The Lady in the Tower (58 page)

“That I am right? There is a sore on his leg which does not heal well. I wonder about it.”

“
That
sort of disease?”

I nodded. “Sometimes I believe it makes men and women unable to bear healthy children.”

“But there is Elizabeth.”

“I was fresh. I was healthy. And she is a girl.”

“I cannot believe you are right when you say the King is incapable of having healthy children.”

We did not notice that the door had opened and Jane Rochford stood there.

“Oh, Anne,” she cried, “I came to see how you were. Is there anything I could do…”

She looked at George eagerly, but he turned away.

I was thinking: How long has she been standing there? She moved so silently and came upon one unexpectedly. That could be disconcerting.

I said: “I want nothing, thank you.”

“And are you feeling better?”

“Thank you, yes.”

“The King will be pleased.” There was a touch of malice in her sly face. She hated to see George sitting close to me, deep in conversation.

George kissed me lightly. “You should rest a little longer,” he said and, taking Jane by the arm, he drew her from the room.

All through that terrible winter the sense of doom was with me.

I had so few friends and apart from George I was not sure whom I could trust. It seemed to me sometimes as though they were all watching… waiting for my fate to overtake me. Perhaps they were not entirely certain what it would be. On more than one occasion I had recovered a certain power over the King after having appeared to have lost it forever. Could I do it again? My rival was by no means the most attractive woman at Court. But it might be that she was not so simple as she appeared to be. She had managed so far to preserve her virtue, to cling to her “honor” and imply “A crown or nothing.”

It was a complete imitation of the method which I had used with him. I had blazed the trail, given the example, and they were following it slavishly. She was backed by her ambitious brothers—and she was winning.

Once again Henry was being challenged.

I found great relief from tension in my reading. It was mostly
religion, and I was growing more and more interested in the new ideas. I read everything the reformers were writing that I could find. I could forget my troubles when I did that. My other source of comfort was my daughter. She was such a bright and intelligent child. I was often with her. I enjoyed going through her wardrobe, discussing it and planning it with Lady Bryan. I thought that surely such an attractive child must be a delight to her father.

As the weeks were passing, I grew more desperate. I tried to make him notice her, for naturally when he turned from me he turned from my daughter also. How could any father be so indifferent to such a child?

I was at that time overcome with melancholy, and after these bouts such was my nature that I would give myself up to wild gaiety.

I still had my admirers. They must have been genuinely attracted by me for my declining fortunes made no difference to their devotion. I wanted their company, their compliments, their looks of admiration; they made my spirits rise and gave me fresh hopes. I even looked for admiration from young Mark Smeaton. He was completely devoted to me. My ladies said that he never played so exquisitely as when I was present, and it was then that he played for me. He now looked very handsome in the new clothes which I had provided for him.

I told him that he must not expect too much attention from me, and he replied soulfully: “No, Madam. A look will suffice.”

Such complete and abject adoration, even from a humble musician, was balm to me at such a time.

I had some good friends among my ladies. Madge Shelton was as friendly as ever. Our little adventure with Henry had not changed us; rather it had bound us together, and she did not take it amiss that Henry Norris, who was supposed to be courting her, gave his attention to me. There was Margaret Lee, who served me well; and Mary Wyatt had always been close to me.

My sister Mary had come to Court. She had a great capacity for happiness. For the first time in my life I was envious of Mary, with her children and her happy marriage; she was serene and secure. She declared that Will Stafford was the perfect husband; he had made up for the loss of dear Will Carey. It seemed to me that Mary had found the right way to live. Perhaps I could have learned from her if it had not been too late.

It was part of my tempestuous nature that I could at times be hilariously merry. I still had the wits of the Court about me to help me construct amusing entertainments. I would sing, dance, indulge in flirtations with my admirers; and then afterward, alone, I would sink into melancholy.

I said to Mary Wyatt: “The King plans to be rid of me as he rid himself of Katharine. He thinks he will get sons by Jane Seymour. But I think the King will never get a son… because he cannot.”

Mary warned me that it was unwise to say such things.

Dear, calm, wise Mary. How right she was!

There were times when I knew such despair that I tried every means to touch his heart. Once I took Elizabeth and, with her, waited before the windows of his apartments for him to appear. After a long time he did. I made the child lift her hand and wave to him. He just stared at us stonily for a few moments and turned away.

I knew there was no moving him then. I saw that we had gone too far for him ever to turn back to me. My enemies were all watching, waiting for the moment when they could give vent to their hatred. They were unsure as yet… waiting for the King.

I knew that George was very worried. He saw what was happening, perhaps more clearly than I did.

A rumor was started about the Court that the King was lacking in the power to get children and that he was all but impotent.

This would madden Henry when it reached his ears. He would blame me as the one best qualified to set about such a rumor. Enemies everywhere. And so few friends.

When we heard that there was to be an alliance with the Emperor and that he had mentioned he was sending an ambassador to talk with the King and Queen, George's spirits rose.

He came to me that we might talk in private in my chamber.

“He has mentioned you,” he said. “That means he is accepting you as the Queen. It is a great step forward.”

I saw his point. Henry was wavering, but my fate did not rest on Henry's own subjects but those two powerful states of Europe—by necessity enemies of each other, and who were grappling for power. It was so important for France to accept me as Queen; and if the Emperor did also, I might be safe.

“The attitude has changed now that Katharine is dead,” said George. “He could condemn your marriage only while she lived. Now it seems he is letting his political needs override his family feeling. He needs Henry as an ally against François.”

“François has been a good friend to us for most of the time while the divorce was pending.”

“He has shown himself to be completely unreliable. The Emperor
would be more stable. Moreover, he is a great general. He is the wisest ruler in Europe and he would be a better ally.”

“Then there is a glimmer of hope?”

George nodded. “I cannot believe that the King wants to go through all the trouble of divorce again.”

“He will have to, if he wants to marry Jane Seymour.”

“He must tire of her soon. If only the silly little thing would sleep with him, it would be over in a matter of weeks.”

“She's set on a crown.”

“You mean her brothers are for her. She is of a nature to be pushed this way and that.”

“So different from me. I think he looks for change.”

“It may be. But we have to stop it, Anne. And if the Emperor shows he is ready to accept you, it might well be that the King would forget Jane Seymour.”

“What of the Pope? What of the break with Rome? The Emperor will never accept that.”

“Emperors and Kings accept whatever is expedient. I think the Emperor wants an alliance with England. Religion is used by rulers. That is why there is often conflict between Church and State.”

And so we hoped.

My spirits rose—as they could so easily. We prepared entertainments for the emissaries. I even became friendly with Chapuys. I think, as usual, I reacted too vehemently, and I have no doubt now that my actions were regarded with cynicism by that wily spy.

Then our spirits drooped, for when Charles's mission arrived, Henry made it clear that I was not to be included in the discussions. Moreover, they failed. Presumably Henry would not accept Charles's terms.

Gloom returned and I felt as though I were waiting for a terrible disaster to overtake me.

George was disturbed. “But,” he said, “there is one fact that must make us rejoice. Cromwell is the most powerful man in England. He is another Wolsey, which is understandable since he was taught by the great man. It is Cromwell who will decide foreign policy; and Cromwell brought about the divorce and the break with Rome. He must support you. He cannot give way. If he does the foundations on which he has built his fortunes will collapse.”

That was a comforting thought. Our hopes were based on Cromwell.

Cromwell was indeed a clever man. He was very busy with
the monasteries. A new act had been brought in to dissolve all those which had not a revenue of £200 a year, and to grant their possessions to the King. Cromwell, under the King's orders, was selling them to the gentry, which, according to Cromwell, was a way of involving them in the operation. Those who had come by reasonably priced land and building would regard the Dissolution of the Monasteries as a very worthy act.

Wolsey had fallen through the King's desire to be rid of Katharine and marry me. Cromwell could fall through my removal in favor of Jane Seymour.

I remembered how incensed Henry had been with Wolsey because he could not procure the divorce from Katharine. Would he be equally angry with Cromwell because he could not devise a plan to be rid of me?

I could imagine Henry's irritation. He had always had an affection for Wolsey and never had for Cromwell. I was sure Cromwell had to face some humiliating moments with his master at this time.

But I saw the man as my savior. He could not desert me. My fate was too closely entwined with his.

How determined was the King to marry Jane Seymour? That was the vital question. I, who understood him well, guessed that it was not that he desired Jane intensely. There were far more attractive women at Court with whom he could have found satisfaction and who would have been only too ready to please him. It was the basic desire for a son which I had failed to give him. It was his determination, his lust for power rather than for the female body. When he became set on a purpose, it must be carried through, for if it were not, it was a denial of his strength.

That was what alarmed me. But I thought: While Cromwell is in charge, I am safe.

How wrong I was, I was to learn later.

Henry was badgering Cromwell. He must bring out some plan for ridding him of me, that he might marry Jane Seymour. They had already tried a pre-contract with Northumberland. When they had brought it up before, Henry had been determined to quash it, for then he had been desperately anxious to marry me. Could it be brought up again? Possibly. But they would need something stronger than that. I guessed Henry wished it had not been brought forward before. It would have been easier to have made it important now if it had not already been examined and dismissed.

Cromwell had to find a way.

Having been on several diplomatic missions during his life, George was well aware of what was going on politically and the manner in which
diplomats worked. He now understood that Cromwell wanted an alliance with the Emperor.

George heard that the emissaries had left and that Henry had rejected their terms. Cromwell had had a heated discussion with the King. The King was against an alliance with the Emperor. The man was Katharine's nephew and he had been responsible for much of the anguish which Henry had suffered during those waiting years. Cromwell wanted to put aside all good allies. The Emperor wanted the alliance; he was a strong man. We should understand each other better than we ever could the French.

Henry hated to be contradicted; he stormed at Cromwell. Cromwell did nothing for him. He had saddled him with the Queen and he could find no release for him. He wanted a son. He had to have a son. And so on…

Cromwell staged a coughing fit and called for wine. He said he had a fever. The King dismissed him and he retired to Stepney.

There he remained in bed for a whole week. Whether he really had a fever or was weighing up the position, we did not know. George thought the latter, for when he emerged he had clearly made up his mind.

I was soon to learn with what disastrous effect on me, for Cromwell was no longer my friend. He had become my bitterest enemy—purely as a matter of necessity, for Cromwell's actions were not dictated by personal feelings.

He had learned that he could not keep the King's favor while I was Queen of England; he could not bring about the treaty of friendship with the Emperor, for, as I learned later, Charles had made it clear that he would not treat with Henry while I was accepted as his wife.

Cromwell would do anything—however ruthless—to save his own skin and keep that power which he was building up for himself.

The year was advancing. It would soon be May—a lovely month, with the flowers bursting forth—buttercups and dandelions in the fields, ladysmocks and cuckoo flowers on the river banks. One's spirits must rise with the May sunshine.

The first hint of alarm had come when May was almost on us and I noticed that Mark Smeaton was missing. I asked one of the women where he was. She replied that she did not know. She had seen him the previous day and he had seemed rather excited.

“Some secret,” I said. “Do you think he has a mistress?”

“Mark has no eyes for any but you, Madam,” was the reply.

I shrugged my shoulders. “That is just because I have favored him.”

“He has a romantic heart. He is Your Grace's slave.”

“Tell him when he returns that I want to know the reason for his absence.”