Surrey was rather a mischievous young man. I guessed that one day he would be in trouble; but he was a good poet and he gave himself airs. I am sure he thought he was more royal than the Tudors.
He mentioned Anne Askew.
From my corner I watched the immediate effect on the Queen. Gardiner was aware of it, too. He said something about the books which were being smuggled into the country, and he added that there was no doubt that people like Anne Askew saw that they were circulated.
He looked directly at the Queen and said, “Your Majesty must be aware of this.”
“To which books do you refer, my lord Bishop?” she asked.
“Forbidden books, Your Majesty.”
“Forbidden?” she asked. “By you, my lord Bishop? Would you seek to instruct us on what books we must read?”
I was afraid for her. She was being reckless. She had suffered so much at the time of Anne Askew's death. She had lived for so long in fear of what might happen that she must be near breaking-point.
“Only, Your Majesty, if the books were those which the law forbids being circulated throughout the country.”
The King was growing impatient. He said, “We now permit our subjects to read the Holy Scriptures in our native tongue; and I have made it known that this is done so only to inform them and their children and not to make scripture a railing and a taunting stock. It grieves me that this precious jewel, the Word of God, is disputed and rhymed, sung and jangled in every alehouse and tavern, contrary to the true meaning and doctrine of the same.”
Katharine should have been wise enough to let the matter rest there but, as I said, she was in a reckless mood.
“When Your Majesty says to dispute,” she said, “you cannot mean that it is unlawful for people to discuss the interpretation of the Gospel.”
He frowned at her. “Would you question our decision?”
“Indeed not, Your Majesty, but I would ask Your Grace if you might cease to forbid the use of books which…”
The King's leg seemed to twitch. He shouted, “Madam, when I say it is forbidden, it is forbidden!”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said.
“But when people have a translation which they understand and they wish to talk…”
“No more,” said the King. “Come, I would go in.” He signed impatiently to the two men who stood by his chair. Then he muttered so that all could hear, “A good hearing it is when women become such clerks—and much to my comfort in my old age to be taught by my wife!”
His chair was wheeled away. The others followed, leaving Katharine standing there mortified.
I had seen the glint in Gardiner's eyes.
IT WAS NOT UNTIL later that I learned the true story. I just knew that the Queen was in such a state of health that those about her feared for her sanity.
I guessed what had happened. We had expected it must come some time. She had been fortunate so far, but she had been as near disaster as any wife of his must be on occasions, and everything depended on the chance of the moment whether it was the end or she went on to await the next alarm.
Looking back, I tell myself that Katharine must have had a special guardian angel.
She was surrounded by women who were completely devoted to her which was inevitable with a woman of her nature. She had always been kind to all, and however humble any servant of hers was, she was treated with consideration. When Katharine had changed from Lady Latimer to Queen, she herself had not changed with it; she still remained the kindly, motherly woman who always had time to listen to and condole with another's troubles. Hence the devotion which she now enjoyed.
Gardiner and Wriothesley determined to lose no time. The Queen was in disgrace. She had argued with the King once too often, and this in the presence of others. She had been reprimanded in front of them. She must be very low in the King's estimation at this moment; so therefore the time was ripe for her removal.
I could imagine Wriothesley and Gardiner closing in after that scene in the garden. Would the King be tutored by his wife? Indeed he would not. He was clearly piqued by her learning. But she was not clever enough to know when she should be quiet. The King did not want a clever woman; he wanted a Catharine Howard without her blemishes with the nature of Katharine Parr—or a Katharine Parr with the body and sensuality of Catharine Howard.
Now was the time to strike at the Queen, for she clearly leaned toward the Reformed Faith which the King had forbidden. Thus she was giving her enemies the opportunity they needed. She was questioning the King's right to supremacy. His Majesty would never endure such behavior from a woman. Anne Askew had been such another—saucy, defiant, acting in utter disobedience to the King's orders and the laws of the country.
Surely there must have been intervention from Heaven. It happened like this: one of the Queen's women was hurrying across the courtyard when she saw the Lord Chancellor Wriothesley passing through, carrying a batch of papers. He was a man whom none—great or humble—wished to come face to face with unexpectedly, for it could not be known whether one might offend him—and he was not the man to take an offense lightly.
So the woman drew back to the shelter of a pillar, and as she did so, she saw him drop one of the papers. He obviously did not notice, for he did not stop to retrieve it. She ran from her hiding-place and picked it up, meaning to give it to him, but by that time he had disappeared into the Palace. Some impulse made the woman look at the scroll, and she saw at once what it was. It was a mandate for the Queen's arrest.
She stood for a moment staring at it, unsure how to act. If she took it to the Chancellor, the Queen would be in the Tower very shortly. But if the paper were lost, he would have to get another. That would take time, and time was all-important on such occasions.
Tucking the scroll under her arm, she made her way in great haste to the apartments of the Queen's sister.
Lady Herbert almost swooned when she saw what it was. She had been expecting trouble and had, I believe, on many occasions warned her sister, to whom she was devoted; when she actually saw a warrant for the Queen's arrest, she must have thought the end was near.
She decided what she must do. Her sister must be prepared. She went to her immediately and showed her what the woman had brought to her.
It was then that Katharine sank into such melancholy that they feared for her life.
She wept piteously, Lady Herbert herself told me afterward. They did not know what to do. They had seen the mandate, and there would be some delay, but it would come. The King had approved this. His signature was on the document. So there was no hope.
Katharine could think of nothing to do. She was a very religious woman but she was afraid of death. The shadow which had hung over her since that fearful day when she had been told the King wished to marry her, was now upon her—a shadow no more: a reality.
The fact that she had had this on her mind and had lived so long with fear did not help her. It would come soon: the walk to the block, the gory death while people looked on and would say: “That is the end of the sixth wife.”
“And who will be the seventh?” she said hysterically. “The Duchess of Richmond… the Duchess of Suffolk? And how long for them?”
Lady Herbert tried to console her but there was no consolation.
“The King put a ring of doom about me when he put the ring on my finger,” she said. “I knew it at the time. I am no martyr. I am no Anne Askew. She went willingly to her death for her faith. I am merely a woman who does not please her husband.”
Anne Herbert was afraid for her sanity. Her eyes were wide and tragic… she saw herself taking those last steps to the scaffold.
Her sister called me, and I went to see Katharine. We tried to soothe her. Her eyes were glazed and she began to sob. Then she called out that she did not want to die. She was too young to die. She had never lived the life she had wanted. She had been nothing but a nurse to old men, and now she was to die.