Struck With the Dart of Love

by Sandra Vasoli

  What an appropriate paradox she presented. Beautiful - yet altogether ferocious.

  Though Henry and I rejoiced in the time we spent together in sport and other amusement, the spectre of the Matter could never be disregarded for long: particularly considering my anxiety at having to tell him about the purloined letters. I could not anticipate his reaction to this news, and I hoped I did not run the risk of angering him.

  When the opportunity presented itself, I quelled my apprehension with several deep breaths and commenced my tale of the discovery of the missing coffer, and my theory about the maid who had been referred by Elizabeth, Duchess of Norfolk. To my dismay, he was clearly irked. He made it plain that the fact I had employed a maid referred by Elizabeth Howard disturbed him even more than the disclosure about the letters.

  “But you knew, Anne, that the Duchess has been rashly speaking out in favour of Katherine, did you not?” Henry pressed with an unaccustomed sharpness to his tone.

  “No, I did not!” I retorted, equally indignant. “I was unaware she was so set against me. I knew her to be a friend of Katharine’s, but she is my aunt after all and I thought family ties would provide some sense of loyalty. And after all, it was simply the referral of a housemaid – not an act of Parliament! You cannot be angry with me for this, Henry! Can you not see it as an innocent mistake?”

  Even as I spoke, I recalled the Duchess, a sharp, shrewish woman to be certain, positioning herself near Katherine at many events, stridently speaking out in her defence when the ladies’gossip took a contrary turn… which by default made my aunt an enemy of mine, I thought miserably as the pieces of the puzzle fit neatly together. “Then you think she directed the theft- so she could pass the letters on to Katherine?” The thought of Katherine holding my letters - poring over every romantic word - was almost more than I could bear.

  “She may have. If Katherine has the letters in her possession and has read them, I will surely come to know it. She will be unable to hold her tongue. If they were not given to her, then I fear even worse - that they have been smuggled directly to a courier of Katherine’s and are on their way to Rome and the Pope, no doubt to prove that my desire for a divorce is chiefly motivated by my love for you. If ever I discover who lifted that coffer from your chamber, their punishment will be swift and devastating. For now, Anne, there is very little we can do about it. If we stage a confrontation with Lady Norfolk, it will only serve to make others aware of the letters’ existence, and that would serve Katherine’s devious purpose just as well.”

  After only a moment’s hesitation, he took me in a gentle embrace, and I rested my sorrowful head on his shoulder: my so forgiving sweetheart.

  “At least I still have all the letters you wrote to me, my darling,” he added grimly. “I have hidden them so secretly that no one will ever discover their whereabouts.”

  A message from Cardinal Wolsey was delivered on the day of our arrival at Grafton. The urgent request for an audience with His Majesty the King stated that a matter of great importance must be discussed without delay. When I heard this, I demanded to know how Henry had responded. He said quietly, “‘I told him to write – and to make his statement brief.” This pleased me, and I allowed myself a sigh of relief. It appeared that finally, Henry was becoming wise to Wolsey’s methods.

  On 14 September, the King was visited at Grafton Manor by the newly appointed Imperial ambassador, Eustace Chapuys. I was told Chapuys was a lawyer and a cleric; a native of Savoy. This meant he spoke French, as well as having fluency in Spanish. Of course, his main objective in service to his master, the Emperor Charles V, was to provide timely intelligence about the enterprises of the English King and his court, especially regarding plans to annul the marriage of Henry and Katherine of Aragon.

  I looked forward to meeting the man to assess personally his manner and means of diplomacy. I determined to be wary, and not to let down my guard as I so foolishly had with the Duchess of Norfolk.

  Henry and I sat side by side in the chamber used for receiving visitors in the hunting lodge. We had just finished our morning meal when Ambassador Chapuys was announced. A fine-featured, well- dressed man of about Henry’s age entered the room and acknowledged the King with a deep, courteous bow. “It is a great privilege and a personal pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”

  As he rose, he faced me and bowed again. “… and to make your acquaintance as well, Madame,” he said in the most soothing, elegantly accented voice. He glanced at Henry, but, covertly, his eyes lingered on me. Though I knew he believed his interest in me was undetectable, I was no neophyte at perceiving men’s fascination, and I became quickly aware of his. I offered him a charming smile and a warm clasp of my hand and took my time to consider him. Everything about him spoke of affluence, education, and a well-honed ability for personal interaction. He could prove, I believed, to be a very clever adversary.

  I did not remain to attend the meeting between Henry and Chapuys but instead took my leave to prepare for a hunt which was to take place in the early afternoon. The weather was too fair, and the hunting too good in Grafton Park for us to miss a day, new Imperial ambassador or not! We had but a short window until the season ended, having planned to rejoin the larger court to resume business as autumn approached. Henry and I agreed we did not wish to allow other concerns to rob us of our treasured time together; moreover, he had given me a beautifully crafted silver hunt whistle, and it was to be my honour to commence the hunt by sounding the whistle to call out the field and the hounds. As huntmistress, I would be entitled to ride at the fore with the King and his Master of Hounds. We were to hunt stag, and it was hoped we would bring one down to supply the lodge’s larder with fresh venison.

  I had been so enjoying my time at Grafton Manor with Henry that I’d found myself pretending the ugly Great Matter did not exist. By God’s eyes, I’d needed a respite from constantly thinking about it and worrying about it. We both did. So I had found it quite easy to take each lovely day as it came, hunting, hawking, rambling with Henry and Jolie in the woods and fields … sitting in the rose gardens, appreciating the last of the summer’s aromatic blooms in the setting sun.

  We were doing just that late one afternoon when Henry announced, “Anne, tomorrow I will will see Cardinal Campeggio before he leaves England and sets off for Rome.”

  With a heavy sigh, I reluctantly drew myself from the pleasant thoughts and discussion we had been having. “I see. And what do you hope will be the result of that meeting?”

  “I want to talk with the Cardinal to make it abundantly clear that he is to travel to Rome with all possible speed, provide his report to the Pope, and seek the Pope’s approval to our desired end. Wolsey will be joining Campeggio and me for the meeting.”

  At this sound of the name Wolsey, resentment at having my delightful sojourn end gave voice to bitter sarcasm. “So then, we are to entertain graciously two men who have done absolutely nothing to deserve a welcome. Is that correct?”

  “They will not be here as guests to be entertained, Anne.” After betraying a sharp look, Henry replied with great deliberation. “It is a formal meeting. They will be questioned probingly by me. I will accept no excuses for their poor performance.”

  “That may be your plan, Henry, but I know very well how Wolsey handles you by making you feel sorry for him. He lies to you – lies to your face! You know how little I like or trust the man,” I said, rising abruptly.

  I kept my eyes firmly fixed on the ground as I stalked back to the lodge, not wanting Henry to see the extent of my disappointment and aggravation. Apparently, our pleasant retreat at Grafton had concluded.

  On the following day, Sunday, I attended Mass in the morning then busied myself in my apartment, reading and planning the design of several new gowns so as to avoid any chance confrontation with the two cardinals. It was grey and raining, so at least I did not feel as if we had been cheated of a day’s hunting. Furt
hermore, George had been asked to attend the meeting, and thus my brother would be my ears and eyes.

  I dined in my chamber with Anne Gainsford, and we chattered and laughed to keep from imagining what might be taking place between Henry and Wolsey. The day wore on endlessly. Supper was served and cleared yet still I had no word. Finally, as the hour was late and I prepared for bed, a knock on my door revealed George.

  We sat before the hearth, and he told me Wolsey had arrived that morning to discover, to his great chagrin, that no lodging had been arranged for him at the manor, and only due to the kindness of Lord Norreys, Groom of the Stool, who gave up his room, was he afforded a chamber to use as a changing suite.

  “So far, so good,” I thought spitefully. “One slight to Wolsey is worth a thousand disapproving eyes.”

  Seemingly, once Campeggio had arrived, the Legates were announced to the King, whereupon entering the presence chamber, Cardinal Wolsey had, with great difficulty, lowered himself to both knees and bowed his head before his sovereign, adopting a posture of great humility. Henry, whether from pity or long time familiarity, raised Wolsey to his feet. After that, commenced a long and engrossing conversation between Henry, Wolsey and Campeggio to which my brother had not been privy although he did say that Henry had raised his voice on several occasions, and at times waved a document in front of Wolsey.

  That was promising. But what was not as satisfying - caused me the first glimmer of foreboding, in fact - was when I learned that after Campeggio’s departure, Wolsey and Henry had continued their meeting long into the evening. Worse, according to George, the privy councillors who were Wolsey’s opponents grew increasingly uneasy that he had restored his influence over the King. Hearing this, I found myself varying between controlled fury and a remote hope that Henry had not abandoned his resolve.

  I went to bed that night in great disquiet.

  The following morning, I was informed that Henry was again to meet with his chancellor. By now, my unease had mounted to outright alarm: that mood not being helped at all by a throbbing headache and the evidence of another month gone by without a legitimate pregnancy.

  Just before noon, I was summoned to Henry’s privy chamber. I did little to restrain my distemper.

  I strode into the room. Looking squarely at him, I lashed out, “How could you, Henry? How could you have possibly betrayed all that we agreed? How, by God’s blood, could you allow that man to control you once again?”

  My voice grew higher and more shrill with each word. I heard myself but was powerless to stop. Henry stared back at me blankly, plainly aghast. He had never heard this tone in my voice, nor seen such anger on my face.

  “Sweetheart,” he attempted, “what causes you to think I would betray my intent in talking with Wolsey? How is it that you do not trust me?”

  “Simply the amount of privy time you granted him tells me you also allowed him to fabricate tales of his dedication to you, as he has done for years!”

  I felt perilously close to hot tears of frustration and bitter disappointment but did not wish for Henry to see me cry so I instead I delivered another vicious outburst.

  “He is contemptible, Henry! He portrays himself as if he were the holiest, the most pious man on earth aside from the Pope. And, by God, we all know that not to be true. He is dishonest and full of vice. He has cheated you, lied to you, and robbed you. He has acted as if he ruled this kingdom, under the guise of allowing you time to enjoy yourself. But do not be fooled: he has been no friend to you - and he certainly has been no friend to me! Had he been so inclined, he could have secured your divorce long ago. He has no intention of delivering to you what you seek, don’t you see? I cannot think of a greater enemy than he.” I paced back and forth in my restless irritation.

  Henry, not knowing what to do with a near-distraught woman, took cover behind his enormous desk, where he undoubtedly felt safer. With a level gaze, he said in a deliberately calm voice, “Anne, I well understand that you are not a friend of the Cardinal’s. Regardless, you do not have liberty to attack me when you know not what was discussed. Cardinal Wolsey has been made well aware of my intense displeasure in his conduct and his failure to succeed. He has left to go back to London in disgrace. Campeggio is on his way to Rome.”

  At that, my deluge of woe was released, and the tears fell with abandon.

  “I am sorry, Henry. Oh, I am sorry to have doubted you, but I am finding it so very difficult to bear up under the pressure of this never-ending situation. I fear you will allow Wolsey to convince you to be rid of me, or worse yet, you will return to Katherine, and I will be left alone and abandoned.” I came to a confused halt, snivelling, unsure of which was more humiliating: my shouting or my crying.

  Henry came quickly from behind his desk and hurried to me, encircling me with his arms. I wept for a while longer on his shoulder, then finally sniffed and mopped my eyes with his scented handkerchief. I knew I looked a mess but I lifted my face to his, and forlornly said, “Oh, I am such a trial to you. Could you possibly love me still?”

  Henry looked at my red and blotchy features and drew me close.

  “Nan, I love you still. I will love you always,” he whispered. Then he kissed me as if I were at that moment the most beautiful woman in the world.

  My state of mind improved greatly over the next days. I enjoyed the last of the hunting and the relaxed atmosphere at the lodge, along with the late summer warmth. We were preparing to continue on progress, and I would be accompanying Henry. I was excited to travel with him since this was my first journey by his side.

  I was almost able to pretend we were husband and wife.

  Progress

  September 1529

  Over the following ten days, we travelled from Grafton through Buckingham, then stayed for three days and nights at Notley Abbey. The yeomanry next headed southwest and arrived at Bisham Abbey in Berkshire on 28 September. Accompanying Henry on progress, I looked forward to greeting the townspeople and villagers who would line the roadsides to see their King and his courtiers, and cheer us as we passed by. How they hailed their King cheerfully! They were in awe of his magnificence, as well they should be. He was offered jams and cheeses - specialties of the region, which they had made. He always thanked them graciously, giving them the attention they craved and his good wishes.

  When they looked at me, on the other hand, their response was markedly different. They did not know what to make of me, or how to react to the sight of me riding alongside Henry in my elegant attire, with royal equerries ahead and behind. Mostly, I was met with stares and blank looks. Some expressed their displeasure at the absence of their crowned queen, Katherine. I was constantly aware of low hisses and unpleasant murmurs as I rode by. It was trying, at best. It hurt me, and I sorrowed because I cared about these hardworking, prideful people. After all, I was a country girl, myself. I could only wish they would see me as a supporter who had their best interests at heart. For the first time, I fervently wished I were their rightful queen. But it was not the case, and I bore up under the circumstances as best I could.

  After spending the night at Bisham, we made our way south and east to Windsor, where we planned to remain for a while at least. I took advantage of our relative permanence to debate with Henry the ideology which fascinated us both. It had best been expressed in the treatise published by William Tyndale some months ago. Tyndale was considered heretical, having published his translation of the New Testament with a decidedly Lutheran context. These writings were banned in England but had secretly made their way into the households of many. When his The Obedience of the Christian Man and How Christian Rulers Ought to Govern was published, my sources in France supplied me with a copy. I found the writing to be exceptionally well thought out, and relevant to Henry’s situation. It was, of course, Lutheran in its nature, considered blasphemous, and as such was one of the works which Wolsey had forbidden at court. It promoted the concept tha
t a king is answerable to God and God alone. It succinctly denounced the artificial authority of the Pope and his selected clergy and stated that a monarch is the decision maker of his realm, trusting that his decisions will be in accordance with the laws of God. I notated passages for Henry, which I thought particularly enthralling.

  The book was so explosive that it caused a great stir amongst the clergy and laity alike. I loaned my copy to my friend and waiting woman, Anne Gainsford, and one day while she read it in her chamber, it was snatched from her by her admirer, George Zouche. Zouche was a consummate jester, and I guessed he found the move funny and flirtatious but then began to read the book himself. But he was also careless, not having taken seriously the warnings against being caught with such writings, and was found absorbed in it by the Dean of the Chapel Royal, who promptly took it from him and reported the transgression to Wolsey. Poor Anne was nearly beside herself with worry, anticipating terrible things which might happen as a result, and came to me in tears of apology. While she was near frantic, considering what might occur, I must admit this situation worried me not a whit. I went directly to Henry and explained to him what had happened, and told him I had intended the book for him since there was no doubt but that he would find it enlightening. Without further ado, he retrieved the book from Wolsey and we spent many hours poring over its intriguing propositions. Reading this material encouraged us to know that we were not alone in our growing mistrust of the Papacy, and how it interfered with critical matters of state in England.