The Unfaithful Queen: A Novel of Henry VIII's Fifth Wife (20 page)

“He mislikes her exceedingly—her brown complexion, her pockmarked cheeks, her strident voice, her lumpy nose, her ugly breasts—”

“He did not see her breasts.”

“He did not need to see them, all bare and dangling, to know that they would not please him in bed.

“She is not womanly,” he said. “He mislikes her, it is just so. No more, no less.”

A silence fell, Uncle Thomas was looking at me expectantly. I walked to the hearth, where a fire was blazing. I held out my hands to its warmth.

“Lady Anna expects the wedding to be held as arranged. She expects to meet the king in splendid array, amid pageantry, with many Londoners looking on, and then to marry him the next day. Will he simply be absent?”

“He has been closeted with Cranmer, who is advising him on a way to free himself from the marriage contract he is so desperate to avoid. Lady Anna was betrothed to the Duke of Lorraine’s son for many years. Cranmer thinks he can persuade half a dozen doctors of canon law to come forward and object to the king’s marriage. They will say it is contrary to law, that she was bound by a precontract. Therefore she was not free to become betrothed to King Henry.”

“She will be very sad—and then, I suspect, very angry.”

“She dares not defy canon law.”

“So I am forbidden to marry Tom, and Lady Anna will be prevented from marrying King Henry.”

Uncle Thomas laughed again. “Just so. But there is a difference. Lady Anna will never be able to marry the king, while you, if you are patient, will surely be able to marry Thomas Culpeper.”

I searched his face. Was he serious?

“How so?”

Uncle Thomas shrugged. “I know the king very well indeed. His fancies do not last. If you become his mistress, he will eventually discard you and find a younger one, or a more submissive one. Or, far better, he will die.”

“But it is treason to imagine the death of the king!” I said, horrified.

But Uncle Thomas only smirked. “Then most men of this court are guilty of treason. Everyone knows he cannot live much longer. His leg swells, he chokes, he cannot breathe—we have all witnessed him when in the grip of his grievous affliction. We have seen it again and again. Death lies in wait for him, and the waiting cannot be long now.”

I wanted to shut my ears to this ugly talk. I sensed cruelty in it, and another sinister quality for which I had no name.

Suddenly the fire felt too hot. I moved away, toward where Uncle Thomas was sprawled in a chair, gripping its arms tightly, his thin fingers splayed.

“Just do not resist him,” he was saying. “Let him make you his amour, his sweetheart. As he did your cousin Anne Boleyn, and her sister before her. It will not be for long, I promise you. Best of all, let him make you pregnant with his child. His son. Prince Edward is weak, he is assailed by illness like his father. He could well die at any time. Your son could become the next king. Just think what glory would come to me—I mean to our family—then. You would be known as Mother of the King’s Son. Your blood—Howard blood—would be mingled with the royal line forever.”

But even as he spoke I knew I wanted no part of the role he was describing for me. I had no ambition whatever to be the mother of the next king. I was not like my cousin Anne Boleyn, who had—so it was said—enticed the king and made him love her even though he was married to a fine loyal wife. Nor was I like my cousin Mary Boleyn, who had been willing to serve the king’s lust for years and who had been provided with a husband in a false and hypocritical way. I sought no advancement, for myself or my family. I had no desire for power or high position—though I confess I did enjoy the fine clothes and fine food, all the comforts I had been enjoying for the past several years. I had known what it was to do without; I much preferred to have the things that those in positions of power enjoyed.

In truth, I told myself, all I really wanted was Tom. I told my uncle so, I wanted Tom more than anything.

“But don’t you see, girl, you can have your Tom. Only wait until the king discards you—or dies.”

Wait. Just as death waited. And in the meantime, let the king make me his amour. As he did my cousin Anne and her sister. Bear him a son, as my mother Jocasta had. Let other women, women who had preserved their virtue and their reputations, look down on me and shun me. Let me be despised, sneered at.

Or worse. What if the king should become angry with me and order me to my death?

I felt repelled by what I had been hearing. It was foreign to me. Suddenly I needed to escape from the stiflingly hot room, into the cool of the outdoors, where a light rain was falling.

“Very well, Uncle Thomas. I will—think on what you have said.”

“You will obey me, Catherine.” How ominous his words were! How frightening!

“Now you may go.”

I fled from the stifling room, overcome by a need to breathe cool air and get away from my fearsome uncle. I did not hurry back to Lady Anna’s suite, knowing what I would find there: a scene of joyous preparation for a wedding that I now knew would never take place. Instead I lost myself in the maze of corridors and staircases, decaying unused rooms and quiet courtyards that made up the venerable bishop’s palace, seeking a respite from my troubled thoughts and finding none.

*   *   *

Lady Anna set off in her gold carriage for London. She and those of us in her household were to be lodged at Suffolk House in the Strand, from there she would ride in procession for her formal meeting with the king and, on the following day, to her wedding.

But as soon as we reached Suffolk House we were met by a sputtering, angry Lord Cromwell who had been waiting for several hours and could hardly contain his consternation.

He greeted Lady Anna with a deep bow.

“Your Ladyship, I beg your indulgence but I must tell you that the king is infirm and cannot attend the ceremonies to be held at Blackheath. He sends his regrets. Unfortunately, I must hasten back to the palace.” And he bowed again, clearly intending to leave immediately.

“That is all?” was Lady Anna’s startled retort, delivered in a harsher voice than I had ever heard her use.

“What is going on? What is the matter with the king?” Duchess Maria demanded, almost at the same moment.

Lord Cromwell hesitated.

“I shall have to send further word to you from the palace,” he said curtly, then lowered his head and made his exit.

“But why? What is happening? I must know.” Lady Anna looked around the unfamiliar room, a beautifully appointed sitting room, ample and gracious, with tall windows and rich oak wainscoting.

“Olisleger!” she called, and when the chamberlain came forward, she told him to go to the palace at once and discover all he could about the state of the king’s health.

“He suffers from pains in his leg,” I put forward. “He may be very ill. We must pray for his recovery, which ought to be our chief concern.”

All eyes were turned on me, especially the suspicious eyes of Duchess Maria.

“It is not for you to tell me what is my chief concern,” Lady Anna snapped. “I am about to be married! My wedding! That is my chief concern!”

And a very selfish one too, I told myself.

“If Your Ladyship pleases, I can go to the palace and find out what I can from my uncle, and the privy chamber gentlemen.”

“Yes yes, go at once.”

I was only too glad to be relieved of the strain of Lady Anna’s alarm and that of her servants. I was sure that I knew what lay behind Lord Cromwell’s curt announcement, and the cause of his distress. King Henry had decided not to marry Lady Anna. No doubt he would be sending her back to Cleves. I did not envy her.

When I arrived at the palace I sought out Tom. I had been aching to see him. I was told I would find him in attendance on the king, who was in his private library.

He slipped away and met me, taking me in his arms and crushing me to him. How safe and happy I felt, in his warm strong arms! All my worries fell away. Nothing could touch me or hurt me, I felt, as long as Tom was there to protect me.

“My darling wife to be! My sweetheart! It seems a year since we were together!”

Arm in arm we found our way to a servants’ chamber and communed there quietly, just glad to be together.

“I guess you know that your uncle said no,” Tom told me after a time.

“He came to tell me. He was harsh with me. He said I had to try to entice the king into making me his mistress. That I owed it to the family to do whatever the king might ask of me.”

Tom shook his head. “I would never want to share you with another man—even the king.” After a moment he added, “Do you think he loves you?”

“He is fond of me. He enjoys me. But there is no passion between us, none at all. And I see no lust in his eyes, as I used to see in Henry Manox’s eyes. None. Yet it appears he has decided not to marry Lady Anna. Could it possibly be because of his fondness for me?”

“I wish I knew,” was Tom’s reply. “He has been shut in with the archbishop and the law doctors for hours, there in his library,” Tom said. “I could not help but overhear what they were discussing, all about prior contracts and whether or not Lady Anna’s advisers were wrong to tell her she could become King Henry’s wife. They were mumbling their Latin to one another, on and on, until I thought they would drop from weariness. I know I almost did. But then you came—just in time to save me.”

He kissed me on the cheek.

“What are we to do, Tom? How can I bear to be without you? Uncle Thomas tried to convince me that it would only be for a short time. That I could let the king give me the favor of his love until he tires of me, or until—”

“Until he dies. No one believes he can live much longer. If he marries Lady Anna the honeymoon alone may kill him!”

Tom knew how to make me laugh.

“Until the Lord takes him, I was going to say. Then, afterwards, you and I can marry, except that I will be dishonored. No one in your family would ever speak to me. Our children would bear the stigma of my dishonored state, just as I have borne the stigma of my mother’s dishonor. I would not wish that for you, or for our children. I think if I became the king’s mistress and then was cast aside, I would want to shut myself away in a nunnery, or go and live in some wild place, far from people and towns—”

“I wouldn’t let you do that. I would come looking for you. I would never rest until I found you.”

We held each other then, more tightly than ever, as if by clinging to each other we could forestall the worst of what we feared.

*   *   *

Two days later Master Denny brought me another message. I slipped it into the pocket of my gown and did not read it until I was alone.

Catherine, dearest little friend of my heart,

Though I would rather die, I find that I must,despite all my efforts, marry Lady Anna. I cannot do this dread thing without you there to be my friend and comfort. You must promise me this—send word of your answer—in haste,

Henry R.

I read and reread the message. “Dearest little friend of my heart,” he had written. A tender salutation indeed, but not, surely, the greeting of a man in love. He needed me, that much was clear. What harm would it do to give him what he was asking?

I gave Master Denny a message to take back to the king, to say that, assuming Lady Anna gave me permission, I would attend her at the wedding. I would give King Henry as much comfort as I could offer.

On the wedding morning we were up before dawn, all of us helping to prepare Lady Anna for the day she had been waiting for. Her dismay at the king’s change of plans, and the cancellation of the grand ceremony on Blackheath, seemed fleeting. All that mattered was that the wedding would go forward, even though it had been delayed.

Her wedding gown of cloth of gold, embroidered with clusters of pearls, was provided by the king, and was a match to his own garments of cloth of gold garnished with silver. She seemed quite overawed by the splendor of it all, especially the jeweled coronet she wore over her long thick blond hair, which we had brushed until it shone. She stood before her pier glass admiring herself, turning from side to side so that the diamonds sparkled in the early morning light. Then we went into the small room where Archbishop Cranmer was waiting, along with Lady Anna’s mother and two of her favorite Clevan ladies in waiting. I was allowed to attend; I had asked permission and Lady Anna, animated and full of happy anticipation, did not refuse me.

When the king came in to join us, the first thing he did was to look around for me. When he saw me he smiled, and I smiled back, nodding encouragingly. Then he joined his bride and stood before the archbishop. He pointedly avoided looking at Lady Anna, though she watched his face eagerly.

The ceremonial words were spoken, the hands of the bride and groom clasped, rings exchanged and promises made. I heard the king pledge himself to Lady Anna, his voice wavering as he spoke, knowing full well how he really felt. “May all the devils of hell draw her soul to hell,” he had written. I prayed that the king and his wife, his queen, would prove to be a blessing to one another, despite all that augured against it.

TEN

“
LOATHSOME!”

The shout echoed throughout the king’s suite, startling the servants and causing those of us in the queen’s apartments nearby to perk up our ears.

“I tell you she is absolutely loathsome!”

It was unmistakably King Henry’s loud, rich voice—and he was unmistakably referring to his wife.

Malyn and Charyn and I stopped winding Queen Anna’s lengths of gold and silver trim and looked at one another. I could hear Jonah, in his cage, whimpering. The quiet in the queen’s suite remained unbroken for several minutes. We listened for more shouting, but heard none.

The meaning of the king’s explosive outburst became clear soon enough. Servants in the privy chamber told servants in the kitchens what they had overheard, and the kitchen servants passed the word on to Queen Anna’s chamberers, who whispered the news to some of us.

King Henry, having spent his wedding night with his bride, had confided the worst to his closest advisers and friends. She was repellent. He was horrified.