The Taming of the Queen

‘You see Stephen as a swallow?’ Henry prompts me, amused. ‘He arrives and suddenly it is summer,’ I say. ‘He is a harbinger. When the bishop is here it is high summer for the Privy Council to make an inquiry. Time for all the old churchmen to nest and twitter under the eaves. It is their season.’

‘Are they not here to stay?’

‘The cold winds of truth will blow them away, I think, lord husband.’

The king laughs. Stephen Gardiner is quietly furious.

‘Would you have him dress any differently?’ the king asks me. I am daring, encouraged by his laughter. I turn my head and whisper in his ear, ‘Don’t you think his lordship would suit the colour red?’

Red is the colour of a cardinal’s robes. If Gardiner could bring the country back to Rome the pope would give him a cardinal’s hat in a moment. Henry laughs aloud. ‘Kateryn, you have a sharper wit than Will! What d’you say, Stephen? Do you long for a red hat?’

Stephen Gardiner’s mouth is pursed. ‘These are grave matters,’ he manages to say. ‘Not fit for a jest. Not fit for ladies. Not fit for wives.’

‘He’s right.’ The king is suddenly weary. ‘We must let our good friend defend our church against heresy and mockery, Kat. It is my church, not a subject for debate or humour. These are serious matters, not for foolish mockery. There is nothing more important.’

‘Of course,’ I say gently. ‘Of course, my lord. All I would ask is that the good bishop questions people who speak against your reforms. The reforms themselves should not be questioned. The bishop cannot want us to step backwards, away from your understanding, back to the old days before you were head of the church.’

‘He won’t do that,’ the king says shortly.

‘The chantries . . .’

‘Not now, Kateryn. I am weary.’

‘Your Majesty must rest,’ I say quickly, getting up from the chair and kissing his forehead, which is damp with sweat. ‘Will you sleep now?’

‘I will,’ he says. ‘You can all go.’ He retains my cool fingers in his hot grip. ‘Come back later,’ he says to me.

I make sure I don’t shoot a triumphant glance at Stephen Gardiner. I have won this round, at least.

It is no victory, my whorish triumph. The king is feverish and sleepless, impotent and irritated at his failing. Though I do everything he asks of me, let down my hair, take off my robe, even stand, burning with humiliation, while he passes his hands all over me, nothing can stir him. He sends me away so that he can sleep alone and I sit up all night by the fire in my room and wonder where Anne Askew is in the palace, sleepless as I am sleepless, afraid as I am afraid, and if she even has a bed tonight.

The next round is played out before the Privy Council and I cannot be there. The doors to the Privy Council room are closed and two yeomen of the guard stand before them at attention, their pikes raised.

‘She’s in there,’ Catherine Brandon mutters to me in an undertone, as we walk past the wood-panelled door on our way to the garden. ‘They took her in this morning.’

‘Alone?’

‘She was arrested with her former husband but she said he was nothing to her and they dismissed him. She’s alone.’

‘They know that she has preached before me?’

‘Of course, and they know it was your instruction to Bishop Bonner that she should be freed last time.’

‘But they don’t fear my influence? He did, then.’

‘It seems your influence has diminished,’ she says flatly.

‘How has my influence diminished?’ I demand. ‘The king still sees me, he still speaks tenderly to me. He commanded me to his bed last night. He promised me gifts. All the signs say that he still loves me.’

She nods. ‘I know he does, but he can do all that and disagree with your faith. Now he agrees with Stephen Gardiner and the Duke of Norfolk and all of the rest of them, Paget and Bonner, Rich and Wriothesley.’

‘But all his other lords are for reform,’ I protest.

‘But they’re not at court,’ she counters. ‘Edward Seymour is either in Scotland or Boulogne. He’s such a reliable commander that he is always away. His success is our disadvantage. Thomas Cranmer is studying at his home. You’re not admitted when the king is ill, and he has been ill for weeks. Doctor Wendy is not an advocate for reform like Doctor Butts was. To keep something before the king, to maintain his interest in it, you have to be in his company, all the time. My husband, Charles, said he always kept at the king’s side because a rival was always ready to take his place. You have to make sure you are beside him, Your Majesty. You have to get into his presence and be there all the time, to put our side of the argument.’

‘I understand. I try. But how can we defend Anne Askew before the Privy Council?’

She offers me her hand as we go down the stairs to the garden.

‘God will defend her,’ she says. ‘If they find her guilty then we will beg the king for a pardon for her. You can take all your ladies in to him, he’ll like that, and we can go on our knees. But we can do nothing for her now, as she faces the Privy Council; only God will have her in His keeping there.’