The Price

Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.

Chapter V: The Bette that Roared

Bette paused outside the door of her broken mother-in-law's chamber, hand on her heart. That story… it shook her to the very core. It tore her, ripped her soul to shreds. On the hand she ached for the pain endured by her mother. She was battered and bruised. Her dignity ripped from her in a disgustingly violent act. She had lived to see her beloved thrown in jail, lived to see him nearly executed. On the other hand she was angry – furious. Livid. She wanted to find her father-in-law and yell, rant, rave. Scream. She wanted to take her good Lord Cromwell and shake his bony shoulders,

"Open your eyes!" she'd shout. "Look at your wife! She is a shell – at best. Don't you see! Look beyond yourself and you're 'woe as me' selfishness!"

And then there was the King, her brother-in-law… how did she feel towards him? He had so destroyed her family, she wanted to hate him. Yet he was her King, he was the father of her nephew and at one time the husband to her dear sister. Jane had beseeched her to live the King the way she loved him. It had clawed at her then, Henry was a bastard, he had been a horrible husband even if he showered her sister with gifts and affectionate words. And now he rapes…. She had to love her King. She had to… she had to. She shivered.

The King was her King but brother she would no longer call him. He was not the man Jane married. Bette wished for her sister at this moment, her sister was always the hug that saved her; Jane had been the only one to keep a hold on her tyrant husband while she lived. Lacking her darling sister Elizabeth longed for her beloved. His cool logic could calm her. His touch made her whole; his words would mend her soul. She took a deep breath and began to search. She would also need to tell Gregory the truth. This was his mother. He needed to know.

Bette's inner turmoil blocked out all until one voice from a half open door stopped her dead.

"Your mother and I are not as we once were." It was father Cromwell's voice. "She has turned to another."

"No." Gregory breathed.

"No!" Bette screamed. She threw the door open and flew into the room startling her husband and father-in-law at her quaking fury. She was not the docile Seymour sister but the earth had never shook the way it did now.

"Bette." Gregory said, taking her arm, trying to calm her. "Bette, calm yourself – the babe, please…." She brushed him off and stormed across the room.

"No! I will not calm down, not until I am heard! You-" she rounded on her father-in-law, "You know nothing, of which you speak! You think she would cuckold you? How little do you think of your wife?" Gregory and Thomas looked at her blankly. Not knowing which expression to pull.

"Bette, child," Cromwell began, half confused, half angry at her interruption. But Elizabeth the younger was so beyond listening. She could not believe her ears – her father-in-law. She had thought so much more of him. He was supposed to be a husband that truly loved his wife. Not like her own father who would go so far as to sleep with his own daughter – in – law if she were pretty enough. Not like her king and brother – in – law who changed wives like he changed fashion, Thomas Cromwell was supposed to love his wife. And love meant respecting her. Love meant cherishing her, love meant trusting her. He was her husband's father, what did this say of her own union. Would at the first sign of trouble think so ill of her? Would he too doubt everything, even the virtues she'd shown up until that point. Would he brand her a lying eve regardless of the truth – because he wouldn't listen, would look? How could they – how dare they judge without trial. All of these thoughts and emotions swirled in her blood and brought her step by step closer to her father – in - law, the good Lord Cromwell, a man a good head taller than her. A man by all accounts she should fear and respect. She came nose to chest with him and growled.

"Have you looked at Elizabeth lately – looked at her. You have seen the bite but have you seen the bruises? The circles under her eyes. The tears coursing down her cheeks – those gaunt sickly, unfed cheeks. Have you noticed that she cannot say Henry's name? Have you watched her – watched her interact with you – with her son. She is scared of a helping hand, scared to be touch – like a horse that had been beaten too much! I doubt it! I doubt you've seen anything outside your own selfish little world, have you spared one thought for anyone other than yourself? Your wife needs you more than anything. Right now and you deny her your love!"

"I LOVE MY WIFE" Cromwell roared, his stoic nature lying in a million pieces as every emotion he'd ever keep from sight exploded from his chest to bellow those words with an anger few even though him capable of. "I LOVE MY WIFE more than anything, even now. How dare you suggest otherwise. You are mistaken child." His tone was deadly. The roar dropping into a near silent fury. His eyes spat daggers at his daughter-in-law, his only living child, his son caught in the middle, though he could physically separate them. Pulling Bette into his arms and across the r0om he could not save either one of them.

"Perhaps I am mistaken in the meaning of love, because you claim you love your wife. Yet I am fairly certain love means that you TRUST someone. If you loved your wife you would TRUST her, you would not stick a pair of horns on your head and brand her an adulterer. You would talk to her – more over you would LISTEN." Bette countered, freeing herself from her husband's arms. Her petite stature remained the same as ever yet she seemed to fill the room. Suddenly the men were very small.

"Have you spoken to your so well loved wife since you walked out of the tower? I know you have not. Because if you had you would not dare say she had broken her vows. You would know the truth. You would know all that your wife did for you and all that was taken from her so that you might walk out of that cell alive and free. She laid down her body so that you might have yours." Cromwell looked hard at his daughter and spoke slowly.

"What do you mean, Elizabeth, 'she laid down her body'?" Elizabeth locked eyes with him; she took a deep, shaking breath.

"The King raped your wife."