Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
The next day was to be an important one in court.
Thomasin had almost forgotten that it was Catherine’s turn to speak before the cardinals and answer their concerns.
She, Ellen, Maria and Mary were to accompany her, as the formalities allowed, and no one, not even Cromwell, could prevent them this time.
Thomasin burned with rage as she helped the queen to dress, choosing a formal, sombre gown in black and white to reflect the severity of the moment.
Catherine was quiet while they tied her laces, combed and pinned up her hair and placed her headdress on top.
Thomasin knew she had been anticipating this moment for two years.
Her future and that of her daughter, even that of England, rested upon the judgement of the court, and her appearance today could make all the difference.
As Thomasin pulled on Catherine’s sleeves and laced them to her bodice, she could feel the queen trembling under her fingertips, her muscles tense, her shoulders stiff.
She felt sorry for Catherine, being put through this ordeal with all the world knowing of the shameful accusations made against her.
Thomasin had never doubted Catherine’s word that her first marriage had never been consummated, and that she had gone to Henry’s bed as a true maid.
Reaching for the queen’s soft leather shoes, Thomasin shuddered to think of the cruelty that men could inflict upon women regarding the most intimate parts of their lives.
“Are you ready, my lady?” Maria Willoughby appeared in the doorway. “I have your jewels ready if you wish to select some items to wear.”
“I am ready,” said Catherine, “but I shall not adorn myself today. I will go plain and honest to the court, with no jewels to distract from God’s purpose, as he is my only judge.”
“Very good, my lady. I will order them to be put away.”
Catherine reached for a silver crucifix that sat on the chest beside her and pressed it to her lips. The women waited in silence as she closed her eyes and muttered a few words.
“Now,” she said finally, looking at them all, “it is time. We go forth to this as men do to a battlefield: in trepidation and fear, but also with a sense of righteousness and duty, in the knowledge that God is our witness and our eternal father, and that nothing will happen except that which is by his will, and his will alone.”
“You speak bravely,” said Maria. “He will be at your side always, today and in the days to come.”
“Please join me in prayer,” said the queen, clasping her hands together.
Thomasin, Ellen and Mary followed her lead, standing in silence while Catherine spoke fervently in Spanish.
Her words betrayed the emotion she was suppressing, as her voice occasionally broke, her tone rising and falling.
At the end, she drew in a deep breath, straightened her spine and pushed back her shoulders, undergoing the transformation Thomasin had witnessed so many times, from woman to queen.
“Now, let us go and stand before this court. I am ready.”
They walked with purpose down the corridor to the flight of stone steps.
Here, a number of supporters were awaiting them: other noblewomen who felt for Catherine’s cause, and friends from past years, John and Jane Dudley among them, bowing low to show their approval.
By the time they had crossed the bridge and entered the Blackfriars site, more had gathered in the yard, including those worshippers at the local church and those at the palace who had been the queen’s servants in the cookhouse, gardens and laundry for many years.
Thomasin realised they risked much to be there, waving and cheering as the small procession passed.
Their presence did much to buoy Catherine’s spirits as she saw how much she was supported.
At the great doors, More was waiting. He bowed low. “Fisher, Clerk and the others are within. Everything is ready for you, my lady.”
“Is my husband inside the court?”
“Indeed he is, my lady.”
This was the first time Thomasin had been aware of Henry attending a session, no doubt in order to hear what his wife had to say, the better to refute her arguments.
“I am ready. Let us proceed.”
The court fell silent as the doors swung open and all heads turned towards the back.
Catherine ignored them all and walked forward in her best stately manner, her eyes fixed on Henry, who sat on a dais to the right of the two cardinals, opposite the empty chair that awaited her.
She did not sit down, but stood in the centre of the space before them, her hands clasped in supplication.
The four ladies stood in a line behind her.
Thomasin was aware of the faces around them, watching intently, and also of Cromwell at the front, but she could not bring herself to meet his eyes.
She was here for Catherine; her hatred of the king’s servant could not be allowed to cloud her performance.
“My Lady Catherine, formerly crowned Queen of England, dowager duchess of Wales, you are welcome to court,” said Campeggio. “You may be seated.”
“I wish to stand.”
“As you wish, my lady. You are aware of the questions raised about the validity of your marriage to our right honourable King Henry, eighth of that name, and the implications of this for the security and future of our realm. You have been summoned to the court to answer in your defence concerning the nature of your marriage, in the sight of God, to the best of your ability. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
Clerk stepped towards her, holding out a large, heavy book.
Campeggio continued, “Please place your hand on the Holy Bible and swear that you will speak as true as you can, as God is your witness.”
Catherine laid her small, plump right hand upon the book’s leather cover. “As God is my eternal witness, in this life and the next, I swear to speak only His truth.”
At this, they heard Henry sigh.
“Very well, then let us proceed,” said the cardinal. “You may speak, my lady.”
Catherine paused for a moment, ensuring that all in the hall were still and quiet.
Then, in an unexpected act of drama, she threw herself down upon her knees.
Unsure whether to do the same, Thomasin looked to the other women.
Maria at once followed the lead of their mistress, so Thomasin, Ellen and Mary also adopted that position.
The queen lifted her head and looked directly at her husband. Henry gestured for her to rise, but she paid him no heed.
“Sir,” she began, in a clear, strong voice, “I beseech you, for all the loves that hath been between us, and for the love of God, let me have justice and right, take of me some pity and compassion, for I am a poor woman and a stranger born out of your dominion; I have here no assured friend, and much less indifferent counsel: I flee to you as to the head of justice within this realm.”
Henry looked uncomfortable at her words, but he could not stop her. This was her moment.
“Alas! Sir, wherein have I offended you, or what occasion of displeasure have I designed against your will and pleasure? Intending (as I perceive) to put me from you, I take God and all the world to witness, that I have been to you a true and humble wife, ever conformable to your will and pleasure, that never said or did anything to the contrary thereof, being always well pleased and contented with all things wherein ye had any delight or dalliance, whether it were in little or much; I never grudged in word or countenance, or showed a visage or spark of discontent. I loved all those whom ye loved only for your sake, whether I had cause or no; and whether they were my friends or my enemies. This twenty years I have been your true wife or more, and by me ye have had divers children, although it hath pleased God to call them out of this world, which hath been no default in me.”
At these words, it was as if the court expelled a collective breath. Here was Catherine stating that they had lost children through no fault of her own. Was she daring to suggest, wondered Thomasin, that the fault might lie in Henry himself? No one else would dare question the king’s virility.
The queen kept her eyes fixed on Henry, who could hardly bear to meet them. “And when ye had me at the first, I take God to be my judge, I was a true maid without touch of man; and whether it be true or no, I put it to your conscience.”
Everyone turned from her to look at Henry at this point.
“If there be any just cause by the law that ye can allege against me, either of dishonesty or any other impediment to banish and put me from you, I am well content to depart, to my great shame and dishonour; and if there be none, then here I most lowly beseech you let me remain in my former estate, and receive justice at your princely hand. The king your father was in the time of his reign of such estimation through the world for his excellent wisdom, that he was accounted and called of all men the second Solomon; and my father Ferdinand, King of Spain, who was esteemed to be one of the wittiest princes that reigned in Spain many years before, were both wise and excellent kings in wisdom and princely behaviour. It is not therefore to be doubted, but that they were elected and gathered as wise counsellors about them as to their high discretions was thought meet. Also, as me seems there was in those days as wise, as well-learned men, and men of good judgement as be present in both realms, who thought then the marriage between you and me good and lawful.”
At the side, Thomasin saw More nodding to himself, and many others joining in, regardless of the king’s presence.
Catherine continued, “Therefore is it a wonder to me what new inventions are now invented against me, that never intended but honesty. And cause me to stand to the order and judgment of this new court, wherein ye may do me much wrong, if ye intend any cruelty; for ye may condemn me for lack of sufficient answer, having no indifferent counsel, but such as be assigned me, with whose wisdom and learning I am not acquainted. Ye must consider that they cannot be indifferent counsellors for my part which be your subjects, and taken out of your own council before, wherein they be made privy, and dare not, for your displeasure, disobey your will and intent, being once made privy thereto. Therefore, I most humbly require you, in the way of charity, and for the love of God, who is the just judge, to spare the extremity of this new court, until I may be advertised what way and order my friends in Spain will advise me to take. And if ye will not extend to me so much indifferent favour, your pleasure then be fulfilled, and to God I commit my case!”
For a moment there was silence. Then, applause broke out among her followers, timidly at first, then growing in momentum as more hands and voices joined the chorus.
Catherine rose to her feet, so Thomasin and the others hurriedly followed suit. Campeggio began to speak, but his words were lost amid the din. Turning swiftly on her heel, head held high, the queen walked out of the chamber, despite the clerk calling her back.
“Catherine, Queen of England, come into the court!”
She paused and half-turned. “It makes no difference, for it is no indifferent court to me; therefore, I will not stay.”
In her wake, Thomasin felt a rush of exhilaration at having witnessed what had probably been the bravest performance of Catherine’s life.
They kept walking, without stopping or speaking, all the way back through the courtyards, across the bridge and up the steps until they reached the safety of the queen’s apartments.
With the doors closed firmly behind them, Catherine sank exhausted into a chair.
“My lady, that was indeed remarkable,” began Maria. “Such a triumph, you had the room at your command.”
“I did, didn’t I?” The queen smiled weakly.
“Wine,” said Mary, gesturing to the guards, “bring wine and sustenance.”
“It was all you could have hoped for,” Ellen added.
“The best possible advocacy for your case,” Thomasin agreed.
Catherine sighed. “The shame of it, that I should have to speak those words before such a crowd. Words that are not fit for the ears of half the people in that chamber. But it is done and I can do no more today. I can only trust in God’s will.
” A smile crept across her face. “Tomorrow, though, I will file my complaint to Rome at such an insult to my queenship.”
“It would be very well done, my lady,” said Maria, “very well done.”
“And the name of that blackguard Cromwell shall be at the very top.”
Thomasin thought at once of her father. For a brief while, she had forgotten about Sir Richard languishing in the Tower, and waves of guilt rushed over her. Perhaps, after the queen had rested, she might find a quiet moment to ask permission to visit him.