Over the past year a series of laws had been agreed upon and passed by Parliament — laws denying that any court matter could be decided on by the Pope, laws denying the supremacy of the Pope and naming me Supreme Head of the newly created Church of England. As was my right, I was now the leader of my people’s spiritual welfare and of their church.
It had been six years since the King’s Great Matter had begun, six years I had tried to rid myself of Catherine who would not see the truth, that we had never truly been married. And now, in this meeting, everything I had worked so hard to accomplish would be done.
“After consulting with many learned men on the subject of the King’s Great Matter,” Cranmer began nervously, “It has been found by myself, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the highest churchman of the land, that His Majesty’s union with Catherine of Aragon is unlawful, based on the grounds of word.”
The men looked around at each other, slightly startled at this quick and easy end that had been laid down.
“As to the matter of the king’s current marriage to the Lady Anne Boleyn,” Cranmer continued, alarming the few members of the council who had not already heard the rumors I knew there to be. “It is found lawful and any offspring from this marriage will be considered the heirs to the throne of England. This will be announced to the public in one month’s time at the final ruling of the Dunstable Priory.”
The rest of the council seemed truly alarmed and I will admit that my victory did not taste as sweet as I had imagined it would. In fact I could hardly feel any triumph at all. The ending had come so abruptly and so suddenly that it was almost impossible to realize that I had won.
Cromwell rose and addressed the rest of the council.
“Until the findings are made public at the ruling at the end of the month of May, the information that has been unveiled here today may not be shared or given to anyone outside of this room. Secrecy is required of everyone in this room, anyone who speaks of it will be drawn up on charges of treason.”
A moment of silence followed Cromwell’s announcement. A few men glanced down at me as if they expected me to rise and contradict all that had been said. If they were waiting for it they were sorely disappointed.
“Then the council is dismissed.” I rose and began to exit the room. It was a moment before I could hear anyone behind me do the same.
“Lady —“
I looked up from my desk to stare at my herald.
“I beg Your Majesty’s pardon,” he said quickly, bowing. “Her Majesty, Queen Anne.”
As Anne entered the room she stared down the herald who made a hasty exit. She bowed gently to me and I stood and crossed the room.
“Sweetheart, come and sit here by the fire,” I offered. “You must rest for our son.”
Anne placed a hand over her belly, which had recently begun to swell. She smiled, her dark eyes lighting up in pride at carrying my son. Her black hair was pulled back under a French hood, which she had introduced to the court from her years of studying in France as a young child. Very pale, her neck was long and she was the thinnest woman at the court, save for her now pronounced belly.
“Henry, I wish to speak to you about the plans for my coronation,” she said, her voice holding traces of a French accent.
“What of them?” I asked, settling myself on a stool across from the chair I had seated her in.
“The banquet,” she said, “I am very much distressed at where my brother has been seated. So far away!”
“He is seated with your sister Mary and her husband,” I answered, not letting my mind be drawn to the woman who was once my bed partner and now my dear sister.
“Yes, well, the widow of Sir William Carey has no right to be seated any higher,” I could hear her prejudice against her sister in every bite. “But my brother George, he does deserve better. Now that my father is to be named Earl of Ormond, George will be Lord Rochford. He must be seated closer to us and afforded every honor.”
“It will severely break with custom,” I argued, but placed my hands up when I saw her mood darken. “But what is custom? It is your coronation and you will have it as you see fit.”
Anne smiled in pleasure, happy to be getting her way. She had been receiving nothing but the best since she had whispered to me late one night that she was with child, that the long-awaited son would finally arrive. I had wasted no time in having Cromwell and Cranmer begin the preparations for my wedding to Anne.
“I am happy to see you so pleased,” I said with a small bow to this woman who held my happiness in her belly.
Chapter Two
June, 1533
Anne’s coronation was held on the first day of June and even I had to admit it was bleak. The summer air was sweltering but not nearly as oppressive as the reception London afforded their new queen. I had been informed that the people were unhappy, that they preferred Catherine, whom they saw as blameless, to this girl they considered an upstart.
There had only been one cry of “God save the Queen!” and it had then been silenced with a slight hiss from the crowd.
I did not let their feelings upset me; I could not expect that commoners would understand my reasoning or the necessity of my having a son. These people who stood now along the procession route, faces stony and not a hat raised in good cheer, would feel much differently in three months’ time when Anne gave birth to a boy.
I was happy to not be a part of the parade; indeed, I was not to witness any of the coronation festivities outside of the crowning, which I would observe separate from the crown behind a screen that would keep me from view. As was tradition, a crowned head could not be a part of the coronation of another. I had avoided this before —Catherine and I had been crowned together. I shook my head to rid myself of this memory and turned my attention back to Anne.
Though the crowds were silent, Anne rode to Westminster Abby proudly, continuing to wave and smile at the unfriendly crowds. At the Abby she entered with her head high, looking like she was always meant to walk onto the dais and take her place on the throne. I could not have been prouder of her, nor could she have looked any better, draped in white satin and ermine fur, her proud belly going before her.
“She conducts herself in a most queenly manor,” Sir Francis Weston observed to me. He was one of the few attendants I had with me in my secluded corner of the Abby, and the only one who would be brave enough to speak with me. In the past six months the young man had become a closer confidant of mine; he had joined my chambers only a year prior to that.
“Indeed she does, Sir Francis,” I responded, nodding for him to continue the conversation.
“This will indeed be a new era for the monarchy, a prosperous era.”
I smiled at the young man who was not used to making speeches or attending formal events; I kept him around for his wit more than anything. More often than not it was he who made me laugh when my fool would try to entertain me.
“Indeed it shall,” I said, turning back to the ceremony. Archbishop Cranmer was preparing to lower the crown onto Anne’s head and a silence fell over the entire room. I wondered idly if someone would cry out; I had heard the common rumors being made that when the crown touched Anne’s head, a demon would appear in the Abbey.
As he lifted the crown of Saint Edward high into the hair, his clear voice ringing out the Latin phrases, I could hear many witnesses take in a deep breath, even Sir Charles Brandon, who as the Duke of Suffolk was named Protector for the day, closed his eyes against the superstitions that had been made. Cranmer allowed the crown to hang in the air for a moment; he almost seemed to be appreciating the anticipation that was flowing throughout the room.
Finally he lowered his hands and the crown rested firmly on Anne’s head, no demons in sight. I smiled; everything I had worked so hard for was finally coming to fruition. Truly God was smiling down on us today.
My men and I hurried back through the side streets, quickly riding horses but in heavy disguises. Fortunately the people were so preoccupied with getting a
look at Anne they did not notice six gentlemen and two guards riding behind them. Tonight Anne would feast alone, sitting high on the dais. I would be at one of my hunting lodges; the entire court would remain to watch her dine before she retired for her night in the Tower.
“Your Majesty!”
Cromwell entered my chambers quickly and immediately bowed down to one knee, his head low. He only bowed so deeply when he brought bad news.
“Speak Thomas. Why are you not with the court at the Queen’s coronation?”
“A man has been caught, Your Majesty. A Jose Cortaz.”
“And what of it?”
“He was found with a knife and was overheard by a baker’s son at a tavern saying he had orders to murder Her Majesty the Queen while she rode in procession tomorrow morning from the Tower of London.”
I had to appreciate that, unlike Wolsey, Cromwell would tell me whatever unpleasant news he had as quickly as possible.
I stepped back, away from him, my head reeling. Someone had planned to kill Anne, my beloved, and the son she carried inside her?
“What has been done about this?” I demanded, worried at the breathlessness of my voice. Cromwell responded without standing.
“Cortaz and the man he was speaking with were arrested and taken into the Tower for questioning.”
I looked at Cromwell, startled that these men had been taken to the very place that Anne was sleeping that night. Had it been Wolsey or Thomas More giving me this news, they would have immediately known what to tell me. However, Cromwell was not as skilled as those men had been, and was still trying to learn my moods. Finally, I merely asked what I wanted to know.
“Why were they taken to the same palace as Queen Anne?”
“Oh,” Cromwell said, startled at my question. He was good, but not good enough — yet. “They were taken there for questioning. The Tower is the only palace with the equipment necessary to question them properly.”
I knew this meant the torture chambers that were housed there, but I waved this aside.
“Why were they not brought here or to another place where they could be detained somewhere other than where Queen Anne is spending the night?”
“They are in our safe keeping and well away from the court or Queen Anne. I daresay they do not even know these two men are there.”
I scowled at Cromwell, not happy with his answer but accepting that it must be so.
“What else has been found about them?” I asked, moving the subject away from his failure.
“There is no strong reason to hold the man Cortaz was speaking to, a Geoff Hastings. Unless my men can find evidence that he was conspiring with Cortaz, he will be released at the end of the week, once you and Queen Anne have left London.”
I nodded, but waited for Cromwell to continue. The man I truly wanted to know about was Cortaz.
“Cortaz is a native of Spain; however, we have no evidence as of yet that he was acting on the orders of Emperor Charles or even a member of his court. We are questioning him along these lines but all he will tell us so far is that he is a cook from Grenada who has come to avenge his mistress.”
“He will be speaking of Catherine,” I said. “As a child her family was based in Grenada.”
“That is what we suspected, but we thank Your Majesty for telling us this fact,” Cromwell responded, bowing even lower if it was possible. I grew tired of this and motioned for him to stand, which he did as far away from me as he possibly could without giving offense.
“We will continue to question him until he has answered us satisfactory.”
I nodded and turned away from Cromwell. In truth I knew there was nothing more that could be done and that I should have been pleased — things had happened as they should have. The boy had reported a threat, the guards had quickly responded and were even now questioning the culprit, and my unborn son and his mother were safe. But a shiver still ran down my spine, and I was resolved to make sure that Anne never learned what amount of danger she had been in.
“This information will not be given out to the court, nor shall Queen Anne learn of it,” I dictated. Cromwell agreed and remained standing, waiting for me to collect myself.
“And what of the others?” I finally asked, still facing away from him.
“Thomas More did not attend the coronation,” he answered. I nodded; I had scanned the room and had not seen him. Though he pleaded for me to not ask for his judgment on my Great Matter, his silence was becoming louder and louder.
“Bishop Fisher was present,” Cromwell continued. “But was not congratulatory. The new ambassador from Spain, Eustace Chapuys, was not there but this was expected.”
“Is there any way we can question him about the would-be murder?” I asked.
“We can do so, but it must be careful,” Cromwell replied. “Nothing more can be done to anger Emperor Charles.”
I let his answer hang in the air and waited for him to continue.
“The rest of the court was in attendance, with the exception of your sister Mary, the Duchess of Suffolk.”
I made a face at this; of course my younger sister Mary had not been in attendance. She had spoken out against my Great Matter from the first and when she learned of my displeasure she immediately retreated to her country estate. Her husband had walked a finer line and would not side with either me or his wife, rather trying to keep us both happy. He was failing on both accounts.
“I will speak to Brandon about Mary,” I said. “But something must be done about Sir Thomas More. Send a request to his home at once, I wish to meet with him.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Cromwell said while bowing. This could not be pleasing to him; it was Thomas More’s resignation as Chancellor last year that had led to Cromwell’s rise in power. After being betrayed and abandoned by my most trusted advisors, Cromwell had been one of the few men I could still turn to and expect my orders to be carried out without contradiction.
“If that is all, then you had better return to the Queen’s coronation,” I said, dismissing him. Cromwell bowed to my turned back and then left the room. Left alone with my pages, I considered calling him back, but could think of no reason to do so.
“Henry?”
I looked up sharply from my papers to see my wife flying into my room, my herald hurrying right behind her.
“Her Majesty, the Queen of England!”
I glanced at Cromwell, whose face was bowed in amusement at the flustered herald who was now attempting to return to the outside of the room.
“Henry, did you hear me?”
“Yes, sweetheart, I did.” Over the past few months it had grown harder and harder to bite my tongue around my wife, whose moods had become more and more erratic as the pregnancy progressed.
“I have heard that we are to go to Richmond for my lying in,” Anne said, immediately getting to the point of what she wanted to argue about.
“Yes. That is the traditional home of princes, and it is the palace I spent the most time at as a child. I thought it would be pleasant.”
“Isn’t that where she gave birth?”
In our vocabulary “she” always meant one person.
“Yes,” I answered, knowing where this was going.
“And because she has given birth there, now I must, too? Are we to be exactly as you were for eighteen years, without an heir?”
“No, sweetheart,” I responded, stepping towards her. “I merely thought this would be best.”
“It will not be best and I will not travel there. You may leave me behind when the court moves if you must, but I will not give birth where she has before.”
I breathed out, glancing at Cromwell, who was refusing to look up at me. Anne’s bursts into my chambers had become more and more frequent since her coronation and I believed there was no way of stopping them.
“Very well, I will let you arrange it. Where would you like to go?”
Anne thought about it for a moment before answering.
“I wish to trave
l to Hampton Court for my lying in and the birth of our son.”
I looked at her startled. Hampton Court had been a palace of Wolsey’s that he had granted to me before he disappointed me so greatly. Though it was a great palace and the newest of my homes, I had not yet visited it.
“Hampton Court —“ I began but was cut off.
“We can’t hide from it forever, Henry,” she said. “I will make the arrangements for us to travel there after the summer progress instead.”
I looked to Cromwell and saw that he was already writing the necessary letters for us to travel to Hampton Court. It seemed that the necessary arrangements would actually be made by him.
“Very well,” I answered, “It will be as you wish it.”
As Anne’s requests became more and more outlandish, Cromwell became more concerned. Quail was being brought in from Calais, the best seamstresses that could be found were working on the prince’s wardrobe, and the jewels for the Queen of England had been brought to adorn Anne. Cromwell had hesitated to bring these things and their cost to my attention, but I did not think it was too much to ask for the woman who was carrying my son.
It wasn’t until we were preparing to travel to Hampton Court that she pushed too far.
“Henry?”
My herald announced her entrance well after she was already in the room; even at seven months Anne moved quickly through the palace when she wanted me.
“Yes?” I turned to face her, ready to hear her latest request. Beside me, Cromwell reached out for fresh paper, prepared to write to whomever she needed for whatever she needed.
“It has come to my attention that we do not possess the royal christening gown.”
I turned to Cromwell but he stared blankly back at me. Rolling my eyes at his incompetence, I turned back to face my wife.
“There is not a royal christening gown,” I answered. “You are free to have whomever you wish create a garment —“
“Well what christening gown did she use?” Anne’s words cut across the room.
I sighed, sensing where this battle was going.
Anne the Saint Page 2