After they had all taken their places around the long oval table, the king, with Cromwell to the right and Wotton and Mont to the left faced the two foreign vice-chancellors in order to open the negotiations.
“Now you gentlemen know what I want,” Henry said after everyone had shaken hands and gone through the usual pleasantries. “My question to you is what do you want in exchange?”
Olisleger looked at Burchard who gave him a brief nod, muttered something in German and then said, “Your Majesty, we understand that you are interested in marrying the Duke of Cleves’ older sister, Lady Anne…”
“Yes, yes,” Henry said impatiently. “We all know all that. The question is, what price will I have to pay for this?”
“Ah, we are coming to that,” Olisleger replied quietly, looking straight at the king and noting the blotchy skin and the ostentatious jewellery. “We would wish to discuss several points such as the future queen’s income in this country and…”
“Yes, and…”
“And, Your Majesty, the size of her dowry and the amount she will receive if, God forbid, if you or,” and here Olisleger continued with lowered eyes, “if her brother, Duke William, should die before she does.”
“You mean a pension of some sort?” Cromwell asked.
“Yes, sir. That is correct.”
Olisleger then sat back in his chair, looked at Burchard for support and wondered if he had asked for too much. He knew that since the English king had recently dissolved the country’s monasteries, his exchequer was not short of money. He was aware, however, that the overweight monarch - despite his great wealth - had a mean streak.
Henry looked at the Vice-Chancellors of Cleves and Saxony and fiddled with the ring on his fat finger then turned to look at Cromwell. “Thomas, you can continue from here. You are more familiar with these financial matters, but just don’t give away half of my kingdom for this woman,” he half-smiled. “If you do, it is you who will end up paying the bill.”
Cromwell tried to smile in return and then turned quickly to face his foreign visitors. “My lords,” he began. “First of all, please let me hear how much you were thinking of in terms of a dowry. Also, please take into account that Lady Anne will be marrying my king and that you will not wish to appear to be either mean or grasping in the eyes of Europe.”
“That is all well and good,” Olisleger replied looking to Burchard for support, “but you must remember that the Duke of Cleves is, how do you say it in English? weniger reichlich, er, less affluent than His Majesty.” He looked around and pointed to the richly decorated walls and ceiling. “I mean, look at this palace, this chamber. I fear we cannot match this in our humble duchy.”
“No, no, of course you cannot,” Henry said rather grandly. “But what can you do? I cannot be seen to be buying a wife, as it were, on the cheap.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. Therefore I suggest the Lady Anne’s dowry shall be something in the region of seventy thousand florins and…”
“Seventy thousand florins!” Henry exploded. “Is that all? Come, gentlemen, we are talking about my future wife who will also be the Queen of England. Seventy thousand florins for her dowry is more suitable for a serving wench or the like.”
“Surely, Your Majesty,” Burchard said, looking up. “Are you not exaggerating a little? Seventy thousand for a wench?”
“Perhaps,” Henry acceded, “but please note, there is no way we will agree on seventy thousand florins.” He then turned to Cromwell and indicated that he should continue with the negotiations.
“Gentlemen,” Cromwell smiled. “I am sure that my king was thinking more in terms of one hundred and twenty thousand florins,” he said, wondering how this sum would be received.
He did not have to wait long for his answer. “One hundred and twenty thousand for the lady’s dowry!” Olisleger gasped. “I am very sorry, sir, but that sum is impossible, quite impossible. As I have just said, my duke is not as rich as your king and such a sum would bankrupt us all.”
From the way he was saying it and from the way in which Burchard was nodding vigorously in agreement, Cromwell saw that Duke William’s Vice-Chancellor was not protesting in vain. He really meant what he said.
“Come,” Cromwell said in a quiet voice. “Tell me how much your duchy can afford. I know you paid a dowry of one hundred and ten thousand florins when Lady Anne’s older sister, Lady Sybille, married the Elector of Saxony some twelve years ago.”
“Oh, no, sir. I must tell you, you are mistaken. That dowry was fixed at one hundred thousand florins. I remember, I was involved in the…”
“Ah,” Cromwell interrupted. “Then your duchy could afford that sum then. And now? And please remember, Lady Anne will be marrying,” and here Cromwell looked to his left, “the King of England, King Henry the Eighth, not a mere Elector of Saxony.”
Henry patted his chancellor on the back. This meeting was now moving as he had wished. Burchard swallowed and decided not to make a point of Cromwell referring to his master as ‘a mere Elector.’
“Well,” he began, “seeing as we wish Lady Anne to appear as important as her sister, and if Vice-Chancellor Olisleger agrees, we will also agree to one hundred thousand florins.” Olisleger nodded but it was obvious to all that he was not happy with this arrangement. Burchard continued, “But, Your Majesty, it must be understood, this is our final offer. We will not be able to pay one florin more.”
“Agreed!” Henry said, striking the table. “Now let us seal this with a glass of hippocras.”
“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” Cromwell said after having drained his goblet, “but now we must work out how this dowry is to be paid, to be transferred from Cleves to London.”
Henry looked at his chancellor. “In cash, of course, Thomas. What else? We are not Arabian nomads who deal in camels, are we?”
“No, no, Sire. That’s not what I meant. I meant how many payments?”
A second, but briefer round of discussion continued. Twenty minutes later it was concluded that despite the initial protestations of ducal poverty, the dowry would be paid in two installments: forty thousand florins would be paid on the wedding day and the remainder would be sent to London within twelve months after that.
After another break for a meal both sides returned to the king’s chamber for a further round of negotiations. At first, Olisleger and Burchard wanted to delay this for a day or two, but after Wotton and Mont had informed them that His Majesty was quite impatient to conclude this stage of the proceedings, the two vice-chancellors agreed. They accompanied their English counterparts back to the king’s chamber and Henry instructed Cromwell to continue.
“And now,” Cromwell said, unrolling a document in front of him, “we must be harshly practical and discuss the eventuality that if His Majesty should predecease the Lady Anne, who of course will then be his happily wedded wife, what her financial situation will be. These dower rights will naturally be arranged for a fixed sum per annum. The question is: how much will that sum be?”
Perhaps because none of the advisors present really wished to talk about the king’s demise, especially in his presence, the solution to the problem was quickly found. In the event of Henry dying before his wife, she was to receive fifteen thousand florins annually and be allowed to retain all her gold and silver plate.
“And if my lady wishes to return to Cleves in the sad event of His Majesty passing on, would that be allowed?” asked Burchard.
Cromwell turned to the king who nodded approval. Wotton then asked Cromwell to dictate the agreed terms and then he recorded them all in his neatest writing on a large piece of parchment.
It was almost sunset by the time this meeting was over as Henry stood up to indicate that he had had enough for the day. He winced as the ulcer on his left leg sent a stabbing pain through the lower half of his body and he reached out for the back of a chair for support.
“Well, gentlemen, I think we’ve have concluded today’s affairs satisfactorily,” he said after the pain had subs
ided. “As my chancellor has said, we’ll have the final marriage contract drawn up and signed in the next few days. I’d like it to be signed and witnessed either here in London or at my castle in Windsor. Are there any objections?”
There were none. Everyone around the table nodded or murmured in agreement and it was decided to meet at Cromwell’s chambers on the following morning. There they would arrange all the final details for Anne’s journey to London: the route, the costs and which attendants, servants and jewellery she would be bringing with her. “Jewellery, that is,” Cromwell added, “that befits such a lady, the daughter of such noble parents and the intended bride of so great a king.”
Late that night, after dismissing all his servants, and sitting in his private chamber with only his brother-in-law, Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, for company, Henry decided to review the day’s events. After taking a glass of mulled wine for a nightcap, he invited the duke to have a close look at the portrait of Anne of Cleves. Placing a burning torch on each side of the painting, Henry told Brandon to scrutinise Holbein’s portrait critically.
“Come, Charles, look at this picture carefully and tell me what you truly think. Am I right in wishing to marry her or am I about to place my head in another noose like I did with Anne Boleyn?”
Brandon was silent. He was thinking and appraising the portrait.
“I will admit,” the king continued, “that she certainly looks more docile than that Boleyn woman. She looks more like Jane, I think, that is, in terms of temperament, but do I need so much activity now at my age? After all, I am well over fifty and I know that all the major activities of hunting and even warfare are more or less over for me, especially with this cursed leg of mine. So tell me, am I doing right in saying I will marry this woman?”
Brandon stepped back a little, cocked his head to one side and looked at the painting carefully. Despite the flickering light, he noticed the downcast eyes and the plain face in contrast to the rich red velvet and the gold trimmings. He noted the quality and size of the pearls and of the other jewels and then he looked again at the face below the heavy Dutch-style nun-like headdress which covered her hair completely.
“Sir,” he said at length, “in my eyes she looks most modest, virtuous and demure, almost to a fault. She certainly looks very different in character from your second wife, if I may add, and she has a certain dignity which cannot be denied.” He hesitated for a moment and looked at his brother-in-law who told him to continue.
“She certainly shows distinct breeding, sir, and I think she will prove to be a fine wife and queen. I must say this from just looking at this portrait, and I think your Master Holbein has painted a fine portrait here. It is true that she does not seem to have the sparkle and zest of Anne Boleyn but, as you said, who needs these qualities at your time of life? This woman,” he added, looking at the portrait, “will give you what you want: peace and quiet. You don’t need another nagging wife like your second one or a stubborn one like your first.”
“By Jove, Charles, you are right,” Henry said, taking his eyes off the portrait. “I knew I could count on your opinion. Come, let’s have another goblet of wine and drink to a long, happy and trouble-free marriage. Don’t you agree that after all these years and three marriages that I deserve the peace and quiet you have just spoken about? Here, let us drink a toast to the future Queen of England.”
“Aye,” the king’s brother-in-law added, “And to her future husband.”
Chapter Seven - Farewell to Cleves
With his foot on a low footstool, the king was sitting in his chamber reading a theological treatise. Suddenly there was a loud, insistent knocking on the door and a few moments later he found himself facing the flushed face of his chancellor. He was carrying a large map.
“What is it, Thomas?” Henry asked. “You look worried. Have you discovered that the Lady Anne has the pox? And why are you holding that map?”
“No, Sire, it’s…” Cromwell answered, still panting heavily.
“Not another uprising in the north? Where is it now? York? Doncaster? Newcastle?”
“No, Sire, it’s nothing like that. It’s just a question of bringing your future wife to England.”
The king looked up at Cromwell’s concerned face. Now that he had found a wife, had successfully negotiated all the details about her dowry and had been assured that there were no problems regarding her past betrothal, what else could go wrong?
“Tell me, Thomas, and be quick about it. I know you are much involved with this marriage. Have all your plans come to nought?”
“No, Sire, well I hope not, Sire,” Cromwell bowed. “It’s just that there are problems in how your lady will make her journey from Cleves to London.”
“What do you mean how? By horse and carriage, of course. And a ship to cross the Channel. How do you expect her to arrive here – to grow wings and fly?”
“No, Sire, I didn’t mean “how” like that. I meant, which route should she take?”
“Why, what’s the problem? The shortest one, of course. Surely there are roads from Cleves to the coast. Didn’t Wotton, Mont and Master Holbein all make the same journey?”
“Yes, Sire, there are good roads as far as I understand,” Cromwell answered, nervously rolling and unrolling the map which was still in his hands. “The problem is, Sire, which route should she take from Cleves to the coast?”
Henry lifted up his hand. “First of all, Thomas, pray sit down and stop playing with that wretched map. Now please explain yourself. You are talking in riddles.”
Cromwell took a deep breath, lifted his heavy body into the padded chair and unrolled the map on the table. He then showed it to the king.
“This is the situation, Sire. There are two possible routes that the Lady Anne can take. The most direct one is to travel overland from her castle at Cleves through the Low Countries to our English enclave at Calais,” he said, tracing his finger along the route on the map. “From Calais she will be able to take a ship to Dover and then proceed to London.”
“And the other route?”
“That the Lady Anne should travel from Cleves through the Guelderland, which is here,” Cromwell said, pointing out the area on the map. “This area should not present a problem as it is in the domain of her brother, the duke. Then she should be secretly smuggled across the Zuyder See in the Low Countries. There she would board an English ship and that will bring her to Dover or possibly, she could continue sailing up the Thames to London.”
Cromwell stepped back from the map and sat down.
“But, Thomas, I do not see the problem. Surely it would be better to take the first route you suggested, the one through Calais. It is English territory and no harm should befall her there. After all, she won’t be travelling on her own. She’ll be escorted by guards and the like.”
“I know that, Sire, but the problem is that much of the Low Countries is ruled by Queen Mary of Hungary and…”
“Ah, I see what you mean. She is the sister of Charles, the Holy Roman Emperor, and you are concerned that they will not give Lady Anne and her party a safe-conduct pass.”
“Exactly, Your Majesty. Especially as the Duke of Cleves, and therefore his immediate family are said to lean toward Lutheran beliefs as opposed to the Catholic ones of Queen Mary.”
Henry was silent for a few minutes while his chancellor fiddled with a quill pen on the table. At last Henry looked up.
“Thomas, what do you know about this Zuyder See route? Is it safe in terms of navigation? Are there any dangerous shoals and sandbanks there? Don’t Dutch pirates ply their so-called trade in this area?”
Cromwell thought carefully before answering this last question. After all, he was talking about bringing his king’s future wife over to England and nothing should go wrong. The price of failure was not even to be considered.
“I think,” he said slowly, “there may be a certain amount of danger in this area, Sire, and that is why I have given orders to dispatch, secretly, o
f course, two experienced shipmasters, er, I have their names here,” and he stopped to pull a list out of his pouch. “Ah, here we are, Masters Richard Couche and John Arborough. They’ll see if this area is navigable and, if it is, then they’ll produce a pilot’s chart. This will then be given to the captain of the fleet who will bring the Lady Anne here to England.”
“Ah, Thomas. As usual you think of everything. What would I do without you?” Henry smiled at his chancellor and then looked at him directly. “So, as far as you can see, the choice is this: either taking the shorter route and risk not receiving a safe-conduct pass through the Low Countries or travelling a longer route safely overland but risk having problems in the area of the Zuyder See?”
“Yes, Sire. And of course, there is another problem which affects both of the routes I have suggested. It is the question of the weather.”
“The weather?”
“Yes, Sire. This journey or rather the Channel crossing will be made during the winter and you can understand what that means?”
“Storms at sea?”
“Yes, Sire, that and the exposure to the elements that might adversely affect the Lady Anne’s health and beauty.”
“So, Thomas, I understand you prefer the shorter Calais crossing, for that would mean less time at sea, especially if the weather’s bad?”
Cromwell nodded. “And that is why the Council and I would be happy if you could write a personal letter to the Holy Roman Emperor, asking him for a special safe-conduct pass for the Lady Anne and her party.” He paused, looked at his king and continued. “We feel, Sire, that if you wrote this letter, as the king of this country, as opposed to the Council writing it, it would carry more weight. Then of course, if this request is granted, the route through Calais would be much shorter and safer.”
What Cromwell did not say to his royal master was that he, his chancellor, did not wish to become too involved in the international European political scene. If he wrote the necessary request and it was turned down, then he, Cromwell would be blamed for any future problems, but if His Majesty’s request was refused, then he and not Cromwell would be held responsible. Cromwell had never allowed himself to forget how the king at the beginning of his reign had had two of his chief ministers, Richard Empson and Edmund Dudley, executed for having angered His Majesty.
Anne of Cleves- Unbeloved Page 8