It was true, of course. She had always tried to please him. She had made no protest when he had left her bed to share those of his mistresses; Elizabeth Blount, for instance, whose son he had honored; my sister Mary, who had been his mistress over several years. She had accepted Mary at Court and had been a kind mistress to her. And myself…True, she had shown a little rancor where I was concerned. But I understood that—and so must Henry.
“I loved those whom you loved, only for your sake, whether they were my friends or enemies…”
Tolerated, would have been a better word in the cases of Mary and Elizabeth Blount; but he could not complain of her behavior even to them.
“These twenty years I have been your true wife and by me you have had children, although it has pleased God to call them out of this world.”
He would be growing angry and steeling himself not to show it. If these children had lived—and there had been boys among them—he would not have been trying to rid himself of her. He could not have done so…even forme.
Then came the crux of the matter.
“And when you met me at first, I take God to be my judge, I was a true maid, without the touch of man.”
The court was silent. A woman so deeply religious would not swear before God unless she was telling the truth.
“Whether this be true or not, I put it to your conscience.”
A masterly touch. His conscience was a source of great embarrassment to him. She, who knew him well, would be aware of this. She was telling him that he knew as well as she did that when they had married she had been a virgin. She was calling on him to search his conscience.
But it was his conscience which was his great ally in this matter. Had he not schooled that conscience to plague him to such an extent that he had no alternative but to bring this case?
“If you will not favor me,” she went on, “I commit my cause to God.”
With that she walked out of the room.
Although they called her back, she took no heed of them; and when she left the hall, the crowd which had gathered outside—consisting mainly of women—cheered her wildly. Their shouts of “Long live our Queen Katharine” were heard in the hall.
During those hot June days I could not believe that the court would go against the King's wishes. Henry was optimistic, he was glad Katharine had walked out of the court and refused to return. It was much easier without her mournful, resolute figure to inspire admiration and pity.
There was only one who dared raise his voice against the King's wishes and that was John Fisher, the Bishop of Rochester, who stood up in court and said that his only intention was to have justice done and relieve himself of a scruple of conscience.
These consciences, how they bedeviled us! The King's conscience was well known to me; now here was Fisher's. He could not risk the damnation of his soul by failing to declare his opinion. He believed that the marriage of the King could not be dissolved by any power, human or divine; and he was prepared to encounter any peril for the truth.
Henry was furious. If he could, he would have had Fisher transported to the Tower on the spot. Wolsey came to see Henry, who berated him for allowing the bishop to stand up and make such a statement. Wolsey— torn as he was between Pope and King, disappointed of the Papacy—was showing signs of breaking up. His supreme confidence had left him. Being so much more shrewd and clever than most of us, he could see farther ahead and the danger toward which he was being hurried. He implored the King to believe him when he said that Fisher had given him no indication of his intentions.
“He'll be sorry for this,” growled Henry. “I'll not be plagued by these traitorous bishops.”
News of what was happening in the court always seeped out, and now the Bishop of Rochester was receiving acclaim from the people, which was a further source of irritation to the King.
“But fear not,” he said to me. “This matter must end soon and it can only go one way. I shall make those who act against me feel my wrath.”
But there were some who embrace martyrdom as joyfully as a bridegroom does his bride. I had a notion that Fisher was one of those.
The news from the Continent was not very encouraging. Charles had had a decisive victory over François in Italy; and worse than ever, the Emperor was making peace terms with the French and Clement at Cambrai. This was a greater blow than Fisher's outburst. Henry might deal with his own subject's waywardness; the great obstacle had always been the mighty Emperor.
And so the days passed.
My father, Norfolk and Suffolk were all working hard to have the matter settled. I felt I had powerful friends. It mattered not to me that both the Duchesses of Norfolk and Suffolk were haughtily cool to me. It was their husbands who could do me most good; and they were too firmly behind the King to be influenced by their wives.
It was well into July before the final judgement was to be given. I was beside myself with excitement. I was visualizing my coronation. Queen of England—with the King my slave. We had passed through some difficult times. For four years the King's courtship of me had persisted. Such fidelity could mean only one thing: his devotion was complete.
What a brilliant future lay ahead of me! I was already paying back old scores on Wolsey. Poor old man, he would not last long when I came to power.
I would teach him—and all men through him—what it meant to insult Anne Boleyn, to take from her the only man she had ever loved, to ruin their lives…well, Northumberland's had been ruined. As for myself, I looked upon my brilliant future as a kind of consolation prize. I had lost what I had most desired, and in place of love I had ambition. I could not be Henry Percy's wife—which in my heart I believed would have brought me the greater happiness—so I would be the Queen of England. Fisher's outburst had caused a great deal of anxiety at the time, but Henry had decided to dismiss the man as a hotheaded fanatic. There were others to give evidence more to his liking, particularly those who had been with Prince Arthur on the morning after his wedding to Katharine, and who stated that the Prince had staggered out of the bridal chamber exhausted, declaring to them all that “that night he had been in the midst of Spain.” It was hard to believe in Arthur, a weakling who was not far from death and was of an especially retiring nature, making such a statement. But it was good evidence…or would have been but for the effect Katharine had had when she had called on God to be her witness with such obvious piety and dignity. Moreover, during the court proceedings the shouting of the crowds outside could often be heard in the hall… like a threatening chorus in a tragic drama.
All the same we were optimistic. The King could not believe that, as he had made his wishes so clear, his desire would be denied him in his own capital.
How wrong he was!
At last the day for which we had all been waiting arrived, and the judgment was to be given.
I was waiting impatiently for the verdict and in spite of certain misgivings my hopes ran high.
The King went into the gallery in the company of his brother-in-law, the Duke of Suffolk. He was certain of the verdict. The bishopric of Durham would be Campeggio's when the case was favorably settled and that would assure him of great riches. The man would not be such a fool as to turn his back on that, reasoned the King.
Perhaps he had forgotten that, when men are old and sickly and death does not seem to be so very far away, they are not so easily bribed by worldly goods. Campeggio's illness, which had served him so well in his efforts to play delaying tactics, was genuine. He did indeed suffer from excruciatingly painful gout. His one desire was obviously to leave our damp climate to get away to peace and perhaps a little comfort for his aching limbs.