Chapter 23 #3
Kate screwed up the letter and sat down, pensive.
She hoped that Elizabeth would be circumspect.
It would not do to anger the Queen further.
She could not help fretting about what they would all do if Mary enforced the old religion.
What would happen to them if they defied the law? How could they circumvent it?
—
Kate’s baby was born at the end of August, with Lettice and Thomasina in attendance. She named her new son Francis, but soon took to calling him Frank to distinguish him from his father. It was an easy confinement and she was soon up and about.
Life’s daily round continued as if there were no threats hovering over it.
Kate constantly wondered how Francis was faring at court.
She was missing him, but glad that he was in a good position to sense danger, if there was any.
When he wrote to say that the Queen had smiled upon him as she passed by, Kate began to relax.
She was pleased to hear that Mary was resisting all persuasions to have Lady Jane Grey beheaded, yet a little disconcerted to learn that Elizabeth was showing favor to the French ambassador, which didn’t sound like the best way to appease her sister.
In his next letter, Francis jubilantly reported that some councillors had let it be known that although the Queen intended to restore the Mass and be reconciled to the Pope, it was not her intention to compel or constrain the consciences of others.
All she wished was for the Protestants in her realm to be brought to the truth by God, or through the offices of godly, learned preachers.
“It does seem that we will be able to continue openly in our faith,” Francis wrote.
Kate prayed he was right. She could not bear to think of a world in which her precious children had to keep their faith secret.
She had always been proud of bearing Francis a large family, but with the kingdom in ferment and their faith—and even their lives—under threat, she had become convinced, when she was carrying Frank, that this was not a good time to bring any more souls into the world.
She was worried enough about the children she had already.
Yet, looking down at her little son nestled in the crook of her arm, she could not wish him unborn. Her heart swelled with love for him, and a fierce desire to protect him rose within her.
—
When Francis next came home, he was still in a positive mood, convinced that things were not going to be as bad as he and Kate had both feared.
His optimism proved to be ill-founded. Later in August, when he was back at court, he wrote that the Queen had issued a proclamation affirming her own devotion to the Catholic faith and her hope that her subjects would embrace it as fervently.
However, she would not compel any of her subjects to abandon the new religion until a new determination was made with the consent of Parliament.
In the meantime, however, the clergy were forbidden to preach.
“She has removed our most powerful weapon,” Francis lamented.
“Already, the old faith is gaining ground. In London, altars are being set up again and crucifixes put upon them. Yet there are many Protestants who are prepared to resist any attempt to enforce the old faith, and some have been bold enough to disrupt the celebration of Mass. The more zealous of our brethren have been rioting and demonstrating in London, and one even hurled a dagger at a priest who was saying Mass in St. Paul’s Cathedral.
I pray you, darling, inform Father Michael at Rotherfield Greys that it is my pleasure that there be no changes. ”
But the priest was not happy when Kate passed on the message. “I will comply for now,” he conceded, “but if a new law is passed requiring us all to turn Catholic again, I shall obey it.”
“Very well. I understand your position.” Kate left him, feeling despondent. She had thought him staunch and had been dismayed to find out that he did not share her optimism that all would be well.
When she returned to Greys Court, she told Dr. Palmer what the priest had said.
“He should have obeyed his patron!” he declared hotly. “Someone has to make a stand for the true faith.”
“Alas, Father Michael is not the man to take a stand,” Kate said sadly. “He will bend with the wind.”
Francis had informed her that Parliament would meet in October after the coronation. He was hoping that it would not pass any radical laws relating to religion. That was Kate’s daily prayer, too.
In September, she learned that some Protestant priests were defying the royal edict banning preaching.
“Several have been arrested,” Francis told her.
“A few bishops have been deprived of their sees and imprisoned. Archbishop Cranmer is in the Tower for daring to criticize the Mass. Printers have had their presses confiscated. Many now fear that the old laws against heresy will be revived.”
Kate dropped the letter, gripped by terror.
Under King Henry, heretics had been burned at the stake.
She began to tremble, fearing that it could happen again—and if it did, what would she and Francis do?
She could not bear to imagine what it must be like to be chained to a stake with faggots piled up around you; to see the flames leaping up, searing your flesh, starting at your feet, and gradually consuming you.
The agony and the horror were beyond comprehension.
And it could happen! Shaking, she picked up the letter and stumbled to the cupboard.
Taking out the ewer of wine from the evening before, she splashed some into a goblet, draining it in one gulp in a vain attempt to distance herself from her fears.
Through the open casement, she could hear her children playing, and felt faint at the thought of what would happen to them if…
if…No, she could not even contemplate it.
But if the heresy laws were revived, what would she and Francis do?
They could not abjure their faith! So where could they run to for safety?
She took up the letter again, forcing herself to read on.
“Some of our people have already left for safe havens overseas,” Francis had written.
“They have gone illegally, since the government will not issue them the necessary safe-conducts, although no effort is being made to stop them from going. Will thinks that the more subversive among them are being encouraged to seek exile. My lady, we have to think about what we should do. It might not be wise to wait to see what laws Parliament enacts. We should think about going abroad now, before it is too late. The important thing is that we are safe. I will never put you or the children at risk—yet I will not endanger our immortal souls.”
Kate dashed off a reply, urging him to action now, for their children’s sake. “I care not where we go.”
“Say nothing to anyone,” Francis replied. “I will resign my post and come home.”
—
“Did anyone comment on your resigning?” Kate asked, as soon as the children had been borne off to bed by their nurses and she and Francis were alone in the solar, an untouched chess set on the table between them.
She was fearful that he had drawn attention to himself or that it might be thought that he was disloyal.
“No. I saw the Lord Chamberlain and gave back my insignia and my weapons. He said very little.” Ah, but it would have been noted by many that you had gone, Kate thought, and some would wonder why.
“No doubt the Queen will be relieved to be rid of a terrible Protestant,” Francis said wryly.
“It is no joking matter,” she reproved him.
“No, you are right.” He reached across and took her hand. “I have been talking to William Cecil. He is as concerned as we are about the future, and about the increasing numbers of Protestants who are choosing exile. He wants me to go to Geneva to meet with John Calvin.”
Kate was startled. Calvin was a great French theologian and preacher, seen as the successor to Martin Luther.
There were copies of his works in Francis’s study; she had read some herself.
She had taken greatly to heart one thing he had written: “No man is excluded from calling upon God, the gate of salvation is set open unto all men: neither is there any other thing which keeps us back from entering in, save only our own unbelief.” It had somehow strengthened her faith.
Yet she was not sure that she agreed with some of Calvin’s more extreme beliefs.
She could not believe in predestination—that, at the beginning of time, God had selected a few souls who would achieve salvation, and that there was nothing anyone not so chosen could do during their mortal life to alter their eternal fate.
Nor did she like what she had heard of his well-known severity toward those who disagreed with him.
Yet there was no doubting his sincerity or the force of his character.
If anyone could help them, he could. But seeking his help would mean a long parting from Francis.
It seemed that their life together was forever destined to be interrupted in one way or another.
Nevertheless, she could see that Francis was keen to go.
“Do you think that Calvin would receive us all?” she asked.
“That is not the immediate purpose of my going to see him, darling,” he replied.
“Cecil wants me to enlist his help in establishing communities for English exiles where they would be best welcomed. Naturally, I will be meeting with as many exiles as I can, and I shall look for a possible refuge for us. I’m going to take Hal with me.
He’s twelve now and it’s time he saw something of the world. ”
Kate was about to protest but suddenly realized that it would be good for Hal to fly the nest a little. A boy of his age should be allowed to spread his wings. And he would be safer abroad with his father than in England.
—
On the night before Francis left, he and Kate came together with renewed passion, wanting to make the most of their time together, for they might be apart for some months.
It was utterly beautiful, a union of souls as well as bodies, and Kate could not help weeping afterward, suffused with joy and grief.
Who knew how long it would be before they could lie together again?
She clung to Francis when they said farewell in the hall, and hugged Hal tightly. He wriggled away, eager to be gone. Adventure and the high seas beckoned; he was longing to join the world of men.
“I will write often,” Francis assured her. “Will has promised to keep you informed of events at court. At the slightest sign of trouble, send me word.”
“I will,” she promised.
He led them out to the Base Court, where the household was gathered to say farewell to their master.
He kissed Kate hard on the lips, then mounted his horse.
She passed him the stirrup cup, her heart almost breaking, but she was resolved to show a brave face.
His mission was a necessary one; it was her part to send him off with a smile.
She stood calmly as she watched him and Hal disappearing into the distance, then hurried into the house and made herself busy.