by G Lawrence
*
“I am writing to our men in Rome,” said Henry one morning as he entered my apartments at Greenwich, with Cromwell and his new servant Richard Rich scuttling behind. “To inform them of my new idea.”
“Do tell, my love,” I said, gesturing for my ladies to move away.
“I shall tell them if Clement continues to insist there was no consummation between Katherine and Arthur and there was no degree of affinity between Katherine and me, then therefore there was no need for the dispensation granted.”
He looked so pleased that I almost smiled. “But, surely, my love… you have been arguing your case on the basis that you and Katherine are related?”
“But the Pope does not agree,” Cromwell interjected. “The King believes, quite rightly, that if the dispensation was not required in order for him to wed Katherine, then its mere existence invalidates their marriage. If the dispensation was not required, yet was used as the basis for their union, the marriage itself is rendered unlawful by it.”
“You see, my love?” Henry sniggered at my baffled expression. “I know our union was unlawful in any case, as Katherine did lie with Arthur, but this argument shows that, either way, it was a lawless match!”
“These intricacies of law are beyond me,” I said. In actual fact, I understood, but Henry’s deformed logic did not make it obvious to me that his marriage was rendered unlawful by the mere existence of the dispensation.
“These are complicated matters,” he said, patting my arm in a patronising manner. “And I would not confound you. Worry not. You do need to understand, as long as wise men do.”
I bristled. I was far from stupid. Henry did not notice my anger and told me he had to be away as he wanted to ride with Norris to look over some improvements being made to Windsor’s park. “I will return later, my love, and will explain this, so you do understand.”
As Henry strode off in a fine mood, I gazed at Cromwell and his servant. Cromwell looked faintly amused. “Would you care for a glass of wine, Master Rich?” I asked his man. He said he would, and went to converse with my ladies, understanding I wanted to talk to Cromwell alone.
“A pretty face,” I noted to Cromwell, nodding at Rich. “I could slip him into a gown and make him one of my waiting women.”
Cromwell chuckled. “Whatever the charms of his face, my lady, he has more in his mind. Rich is a Member of Parliament now, and will prove useful to us, I believe. He is interested in the investigations into religious houses, and although, with everything else that is going on, that work has not advanced far, I think him a useful creature.”
“He seems rather young,” I said doubtfully.
“He is thirty-six, my lady.”
I blinked. The soft-faced lad looked Weston’s age, but he was older than me. “You must get him to spill his secrets, Cromwell,” I said. “Many ladies would like to know how to appear twenty years old when they are in truth nearly forty.”
He smiled, accepting a goblet of ale from me. “As to the King’s proposal,” I said. “Do you truly believe this is a valid argument? The King’s turns of logic, I understand, even though he thinks I do not… but I would have your opinion.”
Cromwell sat forwards. “It is a distorted logic, my lady,” he admitted. “But in truth, it is not so very different to ideas put forward by Wolsey. The Cardinal always believed the weakness in Katherine’s case lay in Pope Julius’ dispensation, and now the King wants to try to move on that.”
“Is it not a bit late?” I asked. “The whole premise of our case has been to claim his marriage was unlawful in the eyes of God.”
“I have little faith, madam, this will get us anywhere with Clement.”
“So why encourage the King to think otherwise?”
Cromwell smiled. “I take notes from you, my lady. I see that when His Majesty is invigorated he becomes full of energy. Allow him to think this will succeed, and he will work with greater zest.”
“And when it fails, he will grow angrier at the Pope.” I was coming to understand Cromwell.
Cromwell’s smile twitched upon his lips. “Indeed.”
“You are a quick study, Cromwell.”
“I learned from the best, my lady,” he said, gesturing to me.
*
Early in the New Year, with his usual talent for gaucherie, my uncle Norfolk, along with my father, went to Archbishop Warham and tried to get him to stand against the Pope. Warham refused. In desperation, Norfolk took aside members of our faction and put forward the argument from the Collectanea that Henry was at liberty to do as he wanted in England. Norfolk also included arguments from St German’s works that matrimonial cases should be tried in temporal, rather than spiritual courts. He asked for commitment and for our supporters to defend royal rights.
It did not have the outcome he desired.
Our faction all but fell apart. Lord Darcy, who had long supported Norfolk, spoke for the majority, saying his life and property were Henry’s, but matrimonial and spiritual affairs were the preserve of the Church, and nothing would persuade him otherwise. Henry was not best pleased when he heard of this, and accused Norfolk of being crass.
“Which he was,” said Cromwell to my father and me later that night. “But at least this shows the way to persuade the nobles is not by forcing our bills through Parliament in their current state.”
“You said they would fail,” I said. “And you were right.”
“Then the only path left to us,” said my father from his seat at the fire. “Is to get the King to agree to radical policy.”
“That has always been my preference,” I noted.
“The Commons have been complaining for some time about More’s persecutions,” Cromwell added. “If we can agitate them, convince them that these abuses will only continue, we might be able to move the King to see that if he fails to act, he is allowing the Church to abuse his people.”
“If he were to see it as a quest,” I said. “To save his people…”
“Indeed, my lady.” Cromwell’s eyes lit up with admiration. “You always find the most appealing way of wording such notions. If we could get the Commons to discuss and agree a petition I have been working on, we might see movement.”
“A petition against the Church?”
“Against the Church courts,” he replied. “I have called it the Supplication against the Ordinances.”
Cromwell explained the petition was worded to invite Henry as “the only sovereign lord, protector and defender” of both clergy and laity to legislate in Parliament in order to establish all matters under his jurisdiction. It would also ask Henry to reconcile his subjects both within and without the Church. If Parliament supported this, Henry would have been invited, by his own government, to take on the authority of the Church.
It was the formalization of his power for which we had long been waiting.
“If the clergy refuse the petition,” Cromwell said. “Then they are all but admitting the title of Head of the Church means nothing. They will either have to acknowledge His Majesty as the true Head of the Church, and bow to his will, or tell the King, to his face, that his title is meaningless.”
I stared at him for a moment then broke into almost hysterical peals of laughter. “My God, Cromwell!” I exclaimed when I managed to reclaim control over myself. “Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you!”
“Where you are concerned, my lady, I am not sure I have a wrong side. And as you see… it is not only a petition.”
“What else is it, then?” asked my father.
Cromwell smiled slowly. “It is a trap.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Greenwich Palace
Winter 1532
Even though our faction had been torn asunder by Norfolk, and many of our past supporters distanced themselves from us in light of our radical notions, I could not have been happier. George, along with my father, Norfolk, Exeter, and other nobles, were sent to take the Supplication of the Ordinances to all bishop
s and abbots in England.
I was overjoyed to think that Henry’s power would at last be confirmed by Cromwell’s trap, but there was one sorrow. Cranmer left us that January, to make for Spain and his post as ambassador.
“I will miss you,” I said as he came to take his leave. “And your task will be a taxing one.”
“I thirst for the opportunity, my lady,” he declared. “Charles of Spain will hear the King’s arguments, for I will make him listen.”
“You go with my blessing and all my best wishes for success. But even should you fail, know you will be never less than wondrous in my eyes.”
“Your faith in me is a constant source of solace, my lady,” he said, kissing my hand.
“Like the light of Christ,” I said. “It will never die. It grows only stronger the more darkness tries to assault it.” I leaned in to him. “Be sure and find many books for me, old friend, as you wander the Emperor’s domain. I hear there is much being written in the Low Countries that I would like to read.”
Cranmer tapped his nose. “I shall unearth a library of treasures for you, madam.”
“God speed, my friend.”
As Cranmer departed, Parliament was recalled, and Cromwell’s petition was put to them. Those who immediately grasped the danger inherent in it started to formulate a response. Henry did not seem to think the petition was of great importance to begin with, since he did not care to see the clergy thought his title meaningless. He did not realise this was the moment when the armies of the Church and those of the King stood poised to wage war. The Church was being called upon to renounce its independent power, or openly defy the King.
Faced with Henry, what would you have chosen?
Parliament seemed to transform into a hive of busy bees as it discussed the petition. Warham found himself facing a charge of praemunire after engaging in a shouting match with Henry about the petition in the Lords. Thomas More was organising opposition in the Council and the Commons, and Gardiner was given the unenviable task of responding to the petition, with special emphasis on the independent power of the Church. Gardiner was an advocate of the Church’s privileges. It was the ladder that had allowed him to climb from obscure beginnings as the son of a Suffolk cloth merchant to his present place as Bishop. Gardiner finally chose his side, and it was not ours. But even if we had lost Gardiner, lost many allies, I cared not. Our most important collaborators stood strong. What use for a man like Gardiner, when I had Cromwell?
The Act for the Conditional Restraint of Annates was put forward in January. It would allow Henry to end payments to Rome from senior clerks but it also held that if the Pope refused to pass bulls of consecration for bishops, then the Crown could validate them. It meant that Clement could be side-stepped in the creation of high-ranking appointments… another way of stripping away papal power. It was agreed that this proviso would not come into effect for a year as Henry hoped to put pressure on Clement, using this act as a weapon. The Church was a business like any other. It feared loss of income.
Cromwell was sceptical about whether the Annates Act would pass, but this, as it transpired, was the easy part. The Act was voted through, although not without resistance and heated discussion. Royal revenues swelled because of it. Funds seized from annates payments flooded into the royal coffers, accompanied by a rather loose explanation of how they would be spent. I was sure, knowing Henry’s strict morals, that this money would be put to good use, such as supporting poor scholars and aiding the needy. Cromwell assured me this was indeed the plan.
“After all, my lady,” he said. “Supporting deprived scholars is dear to my heart.” Coming from an impoverished background gave Cromwell ample justification to aid boys in similar situations. Henry was keen on the idea too, so I was happy confiscated funds would be put to good and charitable use.
Henry was wealthier than he had ever been. Money extorted from the clergy for charges of praemunire, along with revenues from annates payments, were swiftly making him one of the richest kings in the world.
“In short time,” Cromwell mentioned. “We shall have the coinage restored.”
I smiled at his wistful expression. Under Wolsey’s Chancellorship, England’s coinage had been debased. Reducing the amount of gold or silver in coins boosts royal revenue, but decreases the spending power of a nation and threatens trade. Cromwell, who always had an eye on commerce, wanted this fixed, and the best way was to make his King a fantastically wealthy man, so the costs could be underwritten by the Royal Treasury. Despite his efforts, however, Cromwell was not popular. His, frequently stringent, fiscal methods were often taken as an indication he was working against the people of England, rather than for them. But Cromwell believed, eventually, they would understand.
“In due course, we will have all clipped or counterfeit coins recalled,” he went on. “England will never be questioned again over the worth of her coin.”
It was a fine goal, and I applauded it, but for me, the petition was my prime concern.
The Supplication against the Ordinances was submitted to Henry in March, and the wrangling went on for months. The petition accused the Church of charging excessive court fees, unjustly punishing minor infractions with excommunication, and imposing a vast number of holy days, which robbed England of labour. It also, of course, called on the clergy to accept Henry as their lawful master, or flout his royal will.
At Easter, whilst Parliament was on a break, William Peto, head of the Observant Friars, Henry’s favourite order, stood before court and preached a sermon. He compared Henry to the Old Testament despot, Ahab, King of Israel, offering the clear implication I was Jezebel; the detested Queen who incited her husband to abandon the worship of Yahweh and follow the pagan deities of Baal and Asherah. Jezebel had persecuted prophets, and fabricated evidence. Eventually thrown from a window by members of her own retinue, she had been torn apart by dogs. It was hardly a flattering association, and to compare Henry to Ahab was no less insulting. Ahab was wicked, easily led, and had allowed his nation to fall into idolatry, leading to chaos.
“Unbounded affection and false counsel are perilous for kings,” raged Peto from the pulpit. “And as dogs lapped up the blood of Ahab, upon his disastrous fall, so shall they sup the blood of our King if he heeds not the dangers in his path. I call upon the King to return to his Queen, for any other marriage will always be seen as unlawful.”
Henry was furious. He accosted Peto after the sermon and demanded to know what he had meant by it. Peto held nothing back, and informed Henry the annulment was endangering the Crown. “All of England are against it,” he said. “Your Majesty should act now, and set aside those who influence you into sin.”
Henry ordered one of his royal chaplains, Richard Curwen, to counterattack, but on the day Curwen was supposed to perform his sermon, he was prevented from preaching by Peto’s friars, and hauled before their Convocation for breaching ecclesiastical rules. Peto and another Observant, Henry Elston, were arrested by the King’s guards.
Tension was mounting, not only in Parliament, but in the streets of England and Europe. Reginald Pole turned down Henry’s conciliatory offer of the Archbishopric of York, saying he could not take such a position whilst Henry treated Katherine so ill, and preachers in London, fuelled by zealous fire, railed against the royal supremacy. Henry commanded preachers to speak out for him, but many refused, leading to arrests for sedition. Cromwell was ordered to keep an eye on the Observant Friars, and his spies infiltrated the order. Books and pamphlets arguing against Henry were flushed out and burned. Cromwell told me that the prior of a London friary had declared soon Henry would no more be known as Defensor Fidei, the Defender of the Faith, but as Destructor Fidei; the Destroyer of the Faith.
During that Easter break, a fight broke out in the Sanctuary at Westminster between Norfolk’s supporters and Suffolk’s men. Mary of Suffolk had made a rare visit to court and was heard making unflattering remarks about me, which her men repeated to my supporters. An affray erupt
ed, scandalising the Bishop of Westminster, who called for the King’s guard. Suffolk’s kinsman, William Peninthum, was slain in the brawl, and the court was thrown into uproar. Suffolk marched to Westminster with revenge in mind, but Henry sent Cromwell after him and made Suffolk return to court. Cromwell’s men removed the offenders, and peace was restored, at least on the surface. Court records later showed no mention of Mary or me. Henry insisted the incident arose from a legal dispute, to prevent the comments about me entering public record. He did not want me shamed, but it was too late for that.
“It is not the first time, my love, that you sister has slandered me,” I mentioned calmly that night. “I was once her servant and that she cannot forget. She thinks I am too lowborn to be your wife, and will always look down on me.”