It was well that this suggestion did not become widely known, but I did marvel that the possibility had entered his mind and that the Pope should consider the idea and be prepared to provide the necessary dispensation. It brought home to me the fact that most men were completely concerned with their own grip on power and would do anything, however dishonorable, to keep it. I was developing a certain cynicism.

I was not surprised that my mother was in despair. How could she, in such a world, ever expect justice!

“What think you?” she said to the Countess. “Will any Englishman who is the King's subject be a friend to me and go against the King's pleasure?”

Reginald grew more and more convinced that Campeggio had received orders to bring the matter to no conclusion and that his task was to delay wherever possible. This he seemed to do with a certain skill, while my father grew more and more angry as the case dragged on and nothing was achieved.

That which Reginald had prophesied came to pass. The Pope recalled Campeggio. It was announced that the case was to be tried in Rome. My mother was jubilant, my father incensed. They both knew that Rome would never dare offend the Emperor as far as to give the verdict the King desired. He naturally refused to leave the country.

During those weary weeks my mother and I were sustained only by each other and our friends. The scene around us was changing. Anne Boleyn was now installed at Court; she was the Queen in all but name; but still she kept my father at arms' length. Thus she kept her power over him. Wolsey was in disgrace; he had failed; according to the King, he had served his master, the Pope, against the King, and that was something my father would not endure. Poor Wolsey! I could feel it in my heart to be sorry for him. To have climbed so high and now fall so low—it was a tragedy, and one could not fail to commiserate just a little even though he had been no friend to us. He had worked for the divorce; where he had failed was not to work for the marriage of the King and Anne Boleyn.

Campeggio had left the country, and the King was so furious with the old man that he commanded his luggage be searched before he embarked for the Continent. Campeggio complained bitterly at this indignity—a small matter when one considered what was happening to Wolsey.

Thomas Cranmer had leaped into prominence by suggesting the King appeal to the universities of England and Europe instead of relying on a papal court. This found great favor with the King who guessed—rightly— that bribes scattered there could bring the desired result.

I was heartily sick and weary—and completely disillusioned—by the whole matter.

When I look back on those three years 1529 to 1531, I am not surprised that my mother's health, and mine also, deteriorated. She was really ill and I was growing pale and suffering from headaches. But at least we were together most of the time, although I had a separate household at Newhall near Chelmsford in Essex. My mother was still living as the Queen and moving from place to place with the Court, but she was being more and more ignored, and often the King would leave her and go to some other place with Anne Boleyn. I at least was comforted by the constant company of the Countess and her son.

I knew I gave some concern to the King. Not that he cared for my welfare but he believed I was an impediment to the granting of the divorce and that, if it were not that she was determined to fight for my rights, my mother would have gone into a convent by now and the whole matter could have been settled.

It was sad to see my mother growing more and more feeble in health, although at the same time her resolve was as strong as ever and grew stronger, I think, with every passing day and new difficulty.

We would sew together and read the Bible. She liked me to read to her. She told me once that the path to Heaven was never easy and the more tribulations we suffered on Earth the greater the joy when we were received into Heaven. “Think of the sufferings of our Lord Jesus,” she said. “What are our pains compared with His?”

We used to pray together. She it was who instilled in me so firmly my religious beliefs. Religion was our staff and comfort. I shall never forget how it maintained us during those days.

My mother and I were so close that I think we sometimes knew what was in each other's minds. I know she longed for death—though she clung to life because she believed she must fight for me. She would never give the King what he asked, for that would mean that she accepted the fact that I was their illegitimate daughter. She wanted me to be a queen. She wanted me to rule the country with a firm and loving hand. She believed that there were not enough religious observances in England. The people, on the whole, were not a pious race. They were too preoccupied with amusement and finery and bestowed too little attention on sacred matters.

“You need a strong man beside you,” she said to me once.

“My lady, I am betrothed to the son of the King of France.”

“That will come to nothing. The friendship of kings is like a leaf in the wind. It sways this way and that, and when the wind blows strongly enough, it falls to the ground, is trampled on and forgotten. I do not wish to see you married into France.”

“I dareswear I shall marry where it pleases my father.”

“My dear daughter, if I could see you married to a good man, a man of deep religious convictions, someone whom I could trust, I could die happy. I want to see you protected from the evil of the world. I want someone who will stand with you, for your position could be difficult in the days ahead. It is my most cherished dream to see you on the throne of England, and I want you to have the right man beside you when you are there.”

“Where is such a man?” I asked, although I knew of whom she was thinking.

Again she read my thoughts: “My child, I think you know. His mother and I have watched the growing friendship between you. It is more than friendship. His mother has seen it … and we are of one mind on this matter.”

I flushed and said quietly, “But it would be his choice?”

“Has he not made that clear? He was to leave England. He was to go back to Italy to complete his studies, but he is still here.”

I was suffused with happiness. If it could only be! If I could be spared that fate which befell most princesses, to go to a foreign land, to a husband whom I had never seen…if it could be Reginald!

My mother was smiling and looking happier than she had for a long time.

She said, “It would be a suitable match. He is of royal blood. He is a Plantagenet and you know how the people feel about them. Now they are no longer ruled by them, they see them as saints or heroes. Some of them were far from that… but that is human nature and in this case serves us well. Ah, my child, if only it could be. If I could see this come about, I should die happy.”

“Please, my lady, do not talk of dying. You must not leave me now. What should I do without you?”

She put down her needlework and held out her arms to me. We clung together.

“There,” she said, “my dearest daughter, do you think I should ever leave you if it were in my power to stay. Rest assured that wherever I am I shall be with you in spirit. You are my reason for fighting, for living … always remember that.”

I wondered later whether she had a premonition of what was to come.

Soon after that, Reginald came to me in a very serious mood.

He said, “Princess, I have to go away.”

My dismay was apparent.

He was in a great quandary. He wanted to be a supporter of my mother's cause, but the King was fond of him and he was expected to be in his company. It was very difficult for him to be frank as to his feelings.

“I cannot stay here,” he told me, “without letting the King know that I do not agree with his plans for divorce.”