The Scandal of Christendom

by G Lawrence

  But these voices were dripping droplets against the crashing waterfall. The majority agreed, or at least had the sense to remain silent.

  With the Appeals Bill passed, Convocation and Cranmer were free to decide on Henry’s first marriage. We all knew what the outcome would be. Another bill, holding that a man might marry the sister of a discarded mistress, was also slipped through.

  I was jubilant, and Henry was no less pleased. There were, however, a few loose ends to tie. François and Henry’s Council needed to be informed of our marriage before the court and country were. With that in mind, George was sent to France.

  No one but those in our intimate circle knew the reason for the George’s trip, but it caused endless speculation at court. My brother was also to ask François to convince his representatives in Rome to unite with those of England and urge Clement and his cardinals to accept Henry’s second marriage. George took letters from Henry saying that, in light of François’ oath to aid Henry should Clement move to excommunicate him, Henry wanted to ensure François would remain true to his promises. François, in fact, had made no such promise, but Henry had talked so long to François about the Great Matter that, in his mind, François had agreed to protect England.

  Fact and fiction were the same to Henry when he wanted something.

  Henry added that princes should not submit to the arrogance and ambition of an earthy creature, hoping to stir François’ regal pride against Clement. Henry also asked François to withhold consent for the marriage of his son, Henri, to Clement’s niece, as a bribery tactic.

  I had thought that my friend, as François had professed to be, would be pleased to hear of our union. It was not so. The news was not well received.

  “I never harboured any thoughts that it would,” Henry said, staring with amazement at my naivety. “I told François I would not rush into anything, so I am not surprised he was amazed. That was why I sent your brother. George is an able ambassador, despite his tender age, and he is best placed to inform François of not only the legality, but the righteousness of our union.”

  George was twenty-eight, not so tender in years, although he was the youngest man for many years to serve his King as an ambassador, but I could see Henry’s point. “I have a lot to learn,” I said bitterly. “I took François at his word.”

  “The word of kings may change depending on to whom and of what they speak,” Henry said. “They are changeable creatures, apt to alter with each passing tide.”

  “Do you include yourself in that censure, my lord?”

  “Of course not.” Henry was angered. It was the first time for a few months I had seen rage cross his brow. “I am ever true to my word and beliefs, so I see these faults plain in other kings.”

  I agreed, to please him, but later I wondered, had Henry told the truth? And if so, which time?

  François was not best pleased to find Henry seemed to think he was a strand of hay, to be bent to his will. Henry’s demands made François angry. He was infuriated by Henry’s changeable nature, and indignant when George went on to try to convince François to battle Clement. François irritably declared he believed that our whole visit to France had been a ploy to soften him so Henry could dig a dagger in his back. François was eventually persuaded that Clement was encroaching on Henry’s rights, but was left with no good impression of his brother-king. But he did pressure his cardinals to find in Henry’s favour, and warned Clement that excluding English ambassadors from his presence, as he had been doing, was dangerous. François told Clement that should he continue to infringe on the rights and liberties of kings he would be most displeased, and dropped none too subtle hints about other states who had abandoned Rome’s authority. But, for all this, François remained highly dissatisfied with Henry.

  It was not only Henry who thought all other kings were inconstant, besides him.

  *

  That Shrovetide, the period of preparation before Lent, the court entered into celebration and carnival. Lent was a time of fasting and prayer. The period preceding was a time for festival, made only more joyous as Margaret returned to my household to take up her post as Mistress of the Robes.

  “How does your fine boy?” I asked my friend.

  “He is as hale and hearty as his namesake, and a fine feeder.” Margaret sighed, a hollow tunnel opening in her eyes, and I took her hand.

  “It is hard to be separated from your child,” I said.

  “It is, Majesty,” she agreed. “But I missed court, and you.”

  “As I missed you,” I said. “And you must help me now. I have a grand event to prepare for the French ambassadors.”

  The entertainment was due to be held later that week. It was a feast, and since I was to preside, some courtiers made themselves scarce. Two of those absent were Suffolk and his Duchess. Mary of Suffolk had already snubbed her brother by refusing to come to Calais, and now she did the same.

  Henry was morose. Always he had thought of Suffolk as his friend and supporter, but it could no longer be denied that when it came to me, Charles Brandon and Henry were on opposing sides.

  I went on with my preparations. The feast was a success, and the ambassador assured me that he would tell his King how well he had been treated. “If the King of England cannot always be relied on,” he whispered, “it is clear that the future Queen can be.”

  “Do you not fear I will repeat your words to His Majesty?” I teased.

  “I fear nothing, when I am with you, my lady,” said the ambassador. “I know you will only, and ever, have the best intentions for France. We are your good friends, are we not? You cannot turn to Spain.”

  It was the first time I received a none-too-veiled threat from an ambassador. I swiftly assured Dinteville that was indeed the case, but was left uneasy.

  On Shrove Tuesday, it was traditional to undertake a time of self-examination, considering what wrongs should be repented, and what amendments were required to grow as spiritual beings. I spent the day in prayer.

  “God in Heaven, guide me,” I prayed as I knelt before the altar. “Take me into Your heart. I have not always acted with virtue, that I know, but I swear to You, I will walk from this place a new woman. I will show mercy to mine enemies and generosity to my friends. I will alter my spirit, and work only for Your Church and Your faith, with You and the King, Your beloved son, guiding me. Do not allow me to stray from the path of righteousness, or allow my heart to become tainted with evil. Take me, my Lord, and craft me according to Your will. I will be Thy instrument. I will care for the Church and for the people of England, as though they were my children. Bless me with Your spirit, and guide me. Bless my husband and my child. Through us, allow a new time of peace and prosperity for England. Bless me, my Lord…”

  I prayed for hours that day. When I went to stand, Jane had to catch me, as my legs were weakened by my toil. I left my chapel with a mind fresh and ready, and set to work. My charitable donations amounted to perhaps seven hundred pounds per annum, and I doubled them. I already supported poor scholars, with the aid of Doctor Butts, and I offered him more coin to continue his work. I set up funds for universities, and sent word to my, now numerous, estates, instructing them to routinely offer kitchen scraps to the poor. An allowance of blankets and garments for poor widows and women with many children was set up. My ladies and I made each item. It had always been my habit to carry a book of devotions, but at that time I had my books bound and ornamented with jewels, so they would not be missed. I sent out word to houses that supported beggars, telling them I would provide them with clothes, and set my women to work.

  But even as I toiled, my foes scoffed with scorn. They thought I was trying to make myself into something I was not. They were wrong. It might not have always been apparent, but I, much like all people in this world, was a creature of both good and evil. Some people saw good in me. That year, Erasmus dedicated two new works to me and my father. A Preparation to Death and A Plain and Godly Exposition or Declaration of the Common Creed we
re sent to court bearing dedications to me. But as some men upheld me as an evangelical and reformer, others denounced me as the Devil.

  I should not have expected my enemies would receive my efforts well, but it pained me to hear their ridicule. And those efforts did not come without exertion. Pregnancy brought such weariness. I was tired all the time, and although my mother told me this was normal, as a babe often saps a mother’s strength in the first months, I found all my normal activities a strain. Henry worried for me and insisted I take care. Not wanting to rouse his terror, I stirred myself into action, and often regretted my playacting when, at the end of a long day, I could barely keep my eyes open.

  I was not the only one occupied that season. Cromwell was busy too. With the Appeals Bill passed, he was confident of success, and another bill he was working on would strip Katherine’s titles away, officially reducing her from the status of Queen, to Dowager Princess of Wales. Cromwell’s second bill would make Henry free to wed again, as the first gave him the means to do so without Rome’s interference.

  I had another task for Cromwell and sent for him to ask the favour in person. “I want Thetford Priory investigated,” I said. “I know you have much to do, Master Cromwell, but I have heard many ill reports of this house and would know the truth.”

  “In all honesty, my lady,” he said. “I have been itching to send men out to conduct examinations of England’s religious houses. There are many calls for reform. With all that has been going on, the plans to inspect religious orders have been put on hold, but if you wish this one inspected, it will be done.”

  “Those that show bad practices must be held to account,” I said. “The King cannot allow sin to walk freely amongst his people.”

  “I quite agree,” said Cromwell.

  Men were dispatched to Thetford, and later than summer were also sent to the Abbey of Royal Vale in Cheshire. Both were found to be rife with scandal and were fined, with a view to closing them and sending their monks elsewhere. I was satisfied that Cromwell was of a mind with me on this. There were plans to continue and further such investigations and I welcomed them. Once I was in complete control of my power, I would ensure Henry made a full survey of England’s religious houses and rooted out corruption.

  On the Wednesday of Holy Week, Katherine was commanded to reduce her household and cease calling herself Queen. Her servants were to address her as ‘Princess’ and she would be known as ‘Highness’ rather than ‘Majesty’. Katherine objected. Parroting that she was Henry’s one, true wife, she refused to stop styling herself Queen, and boldly signed all documents with that title. Her servants, too, rebelled and went on calling her Queen Katherine. Princess Mary followed her mother’s example, making Henry white with fury.

  During Lent, Hugh Latimer had preached in Bristol. Latimer was my supporter, but he was a radical. He had been arrested the previous year for preaching against the veneration or adornment of churches, the invocation of saints and the doctrine of purgatory. Bishop Stokesley, More’s great advocate, had forced Latimer to make a public apology and recant his beliefs, and although Latimer had done so, he had become notorious. Invited by the Mayor of Bristol to be the Lenten preacher, Latimer preached against pilgrimages, worshipping saints and images, purgatory, and against even the lighting in churches. Latimer was no enthusiast of candles, apparently. He wound his crowds up into a frenzy; half of them ready to take to the churches and shatter ornaments and shrines, and the other half eager to get their hands on this heretic, and grind his bones into the ground.

  The local clergy summoned their Convocation, and organised counter sermons. As Easter drew near, Bristol was in uproar. Another radical, William Hubberdyne, was arrested for saying Bristol was made entirely of knaves and heretics. An inquiry was held, but Latimer escaped when Cromwell called him to London and employed him as a reformist preacher for the King. Clearly a man who could breathe fire into people’s souls could be useful, but Latimer and men like him started to encourage people to break into churches and destroy religious icons. Such idols had already started to be abused in England, but the incidents had been few and far between. Some reformists said it went against the Commandments to worship images, even if they were of Christ and the saints. With men like Latimer firing up the people, however, assaults on idols became more common.

  “It is an epidemic!” Henry cried to Cromwell. “You must control your men, Thomas. I understand the value of having skilful preachers on our side, but I will never allow this desecration. They are my churches!”

  Henry’s break with Rome did not mean that all reform was to be accepted without question. Henry was a stout defender of traditional religion and values, and this despoliation shocked him to the core. Henry maintained a violent dislike of radical followers of “the new learning” as it was known.

  Cromwell promised to keep his men in line. But when a dam is broken, how do you stop the waters flowing?

  *

  George did not hurry home from France. He spent some time travelling, hunting, and forming new friendships. When George returned after many weeks, he had a gift. François sent me a gorgeous litter, hung with cloth of gold and silver, along with three mules, perfectly matched in colour and height.

  “François told me to wish you a happy marriage,” George said as I inspected the beasts. “And he told me to tell you to remember his warnings. He said there was also an amendment to add to his previous remarks.”

  “Which was?”

  “To remember that he is your friend, no matter what politics, diplomacy, or the actions of your new husband, might compel him to do.”

  I almost laughed.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Greenwich Palace

  Spring 1533

  On Palm Sunday, Bishop Fisher was arrested. Henry had no intention of allowing him to remain at liberty when we were so close to achieving our ambitions. Fisher was accused of spreading falsehoods that George had bribed France’s High Chancellor, the Cardinal of Lorraine, in order to gain support for Henry’s second marriage. There was no public announcement of his arrest, but everyone knew. Fisher was taken to Gardiner and placed under house arrest. The Bishop would be no more at liberty to speak for Katherine as the last pieces of our game slid out onto the board.

  In the first week of April, Henry summoned his Council, and told them he had been married to me for two months, and I was pregnant. The Council exhibited shock, but seeing as rumours had been loping about court for months, it could not have been completely unexpected. Two days later, Henry sent another delegation to Katherine, including Norfolk and Suffolk, the Marquis of Dorset, the Earl of Oxford and leading clergy members, who urged Katherine to abandon her appeal.

  When she refused, they told her Henry had married me.

  “Katherine stared at us as though she knew not where she was or who we were,” Norfolk said with unpleasant glee as he rubbed his ever-troublesome belly. “She never thought the King would go so far without papal consent. She set her shoulders back and said that she knew we were lying, for the King would never make himself a bigamist. When we left we heard her burst into tears.”

  “I cannot be sorry for her tears,” I said. “She has given me enough to weep.”

  In the second week of April, Cranmer sent Henry a formal challenge of the validity of his marriage, and told him there would be a trial in May. The next day, Cromwell was made Chancellor of the Exchequer, and Chapuys came before Henry to protest about Katherine’s treatment.

  “Chapuys told His Majesty he should respect Katherine and God,” said George. “Henry replied that God and his conscience were on the best of terms. When the ambassador went on to protest he had never heard of a man renouncing his wife after twenty-five years of marriage, Henry retorted that the world found it odd that a pope had given dispensation for him to marry Katherine when everyone knew it was not within his authority to do so.”

  “I do not want to hear all the old arguments,” I said wearily. What did they signify now we were
married?

  “Henry went on to say he had to have a successor,” George went on, ignoring my scathing look as he rehashed more weary themes. “And Chapuys said Henry’s legitimate daughter was of child-bearing age.”

  “What is the point, George?” Pregnancy was making me as short on patience as I often was of temper.

  “I am getting to it, Anne.” My brother shook his head irritably. “Chapuys pointed out that taking a new wife was no guarantee of getting heirs. The King went pale, then stood and roared at Chapuys, ‘Am I not a man like all others? Am I not? Am I not?’ The ambassador knew he had gone too far, and assured the King he was indeed a man. When he left, Henry was shaking with wrath.”

  I pursed my lips. There had been times, over the past months, when Henry had been unable to perform in bed. He told me it was because he was too tired, and with everything going on, I had not disputed this. But I wondered if Henry’s lack of virility was, at times, not to do with mere weariness. He was forty-two, well past his prime. Was Henry entertaining fears about his ability to have a child? Obviously, with me pregnant, there was little doubt he was capable, but I wondered if some of his unbound happiness of late had been to do with previous doubt about his ability to procreate.