Three Sisters, Three Queens

LINLITHGOW PALACE, SCOTLAND, AUTUMN 1526

But he knows that he has won. I don’t need a letter from Cardinal Wolsey in London to tell me that open warfare against my husband is a disaster. Nobody can support a militant queen, never if she is arming against her lord and husband. But the cardinal writes very mildly; he is not so violent an advocate of Tudor marriage as he once was:

Of course, my dear daughter in Christ, it may be that the Holy Father will find that there are grounds for an annulment, and if so, it would be my advice that you should try to agree with your husband about your lands and your daughter. He will want to rule the council of the lords and you would have to assent to his preeminence. We are all agreed that he is the best ruler that Scotland could have, and the safest guardian for your son. If you could only agree with the earl, you would have an honored place at court and be able to see your son and your daughter, even if you were to marry another man in the future.

This is such a far cry from the usual insistence from London that I must stay married or I will overthrow the Church itself that I hold it and reread it for a little while wondering what the cardinal intends from the smooth words in the clerkly hand. I decide that fathoming the cardinal is probably beyond me; but when Archibald writes pleasantly to me, as urbane and courteous as if his army had not murdered a wounded man, the Earl of Lennox, as if his brother had not laid violent hands on my son, I understand that the English policy has changed, completely changed.

Now we are to separate, but I must not overthrow Archibald. I can be free if I surrender my power. Clearly, someone in England no longer thinks that a royal divorce is anathema. Someone in London thinks that a royal divorce can take place and the husband and wife can come to terms. Someone in London believes that a royal marriage can end and the parties remarry. My guess is that someone is Anne Boleyn.

How shameful it is that the great-granddaughter of a silk merchant should be advising English policy in Scotland! Katherine abused her power and was a tyrant more than a queen, but at least she was born royal. Anne Boleyn is a commoner, her father was proud to serve me in my household, her grandparents were born lower even than those of Charles Brandon, Mary’s husband. But, thanks to Harry’s love for the vulgar and showy, Charles is married to my sister and Anne is advising the King of England. No wonder that my troubles with Archibald shrink by comparison. No wonder it matters less to them that I am in love with Henry Stewart—a Scots lord with royal blood. What could they say against him? What can they say against me, when the King of England chooses his friends and his whore from the dross of his country and passes them off as gold?

Archibald invites me to visit my son in Edinburgh. He says I will be an honored guest at Holyroodhouse and I will be able to see James without witnesses, as often and for as long as I like. He says that our daughter, Margaret, is well and happy at Tantallon Castle, and will come to Edinburgh to see me, her mother. With cool courtesy, he offers me the palatial rooms that once housed the Duke of Albany: the regent’s rooms. I understand from this that there is no question of us sharing a bed, and the Whitsun sheets will stay in the linen store. I understand from this that he too has heard from London that divorce is now permissible and he is to treat me with fairness and respect. I understand from this that though I lost the battle against Archibald, I may still come to terms with him. Smiling, I reply that I will be happy to see my son James, my daughter, and my dear cousin Archibald once again.