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?”

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“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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