The Unfaithful Queen: A Novel of Henry VIII's Fifth Wife (21 page)

Not only could he not bear to make love to her, he said, but he suspected that she was not a virgin. Her sagging breasts were too full, her belly too rounded to be the breasts and belly of an untouched maid. He could hardly bear to touch her. He was prepared to swear on oath that whoever had taken her virginity, he was not the one.

He was going to talk to his physician Dr. Chambers about the awful situation and then he was going to do his penance, crawling the length of the royal chapel on his knees, all the way to the cross on the altar, while confessing his sins and asking for forgiveness.

In his role as privy chamber gentleman Tom could not help overhearing the king’s conversations with his advisers, and he confirmed the below-stairs gossip that had reached us. He told us more than we cared to know about the king’s revulsion at his queen’s deformed flesh, her hanging breasts and flabby arms and legs. About her womanly parts King Henry claimed to know nothing, for he had not gone near them.

All the talk would have been titillating, at least to some in the household, if it were not so grave. For the marriage had been made, not only to forge a political alliance, but to strengthen the succession, and no one ever forgot that.

We all watched the new queen’s belly. Would it swell with a prince? Would the king be able to overcome his revulsion for long enough to make her pregnant?

The queen herself seemed surprisingly untroubled. When asked if she expected to become a mother soon, she simply shook her head.

“No, I am not with child,” she said complacently, smoothing the skirt of her satin gown.

“But how can that be,” Malyn pressed her, “when the king shares your bed each night?”

Anna smiled. “It is as God wills.”

“But did not the Lord command Adam and Eve to be fruitful and multiply?” another of the maids asked.

“I am fruitful. I am a healthy woman,” Anna said stubbornly. And when pressed further, all she would say was that the king kissed her each night and said goodnight, then kissed her again in the morning and bade her farewell.

“Nothing more?”

She shook her head.

“Then you must intrigue him, tease him. Make him lust after you.”

“Do not say such language to me! I am a pure Christian woman, not a harlot!”

So it went, the wintry days lengthening into weeks, the queen’s belly remaining slack and loose instead of growing rounder and more prominent. We waited for some sort of resolution of the odd situation: a marriage that was not a marriage in the fullest sense, the succession resting on the uncertain health of the weak little Prince Edward who was not likely to have a brother.

And still Uncle Thomas was hoping that King Henry would make me his mistress. He did not. Instead, he confided in me.

“They plague me, oh how they all plague me, Catherine!” King Henry said when he summoned me to his private closet where he mixed his herbal remedies. I brought Jonah along, knowing how he enjoyed the little creature.

“They are like the fleas on that monkey, swarming, biting, tugging at my very flesh, all the place-seekers and petitioners, the rising young men and the panting, desperate old men, the fathers of ripe daughters who imagine I can be swayed by the offer of firm young flesh! Even my councilors, yes even old Tunstal, the wisest of them, only wants what is best for Tunstal, and not what is best for our common good, our common realm.”

“And Lord Cromwell?” I asked, rather daringly. “Is he too a flea?”

“He is the king of fleas. He has sucked much of my blood over the years.” His tone was bitter. “And he has forced me into a cankered union with—your mistress Anna.”

I was silent, waiting for him to go on. Jonah left my lap and jumped into his.

Presently the king looked over at me, while stroking Jonah’s head and running his fingers down his back. “She has begun to become piggish and stubborn. She does not do my bidding, as she promised to. Her mother goads her into willfulness. Ah!” He threw up his hands. “How I hate that old witch, the dowager duchess! I have ordered her to go back to Cleves, but she refuses. She says the seas are too rough—”

“Perhaps she fears the ruin of her lovely complexion, as she once feared the ruin of Anna’s,” I said, and the king laughed heartily.

“Why not send her as your envoy to the lands beyond the sea? To the place where Jonah came from?” I asked whimsically. Jonah had jumped off the king’s lap and was climbing on the shelves that held jars and pots, books, a heavy inkwell, folded papers and a rusty knife, its hilt gleaming with gems.

“Or to the gates of hell,” the king muttered, reaching for his herb pots and his mortar and pestle.

“Just thinking of the duchess makes my head ache,” he added, dipping a small silver spoon into several of the pots and sprinkling spoonfuls of what looked like withered grass into the mortar bowl. “This is my best headache remedy. First marjoram and rue,” he said, pulverizing the herbs, “then a few rose petals, then some sage, and finally lavender, to soothe and calm me and make me sleep.” As he mixed the concoction he seemed to grow more relaxed. I found that the strong scent in the air was making me sleepy.

A thought occurred to me.

“Your Majesty, may I ask whether you mix this potion for yourself at night, before you go to bed?”

“Yes, often. Why do you ask?”

“At the risk of offending you—”

“Speak, girl!”

“Could this potion cause such a stupor that—it prevents you from—from—carrying out your husbandly tasks?” I could not bring myself to use a crudity, as the servants so often did.

“Do you mean, am I so sleepy that I do not make love to my wife?”

“Yes. You see, we—that is, many in the household—are hoping that Queen Anna will have children—a son, or more than one.”

“No one is more concerned about the succession than I am. I have talked to Dr. Chambers and Dr. Butts about it. Half my chamber gentlemen have jokingly offered to carry out my husbandly office for me. I know what is being said. But the plain fact is, I cannot bring myself to touch that repellant woman. I can hardly bear the sight of her, if I look at her I see her mother and I want to retch.”

As if at the mention of vomit Jonah emitted a small scream.

“Is there nothing that can be done?”

He poured wine into a flagon and added some of the herbal mixture, stirring it, then drinking it. When he had downed it all he rose and joined me on the bench where I had been sitting. He took my face in his two hands. His breath was overpowering.

“Dear Catherine, if I entrust a great secret to you, can I rely on you to keep it to yourself?”

He released my face, but continued to look steadily into my eyes. His eyes were pale blue and beautiful, even though surrounded by pouches of flesh. No wonder he had been so very handsome, so very attractive to women, when young.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“It has become clear to me, as I ponder my predicament, that most likely I am not in fact married to the queen.”

Startled, I waited to hear him say more.

“Right before the wedding, when Cranmer and his doctors of canon law, and Cromwell and his experts all were trying to find some reason why Anna was not free to marry, they failed. They believed that although she had been betrothed to the Duke of Lorraine’s son, the betrothal was made null by church authorities in Cleves. Are you understanding what I’m saying?”

“I think so, yes, Your Majesty.”

“Aha! They were wrong! They did not look into it carefully enough. But I have sent two of my own advocates to Cleves, to request the document that nullified the betrothal. And do you know—no such document could be found! Because no such document ever existed! It was all a lie, a ruse. The Clevan diplomats thought we would never doubt their word.”

“Does Anna know this?”

“I can’t imagine that she does.”

Jonah had jumped to the floor and was making scratching sounds in the rushes.

“So you are saying that your wedding to Anna was no wedding at all.”

“Indeed. In fact, I believe that it is providential that I cannot bring myself to lie with her. The Lord has made her loathsome to me, because if I did lie with her, our union would be an unholy thing.”

“I see.”

“But I am waiting for the right time to reveal all this to my councilors—those fleas—and to the entire court, indeed to Christendom. For there will be such an uproar, such wailing and gnashing of teeth—”

“But you will be free of the torment this has all been to you. I’m very glad for you.”

He kissed me then, taking me completely by surprise and quite overwhelming me with the awful taste of his mouth, his wet lips, the reek of his breath. The kiss took my own breath away.

“Dearest Catherine,” he said as I struggled to catch my breath. “I knew I could trust you. Sometimes I think you are the only one I can trust.”

“I—I don’t know what to say, Your Majesty.”

“Say that you will consider becoming my consort, just as soon as I can disentangle all the knots they have tied around me.”

Dumbfounded, my head swimming, I fought for clarity.

“I must ponder this.”

“Ponder all you like. Only be sure to ponder with your uncle Norfolk. Hateful man! He will be only too glad to know what has passed between us. Only remember—do not tell him anything I have confided to you about the lies of the Clevan diplomats. That must wait until I am ready to announce the truth to the court and the world.”

“Very well.”

The king smiled benevolently, and took my hand in both of his.

“You are very dear to me, you and your monkey. I want you both beside me for the rest of my days.”

*   *   *

Tom! My dear, dear Tom! Whatever would he say? How would he advise me? For we had to decide together what my answer to the king would be. Tom was my husband-to-be; even if I married the king, I would afterwards marry Tom. The king’s life would soon end, and at that point my true happiness would begin. I had to believe that, or I would have been in despair.

When I told him all that the king had said to me, Tom listened patiently. He was thoughtful, considered. There was nothing hotheaded or rash about Tom, in that way he was completely unlike Henry Manox or Francis, both of whom had been overly quick to react to anything that seemed to threaten them.

He hugged me to him, kissing me again and again. Then he released me and, smiling, looked into my eyes, taking my hands in his.

“My dearest Catherine, nothing will ever change how much I love you, how much I will always love you.”

“Tom!” He brought tears to my eyes.

“But I think we both realize that you cannot refuse the king’s request. It is not merely a request, it is a command. He needs and desires you, therefore you must obey. He is treacherous: one moment charming and benign, the next moment cruel. Those of us in the privy chamber have seen him change suddenly, we know his moods. If you should refuse him, nothing could protect you from his wrath.

“And then there is your uncle. I think you know what he might do if he thought you were going against the Howard interests.”

I nodded, sadly. Uncle Thomas’s harshness toward those who crossed him was legendary. And I had told Tom about my grandmother’s cruelty as well, when she whipped me and shut me in the dark day after day without food or drink. Left me to die.

“There is much to be thankful for in this, Catherine. Just think! How very much better that he wants you for his wife than for his mistress! A wife is honored, a mistress is scorned by her family—indeed, she all but loses her family. You will be Queen Catherine! I shall have to bow down to you, we all will.”

And he got down on his knees and bowed low, until his head nearly touched the floor. Then he rose again, grinning.

“You will be very grand, above us all,” he went on. “You will put up with his demands and be an ornament to his life. And all the time you will think, he’s old, he’s going to die. And then I will be free.”

I tried to smile, though worry still nagged at me.

“Tom? You won’t leave me, will you? You’ll stay nearby.”

“Right at your fingertips, Catherine. Right there in the privy chamber—or wherever else he may send me. I must obey him, just as you must.”

“Please, please, never leave me.”

He took me in his arms once again, murmuring words of comfort. “It will only be a little while, sweetheart. Not long at all. Soon we will be together, pledged to one another forever, and then I will never leave you again.”

*   *   *

Everything changed for me that spring, the spring of the year 1540. Anna was still queen, she still appeared content with her marriage. But King Henry no longer came to her bed every night, he spent many of his evenings with me. And not a few of his nights as well, though at first only those closest to him knew that.

Our physical lovemaking was awkward. His enormous weight and bulk crushed me and when he was on top of me, grunting and straining, it was all I could do to breathe, he was so heavy. I am a very small woman. I could not help dreading his onslaughts. I prayed to be able to endure him. And often, when he struggled to attain his pleasure, the struggle was lengthy. At times he failed. And even when he succeeded—or appeared to succeed—I felt that something had gone wrong. His lovemaking was nothing like what I had known with other men. It cost him too much in effort, and when the effort was ended, there was often nothing to indicate that he had succeeded in spilling his seed inside me. Or, at most, there were only a few drops of sticky wetness left behind.

It was all I could do to keep breathing, as I have said, and to endure his reeking breath and crushing bulk. I tried to think of Tom, and to tell myself that my trials would not last long.

I had given my consent to wed him, once he freed himself from what he called his “entanglements.” He behaved as though he was a bachelor again, and a very rich one, spending money on me daily and spoiling me with his lavish attentions.

Bishop Gardiner, who had long been opposed to King Henry’s marriage to Anna, and even more opposed to Lord Cromwell and his overweening power, made ready an entire wing of his palace for the king’s use and mine. I had apartments there, all my old belongings were moved there from Lambeth, and all my new belongings—the sumptuous new gowns the king had made for me, the chests of jewels he presented to me, Jonah’s large new cage, as tall as a man and nearly as wide, the musicians the king sent to entertain me—all arrived in the courtyard of Bishop Gardiner’s residence, and not at my grandmother’s great mansion.