In the Shadow of the Crown - Plaidy Jean - Страница 70

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But he was home, and Edward was safe. However, the campaign had not improved the condition of his leg. The sores were spreading, and the other leg was infected now.

“The clumsy oafs did not know how to dress it,” he said. “The bandages were either too loose or too tight. By God's Life, Kate, I missed you. There is none that has the way with a bandage you have.”

So her task of nursing began again. She was appalled by the condition of his legs, which were indeed growing worse. He was in great pain at times and would shout abuse at any who came near him.

Only the Queen was allowed to dress the sores.

Chapuys said to me, “The King has the worst legs in the world, and the Queen should thank God for them.”

I looked at him questioningly and he gave me his sly smile. He was implying that it was the King's bad legs which kept the Queen's head on her shoulders.

UNDER KATHARINE'S SOOTHING HANDS and the new ointments she had discovered, the King's legs improved. But instead of being grateful to her, his eyes strayed to others.

Perhaps in his heart he believed that a miracle could happen—his legs would be well again; this excessive flesh would drop from him and he would be a young and agile man again. Perhaps he thought back to the days of his glorious youth when one ambassador had said that he was the most handsome man in Christendom. If one has been handsome, it is hard to forget it; and I suppose people see themselves not as they are but as they once were. I think that was how it was with my father; and in these moods he would ask himself: What am I doing with such a wife…a barren wife? Her only claim to his affections was that she knew how to tie a bandage.

There were beautiful women at Court. There was Lady Mary Howard for one, the widow of his son, the Duke of Richmond—a very lovely girl, with the Howard looks which, in the case of Anne Boleyn and Catharine Howard, had enchanted him.

Charles Brandon had now died and the young and beautiful wife was now an attractive widow. So there were two beautiful young women, either of them capable of bearing sons; and watching men, waiting to snatch at an opportunity, were aware of the King's thoughts.

Gardiner and Wriothesley wanted to be rid of the Queen—and with her, Cranmer. The Queen's leanings were well known. They had already come near to destroying her. If the King's legs had been better instead of worse, they might have achieved it. But this time they would act more carefully.

They were interested in the arrival at Court of Anne Askew. They regarded her closely. The woman was blatant in her conduct; she made no effort to disguise her views, and placing a few spies round her was an easy matter; in a short time she had said enough to give them reason to arrest her.

I was with the Queen when news was brought to her that Anne Askew had been walking in the gardens when two guards had come to take her away.

Katharine turned pale and dropped the piece of embroidery on which she was working.

“Anne…in the Tower,” she whispered.

Jane Grey, who was seated at her feet working on another part of the embroidered altar cloth, picked it up and looked appealingly at the Queen: I could see by the child's expression that she knew why Anne had been arrested and how deeply it disturbed the Queen.

“On … what grounds?” asked Katharine slowly.

“For heresy, Your Majesty.”

“They will question her,” said the Queen. “But Anne will be strong.”

A gloom had settled over the Queen's apartments. Everyone knew how fond she had been of Anne Askew.

Once I came into the schoolroom where Jane and Edward sat together. There were books on the table, and they were talking. Jane was saying that terrible things were happening in Spain, and under the Inquisition people were burned at the stake for their beliefs.

“They die for their faith, Edward.”

“Yes,” said Edward. “They are martyrs. They die for the true faith.”

When they saw me, they stopped talking. So, at their age, they were aware of the dangers regarding the old and the new religions. Could it be that, under the Queen's guidance, they were leaning toward the new?

I was anxious about the Queen. I wondered what trouble she was storing up for herself. On the other hand, I believed wholeheartedly in the old ways. It was my mission to bring England back to Rome, if ever I had the chance. I was fond of Katharine. I knew she was a good woman; yet we were in opposing camps.

All the same, I wanted no harm to come to her.

THEY HAD TAKEN ANNE Askew to the Tower for questioning. Questioning! That dreaded word! It sounded mild enough—just a few queries to answer; but everyone knew what methods could be used to get the answers, and unless they were the answers the questioners wanted, the prisoner could be maimed for life…if any life was left to him or to her.

Susan said, “She will stand up to it. They will never wring anything from her.”

“What could they want to know?” I asked.

“She will state her beliefs. She always has. They are said to be treason…but she has never made any secret of them.”

“They know that. I fear it is not for her that they go to such lengths. They are angling for bigger fish.”

I knew what she meant by this, and I trembled for the Queen.

Anne Askew's arrest and subsequent incarceration in the Tower set people whispering. There was so much persecution now. Those whom the King called traitors to the Crown fell into two groups: the Lutherans and the Papists. All the King asked was that people should worship in the old way, the only difference being that he was head of the Church instead of the Pope. It seemed simple enough to him; but there were those who had to follow this wretched Martin Luther, and others who traitorously declared that the Pope was still head of the Church of England. Both must be eliminated.

The triumphs abroad had lost some of their glory. The Scots were putting up a great fight and having some success. The French had made an attempt to recapture Boulogne. They had not done so, but they had attempted to land in England and had come as far as the Solent.

At such times my father was at his best. He was a great king and, in spite of everything he had done the people recognized this quality in him. When he was concerned with the affairs of the country, he showed his powers of leadership. He did not spare himself; and although people were heavily taxed to deal with the emergency, he himself gave all he could. The common people had never suffered at his hands as those close to him had. The murdered wives were represented to the people as guilty of loose living in the case of Catharine Howard and of witchcraft with Anne Boleyn. Those who had suffered for their religion were mostly in high places, rarely those of humble origins. The people would always remember him as the glittering sovereign of their youth; even now, in his old age, he carried that aura of royalty with him wherever he went, and it could win them to his side.

Disease was his ally, for it worked for him against the French. The sailors in those French ships which had attempted an invasion of England were so stricken that there was nothing for them to do but turn back, and Francois was forced to make peace. Boulogne was to remain in my father's hands for eight years, then its fate would be reconsidered. The war with France was over.

True, there was still trouble in the north, but there was often trouble in the north, and my father was able to turn his full attention in that direction since he was not being harassed by another front.

Meanwhile there was news of Anne Askew.

Susan was alarmed. “She has been most grievously racked,” she said. “There are few who can withstand that pain.”

“What do you fear?” I asked.

“The others will be implicated.”

“Why… why should they be?”

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