Reluctant Queen: Tudor Historical Novel About Mary Rose Tudor, the Defiant Little Sister of King Henry VIII (39 page)

‘You may yet get a son, Catherine. You’re still young enough.’

‘A child needs someone to father it, alas. The laws of nature remain the same at least, if all else seems to have gone mad.’ Catherine lowered her eyes as she confessed. ‘Your brother rarely graces my bed these days. So you see, even if I am still capable of getting me a son, the opportunity to do so is seldom there.’

Mary, not knowing how else to comfort Catherine, took her hand and squeezed it tightly. But, in spite of Catherine’s revelation, Mary still felt there must be something they could do. She had tried appealing to Henry, but that had achieved nothing. Possibly an appeal to Anne Boleyn’s better nature might have some effect. Mary was prepared to try anything if it would ease Catherine’s pain, even if she must humiliate herself in the process. She had liked Anne well enough during their shared time in France and had treated her kindly. It was possible that another, more determined, attempt at rekindling her memories of those times would have the desired result. She could at least try. For Catherine’s sake, she would lower her dignity and talk to her brother’s harlot.

Mary put to the back of her mind her recollection of the new haughtiness Anne had acquired and sent a message to Anne that she wished to see her. She even lowered her queenly dignity to the extent that she became a courtier rather than the courted, when Anne was cool about visiting Mary’s apartments.

To her surprise, Anne was welcoming enough, and offered her wine and sweetmeats. But, aware as she was, of Mary’s resentment and disapproval, her manner was as cool as her invitation had been.

‘Tis a novelty entertain the Dowager-Queen of France in my chambers,’ she remarked, adding slyly, ‘though her husband, the Duke, is often here.’

‘Indeed,’ Mary managed to mutter. With difficulty, she overcame her fury that the woman should try to bait her, put aside her own feelings, and concentrated her thoughts on Catherine’s happiness. It was the reason she was here. They were quite alone, as Anne had dismissed her admirers, Grateful at least that there would be no witnesses to what passed between them, Mary tentatively broached the reason for her visit.

Anne’s reaction was hot and speedy. She took advantage of their privacy to commit lése-majesty. ‘Give up the king, you say? Think you, Madam,’ she demanded, ‘that I should pay heed to a woman who can’t even prove the legality of her own marriage? Perhaps you should straighten your own affairs before you attempt to offer your advice to me.’

Mary’s cheeks burned. That Anne should throw that in her face. She clung to the shreds of her dignity as she replied, ‘That the legality of my marriage gives cause for discussion is no fault of mine, as I’m sure you know.’ Mary reminded herself again that she had come here to talk about Catherine and Henry’s marriage, not her own. She tried once more. ‘If not for Catherine, will you give up the king and leave the court out of the friendship we once shared in France?’

Anne’s scorn stung her. ‘Friendship? Is that what you call it? You gave me a few of your oldest gowns, gowns which I had to alter myself, and I am to recall this occasion with gratitude? Nay, Madam, gratitude is not what I feel, nor friendship either. I know you all thought me a plain, ungainly child, but if I had little else then, I had my pride. Receiving your cast-offs didn’t make my situation any easier. Do you think the other Maids stopped their teasing because I had a few pretty gowns?’

Mary was chastened enough to apologise. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise they tormented you so.’ How could she have? She had been young, foolish and deeply unhappy, far too concerned with her own woes to notice those of others.

Anne, of course, remembered things differently. ‘You were too busy flirting with the dazzling Francis to see what was happening under your nose.’ Anne drew herself up. ‘But those days are long gone, like the forlorn little maid I once was. Good riddance to them both. So, Madam, don’t come here with your queenly airs and your talk of kindnesses. I no longer need your kindness. I have the king’s.’

This last was said with such a darting look of triumph that Mary, having no other weapons, was goaded into using the weapon of status, even though, as she spoke, she realised it was unwise. ‘Remember, Madam, to whom you speak. You—’

‘I know full well to whom I speak,’ Anne assured her. ‘But mayhap, you would do well to heed your own advice. The Queen of England has already learned to her cost of the power and influence Anne Boleyn, the little Maid of Honour, has here now. Perhaps it is time that the Dowager-Queen of France learned it also.’

‘I wish Henry could hear you. I doubt he’d be impressed by your spite.’

Anne gave a careless shrug. ‘Complain to the king if you dare. You’ll find him unwilling to listen to tittle-tattle about me. I am the virtuous Anne and can do no wrong in his eyes. And virtuous I be, though few in the court acknowledge it.’

Mary was not surprised that Anne should bait her with the name of the king. Henry would have told Anne what had passed between them. She did not need Anne to tell her that Henry would refuse to listen. As his sister, she had felt it her duty to speak to him. It had been useless, of course, as she had known it would be.

It had been early evening, the sun shining on the wooden panelling in his apartments and on Henry himself who had the vain habit of placing himself where the sun’s rays could light on him and best display his red-gold good looks and gorgeous apparel.

She had asked to speak to him alone and he had dismissed his courtiers. Nervously, she had asked him if the rumours were true and that he intended to set Catherine aside for her Maid of Honour.

Immediately, he had turned aggressive. ‘Has Catherine sent you here?’

Mary denied it. ‘I came because I am concerned for you. For Catherine also. I love you both well and would not wish either of you to suffer pain. I warn you, brother, think. Think before it is too late. You may believe it would be Catherine alone who would suffer if she is set aside. But that is not true. You, too, would suffer. You know the people do not like Anne Boleyn. Do you wish to risk losing their love as Catherine loses yours?’

He hadn’t liked that, of course. Mary knew how much he valued the love of his subjects.

‘I will not lose their love,’ he had insisted. ‘I will keep their love and get me a son also. You, Mary, have your son already. Would you deny me mine?’

‘Many times have I prayed for you and Catherine to have the joy of a healthy prince. It has grieved me sorely that you have no son. But have you never thought that as such is the case it must be God’s will that it is so?’

It had been the wrong thing to say. Mary had known it as soon as the words had left her mouth. Henry was prepared to fall in with God’s will only when it agreed with his own.

‘It is not God’s will that I remain without my son. It was the Pope who wrongly gave me a dispensation to marry Catherine. As the Pope has caused the problem, the Pope can right it by agreeing that Catherine should be put aside. I will have my son. And as I haven’t got him on the Spanish woman I’ll get him on Anne. I don’t care what anyone says. I am determined on it.’

There had been nothing more to say after that, but a softly murmured, ‘Have a care for your mortal soul also, Henry,’ before she walked softly away.

Mary blinked and came back from her unhappy trip down Memory Lane to find that she and Anne had both stood up during their exchange. Now Anne came up close and thrust her face forward to tell her, ‘His poor, barren wife is queen in name only. I am the true queen now, as all do acknowledge.’ She smiled. It was a smile made up of malice and triumph.

Mary felt sick. The pain in her side started up. She bit her tongue lest she call Anne ‘harlot’ to her face, and bring the power Anne had boasted of down on her own head and that of her husband and children. For now, Mary had to accept that Anne Boleyn did have the power to hurt them both. The effort to remain silent almost choked her. Insults burned on her tongue to be spoken. Somehow, Mary got out of the room. She stood in the corridor, breathing deeply while she tried to control her wildly beating heart. Behind her, she heard Anne’s mocking laughter. It pursued her as she hurried along the corridors to her waiting litter and, wth her tail between her legs, went home to Suffolk House, their London home.

She had been as foolish in trying to speak to Anne as she had been in tackling Henry. Catherine’s unhappiness had spurred her on. Mary had tried to appeal to Anne’s better nature, but it was clear Anne Boleyn didn’t possess such a thing. Mary could only hope her interference did not damage Catherine’s position even more.

Mary had hoped to find solitude to regain her composure. But to her consternation, Charles was there and clearly waiting for her.

He could not fail to recognise her agitation - nor did he. And when she had finally confessed its cause he gave her another tongue-lashing. Mary attempted to defend herself. ‘I was only trying to help Catherine. She has need of friends now.’

‘She doesn’t need friends like you, Mary, to interfere and make her position even more difficult. You are becoming a worse meddler than that accursed Cardinal. Have I spent months gaining the friendship and trust of the Lady Anne only to have you upset all my efforts in a minute? Truly, it is a pity you didn’t remain in the country. Now I suppose I’ll have to try to repair the damage you have wrought.’ With that, he marched past her without another glance, bellowing for his horse.

Upset, Mary kept to her home for the next few days. She feared that Charles was right and that her impetuous importuning of Anne Boleyn would only make Catherine’s situation worse. She had been horrified to discover how confident was Anne Boleyn of her power. Her one-time gawky little Maid of Honour now ruled over Mary’s husband as surely as she ruled over the king. That Charles should be frightened of offending this slim young woman outraged Mary. Astonishingly, it seemed, if what the court whispers and Anne’s own words had claimed were true, she had managed to ensnare her brother without actually letting him possess her. But Anne Boleyn had not spent seven years at the French court without learning Gallic guile; it went some way to explaining how she managed such a feat.

When Mary ventured back to the court, she kept her eyes open and her mouth shut. She saw with dismay that each time Anne rejected Henry’s adulterous advances his passion for her deepened. Henry was so caught in the snares of love that he would do anything, agree to anything, if only he could have her. He had long since warned off several of his courtiers who were also enamoured of the lady. He was determined to have her for himself. Whispers flew around the court that Henry had promised her the earth, the moon, the stars, if she would only give in and lay with him. But still Anne refused. She wanted more. As Mary had learned, she wanted to be queen. Worse, Henry had so tired of Catherine that he was now actively hunting round for means to cast her off so that he could marry Anne.

These matters were whispered into Mary’s ear in the marital bed she shared with Charles. He had promptly sworn her to secrecy. Mary didn’t confess that she had no need to learn the truth of this from her husband; she already had it from her brother. Mary began to fear for her brother, for his crown and even for his mortal soul. Henry’s ‘Secret Matter’ was now common knowledge at the court. Charles was deeply enmeshed in it and committed to Anne and Henry’s hopes for their union.

Such a widely-known secret couldn’t long remain within the bounds of the court. Soon, it was being discussed in every tavern and ale-house and Anne was abused by the people whenever she ventured into the streets.

Wolsey, on Henry’s orders, had set the divorce in motion by setting up a secret court at Westminster which he demanded Henry attend in order to answer the charge of having lived unlawfully for eighteen years with the widow of his own deceased brother, Arthur. Henry’s obsession with Anne was leading him down dangerous paths, for he could not lightly repudiate Catherine. Her nephew was the mighty Emperor. He would not allow his aunt to be thus cast off, for all that Henry prated of his conscience and his fear that his marriage was an adulterous one since Catherine had been his brother’s wife first.

What consciences we Tudors have, Mary thought. There is Henry, with his mighty conscience over the marriage he no longer wanted; her own pricking conscience concerning her own marriage and the constant humiliations and difficulties Charles suffered because of it. These had caused him to take a grievous dislike to Cardinal Wolsey. Charles had sided with Anne not only because she was the woman Henry wished to marry, but also because Anne, too, believed Wolsey to be her enemy. For Charles, any enemy of Wolsey must perforce be his friend.

Mary had come to find the court less and less to her liking and spent more time in the country and at their London house on the river at Southwark. When she wasn’t at court, she would spend long, melancholy hours staring from the window at the river. Although she couldn’t see the heads that decorated London Bridge, she didn’t need to. In her mind’s eye she could see them clearly; they put her in fear for her own family, for this obsession of Henry’s could bring the country to a civil war, such was the feelings it aroused, not only in England, but across Europe.

Mary’s health had been poor for some time. She suffered greatly from a recurring pain in her side which was exacerbated by her anxiety about the future. What would become of them all if Henry got his wish and set Catherine aside? Would the Emperor invade to restore his aunt to her rightful place? Would he, by force of arms, tumble Henry from his throne? And what of Charles, her husband? If all these events came about, Charles would fall with Henry. He would surely lose his head. Round and round Mary’s thoughts went, imagining ever more grim and terrifying events unfolding. She looked down at her hands and saw they were trembling. She gripped each with the other and tried to force them to be still. But, like so much else in her life in these turbulent times the tremors in her hands were beyond her control.

The timing of this spread of knowledge about Henry’s desire to marry Anne was unfortunate, as shortly after, Catherine’s nephew, the mighty Emperor, captured Pope Clement whilst his soldiers sacked Rome. Thus, the Pope who was expected to agree to Henry’s demand for a divorce was in the hands of Catherine’s powerful nephew and unlikely to anger him by sanctioning this insult to the Emperor’s aunt. Henry was furious at this downward turn in his fortunes. Especially when he realised that the Emperor’s capture of the Pope must bring his and Wolsey’s secret court to a precipitous close. Henry poured his complaints into Charles’s ears and he came home to Mary whenever he could get away and relieved his burdens by telling her all about them.