The talk was of the Court as Kate wished it to be.
The fall of Cromwell and the King’s infatuation for Katharine Howard were the topics.
“My Lady of Cleves now passes her time most comfortably at Richmond Palace,” our visitor told us. “Those who have seen her say that a great serenity has fallen upon her. She has many dresses and all of the latest fashion. She walks in the gardens and is most pleasant to all who approach her. The truth is that she has come through a trying ordeal. They say she was terrified when the King showed he would not have her and greatly feared that her head would roll in the dust as had that of Queen Anne Boleyn.”
“What a merciful escape.”
“It is not always judicious to cut off the heads of those who have powerful friends in Europe. Thomas Boleyn was an Englishman, and no powerful monarch. So Anne lost her head.”
“It is small wonder that my lady Anne revels in her freedom,” I said. “I can understand how she feels now. Free…with no anxiety! Free to enjoy the King’s mercy.”
“The King was merciful to Cromwell too” was the answer. “He gave him the ax in place of the gallows. As a lowborn man it should have been the gallows but the King was a little moved by his pleas for mercy and granted the block.”
“And now he is no more.”
I could not join in the laughter and merriment of that night when the mummers came into the hall and there was dancing to entertain our visitors. I kept on thinking of the feverish relief of Anne of Cleaves, the mercy shown to Thomas Cromwell—an ax to cut off his head instead of a rope to hang about his neck—and of the young girl who was blithely walking into danger as the King’s fifth wife.
Kate came to my room that night.
“You brood too much, Damask,” she told me; for she understood the trend of my thoughts although I had said nothing. “Does it not seem to you that by the very fact that we live in a world where death can come at any moment to anyone, we should cherish those moments we have of life?”
I thought that perhaps she was right. And a few days later Rupert came to Remus Castle.
Our visitor from Court had left and we were quiet again.
Intending to take little Carey into the rose garden and sit there and enjoy the peace of the place while I worked at my sewing I went to the nursery where I found Betsy in tears. Carey who had been well fed was sleeping and when I asked her what was wrong she told me that her sister’s master, who had been good to her, had yesterday been drawn on a hurdle and taken to Smithfield to undergo the dreaded sentence of hanging, drawing and quartering. This barbaric custom of hanging a man and cutting him down when he was still alive to disembowel him was so horrifying that to hear of it sickened me; I tried to comfort Betsy and asked of what her sister’s employer had been accused.
“He was not rightly sure,” she told me. “But it was doubtless speaking against the King and the new law.”
He did not rightly know meant that there had been no trial. What had happened to our country since the King had broken with the Church and ordinary humble folk must watch their words?
I could not think of how I could comfort Betsy so I took the baby and went out to the rose garden. Kate came there and sat beside me as I stitched. She too was somber for she had heard of the tragedy.
“He was hanged, drawn and quartered with three others as traitors,” she told me, “while three more were burned as heretics. What a strange state of affairs. Those who were hanged, drawn and quartered were traitors because they spoke in favor of the Pope; those who were burned as heretics were studying the new religion and spoke against him. So those who are for Rome and those who are against Rome die together at the same hour at the same place.”
“There is a simple explanation,” I said. “The King has made it clear that there is to be but one change. The religion is the same—the Catholic Faith, but in place of the Pope as Supreme Head of the Church there is an Englishman, the King. To declare the Pope head of the church makes a man a traitor. But to study and practice the new doctrines set out by Martin Luther is heresy. Lowborn traitors are hanged, drawn and quartered; heretics are burned at the stake. That is how things stand in this country at this day.”
“All men and women should take the greatest care not to dabble in these things.”
“My father told me that Luther had said: That what the King of England wills must be for the English an article of faith—to disobey which means death.”
“How do we know,” said Kate soberly, “whether we are not at this moment talking treason?”
“Let us hope that only the birds and insects can hear.”
“It was more comforting when there was the old law. Now it is so difficult to know whether or not one speaks treason.”
“So one must be careful before whom one says one single word which can be considered treason. I’ll dareswear Betsy’s sister’s master wished no harm to the King. It may well be that by talking of this man we could be accused of treason. Perhaps Betsy by shedding a tear for him is a traitor. It is a frightening thought.”
“Let us talk of other things. I will show you the sapphire bracelet Remus has bought for me. That man is so proud to have a son. He says he is afraid to let it be known, for the King can be very envious of men who get healthy sons.”
“Could it then be treason to have a son! The young Prince Edward is something of a weakling, I believe.”
“How strange that my little Carey should be such a lusty animal while Edward with all the royal care and fuss is puny.”
“Is it treason so to discuss the heir to the throne?”
“Treason is lurking round the corner always ready to creep up on one. If we talk of a ribbon—could that be treason? If my ribbons are of a prettier color than those of Queen Katharine Howard and I say so—could that be treason? Methinks, Damask, that we should guard our tongues and never speak at all except to say the sun is shining or it rains or like your mother discuss the merits of one rose against another. That is safety. But this is a matter of which we have talked often, and in spite of all I would rather go to Court and risk death than die of boredom here.”
But the thought of treason had had a sobering effect on us both and neither of us was in the mood to banter.
It was the following morning when Rupert came.
As soon as he rode into the courtyard accompanied by his servant, I knew he had brought bad news. I ran out to him and embraced him.
He said: “Damask, oh, my dear Damask….”
“Father?” I asked. “Is it Father?”
He nodded and I saw that he was trying to control his features that he might hide his grief.
“Quickly,” I cried. “Tell me quickly. What is it?”
“Yesterday your father was taken to the Tower.”
I stared at him in horror. I could not believe it.
“It’s not true,” I cried. “It can’t be true. Why? What has he done?”
And even as I spoke our conversation of the last few days came back to my mind. How easy it was to be a traitor to the King. What could he have done to take him to the Tower, he who had never done anything to harm anyone in his life before?
“I must talk to you,” said Rupert. “Where is Kate? Where is Lord Remus?”
Lord Remus was out with the hunt. Kate, having heard the sounds of arrival, joined us in the courtyard.
“Rupert,” she cried. “Welcome, brother.” Then she saw his face. “Ill news?” she cried, looking from one of us to the other.