JULY 1526
It was the worst, the absolutely worst thing for the Queen. News had been going around court for the past week that Charles of Spain, her own nephew, her very own blood, had married Isabella of Portugal and dishonoured his agreement with England and his betrothal to the Princess Mary in one stroke of a pen. Did he not think, the rash Spaniard? Did he not think on the effect his actions will have on his aunt, his proclaimed dearest aunt and her marriage?
The Queen knew of his, we were all sure. Everybody knew of this; the whole world knew that Charles of Spain had spurned the Princess Mary, and in doing so had spurned England herself. The popular sentiment was quite anti-spanish at the moment, and although they wouldn't dare say it to her face, everybody blamed the Queen.
She knew all this of course, and she kept her head up, proud as a matyr, gracious as any Princess of Spain to us, her ladies. She commanded Mary Norris to read for her while we worked on the tapestry, a great and ambitious enterprise which would take at least two years to finish, and I suspected she intended to send this as a message to the Howards; that they may send their pretty girls by the hundreds to stray the king from his marriage with their whores' tricks, but she would always remain his queen, and mother to his only heir.
We were not sure the King knew, and we waited to see his reaction to the news. He had grown harsher to the Queen in the past few months, since he began courting Anne Boleyn, and he would snap at her for merely daring to exist.
Anne Boleyn would not go to his bed, and she had such a grip on him that he would look nowhere else for his release. They often took long walks together, or sat together in the lush garden surrounded by flowering trees, heads turned towards each other as though they were lovers. She would bring him books, banned books, heretic books, trying to bring him to her view; that the Church was corrupted and needed to be reformed.
I kept my head down. It was not good that a Howard, and a woman at that, should instruct the King on his faith, the King who had declared himself defender of the Church and had written a long passionate excursion on the topic. My Lord father, Sir John Seymour, kept saying that Cardinal Wolsey should have her arrested and burned at the stake for the heretic whisperings she poured into the King's ear.
But we all knew Wolsey would never dare to do it; indeed, no one would dare to do it. Anne Boleyn had the ear of the King. More than that, she had his heart. And when King Henry loved, he loved with a fervour akin to obsession.
Until he got tired of the object of his passions.
He had loved Bessie Blount, granted her jewels, gowns, and land. When she gave him a son there were rumours that he would petition for a divorce from Queen Catherine from the Pope and marry Bessie.
And then he left her, took her son from her and married her off to a nobody.
"Jane, " the Queen called, interrupting my line of thought. I put my sewing down, stood up,and swept a low curtsy, keeping my eyes modestly down.
Most of the maids in waiting had began to copy Anne Boleyn's mannerisms, wearing French gowns and hoods and their heads held high, giving everyone that bold gaze, in the hopes that the King would notice them.
I would never try and copy that whore 's style. In fact, I would be the complete opposite. I would be English and modest where she was French and bold, I would bow where she stood, I would keep my eyes down where she held hers up.
I, Jane Seymour, would be a by word for womanly modesty and humility.
"Jane, fetch for me Flo, my little puppy from the other room. " The Queen said.
I curtsied and turned to leave. Suddenly, the door burst open and the King strode in, his handsome face purpled with rage, his train following behind him, my father among them. Present also were Cardinal Wolsey and Charles Brandon, the King's greatest friends, their expressions unreadable.
I sunk into a low curtsy, so low that my knees hurt. I did not need to look around to know that the other ladies were scrambling to their feet, all hastening to curtsy to him, to pay respects to this most unpredictable ruler.
The King glared at his wife, who rose from her curtsy and sat on her great chair without his permission. Jane Parker raised her head to look wide eyed at this most blatantly disrespectful act of the Queen.
She always did it whenever she was angry with him; she did not say a word, but she treated him as though he was still the younger son with little prospects for the throne and she was still an infanta of Spain and a Princess of Wales, married to his brother Arthur, Crown Prince of England, and he was Harry, Duke of York, the younger son, a cushion to fall back on in case anything happened to Arthur.
And then Prince Arthur died, and Harry Duke of York became Henry, Prince of Wales and future King of England, and then the Old king Henry VII died and he became Henry VIII, King of England, who fell in love with her and made her his queen against everyone's advice.
She was angry with him now, angrier than she had been about Bessie Blount or Mary Boleyn. She was angry about his liaison with Anne Boleyn. Even more, she was scared. She had never seen him behave in this manner over a woman, not even over her, Catherine of Aragon, who had once been the most beautiful and accomplished Queen in Europe.
He stood above her now, heaving in his anger. Some of the ladies shrunk in fear, even I, he was so frightening, but the queen held her ground. She made herself look pleasantly surprised, gripping her hands on her chair arms tightly to prevent them from trembling. She inclined her head slightly to acknowledge him, and smiled .
"I greet you, Lord Husband. What a pleasure you have brought me and my ladies by coming into my room unannounced! "
He seemed to swell in his anger, I swear it. He looked as though he would explode. His face was contorted in fury, and he raised his hand as though he was going to hit her.
Someone gasped. Charles Brandon moved forward just a little bit, ready to hold him back if he attempted to assault his wife, a Princess of Spain, a Queen of England and mother to his only legitimate child, and scandalize Europe.
Then he caught himself. Slowly, he lowered his hand. The Queen's looked on, her face looking like it had been hewn out of granite. If she had been scared he would strike her she did not show it. She kept her blue eyes on his, daring him to do the deed.
"Madam, I trust you have heard of what your nephew has done, " he said with an icy calm.
She arranged her expression to polite bewilderment. Catherine of Aragon would have made a great performer in another life.
"No, Sire, I have not. "
We all knew it to be a shameless lie, even the King knew. He was now heaving. Cardinal Wolsey stepped forward quickly before it became worse.
He bowed to her. "Your majesty, your nephew Charles, Emperor of Spain, has shamed you, and shamed England, by disregarding his betrothal to the Princess Mary. He has married Isabella of Portugal."
The Queen's eyes widened in shock. She turned to the King. " My Lord Husband... "
"You have outlived your usefulness Madam, " he said coldly. "You are unable to provide us with an heir, and you cannot hold Spain to an alliance. I therefore suggest you retire. "
A deafening silence filled the room. The King had just suggested divorce.
Queen Catherine's eyes flared with anger. "My place is at my husband's side, " she said.
"And I am sure all of England, and all of Europe will agree. "
The King let out a cry of frustration, and then he turned and left the room as suddenly as he had come, his train scrambling after him.
I would have remained standing there like a dolt had the queen not turned to me, smiling quite graciously, as if all was well, and said "Mistress Seymour, my dog please. "
* * * * * *
That night the King walked into the great dining hall arm in arm with Anne Boleyn as if she was his queen. He sat her at her place at the Howard table, and then walked to his own great chair at the head of the hall, Queen Catherine on the chair beside his with a face like flint.
It was over for her; I knew it in that moment that the King would leave her.
