In the Shadow of the Crown (20 page)

There was an uneasy atmosphere throughout the land. The King was now Supreme Head of the Church in England, and the break with Rome was complete; so it was not only the treatment of my mother and myself which was threatening revolt all over the country.

I often wondered whether my father paused to think what he had done when his desire to marry Anne Boleyn had possessed him. He would have visualized an easy divorce, marriage to his siren and a succession of sons. And how differently it had turned out! The break with Rome, the cruelty to his wife and daughter and still the longed-for son had not arrived. What he had done could not possibly endear him to his people.

And there was I—expected to die. Then at least one of the causes for disquiet would be removed. It was a realization I was forced to face. My father must be praying for my death. Nevertheless he dared not withhold help from me entirely, and Dr. Butts was attending me. He was a man whose loyalty to his profession came first. I was his patient now and he was determined to save my life. He knew the cause of my illness. It was not the first time that I had been ill, though I was not fundamentally weak. I had been made to suffer deprivations and such anxieties as I hope few people have to endure; and these had had their effect on me. My mother was ill, too, but her ailments were more of a physical nature—rheumatism, gout, chest complaints brought about by cold and uncomfortable dwelling places. She was saintly and her religion sustained her; she was made for martyrdom. Not so myself. I too had suffered from deprivations but it was not they alone which had brought me to my sickbed. I suffered from a smouldering resentment, a hatred against my persecutors. Mine was more an illness of the mind. If I could have been with my mother, if I could have taken the example she set, I would recover, I knew.

Now I must lie in my bed, sickly and alone, longing to be with her that we might comfort each other. If Lady Salisbury could have come to me, that would have helped. But my father did not want me to be helped… unless it was to the grave.

He did come to visit me because of the grumbling discontent in the country. I was vaguely aware of him at my bedside.

I heard him mutter to Lady Shelton, “There lies my greatest enemy.”

Afterward I discovered that he had not asked to see me but that the good Dr. Butts had forced himself into his presence and told him how ill I was and that he knew the cause and begged him to send my mother to me; whereupon the King rounded on him, calling him disloyal and declaring that he was making too much of my illness for political reasons.

The doctor was abashed but nothing could shift him from his ground. He insisted that if I could be with my mother that would do more for me than a hundred remedies.

Why did I want to go to Kimbolton? demanded the King. So that I and my mother could plot against him, raise armies against him? “The Dowager Princess Katharine is another such as her mother, Queen Isabella of Castile,”
he said; and he went on to rave about my stubborn behavior, which was part of a plot to raise people against him. Already people in high places were turning to us.

Yes, he was certainly afraid.

I wondered if he knew then that certain nobles in the North were intimating to Chapuys that they would be ready to support the Emperor if he invaded England in an attempt to bring the Church back to Rome and restore my mother to her rightful place and make me the Queen after dethroning my father.

A story was being circulated about a girl of seventeen or so—my age— who impersonated me in the North of England, where it was unlikely anybody had seen me. She went from village to village telling a sad story of the persecution she had suffered, explaining that she had escaped and was trying to reach the Emperor. Her name turned out to be Anne Baynton and she collected a fair amount of money, so she did succeed in deceiving people. It showed their sympathy to me that none attempted to betray her and instead were willing to help her on her way.

Meanwhile I lay sick in my bed, hovering between life and death.

At length I did begin to recover, for Dr. Butts was determined that I should. He had to prove that my sickness was not incurable. I had always known that he was the best doctor in the kingdom. He was aware of the cause of my illness, and although it was due to a certain extent to illnourishment, it was the sheer misery which I had suffered which was the chief cause.

And as I returned to health there was born in me a determination to live to fight for my rights. I had been through so much that there was little worse that could happen to me. I was denied the company of those I loved; those of my friends who would visit me were turned away. I was kept from my mother; I was deprived of the company of my dear Countess; and Lady Bryan was no longer with me. I told myself I had touched the very nadir of my suffering.

I was very weak and scarcely able to walk across the room; but at least I was alive.

To my surprise, one day I had a visitor.

I was astonished when Lady Shelton came to my room. She said, “Her Grace the Queen commands you to her presence.”

I felt suddenly very cold, and my hands began to tremble.

Lady Shelton was smiling at the prospect, I presumed, of a royal princess having to obey the command of that woman.

I said, “You know my condition. I am unable to walk across the room without help.”

She smiled secretively with a lift of her shoulders.

“Her Grace the Queen commands your presence,” she repeated.

“If she wants to see me, she will perforce have to come to me.”

With a smirk, Lady Shelton nodded and disappeared.

I sat down on my bed, putting my hand to my heart. It was beating wildly. What had I done? I had shown my contempt for her. What would be the punishment for such conduct? Should I be sent to the Tower?

The door of my room was opened. I stared in surprise, for it was the woman herself. I could not believe it. I half rose.

She shook her head and signed for me to remain seated.

She was impressive, I could not deny it. She had an air of distinction. In that moment I could almost understand my father's obsession with her. She was most elegantly attired—not flamboyantly and yet more outstanding for the sheer elegance, the cut of her clothes and her style of wearing them.

I noticed the band about her neck which many had copied but none wore as she did. I noticed the long hanging sleeves to cover the sixth nail. Marks of the devil, I thought, which she has exploited to add to her grace.

Her enormous dark eyes held mine. I was trembling, unable to believe this was really happening. It must be something in a dream. I had thought of her so much. I had conjured up this vision. But there she was. She had seated herself on the bed facing me. She smiled. It changed her face. She was dazzling.

She said in a gentle voice, “You have been very ill.”

I did not answer and she went on, “But you are better now. This rift… it has gone on too long. I do not want it to continue. I understand your feelings, of course, and I have come to talk to you, to make a proposition. If you will come to Court I will do all in my power to restore your father's love for you.”

I listened dazed, becoming more and more convinced that I was dreaming.

She smiled graciously. What did it mean? I reminded myself that I hated her. There was some ulterior motive in this… some evil purpose. She must be thinking that I was overwhelmed by this show of friendship. Did she expect me to fall on my knees and thank her?

I remained silent. I could find no words to answer her.

She went on, “There must be an end to these differences between you and your father. It is not good for the King, for you or for the country. So let us put an end to them.”

I heard myself stammer: “How?”

She smiled confidently. “You will return to Court. I promise you, you will be well treated. There shall be no discord. Everything that you had
before will be yours. Perhaps it will be even better. There is only one thing you must do to achieve this.”

“And what is that?” I asked.

“You must honor me as the Queen. You must be respectful … and accept that this is now a fact.”

I could listen to no more. I saw it all. She and my father wanted me there to tell the people that I was not being shut out and ill treated. They did not want
me
. They would not accept me as the Princess Mary. I was not to be a princess. That title was reserved for this woman's bastard.

I said to her, “I could not acknowledge you as Queen because you are not Queen. I know of only one Queen of England, and that is my mother.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You are a fool,” she said. “A stubborn little fool.”

“I can only speak the truth,” I retorted. “If you would speak to my father on my behalf … if you would persuade him to allow me to join my mother…I should appreciate that.”

“You know that is not what I meant. I am suggesting that you come to Court. All you must do is accept the fact that there was no true marriage between the King and your mother, that I am the King's wife and Queen of this realm and that my daughter, Elizabeth, is the Princess of England.”

“But I accept none of this. How can I when it is not true?”

“Do you know you are in danger?” she said. “You incur the wrath of the King. Do you realize what could happen to you? I am giving you a chance to save yourself…to leave all this …”—she looked round the room with contempt—“… all this squalor. You shall have a luxurious apartment. You shall have all that is due to you as the King's daughter.”

“As the King's bastard, you mean.”

“There is no need for you to stress the point.”

“I stress it only to show its absurdity. I am the King's legitimate daughter. It is your daughter who is the bastard.”

She had risen. I thought she was going to strike me.

“I see that you are determined to destroy yourself,” she said.

“It is others who will try to destroy me,” I replied. “They have already tried persistently, God knows, but they have not succeeded yet.”

“I see I have made a mistake,” she went on. “I thought you would have more sense. You are stupidly blind. You do not see the dangers of your situation. You carelessly provoke the King's wrath. That can be terrible, you know.”

I took a shot in the dark. I had heard life was not running smoothly for her and the King, that he looked at other women now and then and was perhaps beginning to regret the hasty step he had taken. I said, “As we both know.”

It is true, I thought. I noticed the sudden color in her cheeks, the glint in her magnificent eyes.

She turned to me. “You will regret this,” she said. Then she shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, I have given you a chance.”

After that she left me. Lady Shelton was hovering.

I heard Anne Boleyn say, “The girl is a stubborn little fool. I will see that her Spanish pride is brought low.”

It had been a shattering experience. I sat on my bed, my limbs trembling so violently that I could not move.

WE WERE INTO ANOTHER new year, 1535. Could there ever be another like that which had gone before, when my father had shocked the whole of Europe by the unprecedented action of breaking with Rome?

I could not believe that even he could look back with equanimity on what he had done. He was never one to admit himself wrong, but surely he must suffer some disquiet in the secret places of his mind. How could he not? He was a religious man, a sentimental man. Oh yes, if he paused to think, he must suffer many an uneasy qualm.

The rumors about the differences between him and the concubine were growing. Life had not gone smoothly for her since her marriage. She had failed again. The longed-for boy had not appeared. There had been great hopes of him until she—as my mother had so many times—miscarried. There seemed to be a blight on my father's children. Even that golden boy, the Duke of Richmond, was very ill at this time and not expected to live. If he died, as he surely would soon, there would only be two of the King's children left—and both girls.

People's attitude toward me changed at the beginning of that year. Even Lady Shelton was less insolent. It may have been that she feared she had gone too far. This was because the concubine was falling out of favor. She had a fierce temper; she was dictatorial. I daresay she found it hard to believe that she, who had kept a firm hold on the King's affection all those years, could so quickly lose it. He was becoming enamored of a lady at the Court who it seemed had decided to champion me. Whether she did this to strike a blow against Anne Boleyn or whether she was genuinely shocked at the manner in which I was treated, I could not tell. The outcome was that people were beginning to wonder whether they ought to take care how they behaved toward me.

I was allowed to walk out now. I could even take my goshawk with me. I was feeling a little better, recuperating, and when I left Greenwich and went to Eltham, I was allowed, because I was so weak, to ride in a litter.

And how the people cheered me along the route!

“Good health and long life to the Princess!”

Those words were music in my ears.

IN THE EARLY PART of that year there was indeed danger of revolt. There was nothing weak about my father. He was every inch a king. Everyone would grant him that; and when he was confronted by danger, those qualities of leadership were very much in evidence. All that happened had changed him visibly. I could hardly recognize the jovial fun-loving man in the ruthless autocrat who was now emerging.

Those who were not with him were his enemies—as had been seen in the case of his own wife and daughter.

His peace would be destroyed by the rumblings of discontent throughout the country; he knew that if my cousin Charles, the Emperor, had not been so deeply involved in Europe, he might have attempted to invade England. So he took action and, being the man he was, it was drastic. There were no half measures with him.

In April of that year the first proceedings were taken against those who refused to accept the fact that he was Supreme Head of the Church. Five monks—one of them the Prior of the London Charterhouse—were condemned as traitors and submitted to the most brutal of executions: they were hanged, drawn and quartered. There were many to witness this grisly scene, which was what my father intended. It was to provide a lesson to all those who opposed him. I was reminded of the masques my father had so loved when he appeared among the company in disguise. Now he had thrown off his mask, and in place of the merry, jovial bluff Hal was a ruthless and despotic monarch who would strike terror into all those who thought they could disobey his command.