“You knew when the child was due.”
“And I left Alnwick in good time, but I took ill on the road. I make no excuses; I should have taken you home with me then, as you asked. I know not why I failed to do so.”
“Because you hate me as much as I hate you, that’s why,” she said bitterly. “There is little point in even trying to salvage this ruin of a marriage. I have vomited the last nine months away and the last three days I have suffered the worst pain I’ve ever known. I refuse to go through that again and if you try to force me to it, I swear I’ll take my own life.”
He nodded his agreement. She was right, there was no point, and all he felt at the realisation was relief.
His only heir now was one of his brothers and he detested them both.
The return journey to Northumberland was not so arduous, as the warmer weather was fast approaching. He felt strangely bereft; he could not really mourn his dead son, as he had never known him and had not even been there for the child’s mother. Surprisingly, the thought that entered his head was that Anne would not approve of that.
Harry was exhausted when he finally arrived back at Alnwick and had no inclination to read the letter that awaited him, the letter which bore the royal seal.
What now? Was he to be accused of something, perhaps neglecting the borders again? Mary had not been here to send reports to Norfolk, but the Duke might have found another spy.
As to the King, would the man never realise that he was ill? He needed help and if his brothers were as they should be, he would rely on them for that help. But they were not; they were too busy trying to defend the Catholic faith and Harry was very much afraid they would soon be in real peril because of it.
A servant set a flagon of wine beside his chair, along with a goblet. Harry poured himself a drink and when he had drained it, he tore open the seal on his letter with a sense of deep dread. Always he was afraid to hear that the King had grown tired of waiting for Anne and had found something for which to condemn her.
For he would never release her to live a quiet life, not Henry. He was more selfish than any other creature on earth and if he could not have Anne, he would make quite sure that no other man could. That was a fact proven by his treatment of Bessie Blount, once he had finished with her and she had given him a son. He had allowed her husband to condemn her to a life of austerity in a convent, separated from that son. And she had given him what he wanted; Anne had resisted, so her penalty would be much harsher.
But as Harry read the words in the letter, he felt a little smile tilting his lips. It was a command from King Henry that he, Harry, should go to Cawood in Yorkshire and arrest Cardinal Wolsey for treason.
For years he had loathed this man, ever since that long ago humiliation when he was giddy with the future he and Anne had planned together. Wolsey was the one who had destroyed that warm feeling, even though Harry now knew it was on royal orders. But he did not need to do it so publicly, so smugly, a common little butcher’s son thinking himself very superior to the heir to an important earldom.
And now the King wanted him to arrest that common little butcher’s son. He would have his revenge; he would make the arrest as public as he could, he would treat the once great Cardinal just as he had been treated, and he would relish every moment.
But he needed to rest. He supposed the King thought Northumberland must be close to North Yorkshire, as both counties were in the north somewhere. He could have no idea that they were some days journey apart and Harry had only recently returned from Shropshire.
So he took that time and when he finally set out to obey the King’s command, he felt recovered and looked forward to the duty imposed upon him. He wondered why he was the one who had been chosen; he wondered if it was at Anne’s request, for she hated the Cardinal as much as he and there was no doubt she had the influence to make such a request.
He had no way to ask her. It was far too dangerous to write to her, or for her to write to him. All he had was rumour, news distorted out of all recognition by the time it reached him. To tell him the truth, he clung to his own knowledge of the young girl he had once wanted for his wife.
Cawood was where the Cardinal was staying on his way to York. It was the first time he had been there, in all the years he had held the post of Archbishop of that city, the second most important church position after Canterbury. Yet Wolsey had not bothered to visit, to let the people see their religious leader. If he thought this last minute pilgrimage would win him favour with the Almighty, he was to be disappointed.
Harry ate his midday meal before he set out with his arrest warrant to meet Master Walsh, who was to accompany him. He wanted to catch Wolsey in his luxurious apartments, surrounded by his grooms and his pages, just as he had been on that long ago day when he had torn a schism in Harry’s dreams.
On arrival at Cawood Castle, surrounded by many soldiers, Harry ordered the porter to surrender the keys to him and was furious when he refused.
“I come in the King’s name,” said Harry. “I order you in the King’s name to surrender the keys to me.”
“My Lord,” said the porter. “My Lord Cardinal entrusted me with the keys and I cannot surrender them to anyone without his consent.”
Harry felt his fingers bunch into fists, then felt Master Walsh’s grip upon his arm.
“Let him keep the keys, My Lord,” he said. “The Cardinal will no doubt give the order when we have finished.”
Harry nodded, then proceeded up the stairs to the Cardinal’s suite, where he was announced. He had wanted to burst in on him, embarrass him before his household, but that was not to be. The Cardinal came out to meet him and, to his consternation, reached out his arms and held Harry close to him.
Harry’s resolve melted. This would not happen before the whole company; he simply did not have the heart for it.
“We have nearly finished our dinner, My Lord,” Wolsey told him. “We can offer you something, I am sure.”
He led him into the hall where the remnants of the meal could be seen, where the men of his household still sat at table.
“I did not come for dinner, Your Grace,” said Harry.
“Then we best go to my chamber,” said Wolsey.
Inside the Cardinal’s chamber, accompanied only by Master Walsh and the Cardinal’s servant, George Cavendish, Harry put his hand on the Cardinal’s arm and spoke quietly.
“I come in the name of the King, to arrest you for high treason.”
Wolsey’s face showed his astonishment, his complete surprise.
“I do not believe it,” he declared. “I have done nothing against the King’s Grace. Where is your warrant? I would see it.”
Harry shook his head.
“No,” he said. “You must not see it.”
“Then I refuse to come with you,” said the Cardinal.
“Come, Your Grace,” said Harry. “You do not want us to have to force you out, before your servants.”
Master Walsh was growing uncomfortable with this exchange. This was Cardinal Wolsey, until recently the King’s right hand. This was not right.
“Your Grace,” he interrupted. “You cannot see the warrant because it lists items the King has ordered be kept from you.”
“If that be the case, Master Walsh,” said Wolsey. “I shall agree to accompany you, not my Lord of Northumberland, who I knew as a wilful page in my household.”
And Harry had softened toward him, had pitied him, but he still thought himself superior, this butcher’s son who, like Icarus, had flown too close to the sun and melted his wings.
“I shall stay here,” said Harry. “I must inventory your goods and chattels, audit your accounts and see that they are in order.”
That was when the Cardinal finally gave in to his distress. His eyes filled with tears, his already haggard face seemed to form new lines before the eyes of the men there with him.
“Be of good cheer, Your Grace,” said Walsh. “His Majesty was always fond of you. I am sure that once he has heard
you out, he will know it is but scandal by your enemies that has caused this. You will soon be back where you belong.”
Harry’s heart softened again for a brief moment, then he remembered why he hated him and it was not only that humiliating scene in the Cardinal’s own household. He recalled when he married, how Wolsey had sent servants from his own household to spy on him, how he had tried to control Harry’s life even after he left his service.
Butcher’s son!
As the Cardinal tipped his tankard to drain it, his eyes caught Harry standing there, watching and enjoying his humiliation. He had changed somewhat from the gangling youth who had presumed to get himself betrothed without consent. Wolsey had heard many times that Percy was not a well man and his appearance here proved it.
He did not stand, only leaned back in his chair and stared at his visitor.
“How have I offended His Majesty?” Wolsey muttered.
“Do you question His Majesty’s orders?” Harry demanded.
“No, no, of course not.”
“Good. You will go with my men,” said Harry. “They will see you safe to London.”
He watched them lead the old man out of the building and into a waiting carriage. He would have a long journey in which to reflect on his failures, in which to regret that he had ever made an enemy of Lord Harry Percy.
CHAPTER NINE
You Are Trapped
1532, TWO YEARS SINCE the death of the hated Cardinal Wolsey, and Anne had resigned herself to comply with the King’s plans. Not that she had a choice; he had broken with Rome, despite the threatened excommunication, he had set himself as the head of the church in England and could grant his own divorce.
That could only be a good thing, in Anne’s mind. It was the first step toward the growth of the new religion in England, to rid themselves of Rome and the Pope and remove the parts of Catholic dogma that were corrupt.
There was nothing that would stop this King. Anne only wondered why it had taken her all these years to realise it. She made a huge mistake in thinking she could do what no one else had done, defy the King, change his mind once it was made up.
This year should be the one when he would finally have his way. It had to be, as Anne could stand no more. No matter how much she told him she was not worth all this upheaval to the people of England, no matter how much she assured him that she would never love him as a man, only as a King, he simply refused to believe her.
He wanted her and nothing and nobody was going to stand in the way of something he wanted.
Her reputation grew worse with every passing year. Her own uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, blamed her, accused her of wanting to be Queen. She had told him many times it was not her, but he, like Henry, refused to believe her. He was firmly on the side of Queen Katherine and the Catholic religion, although he was too much of a coward to admit it.
She had heard that Harry Percy and his wife had parted for good and, more worryingly, she had heard that he suffered ill health. It seemed he was often shaky and weak. She wished there was something she could do for him, but there was nothing.
Now she was the number one woman at court. The King treated her as he would his Queen, better than he had in fact treated his Queen during the latter years of their marriage. People approached Anne with requests for favours from the King and while she tried to ignore them, it was never easy.
Her father came to her after the yuletide celebrations. She knew he had been watching her carefully and she thought it likely he was anxious for her to take her place as Queen, but she was surprised when he dismissed the servants and sat beside her, took her hand in an affectionate gesture she had rarely known from him.
“Anne, my dear,” he began. “I have hoped all this time that this thing with the King would peter out, but it seems it only grows more intense. Rumours abound, but I need to know the truth, for my own peace of mind and for your safety.”
“My safety?” said Anne. “Since when has my safety been a factor?”
“It has always been a factor.”
“The King still clings to the idea of making me his Queen,” she said. “I cannot dissuade him.”
“Anne, it would not be good for you,” said Sir Thomas. “Is there a way to avoid such a thing?”
She laughed.
“If there were, do you not think I would have found such a way? I have no wish to be Queen. I have no wish to be married to the King.”
“I am thinking your contract with Harry Percy might be used.”
“Now?” she said, her voice rising. “After all this time? If I told the King there had been a pre-contract, he would likely charge us both with treason.”
“Surely not. He is besotted with you.”
She turned her dark eyes on him in a stare that made him move away.
“He is not besotted with Harry,” she said.
Sir Thomas frowned thoughtfully.
“Then perhaps...” he began, then stopped abruptly.
“Perhaps what?”
“Perhaps if you give him what he wants, what he has waited for all these years, his ardour might fade.”
“He is right, Anne,” said a new voice.
Anne got to her feet and hurried to meet her brother, her hands outstretched to take his.
“George,” she said. “How lovely to see you. I have missed your counsel.”
“Then take it now. Listen to our father; give King Henry what he wants and you might yet be allowed to leave him.”
She held his hand and led him to sit beside her. Here she was, her beautiful clothes testament to the King’s love and affection, her beautiful apartments the same, her father on one side and her dear brother on the other.
She had suspected her father of manipulating everything to forward a marriage to Henry, but it seemed she was wrong.
“I have considered such a plan myself,” she said. “I am just so distressed that I shall be refused the basic right to go to my marriage untouched. That is all I wanted.”
“And the King thinks that means you want to be married to him,” said George.
“And that is what I do not want,” she said. She looked from one man to the other and her mouth turned down. “I cannot bear the idea of sharing my bed with him. I feel no desire for him. He is not attractive to me, not in the least, and, as a man, I do not like him.”
“Oh, my darling,” said George. “If this be the case, you are indeed trapped.”
THAT YEAR, HENRY DECIDED that Anne needed a title. A King could not marry a woman with no title, and no woman had ever been given a title in her own right. Some were born with the title of ‘Lady’, daughters of earls, marquesses and dukes, but no woman had ever been awarded a title in her own right. A countess was the wife of an earl, a marchioness the wife of a marquess and a duchess the wife of a duke.
It was a difficult question but Henry, as always, found a way. He would give Anne the title of Marquess of Pembroke. It was a man’s title, to be sure, but he could find no evidence that a woman could not wear a male title and it was a title that was in his gift.
He felt better when he had the Letters Patent in his hand. All that was now stopping him from marrying the love of his life was this question of the validity of his marriage to Katherine, a question that still hovered over them like a black cloud.
Anne had tried to talk him out of it. She had tried to assure him that it was not right, that he should not change the law of the land and the church but Henry knew it was her gentle nature which made her talk that way. She even felt sympathy for Katherine and Mary; that told him she was a most compassionate and wonderful woman, the only woman for him.
Anne was going to make a great Queen, a far better Queen than any that had gone before her. God was telling him so.
This night he had announced Anne’s new title and seen her wear the gorgeous cloth and wonderful colours that were not permitted to her before. As soon as they were married, she would wear purple and ermine and she would give him sons; he was sure of it.
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Anne could not help but be happy with her illustrious title. Her father was Earl of Wiltshire, her brother Viscount Rochford but her new title put her above even them. She could hardly be sorry for that.
She sat beside the King at the end of the dance and glanced surreptitiously at him. He was a fine figure of a man, despite his age and his increased weight, and his clothes were glorious. Where once she had found his looks unattractive, those looks were gradually becoming more appealing. Perhaps it was the familiarity, the closeness he had initiated. Whatever it was, she could still summon no desire for him.
She had never felt that little tingle, that throbbing deep inside for any man except for Harry Percy. Certainly the King had never ignited such feelings in her.
She had thought a lot about her father’s words, about her brother’s, and she knew she must give in to Henry. It was the only way to perhaps make him realise he did not really love her.
Other women had loved him, had shared his bed, but they were all too afraid to refuse him. Yet Katherine had loved him; for twenty years she had loved him, genuinely and dearly, but he was young when first she knew him.
He was not so bad; she could certainly think of worse men to couple with. He had done so much to have his way, he had broken with Rome, formed his own church, turned on some of his oldest friends but Anne did not believe he had done all those things out of love for her. He had done it because he could not bear not to have his own way in all things.
And what else might he do to have his way? He had even turned on Wolsey, would have had him executed if he had not died on his way to London to face trial.
Anne was convinced that if she gave in to him, she would be cast aside, possibly carrying his child, just like her sister. She would go along with Henry; it was the only way to have some semblance of a life.
She had to forget Harry Percy, had to forget that his misfortunes were Henry’s doing and hope that giving in to him would be the end of his obsession and free her once and for all.
MARY PERCY WAS SEEING her father’s lawyer this morning and when he arrived, she sat with him in the small sitting room beside her bedchamber and put her case.
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