The Sixth Wife: The Story of Katherine Parr (10 page)

“I applaud your wisdom, my lord.”

The Bishop slipped his arm through that of Wriothesley. “Keep close to me. I will have you informed of the progress of this affair. Let us strike at the little deer before we bend our bows to bring down those at the head of the herd. We will return to the Castle, and I will seek an early opportunity of an audience with the King; and when it is over I will let you know how I have progressed. Watch me, my friend, and you will see how I intend to deal with this delicate affair, and I promise you that in a matter of months—though it may be a year or two—you will see Her Majesty following in the footsteps of other foolish Queens.”

“It would be the block.”

Gardiner nodded. “His Majesty has had two divorces. He does not like them. He prefers… the other method.”

“I doubt not,” said Wriothesley, “that it will be the…‘ other method’ … for Katharine Parr.”

IN ST. GEORGE’S HALL the King had seated himself in that chair of state above which was the ornate canopy of Edward the Third. It was at the head of the banqueting table, and on his right
hand sat his Queen. The Lady Mary was present in a place of high honor, and as Gardiner said grace he reflected that his task might not be a difficult one, for Queen Katharine Parr must be a foolish woman so to raise such a staunch Catholic as the Princess Mary to work against her.

Before the King knelt one of his gentlemen with a ewer, another with a basin, yet another with a napkin. The great table seemed as though it must collapse under the weight of heavy flasks of wine and the enormous gilded and silver dishes. Venison, chickens, peacocks, cygnets, salmon, mullet and pies of all sorts were laid out. Gardiner watched the King’s eyes gleam as they studied the food. The King’s love of women was, it was said, being surpassed by his interest in food. The Bishop must speak to the King after the meal and he must make sure of doing so before his blood became overheated and his digestive organs complained of the great amount of work their royal master would give them to do.

The minstrels began to play and a humble chorister from the town of Windsor to sing one of the King’s songs. The King’s eyes were glazed with pleasure; next to his love of food, wine and women came his love of music; and there was no music that delighted him as much as his own.

This was a state occasion and the hall was thronged with men at arms, yeomen and halberdiers. Thus, thought Gardiner, must feast Henry the Eighth by the Grace of God King of England, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith and Sovereign of the Most Noble Order of the Garter.

Defender of the Faith! His ministers, decided the Bishop, must needs keep him to that defense.

When the music was over and before the feasting began, the King sent for John Marbeck to come before him.

The man, deeply conscious of the honor done him, knelt in a reverence which was far from displeasing to Henry. He had always been eager to win the approbation of his humble subjects.

“Your name?” said Henry.

“John Marbeck, Your Most Gracious Majesty.”

“We liked your singing. You shall sing to us again. I said to the Queen that rarely have I heard my song sung so well.”

“I shall treasure the memory of those words for the rest of my life, Your Grace.”

The Queen gave Marbeck one of her smiles, and the man looked at her with a devotion which equaled that he gave to the King, for in those circles in which he moved he had heard of the Queen’s sympathies with that religion which he, Marbeck, was convinced was the true one.

The King gave orders that Marbeck should be given good food and wine, and the banquet began.

“I liked that fellow,” said the King to Katharine. “Methinks I know an honest face when I see it.”

“Your Majesty must have him to sing more of your songs,” said Katharine.

“That I will. And it shall be while we are here at Windsor. I hear he works with Priest Pearson and is a good churchman.”

When the King was heavy with much food and wine, Gardiner craved private audience, saying that he had matters of great importance which he wished to set before His Majesty.

Henry nodded, and before retiring to his bedchamber received the Bishop in his private closet.

“What now, Bishop?” he asked.

“It has come to my ears, Your Grace, that there are a number of heretics in the realm, men who doubt the word of Your Majesty and plan to work against those laws which you have set down.”

“What’s this?” cried Henry.

“Books are being circulated, books which Your Majesty has forbidden his subjects to read. They are being compiled against Your Majesty’s orders. There are men who seek, by sly and secret means, to work against you. They disagree with the Six Articles. They would defy Your Grace and teach a false religion.”

“Oh, these meddlers!” groaned Henry. “They torment and plague me. Why cannot they accept the religion which their King has given them?”

“They are wayward subjects, Your Grace. It is the books which are at the root of the evil. I ask Your Majesty’s permission to make a search of every dwelling in this town. Give me this permission, and I will have the ringleaders in a week.”

Henry was silent and Gardiner went on: “These heretics, Your Grace, they creep into every corner of the court. Even about Your Majesty they gather.”

He stopped, noting his master’s frown. Henry did not wish to be
disturbed with these matters now. He had eaten well; he had drunk well; and he wanted his pleasant little Queen to sit beside him. They had been married for two weeks, and the more he saw of her, the more he liked her, so he wished that nothing should interfere with his postmarital courtship.

Clever Gardiner was a good servant, the sort he needed about him, but there were times when the fellow irritated him. He knew whither Gardiner wished to lead him. His Queen had been betraying her thoughts. She was not a foolish, frivolous woman, and she spent much time with her books. Some of these books, Henry guessed, would not have given great pleasure to his Catholic Bishop. Let the Queen read what she would; he wanted no fool for a wife, and as long as she did not imagine herself to be too clever, he was pleased that she should display a certain good sense. Most of the clever people at his court had a desire to examine new ideas; it was natural.

Regarding his wife, Henry was in a benevolent mood. He was happier than he had been since they had brought him the news of Catharine Howard’s infidelities. The fact was he had needed a wife, and now he had one. She was a good little woman who gave him much pleasure. He wished, therefore, to be left alone with his pleasure; and if Master Gardiner had the good sense he imagined himself to have, he should realize this.

“Your permission, Sire, to search the houses of Windsor, and I will bring you proof.”

“Oh…very well, Sir Bishop. Go to your searching.”

“Every room in Windsor, Sire, shall be ransacked in the service of Your Grace.”

The King narrowed his eyes. “You’ll not search the Castle apartments, my lord. You’ll keep your fingers out of them, Sir Bishop.”

Gardiner bowed, well pleased. So the King already knew of the Queen’s sympathies, and he did not wish to be disturbed with the knowledge. This could mean only one thing: the present Queen was in such high favor that her religious opinions were of little moment. They were to be ignored… for the time being.

Certainly the Bishop was not displeased. Once the King had tired of his little pig, he would be only too eager to listen to an account of her heresies. And, cogitated the Bishop, if and when that came about, and Master Thomas Seymour returned to court …the stage would be set.

THE BISHOP’S FIRST
action after that interview with the King was to send for a certain Dr. London, whom he knew to be in the town of Windsor.

Gardiner had a special reason for sending for this man. He had watched the career of the Doctor of Divinity and knew him for a man of great resource and cunning. Dr. London had worked under Thomas Cromwell in the dissolution of the monasteries and he had been the perfect tool of his master. Cromwell had said: “Bring me evidence of the infamies which persist in such and such an abbey.” And Dr. London had never failed to bring what was required of him; he was an indefatigable exposer of foulness; he was a reviver of old scandals; and if he could find no scandal foul enough to please his master, well then, he was a man of ready wit and it was not beyond his power to invent them.

Moreover, Dr. London was a man who needed to show the Bishop his loyalty. As he had once been Cromwell’s man, he could not easily become Gardiner’s. In these dangerous times a man must take sides; and Dr. London had shown the Bishop that he wished to establish himself as a good Catholic.

The man had wisdom. He looked into the future. The present King was ailing; his son was weak; and there was Catholic Mary waiting to take the throne. Dr. London—like Gardiner—saw a return to Rome not far distant. He had no wish to feed the flames of Smithfield.

Such a man, the Bishop was sure, would work with zeal.

“Dr. London, I have work for you. You have shown me that you wish for preferment. You have sworn loyalty to me and the true religion. Now is the time to prove it.”

“I am at your service, my lord Bishop.”

“The task to which I am appointing you, good Dr. London, is the smellingout of heretics in Windsor.”

“Ah. They abound in this town, sir. They abound.”

“Alas, ’tis true. I have the King’s order to bring them to justice. Whom do you suspect of heresy?”

“There is a priest, Anthony Pearson. I have made notes of his sermons, your lordship. He has said enough to send him to the stake.”

“Mayhap examination of his house will lead you to others.”

“I doubt it not.”

“Go to it, good Doctor. I doubt not that you will find evidence against these rogues.”

“My lord Bishop, it is said that these people are given aid by some at court.”

The Bishop nodded. “For the time, Doctor, let us keep to the herd. We will shoot at the head deer later.”

The Doctor’s eyes gleamed. He understood. Great things lay ahead of him. This was but a beginning. He would perform the task required of him, and another and greater would come his way. That was what the good Bishop, the mighty Bishop, was telling him.

“How many heretics would my lord Bishop require?”

“Not too many. We might say… four. They should be humble men. The court is to be left alone. Start with this priest Pearson and see whither that leads.”

The Doctor bowed himself out of the Bishop’s presence and at once went to his task.

AS HE LEFT THE Castle of Windsor, John Marbeck was singing softly. It had been a successful evening, a wonderful evening indeed when the King had singled him out to express his pleasure.

John Marbeck was a simple man, a deeply religious man, a man of ideals. His greatest desire was not that he might win fame and fortune at court, but that he might help to give the Bible to the people of England.

He had many friends in Windsor, men with ideals similar to his own; he met them in the course of his duties at church and he sometimes joined gatherings at their homes and, on occasions, they visited his. During these meetings there was one subject which they discussed with passion: religion.

Each of these men wished to do some work which would aid others to reach the great Truth which they believed they had discovered.

Pearson did it by his preaching, as did Henry Filmer, a friar, who, being turned from his monastery, had become interested in the new learning and was now a vicar in Windsor.

Marbeck’s friend Robert Testwood, a fine musician and the head of the choir to which Marbeck belonged, had introduced him to these men; and how happy Marbeck had been to show them the great work which he was doing!

“I shall go on working at my Concordance,” he told them, “until I have made possible a greater understanding of the Bible.”

“Then keep it secret,” Pearson had warned him.

It was strange, thought Marbeck, looking back at the gray walls of the castle, how simple men such as himself and his friends, knowing the risks they ran, should continue to run them.

Robert Testwood had said: “This is more than a religious issue, my friends. We do these things because within us we feel that a man should have freedom to
think
as he wishes.”

Marbeck was not sure of that. The religious issue, to him, was all-important. And on this night he wished merely to be happy. The King had complimented him on his voice; the Queen had smiled graciously upon him—the Queen, who, some said, was one of them.

He smiled, thinking of the future. Perhaps he would dedicate his Concordance to that gracious lady.

He was singing the song he had sung before the King, as he let himself into his house.

He stood at the door listening. He heard noises within. Strangers were in his house.

His heart was beating fast as he opened the door and went into that room in which he did his work. There stood two men; he noticed that his cupboard had been turned out, as had the drawers of his table. In the hands of one were several sheets of his Concordance. These men had forced the lock; they had discovered his secret.