If ’twere so…. there might be no abbeys left where unmarried highborn women may live out their lives in a gentle manner. Deep in thought, I was distracted and didn’t see him swing.
He hit me with a closed fist. From experience, I knew it would bruise and I’d need to remain in my rooms for days. “Do not come looking to me for assistance. You are on your own. And if I should hear any rumors that call my own reputation in question over this matter or any other I will put word about of your indecency, embellished, if necessary, which will make you unfit for royal service to a queen.”
I had Edithe send for Anne and she came as soon as she could. Edithe let her in and she found me in my bedchamber, where I lay, quietly, on my bed. Forgive me, Lord. I now imbibe too often of a convenient mistruth. And yet, I had feared for my life.
When Anne came into the room I rose to approach her and she settled me back onto my bed.
“No, no, do not disturb yourself,” she said. She ran a finger around the bruise on my face. “’Tis not a trivial wound.” She sent Edithe to her rooms to instruct her lady maid to ask the king’s physician for some ointment. “What happened, dearest?”
I poured out my story to her, holding nothing back. “Was I wrong? Wrong to admit to it? Wrong to do so knowing he would refuse me?”
She held me in her arms. “It matters not now, either way. ’Tis done and your conscience intact.” After a moment she continued. “The king and I steal away to be married—again. This time in front of a court priest, Rowland Lee. Henry Norris will witness as well as Sir Heneage. I’d wanted you to come, but I think it best be Lady Berkeley.”
I nodded. “I shan’t be able to be seen for a bit. Mayhap when the swelling goes down the gossip will too.” Of course all would know that I had been repudiated.
“No one will speak against you,” she promised, “for fear of me.” I took comfort in that, for I knew it to be true. “And when my son is born, I shall ask the king, as an especial favor to me, to give you a dowry so you may marry a kind man of the gentry or a second-born son.”
“Thank you, madam,” I said. Even she knew that she could only push Henry’s purse so far. Then it struck me. “A son is to be born? Your son?”
She nodded and laughed. “’Tis why we go to be married anew. I am with child and Henry wants to ensure there is no question can be raised of his legality.”
I held her in my arms. “A son! A son, Your Grace!” I joined her in laughter. “I am sorry I cannot serve you in this matter. Lady Berkeley will do well by you, I know.”
“Hush now,” she said maternally. I’d not seen her that way. Mayhap it was the child within her made her so. “I’ve already asked her,” she said. So she’d asked Lady Berkeley before she knew of my bruises. For a brief moment I wondered if asking Lady Berkeley to be a witness was to punish me for the linens at her first wedding. But I pushed the thought away.
She took her leave shortly thereafter, and she and Henry were married, quietly, at York Place. Whilst few had been privy to the knowledge of the first marriage, which had been performed mainly to set Anne at ease, the king made sure all knew of this one, upon which rode the legitimacy of his son.
I healed, of a time, and the pitiful looks stopped coming my way. Surely, I thought, Henry will be so overjoyed at the birth of his prince that he will indeed give Anne whatever she wants, including a dowry for me, mistress of the robes, faithful friend of a lifetime.
And if not, mayhap there would be abbeys remaining. Cromwell could not dismantle them all, for certes. There were hundreds. I am willing now to thus serve You, of my own free will. If indeed I have been called of purpose.
In the dark months of Lent I quietly attended reformer meetings held at court. Anne was not the only one nurturing new life. Within the quiet, nourishing womb of the meetings my tiny faith began to grow.
Just before Easter Thomas Cromwell unveiled the next stage of his legal masterpiece, the Statute in Restraint of Appeals, before Parliament.
“What does this mean?” I asked Anne. We were in her chambers fitting her for the magnificent pleated cloth-of-gold gown she would wear to Easter Mass, the first time she would be publicly prayed for as queen. I carefully buffed the jewels encrusting her gold crown.
“His Grace read me the documents,” she said, caring not at all that others were in the room to listen. “It means that the king is the final legal authority in all matters involving England, Wales, and indeed anywhere that is an English possession.”
The seamstress hadn’t pulled the waist tight enough and Anne adjusted it for her before continuing. “Cromwell has built an unshakable case proving that England is an independent empire. Which means that the English crown is actually an imperial crown. The title ‘pope’ was originally assigned to the ruling Roman caesars, pontifex maximus, and not to religious leaders; the case is proved both by Scripture and by tradition that Henry is ruler over all things in his own land.”
Jane Rochford snorted and Anne silenced her with a look. I had to admit, though I agreed with the logic, I thought Anne’s lecture a bit tiresome too. It troubled my pride that she felt the need to educate me on Latin, in which I had always excelled. Truth be told, she’d been lecturing all a bit more often since her wedding.
“So when Parliament passes this act,” I said, and it was a foregone conclusion that it would, “no one can appeal beyond him, not to another ruler, not to the pope, on any matter.”
“Exactly,” Anne said. “Henry will be subject to no power, temporal or spiritual, on earth.” She turned and looked at me, smoothing her hands over her slightly bulging belly. “Does this do?”
I smiled. “All will recognize your position now, Your Grace.”
And Henry’s.
After Mass at Easter my brother Thomas came to my rooms. “Thomas!” I looked behind him to see if Edmund had come with him. Thomas blushed, apparently aware of what I was doing.
“I come alone,” he reassured me. “Would you like to walk in the gardens?”
“Indeed.” I let my lady maid know where I was going—I had given Edithe leave to spend Easter at Hever—and then took my brother’s arm. The tulips bloomed and the bees buzzed merrily about the dew-tipped grass, throbbing with a green so pure that it hurt the eyes to look at for long. Thomas took my hand and led me to a great stone bench by the river. A swan and its mate glided slowly toward us.
“They mate for life, you know,” I said. “Once given they never retreat.”
“Admirable,” Thomas said. “Mayhap we can learn something from them.” He took my hand in his. “Meg, I’ve come to apologize. I had no idea how your betrothal with the baron was going to work out. Edmund had led me to believe that Simon was a good man and that was best for you.”
I nodded. “Why didn’t you speak with me?”
“’Tis shameful to admit it, but Edmund paid my debts for me and increased the money I get from Father each month. And, well, I own that he made me feel important. All know that, in practice, he is the elder brother and I the wastrel. He played upon my pride to get me to agree. In reality, I fear it was only to bully you by a show of force.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “It is well and good, Thomas. You are not a wastrel. You are a gifted poet, a writer, a gentleman, a tender heart, a loving father. ’Tis how God made you. And Edmund cannot take Allington from you.”
“No, but Father has given him leave of the finances to run it and all other properties and interests,” Thomas admitted. I confess, my heart sank at the news.
“I cannot take back my actions,” he said. “But I wanted you to know I repent of them. And anyway, Edmund has been paid back in full, for certes.”