He nodded but looked visibly shaken, almost falling from his stool when a midwife rushed out for more water a moment later. I remembered that he was recently married and his wife had not yet conceived a child. Unlike Brandon and I, he was unused to any notion of women’s business.
Conversation was stilted as Anne’s cries became louder and more frequent. Cranmer appeared shortly after George had and looked even bleaker at the prospect of what was happening in Anne’s chambers.
“Your Majesty,” he said, handing over a small sheet of paper. “I have completed the prayers requested for the birth of the Prince of Wales.”
I took the papers while gazing at Cranmer. His soft voice could barely be heard over the current noises and seemed out of place among the court. His black hair clung to his round head and a prominent nose kept him from being handsome. Blessed with a quiet demeanor, I knew the church had often overlooked this man until he had become chaplain for the Boleyns and one of Anne’s closes confidants. Their discussions on religion and how best for the Church of England to proceed had been valuable to me in the past year.
“Excellent,” I said once I had finished reading.
Cromwell smiled at me and then jumped when another strangled yell came from the other side of the worn wooden wall.
“You are dismissed,” I told him, ready to end his discomfort. “See that prayer is distributed throughout the kingdom for Sunday.”
With a nod, Cromwell quickly escaped, Anne’s cries chasing him away.
“Shouldn’t be much longer now,” Charles said to me, ready to bolster my courage. Instead it was George who nodded, looking desperately from Charles to me before glancing back at the door that stood in the corner.
“Indeed,” I answered, turning to face Charles once again. “And, my dear duke, what are the wagers being placed on the tournament that shall be held to celebrate the birth of my son?”
“Your Majesty knows that gambling is frowned upon by the church and the state,” was his response.
“Charles,” I replied with a grin as Anne’s sharp cry pierced the air. “I did not ask for a list of sins, I asked what the wagers were.”
Charles laughed, his sharp bark echoing around another scream.
“Well I think you’ll find young Lord Rochford here a favorite,” he said, clapping George on the back. This seemed to startle George and he looked up at me with a slight grin.
“I only hope to do Your Majesty proud,” he answered, “And to prove my strength.”
“Yes, as the heir’s uncle, you will need to be strong,” I replied before turning back to Brandon.
“And what are your plans?”
“I do not plan on participating, Your Majesty,” Charles answered. I raised an eyebrow and ignored George as he jumped in his seat at another scream.
“I do not,” Charles insisted with a laugh. “I am getting to old for this, Your Majesty. And it is my wife’s request that I no longer place myself in harm’s way.”
“Your wife’s request!” I barked out with a laugh.
“Your Majesty knows how persuasive my wife can be,” he responded with less humor. I stopped my laughter, for indeed he was right; my younger sister could be quite persuasive. It was her persuasiveness that had allowed Charles and her back into my good graces after their elopement many years earlier.
Anne let out another bloodcurdling scream and I was prepared to adjourn to the hallways for a while to escape her screaming when the noises from her chamber finally ceased.
Knowing that it was time, I stood and turned, vaguely aware of Charles and George standing as well, following my path to the door.
Moments that felt like years passed until the door opened and the youngest midwife slipped out of the door.
“Well?” I barked, sounding more angry than anxious.
“Your Majesty,” she said demurely, curtseying deeply. For once I was impatient at her courtly manners.
“Just tell me,” I said, my words clipped.
“Your Majesty,” she repeated before grinning up at me, her dirty face unable to keep the sparkle out of her eyes. “I am pleased to report the birth of your son.”
Chapter Four
October, 1533
“Sweetheart, you cannot send everything with him,” I said, smiling indulgently at my wife, who was currently standing with her hands on her hips as she directed a dozen pages and half as many maids.
“He is the Prince of Wales and will need many items,” she replied, her exhaustion seeping through her voice. Since being churched two weeks prior, she had done nothing but plan for our son’s establishment at the palace of Richmond. She had requested it and I had bitten back my memory of the last Prince of Wales who had traveled there.
“The Lady Margaret Bryan will attend him as his governess,” Anne reminded me, talking more to herself. “And Mother Jack will travel with them to be his wet nurse.”
At this statement she pulled her arms closely around her body as if to comfort herself at this loss. I had only denied her two things since she had emerged from the birthing chamber and one of those had been allowing her to nurse our son herself. Queens did not nurse their children, I had argued. Perhaps if it had been a girl I could have allowed it, but our son had to grow up without dependence on his mother. God knew that had done me no good.
“No! What are you packing there?” Anne yelled, flying across the room to where a young girl had been placing red blankets trimmed with gold into a trunk. “That is to be kept with the court for my son’s visits!”
Anne had always referred to him as “my son” or sometimes “His Majesty’s the King’s son.” I did not know if this was because she was proud of her success as a mother, giving birth to the son she had promised me, or because she was still furious with my choice of name.
“Prince Charles will not know which blankets are here and which are with his establishment,” I argued, ready to come to the young girls defense.
Anne looked at me sharply over her shoulder but allowed for the items to be packed into the trunk.
“I suppose you are correct, Your Majesty,” she answered, suddenly looking very tired. I held out my hand, conscious that the preparations would go much faster without my wife’s help.
Anne took my hand and walked with me to her chambers, leaning on my arm more than she had at any point during her pregnancy. We did not speak until we reached the privacy of her chambers, while only a few pages stood about, ready to attend to any need.
“Forgive me, Henry,” she said with a sigh. “I cannot help but worry about him alone at Richmond. I think that perhaps I should travel with him and keep him safe —“
“He will have the finest guard available,” I countered, taking her head in my hand. “Do not forget that he is my son too. I will not let anything happen to him.”
I neglected to tell her every detail I had already constructed, the lists I had written of how his chamber was to be cleaned from floor to ceiling twice weekly, and how the guards were to not admit anyone into his establishment without a seal of permission from myself.
“Perhaps you should rest,” I suggested gently. I was prepared to argue the point, but to my surprise Anne wearily agreed and disappeared into her bedroom chamber with two of her ladies.
I was preparing to leave the room when I was almost run over by Archbishop Cranmer.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said, sweeping into a deep bow.
“There is little harm done,” I replied and gestured for him to rise. “But may I ask what you were doing coming to the Queen’s chambers?”
“I have an appointment with Her Majesty on the subject of the closing monasteries,” he answered, shifting the papers he was carrying around in his arms.
“I was not aware that was a concern for Her Majesty, or for you,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “I believe the closing of religious houses is a matter for Master Cromwell and myself.”
Cranmer looked alarmed at this statement but continued with his explanation.
“Her Majesty asked for me to meet with her to discuss what could be said to persuade Your Majesty and Master Cromwell to put the money into charitable works that can be sponsored by the state.”
“Well I regret to inform you that Her Majesty is not available for such a discussion at the present time,” I said. “I would, however, like to hear what you have to say on the subject.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Cranmer responded, repositioning his grip on the papers collected in his arms.
“I am sure the Queen will not mind if we use her table for such a discussion.” I gestured toward the small table that stayed in Anne’s outer chamber, typically used for gambling but now for a better purpose. Cranmer quickly released the papers he held and they fluttered across the table top as I took a seat.
Watching the archbishop attempt to organize his information before sitting down, I took the chance to observe the man. I would never have noticed him if not for Anne; his mild manner was easily overlooked and he rarely uttered a contradictory opinion. He scurried around the castle in an embarrassed way, jumping whenever his name was called by Cromwell. Cranmer was nervous around his superiors and even those men who were below him in status. I had found that many men who had been quickly raised to their position reacted the same way.
However, he wanted nothing but to please me and that made him very valuable. Meeting the Queen to discuss policy seemed out of character for the man. I wanted to know what plans they were making and if he would fight for these ideas. Had I confronted her, I am sure Anne would have lied about this meeting. Doing so had not even crossed Cranmer’s mind.
“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” he said, his papers now organized.
“Please begin when you are ready,” I responded, waving my hand through the air.
“Her Majesty had requested that I take the notes Master Cromwell had collected on the dissolution of the monasteries and determine the amount of revenue they would generate. Queen Anne believes, and I agree with her, that this money should not be allowed to be spent on the court or given to favorites, but instead be used for the creation of poor houses over the length of England.”
I sat back, slightly intimidated by the length of his answer and the feeling with which it was said. Gone was the mousy man who had put forth the humble suggestion of leaving the Church of Rome, the man who barely spoke during my weekly council meetings. Instead, Cranmer spoke decisively. I could see that Cromwell’s plan, where the revenues gained would be returned to my personal coffer, would have some opposition.
“What do you mean by the term ‘poor houses’?” I asked, determined to clarify. I bit back the anger I had begun to feel at Anne’s meddling; there was no need to scare the man who was willing to talk.
“Currently the monasteries provide assistance to the poor,” he answered, reaching for a paper. “I have here an estimation of the number of poor the monasteries in York alone serve. When these monasteries are closed, there must be a way to control the assistance the poor will receive. Master Cromwell has no current plan for a way to combat the wave of people who will be on the streets.”
I looked over the sheet he had provided me and was concerned at the numbers. I had certainly never seen these figures before.
“And Your Majesty must remember that without the monasteries to support them, many former nuns and monks will be out of home as well.”
I peered up at Cranmer.
“Master Cromwell has assured me that the monasteries that will be closed are corrupt and do not merit the money being given to them by the church. The law also states that no monastery smaller than 200 members will be closed.”
“That is correct,” Cranmer said quickly. “And there are certainly monasteries that are corrupt and need to be closed. But the closure of hundreds of small monasteries will still affect the country. And the men that are on these committees that are researching the monasteries — I am worried that they may not be the most honest of men.”
I did not answer his comment, as it was true. However, Cromwell had informed me that the closing of these monasteries would flood the treasury and keep us from asking Parliament for a larger grant of money, always a painful experience.
“And if Your Majesty will notice, the poor houses that could be constructed would be cheaper to keep than the monasteries. The extra revenue could be used for other endeavors, such as promoting education.”
I leaned back in the tall wooden chair, feeling the hard knots of the oak dig into my back. I was stunned by this argument; the poor that would be affected by the closing of the monasteries had not crossed my mind. I still felt strongly that the monasteries, especially those that defied the Church of England, should be closed, but I could not deny that Cranmer and Anne’s argument was strong.
“May I ask why you were presenting this to Queen Anne and not to myself or the council?” I finally said.
“Her Majesty is the one who asked me to gather this information,” he answered. “She is the one who realized what the dissolution of the monasteries would mean; I would not have thought to look to this if it had not been for her.”
It was then that the heavy door behind me shifted open and I heard a small gasp.
“Archbishop, I beg your forgiveness. I had forgotten about our scheduled meeting.”
I turned in my chair to look at Anne as Cranmer rose to bow deeply to his queen. I had never before heard Anne sound truly upset. I could see that Cranmer and their scheduled meeting was important to her.
“It is of no concern, Your Majesty,” he answered as he rose. “I was able to speak with His Majesty here on the subject.”
“You were?” she asked, eyeing me as she walked towards the table. I could see that she was not happy with this revelation, but Cranmer did not seem to understand this.
“Yes. We have had an enlightened discussion and I believe His Majesty now understands our views.”
Cranmer smiled at me unabashed, seeming to think we now saw eye-to-eye on the subject. Anne merely sighed.
“And I suppose you told him about the poor houses?”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said, reaching for another paper.
“And did not mention education at all, I wager,” she said, her regular scathing tone of voice returning.
“Your Majesty, I did,” he responded, and I was immediately shocked that he would contradict my wife. First, that he would argue with anyone, let alone his queen; and second that Anne seemed to allow it.
“But at the end, and only as something to be seen to after the poor houses,” she retorted, walking up to his paper work.
“I believe, Your Majesty, when you see the full numbers I have collected on the number of poor who will be turned out you will understand —“
“I am not saying the poor houses are not necessary,” Anne cut him off. “I am merely saying that without education there will be more poor and we must look to the future of England —“
“The future of England will be of no matter if there cannot be a solution to the problems of today!”
I almost stopped the argument there; I had never before had a courtier who had begun an argument with my queen and cut her off in the middle of an answer, no less. But, curious as to how Anne would react to this argumentative archbishop, I remained silent.
“Archbishop, I respect what you have to say, but there will be a future for England and this is what I am trying to protect. The majority of the funds should be used for education —“
“Money trapped in the colleges will not be able to move this country forward,” Cranmer replied.
“You know very well that I would not allow the funds to be used merely at Cambridge College!” the queen exclaimed. “You have heard my argument for a larger education system, available to younger children, to prepare them for Cambridge.”
“An admirable goal; however, the money is being taken from the monasteries that provide shelter to the poor. That should be the first thing they replace!”
Anne did not re
spond to this; instead, she placed her hands on her narrow hips and glared at the Archbishop. Cranmer did not back away from her intense gaze. He tilted his head to the side, his breath heavy and his round face flushed.
“Very well, show me the numbers,” Anne finally said, sticking out her hands and giving Cranmer a small smile. I was amazed at how her face had transformed with these words. I was used to the feisty Anne, the woman who would use her dark eyes to flirt and her smiles to judge people. This, however, was one of the few unguarded looks I had ever seen on her face. I had never before realized how beautiful Anne could be. I looked away for a moment, dizzy with the desire to have her gaze at me with such a smile.
When I looked back Cranmer had smiled too, and handed the papers over to her, waiting for her to be seated before he re-took his seat.
I remained silent as she skimmed the page, interested in this side of Anne that I had yet to witness. Her brow furrowed as she read and her lips seemed to move as if she was reading the words aloud.
Anne put the paper down and nodded slightly at Cranmer. I did not know what she meant by the nod but whatever it was, it seemed to make Cranmer happy as his smile got even bigger.
“I hope Archbishop Cranmer adequately described our goal,” Anne said, reaching her hand across the table to mine. I allowed her to take it, but did not return any affection.
“I am not pleased that you ordered this meeting and were planning without my consent,” I replied, not prepared to forgive her for this injustice.
“These were not true plans,” Anne countered, never one to ask forgiveness from me. “We were merely preparing so that when we spoke with Your Majesty we would not be wasting your time. I remember how you prefer for your courtiers to be prepared before speaking with you.”
She was correct, and with the eyes she was giving me, there was little more I could do than smile.
“You are right,” I conceded.
“So you will use the money from the monasteries for education and the poor houses?”
Anne the Saint Page 4