Above All Others

by G Lawrence

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Richmond Palace

  Summer 1529

  The trial went on, and I did not choose to go again. I was not ready, not yet, to face all my fears so closely. I stayed at my apartments in Henry’s palaces, and waited for him to come to me each night with news. In the streets, even close to the palace, I could hear voices singing derogatory songs about me, calling me a ‘goggle-eyed whore’ and a witch. And for every ill song that was sung about me, there were more praising Katherine’s grace and majesty. If it were up to the people, Henry would have been back with his wife by now.

  Proceedings were, as ever, slow, and evidence was being presented by both sides. Bishop Fisher was at one point called on to give evidence for the King, but he refused and then went on to say that he would appear only for the Queen, and was willing to stake his own life on the validity of the royal marriage. With such men defending her, Katherine’s case was put forward with strength and vigour. Henry was constantly in Wolsey’s ear whenever there was a break in proceedings, saying he was not doing enough. My brother told me Wolsey had started to look pasty, and weight dropped from him like water. He mopped his sodden brow often in court, looking harassed and uneasy, but he quizzed Katherine’s advocates with energy and cleverness.

  Wolsey had asked that Henry release him from the trial as talks of peace were due to begin between France and Spain in July at Cambrai. As long as France remained at war with the Emperor, there was still hope that the Pope might be freed from Charles’ hold by force. Wolsey believed it was of high importance that he attend, not only for the King’s Matter but to sue for rights for England, and to demand the removal of Imperial troops from the Holy City. Henry refused to allow Wolsey to leave, saying that he needed him, and prepared to send Sir Thomas More and Bishop Tunstall instead. Wolsey was distraught, not only as he believed that the future of Europe was being decided without his input, but also, I believe, because attending the negotiations would have given him ample excuse to escape from a trial that he knew we could not win.

  One day as summer rain fell in sharp, cold, showers, I sat indoors reading a French translation of the Scriptures. The trial was plodding along, and I was worried about the level of support that Katherine had. I sought solace in the Word of God. As the people of England turned against me, blaming me for all that was done to Katherine, I turned to God. I begged Him to make the people of England understand. I asked Him to work on Katherine’s mind and conscience. “For you of all, Lord, know what spirit and passion she would bring to any holy order she entered,” I said. My prayers were genuine. Although a part of me despised Katherine, there was another part of my soul that could not but be impressed by her.

  I found myself becoming introspective; beaten down by the hatred which seemed to pour from the very streets, and swelled up through the walls of the palace, threatening to consume me. I sought solace in my books and in God. I hoped that He, at least, understood my motives were pure.

  It was then that Nan arrived in a flurry of panic. “It is the book, my lady,” she said in a rush as she ran in through the door. I stared blankly at her, not knowing what she meant. “The book, my lady! The one that you gave me to read… the Tyndale!”

  My heart froze. I had loaned Tyndale’s work Obedience of a Christian Man to Margaret Wyatt first and then to Nan, knowing that each of them was interested in reform. I encouraged my household to open their minds to new ideas, but I had told them to keep the book hidden and secret. “What has happened, Nan?” I asked. “What is wrong?”

  She wrung her hands. “I was reading the book in an alcove, my lady, when George Zouche came along.” Nan blushed lightly. Zouche was her beau, and had been long courting her. Since he was also a servant in my household, and Nan liked him, I thought there was promise in such a match. “He saw me reading the book with great interest, and when I scolded him to leave me be, he plucked it from my hands and ran off with it. He thought it a game, and wanted to tease me.”

  “And?” I asked.

  “Well, then he started to look through it, my lady… and I rushed to take it back, but several passages caught his eye. He said he was interested in the text, and had heard much about it. He begged to be allowed to keep it, only for a day or so, and he promised to be careful, so I thought there was no harm…” She lifted her eyes to mine and looked so desperate that I rose and hugged her.

  “It is of no matter to me if Zouche reads it, if he is interested, Nan,” I consoled. “The book is well worthy of reading, and has much value in its theories, even if the Church does not agree.”

  “That is not all, my lady,” she continued. “He was reading it at church, my lady, and the dean caught him. The dean confiscated the book, admonishing Zouche for reading over a banned and salacious text within the confines of the holy church, or at all!” Nan started to cry as realisation dawned on my face. She gulped and sobbed, wiping her eyes as my arms fell from her. This was dangerous. If the dean had it, then there was only one place he was going to take a banned text; to Wolsey.

  “My lady, I am so sorry, the dean insisted that Zouche tell him where he got the book from. Zouche declared that it was his, but I heard him, since I was nearby, and I insisted that the volume was mine. I said I had not realised it was banned or that it contained Lutheran influences. The dean did not believe me. He thought I was trying to protect Zouche and reprimanded me for putting carnal love above honesty. Zouche did not betray you, my lady, but the dean has passed the book to the Cardinal and Zouche was summoned to Wolsey’s chambers.”

  I drew in a short breath. The lack of success at Blackfriars meant the Cardinal was in a delicate position. The acquisition of such a book from one of my waiting women came at a time when he needed ammunition against me the most. This needed to be handled well or the Cardinal could use the book against me. He could tell Henry I was a heretic, or was encouraging heretical disobedience amongst my household. He might use it as a reason why Henry should not marry me, or release the information to Katherine’s people in secret, to defame my name further.

  “You did right in coming to me, Nan.” I reached out to comfort her, but my heart hammered in my chest. “You tried to protect me and I shall not forget it, but fear not, I know of people more powerful that the Cardinal to whom I may turn.” I paused. “This shall be the dearest book that ever cardinal or dean took away.” I comforted Nan, but left quickly. I had to get to Henry before Wolsey.

  I entered his Privy Chamber and Henry was happy to see me. He cut short his embrace as he saw my grave expression. “What ails you, sweetheart?” he asked with concern. “You look as though you have the weight of the world upon those pretty shoulders.”

  I led him to a stool, asked him to sit down and dropped to my knees. It had been long since I had been formal when we were in private audience together and he was partly charmed and partly perturbed by this action. “Henry,” I said solemnly. “It has long been my habit to read over texts and volumes that I thought may offer us comfort and help in our cause. You know what love I have for the ideas of learned men and how I have often come to you for counsel in understanding their work.”

  Henry nodded. He loved to be flattered in the ways of theology. I felt half entertained and half annoyed at the smug look on his face as I praised him.

  “A book came into my possession that contained ideas I thought could be useful for us, my love. I read it and only later discovered that it was not a book generally allowed to the common man.” I looked up into his eyes, speaking carefully. I was lying, but only to protect my brother who had imported the banned text into England.

  “It was a banned book, Henry… but it contained such thoughts and ideas that I could not help but read on, even when I discovered the truth about it. I marked out many passages for you to read over and think upon as I know of your love for thought and theology. I was going to bring it to you this week, as I wanted your opinion, but one of my servants found and borrowed the book, not knowing of its unlawfulness. In his
innocence, he took it to church, and was caught reading it by the dean. The book has been taken to Cardinal Wolsey. My servant told the dean that the book was his, but it was not. I fear that my loyal servant, in seeking to protect me, may have placed himself in danger and I come to ask you to intercede with the Cardinal on my behalf and beg pardon for my servant. The fault was mine, not his, and I should hate that any punishment befall my servant for my sake.”

  Henry narrowed his eyes. “What was the book?”

  “It is called ‘The Obedience of a Christian Man,’” I said, and then rushed on. “And is a book that you should read, Henry, although your Church seeks to make sure that you never will… It is a book for kings.”

  “Why should I read a book that the Church has banned, my love?” he asked gently. “Surely there is something considered heretical, or immoral in it?”

  “There is much in it that you will value, Henry,” I replied fervently. “There is much in it that is true… The Church despises the book because it is written by an exiled man, and because it speaks of the rights of a king, within his own kingdom, to be lord and master over not only the worldly laws of his people, but to be their leader in matters spiritual as well. The Church sees such thoughts as a threat to their power, but I believe there is much of worth within its pages.”

  Henry’s brow furrowed but he put his hands out to me kindly. “You know that I value your opinion, Anne,” he said. “God knows… you are almost the match of me in your love for books and discussion of philosophy.” A smile attempted to emerge on his lips, and failed. Henry was concerned. “But I will not see your servant suffer for his innocence. Come, we shall return the book to its owner, my love.”

  “And then may I show you the passages that I thought may interest you?” I asked cheekily, toying with his damask sleeve.

  Henry chuckled. It was good to see him distracted from the horrors of the trial for once. “If you are ever thinking of me, my love, I am eager to listen.”

  We went to the Cardinal’s apartments. When we arrived, we could hear Wolsey berating Zouche, shouting at him for having brought such a salacious, banned text into the confines of the church. Wolsey was demanding to know where he had got it from; who was his supplier? Who had sneaked the book into England? When Wolsey’s servant admitted us, Zouche was standing in the chamber, his shoulders slumped and his face ghastly pale. I believe he thought he might be chained up in the Lollard’s Tower within the hour. The Cardinal greeted us with great surprise and a lot of fawning. My lip curled to see Wolsey grovel to his master like a worm. The Cardinal was well aware that at this time he needed to please the King more than ever. The favour of princes is a dangerous thing to lose.

  When Wolsey had ceased his prattling, Henry sent Zouche away and told him no harm would befall him. “You have rendered me a service in seeking to protect your mistress,” he said to the astonished courtier. “And as such, you have my gratitude. It is not every man who would uphold the notions of chivalry in such a situation. You are a good man, to protect your lady mistress with such valour.”

  Wolsey was astonished, but as Henry explained that the book was mine and was to be returned to me with no more said, his face cleared. There was high disapproval barely concealed under Wolsey’s mask of charm as he handed the volume to me. I thanked him with a clear countenance even though I thought I might laugh out loud to see his authority so undermined.

  Henry and I walked back together to his apartments and I spoke to him about the book. Once inside his chambers I showed him the passages I had marked. He was immediately interested, as I had known he would be. I gave him the book and left so that he could read it for himself.

  Later, when I came to dine with my beloved, I found Henry in the same chair and in the same position he had been when I left. He was utterly absorbed in the book. Henry gazed up with eyes glazed from reading all day. A small quill was poised in his fingertips with which he had marked passages himself. His fingers were stained with ink.

  “This book is for me and all kings, Anne!” he said as I settled next to him in a chair. My soul hummed like a happy bee upon finding a flower fat with pollen.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Richmond Palace

  Summer 1529

  That night, we ate distractedly as we pored over the Tyndale text together. Outside, rain fell swift and hard, battering roses and gillyflowers in the gardens, and making the trimmed hedges bounce and dance. Henry read aloud from the book set between us, quoting passages that spoke to him. “As our strength abateth, so groweth the strength of Christ in us, when we are emptied of our own strength, then we are full of Christ’s strength,” he read, marvelling at the power of the words. “Verily I will rejoice at my weakness, that the strength of Christ may dwell in me.” Henry sighed. “I have felt much as he describes here, of late,” he admitted. “When I have felt my spirits low, I have turned to the strength of Christ.”

  “I, too, pray every day for courage and strength, my lord,” I said.

  “I only wish I were humble enough to relish my own weaknesses.” Henry turned a page, his eyes scanning the text.

  “I see wisdom, here, Henry,” I said, pausing in spooning carp broth to my plate as I pointed at a passage. “That thou mayest perceive how that the scripture ought to be in the mother tongue and that the reasons which our spirits make for the contrary are but sophistry and false wiles to fear thee from the light; that thou mightest follow them blindfold and be their captive, to honour their ceremonies and to offer to their belly. First God gave the children of Israel a law by the hand of Moses in their mother tongue. And all the prophets wrote in their mother tongue. And all the Psalms were in the mother tongue… What is the cause that we may not have the Old Testament with the New also…?”

  I wiped my spoon clean with a piece of bread and then took up a spoonful of slippery leeks in melted butter. “I believe he writes well on the argument, my lord,” I said carefully. “I have ever thought that the common man should be able to hear the Word of God in his native language, so he might better understand God’s will. Nobles, kings and princes understand the words of the ancients, but how is the uneducated man to know what the Church or God needs of him, if he knows not the language? The Church would say that is what their priests and monks are for, but why should a man not understand the will of God for himself, as well as being guided when he has need? Would God wish His children to be so cut off from His truth?”

  “I will admit, Anne, I have never seen the argument put so well or with such clarity before,” Henry agreed, his plate of food quite forgotten as he leafed through the text, hunting for the passages that had moved him. “Truly, I had not thought of it in such a manner before, but I believe the fellow to be right! Indeed, why should the common man not hear the Scripture in English? Priests and monks would still be able to guide on points of theology which were not understood by their flock. And if God intended, as is implied here, that all men should hear the Bible in their native tongue, then there is no sin. It is taking what has been only traditional, and making that into canon law.” He frowned. “Although I know this would take a great deal to actually bring to reality. The Church stands fast against the translation of the Bible, and More has spoken to me many times about how such an effort might be abused. He says that a translator might choose to change words, in order to strip authority from the Pope and the Church and encourage heresy… But still… there is much here to think upon.”

  I was more pleased than I could say. For so long I had hidden such thoughts from Henry, for I had worried he might consider my ideas on reform heretical… But now he had read the arguments of Tyndale, he was starting to think as I did, as Marguerite did, as reformers did. He was not quite as convinced as I, but it was a start. I was merry to hear his praise for the Tyndale. In his dissatisfaction with the trial and his dwindling belief in the holiness of the Pope and his clergy, Henry was opening to new ideas. He told me there were elements of the book he did not approve of, since they bordere
d on the heretical, but all the same, he was moved by much in the text.

  “See here, Anne?” he asked, pointing at another passage. “This seest thou, that it is the bloody doctrine of the Pope which causeth disobedience, rebellion, insurrection. For he teacheth to fight and defend his traditions and whatsoever he dreameth with fire, water and sword to disobey father, mother, master, lord, king and emperor; yea, and to invade whatsoever land or nation that will not receive and admit his doctrine.” Henry shook his head at the revolutionary nature of the words, but he did not speak against them. I knew he believed the Pope had too much power over other nations. Were we not seeing that, now, in England?

  “And here!” he exclaimed, pushing aside his plate to put the book between us. “God therefore hath given laws unto all nations and in all lands hath put kings, governors and rulers in his own stead, to rule the world through him.” He heaved a sigh and gazed at me with shining eyes. These words confirmed his belief that he was put upon England’s throne by God. I took the book from him and read aloud from a later passage.

  “Hereby seest thou that the King is in this world without law and may at his lust do right or wrong and shall give accompts but to God only… No person may be exempt from this ordinance of God. Neither can the profession of monks and friars or anything the Pope or bishops can lay for themselves… For it is written, let every soul submit himself unto the authority of the higher powers… the higher powers are the temporal kings and princes unto whom God hath given the sword to punish whosoever sinneth… Whosoever resisteth power resisteth God; yea, though he be Pope, bishop, monk or friar. They that resist shall receive themselves into damnation.”