‘No.’ I shake my head with a smile. ‘Who’d have dreamed it?’
‘Your rise to greatness,’ Nan raises her glass in a toast. ‘But it comes with dangers.’
Nobody knows more about the dangers for a queen than Nan. She has served every one. She has given evidence on oath against three. Sometimes she has even told the truth.
‘Not for me,’ I say confidently. ‘I’m not like the others. I don’t have an enemy in the world. I’m famously room-handed, I’ve helped anyone who asked me. I have done nothing but good for the royal children. The king loves me, he made me Regent General and an editor for the English liturgy. He puts me at the heart of the court, of everything he cares about: his children, his country and his church.’
‘Stephen Gardiner is no friend of yours,’ she warns. ‘And neither are any of his affinity. They would throw you down from the throne and out of the royal rooms at the first moment they could.’
‘They wouldn’t. They might disagree with me; but this is a matter of debate, not enmity.’
‘Kateryn, every queen has enemies. You have to face it.’
‘The king himself supports the cause of reform!’ I exclaim irritably. ‘He listens to Thomas Cranmer more than to Stephen Gardiner.’
‘And they blame you for that! They planned for him to have a papist wife and they thought he had married one. They thought you were for the old church; they thought that you shared Latimer’s convictions. That’s why they welcomed you so warmly. They were never your friends! And now that they think you have turned against them, they won’t be your friends any longer.’
‘Nan, this is madness. They may disagree with me but they wouldn’t try to drag me down in the eyes of the king. They won’t falsely accuse me of God-knows-what because we don’t agree about the serving of the Mass. We differ; but they are not my enemies. Stephen Gardiner is an ordained bishop, called by God, a holy man. He is not going to seek my destruction because I differ from him on a point of theology.’
‘They went against Anne Boleyn because she was for the cause of reform.’
‘Wasn’t that Cromwell?’ I ask stubbornly.
‘It doesn’t matter which advisor it is, what matters is if the king is listening to him.’
‘The king loves me,’ I say finally. ‘He loves only me. He would not listen to a word against me.’
‘So you say.’ Nan puts out her foot and pushes a log further into the fire. A plume of sparks flies up, she looks awkward.
‘What is it?’
‘I have to tell you that they’re proposing another wife.’
I almost laugh. ‘This is ridiculous. Is this what you came to tell me? It’s nothing but gossip.’
‘No, it isn’t. They are proposing another wife more amenable to returning the church to Rome.’
‘Who?’ I scoff.
‘Catherine Brandon.’
‘Now I know that you are mistaken,’ I say. ‘She is more of a reformer than I am. She named her dog after Bishop Gardiner. She’s openly rude to him.’
‘They think she will join them if they offer her the throne. And they believe that the king likes her.’
I look at my sister. Her face is turned away from me, fixed on the embers of the fire. She fidgets, putting on dry wood.
‘Is this what you came in to tell me? Did you come so late tonight to warn me that the king is thinking of another wife? That I must defend myself?’
‘Yes,’ she says, still not meeting my eyes. ‘I am afraid so, yes.’
The fire crackles in the silence. ‘Catherine would never betray me. You’re wrong to say such a thing. She’s my friend. We study together, we think alike. It’s really vile, Nan, it’s black-babbling to say such a thing.’
‘It’s the crown of England. Most people would do anything for it.’
‘The king loves me. He doesn’t want another wife.’
‘All I am saying is that the king is sentimental over her, he’s always liked her, and now she is free to marry, and they will be pushing her forward.’
‘She would never take my place!’
‘She would have no choice,’ Nan says quietly. ‘Just as you had no choice. And anyway, some people say that he has been her lover for years. They say that Charles and he shared her. Charles never refused the king anything. Perhaps when he got a beautiful young wife, young enough to be his daughter, the king had her too.’
I get to my feet and go the window. I want to throw open the shutters and let the night air into the room as if the place stinks like the king’s bedroom of corruption and disappointment.
‘This is the vilest gossip,’ I say quietly. ‘I should not have to hear it.’
‘It is vile. But it is widely repeated. And so you do have to hear it.’
‘So what now?’ I say bitterly. ‘Nan, do you always have to be so ill-tongued? Must you always breathe sorrows in my ear? Are you telling me that he would put me aside for Catherine Brandon? Shall he have a seventh wife? What about another after her? Yes, he likes her, he likes Mary Howard, he likes Anne Seymour! But he loves me, he favours me above all others, more than any previous wife. And he has married me! That means everything. Can’t you see that?’
‘I am saying that we have to keep you safe. There must be nothing that anyone can say against you. No hint against your reputation, no suggestion of disagreement between you and the king, nothing that could make him turn against you. Not even for a moment.’
‘Because it only takes a moment?’
‘It only takes a moment for him to sign a warrant,’ she says. ‘And then it is all over for all of us.’
Catherine Brandon comes back to court as commanded, and she does not wear mourning. She comes first to my rooms and curtseys before me, and before all my ladies I give her my condolences for her loss and welcome her back to my service. She takes her seat among them and looks at the translation that we are working on. We are studying the gospel of Luke in the Latin and trying to find the purest, clearest words in English to express the beauty of the original. Catherine joins in as if she is here by choice, as if she does not want to be at her own home, with her sons.
At the end of the morning when we put away our books to go out riding I beckon her to come with me as I change into my riding dress.
‘I am surprised that you came back to court so soon,’ I say.
‘I was commanded,’ she says shortly.
‘Weren’t you secluded, and in mourning?’
‘Of course.’
I rise from my seat before the silvered looking-glass and I take her hands. ‘Catherine, I have been your friend since I first came to court. If you don’t want to be here, if you want to go home, I will do my best for you.’
She gives me a little sad smile. ‘I have to be here,’ she says. ‘I have no choice. But I thank Your Majesty for your kindness.’
‘Do you miss your husband?’ I ask curiously.
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘He was like a father to me.’
‘I think the king misses him.’
‘He must do. They were always together. But I don’t expect him to show it.’
‘Why not? Why should the king not show his grief for the loss of his friend?’
She looks at me as if I am asking her a question to which everyone must know the answer. ‘Because the king cannot bear grief,’ she says simply. ‘He cannot tolerate it. It makes him angry. He will never forgive Charles for leaving him. If I want to stay in favour, if I want my sons to have their inheritance, I will have to conceal the fact that Charles has deserted him. I cannot show him my grief as it reminds him of his own.’
‘But he died!’ I say impatiently to the man’s widow. ‘He didn’t leave the king on purpose, he just died!’
She gives me a slow sad smile. ‘I suppose if you are King of England, you think that everyone’s life is dedicated to you. And those that die have let you down.’
I don’t want to hear Nan’s bleak warnings, I prefer to see the gloze of Catherine’s false s
mile as the court is at peace among itself with no quarrels or dogfights, and God’s goodness to England shines out in the sunshine and the golden leaves of the trees in the meadows that run beside the river. The country is at peace, the news from France is that they plan nothing against us, the battle season is coming to a close and Thomas has survived another year. It is a blissful end of summer. Every day starts bright and every evening ends in a warm glow. The walls of the palace are golden in the sunset reflected in the river. Henry enjoys a return to good health. His servers haul him onto his horse every morning and we hunt every day, easy runs, through the water meadows alongside the river, and it is like being married to a man of my own age when his huge hunter outpaces mine and he goes past, yelling like a boy.
The wound on his leg is bound tight, and he can manage a limping walk without support, needing help only up and down the stairs that lead from the great hall to his rooms, where I visit him every other night.
‘We are happy,’ he tells me, as if it were an official announcement, as I take my seat on the other side of the fireside from his strengthened throne and his new footstool. Surprised by his formality, I giggle.
‘When you have been as troubled as I by unhappiness, you too will take note of a good day, a good season,’ he says. ‘I swear to you, my sweetheart, that I have never loved a wife more than I love you, and never known contentment as I do now.’
So much for your dark warnings, Nan, I think. ‘Lord husband, I am glad,’ I say, and I mean it. ‘If I can please you then I am the happiest woman in England. But I have heard some rumours.’
‘Of what?’ he demands as his sandy brows twitch together.
‘Some say that you might want a new queen,’ I say, taking the risk of speaking Nan’s warning out loud.
He chuckles and waves a dismissive hand. ‘There will always be rumours,’ he says. ‘While men have ambitious daughters, there will always be rumours.’
‘I am glad they mean nothing.’
‘Of course they mean nothing,’ he says. ‘Nothing but people talking about their betters, and plain women envying your beauty.’
‘Then I am happy,’ I tell him.
‘And the children are well and thriving,’ he says, continuing to list his blessings. ‘And the country is at peace, though all but bankrupt. And for once I have some quiet in my court for my rival bishops have taken the summer off from their wrangling.’
‘God smiles on the righteous,’ I say.
‘I have seen your studies,’ he says in the same smug tone of congratulation. ‘I was pleased, Kate. You have done well to study, anyone can see how I have influenced your learning and your spiritual growth.’
I am sick with sudden fear. ‘My studies?’ I repeat.
‘Your book of prayers,’ he says. ‘That’s right, it is dutiful and pleasing to have a wife who spends her time on prayers.’
‘Your Majesty honours me with your attention.’ I say feebly.
‘I glanced at them,’ he says. ‘And I asked Cranmer what he thought. And he praised them. For a woman they are scholarly work. He accused me of helping you, but I said – no, no, they are all her own. I am glad to see your name on the cover, Kate. We should credit them to a royal author. What other king in Christendom has a scholarly wife? Francis of France has a queen who is neither wife nor scholar!’
‘I only put my name on the page as a sign of my gratitude to you,’ I say carefully.
‘You do that,’ he says, comfortable. ‘I am a lucky man. I have only two things that trouble me, and neither of them overmuch.’ He eases himself back in his chair, and I stand at once and move a little table laden with sweet cakes and wine closer to his hand.
‘What are they?’
‘Boulogne,’ he says heavily. ‘After all our courage in taking it, the council want me to return it to the French. I never will. I sent Henry Howard out there in place of his father just so that he will persuade everyone that we can keep it.’
‘And does he convince them?’
‘Oh, he swears he will never leave it, says he is dishonoured by the very suggestion.’ Henry chuckles. ‘And his father whispers to me that he is a boy who should come home and live at his father’s say-so. I love it when a father and son disagree. It makes my life so much easier if they are dancing to different tunes, but both of them played by me.’
I try to smile. ‘But how do you know which to believe?’
He taps the side of his nose with his hand to indicate his cunning. ‘I don’t know. That’s the secret. I listen to one, I listen to the other, I encourage each to think he has my ear. I weigh them as they bicker, and I choose.’
‘But it puts father against son,’ I point out. ‘And sets your chief commander in France against your Privy Council, and makes a deep division in the country.’
‘All the better, for then they cannot conspire against me. Anyway, I cannot return Boulogne to the French, whatever the Privy Council wants, for Charles of Spain insists that I keep it, insists that we don’t make peace with France. I have to play Spain and France like two dogs in a fight as well. I have to match them against each other like a dog-master.’
‘And your other worry?’ I ask gently.
‘God be praised, it’s just a little worry. It’s nothing. Just a plague at Portsmouth.’
‘Plague?
‘Ripping through my navy, God help them. Of course they will take it hard. The sailors sleep on the ships or in the worst of lodgings in that poor little town, the captains and the bo’suns little better. They’re all crammed on top of one another and the marshes are pestilential. The soldiers in my new castles will die like flies when it goes through them.’
‘But your admirals must be safe?’
‘No, for I insist they stay with the fleet,’ he says, as if the life of Thomas Seymour is an afterthought. ‘They have to take their chances.’
‘Can’t they go to their homes while the plague is in Portsmouth?’ I suggest. ‘It must make sense that the captains and commanders are not lost to the plague. You will need them in battle. You must want to keep them safe.’
‘God will watch over those who serve me,’ he says comfortably. ‘God would not raise his hand against me and mine. I am His chosen king, Kateryn. Never forget it.’
He sends me away at midnight – he wants to be alone – but instead of going to my bed I go to the beautiful chapel, kneel before the altar and whisper to myself: ‘Thomas, Thomas, God bless you, God keep you, my love, my only love. God keep you from the sea, God keep you from the plague, God keep you from sin and sorrow and send you safe home. I don’t even pray that you come home to me. I love you so dearly that I would have you safe, anywhere.’
The king’s leg swells up again and the wound opens up further. He cannot bear to put weight on it at all and instead has wheels put under his strengthened chair and has himself wheeled around the palace. Unusually, his spirits stay high and he continues to be the dog-master, as he boasted to me. He is going to send Stephen Gardiner to meet the emperor at Bruges to negotiate a treaty with the French that will bring an end to war between the three great kings of Europe; but at the same time, and in complete contradiction, he invites delegates from the German Lutheran princes to mediate between England and France for a secret peace to betray the Spanish emperor. At this rate, we will end up with two peace treaties, one brokered by papists and one brokered by Lutherans, and unable to sign either.
‘No, this is a great chance for our faith,’ Catherine Brandon disagrees, as we sit down behind my long table, assemble our pens and papers and prepare to listen to the sermon of the day. ‘If the Lutheran lords from Saxony can bring peace to Christendom then the reformed faith will be seen as the moral leader, as a light to the world. And they will work for the king, as they want him to save them from the emperor. That papist monster is calling for a crusade against them, his own people, for nothing more than their religion – God save and keep them.’
‘But Bishop Gardiner will beat the Lutheran lords
to it,’ I predict. ‘He’ll bring home a peace with France before they can.’
‘Not him!’ she says disdainfully. ‘He’s a spent force. The king doesn’t listen to him any more. He sending him on a fool’s errand to Bruges. He wants Gardiner out of the way so that he can talk freely to the Germans. He told me so himself.’
‘Oh, did he?’ I say levelly, and Nan, coming in, notes the edge in my voice and glances across at me.
‘Don’t think that I have said anything to betray us,’ Catherine says quickly. ‘I would never reveal what we study and what we read. But I swear that the king knows, and that he sympathises. He speaks of your learning with such praise, Your Majesty.’
‘It was the king who gave the English their Bible,’ I agree. ‘That’s what the Lutherans want.’
‘And it was Stephen Gardiner who took it away again. And now the king is meeting with Lutherans and Stephen Gardiner is far away. He can stay away from court for ever, for all I care. While he is gone, and while the king supports Henry Howard’s captaincy of Boulogne against his father the duke, our greatest enemies are ignored and we grow stronger every day.’
‘Well, God be praised,’ Nan says. ‘Just think if this country were to come to a true faith based on the Bible, not a hodge-podge of superstition based on spells and images and chants.’
‘Indulgences,’ Catherine says. She almost shudders with disdain. ‘That’s what I hate most. D’you know that the day after my lord died some damned priest came to me and said that for fifty nobles he could guarantee Charles’ ascent to heaven and would show me a sign that it was so?’
‘What sign?’ I ask curiously.
Catherine shrugs: ‘Who knows? I didn’t even ask. I am sure he could have given me anything that I would wish: a bleeding statue saved from some wrecked abbey? A portrait of the Madonna that spurts milk? It is such an insult to suggest that a man’s soul should be saved by half a dozen vile old men bawling out a psalm. How can anyone ever have believed it? How can anyone suggest it now that they can read the Bible and know that we get to heaven through faith alone?’