gave her a great deal of pleasure.
She was, I gradually learned, the sort of woman who believes that if she shuts her eyes to unpleasantness it ceases to exist. I was fond of her and she doted on me; but I was never close to her as I was to my father. My greatest pleasure was to be with him, to walk with him down to the river or through the orchards and as I was growing older he could talk seriously to me, which I think gave him great pleasure.
It was at the time when Elizabeth Barton became prominent that my father did talk to me.
I remember the day she was executed he put his arm through mine and we walked down to the river. He liked this way better because it was open lawn and we could talk without being overheard as we might be in the orchard or the nuttery.
He told me the Holy Maid had been a servant to a member of Archbishop Warham’s retinue and how she became ill and subject to fits. This state had turned into trances and she had declared herself to be under deep spiritual influence.
“It may well be that she was used,” he said, “poor soul. It may be that she spoke half-truths, but as you know, Damask, she has uttered against the King; she had prophesied his death if he should put Queen Katharine from him.”
“Which he has done, Father.”
“And taken to him Anne Boleyn.”
“Why shouldn’t we forget it?” I said. “If the King has sinned it is he who will be called upon to answer for it.”
My father smiled. “Do you remember, my child, when you and I saw the once-great Cardinal sail by with the King?”
“I shall never forget it. I think it was the time I first began to notice things.”
“And I said to you…what did I say to you? Do you remember?”
“You said: We are not alone. The misfortune of one is that of us all.”
“What a clever child you are! Oh, Damask, I shall enjoy seeing you a woman…if I live as long.”
“Please don’t say that. Of course you are going to live to see me a woman. I am almost that now and we shall always be together.”
“And one day you will marry.”
“Do you think that will part me from my father? Any husband who wished to separate me from you would not find much favor with me.”
He laughed. “This house and all I possess will be for you and your children.”
“But it will remain yours for many many years to come,” I insisted.
“Damask, don’t lose sight of this: We live in troublous times. The King has tired of one wife and wanted another. That may concern us, Damask. I want you to be prepared.” He pressed my hand. “You are such a little wiseacre that I forget your youth. I talk to you as I might talk to Brother John or Brother James. I forget you are just a child.”
“Kate constantly reminds me of it.”
“Ah, Kate. She lacks your wisdom. But one could not expect two such clever people in one household.”
“You are a fond parent,” I said.
“I admit it,” he told me. And he went on: “This day they are taking the Maid of Kent to Tyburn. She will be executed there.”
“Just for a prophecy?”
“For prophesying what the King does not wish to be prophesied.” He shivered and went on: “Enough of talk of death. Let us go and see how your mother’s musk roses are faring.”
The Maid of Kent was dead. On the scaffold she had admitted her guilt.
“I am a poor wench without learning,” she had said. “I have been puffed up by the praises of learned men. They made me pretend to revelations which would be useful to them.”
The learned men who had supported her were such as Sir Thomas More and Bishop Fisher.
Because I was so young I was only vaguely and intermittently aware of the tension all about me. I could not at that time accept the fact that the world outside our household was of any great importance to us. My father aged considerably in the months that followed the new Queen’s coronation. He used to row up the river to Chelsea and visited Sir Thomas More who was a very well-known gentleman. He had
She was, I gradually learned, the sort of woman who believes that if she shuts her eyes to unpleasantness it ceases to exist. I was fond of her and she doted on me; but I was never close to her as I was to my father. My greatest pleasure was to be with him, to walk with him down to the river or through the orchards and as I was growing older he could talk seriously to me, which I think gave him great pleasure.
It was at the time when Elizabeth Barton became prominent that my father did talk to me.
I remember the day she was executed he put his arm through mine and we walked down to the river. He liked this way better because it was open lawn and we could talk without being overheard as we might be in the orchard or the nuttery.
He told me the Holy Maid had been a servant to a member of Archbishop Warham’s retinue and how she became ill and subject to fits. This state had turned into trances and she had declared herself to be under deep spiritual influence.
“It may well be that she was used,” he said, “poor soul. It may be that she spoke half-truths, but as you know, Damask, she has uttered against the King; she had prophesied his death if he should put Queen Katharine from him.”
“Which he has done, Father.”
“And taken to him Anne Boleyn.”
“Why shouldn’t we forget it?” I said. “If the King has sinned it is he who will be called upon to answer for it.”
My father smiled. “Do you remember, my child, when you and I saw the once-great Cardinal sail by with the King?”
“I shall never forget it. I think it was the time I first began to notice things.”
“And I said to you…what did I say to you? Do you remember?”
“You said: We are not alone. The misfortune of one is that of us all.”
“What a clever child you are! Oh, Damask, I shall enjoy seeing you a woman…if I live as long.”
“Please don’t say that. Of course you are going to live to see me a woman. I am almost that now and we shall always be together.”
“And one day you will marry.”
“Do you think that will part me from my father? Any husband who wished to separate me from you would not find much favor with me.”
He laughed. “This house and all I possess will be for you and your children.”
“But it will remain yours for many many years to come,” I insisted.
“Damask, don’t lose sight of this: We live in troublous times. The King has tired of one wife and wanted another. That may concern us, Damask. I want you to be prepared.” He pressed my hand. “You are such a little wiseacre that I forget your youth. I talk to you as I might talk to Brother John or Brother James. I forget you are just a child.”
“Kate constantly reminds me of it.”
“Ah, Kate. She lacks your wisdom. But one could not expect two such clever people in one household.”
“You are a fond parent,” I said.
“I admit it,” he told me. And he went on: “This day they are taking the Maid of Kent to Tyburn. She will be executed there.”
“Just for a prophecy?”
“For prophesying what the King does not wish to be prophesied.” He shivered and went on: “Enough of talk of death. Let us go and see how your mother’s musk roses are faring.”
The Maid of Kent was dead. On the scaffold she had admitted her guilt.
“I am a poor wench without learning,” she had said. “I have been puffed up by the praises of learned men. They made me pretend to revelations which would be useful to them.”
The learned men who had supported her were such as Sir Thomas More and Bishop Fisher.
Because I was so young I was only vaguely and intermittently aware of the tension all about me. I could not at that time accept the fact that the world outside our household was of any great importance to us. My father aged considerably in the months that followed the new Queen’s coronation. He used to row up the river to Chelsea and visited Sir Thomas More who was a very well-known gentleman. He had
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