Katharine of Aragon (93 page)

She wanted to shout at him that she despised him, that she knew it was not his conscience that was behind this dastardly plot but his desire for a new wife. She wanted to say: How dare you cast insults at a Princess of Spain? And what of our daughter? Will you, merely that you may satisfy your lust in the sanctity of a marriage bed, cast me off and proclaim our daughter a bastard!

It was the thought of Mary which was unnerving her. Her usual calm had deserted her; she could feel her mouth trembling so that it would not form the words she wanted to utter; her limbs were threatening to collapse.

Henry went on: “Knowing your serious nature, your love of the Church and all it stands for, it seemed to me that you would wish to enter a convent and there pass the rest of your days in peace. It should be a convent of your choosing and you should be its abbess. You need have no fear that you would lose any of the dignity of your rank…”

A voice within her cried: Do you think you could strip me of that? You have insulted me by telling me that I lived with you for all these years when I was not your legal wife; and now you dare tell me—the daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand—that you will not rob me of my rank!

But the words would not come and the hot tears were spilling over and running down her cheeks.

Henry stared at her. He had never seen her thus. That she, who had always been so conscious of her dignity and rank, should weep, was something he had not considered.

It horrified him.

“Now, Kate,” he said, “you must not weep. You must be brave…as I would fain be. Think not that I cease to love you. Love you I always shall. The Bishops may say what they will; you may not be my wife in the eyes of God but always I shall love you as I did in those days when you were so poor and lonely and I lifted you up to share my throne. Do not grieve. Who knows… they may find that there is naught wrong with our marriage after all. Kate, Kate, dry your eyes. And remember this: For the time being this is our secret matter. We do not want it bruited abroad. If I could but come to terms with my conscience I would snap my fingers at these Bishops, Kate. I'd have them clapped into the Tower for daring to hint…”

But she was not listening. She did not believe him. She did not see the virtuous, religious man he was trying to show her; she saw only the lustful King who was tired of one wife and wanted another.

Her tears fell faster, and convulsive sobs shook her body.

Henry stood awhile, staring at her in dismay; then he turned abruptly and left her.

WHEN THE QUEEN HAD RECOVERED FROM HER GRIEF SHE
sent for Mendoza.

“All that we feared has come to pass,” she told him. “The King is determined to rid himself of me. He has told me that his conscience troubles him because learned men have assured him that we are not truly married.”

“So it has gone as far as that!” muttered Mendoza. “We shall need a strong advocate to defend Your Grace…”

“Where should I find one here in England?” she asked.

“Your Grace can trust none of the King's subjects. We must immediately appeal to the Emperor.”

“I will write to him with all speed.”

Mendoza shook his head. “It is very doubtful that any appeal from you would be allowed to reach him.”

Katharine stared helplessly at the ambassador.

“Or,” he continued, “any appeal from me either. The Cardinal's spies will be doubly vigilant. We must smuggle a messenger out of the country, and it must be done in such a way that no suspicion is attached to him.”

“What a sad state of affairs when I am denied a lawyer to defend me.”

“Let us be hopeful,” answered Mendoza, “and say that the King knows that he has such a poor case that he dare not allow a good lawyer to defend you. Is there any member of Your Grace's household whom you trust completely?”

Katharine thought awhile and then said: “He must be a Spaniard for he will have to travel into Spain to reach the Emperor. I can only think of Francisco Felipez who has been in my service for twenty-seven years. I am sure he is to be trusted.”

“An excellent choice. He should leave for Spain as soon as possible. But he should carry nothing in writing and it should seem that you do not send him but that he wishes to go of his own accord.”

“I will summon him and together we will form some plan.”

“It would be unwise for Your Grace to send for him now while I am here. I am certain that we are being closely watched. Indeed, it may be unwise to send for him at all, because it will doubtless be suspected that you will try to get a message through to the Emperor. If Your Grace could seize an opportunity of speaking to him when he is performing some duty—just whispering a word to him when no one will notice—that would be the best plan. Then if he expresses a desire to see his family, it will not appear that he is on Your Grace's business.”

“How I hate this intrigue! I feel like a prisoner in the Tower rather than a Queen in her Palace.”

The ambassador looked at her sadly. He wondered what might have befallen her, standing in the King's way as she did, had she not been the aunt of the Emperor.

FRANCISCO FELIPEZ
presented himself to the King and asked if he might speak to him in private.

Henry granted this request, thinking that the man came with some message from the Queen, but as soon as they were alone Felipez said: “Your Grace, I am in great distress. My mother is dying and wishes to give me her blessing. I have come to ask your permission to go to her.”

“You are a servant of the Queen,” said Henry. “Have you not asked her for this licence?”

Felipez looked uneasy. “I have, Your Grace.”

“Well?”

“And she has refused it.”

The King's blue eyes were wide with astonishment.

“Why so?” he demanded.

“She believes that I do not speak the truth.”

“And has she reason to believe this?”

“None, Your Grace.”

“This is unlike the Queen. I have always thought her to be most considerate of her servants.”

“The Queen has changed. She accused me of seeking to leave her, as all her servants would do in time.”

“But why should she say such a thing?”

The man hesitated, but Henry insisted that he should continue. “Your Grace, the Queen says that, since you are displeased with her, all her servants will find excuses to leave her.”

“I fear the Queen is suffering from delusions,” said Henry. “It grieves me that she should have so little thought for her servants. You did well to come to me. I will grant your licence; I will do more. I will give you a safe-conduct through France which will make your journey so much easier.”

Felipez fell to his knees, tears of gratitude in his eyes.

“We see you are pleased,” said Henry gruffly. “I will give you your licence now.”

“How can I thank Your Grace?” stammered the man.

But Henry waved a hand and went to the table. He wrote for a while, then handed the man a document.

“This will suffice,” he said. “You need have no fear that you will be intercepted. I trust that you will reach your mother in time.”

When Felipez had gone, Henry thought: There is a man who, should he return to England, will be my servant, not the Queen's.

It was some days later when Henry remembered the incident and mentioned it in a letter he wrote to the Cardinal who was now in France.

The Cardinal's answer came back promptly.

“This man but feigns to visit his sick mother. Your Highness will realize that it is chiefly for disclosing your secret matter to the Emperor and to devise means and ways of how it may be impeached. I pray Your Grace to ascertain whether this man has left England and, if he has not, to stop him. If he has left, I will, if it be in my power, have him intercepted in his journey across France, for if this matter should come to the Emperor's ears, it should be no little hindrance to Your Grace.”

When Henry read that letter he was furious. He had been foolish not to see through the ruse. What a cunning woman the Queen had become! He should have seen through her deception. And because the Cardinal had seen
at once, and because had the Cardinal been in England the licence would never have been granted, Henry, perversely, felt irritated with the Cardinal.

There was another reason which made him uneasy when he thought of the Cardinal. There were certain matters which he had withheld from his minister. Anne hated Wolsey and she was gradually persuading Henry to hate him.

Anne had said: “If the Cardinal knew of our desires he would work against us. Never have I forgotten the time when he treated me as though I were the lowest serving wench—and all because Henry Percy had spoken for me.”

“But, sweetheart, if any man can get me my divorce, that man is the Cardinal,” Henry had insisted.

Anne had agreed with that. They should use the Cardinal, for he was a wily man; she did not deny that. But he believed that the purpose of the divorce he was trying to arrange was that Henry might marry Renée, daughter of Louis XII, not Anne Boleyn.

So there were secrets which the King had kept from the Cardinal, and during recent months it had often been necessary to deceive him. Once there had been complete accord between them, but this was no longer so, and now Henry was irritated to think of those secrets; he might have despised himself for his duplicity, but as he could not do that, he gave vent to his feelings in his dislike of Wolsey.

He brushed the man out of his thoughts and had the Court searched for Francisco Felipez. He could not be found. It seemed that he had left England several days before.

THE KING SENT
for one of his secretaries, Dr. William Knight. This was a man whom he trusted and who had already shown himself a worthy ambassador, for Henry had often sent him abroad on state business.

William Knight was a man of some fifty years and Henry had chosen him for his wisdom and experience.

“Ah, my good William,” said the King as soon as Dr. Knight entered his apartment, “you have been in my service many years, and I have great faith in you; that is why I now assign to you the most important task of your life.”

William Knight was surprised. He stammered: “Your Grace knows that whatever task is assigned to me I will perform with all my wits.”

“We know it, William. That is why we are entrusting you with this matter. You are to leave at once for Rome, travelling through France of course.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And when you reach Rome you must find some means of seeing the Pope. I wish this matter of the divorce to be hastened. I chafe with the delay. I wish you to ask the Pope to give Cardinal Wolsey the power to try our case here in England. And there is one other matter. As soon as the divorce is
settled I shall marry—immediately. I consider it my duty to marry and I have chosen the Lady Anne Boleyn to be my wife.”

William Knight did not answer. He had heard rumors of course. He knew that the Boleyn faction had great influence with the King, but had not realized that the matter had gone so far and that the King could possibly contemplate marriage with Thomas Boleyn's daughter while Wolsey was in France—not exactly negotiating for a marriage with the Princess Renée, but surely with this in mind.

“There is one matter,” went on the King, “which gives me great concern. I fear there may be an obstacle to my union with the Lady Anne, owing to a relationship I once had with her sister, Mary. Because of the existing canon law a close relationship has been established between the Lady Anne and myself, and in order that this be removed there would have to be a dispensation from the Pope. Your mission in Rome is that you request the Pope, beside giving Wolsey permission to try the case, to give you the dispensation which would enable me to marry the Lady Anne with a free conscience.”

William Knight bowed. “I will set out for Rome at once,” he told the King, “and serve Your Grace with all my heart and power.”

Henry slapped his secretary's shoulder.

“Begone, good William. I look to see you back ere long. Bring me what I wish and I'll not forget the service you have rendered. But, by God, make haste. I chafe against delay.”

WOLSEY HAD
set out for France, travelling to the coast with even more than his usual pomp. His red satin robes, his tippet of sables, made him a dazzling figure in the midst of his brilliant cavalcade; he held himself erect and glanced neither to right nor left, because he knew that the looks of those who had gathered to see him pass would be hostile. At one time he would have scorned them; he did so no longer; he, the proud Cardinal, would have eagerly welcomed one kindly smile, would have been delighted with one friendly word.

He thought as he rode along that he was like a man climbing a mountain. He had come far over the grassy slopes which had been easy to scale; but now the top was in sight and he had to traverse the glacial surface to reach it. He had come so far that there was no going back; and he was on the treacherous ground where one false step could send him hurtling into the valley of degradation.

All about him were his servants in their red and gold livery. Where the crowd was thick his gentlemen ushers cried out: “On, my lords and masters, on before. Make way for my Lord's Grace.”