In the Shadow of the Crown

Reginald Pole

THE EMPEROR'S MARRIAGE CAST A BLIGHT OVER MY LIFE for some weeks. I would wake in the morning and ask myself how he could have behaved so. It could not be that he had been forced to. No one could force emperors. He could do as he wished, just as my father could. And he had abandoned me.

I tried to console myself that it was simply because of my youth. Had I been as old as Isabel of Portugal, he would have married me.

I wished that I could see my mother. I thought of how sad she would be, for she had so wanted me to marry her nephew and live in Spain.

But it was not to be, and life at Ludlow was very pleasant because I had tasted power and found that I liked it very much.

It was soon brought home to me that happiness was a fleeting emotion.

The Countess came to me one day and with some hesitation made a revelation to me that I found quite horrific.

What a wonderful person she was. She thought of me at every turn, and I knew she would without hesitation put herself in danger for my sake. At the time, of course, I did not fully realize how precariously placed were those who had Plantagenet blood in their veins.

The Countess knew that she must step warily but she was not lacking in courage and would always do what she considered right, no matter what the risk. On this occasion I was sure she felt she must prepare me for what was to come.

She began: “You know, Princess, that the question of your marriage will be of considerable importance to your father. It is necessarily so because of your position.”

“Yes, I know that,” I said. “But what is the use of making engagements when no one really considers them seriously?”

“They are of importance when they are made.”

“To be honored only when people don't change their minds,” I remarked with some bitterness.

She put her arms round me as she sometimes did when we were alone. “My dearest, the difference in your and the Emperor's age was so great. You see, if you could have been married immediately…”

“I am glad we did not. If he could not be faithful…if he could not keep his promises…it was better as it is.”

She held me against her soothingly. Then she said, “There will be other arrangements.”

“I shall not regard them with any seriousness.”

“Well, you are young and it would be a year or two before any plans came to fruition.”

“Are you trying to tell me something, Countess?” I asked. “Yes. But you must not take it seriously. It would never come to pass. It is just a gesture.”

“Who?” I asked.

“The King of France.”

I stared at her incredulously. The King of France! My father's enemy! The man who had been described to me as the most wicked in Europe. The man who had tried to humiliate my father at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. It was impossible to believe.

“But we were at war with him.”

“That is over. There is now peace, and our two countries are friends again. We are against the Emperor now.”

“Oh no… no!” I cried.

“You must not be upset. It will never come to anything. I did not want it to shock you. That is why I warn you. You should not be unduly alarmed. It will never happen.”

“I thought he was the Emperor's prisoner.”

“There has been a treaty between them … the Treaty of Madrid. François is free, but there are harsh terms. He is having to give up much land to the Emperor…Milan, Naples and Burgundy, I believe, among much else. In the meantime he has been allowed his freedom, but he has sent his two sons to Madrid as hostages.”

“And he has agreed to that?”

“His sons are there now.”

“How could he? They are only little boys.”

“It is necessary that he return to his country. It is all very complicated.”

“And my father would marry me to this man!”

“I doubt there is any serious intention of doing that. It is just a gesture to the Emperor. You see, no ruler likes to see another too powerful, and several states are forming a league against the Emperor now.”

“It's horrible,” I said. “I hate it.”

“It is the way states are governed.”

“I shall never govern that way.”

She smiled at me. “You will be a wise and benign ruler, I know. But, just now you must not be disturbed about this proposed alliance. I will be ready to swear that nothing will come of it. There is another matter. One of the terms of the Treaty of Madrid is that François shall marry Charles' sister, Eleanora. He cannot evade his obligations because he has to think of his two hostage sons.”

“How old is the King of France, Countess?” I asked.

“About thirty-two.”

She did not add that most of those years had been spent in debauchery and that, coupled with the fact that he had been languishing in a Madrid prison where he had come near to death and probably would have died if his sister, Marguerite, had not gone out to nurse him, he would probably seem older than his years warranted.

The King of France! He haunted my dreams. I had never seen him but I had often pictured his dark, satanic face. I had heard it said that no woman was safe once he had cast his lecherous eyes on her. Could it really be that my father would contemplate marrying me to such a man?

Not only had I lost my hero, the Emperor, but there was a possibility that I should be thrown to this monster.

Just as I had thought I was growing up and having power was going to be a wonderful experience, the truth was borne home to me. I was a woman. I could be snatched from my home at any moment. I could be given to any husband who happened to be important in the game of politics. It was the fate of princesses.

I lived in trepidation of the arrival of messengers from Court, demanding my presence that I might be betrothed to the fearsome and terrifying King of France.

THE DAYS BEGAN to pass and no one came to Court. The Countess said that it was such an absurd proposition that no one could take it seriously. I could rest assured that it was just an attempt to show the kindly feelings of England to a recent enemy.

My status at Ludlow had made me more interested in politics. But perhaps that was just because I was growing up. I should have liked to hear more of what was happening among the states of Europe than what occurred in the ancient Roman Empire. I had had a taste of authority and had seen how possible it was that one day I should rule England. My mother was now past childbearing and there was no one but myself; and the fact that I had been made Princess of Wales and given my own little Court at Ludlow was surely significant.

The defection of the Emperor had made me more aware. I must thrust aside sentimentality. I must cease to dream of chivalry and romance. That was not for such as I was, and oddly enough I did not wish it to be different. My little taste of power had changed me. I felt a glow of satisfaction when I thought of the crown.

And then we had a visitor to Ludlow. The Countess brought him to me and said with great pride, “Your Highness, may I present you to my son?”

And there was Reginald Pole. I held out my hand; he took it and kissed it. He was very handsome and I liked him as soon as I saw him. He had a good face, and in spite of my growing cynicism, I very much wished to retain my belief in the triumph of goodness over evil. I warmed to him.

He was respectful but by no means subservient. I might be a Tudor but he was of the Plantagenet line, as royal as I—some would say more so.

He was of middle height and very slender, with a fair complexion, light brown hair and blueish gray eyes—a handsome man, but he had more than good looks. There was a nobility about him which came from within and colored his entire personality.

“Reginald has just returned from Padua, where he has been studying,” went on the Countess.

“Do you intend to stay here in England?” I asked.

“I am as yet unsure, Princess,” he replied. “So much depends on what happens.”

“The King received him with great pleasure,” the Countess told me.

“Yes,” agreed Reginald. “He was very gracious to me. I told him that I should doubtless go to the Carthusian Monastery at Sheen to continue my studies.”

During the next days I was in the company of Reginald Pole a good deal. Although he was many years older than I—about sixteen, I believe—we were drawn to each other. I was glad then that Johannes Ludovicus Vives had made me study as I did because I could see now that I astonished Reginald with my learning.

The Countess was delighted by our friendship, and I believe she contrived it so that we should often be alone together. He used to talk to me as though I were of his own age which flattered me considerably. In Reginald's company I forgot my disappointment at the Emperor's perfidy and the impending dread of a possible marriage with François Premier.

Reginald had a great admiration and love for my father, which delighted me; he was also deeply attached to my mother.

His conversation was erudite but never condescending, and I always felt elevated after my sessions with him. He was frank about the past and my family's accession to the throne. Reginald was the sort of man who would maintain the truth at all costs and have died rather than deny it. He gave me back my belief in mankind. I shall always be grateful to Reginald Pole because he came into my life when I was bewildered and needed to have my faith restored. While there were such men as he was, I could believe in the human race again and should always do so.

He talked about his grandfather, George, Duke of Clarence who had died in the Tower at the instigation, some thought, of his brother King Edward IV.

“Oh,” he said, “it is indeed dangerous to live close to the crown. You will always have to be on your guard, Princess.”

“I know that now.”

“One day you could be Queen of this country. You must be prepared.”

“I will be,” I told him. “I am determined to.”

“You are so young,” he said, smiling tenderly. “I feel I have advanced far in the last year.”

He understood at once. He knew that I had been bandied from the Emperor to the King of France. I think that when a closeness grows up between two people they can often understand what is in each other's minds without the use of words.

“The match with François will never take place,” he assured me.

“I fervently hope and pray that it will not.”

“You can put your fears away. François will have to marry the Emperor's sister. He dare not refuse. His sons are in jeopardy. The match with you was never meant to be taken seriously.”

He told me how delighted he was to see the friendship between me and his mother.

“You are as dear to her as her own flesh and blood,” he told me. “We have been together so long.”

“My mother is a wonderful woman. The King has been good to her. He restored her estates when he came to the throne and that was to compensate for the murder by the previous King of my uncle, the Earl of Warwick, who had a claim to the throne.”

“I know. I am sorry it was my grandfather who behaved so.”

“It is the lust for power. The glitter of the crown. Your grandfather felt it necessary. He was a man who never murdered for the sake of revenge or such motives—only when he feared the security of the crown.”

“Does that excuse him?” I asked.

“In the eyes of some who believe his motives were for the good of the country, yes. Those who think it is for the love of personal aggrandizement and power, no. And some believe that to murder in any circumstances is a mortal sin. You see, when there is more than one claimant to the throne the result can be civil war. Your grandfather, I am convinced, thought that should be stopped at all costs, and if the death of one man can save the lives of many which would be lost if there were war … his actions could be justified.”

“And what do you believe?”

“That each case should be judged by its merits.”

“Then you would excuse the murder of the Princes in the Tower?”

“Ah, you are getting into deep water, Princess. That remains a mystery, and it is always unwise to judge without being in possession of all the facts.”

“Is one ever in possession of all of them?”

“Hardly ever, I imagine.”

“Then it is always unwise to judge.”

He smiled that very sweet and gentle smile which I was growing to love. He said, “I see you are a very logical princess. One must be sure of one's premise when in discussion with you.”

I liked to lure him into talking about himself. He had stories to tell of his first five years at Stourton Castle with his brothers and sister. Henry and Arthur were older than he was, and after his birth Geoffry and Ursula had joined the nursery. I had often heard the Countess talk of them, and I could well imagine that happy household presided over by my dear friend and governess, for most certainly she would give to her own children the same loving care which she had bestowed on me.

He told me how he had loved the Charterhouse at Sheen, where he had spent five years. Like myself, he had taken to learning and had always had the desire to add to his store of knowledge. In many ways we were very much alike. I suppose that was why, in such a short time, we had become such good friends.

“Your father always interested himself in me,” he told me. “He could not forget what happened to my uncle. He carried his father's conscience.”

I glowed with pleasure because of this. I wanted so much for my father to be a good man as well as handsome and distinguished and able to shine above all others. I had uneasy twinges when I heard about the birth of Henry Fitzroy after his elevation, both of which had caused great sorrow to my mother.

“The King insisted on paying for part of my education,” Reginald told me. “He always calls me cousin. Then I went to Oxford, and there my tutor was Doctor Thomas Linacre who, I believe, was concerned with your education.”

“Oh yes—and my Uncle Arthur's too. He is a great scholar.”

“I owe him much. My mother always intended that I should go in the Church. I think my father expressed the wish that I should do so before he died.”

“And do you intend to?”

“Yes… but later. It is a decision I do not want to take just yet. I want to do more study. I want to travel more. I might wish to marry.”

“Yes,” I said. “Perhaps you will.”

He smiled at me and I felt a sudden lifting of the heart. I thought: Suppose they were to choose Reginald for my husband, how should I feel? But of course they would not. In my position I should be reserved for a ruler. I should be betrothed when it was convenient to make some treaty. That did not matter much—the treaty would surely be broken before the marriage took place.

“In the meantime,” he was saying, “I have seen something of the world and I shall see more if I am as fortunate as I have been so far. People have been good to me in my travels abroad. Oh, it was not myself who was honored. It was the King, for I was his representative. There were times, I confess, when I might have been guilty of pride; but I always reminded myself of the truth.”

The days passed with astonishing speed. I was constantly afraid that one day he would tell me he was leaving. But he lingered and his mother smiled benignly on us.

“I believe, Princess,” she said to me, “that my son finds it difficult to tear himself away from Ludlow.”

Then one day messengers arrived. I was terrified that they might bring news of my proposed marriage to François. I had been lulled into a sense of security, for everyone had assured me that there was no danger of the match's ever taking place. But when I saw the messengers I awaited their revelations in trepidation.

In due course the Countess came to me.

“We are to leave Ludlow tomorrow and go to Greenwich,” she told me.

I looked at her apprehensively but her smile told me that my fears were without foundation.

“There will be no marriage with the King of France,” she said. “He has said that he knows of your erudition, your beauty, your virtue, and of course you are of royal birth. He says he has as great a mind to marry you as any woman, but he is sworn to Eleanora, the sister of the Emperor Charles, and she is the one he must take to wife; and while the Emperor has his sons, he has no alternative.”

I clasped my hands together in relief.

“Was that not what I always said?” demanded the Countess.

“It was,” I replied.

She hesitated for a moment, then she said: “There is another proposition.”

I stared at her in growing concern.

“This marriage could not take place for a very long time. As you cannot marry the father, you are to be affianced to his son.”

“He… who is in captivity?”

“With his elder brother, yes. It is to be the little Duke of Orleans for you—the second son of the King of France.”

“He is only a child.”

“That is all to the good. There will be a long delay before the nuptials.”

My pleasure in the knowledge that I was no longer to marry the King of France was dampened a little because I was to take his son. So from a bridegroom who was thirty-two I was to be given one who was three years younger than myself.

I felt frustrated and humiliated. It was distressing to be passed from one to another in this way. At the same time I must rejoice in having escaped a man whose reputation for lechery was notorious; and the little prince did not seem so bad in comparison, particularly as he had such a long way to go before he grew up.

“The French envoys will be coming over soon,” said the Countess, “and you know what this will mean.”

“Yes. We are to leave Ludlow tomorrow.”

“For Greenwich.”

So that pleasant interlude was over. It had lasted for about eighteen months; but it was the last weeks which had been the most enjoyable, and that was due to the presence of Reginald Pole.

GREENWICH HAD ALWAYS BEEN of especial importance to me. I suppose the place where one was born always must be. My father was born there too. He loved it, and it was natural that he should choose it as the place where he would receive the French envoys who had come to draw up the terms of my betrothal to the Prince of France.

My grandfather, King Henry VII, had enlarged the Palace and added a brick front to it where it faced the river. The tower in the park had been started some years before, and he finished it. My grandfather was a man who could never bear disorder. He was, I gathered, constantly anxious lest someone should take the throne from him, and I imagine he felt guilty for having snatched it from the Plantagenets. He was frequently trying to placate God, and at Greenwich he did this by building a convent adjoining the Palace and putting it at the disposal of the Grey Friars.

Everything my father did must be bigger and better than others had achieved before, and when he came to the throne, loving Greenwich dearly as his birthplace, he enlarged it, and it was now more magnificent than it had ever been before.

So it was not surprising that he, who always wished to impress foreigners with his grandeur—and none more than the French—should entertain their envoys at Greenwich.

I was received with affection by him and my mother. My father, ebullient and boisterous, lifted me up as though I were a child and looked at me. He laughed, as though delighted with what he saw, and gave me a hearty kiss on the cheek.

“Ah, you are fortunate, sweetheart,” he said. “You see how I plan for you? You are to have a grand marriage … as you deserve, I know full well. Such reports we have had from my Lady Salisbury. And now for the merrymaking.”

My mother was quiet. The change in her gave me a sick feeling of fear. All was not well. I noticed the gray in her hair; she had put on weight—not healthily—and her skin was sallow.

She smiled at me with great tenderness and I longed to comfort her.

I sensed that something terrible was wrong, though there was no sign of this from my father.

I learned that I was to take a major part in the revels for the French envoys, led by the Bishop of Tarbes, and I must be prepared.

In my apartments, which I shared with the Countess, I was to continue with my studies. I must perfect my French because naturally I should have to converse in that language with the envoys. I must practice my dancing because I should be required to show them how proficient I was in that art. I had to remember that the French set great store on social grace and I must not be found lacking.

I was in a strange mood. I might have been nervous; I certainly was a little resentful that I should be paraded to make sure I was worthy to be the wife of a boy younger than myself; but all these emotions were overshadowed by the fear for my mother's health.

I mentioned to the Countess that she looked ill.

“She has much on her mind, I doubt not,” said the Countess evasively.

There was a strange atmosphere at Court. I noticed whispering, silences, watchful eyes.

I wished I knew what was going on, but no one would tell me.

At length the envoys arrived.

For weeks the banqueting hall at Greenwich had been in the process of refurbishing. Many workmen had been toiling at great speed that the work might be finished in time; there were to be such balls and banquets as never seen before. My father was noted for his extravagant displays, and this was to outshine all that had gone before. In spite of my fears for my mother and my apprehension on my own account, I could not help feeling a certain gratification that this was all done for me.

The banqueting hall astonished all who beheld it. Much had been made of the theater which adjoined the great hall. The French regarded themselves as the great arbiters in the field of the Arts, so my father wished to astonish them with his taste for and appreciation of beauty. He had had silk carpets decorated with fleur-de-lys in gold laid on the floors; and on the ceiling were depicted the moon and stars. Perhaps less tact was shown in the banqueting hall, where there was a picture painted by Hans Holbein at the time of the battle of Thérouanne to celebrate my father's victory over the French, which I thought might dampen their joy in the fleur-de-lys.

In this room I was to perform. Special masques were written for the occasion, and I had to rehearse them with the other ladies who would dance with me.

I enjoyed dancing but there were certain matters which must be thrust to the back of my mind before I gave myself to pleasure. Besides my mother's melancholy, there was the real meaning behind all these lavish celebrations. After all, did I want to marry this little boy? I certainly did not, and it was consoling that he was so young. My marriage was in the future and, as I kept telling myself, such marriages rarely take place.

In due course the envoys arrived. I went to meet them. I was very much aware of my father, beaming happily, but I had already noticed how quickly his moods of affectionate bonhomie could change, and I dreaded to see the frown come over his face and his eyes narrow to points of icy blue, and— most expressive of all—the mouth become a tight line. It was then one must beware.

But all went well. I spoke my French fluently and the envoys were impressed. They paid me gracious compliments, and my father stood by, beaming benignly. All was well. I was passing the test.

We sat down to dine. My father and mother were together at the great table which commanded a full view of the hall. I was at the center of another table with the French envoys and some ladies, all from the most noble families in the land. The feasting seemed to go on interminably, and all the time I must speak graciously in French, which somehow I contrived to everyone's satisfaction. The food was served on gold and silver plates. There was meat, fish and pies of all description and while we ate the musicians played soft music.

When the banquet was over, the entertainment began. Children were brought in to sing and recite. There was a mock battle between righteousness and evil—righteousness naturally victorious.

I had slipped away, as arranged, to play my part. The curtain which divided the theater from the banqueting hall was drawn back to disclose a cave from which I emerged with seven ladies. We were all dressed in cloth of gold and crimson tinsel, with crimson hats covered in pearls and precious stones. As we came out of our cave, seven young gentlemen came out from another and we danced the ballet as we had practiced it. I am glad to say that everything went even better than it had at rehearsals.

There was tremendous applause, and the company made it clear that they had been particularly enchanted by my performance.

The meeting had been very satisfactory, and my father was pleased. That night I went to bed happy, flushed with my triumph.

There were other entertainments, and always I was there, seated close to the French envoys. They were all very gallant to me and I was told that they were astonished by my beauty and my erudition.

There was, however, one word of criticism. Turenne, the French ambassador, remarked that I was undoubtedly handsome and well endowed mentally, but I was spare, sparse and thin and would not be ready for marriage for at least three years.

The Countess, when she heard of this, said with an air of “I told you so” that they had kept me at my desk too long and I had not had enough fresh air and exercise, because Johannes Ludovicus Vives had insisted and she had always been against it. I should be allowed a more normal life—a little more time for recreation in place of so many lessons.

Perhaps she was right, but at least I had been able to converse and impress people with my erudition.

At one entertainment my father led me in the dance and we performed the stately pavanne together. He treated me with great affection and showed everyone, as we danced, how fond he was of me. There was that about my father—and this was so later when much was not well between us—that made any show of affection from him warm the heart; he could banish resentments with a smile; it was this quality which made him what he was and later led him to believe that he could act in any way he pleased.

So happily I danced with him, and that was one of the happiest occasions of the French visit.

Something happened on that night. It was when the music was playing one of the dances that each gentleman asked the lady of his choice to dance with him. The rule was for the King to select his lady and the rest would follow. I had expected him to dance with my mother, but he did not. He had walked across the room and was standing before a girl. I had seen her at some of the revelries before. She was the sort of person whom one would notice. I cannot say what it was about her. She was not beautiful…at least not in the conventional way. But there was something distinctive about her. When I came to compare her with the other ladies, it seemed that there was a uniformity about them and often one could mistake one for another. That could never happen to this girl. No one else looked in the least like her. Her dark hair fell to her waist. Her enormous eyes were sparkling and luminous; her dress was not exactly in the fashion of the day and yet it was more stylish. It had long hanging sleeves and there was a jewel on a band about her neck. I was even more struck by the grace with which she moved.

I noticed that people watched her all the time. I believed they were whispering about her. I meant to ask someone who she was, but I had not done so at that stage.

She seemed a little reluctant to dance but, of course, she could not refuse the King.

The music was playing. The King took her hand, and the dance began. The French ambassador asked me to dance and we fell in behind the King and his partner.

I WAS ALONE with my mother. Such occasions were rare and therefore very precious to me. She told me how proud she was of me. My father was pleased; the French were satisfied; they would carry back a good report of me to the King.

She said suddenly, “The Emperor has become a father.”

I stared at her. I felt my face harden.

She went on, “He has a son…a little boy. He is to be called Philip after the Emperor's father. I wonder if he will be as handsome.”

I was silent. I could not speak.

My mother took my hand and gripped it. I saw the tears on her cheeks.

“Dear Mother,” I began, dropping formality. I stood up and put my arms about her. It seemed as if that were the wrong thing to do, for the tears came faster.

She said, “He has been married such a short time and already he has a son. Why cannot…? Why? Why? What have I done to deserve this? Why is God punishing me?”

I said, “You have me…”

Then she began to weep openly. “You mean more to me, my daughter, than any son could mean, except…except…You see, your father wants sons. Oh, you will have to know sooner or later. How much longer can it be kept from you?”

“Tell me, Mother, tell me,” I begged.

“But you are a child still…”

“The envoys thought I was far from stupid.”

She stroked my hair. “You are my clever daughter. I want you to know that I love you. It has been my great sorrow that we have had to be apart so often.”

“I always understood,” I told her, kissing her hand. “Please tell me. Perhaps I can comfort you.”

“Your father would be rid of me.”

“But…no…how…?”

“He seeks means. He says he is afraid our marriage is no true marriage and that is why I have been unable to give him sons.”

“But you are the Queen…”

“You know I was married before.”

“Yes, to Prince Arthur. Everyone knows.”

“In the Bible it says that if a man marries his brother's widow the union shall be childless.”

“But why…?”

“It is said to be unclean. Again and again I have told him that I was never Arthur's wife in the true sense.”

“And you are not childless. You have me… and there were others.”

“You, my dearest, are the only one who survived and you are a girl.”

“I see, he thinks God is punishing him for disobeying His Laws.”

“I would never disobey God's Laws. I was never Arthur's wife. Your father is the only man I have known as a husband.”

“You have told him that.”

“A thousand times.”

“Dearest Mother, do not grieve. Everyone will understand.”

“Your father is determined. He says he must have a son…a legitimate son. And the only way he can do that is by ridding himself of me.”

I was puzzled. It seemed impossible to me. My mother was the Queen. My father was married to her, so how could he marry someone else in order to get a son?

I said, “I know he wants a son. All rulers do. They despise our sex. It is very sad. But my father is married to you and if it is God's will that he shall not have a son, there is nothing he can do about it.”

“Kings are very powerful, daughter.”

“But…he is married…”

“Marriages are, in some circumstances, set aside.”

“Set aside!”

“A dispensation from the Pope…”

“But even the Pope cannot go against the Holy Laws of the Church.”

She said, “We shall fight for our place. I will fight … and it will be mainly for you.”

“For me?”

“Oh, I forget your youth. You make me forget it, daughter, because you are so serious and I am so distraught.”

“Dearest Mother, I do understand. I know how you have suffered for a long time.”

“You knew that?”

“I have seen it in your face… because I love you so much.”

“My poor child. I will fight for your position as well as for my own, for you see, if this terrible thing came to pass, you would no longer be the Princess of Wales.”

“But I am the Princess of Wales. I am the King's daughter…”

“It is hard to explain. If the King were to prove that his marriage to me was no true marriage, although we have lived for all those years as husband and wife, in the eyes of the Church our marriage would be no true marriage and therefore our child would not be the legitimate heir to the throne.”

As the enormity of this swept over me, I felt deeply shocked.

“That could never be,” I said.

My mother answered, “We must see that it never comes to pass.”

We sat for a long time, I at her feet clinging to her hands. We were silent, she no doubt brooding on the past years, perhaps remembering the happiness she had enjoyed with my father during the first years of their marriage and I shocked and bewildered by the sudden realization of what had been going on for so long.

It was the reason for my mother's sadness, the silences of the Countess. They had believed me too young at eleven to understand that which could have had a devastating effect on my future.

I was afraid of the future; I was afraid of my powerful father. Young as I was I knew that my fate, and that of my mother, was in the hands of a ruthless man.

Yet, I was glad that at last I knew what it was all about.

REGINALD HAD COME to Court with us from Ludlow and I had an opportunity of talking to him.

I said bluntly, “I know now what has been troubling my mother for so long. My father fears theirs is no true marriage. You know of it, I suppose.”

“Yes,” he answered.

“I dareswear everyone at Court knows of it.”

“Many do,” he admitted, “although it is known as the King's Secret Matter.”

“What will happen?” I asked.

“What can happen? Your father is married to the Queen. There is an end of it.”

“But if the marriage was no true marriage…?”

“It was a true marriage.”

“My father thinks that, because my mother was married before to his brother Arthur, it was against the laws of Holy Church that he and she should marry.”

“It has taken him a long time to come to this decision.”

“It has been brought to him because God has denied him sons.”

“There could be a number of reasons for that.”

“But he thinks it is because he married his brother's widow.”

Reginald shook his head. “My mother prays for a son,” I went on. “If only she could have one, all would be well.”

Reginald looked at me sadly. “My dear Princess,” he said, “you are too young to bother your head with such matters.”

“But they concern me,” I pointed out.

“You are thinking of your right to the throne. If your father does not have a son, you will be Queen one day. Would that mean so much to you?”

I hesitated. I was remembering the months at Ludlow where I had had my own little Court. Power. Yes, there was an intoxication about it. It would be my right to follow my father, to rule the country… unless there was a brother to replace me. “I see,” he said, “that ambition has already cast its spell over you.”

“Are you not ambitious, Reginald?”

He was silent for a while. “I think we all have the seeds of ambition in us,” he said at length. “Some might have ambition to possess a crown; others for a peaceful life. It is all ambition in a way.”

“You could advance high in the Church.”

“I am not sure that I want that. I want to see the world…to learn. There is so much to be discovered. When you are older, you will understand. And now … do not grieve. This will pass, I am sure. Your father is restive. Men sometimes are at certain periods of their lives. He is disappointed because he has no son. He looks around for reasons. This will pass. It must pass. The Pope will never grant him what he wants. There is the Emperor Charles to be considered.”

“Why the Emperor?”

He said gently, “The Emperor is the Queen's nephew. He would never agree that your mother should be set aside. It would be an insult to Spain. The Emperor is the most powerful man in Europe… and his recent successes have made him more important than ever. The sons of the King of France are his hostages.”

“My bridegroom is one of them.”

“Oh, these treaties, these marriages! They hardly ever come to anything when they are between children.”

“You comfort me, Reginald.”

“That is what I shall always do if it is in my power.”

He stooped and kissed my forehead.

I was thankful for Reginald.

THE ONLY BRIGHTNESS during that anxious time was due to his presence and the fact that I was under the same roof as my mother.

She and the Countess were often together; they had always been the best of friends. They were often in deep conversation, and I was sure my mother was completely frank with the Countess, for she trusted her absolutely.

I had grown up considerably since leaving Ludlow; and when I was in that pleasant spot I had emerged from my childhood to get a notion of what it really meant to rule.

But to be plunged into this tragedy which surrounded my mother had brought a new seriousness into my life.

I wished that I knew more. It is frustrating to be on the edge of great events and to be afforded only the sort of view one would get by looking through a keyhole.

Reginald was often with us, and the four of us would be alone together—my mother, the Countess, Reginald and myself. I am sure that both the Countess and her son did a great deal to sustain my mother, but there was little anyone could do to lift the menacing threat which hung over her.

She had suffered neglect and poverty after Prince Arthur's death, when her father did not want her to return to Spain and my grandfather did not want her in England. For seven years she had lived thus until my father had gallantly and romantically married her. I think she feared that she would be forced into a similar position to that which she had suffered before, if the King, my father, deserted her.

She had great determination. She was going to fight…if not for herself, for me, because my fate was so wrapped up in hers.

She was pleased to see my friendship with Reginald, and it suddenly occurred to me that she and the Countess would be happy to see a marriage between us. Instinctively I knew it was a subject often discussed between them. I was excited by this prospect. How wonderful it would be to marry someone one knew, rather than to be shipped off to some hitherto unseen prince because of a clause in a treaty.

I began to think how happy I could be with Reginald. I was eleven years old. He was twenty-seven or -eight. That was a big difference but we were good friends and could be more, for I, brought up on the rules of Vives, was more learned than most people of my age and there had been a rapport between myself and Reginald from the start. It was not so incongruous as it might seem. He was a royal Plantagenet, and if I were to be Queen one day he would be King. The people would like to see the two Houses joined. That was always a stabilizing factor. It would be like the alliance of the Houses of Tudor and York, when my grandfather Henry VII had married Elizabeth of York, daughter of Edward IV, thus putting an end to the Wars of the Roses.

It was a wonderful, comforting thought during those months.

I was often present when the Countess and my mother talked together. I think they had come to the conclusion that now I was aware of the King's Secret Matter, it might not be harmful for me to know more of it, for, after all, I was deeply involved in it.

Thus it was that I learned of those farcical proceedings when my father had been summoned to York Place where the Cardinal lived in sumptuous splendor.

There the King had allowed himself to be charged with immorality because he was living with a woman who was not, in the eyes of the Church, his wife.

The idea of my father's being summoned anywhere by his subjects was ludicrous. But meekly he had gone; humbly he had listened to their accusations—which, of course, he had ordered them to make. Archbishop Warham had presided.

“John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, was present,” said the Countess. “I have always held him to be one of the most saintly men I know.”

“It was Doctor Wolman, I believe, who was making the case against the King,” added my mother.

“And Doctor Bell was the King's Counsel,” said the Countess. She added scornfully, “I can imagine it. ‘Henry, King of England, you are called into this archiepiscopal court to answer a charge of living in sin with your brother's wife.'”

“It is so false. It is so untrue!” burst out my mother. “I was never Arthur's wife in truth.”

They seemed to have forgotten my presence, and I sat there quietly, trying to efface myself lest they should remember me and cease to talk so frankly.

I could imagine it all… that scene with my father looking shocked and anxious. It was a grave charge which they were bringing against him. If he had not wished it to be made, those who made it would have doubtless lost their heads by now. The case for the validity of the marriage was that, on account of Arthur's health, the marriage had not been consummated. Pope Julius II had given a dispensation, and the King had innocently believed that all was in order.

“And now the Bishop of Tarbes has said this monstrous thing …” said my mother.

She looked at me and stopped, and the Countess abruptly changed the subect.

But they had aroused my suspicions. I must discover what the Bishop of Tarbes had suggested.

They were subdued after that, and their conversation was constrained. I knew I was ignorant of a great deal regarding this matter. But after a while they could not resist the temptation to talk of it, and then they seemed to forget my presence.

The Countess said, “Archbishop Warham is an old man. Old men seek comfort. He wants to live peacefully in his old age. He will agree with all the King wishes him to.”

“And we know what that is,” said my mother tragically.

“Warham declares that, if the marriage with Arthur was consummated, you were truly his wife and therefore the King has married his brother's widow.”

“It was not. It was not. I tell all it was not. I was a virgin when I married the King.”

“John Fisher is an honest man. He declared that the Pope had given the dispensation so that the King could suppress his fears. He had no doubt that his marriage was a good one. There was a Bull from the Pope to legalize it. There was no need for the King to question the validity.” The Countess looked at my mother with the utmost sympathy and, seeking to comfort her, went on, “The King spoke so well of you. He said that through the years of your marriage he had found in you all he could hope for in a wife.”

“Save this one thing,” said my mother, “and that of the greatest importance.”

“It is only the suggestion of the Bishop of Tarbes …” She paused. Then she went on, “We know differently. It is not an unusual occurrence. It is just that this is the King…”

“And his need for sons.”

“He said that, if he had to marry again and if it were not a sin to choose you, you are the one he would marry. He would select you among all others.”

“Words,” said my mother bitterly.

#x201C;Words hiding the truth.”

They were silent again. The the Countess said briskly, “Well, they have settled nothing.”

“I believe the King is very disappointed with them. He greatly desired the matter to be settled.”

The Countess took my mother's hand and held it firmly.

“It cannot be,” she said. “The good men of the Church would never allow it… nor would the people.”

“I think you underestimate the determination of the King,” said my mother sadly.

I sat there quietly watching them. I knew this was by no means an end of the matter.

IÑIGO DE MENDOZA, the Spanish ambassador, called to see my mother and was with her for a long time.

The Countess was silent and withdrawn. It was no use trying to get her to talk. I wished that they would not leave me so much in the dark. They were thinking that I was too young to understand. I chafed against my youth. My future was involved. I should know. This matter concerned me. And I was determined to find out all I could.

In time I learned what was said to have aroused the trouble. It had come about during the betrothal celebrations. The Bishop of Tarbes had said that, since the King was questioning the validity of his marriage to the Queen, did that not throw some doubts on my legitimacy? The King of France was very ready to agree to a proposed marriage between his son and me if I were Princess of Wales. But how would he feel if I were an illegitimate daughter of the King?

Henry Fitzroy would be heir to the throne if he were legitimate—as a bastard he could never be that. And now some people—including my own father—were attempting to prove that I was in like case.

My father lived in fear of offending God by living with a woman who was not in His eyes his wife. My father was emphatic. He could have accepted the judgement of the Bishop of Rochester but he did not.

He had his reasons.

It was the first time I had heard the name of Anne Boleyn.

WHILE THIS WAS GOING on, a terrible event took place which was to shock the world for years to come.

It was the sacking of the City of Rome. Everyone was talking about it. Tales of horror were on every lip. It was incredible that such terrible deeds could be perpetrated by man.

Reginald talked to me about it. As a deeply religious man, he was much affected.

“There has never been such a tragedy in the history of the world,” he said. “It was the Constable of Bourbon's men.”

“The French…”

“No. No. Bourbon was on the side of the Emperor. Bourbon and François had been warring together for years, and Bourbon was fighting with the Emperor.”

“So the Emperor's allies did this terrible thing.”

“The Emperor would never have agreed to it. Nor would Bourbon himself if he had been alive. He was killed at the beginning of the affray. Had he not been, he would have controlled the rough soldiery, I doubt not. No man of education would ever have allowed that to happen. It is a blot on Christendom. I do believe Bourbon had no wish to attack Rome, but his men were unpaid, they had marched for miles and they were hungry. There was only one way to retrieve something from the campaign: loot. And where could they find it in more abundance than in the City of Rome? They stormed the city. There was no defense. They decimated the churches, they stole rich ornaments. They were all determined to make up for their months of hardship, lack of spoils, lack of food.”

It was hard for a girl of eleven to understand all the horrors which took place during those fearful five days when the soldiers pillaged Rome. I heard later of the terrible happenings. The nuns, hoping their robes would protect them, were seized at the altars where they knelt in prayer and were lewdly stripped of their robes and raped in the most horrible manner. Drunken soldiers roamed the streets. There were mock processions in the churches. The fact that foul deeds were performed in holy places had lent a fillip to the disgusting behavior of these wicked men. They brought prostitutes into the churches. They mocked God, the Pope and all Rome stood for.

Pope Clement VII had escaped to Castel Sant' Angelo with thirteen of the cardinals. There he was safe from the mob.

But he was at the mercy of the Emperor, and my father was seeking papal help in annulling his marriage. The Emperor would never allow the Pope to help my father divorce his wife.

So the Sack of Rome had a special significance for the King.

WHEN I HEARD the name of Anne Boleyn, I determined to find out all I could about her.

There was no doubt that she was the most attractive woman at Court. Before I had known what part she was going to play in our lives, I had noticed her. She dazzled. She had all the arts of seduction at her fingertips. Brought up in France, there was a foreignness about her which I suppose some men found attractive. Her magnificent dark hair and her big, luminous eyes were her great beauty, but everything about her was arresting. It was clear that she paid great attention to her dress. I heard she designed her own clothes. The outstanding feature of her elegant gowns was the hanging sleeves which hid the deformity on one of her fingers. Her enemies used to say that she had a mark on her neck which few had seen because it was always covered by a jeweled band. It marked her as a witch, they said. I was not sure about that, but there were times, when my hatred for her was at its height, when I made myself believe it.

She had come from the Court of France whither she had gone when a child in the train of my Aunt Mary Tudor who went there to marry the ageing Louis XII. She had not returned until soon after the occasion of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, on account of the rapidly deteriorating relations between France and England. She was then to marry Piers Butler because there was some dispute in the Boleyn family about a title, and the marriage of Anne to the son of the Butlers had been arranged to settle the matter.

My father must have been aware of her at that time, for the proposed marriage was mysteriously prevented. I could not believe that at that time he thought of marrying her. The suggestion would have been too preposterous. I was shocked to hear that Mary Boleyn, Anne's sister, had been my father's mistress for some time.

These rumors of his philanderings upset me very much when I first heard of them. Now I know that that is the way of men. Well, Mary Boleyn was his mistress and I suppose that at the time of Anne's return to England the King became aware of her and decided to replace one sister with another.

I heard, too, about the passionate love between Anne and young Henry Percy, the eldest son of the Earl of Northumberland, and how they planned to marry. That would have been a very good match for Mistress Anne Boleyn, for although her father had received many honors, largely because of the favor the King showed to Mary Boleyn, and Anne's mother was a Howard of the great Norfolk family, her father had his roots in trade. There was some story of an ancestor's being a merchant. True, he had acquired a title and become Lord Mayor, but still trade.

Anne no doubt thought all was set fair. She had been so much in love with Percy, people said. As for Percy, he was besotted. People used to marvel at her devotion to him, because he was not a heroic sort of young man but rather weak. That he adored her was not surprising but her genuine love for him was amazing, for they said it was not due to the great title he would one day inherit.

I grew to hate her so much that I could not see any good in her; but later on, when her terrible fate overtook her, my bitterness diminished a little and I often thought that, if she had been allowed to marry Percy, she could have been a happy wife and mother and much anguish spared to many.

My father, by this time, was beginning to be deeply enamoured of her and ordered Wolsey to prevent the marriage with Percy going ahead. Young Henry Percy was humiliated by the Cardinal, and the Earl of Northumberland was sent for. He came to London and berated his son for his folly. Henry Percy was banished to Northumberland, and Anne Boleyn to Hever.

I could imagine her grief and anger. She would be passionate in her emotion, although at the time she would not have known that the breaking up of their match had been due to the effect she was having on the King and that he was forming plans for her. She thought it was because she was not considered of noble enough breeding to mate with the mighty House of Northumberland, which had deeply wounded her dignity.

The rest of the story is well known: her return to Court at the instigation of the King, a place in my mother's household as one of her ladies-inwaiting, where she could grace the Court with her special talents of dancing, singing and writing masques with the young poets of the Court, most of whom were her slaves.

She was one of those women who I believe are called a femme fatale. My father was not the only one who desired her.

I did not know—I am not sure even now after so many years have passed—whether she deliberately set out to wear the crown. She could not in the beginning have believed this possible—she, from a family associated with trade—and in any case the King already had a wife. It seemed quite preposterous. No, I think at that stage she might have been sincere.

When he made it clear that he wished to be her lover she told him that she would not be the mistress of any man and as, by reason of her unworthiness and the fact that he was married, she could not be his wife, that must be an end of his aspirations.

It was bold. But then, she lived by boldness. It had served her well in the beginning, but it was to be her downfall in the end.

My father could not bear to be crossed; in any case, he was obsessed by the woman. He wanted her so desperately that he contemplated drastic steps to get her.

We could not believe it at first—not even Wolsey, who knew the King as well as any of us. Wolsey was our enemy—my mother's and mine. He was a clever man who believed there was a need to produce a male heir, but for him there was a greater need than that, which was to placate the King. But he was an astute politician who would immediately see the folly in divorcing my mother in order to put Anne Boleyn on the throne. He had his eyes on an alliance with France. Divorce my mother, yes, but only in order to marry a princess, possibly of France.

I did not know how much the proposed divorce was due to the lack of a son and how much to the King's desire for Anne Boleyn. My father was adept at dissembling. He had the gift of being able to deceive himself in the face of logic, and he did it so effectively that one was inclined to believe him…as he believed himself.

He came to my mother one day and I was present. Looking back now, I think that made a turning point in our relationship.

My mother and I were embroidering together, which was something we often did. The Countess said it had a soothing effect and calmed the nerves. It did seem to do so, for my mother would become quite interested in the stitches and we would sometimes talk of happier subjects than that one which was uppermost in our minds.

When my father arrived, I rose and curtsied. He came toward us, smiling benignly.

“Well, Kate,” he said to my mother, “I would speak with you.”

He turned to me and laid a hand on my shoulders.

“So…you are keeping your mother company? Good. Very good. And getting on with your studies so that you do not disgrace us, eh?”

There was a faraway look in his eyes, and his mouth showed signs of tightening. They were aspects which always alarmed me as well as others because I was beginning to recognize what they meant.

His hand went to my head and he patted it.

“Growing up now. Well, well, I would speak with your mother. Go now. Go to your governess. Leave us…”

I curtsied and went, but on the other side of the door I paused. There was a small ante-room which led into the chamber in which they now were. I slipped into that room. I was going to commit the sin of eavesdropping. I could not restrain myself. So often I had felt I was groping in the dark, and how could I comfort my mother, how could I protect myself, if I did not know fully what against?

Shamelessly I hid myself and listened. The door was slightly ajar, and I could hear every word.

“It is time we discussed this matter which is causing me so much grief,” he said.

“I wish to do so with all my heart,” she replied. “Ah,” he went on. “How well I remember the time we went through the ceremony of marriage. Do you recall it? You were so desolate.”

“Yes, neglected by all…”

“I suffered with you…my brother's widow … unwanted in Spain and no place for you here. I shall never forget.”

“I also have good reason to remember.”

“Unhappy days… until I changed all that.”

“Yes, you changed it.”

“All seemed set fair. We were young. We were in love. I was a romantic boy. I wanted to do what was right. I wanted to help you.”

“You were pleased with my person, I believe.”

“Kate…I have always been pleased with your person. It is this question which they are raising. It gives me sleepless nights. I cannot rest. It is on my mind … on my conscience. I feel a great anger against these probing churchmen who have raised this question. They believe ours is no true marriage. Think what that means, Kate.”

“I do not have to. It is untrue.”

“They quote the scriptures. That cannot be ignored. I vow my desire is to tell them to hold their peace … to leave us … but I cannot do that, Kate. My conscience…it plagues me… night and day it asks me to stop and consider. I am committing a sin in the eyes of God.”

“Your conscience must have been troubling you for some time,” said my mother coldly, “regarding Bessie Blount and Mary Boleyn.”

“Oh come, come, such talk does no good. It was that fellow Tarbes… that monstrous suggestion about our daughter.”

“It is unforgivable.”

“Unforgivable… but is it true, Kate? Think of what has happened to us. We have been denied that which we most desire…a son, Kate. God has made it clear that He is displeased. Every time…every time…”

“We have our dear daughter.”

“Yes…yes… and none dearer…a cherished child, but a girl, Kate. A girl… when the country needs a man to follow me.”

“There have been worthy queens.”

“A queen cannot lead an army.”

“I was your regent while you were in France.”

“My mother did, and a good one, too. Ah, Kate, if only this man had not raised that question! It is too late now for us to get sons. My concern for your health…”

“And your desire for a new wife.”

“You joke. You know that is not my desire… though I could be forced to it… for the people, Kate, for the sake of the country… for the hope of a son.”

“And to satisfy your own desire.”

“For a son, Kate, only for a son. By God's Holy Blood, I would He had granted us a son… just one healthy son… and I would shake my fist at this Tarbes and anyone who dares raise such a question. I would not have it.”

“Yet you will,” said my mother softly.

“If I could quieten my conscience…if I could turn my face from the truth…I would be the happiest man on Earth.”

“You need not concern yourself, for it is lies. I was never Arthur's wife.”

“If I could but ease my conscience…”

I was almost on the point of dashing into the room and shouting at him, “Stop it. Stop talking of your conscience. We know too much. It is not your conscience you must appease but your desire for a new wife.”

I stood uncertain for a moment but I knew I must not betray my presence. I wondered what would happen if he knew that I had listened to their conversation, that I knew he was living a lie, that he wanted this divorce. He wanted to be rid of my mother even though I should be proclaimed illegitimate.

He was untrue to us and to himself.

I could not bear to hear him mention his conscience once more. I crept silently out of the ante-room and made my way to my bedchamber.

NOW THAT I SAW my father afresh, I placed myself firmly on my mother's side. My father had said they should no longer live together, for he feared it was sin in the eyes of Heaven. His talk about his conscience had seemed to me so blatantly insincere; and I had heard the whispers about Anne Boleyn. As she was at Court, one of my mother's women, I saw her now and then. She fascinated me. She scintillated and dazzled all those about her. She was surrounded by the wittiest of the young men, all the poets and the musicians; she planned the masques; laughter rang out round her; and the King wanted all the time to be close to her.

I was deeply aware of her blinding brilliance, her quick wits, her sharp, clever face. It frightened me. My tenderness for my mother was almost painful. I would sit and watch her sad, sad face and feel sick at heart. I longed beyond everything to comfort her.

Once she caught me looking at her and, taking my hand, she smiled at me.

“You must not grieve, dearest child,” she said. “It may not come to pass, you know. He cannot put me away from him. I am his true wife. Moreover I am the daughter of a great King and Queen. They are both dead now, it is true, but I am still a Princess of Spain as well as a Queen of England.”

“The Emperor would not allow it to happen,” I said confidently.

“I think you are right.”

“Does he know of it? It is called the King's Secret Matter, so it must be secret to some.”

“It is not easy to keep such secrets. The Court knows what is happening. In the streets they are talking of it. The Emperor would never allow the King to harm me, and the Emperor is more powerful than ever since he defeated the French. Your father has tried to get the Pope's sanction to a divorce but, as you know, the Pope is now virtually a prisoner in Castel Sant' Angelo. One could say he is the Emperor's prisoner. Your father is very angry about that.”

“His conscience worries him, he says.”

My mother smiled wanly, then she said, “This is too much to burden you with, dear child. You are too young fully to grasp the significance of this.”

“I do grasp it,” I said.

“Perhaps you should, for it could be vital to your future.”

“I know that, my lady.”

“Then listen. I will tell you a secret. I have sent one of my servants to Spain. He has taken a letter from me to the Emperor in which I have told him exactly what is happening.”

I clasped my hands together in relief.

“Everything will be well now,” I said with conviction. I still remembered the hero of my youth.

MY MOTHER WAS JUBILANT, for she had received an answer from the Emperor, brought to her through the ambassador Mendoza.

She called me to her, for she knew what my feeling for the Emperor had been.

“Here is his reply,” she said.

“He is deeply shocked. He says that, because I have been married to him for so long, the King has forgotten that I am a Princess of Spain, and the Emperor will not allow a member of his family to be treated thus. He is sending Cardinal Quiñones, General of the Franciscans, to Rome without delay. He will be in charge of the affair there. He writes, ‘My dear Aunt…' Yes, he calls me his dear Aunt. ‘You can be assured that Clement, still in Castel Sant' Angelo, will not be in a position to flout my wishes.'”

“What a wonderful message!” I cried.

I threw myself into her arms, forgetting all formality owed to the Queen, and we laughed together although we were near to tears.

THERE WAS SO MUCH about this affair that I learned later, and I was able to fit the information together like pieces in a puzzle. Consequently I now understand more than I did at the time it happened.

I think few of us believed then that the King really meant to marry Anne Boleyn. It seemed then preposterous; but my father was a most powerful man; he was the despotic ruler of our country, and it was only the heads of other countries who could prevent his having his own way. The divorce would have been settled in a few months but for the fact that the Queen was the aunt of the most powerful man in Europe; and, this being a matter for the Church, the Pope was involved—and that Pope was now virtually the Emperor's prisoner.

I can well imagine how my father raged against fate which had arranged the Sack of Rome at this time. An amenable pope could have given the divorce as popes had done in the past to powerful men who sought such— and the matter would have been at an end.

But what was accursed bad fortune for my father was good for my mother and me. I knew she believed right until she was proved wrong that the delay would bring the King to his senses and that he would tire of the waiting game. So prevarication and any obstacles which would stand in the way of my father's attaining his goal were welcome.

Now that so much is clear, and looking back on the facts that are known to many, it is easy to understand. He really did intend to marry Anne Boleyn. He was so enamoured of her, and she was adamant. His mistress she would not be, so that if he would possess her he must marry her. Someone had to give way. I often wondered about his conscience. He talked of it often, and it was always there to help him get what he wanted. It was serving him well over this matter of the divorce. It must have been so comforting to blame his conscience and not his lust. Oddly enough, sometimes I am sure that he really did believe in that conscience. It forced him to work against Wolsey and was probably the beginning of the rift between them.

Wolsey was not averse to the divorce. No doubt he agreed that a male heir would be an advantage, and it was clear that my father would never get one from my mother. She was so much older than he was, and even when she was younger she had shown how difficult it was for her to bear healthy children. The constant theme all those years had been: All those attempts and only one daughter!

So Wolsey was for the divorce but certainly not for marriage with Anne Boleyn. He must have feared the increasing power of her family. Anne Boleyn was his proclaimed enemy. She blamed him for breaking up the betrothal between her and Henry Percy though she must, by this time, have known that he was acting on the King's orders. There could be no joy for Wolsey in a marriage between Anne Boleyn and the King, so he was scheming to bring about a stronger alliance with a French princess to replace my mother.

The King, who normally would have stated his pleasure and expected everyone to fall in with his wishes, was wary of Wolsey, for he knew that he was proposing something which must seem outrageous to most of his courtiers. First he wanted his divorce, and Wolsey to be presented with a fait accompli. I often wondered why he was not as frank as he might have been with Wolsey. It might have been because he respected the man and really had a great fondness for him. In any case, he allowed Wolsey to go to France and get François' approval for the divorce and to suggest the King's marriage to one of the princesses of France.

My father had called on his conscience so many times that it began to have a life of its own and would not always be guided by him. It now began to disturb him on account of his previous relationship with Mary Boleyn and, since he had lived on intimate terms with the sister of the woman he intended to marry, was he not in a similar position to that of which he was trying to accuse my mother? I knew this because it came to light later that he had sent one of his secretaries, a certain Dr. Knight, to the Pope to get a dispensation in advance so that he could feel perfectly free to marry Anne.

This mission had to be kept secret from Wolsey, who was at this time presenting himself to François suggesting a French marriage for the King. So my father was playing a double game in his own immediate circle. Poor Wolsey. Although he was no friend to my mother and me and would have cast us off without qualm if need be, I could spare a little pity for him. He had risen so high, and it is always harder for such people when the fall comes.

I did catch a glimpse of Wolsey setting out on his mission. Pride and love of splendor would be his downfall, I thought then. He rode with as much pomp as the King himself. He was at the center of his entourage on his mule caparisoned in crimson velvet, with stirrups of copper and gilt. Two crosses of silver, two silver pillars, the Great Seal of England and his Cardinal's Hat were all carried before him. It was a magnificent show, and people came out of their houses to catch a glimpse of it as it passed. They watched it sullenly, murmuring under their breath “Butcher's Cur.”

I have come to learn that the lowly, instead of admiring those who have risen, are so consumed with envy toward them that they cannot contain their animosity. I often wondered why they did not regard them as an example to be emulated; but no, they prefer to hate. Wolsey's exaggerated splendor increased their anger against him, I always believed. They did not like his habit of carrying an orange which was stuffed with unguents as an antidote to the foul smells which came from the press of people. This seemed to stress the difference between them and himself. It was small wonder that it added to the resentment.

It must have been during that visit to France that Wolsey realized his influence with the King was in decline, for one of his spies managed to steal papers from Dr. Knight's baggage, and so the Cardinal knew that my father had sent Dr. Knight to act in complete opposition to him. It was the writing on the wall. What could Wolsey do? How could he assume any authority if the King was working against him? He must have returned from that visit to France a disillusioned man.

I heard about his return. The King was surrounded by his courtiers, Anne Boleyn at his side, when Wolsey sent a messenger to tell him of his arrival, expecting my father to tell him he would receive him at once and naturally in private. He was travel-stained and wished to wash and change his linen before meeting the King, but Anne imperiously ordered him to come to them as he was, there in the banqueting hall. Wolsey was dismayed. This was not the treatment he was accustomed to, but when the King did not countermand Anne Boleyn's order, he must have known this was the end.

The King intended to marry the woman; and farseeing, clever as he was, Wolsey could see that there would be no place for him at Court while she was there.

When my mother heard what had happened, she was very melancholy.

It seemed that the King was determined.

She said, “But time is on our side. He will tire of her in due course. I am sure of it.”

She was right in a way, but she did not see it. Perhaps she knew him too well to trust in his fidelity. Heaven knew, she had had experience of his nature in this respect.

There was little comfort for us except in the love and support of the people. When my mother and I took a barge from Greenwich to Richmond, they lined the banks of the river to cheer us. The sound was heartening. “Long live the Queen! Long live the Princess!”

Did we imagine it or was there an extra fervor in their cheers? How much did they know of the King's plan to replace my mother and disinherit me?

THERE WAS TROUBLE EVERYWHERE. My father was on unfriendly terms with the Emperor. There was no doubt that he was shocked by my father's attempts to divorce my mother and regarded it as an insult to Spain. I rejoiced that she had such a strong champion. This meant a halt to trade, which caused unrest in the country. England did a certain amount of business with Spain but that with the Netherlands was vital to our people and especially the clothiers of Suffolk. As before, the manufacturers found it necessary to discharge workers and there was a return of the riots.

My father had always dreaded to lose his subjects' affection. I had never seen anyone so delighted by approval as he was. Despot that he was, he wanted to be loved. It was a measure of his infatuation with Anne Boleyn that he risked their displeasure.

However, there was an immediate truce with the Netherlands.

Then disaster struck. The sweating sickness came to England.

This was the most dreaded disease which seemed to strike our country more than any other, to such an extent that it was often known as the “English Sweat.” There was a superstition about it because it had first appeared in the year 1485, at the time of the battle of Bosworth Field when my grandfather, Henry VII, had become King after defeating Richard III. People said it was revenge on the Tudors for having usurped the throne; and now here it was again when my father was contemplating divorcing my mother.

It was dreaded by all and was so called because the victim was struck until his death—which was usually the outcome—by profuse sweating. It was a violent fever; it rendered those who suffered from it with pains in the head and stomach and a terrible lethargy. The heat the patient had to endure was intense, and any attempt to cool it meant instant death.

When victims were discovered in London, there was great consternation.

The Court broke up. The King believed that the best way to escape the disease was to leave for the country without delay and move from place to place, and this he proceeded to do.

I could not help feeling great satisfaction when I heard that Anne Boleyn had caught the disease. She was immediately sent to Hever, away from the Court.

My father was deeply distressed and sent his second-best physician—but only because his first was away—to look after her. This was Dr. Butts, a man of great reputation. I heard my father was in a panic lest she die.

I frankly hoped she would.

I said to my mother and the Countess, “This is God's answer. When she is dead, all our troubles will be over.”

My mother answered, “It may be that her death would not be the end of our troubles.”

I retorted angrily, “My father says that he is afraid his marriage is no true marriage but the truth is that he wants to marry Anne Boleyn.”

The Countess looked at me steadily. Since they had known I was aware of what was happening, they had treated me more like an adult, talking to me frankly—and at least I was grateful for that.

She said, “He wants to marry Anne Boleyn, but it is true that he wants sons, too.”

“And he thinks she will provide them.”

“He has two desires—one for her, and one for sons.”

“Suppose she could not have them?”

The Countess said slowly, “Well, then it would depend…”

“On what?”

“How deep is his feeling for her? Is it love? We shall never know perhaps. I will say this: I have a feeling that these negotiations will drag on for a long, long time.”

“But I wish she would die,” I said. “It will save us all much unhappiness if she does.”

The Countess was silent. I was sure she agreed with me that that would be the best solution.

DURING THAT PERIOD everyone at Court realized how obsessed the King was by Anne Boleyn. I was in dark despair. My hatred for the woman overshadowed everything for me; she was never out of my thoughts. I gloated over the fact that she was suffering from the dreaded disease. I reminded myself again and again that there were not many who survived. People said it was a punishment from God. Surely, if God's wrath should be turned against anyone, that should be Anne Boleyn. So I whipped up my hatred. I prayed for her death. What a wonderful release that would be!

My father wrote often to her. He was plunged into melancholy. Hourly he waited for news from Hever. So did I… for the news that she was dead.

But she did not die. She was nursed back to health by her devoted stepmother. My father was joyful. His sweetheart was saved. Meanwhile my mother and I had been traveling from place to place with the Court.

“God is not on our side,” I said bitterly, and my mother admonished me.

“Whatever happens,” she said, “we must endure it because it is God's will.” So when the epidemic was over, we were in the same position as we had been in before it started.

That year was the most unhappy I had lived through—up to that time. I did not know then, mercifully, that it was only a beginning. I thanked God that I was surrounded by those I loved. I was with my mother each day, I had my dear Countess, and there was also Lady Willoughby, my mother's greatest friend. Maria de Salinas had been with her when she came from Spain and had stayed beside her ever since. She had married in England and become Lady Willoughby but their friendship had remained steadfast.

Then, of course, there was Reginald. How grateful I was for his company. He had said that he would not stay in England but I think perhaps my need of him made him change his mind. He was very fond of my mother and, like us all, greatly saddened by her suffering.

I would be thirteen years old in the February of the following year. Perhaps I flatter myself but I am sure I was like a girl at least four years older. My education and upbringing had done that for me. Moreover at an early age I had been aware of my responsibilities and of a great future either as the wife of a monarch or as ruler in my own right.

I was often in Reginald's company—indeed, I believe he sought this, for he was clearly eager that it should be. The only brightness in those days was provided by him. What was so gratifying was that he treated me like an adult, and from him I began to get a clearer view of the situation. My father was very fond of Reginald, for he had a great respect for learning. He would summon him and they would walk up and down the gallery talking of religion and, of course, the subject which was uppermost in his mind: his desire to do what was right; his fears that he had offended God by living with a lady who was not in truth his wife. All that he told Reginald, seeking to win his sympathy in his cause, I believe, for he cared very much for the opinions of scholars.

It must have been difficult for Reginald, whose sympathies were with my mother and me, to choose his words carefully, for I was sure if my father thought he did not agree with him he would be very angry. Sometimes I trembled for Reginald during those encounters, but he was clever; he had a way with words and he did learn a great deal of what was in the King's mind during these interviews. But I knew my father's temper and I was uneasy.

My father was, in some ways, a simple man. He made much of Reginald, calling him cousin and when they walked along the gallery putting his arm round Reginald's shoulders. At the back of his mind would be the memory of what his father had done to the Earl of Warwick because he feared people might think that Plantagenet Warwick had had a greater claim to the throne than Henry Tudor. Later, when I began to understand my father's character more I could believe that he wanted to make much of Reginald because he was placating Heaven in a way for the murder of Reginald's uncle.

What uneasy days they were when we never knew what momentous event was going to erupt.

So my consolation was Reginald.

He it was who told me that the Pope had now been released and was at this time in Orvieto trying to build up a Court there.

“He is in a dilemma,” said Reginald. “The King is demanding judgement in his favor, and he is too powerful to be flouted. But how can he defy the Emperor?”

“He should do what he considers right.”

“You ask too much of him,” said Reginald with a wry smile.

“But surely as a Christian…”

Reginald shook his head. “He is still in the hands of the Emperor. But, who knows, next week everything could be different. He is in too weak a position to defy anyone.”

“Then what will he do?”

“My guess is that he will prevaricate. It is always the wise action.”

“Can he?”

“We shall see.”

And we did. It was Reginald who told me, “The Pope is sending Cardinal Campeggio to England.”

“Is that a good thing?” I asked.

Reginald lifted his shoulders. “We shall have to wait and see. He will try the case with Cardinal Wolsey.”

“Wolsey! But he will be for the King.”

“It should not be a case of either being for one or the other. It should be a matter of justice.”

“I fear this will make more anxiety for my mother. I worry so much about her, and I think she worries too much about me. I think she is fighting for me rather than herself.”

“She is a saint, and it is true that she fights for you. But you are her greatest hope. The people love you. You strengthen her case. The people cheer you. They call you their Princess, which means they regard you as heir to the throne. They will not accept another.”

“I never thought anything like this could happen.”

“None of us can see ahead. None of us knows what the future holds for us.”

“Reginald,” I said, “you won't go away yet?”

He looked at me tenderly. “As long as I am allowed to remain here, I will.”

He took my hand and kissed it.

“I hope you will never go away,” I told him. He pressed my hand firmly then released it and turned away.

I knew there was some special feeling between us, and I was glad that there had been no marriage with the Emperor Charles. My betrothal to the little Prince of France I did not consider. I was certain that it would come to nothing.

It must… because of Reginald.

IT IS AN OLD story now. Everyone knows that Cardinal Campeggio did not arrive in England until October, although he had left Rome three months before. He was so old, so full of gout, that he had to take the journey in very slow stages, resting for weeks when the attacks brought on by discomfort were prolonged.

Reginald, who was very far-sighted in all matters, confided in me that he believed Campeggio had no intention of making a decision. How could he when the Emperor would be watching the outcome with such interest? He dared not give the verdict the King wanted, because it would displease the Emperor, and to go against the King would arouse his wrath.

“What a position for a poor sick old man to be in!” he said. “It is my belief tht the Pope sent Campeggio because of his infirmity. Why should he have not sent a healthy man? Oh, I am certain Campeggio has his instructions to delay.”

Reginald understood these matters; he had traveled widely on the Continent and he had an insight into politics and the working of men's minds.

How right he proved to be!

I heard from Reginald that the King was in a fury. He had told him that this man Campeggio was determined to make things more difficult. “ ‘He has come here not so much to try the case as to talk to me. As if I needed talking to!' he cried. He cited his sister of Scotland, who divorced her second husband, the Earl of Angus. Louis XII of France had been divorced from Jeanne de Valois with little fuss. Why all this preamble because the King of England was so concerned for his country, to which he must give a son, and was merely asking for a chance to do so? So he went on. He gripped my arm so fiercely. I was glad he did not expect me to speak.”

“Oh, you must be careful.”

“My dear Princess, you can rest assured I shall be. What alarmed me— forgive me for disturbing you, but I think you should see the case clearly— is that the King flew into a rage when the Cardinal suggested that the Pope would be only too ready to amend the dispensation and make it clear that the King's marriage to the Queen was valid.”

“I know he does not want that. He is blinded by his passion for this woman.”

“That… and his desire for a son.”

“How can he be sure that she can give him one?”

“He has to risk that, and he is determined to have the opportunity to try.”

I was glad we were prepared, for shortly after that Campeggio and Wolsey called on my mother.

I was with her when they arrived and made to leave but she said, “No, stay, daughter. This concerns you as it does me.”

I was glad to stay.

They were formidable, those two, in their scarlet robes, bringing with them an aura of sanctity and power. They wanted to impress upon us the fact that they came from the highest authority, His Holiness the Pope.

They hesitated about allowing me to stay, but my mother was adamant and they apparently thought my presence would do no harm.

Wolsey began by citing cases when royal marriages had for state reasons been annulled. The one my father had referred to with Reginald was mentioned—that of Louis XII and Jeanne de Valois.

“The lady retired to a convent,” said Wolsey, “and there enjoyed a life of sanctity to the end of her days.”

“I shall not do that,” replied my mother. “I am the Queen. My daughter is the heir to the throne. If I agree to this, it will be said that I am expiating the sin of having lived with the King when not his wife. This is a blatant lie, and I will not give credence to it. Moreover the Princess Mary is the King's legitimate daughter, and unless we have a son she will remain heir to the throne.”

Wolsey begged her to take his advice.

She turned on him at once. “You are the King's advocate, Cardinal,” she said. “I could not take advice from you.”

Campeggio leaned forward in his chair and stroked his thigh, his face momentarily contorted with pain. “Your Grace,” he said, “the King is determined to bring the truth to light.”

“There is nothing I want more,” retorted my mother.

“If this matter were brought before a court, it could be most distressing for you.”

“I know the truth,” she answered. “It would be well for all to know it.”

“Your Grace was married to Prince Arthur. You lived with him for some time. If the marriage were consummated…”

“The marriage was not consummated.”

“This must be put to the test.”

“How?”

“Those who served you when you and your first husband were together might have evidence.”

My mother gave him a look of contempt. She had for some time regarded him as one of her greatest enemies.

“Would your Grace confess to me?” asked Campeggio.

She looked at him steadily. She must have seen, as I did, a poor sick old man who had no liking for his task. He might not be her friend but he was not her enemy. Moreover, he was the Pope's messenger and she trusted him.

“Yes,” she said, “I would.”

I was dismissed then, and she and Campeggio went into her private closet. She told me afterward that he had questioned her about her first marriage. “I told the truth,” she said. “I swore in the name of the Holy Trinity. They cannot condemn me. The truth must stand. I am the King's true wife and I will not be put aside.”

I WAS NOW PASSING into one of the most distressing periods of my life up to that time. It is well known how the legatine court opened in Blackfriars in 1529 and when my parents were called to state their cases, my mother threw herself at my father's feet and begged him to remember the happiness they had once shared and to consider his daughter's honor.

I could imagine his embarrassment and how he declared that, if only he could believe he was not living in sin with her, she would be the one he would choose above all others for his wife.

I wondered how he could utter such blatant hypocrisy when everyone knew that his passion for Anne Boleyn was the major reason for his desire for a divorce, for she would not become his mistress but insisted on marriage.

It is common knowledge that my mother declared that she would answer to no court but that of Rome, that she withdrew and when called would not come back. I still marvel at my father. I wondered how he could possibly maintain that his reason for wanting the divorce was solely due to his fear of offending God when all knew of his obsession. Because he felt I was an impediment to the fulfillment of his wishes on account of the people's attitude toward me, and the fact that I was undoubtedly his daughter, he was eager to get me married and out of the picture. The possibility of my marrying the little French Prince was becoming more and more remote, and in any case it would not come about for years. And at one stage the King had the effrontery to suggest a marriage between myself and Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond. How could he, while pretending to be so disturbed because of his connection with his brother's widow, suggest marrying me to my half-brother!

It was well that this suggestion did not become widely known, but I did marvel that the possibility had entered his mind and that the Pope should consider the idea and be prepared to provide the necessary dispensation. It brought home to me the fact that most men were completely concerned with their own grip on power and would do anything, however dishonorable, to keep it. I was developing a certain cynicism.

I was not surprised that my mother was in despair. How could she, in such a world, ever expect justice!

“What think you?” she said to the Countess. “Will any Englishman who is the King's subject be a friend to me and go against the King's pleasure?”

Reginald grew more and more convinced that Campeggio had received orders to bring the matter to no conclusion and that his task was to delay wherever possible. This he seemed to do with a certain skill, while my father grew more and more angry as the case dragged on and nothing was achieved.

That which Reginald had prophesied came to pass. The Pope recalled Campeggio. It was announced that the case was to be tried in Rome. My mother was jubilant, my father incensed. They both knew that Rome would never dare offend the Emperor as far as to give the verdict the King desired. He naturally refused to leave the country.

During those weary weeks my mother and I were sustained only by each other and our friends. The scene around us was changing. Anne Boleyn was now installed at Court; she was the Queen in all but name; but still she kept my father at arms' length. Thus she kept her power over him. Wolsey was in disgrace; he had failed; according to the King, he had served his master, the Pope, against the King, and that was something my father would not endure. Poor Wolsey! I could feel it in my heart to be sorry for him. To have climbed so high and now fall so low—it was a tragedy, and one could not fail to commiserate just a little even though he had been no friend to us. He had worked for the divorce; where he had failed was not to work for the marriage of the King and Anne Boleyn.

Campeggio had left the country, and the King was so furious with the old man that he commanded his luggage be searched before he embarked for the Continent. Campeggio complained bitterly at this indignity—a small matter when one considered what was happening to Wolsey.

Thomas Cranmer had leaped into prominence by suggesting the King appeal to the universities of England and Europe instead of relying on a papal court. This found great favor with the King who guessed—rightly— that bribes scattered there could bring the desired result.

I was heartily sick and weary—and completely disillusioned—by the whole matter.

When I look back on those three years 1529 to 1531, I am not surprised that my mother's health, and mine also, deteriorated. She was really ill and I was growing pale and suffering from headaches. But at least we were together most of the time, although I had a separate household at Newhall near Chelmsford in Essex. My mother was still living as the Queen and moving from place to place with the Court, but she was being more and more ignored, and often the King would leave her and go to some other place with Anne Boleyn. I at least was comforted by the constant company of the Countess and her son.

I knew I gave some concern to the King. Not that he cared for my welfare but he believed I was an impediment to the granting of the divorce and that, if it were not that she was determined to fight for my rights, my mother would have gone into a convent by now and the whole matter could have been settled.

It was sad to see my mother growing more and more feeble in health, although at the same time her resolve was as strong as ever and grew stronger, I think, with every passing day and new difficulty.

We would sew together and read the Bible. She liked me to read to her. She told me once that the path to Heaven was never easy and the more tribulations we suffered on Earth the greater the joy when we were received into Heaven. “Think of the sufferings of our Lord Jesus,” she said. “What are our pains compared with His?”

We used to pray together. She it was who instilled in me so firmly my religious beliefs. Religion was our staff and comfort. I shall never forget how it maintained us during those days.

My mother and I were so close that I think we sometimes knew what was in each other's minds. I know she longed for death—though she clung to life because she believed she must fight for me. She would never give the King what he asked, for that would mean that she accepted the fact that I was their illegitimate daughter. She wanted me to be a queen. She wanted me to rule the country with a firm and loving hand. She believed that there were not enough religious observances in England. The people, on the whole, were not a pious race. They were too preoccupied with amusement and finery and bestowed too little attention on sacred matters.

“You need a strong man beside you,” she said to me once.

“My lady, I am betrothed to the son of the King of France.”

“That will come to nothing. The friendship of kings is like a leaf in the wind. It sways this way and that, and when the wind blows strongly enough, it falls to the ground, is trampled on and forgotten. I do not wish to see you married into France.”

“I dareswear I shall marry where it pleases my father.”

“My dear daughter, if I could see you married to a good man, a man of deep religious convictions, someone whom I could trust, I could die happy. I want to see you protected from the evil of the world. I want someone who will stand with you, for your position could be difficult in the days ahead. It is my most cherished dream to see you on the throne of England, and I want you to have the right man beside you when you are there.”

“Where is such a man?” I asked, although I knew of whom she was thinking.

Again she read my thoughts: “My child, I think you know. His mother and I have watched the growing friendship between you. It is more than friendship. His mother has seen it … and we are of one mind on this matter.”

I flushed and said quietly, “But it would be his choice?”

“Has he not made that clear? He was to leave England. He was to go back to Italy to complete his studies, but he is still here.”

I was suffused with happiness. If it could only be! If I could be spared that fate which befell most princesses, to go to a foreign land, to a husband whom I had never seen…if it could be Reginald!

My mother was smiling and looking happier than she had for a long time.

She said, “It would be a suitable match. He is of royal blood. He is a Plantagenet and you know how the people feel about them. Now they are no longer ruled by them, they see them as saints or heroes. Some of them were far from that… but that is human nature and in this case serves us well. Ah, my child, if only it could be. If I could see this come about, I should die happy.”

“Please, my lady, do not talk of dying. You must not leave me now. What should I do without you?”

She put down her needlework and held out her arms to me. We clung together.

“There,” she said, “my dearest daughter, do you think I should ever leave you if it were in my power to stay. Rest assured that wherever I am I shall be with you in spirit. You are my reason for fighting, for living … always remember that.”

I wondered later whether she had a premonition of what was to come.

Soon after that, Reginald came to me in a very serious mood.

He said, “Princess, I have to go away.”

My dismay was apparent.

He was in a great quandary. He wanted to be a supporter of my mother's cause, but the King was fond of him and he was expected to be in his company. It was very difficult for him to be frank as to his feelings.

“I cannot stay here,” he told me, “without letting the King know that I do not agree with his plans for divorce.”

“Have you let him see that you do not approve?”

“Not yet, but I fear I soon shall. I find it hard to deceive him. There was a time when he talked of other matters but this is never far from his mind and soon he will discover my true feelings.”

“Reginald…be careful.”

“I will try but I cannot dissemble forever. This could cost me my head.”

“No!”

“Remember I am in a vulnerable position already because of my birth. If I showed opposition to the King, my life would be worth very little.”

“Oh, it is cruel…cruel,” I cried.

“My dearest Princess, we have to face facts. I have asked his permission to go to Paris to study. I have deserted my books for so long.”

“You are going away,” I said blankly.

He took my hand and looked at me earnestly. “I will come back,” he said. “As soon as this miserable business is over, I shall be with you. We have much to talk of.”

He kissed me tenderly on the forehead.

“It is you, Princess,” he said, “whom I hate leaving.”

So he went and that added a gloom to the days.

“I persuaded him to go,” the Countess told me. “Life can be dangerous for those who do not agree with the King.”

I suppose we were all thinking of Cardinal Wolsey, who had so suddenly lost the King's favor and had died, some said, of a broken heart.

I heard that the King had sent orders to Reginald to get favorable opinions on the divorce from the universities of Paris. Poor Reginald! How he would be torn. I did not believe for one moment that he would obey the King. It was well that he was out of the country. Perhaps I should feel happier for that but it was so sad to lose him.

So we lived through those days. Often my mother was not with us but the Countess and I talked frequently of her and Reginald, and then it did not seem that they were so very far away.

The Countess told me that Reginald had such a distaste for the task the King had set him that he had written back asking to be released from it on the grounds that he lacked experience. But my father was certain of Reginald's powers and he sent Edward Fox out to help him. I was hurt when I heard that the answer the King wanted had come from Paris until I discovered that this had come through the intervention of François Premier who, as his sons were now released and he was married to Eleanora, was a free man.

Then the King sent for Reginald to return home.

He visited his mother immediately, which meant that he came to me.

We embraced. He looked less serene than he had when he went away. He was very perturbed by the situation.

“The King remains determined,” he said. “The more obstacles that are put in his way, the stronger is his desire to overcome them. It is now a battle between the power of the Church and that of the King. And the King has decided he will not be beaten by the Church. He will have his way no matter what the consequences. Instead of a battle for a woman, it is becoming one between Church and State.”

“And if this is so, it means that everyone will have to take sides. I know which side yours must be.”

He nodded. “I must defend the Church.”

“And now the King has sent for you.”

He nodded. “Do not fret,” he said. “I know how to take care of myself.”

I was delighted to have him home but I was worried about what would happen. I tried to console myself with the fact that the King had always been fond of him. Reginald was summoned to his presence.

The Countess was in a state of great anxiety; so were we all. We kept thinking of Wolsey's fate.

It seemed that, apart from the fact that the matter of the divorce remained in the same deadlock, everything else was changing…my father most of all. He was irascible and feared by all. He could suddenly turn on those who had been his best friends. The conflict obsessed him day and night. It was said that his hatred against the Pope was greater than his love for Anne Boleyn.

He guessed where Reginald's sympathies lay and, apart from his affection for him, he had a great respect for his learning. If he could get men like Reginald on his side, he would be happier. Moreover, Reginald was a Plantagenet. People remembered that.

He was still a layman, though he did intend to take Holy Orders later in life. People said afterward that he delayed doing this because he had it in his mind that a marriage might be possible between him and me. This might have been so but, layman as he was, the King offered him an alternative choice of the Archbishopric of York and that of Winchester.

This was a great honor, but Reginald knew it was an attempt to get his support. It was difficult for him to refuse it for fear of offending the King but, of course, he must.

He talked of this to his mother, and I was present.

He said, “This cannot go on. Sooner or later I shall have to tell the King that I cannot support him in this matter of the divorce.”

“Perhaps you should return to Paris,” suggested his mother. “Much as I hate to lose you, I have no peace while you are here.”

“I feel I should talk to him,” said Reginald.

“Talk to the King!”

“I believe I might make him see that he can find no happiness through this divorce.”

“You would never do that. He is determined to marry Anne Boleyn and how can he do that if there is no divorce?”

“I will go to him. I will appeal to his conscience.”

“His conscience!” said the Countess contemptuously.

“He refers to it constantly. Yes, I have made up my mind. I will go to him. I will ask for an audience. I know he will see me.”

What agonies we lived through when he left Newhall for the Court. The Countess and I sat together in silence imagining what would happen. We were terrified for him. I was glad my mother was not with us. I was sure she would have been deeply distressed.

When Reginald returned to us from York Place we hurried to meet him. He looked pale and strained. It had been a very uneasy meeting, he told us.

“I begged the King not to ruin his fame or destroy his soul by proceeding with the matter.”

“And what said he?” whispered the Countess.

Reginald was silent for a moment. Then he said slowly, “I thought he would kill me.”

I covered my face with my hand. Reginald smiled and laid a hand on my arm. “But he did not,” he said. “See. I am here to tell the tale.”

“He listened to you?” asked the Countess incredulously.

“No. Not after my first few sentences. He was very angry. He thought I had come to him with one of the suggestions such as he is getting from Cranmer and Cromwell. While I was talking, his hand went to his dagger. I thought he was going to plunge it into my heart without more ado. The King is a strange man. There are such contradictions in his nature. He can be so ruthless … and yet sentimental. He changes from one moment to another. That is why one sometimes believes what he says, however outrageous. One could accept that he wants this divorce solely because of his conscience. One believes that he really is worried about the fact that he married his brother's widow because when he says it he seems to believe it…sincerely. Then, the next minute one knows it is the desire for this woman. I do not understand him. I do not believe he understands himself. Just as he was about to lift his dagger and strike me, he seemed to remember that he was fond of me. He looked at me with rage… and sorrow.”

“And he let you go.”

Reginald nodded.

“He shouted at me, ‘You say you understand my scruples and you know how they should be dealt with.' It was like a reprieve. I said, ‘Yes, Your Majesty.' ‘Then set it down. Set it down,' he cried. ‘And let me see it when it is done. And go now …go… before I am tempted to do you an injury.' So I went, feeling deeply wounded and at the same time rejoicing that he was no longer in doubt as to my true feeling.”

This was an addition to our worries, but at least Reginald seemed at peace, and he set about writing his treatise.

I think my father was genuinely fond of him, because he read it with interest and showed no displeasure, although Cromwell said it must not be made public because it was contrary to the King's purpose; and he added that the arguments were set down with wisdom and elegance but would have the opposite effect of what the King wanted.

We trembled afresh when we heard this.

“This man Cromwell is an evil influence on the King,” declared Reginald.

“I do believe he is trying to undermine the supremacy of the Church. Pray God he does not succeed. The King does not like the man but he is very taken with his arguments. I am greatly in fear of what will happen next.”

We had many serious talks after that. His mother was in constant fear for she was convinced he was in acute danger. She was persuading him to go abroad. She said to me, “I know we do not want to lose him, nor does he wish to leave us, but I am terrified every day he remains.”

“What do you think will happen?” I asked.

“Cromwell's idea is that the King should break with Rome and set himself up as Supreme Head of the Church of England. That is what Reginald thinks will happen. The King will then demand to be accepted as such, and those who refuse to accept him—as all good churchmen must—will be accused of treason.”

“Surely my father would never go so far!”

“He is caught up in this matter. It is more than a desire to marry Anne Boleyn. It is a battle between Church and State, and it is one he must win to satisfy himself.”

“And you think that Reginald…”

“Is in danger if he stays. He must get out now … and stay away until it is safe for him to come back.”

At length his mother prevailed on Reginald to go; but first he must get the King's permission.

I remember that day when Reginald presented himself to the King. The Countess had been all for his going away and writing to the King from Paris, Padua or some safe distance; but Reginald would not agree to that. He thought it cowardly.

He presented himself to my father and told him he wished to continue his studies abroad. He told us afterward what happened. The King was pleasant to him, and Reginald was able to tell him frankly that he could not go against his conscience. Perhaps the King was particularly sympathetic about consciences, for he listened with sympathy. Reginald told my father that he believed it was wrong to divorce the Queen and, no matter what happened to him, he could not go against his convictions.

The King was sorrowful rather than angry and at length he agreed to allow Reginald to go.

How relieved we were to see him arrive back to us but that relief was tempered with sadness that he should be leaving us.

I was very melancholy. I had lost one of my few friends; and one of the best I should ever have.