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‘The people favour right over might!’ Mattie declared stoutly.
‘I wonder if they care, so long as there is peace, and taxes are not too burdensome,’ Kate retorted. She felt tired. This new pregnancy was sapping her strength, and she needed to lie down. She seemed to spend most of her time resting these days. And William was so anxious about this child surviving that he kept urging her to do so.
He was kinder with her now, a little more unbending. His mother too had relented towards her, and something of their old friendship had revived. And that brought Elizabeth ru
Christmas came and went, a much merrier occasion than it had been last year. Then there were the dead weeks of January, when the countryside lay covered with snow or frost and the peasants stayed huddled in their cottages, eking out the stores they had put by for the winter, and biding their time until February arrived, and with it Plough Monday, when they would venture forth to work the fields again.
At the end of February another letter arrived from Harpenden. Kat sounded worried. She wrote that the King had deprived Elizabeth Wydeville of her lands, and the Dowager Queen had retired with only a small pension to the abbey of Bermondsey. Why? wondered Kate. What could Elizabeth Wydeville have done to deserve being stripped of her revenues? Only last autumn she had stood godmother to Prince Arthur. Was it a threat, a warning to keep her mouth shut?
But there was more disconcerting news as Kate read on. Kat had recently been at court with her husband.
The Lady Margaret rules all there, she had written. The King is no very indulgent husband to the Queen. His aversion to the House of York is such that it finds place not only in his politics but in his chamber and his bed. To the Queen, he is not at all uxorious. It is said she leads a miserable and cheerless life, and certes she does not look a happy woman. She is beloved by the people because she is powerless and kept in subjection by the Lady Margaret, whose influence she resents.
*
Did Elizabeth of York too know more than was good for her? Did Henry Tudor keep her in this silken bondage because he knew – or feared – that she possessed dangerous knowledge of the fate, or the whereabouts, of her brothers?
The Dowager Countess, who had brought the letter, was standing by, and Kate showed it to her. ‘It saddens me that Henry should treat his Queen so distrustfully,’ A
‘It seems strange that he treats both his wife and his mother-in-law so unkindly,’ Kate said. ‘It is as if he does not trust them.’
‘He was ever a suspicious child,’ the Countess said. ‘He grew up under the shadow of civil war, a pawn in a game of kings. It is only natural for him to wish to pre-empt any threat to his security. After all, both the Queen and her mother are of the House of York, and both meddled in high affairs in the last reign. As you know, your father, King Richard, pla
Kate listened aghast: she had not known of this. No wonder Henry Tudor kept his Queen in subjection; he must have known all about her intrigues, and the fact that she had been hot for King Richard, as A
Kate’s babe had just quickened in her womb when another letter arrived from Kat, who informed her that the atmosphere at court was tense because a young man had appeared in Ireland, calling himself the Earl of Warwick and the rightful King of England:
But he ca
Two days later, William rose to his feet at the di
‘I have received a communication from the King’s Council.’ He looked briefly at Kate, his eyes cold, before addressing the company. ‘I am commanded to place this castle in readiness against a possible invasion. Henceforth, all of you – knights, retainers, squires, even menials – must be on alert. The Earl of Lincoln has fled the realm and is reported to have sought refuge with his aunt, the Duchess Margaret, in Flanders. He is suspected of having nurtured and instructed the Irish pretender, whose real name is Lambert Simnel, in a traitorous conspiracy against the King. It stands to reason, of course,’ he went on. ‘Lincoln’s house at Ewelme is near to Oxford, where the Simnel conspiracy was first plotted. There can be little doubt that he was the author of it. But notwithstanding the fact that the King has lately shown the real Earl of Warwick to the people, there are still ignorant fools who believe this Simnel really is him. Thus we must make ready, and be vigilant, in case the traitor Lincoln raises an army in Flanders and brings Simnel over from Ireland to press his false claim.’
He sat down and glared at a white-faced Kate. ‘Now you can see what a fine gentleman you condescended to,’ he growled. ‘It is as well you have put all that folly behind you, for you may rest assured he will be dealt with as he deserves.’
Katherine
May 1562. The Tower of London.
Sir Edward Warner has been summoned to court; he left after breakfast. The summons could be for a variety of reasons, but of course I am wondering if it concerns me and Ned. Ever since those painful examinations before Archbishop Parker, three months ago, when I briefly glimpsed my beloved again as we were conveyed in separate barges up the Thames, and then questioned at different times, going over the same ground as before, I have been fretting about the outcome. Surely there is now no question of us being accused of treason? If they had meant to do that, they would have done it long ago. And no one has actually used the word treason; they all focus on our marriage. They are obsessed with witnesses and the calling of ba
Thus turn my thoughts, so I am nearly in a frenzy by the time Sir Edward returns, and when I see his grave face, I feel I might faint with terror.
‘Calm yourself, my lady,’ he says. ‘Sit down, I pray you. You are not in any danger, but the news is not what you will want to hear. I have had it from the Queen’s Majesty herself.’
I hold my breath, anguished with suspense. Sir Edward looks pityingly on me.
‘I am commanded by her to tell you that the Archbishop of Canterbury has found that, in the absence of any documents or witnesses, your marriage to Lord Hertford ca
This is calamitous and unjust. I can barely believe it. ‘We weremarried!’ I cry. ‘I am no fornicator, believe me. Before God, Sir Edward, we have been sharply handled; and the lack of proofs was our misfortune, not any fault in us. Why will they not believe us?’