In the Shadow of the Crown - Plaidy Jean (книги хорошем качестве бесплатно без регистрации .txt) 📗

“Because they share her opinions… because they have sent comforts to her in the Tower perhaps.”

I knew the Queen had sent warm clothing to her, and I felt sick with fear.

I learned later that the Lord Chancellor Wriothesley and Sir Richard Rich, exasperated with Anne because she would not implicate the Queen, had worked the rack most ferociously with their own hands in order to inflict greater pain.

Poor Anne Askew! There are some made to be martyrs, and she was one. Firmly she refused to betray anyone; nor would she deny her faith; and she was condemned to be burned at the stake.

The Queen was in a state of grief and panic. I do not know how she lived through those days. She must be with the King, talk to him, dress his legs, pretend to be merry … and all the time she must have been wondering when it would be her turn.

There came the day when Anne Askew was taken to the stake. The Lord Chancellor sent her a letter telling her that even now, at this late stage, if she would recant, she would have the King's pardon.

Anne proudly shook her head.

“I have not come here to deny my Master,” she said.

So her poor broken body was bound to the stake, and they lighted the sticks at her feet.

THERE WAS A SUBDUED atmosphere—not only in the Court but in the streets. A pall of smoke hung over Smithfield. People were whispering about Anne Askew—young, beautiful and brave. She had died for her faith. She had done no harm to any. All she had done was read books which were forbidden—that, and cling to her opinions.

People did not like it.

They were inclined to think the King was misled by his ministers. It amazed me how they always made excuses for him. They had made of him the strong leader, and that was how they wanted him to remain. Weakness was the greatest sin; he had never been guilty of that. Sensual he was; oh yes, fond of the pleasures of the flesh; but he always partook of them under a cloak of morality. Other kings sported with countless mistresses; the King had wives, albeit he either divorced or murdered them; but still he clung to the morality of the marriage vows; he might be a callous murderer but he was deeply sentimental; and his old friend—that adaptable conscience—was never far away. And somehow, in spite of all that had happened, he managed to keep his popularity.

He was faintly irritated with those who had arrested Anne Askew and taken her to the Tower. There had been too much noise about the matter because she was young, fair and a woman. He was displeased. Moreover, Boulogne was proving expensive to maintain and, although taking it from the French had been a great pleasure, he was beginning to find it a burden.

But he had driven off the French and had only the Scots to contend with, and they had never worried him very much; he had come to expect periodic warfare on the border, and the lords of the north were capable of dealing with that.

In the old days he would have found great pleasure in the hunt but that was denied him now. Long hours in the saddle tired him. Growing old was unpleasant, and he did not like it.

Edward was sickly. There was no denying it. And what had he besides? Two daughters! I could read his thoughts when his eyes rested on us.

I was very much aware of the tension, although the Queen did not take me into her confidence as much as I am sure she would have done had it not been for the divergence in our beliefs.

I had long become aware of the methods of men like Gardiner and Wriothesley; and I knew they were waiting to pounce. While Wriothesley had worked the rack so fiercely on Anne Askew, his aim had been to implicate the Queen. Previously he would have fabricated evidence, but in view of his last endeavors he dared not be proved at fault again.

He must have known, though, that in time the opportunity would come. And it did.

We were seated in the garden. The King had been wheeled out. That in itself was enough to put him in a testy mood; his leg was so painful that he could not put it to the ground without suffering acute agony.

Gardiner was with him, and the Queen was beside him. He had lifted his leg and placed it on her lap. The Earl of Surrey was present and one or two others.

Surrey was rather a mischievous young man. I guessed that one day he would be in trouble; but he was a good poet and he gave himself airs. I am sure he thought he was more royal than the Tudors.

He mentioned Anne Askew.

From my corner I watched the immediate effect on the Queen. Gardiner was aware of it, too. He said something about the books which were being smuggled into the country, and he added that there was no doubt that people like Anne Askew saw that they were circulated.

He looked directly at the Queen and said, “Your Majesty must be aware of this.”

“To which books do you refer, my lord Bishop?” she asked.

“Forbidden books, Your Majesty.”

“Forbidden?” she asked. “By you, my lord Bishop? Would you seek to instruct us on what books we must read?”

I was afraid for her. She was being reckless. She had suffered so much at the time of Anne Askew's death. She had lived for so long in fear of what might happen that she must be near breaking-point.

“Only, Your Majesty, if the books were those which the law forbids being circulated throughout the country.”

The King was growing impatient. He said, “We now permit our subjects to read the Holy Scriptures in our native tongue; and I have made it known that this is done so only to inform them and their children and not to make scripture a railing and a taunting stock. It grieves me that this precious jewel, the Word of God, is disputed and rhymed, sung and jangled in every alehouse and tavern, contrary to the true meaning and doctrine of the same.”

Katharine should have been wise enough to let the matter rest there but, as I said, she was in a reckless mood.

“When Your Majesty says to dispute,” she said, “you cannot mean that it is unlawful for people to discuss the interpretation of the Gospel.”

He frowned at her. “Would you question our decision?”

“Indeed not, Your Majesty, but I would ask Your Grace if you might cease to forbid the use of books which…”

The King's leg seemed to twitch. He shouted, “Madam, when I say it is forbidden, it is forbidden!”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said.

“But when people have a translation which they understand and they wish to talk…”

“No more,” said the King. “Come, I would go in.” He signed impatiently to the two men who stood by his chair. Then he muttered so that all could hear, “A good hearing it is when women become such clerks—and much to my comfort in my old age to be taught by my wife!”

His chair was wheeled away. The others followed, leaving Katharine standing there mortified.

I had seen the glint in Gardiner's eyes.

IT WAS NOT UNTIL later that I learned the true story. I just knew that the Queen was in such a state of health that those about her feared for her sanity.

I guessed what had happened. We had expected it must come some time. She had been fortunate so far, but she had been as near disaster as any wife of his must be on occasions, and everything depended on the chance of the moment whether it was the end or she went on to await the next alarm.

Looking back, I tell myself that Katharine must have had a special guardian angel.

She was surrounded by women who were completely devoted to her which was inevitable with a woman of her nature. She had always been kind to all, and however humble any servant of hers was, she was treated with consideration. When Katharine had changed from Lady Latimer to Queen, she herself had not changed with it; she still remained the kindly, motherly woman who always had time to listen to and condole with another's troubles. Hence the devotion which she now enjoyed.