“No,” said the King firmly.
“Then would Your Grace give me permission to visit the Queen?”
“No, no, no!” was the answer.
The Spanish ambassador bowed, and the King signified that the audience was over.
It was unfortunate that Katharine’s request should come when Henry was pondering the insinuations of Chapuys. She was finding Buckden very damp and unhealthy. She suffered from rheumatism and gout, and she asked the King to allow her to move to a house which would offer her more comfort.
Henry read her request frowning, and sent for Suffolk.
He tapped the letter and said: “The Queen complains again. Buckden is not to her liking. She asks permission to leave.”
“And Your Majesty has decided that she may leave?”
“I was turning over in my mind where she might go.”
“There is Fotheringay, Your Majesty. That could be put at her disposal.”
Henry thought of the castle on the north bank of the river Nen in Northamptonshire. Its situation was notoriously unhealthy, but it was far enough away not to give cause for concern.
“Let it be Fotheringay,” said Henry.
WHEN KATHARINE heard that she was to go to Fotheringay she cried out in protest.
“It is even more unhealthy than Buckden!” she said. “Is it true that the King wishes to see an end of me?”
She was weary of living and she was certain that if she went to Fotheringay she would not be long for this world. It was a comforting thought, but immediately she dismissed it. What of Mary? She visualized her daughter, shorn of her rank, forced to live under the same roof as Anne Boleyn’s daughter, doubtless expected to pay homage to the child. It was intolerable. She must live to fight for Mary. Chapuys was full of ideas; he was constantly writing to her. He was ready to go to great lengths in her cause and that of the Princess Mary. And here she was, weakly welcoming death.
She would certainly not go to Fotheringay.
“I will not leave Buckden for Fotheringay,” she wrote to the King, “unless you bind me with ropes and take me there.”
But Henry was now determined to move her and, since she would not accept Fotheringay, he declared that she should go to Somersham in the Isle of Ely.
“As this place is no more acceptable to me than the Castle of Fotheringay,” she wrote, “I will remain where I am.”
But the King had decided that she should go to Somersham, for there she could live with a smaller household. Moreover he knew that she was far from well, and Somersham, like Fotheringay, was unhealthy. If Katharine were to die a natural death, and he could cease to think of her and the effect she was having on his popularity, he would enjoy greater peace of mind.
He sent Suffolk down to Buckden with instructions to move the Queen and certain members of her household to Somersham.
THE DUKE OF SUFFOLK had arrived at Buckden and was asking audience of the Princess Dowager. Katharine, walking with difficulty, received him in the great hall.
“My lady,” said Suffolk, bowing, but not too low, making a difference in the homage he would give to a Queen and one who was of less importance than himself, “I come on the King’s orders to move you and your household to Somersham.”
“I thank you, my lord Duke,” answered Katharine coldly, “but I have no intention of leaving Buckden for Somersham.”
Suffolk inclined his head. “My lady, I fear you have no choice in this matter as it is the King’s order that you should move.”
“I refuse this order,” retorted Katharine. “Here I stay. You see the poor state of my health. Buckden does not serve it well, but Somersham is even more damp and unhealthy. I shall not leave this house until one which pleases me is found for me.”
“My lady, you leave me no alternative…”
She interrupted him: “…but to go back to the King and tell him that I refuse.”
“That is not what I intended, my lady. I have orders from the King to move you, and I at least must obey my master.”
“I’m afraid your task is impossible, my lord, if I refuse to go.”
“There are ways, Madam,” answered the Duke, “and these must needs be adopted in the service of the King.”
Katharine turned and, leaving him, retired to her apartments.
She expected him to ride off to tell the King what had happened, but he did not do this; and sitting at her window waiting to see him leave, she waited in vain. Then suddenly from below she heard unusual noises, and before she could summon any of her women to ask what was happening, one came to her.
“Your Grace,” said the woman, “they are moving the furniture. They are preparing to take it away. Already the hall is being stripped bare.”
“This is impossible!” said the Queen. “They cannot turn me out of Buckden without my consent.”
But she was wrong, because this was exactly what Suffolk had made up his mind to do.
Secretly Suffolk was ashamed of this commission and wished that the King had chosen some other to carry it out; it was particularly distasteful to him, because he had, on the death of the King’s sister Mary, recently married the daughter of Maria de Salinas who was such a close friend of the Queen. But his bucolic mind could suggest no other way of disguising his distaste than by truculence. Moreover he had orders to move the Queen from Buckden, and he did not care to contemplate what the King would say if he returned to Court and explained that he had been unable to carry out his task.
Katharine went to the hall and saw that what she had been told was correct. The tapestries had already been taken down from the walls, and the furniture was being prepared for removal.
Angrily she confronted Suffolk. “How dare you move my furniture without my consent?” she demanded.
He bowed. “The King’s orders are that it and you should be removed.”
“I tell you I shall not go.”
She left him and went up to her bedchamber. Several of her faithful women were there, and she locked the door on herself and them.
Suffolk followed her and stood outside the door begging her to be reasonable.
She would not answer him and, realizing that it was no use arguing with a locked door, Suffolk went back to the hall.
“Go into all the rooms save those of the Queen’s private apartments, which are locked against us,” he commanded. “Dismantle the beds and pack all that needs to be packed. We are moving this household to Somersham.”
The work went on while Katharine remained in her own apartments; but Suffolk and his retinue had been seen arriving, and it was not long before news of what was happening within the manor house was spread throughout the villages. As the crowd outside grew, Suffolk, who had posted his guards about the house, was soon made aware that the Queen’s neighbors were gathering to protect her. It was a silent crowd, watching from a distance; but it was noted that many of the men carried choppers and billhooks; and Suffolk, who had never been noted for his quick wits, was uneasy. Here was a humiliating situation: the Queen locked in her own apartments with a few of her faithful servants; he and his men dismantling the house, preparing to move; and outside, the Queen’s neighbors gathering to protect her! Suffolk knew that if he attempted to remove the Queen by force there would be a battle. He could imagine Henry’s fury when news of this reached his ears.
Yet something must be done; but the winter evening was near and he could do nothing that night, so he called a halt to his men. They should see about their night quarters and making a meal. They were prepared for this for they had not expected to complete their task in one day and night.
In the morning, Suffolk told himself, I shall work out a plan. He thought wistfully of the Christmas revelry which would be taking place at the Court. The new Queen and her admirers would certainly arrange a lively pageant. There would be fun for those at Court, while he had to spend his time in this gloomy mansion, trying to persuade an obstinate woman to do something which she had sworn not to do.