As the procession proceeded he heard the mutterings, “Nan Bullen!” “The concubine!” “We want no Nan Bullen for Queen!” and he wondered whether she had heard them too. One brave soul even dared to shout, “God save Queen Katherine!” before being hastily dragged away by his friends.
At last the Tower came within sight, where Henry was waiting at the Postern Gate to greet his Queen. This procession and the coronation yet to come had virtually emptied his treasury but what price that beside the fact that she carried his son? He beamed affectionately upon her.
“How like you the city, Sweetheart?” he asked, fondly bestowing a kiss of greeting upon her cheek.
“Sire, the city is well enough, but I saw so many caps on heads and heard but few tongues,” she replied with a catch in her voice.
Henry placed his arm about her comfortingly as they passed on into the Tower.
“What else did she expect?” Norfolk thought. She was a fool if she expected to be loved by these people when she had been responsible for upturning their way of life.
Four
“Oh, Death! Rock me asleep,
Bring on my quiet rest.
Let pass my very guiltless ghost,
Out of my careful breast”
Anne Boleyn
As the long, hot summer of 1533 progressed Norfolk became more and more alarmed by Anne’s growing arrogance and shrewishness. Added to this was Cromwell's ever increasing influence upon the King. It was Cromwell who had suggested to Henry the need for reforming certain religious institutions. The Church at that time was in dire need of reform for many of its practices were corrupt – as were a great many of its priests. Even so saintly a man as Sir Thomas More advocated reform but even he did not envisage to what extent Cromwell intended to carry out these measures.
The dissolution of the monasteries provided Henry with the wealth to refill his empty treasury and many noblemen added to their estates land purchased from the Crown, which had formerly belonged to the dispossessed monks and nuns who now wandered the countryside, swelling the numbers of beggars and vagabonds.
It was Cromwell who had drafted the Bill of Appeals which made it an offence, punishable by imprisonment, for a priest to refuse to celebrate divine service or administer the sacraments and which abolished completely the Pope's power in England.
Henry now styled himself ‘King and Sovereign, recognising no superior on earth but only God’ and stating that he was subject only to the laws of God. Apart from these changes the manner of worship remained the same. The Mass was still said, confessions were heard and marriages, births and deaths solemnised as they had been for generations.
Early in September the court moved to Greenwich to await the birth ofAnne’s child. So certain was Henry that it would be a son that the word ‘Prince’ had been written into the Proclamation which only awaited the arrival of the baby before being despatched throughout the realm.
On the 7th September, 1533, Anne’s lying-in chamber was crowded for it was the custom that a Royal baby be born in full view of the court. The room was stuffy and hot for the summer had lingered, and finally Norfolk pushed his way towards the door in an attempt to breathe more freely and escape from the stench of hot, unwashed bodies.
Six hours had passed since he had been summoned. Hours through which his niece had moaned and screamed in agony but the child was no nearer to being born. Her plight had touched no cord of pity within him for women were not expected to complain of their sufferings and in his opinion, his niece should be thankful that she had come to this state for had she not conceived she would still have been the Lady Anne Rochford.
Another two hours passed and the midwives and physicians began to worry. Suddenly, Anne screamed like a dying animal and the child had arrived.
Norfolk elbowed his way towards the bed. Completely ignoring Anne he caught the arm of the nearest midwife. He recoiled as he realised that her hands were covered with dried blood as was the filthy apron she wore.
“Well? What news am I to take to the King?”
The woman’s eyes were filled with fear and she did not reply.
He shook her. “Have you lost your wits, woman?”
“I... Your Lordship... it is…” she stammered.
“What is it?” he cried, gripping her arm roughly.
She cried out in pain, “A girl!”
He let her arm drop, “Holy Mother of God! After all that, another girl!” he thought. He turned from her and pushing his way through the apprehensive and silent throng he made his way towards the King’s apartments.
Henry was bitterly disappointed but after some consideration decided to make the best of it. Anne was young and healthy and she had proved that she could produce a living, healthy child – a son would surely follow. Soon he was captivated by the baby Elizabeth for she was a tiny version of himself and yelled right lustily.
Her christening was a grand affair and it was the Duke who, that December, escorted his great-niece through the city to her own establishment at Hatfield.
From Hatfield he rode to the Princess Mary’s establishment and gave the unfortunate girl half an hour to pack up and accompany him to wait upon her half-sister.
Poor Mary was aghast! She had taken the side of her mother and had suffered in consequence but now she could not believe her ears for she was commanded to wait upon Nan Bullen’s bastard. It was too much to be borne! But she argued in vain and upon her arrival at Hatfield was stung to anger when Norfolk asked her, “Do you not like to see and pay court to the Princess?”
“My Lord of Norfolk, I know of no other Princess in England but myself,” she replied furiously in her deep voice so at odds with her frail body. “The daughter of Madam of Pembroke is no Princess! If my father acknowledges the child as his daughter, then I will call her ‘sister' as I call the Duke of Richmond ‘brother’, but never will I call her Princess!”
Norfolk was unperturbed. “Have you any message for the King your father?”
“None,” came the sharp reply “except that his daughter, the Princess of Wales, begs his blessing!”
“Madam, I dare not take that message to the King.”
“Then go away and leave me in peace!” she cried.
* * *
The following March the Pope finally decreed that Henry’s marriage to Katherine was valid. Henry was furious and instructed Secretary Cromwell to draw up the Act of Succession by which it was made a treasonable offence for anyone to deny the fact that Anne was Queen of England and Elizabeth her legitimate daughter and heir to the throne. Every member of Parliament, the Lords, the clergy and every man throughout the realm was ordered to swear an oath to this effect.
Norfolk and thousands of others swore the oath but there were many who hesitated. Cromwell now put into effect legislation to finalise the break with Rome and in the Winter of 1534, the Act of Supremacy was passed declaring Henry the Supreme Head of the Church in England.
Again the Duke bowed to the King’s will but men like John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester and Sir Thomas More stood out for their faith. Both were arrested and sent to the Tower.
Norfolk admired Sir Thomas for More was one of the few men with whom he was on a companionable footing. He had tried to reason with Sir Thomas, begging him to reconsider. In fact he had visited him in his cell in the Bell Tower for that express purpose but to all his entreaties Sir Thomas had listened and then quietly refused.
“For the Love of God! Sir Thomas, the wrath of the King is death!” the Duke had cried in desperation.
Sir Thomas had smiled. “Is that all? Then in good faith between yourself, My Lord, and me is but this; that I shall die today – and you shall die tomorrow!”
The Duke had left him – for once in his life a chastened man.
To add to these considerable burdens, the Duke was beset by two other matters – the Queens increasing shrewishness and the relationship between himself and the Duchess.
The final break with Elizabeth had come earlier that
year in Passion Week. The whole family, for once, had been gathered together beneath the same roof at Kenninghall and it was there that Elizabeth had marched into his chamber and caught him in bed with Bess Holland. She had screamed at them both, her vituperative tongue using terms which no lady should even know. She had dragged the unfortunate Bess along the floor by her hair and had thrown her through the door with not even a shift to cover her nakedness.
The noise had wakened both his son and daughter and most of the household as well. Mary, Duchess of Richmond, had hastily given Bess a robe to cover herself while Henry attempted to tear apart his parents who were engaged in trying to throttle each other!
A tempestuous argument had ensued involving everyone and Henry had been called an ‘unnatural son’ by his mother for siding with his father. The Duke had finally locked his wife in her chamber and had removed all her jewels. The next day he had left but sent Sir Thomas Seymour and Mr Burley to inform her that he would return her jewels and grant her a rich allowance if she would agree to a divorce.
She vehemently refused and a few days later left for Redbourne leaving Bess Holland to reign undisturbed. From here she had written to the King and Cromwell complaining of her treatment. She accused the Duke of dragging her out of bed by her hair on the day of her daughter’s birth and of cutting her upon the head with a dagger.
Indignantly the Duke wrote to Cromwell, “My good Lord, if I prove not by witness and that of many honest persons that she had that scar upon her head five months before she was delivered of my said daughter and that same was cut by a surgeon of London for a swelling she had in her head of the drawing of teeth!”
He had contended with Elizabeth's tantrums for years but the problem of his niece was becoming paramount in his mind.
Anne had turned many people against her with her high-handed ways and vicious tongue and Henry had complained to the Duke that Katherine had never once spoken to him in the manner that Anne used. It was clear that if she was to continue to hold her position she would have to be warned and it was with this in mind that Norfolk sought an audience with the Queen.
As usual, she was surrounded by all the young, talented men and women of the court. Her brother, George, Sir Thomas Wyatt, Hal Norris, Francis Weston, Margaret Wyatt, Madge Shelton and Anne Savage and she was obviously put out when the Duke indicated that he wished to speak to her in private.
With a great show of reluctance she begged the present company to leave. promising that the interview would be of short duration.
“Do you think it wise to surround yourself with so many young men?” Norfolk asked her pointedly when they were alone.
“What I do is my own affair!”
Her uncle glowered at her “What you do is a constant source of dismay to me! It does not please the King either, Madam!”
“The King does not expect me to surround myself with drab, insipid women and spend my time working upon interminable alter-clothes or praying upon my knees! I should have thought it was plain even to you Uncle, that twenty years with the Princess Dowager has given him a surfeit of that diet!”
“It is plain to me that you are failing in your prime duty. The King still has no son and is becoming discontent with your high-handed ways. You might do well to spend some time upon your knees asking God to provide you with a son should you also fail…”
“I do not see what concern the matter is to you,” she interrupted sharply.
He shrugged, not wishing to give her the impression that he was overly worried. “For your own good I seek to warn you. Unlike the Princess Dowager, you are neither a Princess nor the aunt of the Holy Roman Emperor!”
Although stung by his reference to her lowly birth she kept her temper. “Her high birth did not save her from humiliation and she has learnt, as I, too, am learning, that powerful kinsmen cannot be relied upon!”
“I would advise you, Madam, to concern yourself with your marriage and the ultimate function thereof!"
She laughed scornfully, throwing back her head. The jewelled collar she wore about her long, slender throat slipped and he caught sight of the mole which some said was the mark of the devil.
“Do not have the temerity to advise me upon my marriage Uncle, for yours is the scandal of the court!” She laughed again, “I would have credited you with more taste. A washerwoman!”
Although goaded to the point of anger he fought down the impulse to slap her face. “My intention was to warn you of the danger of your actions. I thought that you would have heeded me but I see now that it is to no avail!”
“I do not need your advice. I am quite capable of managing my own affairs and do not forget the fact, Uncle!” she replied.
His cold eyes hardened, “Then do not look to me for help in the future, Madam.”
“You can be certain that I shall not! Now you may leave.” She dismissed him imperiously.
As he left her hatred once more filled him. She had joined forces with Cromwell and this was his doing. It irked him to realise that Elizabeth had been right – Anne was ungrateful, spiteful and avaricious and he washed his hands of her.
That summer in his cell in the Bell Tower, Sir Thomas More summed up Anne’s precarious position.
“How doth Queen Anne?” he asked of his daughter, Margaret Roper.
“Never better, father. There is nothing else in court but dancing and sporting."
“Alas, Meg! It pitieth me to think into what misery, poor soul, she will shortly come. These dances of hers will prove such dances that she shall spurn our heads off like footballs, but it will not be long ere her head will dance the like dance!”
Norfolk made one last attempt to persuade his friend to submit to the oath but Sir Thomas once again refused.
“What doth it profit a man if he gain the whole world but suffer the loss of his own soul?” he quietly replied to the Duke’s pleading.
Norfolk looked at him with pity and something akin to shame. This man was too honest, too good for this world. “Damn Anne!” he thought “this is all her doing.” But hard upon the heels of this thought came the knowledge that he, too, shared her guilt. He had been instrumental in helping this man to his death.
He could not look Sir Thomas in the face but hastily muttered his farewell.
The next morning, 7th July, Sir Thomas More stood upon the scaffold. “I die the King’s good servant, but God's first!” were the last words he spoke upon this earth.
That evening as the King and Anne were at supper Henry was smitten with grief and remorse. He glared at the thin, sharp-featured woman who sat before him. “You have caused the death of this good man!” he accused her and rising abruptly, left her to seek consolation elsewhere.
The Duke of Norfolk obtained permission to retire to Kenninghall to try to forget his guilt and shame in the arms of Bess Holland.
* * *
By the autumn of that year Anne was once more pregnant and Henry’s dalliance with a beautiful, but insignificant, lady of the court was promptly cut short as hope once more held him in its thrall.
Norfolk returned to court for Christmas. Once more secure in her position Anne was as insufferable as ever. After a few weeks of faithful concern Henry had succumbed to his passionate nature and whispers concerning the King and Mistress Jane Seymour were in circulation.
Jane Seymour was completely the opposite of Anne and Norfolk wondered whether this fact was her main attraction for he could see no other reason for Henry’s infatuation. The girl was plain with pale grey eyes and mousey hair although she gave the appearance of being young and reticent she was in fact neither and the Duke was wary of her for her family were ambitious.
Anne finally caught her husband one day as he sat with Mistress Seymour upon his lap, her arms entwined about his neck. Before all her attendants Anne berated her husband like a harpy. Fearing for the child she carried, Henry tried to soothe her but she refused to be soothed and finally he told her to shut her eyes and endure as her betters had done, for as he had raised s
o he could lower her!
Completely ignoring the danger signals Anne continued with her arrogance, heedless of the danger now staring her in the face for in the first week of the New Year of 1536, Katherine of Aragon died at Kimbolton Castle. At last Anne had no rival Queen to haunt her and she waited smugly for the birth of the son that would establish her continued and impregnable position as Queen.
She did not attend the joust for she was being careful of her health but she sat in a high-backed chair close to the window, her feet resting upon a stool. She had watched the procession as it set out. First there appeared the Marshall of the Joust clad in cloth of gold and followed by thirty footmen in yellow and blue satin. The drummers and trumpeters in white damask with green and gold tabards had marched in front of the forty knights who were to take part in the Tournament, at whose head rode the King.
Henry’s armour was burnished and gleamed in the pale sunlight. His surcoat was of silver bowdakin and twinkled and flashed as though sewn with a myriad of stars. Twenty young knights had followed in doublets of white velvet and cloth of silver, their pages accompanying them.
She could hear the cries and roars of acclaim from time to time but raised her head for an instant when she heard a great roar which was followed by a thunderous crash and then silence.
“Probably someone has been unhorsed,” she thought idly before returning to her book of poetry. A few minutes later she heard the sound of feet upon the stairs and her Uncle Norfolk burst in.
She sprang to her feet, “What has happened?”
Norfolk paused to regain his breath.
“What is amiss?” she cried.
“The King has been unhorsed! The animal rolled upon him and it is feared that he is dead!”
She swayed, the room danced sickeningly around her as blindly she groped for something to steady herself. “No! No! ’Tis not true!” she cried. “Help me! I am faint!”
The White Lion of Norfolk Page 7