Katharine of Aragon's Heartbreak

Despite my obvious love for Anne Boleyn, I admire Katharine of Aragon. She was a woman of strength and courage, willing to suffer for her convictions. Her life was not easy, nor was it particularly happy, but she retained her faith and kindness through it all.

Katharine deeply loved Henry VIII - possibly the only one of his wives who did. Hers was a love that grew from adversity, beginning when Henry "rescued" her from the genteel poverty and isolation thrust upon her by her father and father-in-law's bickering over her dowry and maintenance, and persisted through years of heartache and loss.

Highly educated and pious, Katharine also had a warm, generous heart. She was a champion for female education, spoke five languages, and was the first female ambassador in European history. The English people adored her. She was the perfect Renaissance queen ... in all respects but one.

Henry lied and said his father's deathbed wish was that he would wed the Spanish princess. Why? Perhaps he fancied himself in love with Katharine, then at the peak of her beauty. With her strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, and flawless pink complexion, Katharine was a stunner. Her downcast eyes hid a sharp intelligence, but her gentle smile revealed her warm and generous heart. The daughter of the "Catholic Kings" of House Trastámara was also the perfect bride to help cement the Tudor's shaky claim on the English throne. (Katharine's ancestral claim was actually stronger than Henry's.)

Sir Thomas More was enraptured by Katharine when he first met her in 1501, and his esteem for her only grew over the years.

Ah, but the lady! Take my word for it, she thrilled the hearts of everyone: she possesses all those qualities that make for beauty in a very charming girl. Everywhere she receives the highest of praises; but even that is inadequate.

As for Henry, it was no wonder Katharine fell in love with him. At the time, he was considered the handsomest prince in Europe, and like many sociopaths, Henry could be extremely charming when he wished. He was musical, athletic, and pious. He was also very playful. Katharine always pretended to be surprised that the highwayman who burst into her chamber demanding to dance with the queen was revealed to be Henry when he took off his mask.

The marriage seemed like a great success. Henry wrote love ballads to his bride, singing that I love true where I did marry. He wore armor decorated with her initials and her colors tied to his sleeve, riding in the lists under the name Sir Loyalheart.

Through twenty years of love, loss, war, and the political machinations of Europe, Katharine was her husband's steadfast partner. When he was absent from the country, Katharine ruled as regent, and she rode out in full armor to address the troops  she was sending to war against Scotland.

But sorrow and grief came as well. Only one of Katharine's many pregnancies resulted in a living child - and that a girl. England erupted in celebration when a prince was born, only to see him die at less than two months old. Miscarriages and stillbirths followed, though we're not sure of the exact number. It could be as high as eight or nine.

Various causes for the death of Katharine's babies have been suggested, from blood disorders to anorexia on the part of Katharine, but the real truth is likely more mundane: a combination of diet, environment, and not allowing the body to rest and heal before attempting conception again. And given the sixteenth century's methods of noble childrearing, it's a miracle any babies survived at all.

For a king, Henry was surprisingly faithful to Katharine. Though there were whispers of his pursuit of others, we only know of two women who were Henry's mistresses for certain: Bessie Blount and Mary Boleyn. Henry's son with Bessie may have confirmed in his mind that the reproductive problem was with Katharine, not himself.

Katharine's body began to wear out from this endless succession of pregnancies. She gained weight, and her hair darkened as she aged. Her piety became almost fanatic. She fasted, made pilgrimages and offerings to shrines, and reportedly wore a hair shirt under her sumptuous gowns, begging God for heirs to her kingdom. But there was only loss. Her husband began contemplating putting Katharine aside before he even met Anne Boleyn.

Katharine's last pregnancy was in 1518. Henry wrote to Wolsey about it, saying this "dangerous time" was the reason he chose not to move the court to London. The child was lost despite his precautions. Henry ceased to have marital relations with Katharine in 1524, around the time it was accepted that Katharine would bear no more children.

In late 1526 or early 1527, Henry fell in love with Anne Boleyn and became serious about the idea of setting Katharine aside. He was certain he would have sons with Anne. All he had to do was convince the pope that his marriage to Katharine was invalid on the basis she had been married to his brother before him.

Katharine was stunned when Henry first suggested to her that they were not legally man and wife. Henry persuaded her he was just looking into the matter for his own conscience's sake, to make sure they were really, truly married. But behind the scenes, he was doing all he could to sever their union.

Katharine claimed the marriage to Prince Arthur had never been consummated. Henry responded by finding "witnesses" who said Arthur bragged about his sexual prowess. The pope dragged his feet on making a decision for seven years. While Henry waited, stewed, fumed, machinated, and planned, he lived in a court of two queens. Katharine still took her rightful place beside him, but every day, Anne Boleyn grew in power and influence.

In 1531, Henry banished Katharine from court and ordered her to stop referring to herself as his wife or queen. Worse, he separated her from her beloved daughter. For such a loving mother, it must have been agony for Katharine not to be able to contact Mary. In the last letter she was permitted to send, Katharine warned Mary that Anne Boleyn might seek to have them martyred and to keep her soul prepared for it.

For her part, Katharine was convinced that it was all Anne Boleyn's fault. She blamed Anne for leading Henry into sin. It may be Katharine's influence that convinced Eustace Chapuys that it was Anne who put Henry into his "perverse tempers" and if it wasn't for her, he wouldn't be behaving this way.

Katharine blamed his advisors for blocking her access to Henry, for clouding his head with the delusions that they weren't legally husband and wife. She blamed everyone but Henry himself. Even as late as 1532, Katharine was still deluding herself that Henry wasn't really serious about ending their marriage.

[Katharine] said that if she could speak to [Henry], all that has happened would be nothing, as he was so good, and that he would treat her better than ever, but she is not allowed to see him.

Perhaps Henry's public speeches on the matter added to her hope.

And as touching the queen, if it be adjudged by the law of God that she is my lawful wife, there was never thing more pleasant nor more acceptable to me in my life both for the discharge and clearing of my conscience and also for the good qualities and conditions the which I know to be in her. For I assure you all, that beside her noble parentage of which she is descended (as you all know) she is a woman of most gentleness, of most humility, and buxomness, yea, and of all good qualities appertaining to nobility, she is without comparison, as I this twenty years almost have had the true experiment, so that if I were to marry again if the marriage might be good, I would choose her above all other women.

But the truth of the matter was that there was no way in hell Henry would accept a ruling that his marriage was valid. Cardinal Campeggio, sent on behest of the pope, wrote of meeting with the king about the matter:

Next day after dinner the King visited me privately, and we remained together alone about four hours, discussing only two things. First, I exhorted him not to attempt this matter, in order to confirm and clear his conscience, to establish the succession of the kingdom, and to avoid scandals; and that if he had any scruple, he could have a new dispensation. [...]

He told me plainly that he wanted nothing else than a declaration whether the marriage is valid or not,—he himself always presupposing its invalidity; and I believe that an angel descending from Heaven would be unable to persuade him otherwise.

Campeggio begged Katharine to enter a convent, a neat solution for all who were involved because it would end the marriage, yet preserve the rights of Princess Mary to the throne. Campeggio was not pleased with her response. Katharine was famed for her mild temperament and obedience, but in this matter, she would not be moved by any earthly force.

The queen stated that she had heard that we were to persuade her to enter some religious house. I did not deny it and constrained myself to persuade her that it rested with her, by doing this, to satisfy God, her own conscience, the glory and fame of her name, and to preserve her honours and temporal goods and the succession of her daughter.

I begged her to consider the scandals and enmities which would ensue if she refused. On the other hand, all these inconveniences could be avoided. She would preserve her dower, the guardianship of her daughter, her rank as princess, and, in short, all that she liked to demand of the king; and she would offend neither God nor her own conscience.

After I had exhorted her at great length to remove all these difficulties, and to content herself with making a profession of chastity, setting before her all the reasons which could be urged on that head, she assured me she would never do so: that she intended to live and die in the estate of matrimony, into which God had called her, and that she would always be of that opinion, and would not change it. She repeated this many times so determinedly and deliberately that I am convinced she will act accordingly.

She says that neither the whole kingdom on the one hand, nor any great punishment on the other, even though she might be torn limb from limb, should compel her to alter this opinion. I assure you from all her conversation and discourse, I have always judged her to be a prudent lady. But, as she can avoid such great perils and difficulties, her obstinacy in not accepting this sound counsel does not much please.

Katharine of Aragon was the rightful Queen of England and she would not budge, would not bend, would not break. She would obey her husband in everything - except what her conscience would not allow. She would not say her marriage was invalid, because that would be a lie. She would not recognize her husband as head of the church instead of the pope, because that would be a sin. Until her last breath, she fought for her rights and those of her daughter, Mary. The price of that fight was permanent separation from the child she loved so much.

Henry's Oath of Succession forced all of England to swear to the legitimacy of his marriage to Anne and Henry's position as Head of the Church. Most swore, but there were steadfast holdouts like Thomas More who went to the scaffold because they would not. Whenever Katharine was moved to new lodgings, there were reports of crowds that turned out to cheer for Queen Katharine. She was still very much beloved by her people, and many of Henry's cruel actions toward Katharine were attributed to Anne Boleyn, whose popularity was always tenuous. To this day, there are those who blame her for what Katharine endured.

Even after Henry married Anne, Katharine still believed there was a chance he would see the light and repent and return to her arms. Reportedly, Katharine prayed every day for her husband to come back to her. She loved him, still. After all of the pain and heartbreak, all of the cruelty he had inflicted on her and her daughter, Katharine still loved Henry to the depths of her being.

Slowly, Henry stripped everything away from her. Katharine ended up virtually alone. She refused to be served by anyone who would not address her as queen and so she ended up with a pitifully small retinue, living in the drafty, neglected Kimbolton Castle, eating food her servants prepared over her fireplace because she was so fearful of being poisoned by Anne Boleyn. The daughter of the "Catholic Kings" was reduced to living in one room, eating over the fireplace like a peasant.

In some respects, Henry was right: it was her choice. If she had agreed to his conditions, she could have lived in comfort, given the honors due a princess dowager, and been permitted to see Mary again. But agreeing to those stipulations would be agreeing to lies - agreeing to sin - in Katharine's eyes. She could not do it. And so she made the only choice her conscience would allow, despite her pain.

In the end, the reformation was as much Katharine's doing as it was Henry's. Her steadfast refusal to agree to an annulment or to enter a convent combined with the pope's refusal to act made Henry feel like he had no choice. He would get what he wanted and damn the consequences. And those consequences would echo for hundreds of years in bloodshed and strife.

Katharine was horrified by what had been unleashed as she saw "heresy" sweep through the kingdom, and the heads of great men bow to the axe. As she lay dying, Eustace Chapuys ensured her the heresy wasn't deeply ingrained in the land.

And as to the heresies here [I said] she knew well that God said there must of necessity be heresies and slanders for the exaltation of the good and confusion of the wicked, and that she must consider that the heresies were not so rooted here that they would not soon be remedied, and that it was to be hoped that those who had been deluded would afterwards be the most firm...

There is a letter that's purportedly from Katharine on her deathbed. Scholars are unsure of its authenticity, but its sentiments ring true.

My most dear lord, king and husband,

The hour of my death now drawing on, the tender love I owe you forceth me, my case being such, to commend myself to you, and to put you in remembrance with a few words of the health and safeguard of your soul which you ought to prefer before all worldly matters, and before the care and pampering of your body, for the which you have cast me into many calamities and yourself into many troubles.

For my part, I pardon you everything, and I wish to devoutly pray God that He will pardon you also. For the rest, I commend unto you our daughter Mary, beseeching you to be a good father unto her, as I have heretofore desired. I entreat you also, on behalf of my maids, to give them marriage portions, which is not much, they being but three. For all my other servants I solicit the wages due them, and a year more, lest they be unprovided for.

Lastly, I make this vow, that mine eyes desire you above all things.

Katharine the Quene.

That last line is one of the most heartbreaking things ever written.

It had been arranged beforehand that when Katharine took her last communion, she would swear on the host that she had been a virgin when she married Henry. But, in the end, she didn't do it. Why? At the last moments of her life, did it not seem important? Or, had Henry really been telling the truth all along and Katharine did not want to meet her Maker with a lie on her lips?

Around two in the afternoon on January 7, 1536, Katharine of Aragon died. Chapuys reports that Henry ostentatiously celebrated when he heard the news, exclaiming that England was now freed from the danger of war. He and Anne, arrayed in yellow, paraded baby Elizabeth around to the courtiers at the feasts and jousts held afterward. However, Seigneur de Dinteville reported that Anne locked herself away in her oratory and wept after she heard the news. Had she - in the end  - respected her rival, despite everything?

Henry ordered that Katharine be given the funeral and tomb of a princess dowager - the title she had as his brother's widow - and it was probably at his behest that the funeral sermon included the claim that on her deathbed, Katharine had admitted she was never truly Henry's wife.

Try though he might, Henry could never erase Katharine from the hearts and mind of the English people. Even after her death, she was still revered.

One hundred years later, Katharine had a miracle attributed to her. In 1640, a man with a tumor growing on his forehead claimed to have dreamt of water dripping on her tomb. When he visited the church and saw water on the slab, he dipped his finger into it and was cured of the growth.

Descriptions of the tomb Henry built for Katharine are somewhat vague, and it seems it was dismantled, piecemeal, over the years. Her hearse seems to have have been left in place as it's described as being destroyed in 1643 during the English civil war because it had an altar in it. During that period, the gilding on the tomb was stolen, and the black marble ended up being used for a floor of one of the dean's summer houses. According to The Cathedral Church of Peterborough A Description Of Its Fabric And A Brief History Of The Episcopal See by W.D. Sweeting,

Queen Katherine of Arragon was buried in the north choir aisle, just outside the most eastern arch, in 1535 [actually 1536]. A hearse was placed near, probably between the two piers. Four years later this is described as "the inclosed place where the Lady Katherine lieth," and there seems to have been a small altar within it. Some banners that adorned it remained in the cathedral till 1586. About the same time some persons were imprisoned for defacing the "monument," and required to "reform the same." The only monument, strictly so called, of which there is any record, was a low table monument, raised on two shallow steps, with simple quatrefoils, carved in squares set diamond-wise. Engravings of this shew it to have been an insignificant and mean erection. A few slabs of it were lately found buried beneath the floor, and they are now placed against the wall of the aisle. One of the prebendaries repaired this monument at his own cost, about 1725, and supplied a tiny brass plate with name and date, part of which remains in the floor. This monument was removed in 1792.

Afterward, Katharine's grave remained mostly unadorned until Katharine Clayton, the wife of one of the cathedral canons, had the idea of making an appeal to English women named Catherine to help her restore Katharine's resting place to something befitting a queen. An engraved marble slab was installed and a grille with the gilded words KATHARINE QUEEN OF ENGLAND was mounted above. Mary of Teck (consort of George V) ordered that the banners of a queen - the arms of England and Spain - be hung above, giving back Katharine's due honors after 400 years.

The memorial plaque installed calls her a queen beloved by the people for her virtues. Today, visitors still leave pomegranates on her tomb, and every year, the cathedral hosts a festival in Katharine of Aragon's honor.

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Deleted Scene: The Death of Katharine of Aragon

As Anne had predicted, Will was dispatched to go check Katharine’s condition right after Christmas, and Emma went along with him. They rode one of the king’s hunting horses, and Emma sat in front of Will, her legs draped over one side of the horse. Occasionally, Will leaned down and nuzzled under her ear or kissed her neck, making Emma giggle and drawing a look of disapproval from the man who travelled with them.

Their traveling companion was the Imperial ambassador, Eustace Chapuys, whom had sought permission from the king to visit the dying Katharine. Making a point of giving Chapuys a big, friendly hug in front of Anne, Henry magnanimously granted it. Will understood why. Had he refused, Chapuys might have claimed there was something suspicious about Katharine’s death. Henry made a point of noting once Katharine was dead, the point of contention between England and her nephew would be over. Chapuys, whose attachment to Katharine wasn’t merely a shared nationality, was obviously offended, but he had forced a smile and nodded.

Kimbolton was over sixty miles from London. It would take at least two days to make the journey. The inn they stopped at on in the first night had only one room available, which was appropriated by Chapuys. Emma and Will slept on a pallet in the main taproom with other travelers, one of whom snored. The others kept throwing things at him to catch snatches of sleep before he started up again. It made Emma giggle, and kept Will from getting irritable. Sometimes, he thought a selkie’s magic must include infectious good spirits.

Will lay with his hands cupped over the small mound of his wife’s abdomen. His child. He still could not believe it. He and Emma hadn’t told anyone yet. There had never seemed to be a good time, but Will supposed nature would reveal it for them soon enough. For the time being, Will felt safer keeping the babe a secret, as though he could somehow protect the child by hiding it from the world.

When they arrived at Kimbolton, they found Katharine’s steward, Sir Edmund Bedingfield, in a state of agitation. Yesterday, her dearest friend, Maria Willoughby had arrived at the house. Bedingfield had been given strict orders by the king not to allow anyone to see Katharine without written permission, but Maria was the mother-in-law of the Duke of Suffolk and couldn’t be unceremoniously turned away at the door. She claimed to have the license to visit, which would arrive tomorrow. In the meantime, she begged, could she come inside and warm herself by the fire? She’d suffered a fall from her horse on the journey. Bedingfield readily agreed, and went to write the king to let him know Maria had arrived. When he returned to the hall, Maria was gone, having darted inside Katharine’s rooms, where Bedingfield was forbidden to go. He pleaded with Will to send her out.

“Your pardon, sir,” Will replied. “I have not that authority. I am here but to witness.”

Bedingfield muttered behind them as they followed Chapuys into Katharine’s chambers. Her outer rooms were deserted and Will realized with a cold chill down his spine her ladies had already been dismissed. No need to keep servants for a woman who would never rise from her bed again.

Katharine’s bedchamber was dark, lit only by candle light, and the orange glare cast from the huge fire that kept the room miserably hot. The air was thick with incense smoke and Will saw Emma give a surreptitious rub at her sensitive nose. On the opposite side of the room, a small herd of priests stood, mumbling in constant prayer, their faces sheened with sweat.

Maria Willoughby sat on the bed beside her mistress, a familiarity only death and deep friendship could have made acceptable. She gently dabbed at Katharine’s face and neck with a cool cloth she rinsed in a bowl beside her.

Will did not need to approach the bed any closer to agree the assessment of her condition was correct. Black circles swooped under Katharine’s sunken eyes and her skin was a terrible ashen gray that sagged from her dramatic weight loss. She hadn’t been able to keep food down in a long while now. The once plump and pretty princess had become stout in middle age, but she was now a wasted figure, so much changed in such a short time that Chapuys had to choke back a gasp when he saw her.

Emma made a soft sound and headed for the bed, but Will caught her arm and shook his head. Her natural instinct would have been to take the dying woman’s hand and comfort her in whatever way she could. “Nay,” he whispered. “Give Chapuys his time with her first.” He put his arms around Emma and pulled her back against his chest. One of Emma’s hands came up to grip his as they both silently watched.

Katharine was dozing when Chapuys took the chair beside her bed. When he spoke, she opened her eyes and her smile was so sweet, it made the hearts of all witnesses ache. “Eustace!” she said. Only approaching death could have made the Katharine so informal.

“Your majesty,” Chapuys replied. Henry had required that Chapuys was not to meet alone with Katharine, and that all conversations were to be conducted in English, before permitting this visit. Chapuys would have agreed to far more, and he kept his word now.

“The king is grieved to hear of your illness,” he lied. “He has sent me to order you to improve, posthaste.”

Katharine smiled. “I shall endeavor to obey his majesty’s command.”

“Let this news cheer your heart,” Chapuys continued, a smile stretching his face that didn’t reach his eyes. “The king has decided to move you to better lodgings nearer your daughter. It may be he will allow you to see her soon, but you must get better in order to do that.”

Katharine’s hand crept across the bed and grasped his. “ ‘Tis kind of you to say so,” she murmured.

Chapuys had to look away for a moment, blinking hard.

“I wish to write to him,” Katharine said, her voice like the sigh of wind through winter-bare trees. There was no need to specify to which “him” she referred. “Will you take down my words?”

Courtesy of Wikipedia

“Of course, your grace.” Chapuys signaled rapidly and Will went over to the table where a lap desk was stored. He handed it to Chapuys, who looked up at Katharine for permission to open it before he lifted the covering of the lid. Inside the lid, the letters H and K flanked a castle tower and their heraldic symbols were scattered through the rest. The compartment revealed held small, square sheets of blank paper. Chapuys took several before closing the lid top.

Gold paint gleamed in the firelight as Chapuys pulled out the long, slim drawer in the back to remove a quill. He shut the box back up and used its slanting surface to write. Maria Willoughby held the inkwell for him as he dipped the quill.

Katharine’s voice was soft and several times, she had to stop and rest for a moment before continuing. But, but the words were dictated in a steady stream, without hesitation, making Will think she must have composed this letter in her mind long before now.

“My most dear lord, king and husband, the hour of my death now drawing on, the tender love I owe you forces me, my case being such, to commend myself to you, and to put you in remembrance with a few words of the health and safeguard of your soul which you ought to prefer before all worldly matters, and before the care and pampering of your body, for the which you have cast me into many calamities and yourself into many troubles. 

"For my part, I pardon you everything, and I wish to devoutly pray God that He will pardon you also. For the rest, I commend unto you our daughter Mary, beseeching you to be a good father unto her, as I have heretofore desired. I entreat you also, on behalf of my maids, to give them marriage portions, which is not much, they being but three. For all my other servants I solicit the wages due them, and a year more, lest they be unprovided for.”

She took a deep breath and whispered, “Lastly, I make this vow, that mine eyes desire you above all things. Katharine the Queen.”

Chapuys was silent as he removed a stick of sealing wax from the segmented drawer in the front of the desk. He used the candle on the bedside table to melt it and fat drops of wax pattered onto the paper, bright teardrops of blood red. A small signet was in the drawer on the right and Chapuys used it to press Katharine’s seal into the wax. Will took the box from him and returned it to the table as Chapuys slipped the letter into his doublet pocket. “I will see . . . I will see to it he gets it, personally.”

“I thank you.” A light, wavering sigh escaped her. “Eustace . . . Eustace, I thought God would open my husband’s eyes. And now, there is no more time.”

“You can recover, your majesty. You—”

Katharine shook her head and his words broke off as she sought his hand.

“No more of that now,” Katharine said. “Verily, I regret it not, for I shall soon be in paradise. But I cannot help but wonder, as I prepare to stand before my Creator . . . is it upon my head, what has happened with the Church? The break with Rome, the heresy arisen in its wake, the good men who have suffered for their faith . . . Is it—in the end—as much my doing as his?”

“God sends heresy to confound the wicked,” Chapuys declared. “It makes the faith of the righteous that much more beautiful in the eyes of God.”

But Katharine winced, so Chapuys hastily amended his words. “The heresy is not deeply entrenched within the land. It will soon dissipate in the light of the truth.”

Katharine closed her eyes and nodded, but Emma could sense even from here Katharine wasn’t soothed. Emma glanced up at Will and gave a tiny shake of her head. He, too, had to wonder. Had Katharine given in, the winds of change would not have swept away a thousand years of tradition. The suppression of the monasteries, the dismantled shrines, their plunder and lands divided up amongst the king and his favored courtiers, the economic repercussions of which were only now being discovered. More and Fisher . . . Elizabeth Barton . . . All of those who had bowed their head before the executioner rather than accept the king’s supremacy over the church.

Katharine drifted back into sleep. Chapuys went over to the table beneath the window and moved the candle closer as he took out a sheet of paper and began to scribble a letter, likely to the emperor. The political game in Europe was about to change once more, and everyone would want their side to be informed first.

Emma could wait no longer to offer the comfort of her kind. She knelt by Katharine’s bed and took her hand. Katharine sighed, and it was a sigh of relief, as though a great, crushing burden had been lifted off her. She opened her eyes and smiled so sweetly, it shattered a small place in Will’s heart.

“Who is this child?” Katharine asked.

“Emma Somers, your majesty,” Emma replied.

“Will, is this your wife? What a lovely creature!”

Before Will could answer, Katharine drifted off into a light sleep. Will murmured to Emma they should go and let her sleep when Katharine opened her eyes. Bleary with exhaustion, they glittered behind her half-closed lids.

“What are you?” she whispered.

Will didn’t think anyone had heard, but the words sent a blast of cold fear through him. He glanced around quickly, but no one was looking in their direction.

“A friend,” Emma said, and Katharine smiled as she drifted off into slumber.

~.~

That evening, Katharine dictated her will, which was short and quickly accomplished. The daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, once Queen of England, had little worldly property left of which to dispose.

Some of it was left to her servants, the rest to her daughter, Mary, and a portion to the church to pay for the customary masses to be said for her soul. She left her gowns to be made into church vestments. She asked for burial in the chapel of the Observant Franciscans in London. She did not know it was one of the monasteries Henry had already closed, and none of those present had the heart to tell her.

The visit of Maria and Chapuys seemed to do Katharine some good, for she rallied for a couple of days, managing to keep down a bit of food, even sitting up and brushing her own hair at one point. Chapuys had stayed as long as he could, and had to return to London. He said his goodbyes with the hope she might recover, but knowing he would likely never see Katharine again.

Katharine told Emma stories of her girlhood in Spain, and laughed with Maria over some of their shared memories from the golden days when she was England’s new queen. But just as quickly as the revival had come, it faded away, and by the night of Epiphany, it was clear this was the end. So bad was she, the priest wanted to give her extreme unction before dawn, for which he could seek a dispensation later, but Katharine refused. When the sun’s rays broke over the horizon, a mass service was said and Katharine was given last rites.

It had been pre-arranged Katharine should swear at that moment she had never carnally known Prince Arthur, but in the emotion of the moment, the priest forgot to ask, and Katharine did not offer the statement.

Will would always wonder why. Perhaps, in the final moments of her life, it did not seem as important, or maybe, after all of this strife, Henry had been telling the truth after all, and Katharine did not want to stand before her God with a lie on her lips.

Soon after, Katharine fell into a light sleep that deepened as the morning wore on. Her breath grew labored and Emma gasped along with her until Will pried her hand from Katharine’s. “She can feel no pain now,” he murmured into his wife’s ear. “You do not need to bear it for her.”

In the early afternoon, Katharine took one last, short gasp and then it sighed out of her slowly. The watchers all held their breath as well, waiting to see if her chest would rise again, but she was still.

Katharine of Aragon was dead.

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Deleted Scene: Will Tells Katharine of Henry's Re-Marriage to Anne Boleyn

There had been a knock at their door in the pre-dawn hours, and George Boleyn had whispered instructions to Will. When he left, Will closed the door and leaned against it for a long moment, hitting it softly with the side of his fist.

“I must go,” he said to Emma.

She climbed from the bed. “Where?”

“I cannot say.” Will seemed angry about that last point and Emma did the only thing she could do: pull him into her arms.

“It matters not,” she whispered. “As long as you return to me.”

He’d be gone for two days, he told her, three at the latest. They kissed at the door a long while before he left, and Emma tried to imprint upon her very soul his scent, his taste, the feel of his body pressed against hers. And she managed not to cry until he had shut the door behind him. Jack brought her a napkin to wipe away her tears and then sat and groomed her hair as she sobbed.

~,~

Emma would have liked the horse he was riding, Will decided. It was a sprightly, cheerful beast with bright eyes and a shiny, well-groomed coat. And though he felt a little foolish doing it, Will found himself talking to the horse as they rode along, and bizarrely enough, the horse seemed to listen to him, if the turnings of his ears were any indication. Perhaps the animal just liked the sound of his voice.

In any case, it made Will feel better to talk about Emma. She had seemed so much better since the return from the ocean, and then the bath he had managed to obtain for her. She had seemed so well he had considered asking her if the time was right for them to have a child, but then the king had sent him on this errand. The separation was hard enough on Will; how would Emma fare? He had terrible visions of her ceasing to eat, of pining for him, pining for the sea, grieving herself sick. It induced him to urge the horse to a faster pace, though the horse didn’t seem to mind.

The castle rose stark and forbidding in the distance. It was an ancient place, one Henry hadn’t renovated to the extent of his other palaces. He had stopped here on progress a few times to enjoy hunting in the nearby preserve, but had otherwise ignored it. Katharine was housed here now. It couldn’t be terribly comfortable for her, used as she was to massive palaces with ornate rooms decorated in the latest trends of opulence. This house was in a state of poor repair and the air was cool and damp, unhealthy for a woman in Katharine’s condition.

The steward who answered the door recognized Will and was welcoming. He was taken into the empty great hall and seated at a table with a jug of ale and a piece of bread and cheese to refresh him after his long journey. Will glanced around while he chewed, eyeing the dusty tapestries, the middling display of plate on the sideboard.

Near the fireplace, a small handful of ladies were embroidering a tapestry, all of them bent over the large frame. Katharine’s household had been reduced again when she moved here. Once, hundreds of ladies had served her. Now, it was down to a few dozen, smaller even than the household of a princess dowager, as punishment for her stubbornness. Katharine reduced that number herself by refusing to accept any lady who didn’t acknowledge her as queen. The rejected ladies stayed in the outer rooms of the house, spending their days embroidering and gossiping, some of them never having laid eyes on the woman they were ostensibly here to serve.

The women peered at him curiously. One of them giggled and whispered to her neighbor at Will’s hunched shoulder. He pointedly ignored them. He had the feeling if Katharine had been present, she never would have dared.

“Master Somers?” Elizabeth Darrell stood in the doorway. She curtsied to him and Will rose and bowed back to her.

“Mistress Darrell,” he replied. “ ‘Tis good to see you once more.”

“And you as well, Master Somers. What service may I do for you?”

“I have been sent to speak with your mistress.”

Elizabeth’s smile faltered. “She is not well today.”

Will took a deep breath. “I am afraid I must insist. I have a message from the king.”

She nodded. “As his majesty commands. Follow me.”

Katharine’s rooms were tucked away at the back of the castle, down dim and winding halls. Elizabeth carried a lamp with her to light their way and cautioned Will about the loose board in the doorway. He stepped over it into Katharine’s empty presence chamber. A chair sat on a dais under a cloth of estate, embroidered with the arms of Spain and Wales, Katharine’s coat of arms as a princess dowager. The chair was thickly coated with dust. Both of them bowed to it briefly as they passed into the privy chamber.

The room into which he was led was silent and dim. A pallet bed in the corner bore Katherine, a stout figure dressed in black. Her bed of estate was on the other side of the room, with rich hangings and fat pillows, crowned with that new coat of arms she detested. It would be like her to refuse to sleep in it.

Katharine rolled over and her face still wore that gentle, welcoming smile he remembered. “Master Somers!” she said, as though greeting an old friend. “Pray, forgive me that I do not rise. I trod on a pin, injuring my foot, and I have been sore annoyed with a cough.”

So sore she wasn’t wearing a shoe. He could see a hint of bare sole peeking from beneath her gown. A poultice had been applied to it, held in place by a thick linen bandage.

“Have you news for me of my husband?” she asked.

Will wished he’d drank more ale in the hall. He knelt next to her cot. “I do, Madame.” He took the paper of instructions from his pocket and opened it. He opened it slowly and reluctantly raised his eyes to her face. “The king’s majesty sends you word your marriage has been judged unlawful by the universities and by the Lords and Commons. The archbishop has pronounced it null and void, and the king’s marriage with Anne Boleyn to be sound and true.”

Katharine sucked in a breath that sent her into a coughing fit. Elizabeth Darrell hurried over with a goblet and she helped Katharine to sit up enough to drink it. Katharine choked on the liquid and Elizabeth murmured soothing words as she rubbed Katharine’s back. Elizabeth shot Will an angry look and he grimaced.

“I do not say this because I wish to,” he said, his tone pitched low to avoid the ears of the ladies who were undoubtedly listening at the door.

“Aye, that I know, Master Somers,” Katharine said between small coughs. “Pray, continue.”

Will dropped his gaze to his instructions. His hands had crushed the paper at the sides and he forced himself to loosen his grip. “By order of the king’s majesty, you are to abandon your pretended title of queen and content yourself with the title princess dowager. If you obey and show yourself to be a true and loyal subject of his majesty and his lawful wife, Queen Anne, you will be housed in comfort with the honor due you, and your daughter, the Lady Mary, will be permitted to visit once more.”

Katharine waited for a moment before she spoke. “Is that all, Master Somers?”

“Aye, madame.” Will couldn’t look at her.

“I thank you for delivering the king’s message to me,” Katharine said. Her voice was steady once again, warm and kind. He glanced up to her and saw she was giving him a small smile of understanding. She gestured to Elizabeth who brought over a small bag. “For your pains, Master Somers.”

Elizabeth handed the heavy pouch to him and he heard the coins clink inside. “Your grace,” he started, and then closed his eyes. “I cannot—“

“Pray, accept it in the spirit it was given.” Katharine’s smile was gentle and warm.

“Aye, Madame.” Will raked a hand through his hair in frustration. He cursed Henry for sending him on this task, to say hard words to this woman who had heard them before. Did Henry imagine Will would change her mind?

“I shall give you my reply now, and I ask you to convey it to my husband, the king.”

“I will, Madame.” Will looked up from the floor and saw something he would never be able to describe if he attempted to tell the tale to another. Like an invisible cloak, a mantle of dignity and power settled over Katharine. She was the infanta of Spain, the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, the descendant of generations of queens and kings. Royalty was writ in her blood.

“I am the king’s true and lawful wife, and there is no queen of England, save myself. The king may do what he will in his own realm, and the universities may say what they will, but there is none who might decide my case other than his holiness, the pope. I will not damn my soul by agreeing to the lie I am but the princess dowager. Nor will I illegitimatize my daughter, the rightful princess, Mary.”

She began to cough again and Elizabeth brought the goblet of wine to her lips. Katharine drank deeply and extended her hand. “May I see those instructions?”

Will handed the paper to her wordlessly. In truth, he was grateful to be rid of it.

“A pen,” she murmured to Elizabeth who fetched a wood box from a table on the other side of the room. She unhooked the clasps on the side and folded it out into a writing desk. Elizabeth uncapped the ink and dipped a quill into it. Katharine laid the instructions on the leather-covered surface of the table. Elizabeth brought the lamp closer and Will could read the words at the top of the paper, To the princess dowager, Katharine of Spain.

Katharine took the quill and slashed through the words savagely, tearing the point of the quill through the paper. She paused and closed her eyes for a moment. “Might I have your leave to make a copy of this document in Spanish, that I might send it to his holiness, the pope?”

“Aye, my lady.” Will could barely force out the words. Appeals to the Pope were now forbidden, but somehow, Katharine still managed to get letters smuggled out of the country, though little good they did her.

She smiled at him with that same gentleness and withdrew a sheet of paper from her desk. She wrote quickly, pausing now and again to re-dip the quill. When she finished, Elizabeth shook sand over the paper to dry the ink. Katherine folded it thrice and dripped some wax onto the edge of the paper, then pressed her ring deeply into it, creating an envelope with her signet seal.

Katharine held out the instructions she’d copied. “I thank you, kind sir.”

“Madame, I merit no title,” Will replied.

“Were it in my power any longer, I would see to it you got one.” She took a deep breath and coughed again, deep wracking coughs that shook her entire frame. “Prithee, convey to the king, my husband: I pray for him night and day, and the love I bear for him is why I stand firm in my convictions. I do this not from obstinacy, but to preserve the rights of my daughter, and care for my immortal soul will not allow me to lie.”

Will stood. “I will carry your words to him.”

Katharine held out a hand to him and Will took it, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “God’s blessings upon you, Master Somers. You have served your master well, but your heart is kind.”

Will thanked her and hurried from the room. His throat felt so tight it was difficult to breathe. A burning ball of anger seethed in his chest. Regardless of the legalities, of the religious implications, Katharine didn’t deserve this. And it left a chill in his bones, for if Henry could condemn the wife who had loved him for twenty years to this exile, torn from everyone she loved, what else could he do?

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Katharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn: The Court of Two Queens

Say what you will about Katharine of Aragon, but she was true royalty. Only once is she recorded to have said anything to Anne Boleyn about the fact her husband was trying to install Anne in Katharine's place, and even then, it was subtle.

George Cavendish, Cardinal Wolsey's biographer, insisted that Katharine pretended nothing was amiss and even showed Anne greater favor because the king did:

And all this while, she being in this estimation in all places, it is no doubt but good Queen Katharine, having this gentlewoman daily attending upon her, both heard by report, and perceived before her eyes, the matter how it framed against her (good lady), although she showed nor to Mistress Anne, nor unto the king, any spark or kind of grudge or displeasure; but took and accepted all things in good part, and with wisdom and great patience dissimuled [dissembled] the same, having Mistress Anne in more estimation for the king's sake than she had before, declaring herself thereby to be a perfect Griselda, as her patient acts shall hereafter more evidently to all men be declared.

Things must have been tense from the time the king decided to marry Anne around 1527 until Katharine was exiled from court in 1531. During those four years, Henry kept up the pretense that he really wanted Katharine to be his legal wife, but felt compelled to look into the questions about the legitimacy of his marriage.

Katharine sat at his side during events which called for a queen's presence. Henry dined with her, danced with her, exchanged presents and courtesies, all the while spending every moment he could at Anne Boleyn's side, and trying to negotiate an annulment with the reluctant pope.

According to Ambassador Chapuys, whose reports one should always take with a massive grain of salt, Katharine still made Henry's shirts during this time. (She probably didn't actually make the shirts, but rather decorated them with embroidery.) Anne learned of this and saw it as a symbol of Katharine's status.

According to Antonia Fraser in The Wives of Henry VIII:

Anne created one of her angry scenes when she found one of the servants of the privy chamber taking linens to the Queen, in order that the King should have his shirts made - no doubt for the good sound masculine reason that Catherine had always done so, and he wanted the shirts he knew. On this occasion the King refused to give in and confirmed the linen was sent on his instructions. Such jealousy on the part of the Lady seemed highly unreasonable to Queen Catherine's supporters and it lost nothing in the telling. At the same time, Anne Boleyn had a point: sewing the King's shirts did have a symbolic significance. Queen Catherine, in continuing to do so, was being allowed by King Henry to assert the rights of a wife.

All this time, Anne served as one of Katharine's ladies in waiting. Like the other ladies, her duties were to read to the queen, sew with her, fetch things she requested, and generally keep the queen entertained, such as by playing cards with her. It was during one of those card games that Katharine made her sole, oblique statement to Anne about the turmoil going on behind the scenes when Anne happened to draw a king:

My lady Anne, you have good hap to stop at a king, but you are not like others, you will have all or none.

For her part, Katharine likely expected Henry would tire of Anne Boleyn as he had tired of all the women he'd courted on the side. The pope likely hoped for the same thing, and did all he could to delay giving Henry an answer on his annulment suit.

But Henry didn't give up, and for seven years, he struggled to find a way out of his marriage to Katharine.

Here were two women, both of whom thought God had called them to the throne, both of them fervent in their faith, both well-educated and cultured, both seeking allies and to undermine the opposition, both of them aware the future of England hung in the balance. Battle lines were drawn: Anne and the religious reformers on one side, Katharine and the conservative, old-school Catholics on the other. What was it like for them in the court of two queens?

The Imperial ambassador Eustace Chapuys reports histrionic scenes from Anne, such as her declaring she would like to see all Spaniards at the bottom of the sea, and that she'd rather be hanged than acknowledge Katharine as her mistress. However, Chapuys routinely reported gossip as solid fact, and we cannot be sure how many layers of "the telephone game" these stories went through before they reached his eager ears.

Anne had a temper, but she also had a brain. She knew every single word she spoke aloud in court was being repeated in gossip and reported to foreign courts. It's difficult to know what she actually said and what words were put into her mouth by gossip, since most of what we "know" of Anne Boleyn comes from the reports of her enemies.

From her letters and pleas to the king, we know that Katharine felt her marriage could be salvaged if Anne was sent from court. Whatever her faults, Katharine truly loved Henry, possibly the only one of his wives that ever did. Even toward the end of her life, she was said to pray nightly for him to return to her. Like many women with a straying husband, Katharine doesn't seem to have wanted to blame Henry. It was Anne who was leading him astray. Katharine and Henry's isolated daughter, Mary, believed it, too.

Despite this blame she placed on Anne, Katharine supposedly once told her ladies they should not speak badly of Anne, but instead should pray for her.

Pray for her because the time would come when you shall pity and lament her case.

Things continued in this awkward fashion until 1531, when Henry finally banished Katharine from court. Typically of Henry, he did not publicly issue an order to send Katharine away. He simply packed up and moved to another palace without informing Katharine, then later sent a message to her telling her to depart for one of his country estates. Katharine was his wife for twenty years, and once he declared in song that he loved true where he did wed, but he didn't speak a word of farewell to her as he rode off with Anne Boleyn.

Despite her exile, Katharine never surrendered. Both she and Princess Mary endured increasingly harsh treatment, but Katharine would not be bullied. She refused to accept the title, "Princess Dowager" and refused to accept servants who would not call her "Queen Katharine." When the messengers arrived with the king's written order that she was no longer to "pretend" the title of queen, she marked out the words "Princess Dowager" wherever she found them in the document, with such force that her pen ripped through the paper.

Even after she received word Henry had married Anne, in Katharine's mind, the battle still continued. Though appeals to the pope were forbidden by law, Katharine still sent pleading letters to the pope and her family in Europe. She feared Anne Boleyn would have her poisoned, and began cooking her meals in her fireplace in her chambers. Chapuys believed her death in 1536 was due to poison, though we now know the tumor on her heart to be a sign of cancer.

Chapuys reports that Anne and Henry wore festive yellow the day they heard Katharine was dead. Henry was delighted and exclaimed England was now freed from the danger of war. He and Anne paraded baby Elizabeth around to the courtiers at the feasts and jousts held afterward.

However, Seigneur de Dinteville reported that Anne locked herself away in her oratory and wept after she heard the news. At this long last, did Anne Boleyn respect Katharine? Did she remember the kind and cordial treatment of the late Spanish princess, even after the two became rivals?

Nicholas Sanders wrote that it was Henry who cried and Anne who wore yellow. He wrote that upon being "congratulated" about Katharine's death, Anne said,

"No, I am sorry, not indeed because she is dead, but because her death has been so honourable." What malice! even the death of Catherine could not quench it.

Chapuys also reports Anne cried, but because of fear for herself.

Some days ago I was informed from various quarters, which I did not think very good authorities, that notwithstanding the joy shown by the concubine at the news of the good Queen’s death, for which she had given a handsome present to the messenger, she had frequently wept, fearing that they might do with her as with the good Queen.

 As it turns out, Anne was right to fear ... Share on Tumblr