Simon Caseman asked Kate what she thought of the procession and she expressed her delight in it. I noticed my father looked rather sad so I didn’t join in quite so ecstatically, although I had been as delighted as Kate with the glittering pageantry.
It was necessary to wait until the press of people had diminished before we could make our way to the stairs and our barge. Father continued silent and rather sad.
When we entered the house, I said to Kate: “I wonder what she was thinking lying there in her litter.”
“What should she think of,” demanded Kate, “but her crown and the power it will bring her?”
During the September of that year there was great excitement everywhere because the new Queen was about to give birth to a child. Everyone confidently expected a boy. It was, the King had tried to make the people believe, the very reason for his change of wives. After all Queen Katharine had already borne him the Lady Mary.
“There will be great rejoicing,” my father said to me as we took one of our walks to the river’s edge, “but if the Queen should fail….”
“Father, she will not fail. She will give the King his son and then we shall be dancing in the big hall. The mummers will come, the bells will ring out, and the guns will boom.”
“My dearest child,” he said, “let us pray that this will be so.”
I was touched that he, whose sympathies were with poor Queen Katharine, could now be sorry for Queen Anne Boleyn.
“Poor soul,” he said.
“Many have suffered because of her, Father,” I answered.
“Yes, indeed,” he replied sadly. “Many have lost their heads for her. Who knows when she will be in like case?”
“But she is beloved of the King.”
“So were others, my child, and what of them when they cease to inspire that love? Many now rest in their quiet graves. When my time comes I should like to lie in the Abbey burial grounds. I spoke to Brother John about it. He thinks it can be arranged.”
“Father, I forbid you to talk of death! And it all began by talking of birth!”
He smiled rather sadly. “There is a link, dear child. We are all born and we all must die.”
A few days later the royal child was born. We heard that the King was bitterly disappointed, for the child, though healthy, was a girl.
There was rejoicing at her christening and she was named Elizabeth.
“The next one,” everyone said, “must be a boy.”
Christmas came with its festivities: mummers, carols, feasting and the decorations with the holly and the ivy. We were growing up and the following spring I heard Elizabeth Barton’s name for the first time because everyone was talking of her; she was known as the Holy Maid of Kent and she had prophesied that if the King put away Queen Katharine and set up Anne Boleyn as his Queen he would soon die; and now that he had done so, many people were certain that he had not long to live.
Brother John and Brother James came to see my father and the three of them walked about the garden in earnest conversation because they thought the Holy Maid could make the King realize his error. It might well be a sign from heaven, said Brother John. I don’t know what my father felt because he never talked to me about these matters. I realize now that he was afraid that I might, in my innocence, say something that would incriminate not only him but me, for young people could be deemed traitors. I understand now that the King was swept on by his desire for the woman who had fascinated him and his wariness with the Queen who no longer did. His senses were in command but he greatly feared the wrath of God toward sinners. Therefore he must convince himself that he was in the right. He must believe—what he said so constantly—that it was not his senses which dictated his actions but his conscience. He insisted that Queen Katharine’s previous marriage to his brother Arthur meant that she was not legally his wife because the marriage had been consummated, although the Queen swore it had not been. The reason his marriage had failed to be blessed with children—except one girl, the Lady Mary—was due to God’s displeasure, said the King. It was not his desire for Anne Boleyn which had made him demand a divorce from Katharine. It was his duty to provide England with a male heir. The new Queen had now one daughter and had proved herself fertile; the next child would be a son.
So the King reasoned and there was no logic which could defeat his conscience. This I learned later, but at the time I forgot the brooding sense of insecurity for hours at a stretch.
My mother did too. She was a gentle, pliable woman, who perhaps because she was so much younger than my father relied on him for everything and had few opinions of her own; but she kept our house in order and our servants were devoted to her; moreover she was becoming known as one of the best gardeners in the south of England. She was always excited when new plants were introduced into England; the musk rose had now arrived; and she grew that side by side with the damask. Corinthian grapes too had been brought from the Isle of Zante and she planned a vinery which gave her a great deal of pleasure.
She was, I gradually learned, the sort of woman who believes that if she shuts her eyes to unpleasantness it ceases to exist. I was fond of her and she doted on me; but I was never close to her as I was to my father. My greatest pleasure was to be with him, to walk with him down to the river or through the orchards and as I was growing older he could talk seriously to me, which I think gave him great pleasure.
It was at the time when Elizabeth Barton became prominent that my father did talk to me.
I remember the day she was executed he put his arm through mine and we walked down to the river. He liked this way better because it was open lawn and we could talk without being overheard as we might be in the orchard or the nuttery.
He told me the Holy Maid had been a servant to a member of Archbishop Warham’s retinue and how she became ill and subject to fits. This state had turned into trances and she had declared herself to be under deep spiritual influence.
“It may well be that she was used,” he said, “poor soul. It may be that she spoke half-truths, but as you know, Damask, she has uttered against the King; she had prophesied his death if he should put Queen Katharine from him.”
“Which he has done, Father.”
“And taken to him Anne Boleyn.”
“Why shouldn’t we forget it?” I said. “If the King has sinned it is he who will be called upon to answer for it.”
My father smiled. “Do you remember, my child, when you and I saw the once-great Cardinal sail by with the King?”
“I shall never forget it. I think it was the time I first began to notice things.”
“And I said to you…what did I say to you? Do you remember?”
“You said: We are not alone. The misfortune of one is that of us all.”
“What a clever child you are! Oh, Damask, I shall enjoy seeing you a woman…if I live as long.”
“Please don’t say that. Of course you are going to live to see me a woman. I am almost that now and we shall always be together.”
“And one day you will marry.”
“Do you think that will part me from my father? Any husband who wished to separate me from you would not find much favor with me.”
He laughed. “This house and all I possess will be for you and your children.”
“But it will remain yours for many many years to come,” I insisted.
“Damask, don’t lose sight of this: We live in troublous times. The King has tired of one wife and wanted another. That may concern us, Damask. I want you to be prepared.” He pressed my hand. “You are such a little wiseacre that I forget your youth. I talk to you as I might talk to Brother John or Brother James. I forget you are just a child.”