The Boleyn Inheritance Part 18

I take it, but I do not break the seal. "What d"s it say? " I ask.

He d"s not pretend that it is a private matter. "It is to tell you that after months of doubt the king has decided to examine his marriage to you. He fears that it is not valid because you were already contracted to marry. There is to be an inquiry. "

"He says we are not married? " I ask.

"He fears that you were not married, " he corrects me gently.

I shake my head. "I don't understand, " I say stupidly. "I don't understand. "

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They all come then: half the Privy Council arrive with their entourage and servants; they all come to tell me that I must agree to an inquiry. I don't agree. I won't agree. They are all to stay the night here with me at Richmond Palace. I won't dine with them; I shall not agree. I shall never agree.

In the morning they tell me that three of my ladies are to be summoned to appear before the inquiry. They refuse to tell me what they will be asked; they will not even tell me who will be made to go and testify against me. I ask them for copies of the doc.u.ments that are to be the evidence laid before the inquiry, and they refuse to let me see anything. Dr. Harst complains of this treatment and writes to my brother, but we know that the letters will never get through until it is too late; the ports are sealed and there is no news leaving England at all. We are alone. I am alone. Dr. Harst tells me that before her trial, there was an inquiry into Anne Boleyn's conduct. An inquiry: just as they will make into my conduct. The ladies of her chamber were questioned as to what she had said and done, just as mine will be. The evidence from that inquiry was used at her trial. The sentence was pa.s.sed against her, and the king married Jane Seymour, her maid-in-waiting, within the month. They will not even hold a trial for me, it will be done on the king's signature: nothing more. Am I really going to die so that the king can marry little Kitty Howard? Can it really be possible that I am to die so that this old man can marry a girl whom he could bed for little more than the price of a gown?

Jane Boleyn, Westminster Palace, July 7, 1540 We come into the city of London by royal barge from Richmond; it is all done very fine for us, the king is sparing no trouble to make sure we are comfortable. There are three of us, Lady Rutland, Catherine Edgecombe, and myself: three little Judases come to do our duty. With us, as escort, is Lord Southampton, who must feel he has some ground to regain with the king since he welcomed Anne of Cleves into England and said that she was pretty and merry and queenly. With him are Lord Audley and the Duke of Suffolk, eager to play their parts and curry favor. They will give their evidence against her to the inquiry after we have given ours.

Catherine Edgecombe is nervous. She says she d"s not know what she is to say, she is afraid of one of the churchmen cross-questioning her and trapping her into saying the wrong thing; heavens, even the truth might slip out if she were to be harried *how dreadful would that be! But I am as much at ease as a bitter old fishwife gutting mackerel. "You won't even see them, " I predict. "You won't be cross-questioned. Who would challenge your lies? It's not as if there will be anyone wanting the truth; it's not as if there will be anyone speaking in her defense. I imagine you won't even have to speak. It will all be drawn up for us, we'll just have to sign it. "

"But what if it says what if they name her as a " She breaks off and looks downriver. She is too afraid even to say the word witch.

"Why would you even read it? " I ask. "What d"s it matter what it says above your signature? You agreed to sign it, didn't you? You didn't agree to read it. "

"But I would not have her harmed by my evidence, " she says, the ninny.

I raise my eyebrows, but I say nothing. I don't need to. We all know that we have set out in the king's barge, on a lovely summer day, to be rowed up the river to destroy a young woman who has done nothing wrong.

"Did you just sign something? When you? Before? " she asks tentatively.

"No, " I say. There is a salt taste of bile in my mouth so strong that I want to spit over the side into the green, swift water. "No. It was not done as well as this for Anne and my husband. See how we are improving in these ceremonies? Then, I had to go into court before them all and swear on the Bible and give my evidence. I had to face the court and say what I had to say against my own husband and his sister. I had to face him and say it. "

She gives a little shudder. "That must have been dreadful. "

"It was, " I say shortly.

"You must have feared the worst. "

"I knew that my life would be saved, " I say crudely. "And I imagine that is why you are here today, as I am, as is Lady Rutland. If Anne of Cleves is found guilty and dies, then at least we will not die with her. "

"But what will they say she has done? " Catherine asks.

"Oh, it will be us who say. " I give a harsh laugh. "It will be us who accuse her. It will be us who make the accusation and swear to the evidence. It will be us who will say what she has done. They will just say that she will have to die for it. And we will find out her crime soon enough. "

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Thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d, I have to sign nothing that blames her for the king's impotence. I don't have to give evidence that she cast a spell on him or bewitched him, or lay with half a dozen men, or gave birth in secret to a monster. This time, I have to say nothing like that. We all sign the same statement, which says only that she told us that she lay down with him every night as a maid and rose every morning as a maid, and that from what she said to us it was clear that she is such a fool that she never knew that there was anything wrong. We are supposed to have advised her that to be a wife required more than a kiss good night and a blessing in the morning; we are supposed to have said that she wouldn't get a son this way; and she is supposed to have said that she was content to know no more. All this chatter is supposed to have taken place in her room between the four of us, conducted in fluent English without a moment's hesitation and no interpreter.

I seek out the duke before the barge takes us back to Richmond.

"They do realize that she d"sn't talk like this? " I say. "The conversation that we have all sworn took place could never have happened? Anyone who has been in the queen's rooms would know this at once for a lie. In real life we muddle along with the few words that she knows, and we repeat things half a dozen times before we all understand each other. And anyone who knows her would know that she would never ever speak of this with all of us together. She is far too modest. "

"It d"sn't matter, " he says grandly. "They needed a statement to say that she is a virgin, as she ever was. Nothing more. "

For the first time in weeks, I think that they might spare her. "Is he just putting her aside? " I ask. I hardly dare to hope. "Is he not accusing her of unmanning him? "

"He will be rid of her, " he says. "Your statement today will serve to show her as a most deceptive and cunning witch. "

I gasp. "How have I incriminated her as a witch? "

"You have written that she knows he is unmanned, and even in her chamber with her own women she has pretended that she knows nothing about what pa.s.ses between a man and wife. As you say yourself, who could believe her claim? Wh"ver speaks like that? What woman put into a king's bed would know so little? What woman in the world is that ignorant? Clearly she must be lying, so clearly she is hiding a conspiracy. Clearly she is a witch. "

"But but I thought this statement was supposed to show her as innocent? " I stammer. "A virgin with no knowledge? "

"Exactly, " he says. The duke allows himself a dark gleam of a smile. "That is the beauty of it. You, all three of you highly regarded ladies of her chamber, have sworn to a statement that shows her either as innocent as the Virgin Mary, or as deeply cunning as the witch Hecate. It can be used either way, exactly as the king requires. You have done a good day's work, Jane Boleyn. I am pleased with you. "

I go to the barge saying nothing more; there is nothing I can say. He guided me once before and perhaps I should have listened to my husband, George, and not to his uncle. If George were here with me now, perhaps he would advise me to go quietly to the queen and tell her to run away. Perhaps he would say that love and loyalty are more important than making one's way at court. Perhaps he would say that it is more important to keep faith with those whom one loves than please the king. But George is not with me now. He will never now tell me that he believes in love. I have to live without him; for the rest of my life I will have to live without him.

We go back to Richmond. The tide is with us, and I wish the barge would go more slowly and not rush us home to the palace where she will be watching for the barge and looking so very pale.

"What have we done? " asks Catherine Edgecombe dolefully. She is looking toward the beautiful towers of Richmond Palace, knowing that we will have to face Queen Anne, that her honest gaze will go from one of us to the other, and that she will know that we have been gone all day on our jaunt to London to give evidence against her.

"We have done what we had to do. We may have saved her life, " I say stubbornly.

"Like you saved your sister-in-law? Like you saved your husband? " she asks me, sharp with malice.

I turn my head away from her. "I never speak of it, " I say. "I never even think of it. "

Anne, Richmond Palace, July 8, 1540 It is the second day of the inquiry to conclude whether my marriage to the king is legal or not. If I were not so low in my spirits, I would laugh at them sitting down in solemn convocation to sift the evidence they have themselves fabricated. We must all know what the result will be. The king has not called the churchmen, who take his pay and serve in his own church, who are all that is left now that the faithful are hanging on scaffolds all around the walls of York, for them to tell him that he is inspired by nothing but l.u.s.t for a pretty face, and that he should go down on his knees for forgiveness of his sins and acknowledge his marriage to me. They will oblige their master and deliver a verdict that I was precontracted, that I was never free to marry, that our marriage is therefore annulled. I have to remember that this is an escape for me, it could have been so much worse. If he had decided to put me aside for misconduct, they would still have heard evidence, they would still have found against me.

I see an unmarked barge coming up to the great pier, and I see the king's messenger, Richard Beard, leap ash.o.r.e before the ropes are even tied. Lightly he comes up the pier, looks toward the palace, and sees me. He raises his hand and comes briskly over the lawns toward me. He is a busy man; he has to hurry. Slowly, I go to meet him. I know that this is the end for my hopes of being a good queen for this country, a good stepmother to my children, a good wife to a bad husband.

Silently, I hold out my hand for the letter he carries for me. Silently, he gives it to me. This is the end of my girlhood. This is the end of my ambitions. This is the end of my dream. This is the end of my reign. Perhaps it is the end of my life.

Jane Boleyn, Richmond Palace, July 8, 1540 Who would have thought she would take it so hard? She has been crying like a brokenhearted girl, her useless amba.s.sador patting her hands and muttering to her in German like some old dark-feathered hen, that ninny Richard Beard standing on his dignity but looking like a schoolboy, agonizingly embarra.s.sed. They start on the terrace, where Richard Beard gives her the letter, then they bring her into her room when her legs give way beneath her, and they send for me as she cries herself into a screaming fit.

I bathe her face with rose water, and then give her a gla.s.s of brandy to sip. That steadies her for a moment, and she looks up at me, her eyes as red-rimmed as those of a little white rabbit.

"He denies the marriage, " she says brokenly. "Oh, Jane, he denies me. He had me painted by Master Holbein himself. He chose me, he asked for me to come, he sent his councillors for me, he brought me to his court. He excused the dowry, he married me, he bedded me, now he denies me. "

"What d"s he want you to do? " I ask urgently. I want to know if Richard Beard has a guard of soldiers coming behind him, if they are going to take her away tonight.

"He wants me to agree to the verdict, " she says. "He promises me a " She breaks into tears on the word settlement. These are hard words for a young wife to hear. "He promises fair terms if I cause no trouble. "

I look at the amba.s.sador, who is puffed up like a c.o.c.kerel at the insult, and then I look at Richard Beard.

"What would you advise the queen? " Beard asks me. He is no fool; he knows who pays my hire. I will sing to Henry's tune, in four-part harmony if need be, he can be sure of that.

"Your Grace, " I say gently. "There is nothing that can be done except to accept the will of the king and the ruling of his council. "

She looks at me trustingly. "How can I? " she asks. "He wants me to say that I was married before I married him, so we were not married. These are lies. "

"Your Grace. " I bend very low to her and I whisper, so that only she can hear. "The evidence about Queen Anne Boleyn went from an inquiry, just like this one, to the courtroom and then to the scaffold. The evidence about Queen Katherine of Aragon began with an inquiry just like this one, took six years to hear, and in the end she was alone and penniless and died in exile from her friends and from her daughter. The king is a hard enemy. If he offers you any terms, any terms at all, you should take them. "

"But * "

"If you do not release him, he will be rid of you anyway. "

"How can he? " she demands.

I look at her. "You know. "

She dares me to say it. "What will he do? "

"He will kill you, " I say simply.

Richard Beard moves away so that he can deny he ever heard this. The amba.s.sador glares at me, uncomprehending.

"You know this, " I say.

In silence, she nods.

"Who is your friend in England? " I ask her. "Who will defend you? "

I see the fight go out of her. "I have none. "

"Can you get a message to your brother? Will he save you? " I know he will not.

"I am innocent, " she whispers.

"Even so. "

Katherine, Norfolk House, Lambeth, July 9, 1540 I cannot, I cannot believe it: but it is so. My grandmother has just told me, and she has just had it from my uncle Norfolk, and he was there, and so he knows. They have done it. They have examined all the evidence and announced that the king's marriage to Queen Anne of Cleves was never valid and that they are both free to marry someone else, as if they had never been married to each other at all.

I am amazed. All that wedding, and the gown, and the beautiful jewels and gifts, and us all carrying the train and the wedding breakfast and the archbishop none of it counted. How can that be? The sables! They didn't count either. This is what it is to be king. He wakes up in the morning and decides he is to marry and he d"s. Then he wakes up the morning after and decides he d"sn't like her, and voil! (this is French, it means something like: gracious, look at that!), voil! He is not married. The marriage was never valid, and they are now to be seen as brother and sister. Brother and sister!

Only a king could do such a thing. If it were done by an ordinary person, you would think him a madman. But since he is king n.o.body can say that this is madness, and not even the queen (or whatever she happens to be now) can say this is madness. We all say: "Oh, yes, Your Majesty, " and he comes to dinner with my grandmother and me tonight and he will propose to marry me and I will say: "Oh, yes, Your Majesty, thank you very much, " and never, never say that this is mad, and the work of a madman, and the world itself is mad that it d"s not turn on him.

For I am not mad. I may be very stupid, and I may be very ignorant (though I am learning French, voil!) but at least I don't think that if you stand in front of the archbishop and say "I do, " then that d"sn't count six months later. But I do see that I live in a world that is ruled by a madman and governed by his whims. Also, he is the king and head of the church, and G.o.d speaks to him directly, so if he says that something is the case, then who is going to say no to him?

Not I, at any rate. I may have my thoughts (however stupid I am a.s.sured they are), I may have my stupid thoughts in *what did she say? * "a head that can hold only one nonsensical idea at a time "; but I know that the king is mad, and the world is mad. The queen is now to be his sister, and I am to be his wife and the new queen. I am to be Queen of England. I, Kitty Howard, am to marry the King of England and to be his queen.

Voil indeed.

I cannot believe it is true. And I wish someone had thought of this: what real gain is there in it for me? For I have thought about this now. What should prevent him waking up one morning and saying that I, too, was precontracted and that our royal marriage is not valid? Or that I am unfaithful, and he had better behead me? What should prevent him taking a fancy to a stupid, pretty maid-in-waiting of mine, and putting me to one side for her?

Exactly! I don't think this has occurred to anyone but me. Exactly. Nothing can prevent him. And those people like my grandmother, who are so free with their insults and their slaps, who say that it is a tremendous honor and a fine step up for a ninny like me, might well consider that a fool can be jumped up, but a fool can also be thrown down; and who is going to catch me then?

Anne, Richmond Palace, July 12, 1540 I have written to say that I agree with the findings of the inquiry, and they have all witnessed it, one after another, the great men who came here to argue with me, the ladies whom I had called my friends when I was Queen of England and they were desperate to serve in my court. I have admitted that I was precontracted, and not free to marry. I have even apologized for this.

This is a dark night for me in England. The darkest night I have ever faced. I am not to be queen. I can stay in England at the king's unreliable favor, while he marries the little girl who was my maid-in-waiting, or I can go home penniless to live with my brother, whose spite and negligence have brought me to this. I am very much alone tonight.

This is the most beautiful palace in the kingdom, overlooking the river in its own great park. It was built by the king's father as a great show palace in a peaceful, beautiful country. This wonderful place is to be part of the payment the king offers to be rid of me. And I am to have the Boleyn inheritance, their family house: the pretty castle of Hever. No one but me seems to find this amusing: that Henry should bribe me with the other Queen Anne's childhood home, which he owns only because he beheaded her. Also, I can have a generous allowance. I shall be the first lady of the kingdom, second only to the new queen, and regarded as the king's sister. We shall all be friends. How happy we shall be.

I don't know how I shall live here. To tell the truth, I cannot imagine how my life will be after tonight, this dark night. I cannot go home to my brother; I should be shamed as a whipped dog if I were to go home to him and say that the King of England has put me aside, calling in archbishops to get his freedom from me, preferring a pretty girl, my own maid-in-waiting, to me. I cannot go home and say this. I cannot go home and face this shame. What they would say to me, how I would live as spoiled goods at my brother's court, I cannot imagine. It is not possible.

So I shall have to stay here. There is no refuge for me anywhere else. I cannot go to France or to Spain or even to a house of my own somewhere in Germany. I have no money to buy such a place. If I leave England, I will have no rich allowance; they will pay me no rents. My lands will be given to someone else. The king insists that I live on his generosity in his kingdom. I cannot hope for another husband to offer me a home either. No man will marry me knowing that I have lain under the king's heavy laborings for night after night and that he could not bring himself to do it. No man will find me desirable knowing that the king's manhood shriveled at the sight of me. The king has volunteered to his friends that he was repelled by my fat belly and by my slack b.r.e.a.s.t.s and by the smell of me. I am shamed to the ground by this. Besides, since every churchman in England has agreed that I was bound to marry the son of the Duke of Lorraine, that will be an obstacle to any marriage I might want in the future. I will have to face a single life, without lover, or husband, or companion. I will have to face a lonely life, without family. I will never have a child of my own, I will never have a son to come after me, I will never have my own daughter to love. I will have to be a nun without a convent, a widow with no memories, a wife of six months, and a virgin. I will have to face life in exile. I will never see Cleves again. I will never see my mother again.

This is a hard sentence for me. I am a young woman of only twenty-five. I have done nothing wrong. And yet I shall be alone forever: undesirable, lonely, and in exile. Truly, when a king is a G.o.d to himself and follows his own desires, the suffering falls on others.

Katherine, Norfolk House, Lambeth, July 12, 1540 It is done. It took all of six days. Six days. The king has rid himself of his queen, his lawfully wedded queen, so that he can now marry me. My grandmother says I should prepare myself for the greatest position in the land and consider what ladies I shall choose to serve me, and who I shall favor with the places and fees at my disposal. Clearly, my Howard relations must come first. My uncle says that I must remember to take his advice in all things and not be a stupid jade like my cousin Anne. And I must remember what happened to her! As if I am likely to forget.

I have looked sideways under my eyelashes at the king, and smiled at him, curtsied bending forward so that he could see my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and worn my hood back so he could see my face. Now everything has gone faster than I could have imagined, everything is happening too fast. Everything is happening whether I want it or not.

I am to be married to King Henry of England. Queen Anne has been put aside. Nothing can save her, nothing can stop the king, nothing can save me *oh, I shouldn't have said that. I should have said: nothing can prevent my happiness. That is what I meant to say. Nothing can prevent my happiness. He calls me his rose. He calls me his rose without a thorn. Whenever he says it, I think it is just the sort of pet name that a man might give to his daughter. Not a lover's name. Not a lover's name at all.

Anne, Richmond Palace, July 13, 1540 And so it is over. Unbelievably, it is over. I have put my name to the agreement that says I was precontracted and not free to marry. I have agreed that my marriage should be annulled, and suddenly it is no more. Just like that. This is what it is to be married to the voice of G.o.d when He speaks against you. G.o.d warns Henry that I am precontracted. Henry warns his council. Then the marriage is no more, though he swore to be my husband and came to my bed and tried *how hard did he try! *to consummate the marriage. But it turns out it was G.o.d preventing his success (not witchcraft but the hand of G.o.d), and so Henry says it will not be.

I write to my brother at the king's command and tell him that I am no longer married and that I have consented to my change of state. Then, the king is not satisfied by my letter, and I am ordered to write it again. If he wants, I will write it a dozen times. If my brother had protected me as he should have done, as my father would have wanted him to do, this could never have happened. But he is a spiteful man and a poor kinsman; he is a bad brother to me, and I have been unprotected since the death of my father. My brother's ambition made him use me, his spite let me fall. He would not have let his horse go to such a buyer as Henry of England, and be broken so.

The king has commanded me to return his wedding ring to him. I obey him in this as I do in all things. I write a letter to go with it. I tell him that here is the ring he gave to me and that I hope he will have it broken into pieces for it is a thing that has no force or value. He will not hear my anger and my disappointment in these words, for he d"s not know me or think of me. But I am both angry and disappointed, and he can have his wedding ring and his wedding vows and his belief that G.o.d speaks to him, for they are all part of the same thing: a chimera, a thing that has no force or value.

And so it is over.

And so it begins for little Kitty Howard.

I wish her joy of him. I wish him joy of her. A more ill-matched, ill-conceived, ill-starred marriage could hardly be imagined. I cannot envy her. From the bottom of my heart, even tonight, when I have so much to complain of, when I have so much to blame her for: even now I do not envy her. I can only fear for her, poor child, poor, silly child.

I may have been alone, without friends, before the indifference of the king, but G.o.d knows the same will be true of her. I was poor and humble when he chose me, and the same is true of her. I was part of a faction of his court (though I did not know it), and the same is even more true of her. When another pretty girl comes to court and takes his eye, how shall she make him cleave to her? (And be very sure they will send their pretty girls by the dozen.) When the king's health fails him and he cannot get a child on her, will he tell her that it is the failing of an old man and ask her forgiveness? No, he will not. And when he blames her, who will defend her? When Lady Rochford asks her, who can she call on as a friend?, what will she answer? Who will be Katherine Howard's friend and protector when the king turns against her?

Queen Katherine, Oatlands Palace, July 28, 1540 Well, I must say that it is all well and good to be married, but I have not had half the wedding that she had. There was no great reception for me at Greenwich, and no riding out on a beautiful horse and being greeted by him with all the n.o.bles of England behind him. There was no sailing in barges down the river while the City of London went mad with joy either, so those who think that to marry the king is a very merry thing should note my wedding, which was *to be blunt *a hole-in-the-corner business. There! I've said it, and anyone who thinks differently can't have been here. And actually, that would be most people in the world *for next to no one was here.

I said to Lady Rochford, the day before: "Please find out from the Groom of the Chamber or the Lord Chamberlain or somebody what it is we are to do. Where I am to stand, and what I am to say and what to do. " I wanted to practice. I like to practice if I am going to appear before people and everyone will watch me. I should have been warned by her response.

"Nothing much to practice, " she said dourly. "Your bridegroom is well rehea.r.s.ed at least. You will just have to repeat the vows. And there will be hardly any audience for you at all. "

And how right she was! There was the Bishop of London officiating (thank you so much, not even a real archbishop for me); there was the king, not even wearing a special waistcoat, in an old coat *isn't that next to insulting? *there was me in the finest gown that I could order; but what could I do in little more than a fortnight? And not even a crown on my head!

He gave me some very good jewels. I sent for the goldsmith to value them at once, and they are indeed very fine, though some of them I know for a fact were brought by Katherine of Aragon from Spain, and who wants jewels that belonged to a friend of your grandmother? I have no doubt that there will be sables as good as Queen Anne's to follow, and already I have commanded the dressmakers to make me new gowns. And there will be gifts from everyone in the world, as soon as everyone knows, as soon as everyone is told.

But there is no denying that it was not as great a wedding as I had expected, and it was not a patch on hers. I thought we would have planned it for months, and there would be processions and my important entry into London, and I should have spent my first night in the Tower and then processed to Westminster Abbey through streets that were swathed in cloth of gold, with people singing songs about me. "Fair Katherine, " I thought they would sing. "Rose of England. "

But no, instead there is a mere bishop, there is the king, there is me in a bewitching gown of gray-green silk that s.h.i.+fts colors as I move, and a new hood, and his pearls at least, and there is my uncle and grandmother as witnesses, and a couple of men from his court, and then we go to dine; and then and then! It is unbelievable! n.o.body talks of anything but the beheading of Thomas Cromwell.

At a wedding breakfast! Is that what a bride wants to hear on her wedding day? There are no healths drunk and no speeches made to me, and scarcely any celebration. n.o.body pays me any compliments at all; there is no dancing and no flirtation and no flattery. They can talk of nothing else but Thomas Cromwell because he has been beheaded today. On my wedding day! Is this how the king celebrates his wedding? With the death of his chief advisor and best friend? It's not a very nice gift for a girl on her wedding day, is it? It's not as if I am wh"ver she is in the Bible who wanted someone's head for a wedding gift. All I really wanted for a wedding gift were sables, not the news that the king's advisor has been beheaded, calling for mercy.