When it seemed like all hope was lost for good Queen Catherine, forgotten and neglected in faraway Kimbolton Castle for the Crime of refusing to dishonour herself and her child, The Holy Father, finally, after months of wringing his hands and going around the bush spoke out on the King's matter. He declared the King's Marriage to Queen Catherine valid and ordered him to repent his sins and go back to his lawful wife.
The tension in the air at court was so thick one could cut it with a knife. Anne Boleyn, humbled after the birth of her useless girl when she had overthrown the Rightful Queen with the promise of a son and heir was now visibly afraid. She was paler, and quieter. She had taught the King to follow his own whims against better judgement, and without caring for anyone else. Who knew what he would do now? Would he set her aside, declare her own child a bastard and take Queen Catherine back? We could not tell.
My entire family was called back to Court by the King himself. The King had summoned Parliament, and every member of the House of Commons was coming to London. My Father, as one of the more influential members, was summoned to Court.
He came with the whole family, and Anne Boleyn, already terrified of losing the King's waning affection, could not protest at this shower of Seymours. She had to mask her displeasure with the same forced smile Queen Catherine used to have, and welcome them graciously. I could see Anne Stanhope struggling not to laugh out loud while the Queen smiled and held her hand out to my Father to kiss, all the while looking like she would rather be holding her hand out to point him to the scaffold.
Since she had announced her Second Pregnancy the King had shown no signs of straying; he was in constant attendance to her. Madge Shelton and I were forgotten.
"Lost him already, have you?" Anne Stanhope remarked as we dined together that night. "Did you let him have you behind a bush while the court had gone out hunting?"
"Go slow on the girl Anne," Edward said, sipping his wine nonchalantly.
"I was only joking, my Lord Husband. It would however not be amusing if the King were to cast her aside before he even made her his Mistress."
"I would not dream of being a Mistress," I said.
Anne smiled at me coldly. "Oh? You want to overthrow the Queen? Queen Anne? Shall the King set aside two wives in one lifetime?" She laughed. "You do think such silly thoughts Jane. "
Under the table, Lizzie, who was sitting next to me, held my hand. I kept silent. In my heart I knew I had taken her child from her and no amount of venom she spat in my direction would take that triumph from me.
* * * *
The King had Parliament pass a Praemunire that forbade all Appeals to Rome and penalized anyone who introduced Papal Bulls into England.
The Pope could no longer sit by and let this madness continue. He excommunicated the King and Thomas Cromwell, my Once intended. All of us who had supported Queen Catherine, some in secret, a few boldly and openly, went down on our knees to thank God for this blessing he had given us. The King would not dare contradict the Pope. He had once been named Defender of The Faith. Surely, he could not turn against the Church? He would not disobey God's own mouthpiece on Earth: the Holy Father?
* * * *
As it turned out, he could. He passed a Succession Act that named Anne as the true Queen and any children she bore him as his heirs. Then he declared that every Englishman would have to take the oath attached to the act, and everyone who refused to take it would be guilty of treason. Everyone at Court had to take it.
Duchess Elizabeth of Norfolk, took the oath and signed her name all the while looking like she was chewing on lemons. The Countess of Salisbury, the King's own Aunt and the Governess of the now utterly bastardized Princess Mary travelled to Court all the way from her country farm to take it, tears spilling from her eyes. Maria de Salinas, Queen Catherine's friend who came with her from Spain and had been made an Englishwoman by marriage, took the oath after Queen Catherine herself told her she should live to fight another day and not die a martyr for her dearest friend. Gertrude Courtenay, a staunch supporter of Queen Catherine but a slippery, self serving woman took the oath without flinching. My whole family took the oath. I felt traitorous to my very fingertips as I said the words that made Anne Boleyn's bastard red headed daughter heir.
But there were a few men who would not take it. Thomas More, the King's dear friend who had opposed Anne Boleyn from the very beginning refused flatly. Old Bishop Fisher would not take the oath despite everyone pleading with him to spare himself a traitor's death. He was an old man; why should he not simply die peacefully? But he would not budge.
The King would not compromise. He sent both of them, Men who had been his friends his whole life, to the Tower to await their execution for treason.
Queen Catherine laughed when the oath was brought before her to sign. It was said she laughed so much the men who had taken it to her left her presence with their heads down, abashed. Princess Mary refused to take the oath despite The Duke of Norfolk threatening to bash her head against the wall until it became soft as a boiled apple.
"The King let someone speak to his own daughter in such a manner?" Lizzie asked wonderingly when we received the news. We were playing cards in the Queen's rooms, just the two of us, since nobody seemed to want to associate with the Seymours. Anne Boleyn hated us, and anyone who was our friend.
She was growing back into her old arrogance now that she saw the King was imprisoning old friends for her sake. Her belly proudly jutted out before her as she flirted and danced and laughed as ferociously as before.
I looked at her as she sat on her throne, watching over us, her ladies. She leaned over to hear something her brother George whispered in her ear, then giggled. Gertrude Courtenay, the turncoat, was reading some French poetry for her loudly.
"The King is no longer what he used to be," I said to Lizzie. "Anne Boleyn has made him into something else entirely."
* * * *
