

There was one of these maids of honour who commanded her attention; she could no longer be blind to the position of Anne Boleyn in the Court. At the centre of all the tourneys and masques was this woman, and her constant companions were her brother, Thomas Wyatt and some of the other bright men of the younger artistic set. They wrote plays and pageants which they acted for the King's pleasure; and it was, during those fateful winter days, as though there were two groups – one which revolved round the Queen and the other round Anne; it was in Anne's that the King was to be found.

Often Katharine would absent herself from some entertainment because her dignity would not allow her to see the King treating Anne Boleyn as though she were already the Queen.

She herself did not show by her demeanour that she regarded this woman as different from any other of her maids
of honour; she made herself seem blind to the fact that the King was chafing against his marriage to her and made no secret of his desire for Anne.

As for Anne, imperious as she might be to all others, including the King, she was subdued by the dignity of the Queen; and because of Katharine's restraint there were no difficult scenes between them. Henry avoided his wife as much as possible; they shared no part of their private life. He had said that he regarded himself as a bachelor and that while he deplored the necessity of waiting until he was publicly announced to be that, nothing could prevent him from regarding himself as one.

Only once did Katharine show that she knew Anne was trying to usurp her position; that was during a game of cards. Anne had dealt, and Katharine said: ‘My Lady Anne, you have good hap to stop at a king; but you are not like others, you will have all or none.'

Anne had seemed a little shaken by this comment and had played her hand badly, but Katharine remained serene, and those who watched said: ‘She believes that the King will come to his senses, that he will realise it is impossible for him to cast her off.'

Yet that evening when she was alone she thought of the imperious young beauty, with her flashing dark eyes and her exotic clothes, her grace, her manner of holding herself as though she already wore a crown on her head, and she dared not look too far into the future.

Sometimes she felt so alone. There was her daughter who meant everything to her, but she did not care to speak to Mary of this trouble. She hoped that Mary knew nothing of it; the child was too sensitive.

As long as we are together, she told herself, I suppose I can endure anything. But I shall stand out firmly against a convent, for Mary's sake.

She considered those who might help her. Mendoza would stand beside her but he was only an ambassador and no theologian. His word would carry little weight in this country. Warham was an honest man, but he was old and very much in awe of Wolsey and the King. The women who had been her friends had been sent away from her. How comforting it would have been to have talked with Maria de Salinas! Luis Vives had left England after having been told sharply by Wolsey that he would be wise not to meddle in the King's affairs. Vives was a scholar who was eager to avoid conflict, so perhaps he had thought it as well to leave while he could do so.

Thomas More came to see her. He did not speak of what was known as the King's Secret Matter, but managed to convey to her the assurance that he was her friend.

John Fisher, to whom she confessed her sins, also came and brought comfort.

‘I have been warned,' he told her, ‘not to meddle in the King's matter, but if I can be of use to Your Grace I shall continue to disobey those orders.'

‘I thank God for your friendship,' Katharine told him.

‘Let us pray for courage,' answered the Bishop; and they prayed together.

Often during those winter months when her spirits were at their lowest, she thought of Fisher and More, and felt happier because they were not far away, and although they might not have much influence in this matter with the King, they were her friends.

With the spring came news from Rome. The Pope had
appointed Lorenzo Campeggio, Cardinal of Santa Anastasia, to come to England to decide the case in conjunction with Cardinal Wolsey.