The insurgents, no doubt feeling they had made their point, returned to their homes. The King had suggested that their leader Robert Aske should come to London, where he would be received and differences discussed.
Just after this I was surprised to receive a visit from the King.
It was one morning when I returned from riding to find the household in a flutter of excitement. The King, out hunting, had called and was in the house. He was impatiently waiting to see me, and I had better go to him with all speed.
I found him pacing up and down in the salon. He was alone.
I went to him and knelt. He took my hands and kissed them with a show of tenderness.
“I trust I find Your Majesty in good health,” I said.
“Yes…yes… and you, daughter?”
I thanked him for his gracious enquiry and told him that I was well.
He shook his head impatiently. “There has been trouble with these rebels in the North,” he said.
“I trust it is settled to Your Majesty's pleasure.”
“Yes…yes. That was soon put to rights. There'll be no more trouble from them. There were some who would have it that you were involved in it.”
“I swear I knew nothing about them.”
He lifted a hand. “I know it. I know it. But when these fools start meddling in matters of which they know nothing… they will speak of you.”
“It is my earnest regret that they should do so.”
“You are a loyal subject then?”
“I am, Your Majesty. I do not forget that I am your daughter.”
He nodded. “Methinks you speak truth. Do you know, there is one thing I abhor… and I will do all in my power to stamp it out. It is dishonesty.”
I was beginning to tremble.
“Myself…I am a stranger to that vice,” he went on. “You may think that there are occasions when a king must speak what is an untruth…for the sake of diplomacy, eh?”
“I am an ignorant woman, Your Majesty. I know nothing of these matters.”
He grunted, suggesting approval of my attitude. “I will not do that. Nay!” He began to shout. “Even though I am told it is expedient and it is not dishonesty in the normal sense…‘This is for the country,' they may say, but no: I am an honest man.”
I lifted my eyes and tried to look admiring; but I could not stop thinking of all he had done and how he had talked of his conscience, how he had made it work for him, so that all his deeds were wrapped in a covering of righteousness. It was hard to hide my feelings when he talked of dishonesty—but I must.
This was one of those occasions when he believed himself, and he saw no reason why I should not believe him either.
“I want to be sure of your sincerity,” he said.
I felt my knees would not support me, and I was afraid he would see my hands trembling and would regard my fear as evidence of my guilt.
“You signed the Act of Submission,” he said. “You agreed that my marriage to your mother was invalid, and you accepted me, as did my loyal subjects, as Head of the Church.”
“Yes,” I said faintly.
“Will you give me a truthful answer?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said even more quietly.
“You had much to gain from signing, had you not?”
“I yearned for Your Majesty's favor.”
“Aye. Your fate depended on it, did it not? You would have been a fool not to sign, and I do not think you are a fool, daughter. Your mother would not give in. It would have been easier for her if she had. But you are made of different stuff.”
Yes, I thought, common clay. I could never be the martyr she was. I lack her goodness, her saintliness.
“But tell me this,” he went on. “Did you agree with your heart as well as your pen?”
I dared not hesitate. To do so would be fatal. I had my mission, my destiny.
I answered, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
He gave me an expansive smile and took me in his arms.
“Then, daughter,” he said, “we are in truth good friends. You have told me that you signed the submission in good faith, and that pleases me. There are some who would suggest that you were forced to do this. You and I, daughter, know that this is not so. But there are those doubters, and I would have them know the truth. You will help me to dispel their doubts, good daughter that you have now become. There are two of these doubters to whom I would have you address yourself. One is the Emperor Charles; the other is the Pope.”
I was appalled. Was it not enough that I had signed his document? Must I deny my love for my mother, my adherence to the Faith? Must I tell this to the whole world?
Refusal trembled on my lips. I saw myself languishing in the Tower, tried for treason, brought out to Tower Hill as his beloved, the ill-fated Anne Boleyn, had been.
Where was that shining dream? I must bring England back to the Faith.
I was not merely a devoted daughter: I was a woman fighting for her future, perhaps her life, but my life was of little importance beside what I must do for the Faith.
He was looking at me intently; his little eyes were benign at the moment, but I knew how quickly they could change.
I heard myself say, “Yes, Your Majesty, I will write to them. I will tell them that I am in agreement with everything that has been done and will be done.”
He could be charming when pleased. I could see why men followed him. He was like the father I had known in my childhood. He seized me in his arms and held me against his jewel-encrusted jacket. I felt the stones pressing into my heart. I despised myself. I murmured apologies to my mother; but I knew this had to be done.
“Now,” he said, “all is well, and this is a delight to me. I like it not when there is discord in families. From now on you are my dear daughter. You shall come to Court. All shall be as it should be between a father and his daughter.”
He was in an excellent mood, and I was fighting to hide my despondency. He would prepare drafts for me to send to the Emperor and the Pope. All I needed to do would be to sign them and the matter would be most happily settled from his point of view.
I was becoming devious. I was playing my own games as carefully as he played his; only perhaps I had more of the quality which he so much admired: honesty—and with myself. I despised myself and yet I knew that what I was doing was necessary. I could honestly say I was not doing it to preserve my life or to bring myself a comfortable style of living. Always I had the main object in mind; and it was for that I lied and dissembled.
I was thankful that I could see people freely now; and when Chapuys visited me I gave him an account of my interview with my father.
“You did what was right,” he told me.
“But I have lied. I have denied my legitimacy and dishonored my mother.”
“Sometimes it is necessary to act against one's conscience if the matter is great enough.”
“I do not wish the Emperor to regard me as a weakling who has given way to save her life.”
“The Emperor knows well your purpose.”
“I wish to write to him personally to tell him that what I have officially sent to him is untrue.”
“Do so,” he said, “and I will see that the letter reaches him.”
“If it did not and was discovered, that would be the end of my hopes… and of me.”
Chapuys nodded gravely. “It shall not be discovered. All the hopes of the Church rest with you. I swear to you that your letter will be delivered safely into the Emperor's hands.”
“I must also write to the Pope.”
“Do that. They will be sure then that you are working for God and the Church.”
He smiled at me and went on, “You are anxious. You fear that you have betrayed your mother. Rest assured that she understands. This country of England will have reason to thank you. You are going to bring it back to the Faith when the time comes.”