In today’s parlance, with which I
am quite familiar, having
been a wraith for nigh on five
hundred years, one might say I had
“drive.” In that I was ahead of
my time, always “leaning in”
always pushing Henry to do this
and do that. It wasn’t as if I
didn’t know what I was talking
about. I had excellent connections
on the Continent, could speak
and read French fluently, was
well-versed in Erasmus and
Tyndale. That alone raised
concern among the creeping
Catholics in the court—fat
Wolsey and More—some saint
–who were wary of me from
the start.
I suppose I didn’t know my place.
Still, I would have kept my head if
only the poor boy hadn’t died, that
sad excrescence in the bed linens.
And Henry went creeping off to
that sickly cow, Jane Seymour.
Well, I had a hand in the
downfall of Catherine, so
I shan’t complain about
Jane. Power politics, you
know. If you think me
cold and uncaring, remember,
things were bloodier in
1536. This was monarchy,
not democracy. People’s
heads were routinely
displayed on pikes. Not like
10 Downing now or Washington
DC.
At the highest levels of society,
one played the game. I played
it and lost. But I do derive
satisfaction from the fact
that my Elizabeth gave birth
to an Age. Of course, I do!
She had my and Henry’s
wit and cunning
without his bombast.
And she had the luxury
of sitting on the
throne without a mate:
rosa sine spina.*
It’s good not to need to
marry. If I were truly alive
today, instead of this
shadow of what I was,
I would be ruler of the
Universe! Alone!
*a rose without a thorn
~
Ruth Rouff is a freelance educational writer who lives in southern New Jersey, near Philadelphia. Her essays and poetry have been published in various literary magazines including Parhelion, Sundial, New Texas, and will be upcoming in the Mensa Bulletin. In 2016 Bedazzled Ink published her collection of poetry and prose entitled Pagan Heaven. The same company will publish her novel entitled Lone Star in 2022.