The Taming of the Queen

‘Many,’ Catherine Brandon, the greatest reformer of my ladies, explains. ‘And many of them have the ear of the king. They are growing in strength again. They were set back when the king sided with Archbishop Cranmer, but Stephen Gardiner has regained the king’s ear and his influence is growing all the time. Naming Princess Mary with her title will please Rome, and we are extending friendship to Spain, honouring their ambassador. Many of the king’s advisors have been bribed by Rome to try to persuade him to return the ownership of the English Church to Rome – back to where we were before – telling him that we will be in accord with all the other great countries. And then, in the towns and villages, there are thousands of people who understand nothing of this but just want to see the shrines restored at the roadsides and the icons and statues back in the churches. Poor fools, they understand nothing and don’t want to have to think for themselves. They want the monks and nuns to come back to look after them and tell them what to think.’

‘Well, I don’t want anyone to know what I think,’ I say bluntly. ‘So keep my books in my rooms and locked in the chest, Catherine, and you keep the key.’

She laughs and shows me the key on the chain at her belt.

‘We’re not all as carefree as you,’ I say, as she whistles for her little dog, named after the bishop.

‘Puppy Gardiner is a fool who comes for a whistle and sits at a command,’ she says.

‘Well, don’t call him or command him by name in my rooms,’ I say. ‘I don’t need enemies, certainly not Stephen Gardiner. The king already favours him. You will have to rename your dog if my lord bishop continues to rise.’

‘I’m afraid he’s unstoppable,’ she says frankly. ‘He and the traditionalists are overwhelming us. I hear that Thomas Wriothesley is not satisfied by being the king’s Secretary and Lord Privy Seal, but is to be Lord Chancellor too.’

‘Did your husband tell you?’

She nods. ‘He said that Wriothesley is the most ambitious man in the king’s rooms since Cromwell. He said he is a dangerous man – just like Cromwell.’

‘Does Charles not advise the king in favour of reform?’

She smiles at me. ‘Not he! You don’t stay a favourite for thirty years by telling the king what you think.’

‘So why does your husband not try to contain you,’ I ask curiously, ‘as you name your spaniel for a bishop in order to tease him?’

She laughs. ‘Because you don’t survive four wives by trying to contain them!’ she says merrily. ‘I am his fourth and he lets me think what I like, and do what I like, as long as it does not disturb him.’

‘He knows that you read and think? He allows it?’

‘Why not?’ She asks the most challenging questions that a woman can ask. ‘Why should I not read? Why should I not think? Why should I not speak?’

The king cannot sleep for pain in the long dark nights of spring. He feels very low when he wakes long before dawn. I have commissioned a pretty clock to help me get through the hours, and I watch the minute hand move quietly over the brass face in the flickering light of a little candle that I leave beside it on the table. When the king wakes, fretful and bad-tempered at about five in the morning, I get up and light all the candles, stir the fire and often send a page for some ale and pastries from the kitchen. Then the king likes me to sit beside him and read to him as the candles gutter and slowly, so very slowly, the light comes in at the window, first as a greyer darkness, then as a dark grey, then only finally, after what seems like hours, can I see daylight and say to the king: ‘Morning is coming.’

I feel tender towards him as he endures the long nights in pain. I don’t begrudge waking and sitting with him though I know I will be tired when dawn finally comes. Then he can sleep but I have to attend to the duties of the court for us both – leading everyone to Mass, breakfasting in public before a hundred watching eyes, reading with Princess Mary, watching the court ride to hounds, dining with them at midday, listening to the councillors in the afternoon and dining, watching the revels and dancing all evening, and often dancing myself. This is sometimes a pleasure but it is always a duty. A court has to have a focus and a head. If the king is not well it is my task to take his place – and to conceal how very ill he is. He can rest during the day if I am there, smiling on the throne and assuring everyone that he is a little tired but better every day.