In the Shadow of the Crown Read online

  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 sen
tences. 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.

  TIME WAS PASSING. IT WAS NEARLY SIX YEARS SINCE THE King had first thought of divorce, and still he was without satisfaction. There had never been such a case in royal history.

  We were at Greenwich with the Court, my mother and I, when we heard there was to be a move to Windsor.

  Relations between my parents had become even more strained. Although my mother was still treated in some ways as the Queen, the King was hardly in her presence, and Anne Boleyn had her own apartments within the household.

  We awoke one morning the find the Court ready to depart but to go to Woodstock instead of Windsor. We began to prepare to leave in the usual way when we were told that the King would not require our presence at Woodstock and we were to go to Windsor.

  We were astonished. The Countess was very anxious. I had not seen her so disturbed since those days when she was urging Reginald to leave the country.

  “I cannot think what it means,” she said to me. “But mean something it does.”

  We remained at Windsor for three weeks before a messenger came from the King.

  He was coming to Windsor to hunt and when he arrived he desired that we should not be there. My mother was to go with her household to the Moor in Hertfordshire. Then came the blow. I was not to go with her. I was to go to Richmond.

  We were dismayed and clung to each other.

  “No, no,” I cried. “I will not endure it. Anything but this.”

  “Perhaps it is only for a while,” said the Countess soothingly.

  But we none of us believed that. We understood. When we rode out together, the people cheered us. Anne Boleyn received very different treatment. She was “the Concubine” and they shouted abuse at her, calling her the King's goggle-eyed whore. They felt differently toward me. I was their dear Princess, the heir to the throne. They would have none other but me.

  This must have been infuriating to my father and his paramour; and I guessed she had had a hand in this.

  So they would separate us and we should not be seen together. No doubt then we might come to our senses if we realized the power of the King.

  “I will not leave you,” I cried passionately. “Oh, my mother, we must be together. Let us run away and hide ourselves.”

  “My dearest child,” she said. “Let us pray that we shall be with each other again soon.”

  “What is the use of prayers?” I demanded. “Have we not prayed enough?”

  “We can never pray enough, my child. Always remember my thoughts are with you. Let us be resigned to our cruel fate. It cannot endure, I am sure of that. Say your prayers while we are apart. It may well be that soon we shall be together again.”

  But how sad she looked in spite of her brave words. I was in an agony of fear for her. He had taken so much away from us. Why could he not leave us each other?

  My heart was filled with anger—not toward him so much as toward her, the goggle-eyed whore, the woman who was his evil genius. I blamed her for all the trials which had befallen us.

  My mother took a sad farewell of the Countess. They embraced tenderly.

  “Care for my daughter,” said my mother.

  “Your Highness…you may trust me.”

  “I know, my dear friend, I know. It is my greatest comfort that she is with you.”

  I had loved Richmond until now; the view of the river, the irregular buildings, the projecting and octagonal towers crowned with turrets, the small chimneys which looked like inverted pears…I had loved them all. But now it was like a prison, and I hated it because my mother was not there with me.

  I DID TRY to follow my mother's instructions. It was difficult. I thought of her constantly. I was afraid for her health; the anxieties of the last years were clearly undermining it—as they were my own. />
  I said to the Countess, “If we could only be together, I would suffer anything. But this separation is unendurable.”

  “I know,” she replied. “It cannot continue. There are murmurings among the people. They are with you and your mother. They will never accept Anne Boleyn.”

  “They will have to if it is my father's will. He is all powerful.”

  “Yet he has failed so far to get this divorce.”

  “I hope he never does. I wish she could die. Why did she not when she had the sweat?”

  “It was God's Will,” said the Countess.

  And there was no disputing that.

  We heard that Anne Boleyn was living like a queen, and of the jewels she wore—all gifts from the King. But every time she appeared in public, insults were hurled at her.

  “Bring back the Queen!” cried the people. “Long live the Princess!” It was gratifying but ineffectual.

  We had no friends. There was only the Spanish ambassador, Eustace Chapuys, who could visit my mother, advise her and comfort her and keep her in touch with the Emperor, because of whom the Pope would not grant the divorce though beyond that he could do little. He could not go to war with England on my mother's account. Moreover my father and François were allies now.

  There seemed no way out of this situation. My mother was alone and almost friendless in a country which had been her home for some thirty years and now was an alien land to her.

  Then, to my delight, six months after my separation from my mother, I was allowed to join her again. What joy there was in our reunion and what anxiety when I saw how ill she looked!

  “The hardest thing I have had to bear in this sad time is my parting with you, my daughter,” she told me. “Oh dear, there is so much to say…so much to ask. How is your Latin?”

  We laughed together rather hysterically because at such a time she could think of my Latin.

  We were together every moment of the day. We cherished those moments, and we were right to do so for there were not to be many left to us.