The Taming of the Queen

AMPTHILL CASTLE, BEDFORDSHIRE, AUTUMN 1543

The argument on the barge between the bishops, Stephen Gardiner, who wants the restoration of the old church to the old ways, and Thomas Cranmer, who believes that the church should reform, comes to a head when we are staying at Ampthill Castle, Katherine of Aragon’s old home. We are kept indoors by a week of cold and foggy weather, the leaves on the trees drip water all day long, the ground is sodden and the lanes are deep with mud. The king takes a slight fever that makes his eyes and nose run, he aches in every bone and cannot go out. Trapped indoors with the courtiers using every moment to persuade him, he agrees that the reformers have gone too far, become heretical, and authorises a wave of arrests that reach from London into the court itself. The heresies, one by one, are traced back to Thomas Cranmer, and once again the Privy Council scents triumph and calls him in to face an inquiry.

‘They thought they had him this time,’ Nan whispers to me as we are kneeling on the chancel steps of the little chapel, the king seated at the back with a writing desk, surrounded by advisors, signing papers, as the priest mumbles the words of the Mass hidden behind the rood screen. ‘He went in like Thomas More, expecting martyrdom.’

‘Not him!’ Catherine Brandon hisses from the other side. ‘He knew he was safe. It was all a play, a game.’

‘The king himself said it was a masque,’ Anne Seymour leans forward on the other side of Nan to tell me. ‘He said it was a masque called The Taming of the Archbishop.’

‘What did he mean?’

‘The king let Stephen Gardiner arrest Thomas Cranmer. But he had already warned Cranmer that his enemies had evidence against him, months ago. He called him the greatest heretic in Kent and laughed as he said it. The Privy Council sent for Cranmer, thinking he would shake with fear. They called him in to accuse him and take him to the Tower. They had the guards ready, the barge was waiting for him. Stephen Gardiner and Thomas Howard Duke of Norfolk were triumphant. They thought they would silence the archbishop and halt reform for ever.’

‘Gardiner didn’t even bring him in at once. He made him wait. He took his time over it,’ Catherine interpolates.

‘He was savouring his moment,’ Anne agrees. ‘But just as they were about to grab him and tear his hat from his head, Thomas Cranmer pulls out a ring, the king’s own ring, and says that he has His Majesty’s friendship and trust, and that there is to be a new inquiry into heresy: he is now going to inquire into them – and that charges will follow.’

I am astounded. ‘He triumphed? Again? And everything is turned around in a moment?’

‘In a frightened heartbeat,’ Nan says. ‘That is how this king keeps his power for year after year.’

‘So what happens now?’ I ask.

‘Stephen Gardiner and Thomas Howard will have to humble their pride and beg pardon of the archbishop and of the king. They have fallen from favour.’

I shake my head in wonderment. It is like a traveller’s tale, a fairy tale, filled with sudden reverses of fortune and magical triumphs.

‘And Thomas Cranmer will hold an inquiry into all the people who thought they were going to arrest and execute him, and if there are letters that reveal treason or heresy they will find themselves in the Tower waiting for the scaffold, in his place.’

‘And now we are on the rise,’ Nan crows. ‘And reform will go on. We’ll get the Bible back into the churches, we will be allowed to read books on reform, we’ll get the Word of God to the people and the dogs of Rome can go back to hell.’

The king is planning a great Christmas feast. ‘Everyone will attend,’ he says exuberantly. The pain in his leg has eased, the wound is still open but it is not weeping so copiously. I think that it smells less. I mask the stink with pockets of perfumes and spices scattered around my rooms, even tucked into my bed, the scent of roses overlaying the haunting odour of decay. The summer of riding and travelling has rested him, he hunts every day, all day – even if he is only standing in a hide as they drive the beasts towards him. We have a lighter dinner than when he is in his great hall twice a day with twenty, thirty different dishes being brought in, and he is even drinking less wine.

‘Everyone,’ he says, ‘every ambassador in Christendom will come to Hampton Court. They all want to see my beautiful new wife.’

I smile and shake my head. ‘I shall be shy,’ I say. ‘I don’t like to feel that all eyes are on me.’

‘You have to endure it,’ he says. ‘Better still, learn to enjoy it. You are the greatest woman in the kingdom: learn to revel in it. There are plenty who would take it from you if they could.’

‘Oh, I’m not so shy that I would rather stand aside,’ I confess.

‘Good,’ he says, catching up my hand and kissing it. ‘For I am not disposed to let you go. I want no pretty new girl pushed into your place.’ He laughs. ‘They dangle papist poppets before me, did you know? All this summer on progress they have been introducing pretty daughters with crucifixes at their necks and rosaries at their belts and missals in Latin in their pockets. Did you not notice?’

I try to remember. Now that he points it out to me I do think there were a lot of noticeably devout young women among the many that we met on progress. I give a little giggle. ‘My lord husband, this is—’

‘Ridiculous,’ he finishes for me. ‘But they think I am old and restless. They think I am whimsical, and that I would change my wife and change my church in the morning and change it back again in the evening. But you know,’ he kisses my hand again, ‘you know better than anyone that I am faithful, to you and to the church that I am making.’

‘You will hold to your reforms,’ I confirm.

‘I will do what I think right,’ he says. ‘We shall have your family at court for Christmas. You must be pleased that I am going to honour them? I will give your uncle a title – he shall be Lord Parr – and I will make your brother an earl.’

‘I am so grateful, my lord. And I know they will serve you loyally in their new positions. I shall be so pleased to see them at court. And – dear husband – may the children come for Christmas, too?’

He is surprised at the suggestion. ‘My children?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘They usually stay at their own houses,’ he says uncertainly. ‘They always celebrate Christmas with their people.’

Will Somers, who is at the king’s side, cracks two walnuts together in his hands, picks out the shells and offers the nut to his royal master. ‘Who are their people – if not us?’ he demands. ‘Lord, Lord, King! See what a good woman will do to you? You’ve only been married for five months and already she is giving you three children! This is the most fertile wife of all! It’s like keeping a cony!’

I laugh. ‘Only if Your Majesty would wish it?’

Henry’s jowls are trembling with his emotion, his face flushes, his little eyes fill with tears. ‘Of course I wish it, and Will is right. You are a good woman and you are bringing my children home to me. You will make us into a family of England, a true family. Everyone shall see us together: the father – and the son that will come after him. And I shall have Christmas with my children around me. I’ve never done such a thing before.’