Katherine the Queen: The Remarkable Life of Katherine Parr
LINDA PORTER
Katherine the Queen
The Remarkable Life of Katherine Parr
MACMILLAN
For Anna
To be useful in all I do
Katherine Parr’s motto as queen
Contents
Family Trees
Prologue
Part One
THE NORTHERN INHERITANCE, 1512–1529
One – The Courtiers of the White Rose
Two – A Formidable Mother
Part Two
WIFE AND WIDOW, 1529–1543
Three – The Marriage Game
Four – Lady Latimer
Five – The Pilgrimage of Grace
Part Three
‘KATERYN THE QUENE’, 1543–1547
Six – Two Suitors
Seven – The Queen and Her Court
Eight – The Royal Children
Nine – Regent of England
Ten – The Queen’s Gambit
Part Four
THE LAST HUSBAND, 1547–1548
Eleven – The Secrets of Spring
Twelve – ‘This frail life’
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Notes
Bibliography
Picture Acknowledgements
Index
Prologue
WHITEHALL PALACE, 28 JANUARY 1547
The queen did not detect any difference in the atmosphere of the palace when she awoke in her apartments on a cold winter’s morning. The days were just beginning to lengthen slightly, with the promise that the dreariest part of the season was passing. But still she had not seen her husband. Almost two months had gone by. It was early December when they parted, after the autumn hunting. He told her there was urgent business to attend to, but she could see the severity of his illness and sensed that he was keeping her at a distance while he prepared for the government that would come after him.
So, for the first time since her marriage, Katherine and the court spent Christmas at Greenwich without the king. Mary, her elder stepdaughter, accompanied her and they tried to make the best of the seasonal diversions – music, song and play-acting. Henry’s absence, though, was keenly felt. It was hard to be merry when kept in ignorance of what was really happening. The king’s determination to exclude the two women affected Katherine more than it did Mary. The eldest of the king’s children knew, far better than the queen, what it was like to be put aside. She had spent three years in disgrace and banishment. Long since, she had learned to accept, if not approve, her father’s actions. But Mary, like Katherine, was well aware that a great change was coming. It was not one she particularly feared, since it would bring her freedom, or so she hoped.
But for Katherine this anxious time was only the culmination of a difficult and unnerving year. The halcyon early days of her marriage had begun to seem far behind her in the summer of 1546, when she was afraid that she had lost the affection of her husband and might be in great danger. There were those among his ministers who whispered against her, quite prepared to sacrifice her in the struggle between the supporters of the old and new religious ideas. Henry’s health declined dramatically at that time, and he became more cunning and unpredictable. Almost too late, she realized that he disapproved heartily of her writing, was irritated by her conversation and opinions, disappointed (as was she) by her childlessness. She had been too confident in her influence over him. All that was over now. They had kissed and made up. His indulgence and generosity returned and, as if to recompense her for her demotion to being merely his consort, no longer his close adviser, he filled her wardrobes and jewel-caskets with all the finest things that money could buy. Katherine was reassured, at least for her personal safety, but she was not fooled.
She was relieved to be allowed to return to Whitehall in the second week of January, knowing that at least she would be in the same palace as her husband. But he did not send for her; her enquiries were politely but firmly turned aside. And yet, given her positive and outgoing nature, hope had never entirely gone away. She knew that her period as regent in 1544 had been a success and she still expected to be appointed to that role for her young stepson when the unmentionable did finally happen and Henry left this life. Edward would need her greatly then, to protect him from the greedy and ambitious men raised up by his father, who all looked, in one way or another, to improve their position. She believed the boy would trust her, since she was the only mother he had ever known. The other marriages were so brief that her predecessors had not established any place in the child’s affections, while she was secure in his devotion, at least. They exchanged letters regularly, but her most recent one to him, while reminding him of his father’s virtues, made no mention of the king’s physical condition. Edward was at Hertford Castle with Elizabeth, and Katherine knew better than to raise alarm.
The worries, though, remained. She was not the prince’s natural mother and the Seymour brothers, his uncles, were clearly manoeuvring for power. The elder, Edward, earl of Hertford, was said to be closeted almost permanently with the king, the chief of the coterie that had made an impenetrable ring around her husband. They ensured that access to the king was closely controlled, and she was not included in their counsel. She knew all these men, of course, and their wives. Sitting in her own apartments were the ladies of her court whose husbands would, in all probability, decide her future. She would not reveal anything to them and, besides, she doubted that they knew anything of material importance. Except, perhaps, for Anne Seymour, who was finding it hard to conceal a very slight air of triumphant satisfaction. Katherine did not like this over-confident woman – few did, except for Mary – and she sensed that the countess expected further elevation for her husband. But these things were never discussed in the open. The household’s daily routine of morning prayers, scripture reading, needlework and musical entertainment continued as smoothly as ever. Katherine was queen of England and attended as such. Even if some thought her days as Henry’s wife would soon be past, nothing was said. Only to the women of her immediate family, her sister and cousin, could she give vent to her dissatisfaction and frustration. Their constant advice was to be patient and she could not disagree.
Sometimes, she thought of Thomas Seymour, Hertford’s younger brother, the suitor she had been required to abandon when the king made his own intentions plain. Tom was still unmarried, despite the renewed attempt last summer to forge a marital alliance between the Seymours and the Howards. Would he renew his wooing when she herself was once more a widow, and, if so, how might she respond? As queen regent, she could probably not afford to indulge her own desires, though he might be a useful ally as well as a handsome bedfellow.
In Katherine’s more optimistic moments, with her dogs at her feet beside the hearth, she did not abandon the belief that Henry would, yet again, keep death at bay for a while. The summons would come at last and she would, once more, be enfolded in that massive bulk, his beloved Kate, as she had been that July day in 1543 when she became his sixth wife. Despite her anguish and misgivings when she succumbed to family pressures and accepted the king’s proposal – for who, as had been made quite clear to her, could refuse their sovereign? – she was bound to acknowledge to herself that she enjoyed being Henry VIII’s queen. His loss would diminish her status unless she secured the regency immediately. The uncertainty over her position once the old king was gone would not go away, however brave a face she presented to her ladies.
After she had risen and dressed, then worshipped and breakfasted, she learned of a rumour that Dr Cranmer had been summoned to see the king late the pr
evious night from his house south of London. It crossed her mind to send for Cranmer, on the pretext of discussing religion, but he was her husband’s servant first, not hers, and she knew Cranmer well enough to realize that she would get no confidence out of him that touched on secret matters of state. Meanwhile, everything, so it appeared, continued as normal in the functioning of the king’s Privy Chamber. His advisers came and went, and meals were still being taken in and out at the appointed hour, with due fanfare and ceremony. Yet something told her that the tidings she so dreaded to hear could not be long delayed.
Part One
The Northern Inheritance
1512–1529
CHAPTER ONE
The Courtiers of the White Rose
‘The final end of a Courtier, where to all his good conditions and honest qualities tend, is to become an Instructor and Teacher of his Prince.’
Baldassare Castiglione, The Book of the Courtier, 1528
WHITEHALL PALACE is a long way from Westmoreland. In the sixteenth century the contrast between this opulent mansion on the busy river Thames and the wild country of the Lake District was even more pronounced. It took two weeks to travel between London and Kendal, the area’s main town; a daunting prospect indeed and one seldom attempted in winter. Westmoreland was border country and its landowners and men of influence, often viewed as somewhat crude by their southern counterparts, were nevertheless expected to protect the king and the realm of England from the depredations of the country’s neighbour, the violent, unpredictable kingdom of the Scots. But there was a lingering air of unreliability about the English nobility in this part of the kingdom. The Percy family’s loyalty, in particular, was often in doubt, as was that of the other great northern clan, the Nevilles.1 The prospect of rebellion was never far away.
And yet, even in this hostile environment, it was possible to prosper and to gain for one’s family the prospect of influence and a better future. The family of Henry VIII’s sixth wife had built their wealth, and thus their place in society, on the backs of the hardy sheep who grazed their lands on England’s northern fringes. The famous Kendal Green wool produced by their flocks was much in demand and made them money. Though not of the aristocracy, service in the household of John of Gaunt and a marriage alliance with the prominent de Roos family enhanced their standing.2 Knighthoods followed and they began to hope for ennoblement, that most cherished of medieval social aspirations. In the late fourteenth century, they took their first steps on the path that promised advancement: they became courtiers and servants of the Crown. The Parr family motto, ‘love with loyalty’, seemed entirely apt.
Over the next fifty years, the wealth of the Parrs grew. They acquired more lands and began to develop the complex web of local patronage and political presence that underpinned the fabric of rural England in the declining years of feudalism. But as the fifteenth century passed its midway point, with dissatisfaction growing against the inept rule of Henry VI, the Parrs had to consider exactly what ‘loyalty’ meant. In 1455, following the lead of the ambitious Nevilles, his powerful neighbours, Sir Thomas Parr, the head of the family, made a decision that had profound implications for his three sons. He would align himself with the party of Richard, duke of York, against the queen, Margaret of Anjou, and the clique of nobles who were manipulating the king and ruining the country.
He did not know then what confusion, mayhem and sorrow lay ahead for the ruling class of his country, as it slipped into the troubled time known to history as the Wars of the Roses. Sir Thomas Parr fought alongside Richard Neville, earl of Warwick, and Warwick’s father, the earl of Salisbury, at the battle of St Albans in 1455 and four years later at the battle of Ludlow. Here the Yorkists came off very much second best and Sir Thomas fled south, with the future Edward IV, and eventually took a ship from the Devon coast to France to await happier times. His action left him an attainted traitor, the future of his family very much in doubt.
On his return, things at first went from bad to worse. He and his sons fought at the battle of Wakefield in December 1460, which saw the summary execution of the duke of York by the Lancastrians, led by the duke of Somerset. Sir Thomas himself was listed as dead but survived for another year. By that time, the pendulum had swung again and the Yorkists emerged victorious from the carnage of Towton in Yorkshire, on Palm Sunday, 1461. It was one of the bloodiest battles ever fought on English soil. When William Parr, the eldest son, assumed responsibility for the family’s lands and future, there was no question that the Parrs were confirmed supporters of the White Rose.
Nothing, however, was straightforward in those confusing times. As many of the old aristocracy perished in the convulsions of the next twenty-five years, so new opportunities arose for men who were willing to serve the monarchy in their stead. The Parrs were shrewd when they decided to divide their efforts. William stayed mostly in the north, managing the family estates and trying to combat the decline of law and order brought about by civil war and the continued menace of Scottish armies. He became, despite all the challenges, a very active local businessman, expanding his flocks, building new fulling mills to boost cloth production and, by the 1470s, controlling the net fishing industries of Windermere and other major sources of local food supply.
His younger brothers, John and Thomas, meanwhile, went south to London, intent on establishing themselves at court. John became an esquire of the body in Edward IV’s household and Thomas a retainer of Richard, duke of Gloucester. Yet the brothers were themselves to experience the tensions that ripped families apart during the Wars of the Roses. William was, unavoidably given his position in the north, Warwick’s man. As the ‘Kingmaker’ grew into the fearsome overmighty subject who would challenge the young king himself, William Parr found himself on the opposite side from his siblings.
The year 1470–1 has been described as one of the most confusing in English history. Opposed by the man who had helped put him on the throne, and by his own brother, the duke of Clarence, Edward IV fled to Burgundy, leaving his queen, Elizabeth Woodville, to take sanctuary in Westminster Abbey, where she gave birth to her first son. Edward was not exactly welcome in Burgundy – fugitive monarchs are always an embarrassment to their reluctant hosts – but he was determined that he would not stay there long. Henry VI was briefly restored, but the move smacked of desperation, for his sanity was clearly compromised. And despite the chaotic times, when shifting allegiances were commonplace, Warwick and Margaret of Anjou made strange allies. In reality, the earl had overstretched himself. His domination of English politics was at last broken on the battlefield of Barnet on Easter Sunday 1471, and he himself despatched by Edward’s soldiers.
William Parr had deserted Warwick by that time. In March, when Edward returned to reclaim his throne, the eldest Parr brother met him at Nottingham with 600 of his own men ‘well arrayed and habled [prepared] for war’. It must have been a difficult decision to break with the Nevilles, and the anxiety that he might have miscalculated stayed with William Parr until Warwick was dead. That his gamble eventually paid off was no comfort for the loss of his youngest brother. Thomas Parr fell fighting beside the duke of Gloucester at Barnet. So the Parrs were not, in the end, immune to the sorrows experienced by many families in those unquiet days. Finally, on 4 May 1471, Edward IV inflicted a comprehensive defeat on Queen Margaret and her son at Tewkesbury. There was to be no sentiment for the vanquished. Henry VI may have been saintly but he was too dangerous as a figurehead to be kept alive any longer. His murder in the Tower swiftly followed the death at Tewkesbury of his only son.3 Edward had, at last, gained undisputed control of England. William and John Parr were with him at the climax of the Wars of the Roses. However much they mourned their brother and feared for their own survival, they did not waver in the end. The victorious king knighted John Parr on the battlefield. At last, the brothers would reap the full rewards offered by a grateful king.
RECOGNITION came quickly. Only weeks after Tewkesbury, Sir William Parr was appointed comptrol
ler of the royal household, a key role in which essentially he managed all the king’s personal expenditure. He also became a royal councillor. Sir John Parr was named master of the horse and constable of Kenilworth Castle. These were no mere decorative functions. The master of the horse controlled all the king’s stables, horses, hounds and the paraphernalia that went with them. Both Parrs were given properties in the north that had belonged to the fallen earl of Warwick and John’s position at Kenilworth, together with other grants of lands in Warwickshire, suggests that the king intended to build up a role for him in the heart of England.
It was, however, in their frequent and physical proximity to the king that the Parrs enjoyed the greatest influence. They were typical of the kind of men, sound in outlook and loyalty, conscious of where they had come from and also where they hoped to go, whom Edward encouraged. He was suspicious of what remained of the old nobility and was under pressure from the tensions produced by the rivalries between his own brothers and the relatives of his wife, Elizabeth Woodville. The counsel and company of men he could trust and speak with freely were highly valued. These were true courtiers, not vainglorious aristocrats. And Edward, with his mixture of energy and laziness, his affability often masking a steely resolve when it came to his own survival, could not have been an easy man to serve.
The year 1474 was perhaps the high point of Sir William Parr’s life. He became a Knight of the Garter, one of only two members of the gentry to receive this honour in the second part of Edward IV’s reign. By this time he held more than a dozen offices and had recouped the financial losses of the previous decade, when even his business acumen could not cover his mounting debts to the Crown.4 His successes enabled him to make an impressive second marriage in the same year that he received the Garter. On the death of his first wife, Joanna, William married Elizabeth Fitzhugh, niece of the late earl of Warwick and became, through her, a cousin to the king himself. William was forty by then and his new bride a mere twelve years old. A significant, though not quite so large, difference in age was to become a feature of Parr marital unions in the sixteenth century. Initially, the marriage was perhaps nothing more than in name. Elizabeth Parr did not give birth to her first child until she was sixteen years old. It was the dynastic alliance itself that mattered in such arrangements.