Anna of Kleve, the Princess in the Portrait

by Alison Weir

  “You do not know my brother!” Anna wrung her hands. “He has very firm views on how wives should conduct themselves. He will blame me! If I am sent back to Kleve in disgrace, he may kill me!”

  “Madam, calm yourself, please!” Harst urged. “Leave this with me. I will go to Whitehall as soon as it is light, and try to sound out some of the Privy councillors, to see if the King really does just need to be reassured that your union is lawful. Given the previous troubles that have befallen his marriages, that is entirely possible.”

  Anna doubted it, but she let Harst go and went back to bed, evading the questions of her ladies. “I am tired, I must sleep,” she told them. Sleep was impossible, of course, but she must get some rest. She poured another glass of wine.

  * * *

  —

  In the morning, she felt drained, nervy, and sick. Harst had left soon after dawn, and Anna could not settle to anything, not even her embroidery. When the Duchess of Suffolk asked the musicians to play, Anna had to ask them to stop, for a headache was threatening. She sat there, unable to engage in conversation, turning around in her mind the events of the night, wondering what Harst was doing, and when he would return. At dinner, she could not eat.

  Shortly before one o’clock, she heard footsteps approaching and jumped up eagerly. But it was not Dr. Harst. Instead, Lord Chancellor Audley, Bishop Gardiner, the Duke of Suffolk, and other Privy councillors were announced.

  She knocked over her chair in her haste to get to the presence chamber.

  “I must not keep these lords waiting,” she told her ladies. “They come from the King.” She would give Henry no cause for criticism.

  Suffolk was his usual bluff, hearty self, a King’s man through and through. The Lord Chancellor was impassive, with a bland manner, the Bishop dark-browed, sardonic, and uncompromising. Apart from Mr. Carew, who had been brought as interpreter, Anna did not know who the other men were, but at least they all made a respectful reverence as she entered.

  “Madam,” said Audley, “may I present Bishop Gardiner, Sir Thomas Cheyney, Sir Richard Rich, all of the Privy Council, and Sir William Kingston, Comptroller of the King’s Household and Constable of the Tower.”

  The Tower! Anna felt her blood run cold as she struggled for words to greet a wizened old man who looked near death, but offered a courtly greeting. Were there soldiers outside, waiting to arrest her? Or was Sir William’s presence here meant purely to intimidate her?

  “Madam,” Suffolk said, “we are here to reiterate the King’s request that you consent to an ecclesiastical inquiry into the validity of your marriage, and to hear your answer.”

  She made herself smile graciously. “My lord, I am giving the matter the most serious consideration. You will have my answer very soon.”

  Suffolk grunted his annoyance. “Very well, Madam, but it would be convenient if you did not delay too long. The matter is pressing.”

  She inclined her head, saying nothing.

  Audley’s voice filled the silence. “We have received certain documents relating to your Grace’s precontract. To your knowledge, were there any formal proceedings to annul it?”

  Anna strove to stay calm. “My lords, as I have told the King already, I was a child when that betrothal was made. I was only told of it after everything had been agreed. Some years later, I was informed that it had been broken. I’m afraid that is all I know.”

  “So, when your marriage to his Majesty was mooted, you believed that you were free to wed?”

  “I did, my lords.”

  “You were not aware that your betrothal had not been formally dissolved?”

  “I believed it had been.”

  Audley sighed. “Madam, your brother has sent the King, as proof, a notary’s certificate written and signed in the presence of Grand Master Hochsteden and Vice Chancellor Olisleger. It states that the precontract was repudiated on the fifteenth of February 1535.”

  “Then you have the proof you need,” Anna said, relieved.

  “No, Madam, we do not,” Gardiner snapped. “This certificate has an odor of trickery about it. It was sealed with the emblem of a beer pot! How could anyone give such a document any credence?”

  “Moreover,” Audley added, “it does not contain the proof that was promised by the Duke’s councillors.”

  “It appears, therefore, that no one in Cleves can produce any proofs, because such proofs do not exist,” Gardiner barked. “There should be a record in the appropriate church archive, and in the ducal archives of Cleves too, yet it appears neither can be found.”

  Anna realized that the case for an annulment could be strong. Yet she would say nothing until she had conferred with Dr. Harst.

  “It sounds as if you are blaming me for the apparent lack of proofs, my lords,” she said.

  Audley cleared his throat. “Not at all, Madam. We merely wish to make your Grace aware of the difficulties we have faced in trying to establish that your marriage is valid.”

  “But I have formally renounced the precontract, at his Majesty’s request.”

  “I fear that does not satisfy the King,” Gardiner said. “He cannot risk a disputed succession, should your Grace bear him children. All must be incontrovertibly lawful. The other question we must ask is…” He paused and studied her in his hawk-like fashion. “Is your Grace like to bear the King children?”

  She felt the heat rising in her face. They knew the answer to that. But she would not confirm it. Non-consummation of a marriage was grounds for an annulment. Admit that, and they wouldn’t be bothering with legal niceties about precontracts!

  “I pray daily for that blessing,” she said.

  “And you know of no impediment to it being vouchsafed?” Gardiner persisted, his black eyes boring into hers.

  “I know of none, my lord.” Let them think her an innocent!

  “We would like to speak to your ladies,” Lord Audley said.

  Anna’s mind went winging back to the odd conversation she had had with Lady Rutland, Lady Rochford, and Lady Edgcumbe not two weeks earlier. It had seemed almost like an interrogation, and now she suspected that they had been ordered to quiz her about what happened with Henry in the marital bed.

  “I will send for them,” she said. She knew what they would say.

  Audley and Gardiner spent the next hour or so taking depositions from her ladies, questioning them each in turn. One by one, the women emerged, embarrassed, upset, or tight-lipped.

  “We cannot say anything, Madam,” was their constant refrain, when Anna pressed them to tell her what had transpired. But she could well imagine what they had been asked.

  Mother Lowe was defiant. “I told them I spoke no English. In the end, they gave up, and with Katharina and Gertrude too. They’ll not get me conniving at any annulment!”

  Anna hugged her. “Thank you, dear friend. What were they asking?”

  “If you were a maid still.” Mother Lowe gave her a look.

  Anna confided her suspicions that Lady Rochford, Lady Edgcumbe, and Lady Rutland had been instructed to get the truth out of her. “No doubt they are all gleefully recounting it now.”

  Within an hour, the last of the maids-of-honor had returned from the presence chamber. Minutes later, Anna was summoned back.

  “I am still queen!” she told the usher. “No one summons me! Tell the lords I will grant them an audience in a quarter of an hour.”

  She had made her point, but at some cost to herself, for it was the longest fifteen minutes she had ever spent. And when she did enter the presence chamber, her ladies in train, she found Audley and Gardiner in no very good mood. They wasted little time in getting to the nub of the matter.

  “Madam, we have heard testimony that your marriage to the King remains unconsummated.”

  She had not expected them to be so direct.

  “That
is a matter for the King to answer,” she said. “He has always been the most attentive husband.”

  “His Majesty has already revealed that he has never had relations with your Grace,” Gardiner said. “He said his mind could not consent to it, for he knew in his heart that you are another man’s wife and forbidden to him.”

  “We would like your Grace to make a deposition confirming his Majesty’s testimony,” Audley invited.

  “My lords, I should like to take counsel of the ambassador of Kleve before I write or sign anything,” Anna insisted. “I am expecting him this afternoon. I pray you, grant me grace to speak with him. I must have consideration for what my brother the Duke would expect of me.”

  She could see they were displeased by her response.

  “Very well, Madam,” Audley sighed. “We will return to Whitehall and await your pleasure.”

  * * *

  —

  Anna was now in no doubt that Henry was determined upon a divorce, and that the outcome of any inquiry was already decided. But what about what she wanted? What of the alliance it was her duty to preserve?

  While she waited for Dr. Harst, she took a brisk walk in the fresh air, under louring storm clouds that reflected her mood, and asked herself what she did want. She didn’t love Henry, but she had grown fond of him, thinking the good in him outweighed the bad. She could have sworn he was becoming fond of her too. He had given a very good impression of it, for all he had apparently been nursing these doubts. Maybe rumor had spoken truth, and he had not liked her at the first. Yet he had made an effort to be kind to her, and she was certain a friendship had been building between them. There might have come a time when Henry liked her enough to forget about the precontract. But then his eye had been captivated by Katheryn Howard. Had his doubts been revived by his lust for her?

  Did she really want him now? Anna asked herself. She could live without the constant worry, the fear of not being good enough, yet the prospect of losing Henry’s friendship and company saddened her, even though she was angry with him. She liked being queen, with all the deference and privileges it brought, and she liked to feel she was making a difference to Kleve, and to England. She had begun to accept that the price she must pay was never again to know sexual love or the joy of children.

  Henry had much to answer for! As Anna strode on, anger got the upper hand. This fuss about the precontract was nonsense. Wilhelm was a cautious man: he would not have let her wed if she was not free to do so. She was the King’s true wife, and always would be, until death parted them. It was outrageous of his ministers to humiliate her like this. She was a princess of Kleve, and could not just be packed off home as unwanted goods. Her father would be turning in his grave if he knew how she was being treated. The Elector of Saxony and his Protestant allies would be shocked. A declaration of war was no less than the King deserved…

  “Your Grace!” Kate Carey was calling her. “Dr. Harst is here.”

  She flew indoors.

  Harst was waiting in her presence chamber.

  “Thank God, thank God!” she cried, motioning him to rise. “The Lord Chancellor and Bishop Gardiner have been here. I have never felt so humiliated…” She recounted the events of the morning. “They have gone back to court and are waiting on my answer.”

  Harst was furious. “They questioned you in my absence? No doubt they waited until I was at a safe distance! Well, Madam, I shall return to court in the morning, to complain about these unjust interrogations—and these highly dubious proceedings. I shall ask if it is the custom in England for a queen such as your Grace to be married, and then got rid of on a whim. I cannot credit that the King has sanctioned such treatment, and I shall demand that the Council inform him what they have done.”

  “May God bless you,” Anna breathed. Truly, this good man was her champion. Yet she was not so sure that the King’s proceedings were dubious at all, or that he was unaware of the tactics his councillors were deploying.

  “Tell me, what happened at court?” she asked.

  The doctor sighed. “I asked for a meeting with the Privy Council. I was kept waiting until after dinner, when I was summoned before the Duke of Norfolk, Archbishop Cranmer, Sir Anthony Browne, and the Bishop of Durham. They had the grace to apologize for not having invited me to dine with them; they said it was an oversight. When I asked what the King’s message to your Grace portended, the Bishop told me the common people are circulating rumors about the legitimacy of your marriage. Therefore, for reassurance, and to avoid civil war in the future, his Majesty had ordered that the matter be tried. In the meantime, they assured me you would be treated as befitted your queenly rank.”

  “The King wants an annulment, not reassurance,” Anna said. “They are cozening you with fair words.”

  “The Bishop of Durham assured me that the King is friendly toward your Grace, and will probably keep you as his wife, whatever the outcome. But I too am not convinced. I left with the impression that the King and his Council are working against your interests, and after what you have told me of their proceedings today, I agree, they are determined on an annulment. But I will still make a protest, on your behalf, in the strongest possible terms.”

  Anna’s heart was sinking. “I am so grateful to you, Dr. Harst. Did they say more?”

  “They asked me if I would write to Duke Wilhelm explaining the matter, but I refused. They can explain themselves to him! After the meeting, I tried to persuade the Bishop to delay the inquiry until the dukes of Kleve and Saxony could send envoys to England, but he would not hear of it. So, Madam, I must be your sole advocate.”

  “I could not have a better one,” Anna told him.

  They were interrupted by shouts from the gatehouse below. She hastened to the window. “A party of gentlemen have arrived,” she said. “Oh, no. It is the Lord Chancellor and Bishop Gardiner again, with Suffolk and the rest. The Constable of the Tower is there too. Why have they returned? They said they would await my pleasure.” She was trembling, fearing they had come to arrest her; that the King was displeased by her failure to cooperate, and was punishing her for her defiance.

  She felt dizzy, and wished she had eaten something. Had Anne Boleyn felt like this on the day they came for her?

  “I imagine the King has insisted they obtain your consent to an inquiry,” Dr. Harst said.

  “I hope that is their only purpose.” Anna sounded far braver than she felt. “Maybe I should give my consent. I’d hate to be seen to be clinging on to a husband who does not want me. I shall be reasonable.” If it’s not too late.

  “It is your decision to make, Madam,” Harst said. “Whatever you decide, I will support it.”

  Seating herself again in her chair of estate, she smoothed her skirts and checked that her hood was straight. She would receive them like the Queen she was. She would not be intimidated. Harst stood at her right hand, Wymond Carew on her left, as interpreter. Her heart was pounding in fear. This, she was convinced, was the beginning of the end.

  As the councillors entered, she felt the world spin away, and everything went black.

  * * *

  —

  When she opened her eyes, Mother Lowe was pressing her head forward, down to her knees.

  “You fainted, Madam,” she said. “Are you back with us now?” Anna sat up slowly, feeling dazed. Her women had clustered around her, and Dr. Harst and the lords were staring at her, all looking concerned.

  “I am perfectly well,” she told her ladies. “Leave us now.”

  “Is your Grace quite recovered?” Suffolk asked. “We can wait if you need time to rest.”

  All Anna’s anxieties flooded back.

  “I think her Grace would appreciate—” Harst began.

  “I am better, thank you, my lords,” she said. “Please proceed.”

  Suffolk smiled gratefully. “Madam, you are aware that Parli
ament wants the legality of your marriage investigated by a convocation of the clergy. Does your Grace understand what that means?”

  “Yes, I do,” she answered. “The bishops will determine if my precontract was properly dissolved.”

  “That is so, Madam,” said Audley. “And if they find there was no formal revocation, they may declare the marriage invalid. We are here to assure you that his Majesty is ready to do everything in his power to ensure that you do not suffer any ill consequences.”

  “I appreciate his Majesty’s consideration,” Anna said, overwhelmed with relief that they had not come on a more sinister errand.

  “Of course, the bishops may find your matrimony good.” Audley smiled. She was not deceived for a moment.

  “Has his Majesty granted the petition?” she asked.

  “He has, Madam. He said today he had no other object in view but the glory of God, the welfare of the realm, and the triumph of truth. All that remains is for your Grace to say you agree to the matter being committed to the clergy as competent judges.”

  Anna made her decision. She faced the councillors, trying not to betray her fear. “I am content always with his Majesty’s determinations,” she said.

  “Then, Madam,” Gardiner said, his manner much warmer, “in our opinion, everything will proceed well, and the King’s virtuous desire to have the truth established will be accomplished.”

  * * *

  —

  “Doubtless his Majesty will be delighted to hear I am being so reasonable,” Anna observed to Harst, after the councillors had departed with smiles of approval and many good wishes. Some must be, at heart, decent men who did not like intimidating a blameless woman. “He cannot have forgotten how stoutly Queen Katherine opposed him. Lady Rochford was telling me she held out for more than eight years, even after he divorced her and married Queen Anne. But I am not made of such strong clay, and I have no child to protect.” But I have, of course, and for his sake I have made the right decision. “All that concerns me now is that my brother will not be too angry about my consenting to this inquiry.”