I said, “Keziah, are you not what is called a wanton?”
“Well, my love, I’ve always kept it quiet. I’m not one to brazen it round, I’ve always tried to make it so that it was just a little matter between the two of us. My word, my tongue runs away with me and all because of the King and his Queen.”
I thought a great deal about the Queen lying in her dismal prison. I shuddered when the barge carried us up the river past that grim gray fortress. I averted my eyes when we passed the Mores’ house. It was now deserted and I thought how it used to be when the peacocks strutted on the lawns and there was usually a glimpse of some members of that family walking in earnest conversation, or laughing together as they played some game.
Then came the day when the Queen walked out of her prison to Tower Hill where her head was cut off by the executioner’s sword which had been brought from France for this purpose; and the guns boomed out and the King rode off to Wolf Hall to be married to Jane Seymour.
I kept thinking of her lying in her litter, proud and triumphant. That she had come to this was tragic and I remember my father’s comment that the tragedy of one could be the tragedy of us all.
Meals were more silent than they used to be; guests who called on us and shared our meals no longer talked as freely as they once had.
We heard the new Queen was expecting a child and then one day the guns boomed; there was great rejoicing for Jane Seymour had given the King what he desired more than anything—a son. In conferring this great blessing she lost her life but the important matter seemed to be that at last the King had his heir. We were all commanded to drink to the new Prince; and we loyally did so.
Poor motherless Edward, the King’s heir! Doubtless he would join his sisters in their nursery—Mary, the daughter of Queen Katharine, who was now a young woman of twenty-one, and Elizabeth, the daughter of Anne Boleyn, who was but four years old.
We all guessed it would not be long before the King was seeking a new wife. Poor Queens—Katharine, Anne and Jane! Who would be the next?
It was not of the King’s next Queen that we heard but of something quite different. Keziah was laughing about it with Tom Skillen.
“Mercy me. Well, it seems nuns and monks are human after all.”
“Ain’t what you’d expect ’em to be,” said Tom; and they giggled together.
Others took the matter more seriously. My father was very grave. It seemed that there had been several complaints concerning the conduct of nuns and monks in various nunneries and monasteries all over the country and this was giving rise to great scandals.
Kate told me about it. “A monk was found in bed with a woman,” she said. “And he was blackmailed and has been paying for months. One Abbot has two sons and he has been making sure that they both have good positions in churches.”
“But monks don’t go out into the world. How could they do these things?”
Kate laughed. “Oh, there are stories. They say that there’s a tunnel connecting a nunnery and a monastery and that the nuns and monks meet for orgies. They say that there is a burial ground where they bury the babies the nuns have, and that sometimes they smuggle them out.”
“It’s all nonsense,” I said.
“There may be some truth in it,” insisted Kate.
“But why should monks and nuns suddenly become depraved?”
“They’ve been so for a long time and only just been found out.”
She couldn’t wait to see Bruno. She wanted to taunt him with what she had learned.
“So it seems you’re not so holy in your abbeys,” she said as she lay in the grass kicking her heels in the air.
Bruno watched her with a strange expression in his eyes which I had seen before and never been able to understand.
“This is a plot,” he cried hotly. “It’s a plot to discredit the Faith.”
“But the Faith should not be in a position to be discredited.”
“Any lies can be told.”
“Are they all lies? How could they all be?”
“Perhaps there are faults.”
“So you admit it!”
“I admit that perhaps a few of these stories may be true but why should monasteries be discredited because of one or two evil ones?”
“People who pretend to be holy rarely are. They all do wicked things. Look at you, Holy One, who took us to see the Madonna.”
“That’s not fair, Kate,” I said.
“Little children should speak only when spoken to.”
“I am not a little child,” I said hotly.
“You don’t know anything, so be silent.”
I knew that Bruno was very uneasy and I guessed this was due to the state of tension within the Abbey. My father told me of it. He was very unhappy.
“Life is full of trials,” he said sadly. “One does not know when to expect the next thunderclap nor from what direction.”
“It all seems to have changed when the King changed wives,” I said. “Before that it seemed so peaceful.”
“That may have been so,” admitted my father, “or it may have been that you were too young to be aware of troubles. Some people never are. I verily believe that your mother is unaware of these storm clouds.”
“She is too concerned whether or not there is blight on her roses.”
“I would have her so,” said my father with a tender smile. And I thought what a good man he was and how content he could have been if he could have lived happily with his family, sailing up the river to his business, dealing with his cases and then coming home to hear of our domestic affairs. We could have been a serene family surely. I had my differences with Kate; I saw all too little of Rupert; and Simon Caseman although he was so adaptable and did his utmost to please everyone did not somehow make me fond of him; my mother sometimes exasperated me by her absorption in the gardens, as though nothing were of much importance outside them; and there was my father, the center of my world, of whose moods I was always aware, so that when he was uneasy so was I. I was therefore very disturbed at this time. I was fond of the servants and some of our neighbors. My mother was the lady bountiful of the place and she always saw that her needy neighbors were supplied with bread and meat. No beggars were ever sent away empty-handed. Our house was noted for its liberality. All could have been so happy but for the murmurs which surrounded us and the fact that Sir Thomas More had lost his head and his household was disbanded. These were signs that even my mother found it difficult to ignore. She did mention to me once that she thought Sir Thomas should have considered his family rather than his principles. Then he would have signed the Oath and all would have been well.
And then St. Bruno’s was threatened.
My father talked to me about it. I was fast becoming his confidante in these matters. He talked with Rupert and Simon now and then and they discussed affairs but I believe he spoke more freely of his innermost thoughts to me.