“That I will do by you, good Butts.” He took a ring from his finger. “He will know this ring,” he went on, “for he gave it to me. Tell him that I am not offended with him in my heart for anything and bid him be of good cheer.”
“That will I do, Your Grace, and great good will it do him.” Dr. Butts looked at me significantly. Wolsey had probably told him that I was his enemy and that it was due to me that he had been brought low.
Henry intercepted the glance and understood it. “Good sweetheart,” he said, “As you love me, send the Cardinal a token at my request, and so doing you shall deserve our thanks.”
There was nothing I could do but obey when the King was in such a mood, so I unlinked a gold tablet which I wore at my waist and gave it to Dr. Butts and asked him to convey my wishes to the Cardinal for a speedy recovery.
The King's eyes were glistening with sentiment. He took my hand and kissed it.
And Dr. Butts went back to Wolsey with the tokens.
They were evidently effective, for within a few days Wolsey had left his bed.
I could see no way out of the maze in which we were caught up. Things grew worse instead of better.
Clement and the Emperor were now on good terms. Peace had been reached; the Pope was back in Rome; and Charles had received the crown of the Holy Roman Empire which was a symbol of unity between the Church and the States of Europe.
It was clear to me that we were never going to get papal approval for the divorce.
Then came a glimmer of hope from an unexpected quarter.
Henry's two chief agents who had been working assiduously for a settlement—his secretary Gardiner and his almoner Fox—happened to be staying at the house of a certain Mr. Cressy at Waltham Abbey. Mr. Cressy had two sons, both scholars who had been at the university with a certain Thomas Cranmer, and this Cranmer happened to be staying at the Cressys’ house, on a visit to his friends.
Cranmer was a man of about forty. We learned that he was a brilliant scholar who had taken degrees of B.A. and M.A. with great distinction and had become a fellow of Jesus College. He married, and this could have called a halt to his career at the college, but so that this should not be unduly interrupted, he sent his wife to live at an inn in Cambridge which was run by a relative of hers. There he used to go to see her until, about a year after the marriage, she died in childbirth. He was then re-elected to a fellowship. So, unencumbered, his career progressed and he was at this time one of the university's public examiners in Theology. It was only to be expected that, on the arrival of Gardiner and Fox, there should be a great deal of lively conversation, and the topic which was uppermost in the minds of most people at this time was the divorce.
Few men knew as much about this intricate matter as Gardiner and Fox, and Cranmer listened intently to what they had to say.
“There will be a very long delay if the King pursues this matter through the courts of Rome,” said Cranmer.
I could imagine the scene. The two men who had traveled extensively and talked endlessly in this search for a solution, to be confronted by a fellow who could not know very much about the affair.
“What the King needs,” went on Cranmer, “is sufficient assurance that his marriage is invalid—notwithstanding the dispensation. He then might take the responsibility of marrying again at once. He ought therefore to take the opinions of the divines of the universities and act accordingly.”
The two agents looked at him incredulously.
“To act against the Emperor!”
“As I see it,” said Cranmer, “the King does not need Rome. He just needs the assurance of the divines that his marriage is invalid.”
“You take a simple view of a complicated matter,” said Fox.
“The solution to most matters is found to be simple when one knows what it is,” replied Cranmer with a smile.
Then the matter was apparently dropped, but both Gardiner and Fox pondered what Cranmer had said and when they were next in the company of the King they mentioned it to him.
I was present at the time, so I saw what effect those words had on the King.
He was quiet for a second or two; then he crashed his fist down on the table. “By God,” he cried, “that man hath the right sow by the ear!” He turned to Fox and Gardiner. “Where is he? Bring him to me. I would see him without delay.”
Within hours Thomas Cranmer was at Greenwich.
The King talked for a long time with him and his mood changed. He saw hope through Thomas Cranmer.
Cranmer was made much of and taken into my father's household, where he was given a very comfortable apartment. He was to write a treatise on the matter and then to return to Cambridge to give a lecture in which he would persuade the learned divines to give their vote in the King's favor.
There followed months of preparations. It was necessary that the divines, not only in England but in the whole of Europe, should give the right answer. This involved a great deal of money for the expenses of journeys and also for bribes and promises of favors to come.
All through those months Henry labored. He was sure that we were working in the right direction now. If he could get the approval of the divines, he would dispense with that of the Pope.
Finally he had all the information he needed. He summoned the clergy and the nobles; he wanted their seal on the document he was sending to the Pope. It was amazing that some of them had the courage to refuse. There was Bishop Fisher and Sir Thomas More among the leaders of the opposition. If the King married without the approval of the Pope, they pointed out, the succession would be in danger.
If they did not agree, thundered Henry, he would find some other form of redress.
They were uneasy. I knew what the King had in mind. There was that man who had recently come into prominence—a very clever and artful fellow—a man of the people whom the King heartily disliked personally but who, he had to admit, had clever ideas. This was, of course, Thomas Cromwell—said to be the son of a blacksmith, who had risen high through his cunning. He had made an extraordinary suggestion which Henry could not forget. Since the Pope would not grant what the King wanted, why did not Henry make himself Head of the Church of England, which would mean that he could have his own way in the matter of the divorce—besides bringing many other advantages with it. Why this adherence to the Pope, a foreigner? It was obvious that the Pope regarded himself as the King's master. Had he not recently summoned him to Rome?
Henry had been obsessed with the idea ever since he heard it.
And now he was incensed because some members of the clergy and the nobility hesitated to sign his petition to the Pope.
They wanted discussion on the matter, they said.
“Delay, delay,” cried Henry. “Procrastination. By God's Holy Mother, I have had enough of it.”
He knew that their talk of discussion was just another example of those delaying tactics which was the method of all who feared to bring the matter to a conclusion.
He sent commissioners to the houses of all those who hesitated over giving their signatures, and it was made known to these dilatory men that if they did not sign they would lose the King's favor.
In time this method produced the required result, and the petition was dispatched to Rome, where it lay neglected for some time.
I could not see why Henry and I should not be married as the divines had declared the marriage to Katharine invalid. Why should we wait for the sanction of the Pope? Was not the reason for this that we should act without him?
But Henry's fear was not so much of the Pope as of the Emperor Charles. If he were faced with war through this matter, he would have lost the love of his people.
He was torn between his inclinations as a man and a king.
So the weary waiting went on.
I was getting very tired of it all, and sometimes I thought with yearning of Hever. But how long would the peace of the countryside keep me happy? I had tasted power. I wanted power. I wanted adulation, grandeur and all th
e accoutrements of royalty. It was to be my consolation for losing the love and marriage which I had planned. Looking back now, I believe I romanticized my relationship with Henry Percy. I had made it into an ideal. Would our marriage—if it had taken place—have been like that? Should I have tired of that windswept castle? Would I have found Percy's gentleness insipid? On the other hand, here before me was grandeur such as, in those days, I could never have imagined would be mine. The King adored me; he would set me up beside him. I was different from all the other women at Court; and because of this I should be the Queen of England.
How foolish to dream of the green fields of Hever! What I wanted was the cloth of gold, the diamonds, the rubies, the homage, given to the power behind the throne.
I was so young and heedless. I had thought because Norfolk and Suf-folk had supported me and, with my father and brother, had been my strongest adherents, they were truly my friends.
How could I have been so foolish, how so simple!
What they had planned for—I know now—was the downfall of Wolsey, and they had seen that I could be of help in this. Now that Wolsey could not rise again, my usefulness to them was over.
The King was in a sullen mood; he was studying me speculatively and I could see that he was suppressing some secret emotion.
I felt a twinge of fear. I had so often thought that the day might come when he would be tired of waiting. It would be understandable, for indeed this patient fidelity of his had amazed me in a man of his sexual appetites. There was something miraculous about it. Sorcery, on my part, thought some; true love, a respect for purity, thought others. I sometimes wondered whether it was because he had passed his first youth. He was thirty-nine years of age. But always in my thoughts had been the fear that I could not hold him off forever.
Now he was seriously disturbed and displeased …with me.
I asked: “Is Your Grace not feeling well?”
His answer was: “I never forget Wyatt and that tablet of yours.”
Wyatt! But Wyatt had been away from Court for a long time. I had rarely seen him since he departed after the affair of the tablet. He had been having an adventurous time and I only heard news of him through his sister Mary. He had left the Papal Court to which he had traveled with Sir John Russell and had wandered through Italy to Ferrara, Bologna and Florence, and to Venice where he had been engaged in some diplomatic work in conjunction with Russell. Traveling from Venice to Rome, he had been captured by the Emperor's troops, and a ransom had been demanded. The adventurous Wyatt, however, escaped, after which he came back to England but only briefly. Henry did not wish him to remain and he was given the post of High Marshal of Calais, where he spent most of his time.
“But I explained to you that he snatched the tablet from me and refused to give it back,” I said.
He must have been on friendly terms with you to do such a thing,” retorted Henry coldly.
“What nonsense is all this!” I was frightened so I went into the attack, dispensing with that ceremony with which even I was expected to address him. “The Wyatts were my family's neighbors, in both Kent and Norfolk. We have known each other since we were children.”
“All the more reason…”
“All the more reason for what?”
He took me by the shoulders and looked into my face. “Wyatt was your lover,” he said.
“He declared himself in love with me, if that is what you mean. Many have declared themselves to be so. Why pick on Wyatt?”
“Tell me the truth.”
“The truth is that no one has been my lover in the sense that you imply; nor shall any man be. My virtue is for my husband.” I could see that slack look coming back into his face, so I whipped up my anger. “I see that you have some doubt. Mayhap you have been listening to those who would slander me. I will not remain here to be so treated. I shall go home at once. I will not stay where my word is doubted.”
“Anne… Anne…you are so impetuous…so quick to anger…”
“And so would you be, my lord, if you were doubted by the one in whom you had placed the most trust.”
He said: “The waiting is too long. It unnerves me.”
“I know, I know. But we have the remedy. The divines have supported you. Cromwell believes you can do without the Pope. Yet you continue to bow the knee to him and at the same time you believe calumnies about me. And that is something I will not endure.”
“It was false… that story of Wyatt? But he is an attractive fellow and I have seen you two together.”
“What would you have me do? Say to him, ‘Go away, old friend and neighbor. The King has forbidden me to speak to you.’ No …no…I see that this waiting is wearying you and you must seek excuses to be rid of me. There is no need, my lord. If I am not wanted, I am ready to go.”
He held me close to him. Inwardly I was exultant, while I assumed anger. I could command him. His love for me was not to be destroyed by scandals which my enemies sought to circulate about me.
“I believe you,” he said. “I would always believe you. It is sometimes hard to accept the fact that one so beautiful…so different from the rest…”
“You must believe me, Henry,” I said firmly. “If you do not, I must go.”
“Never even speak of it.”
“I must…if youwish to be rid ofme.”
“By God's Holy Mother, did you ever believe that?”
“Sometimes I do not know what to believe. The divines have declared your marriage invalid, yet you hold back. You are afraid of Katharine.”
“Her nephew is the most powerful man in Europe. I cannot risk offending him. The Pope!” He snapped his fingers. “Vacillating Clement… swaying in the wind…I will, I won't …What do I care for him?”
“The new religion sets out the wrongs of the Church of Rome.”
“I do not question the Church itself—only its leaders.”
“But the leaders are the Church.”
“Nay,” said the King. “I am as fervent a Christian as any man.”
“So can you be without adhering to the Church of Rome. What did Cromwell say: ‘Why should you not be the head of your Church…the Church of England?’”
“These are weighty matters, Anne, and I, at the moment, am most concerned about what I heard of you and Wyatt.”
“I would know who has whispered this slander to you.”
“I should not tell you.”
“But you will, Henry. I must know who it is who spreads lies about me.”
“I should not have troubled you. Suffice it that I believe the rumor to be false.”
“It does not suffice for me. I must know the names of those who have said this of me.”
“I do not believe the man.”
“So it was a man.”
“Let it be, Anne. It is you I believe. It is you I love. It is you whom I will make my Queen.”
“This can never be if you do not trust me, and if you refuse to tell me the name of my slanderer, I shall know you do not.”
“Anne, if it had not been someone close to me, one whom I love as a brother, I should have cuffed him and threatened him with my displeasure.”
So it was someone close to him! My heart was beating fast. It was not just something which had been whispered in the streets. Someone in a high place had actually come to him and told him this.
It was imperative that I knew who.
“But you believed him …”
“Only until you assured me. Oh, Anne, how I longed for that reassurance.”
“Henry,” I said seriously, “it cannot be as it was between us if you do not trust me. Who was it?”
He hesitated for a moment. Then he said: “It was Suffolk.”
Suffolk! The Duke who, with Norfolk and my father, had appeared to be my strongest adherent. His wife had come to hate me, although she had been friendly toward me long ago in France. She could not forget that once I had been her maid of honor and would—if all went well— soon take precedence over her. S
he was only the King's sister; I should be his Queen. She, at least, had been open in her resentment; he, the traitor, the sly schemer, had feigned support just until I had helped to bring about the fall of Wolsey, and now he was seeking to bring me to mine.
“Suffolk!” I cried. “Then I must indeed leave Court.”
“Assuredly not. You cannot go.”
“The Duke of Suffolk is your brother-in-law and one of Your Grace's greatest friends. I know how you enjoy his company. I cannot ask you to deprive yourself of it; but that means you must be deprived of mine.”
“Anne, I'll speak to Suffolk. I'll tell him he was wrong. An apology…he shall apologize.”
I shook my head. “I do not trust him. He is a liar. He thinks as his wife, your sister, and resents my presence here. It is better for me to go. Let us have an end of this matter.”
“An end! What do you say, Anne?”
“I say that we have the approval of the divines; we have Cromwell's solution; but still we remain in this state. And you listen to the lies of your dear friend…your brother-in-law, whom I now know to be my enemy and who will not cease to pour poison in your ear concerning me. I cannot remain at Court while Suffolk is here.”
He sought to pacify me. I felt my power over him then. I had to show Suffolk that I would not allow him to go unpunished. As the King embraced me, I held aloof.
“I must leave,” I said.
“Nay, nay sweetheart. Suffolk shall go. He shall be banished from Court.”
“When?” I asked.
“This very day.”
This was victory. Suffolk would learn his lesson.
I was triumphant, but I felt exhausted and very uneasy.
I was surrounded by enemies. Norfolk had never really been appreciative of the fact that I was bringing great glory to the family. It seemed ironic that the Boleyns, whom the Norfolks had always resented, should be the ones to find such favor with the King. My father must now be one of the richest men in the country; George was rising; Mary remained in obscurity, but then that was Mary's own fault and probably her desire; she was unlike the rest of us, completely without ambition. The Suffolks were now my declared enemies. Perhaps I should have been more wary of them than I was. After all, Charles Brandon had always been, from the early days, a great favorite with the King, and there was no doubt that Henry loved his sister. So they were very powerful enemies.
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