by G Lawrence
My anger at the Pope and at all that had thwarted us came to rest on Wolsey alone. I could do nothing against Campeggio, nothing against the Pope. But Wolsey I could work against. He had always been my foe. I would see him removed from power, and then, there would be none above me to whom Henry would ever turn again.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Greenwich Palace
Summer 1529
Before we left for progress, Suffolk met with my uncle again and found us ready and waiting to act against Wolsey. At present, with Henry unwilling to move against the Cardinal, we had limited options. But we were preparing for a secret war. Suffolk sent men to keep a watch on any communications with France, suspecting that Wolsey might try to engender support from his allies there.
Just before the end of the trial, when Suffolk had returned from France, Henry had called for him, keen to hear what the Duke had discovered about Wolsey. I had arrived in Henry’s chambers just as Suffolk was leaving, and from the scowl on Henry’s face I had gathered that he had heard much he did not want to about his long-trusted friend. But even with the bill, even with Suffolk’s information, Henry did nothing.
It was frustrating, but in many ways I understood Henry’s hesitancy. Wolsey had been his closest and most able advisor and friend, in many ways a mentor and perhaps even father-figure, since the very early days of Henry’s reign. In Henry’s youth, the Cardinal had taken on all of his dull tasks, saving Henry from the dire boredom that kingship can entail. Wolsey had shouldered the paperwork and the dreary meetings. He had bargained and made treaty with other nations and had entertained Henry in his own house as a friend. The Cardinal had made life easy for Henry, and therein lay his greatest power. There was a time when the fat bat’s power was at such a zenith that it would have been difficult to see him and Henry as two separate people. They had worked together so closely and understood each other so well that they were almost as two sides of one coin. So now, for Henry to believe for certain that his beloved friend and advisor had not only failed him, but might have betrayed him, and may well have been lying to him for years, was not only painful, but almost unbelievable.
But we knew it was the truth. Wolsey had failed, he had lied and he had long been stuffing his own coffers with wealth that was not his. What was a man of God doing with such riches in any case? He should have been supporting paupers with it, or sending poor scholars to school and university, not lining his own coffers! I hated the grasping nature of many men of the Church, and Wolsey was one of the worst I had ever seen… Even Bishop Fisher, Katherine’s own lion, though I liked him little, was a humbler and more honest man of the cloth than the flamboyant Wolsey.
What we did not realise until some time later, was that Henry did not move against Wolsey in part because his old friend had appealed to him… and bribed him. After Campeggio’s announcement, Wolsey had begged for mercy from Henry, offering him many riches by way of apology. Henry was not the only one Wolsey plied with coin in light of his failure; one of our own party was on the receiving end of Wolsey’s ‘generosity’… as I discovered a few days after Henry received the bill. My own father had taken Wolsey’s coin.
My father seemed nonplussed when he revealed what had happened to Norfolk, George and me. I was amazed. “And you took his money?” I cried, scandalised. It was hard for my father to shock me these days, but he had managed it ably this time. “Why? When you knew we were so close?”
“Wolsey will be removed in any case, Anne,” my father said comfortably, stretching his arms. He did not seem in the least concerned. “The red bat is finished. I took his money because we might as well profit from this.” He nodded to Norfolk. “I have a share for Your Grace as well,” he added. “Wolsey has given Durham’s revenues to the King and, since that income was mine, the Cardinal has compensated me. All in all, I am a richer man, and will share that wealth with my allies.”
I still could not quite believe what he had done. “Wolsey is not gone yet, father,” I warned. “The King hesitates and not only because of the coin Wolsey uses to buy him… and you! Henry loves that man… If you give him an excuse to keep hold of Wolsey, he will take it. If Wolsey remains in his position of power, then all is lost for us!”
A flicker of concern crossed my father’s face. “What would you have had me do, Anne? Refuse to accept the offer? And in front of the King?”
“Yes!” I cried out, even though I knew it was irrational. “Am I the only one to ever speak my mind to Henry? What good are you as advisors, if you do not offer advice?”
“Anne, calm yourself,” George said. “We will still make sure that this is the end of Wolsey. The King cannot ignore the charges against him for ever. This summer, as you and Henry are on progress, we will pry Wolsey from the King like a limpet from a rock.”
“Limpets cling only harder to their rocks when they feel a knife poised to dislodge them, brother.” I pursed my lips in anger and spoke commandingly to the men about me. “I want it to be clear that no one else is to take money from Wolsey for anything! All of you have counselled me, and now I do the same for you. If we are in this, then we are in it together. I will not find myself facing the wrath of the Cardinal alone if he comes to be restored fully to the King’s graces!”
Norfolk seemed rather amused, and my father’s eyes glinted coldly, but they agreed. As we left Norfolk turned to my father. “Your daughter will be a dreadful shrew when she is aged, Thomas,” he whispered, thinking I could not hear him. I said nothing, but I took note of the insult. Norfolk was becoming more and more irritating, and less and less respectful. When I was Queen, he would have to be a great deal more careful…
We left for progress the next day, trying to forget our troubles in the wild open spaces of the country. But I had plans to make other than those for entertainment and diversion. I had to convince Henry, once and for all, to give up on the Cardinal. We were due to visit The More, a residence of Wolsey’s near Rickmansworth, but when I heard that the plague had broken out nearby, it was easy to convince Henry that we should stay elsewhere. I told myself that I was not manipulating my beloved, but it was harder and harder to persuade myself that this was the truth. I consoled myself with my father’s words… that I was doing this for Henry’s own good. He was blinded by his love for this man. I would have my King ruled by none. Together, as a couple, as King and Queen, we would rule and no other would. Wolsey’s time was done.
This, however, was not so easy to do. Wolsey clung like ivy to England and to the King. Wolsey communicated with Henry as usual, by letter and messenger, and he sent reports on various affairs of state. I am sure that Wolsey was often prone to exaggerate the toil he put into Henry’s affairs, but Henry was, as ever, grateful. Henry’s affections for the man were once again waxing. I could sense it. I had hoped that by keeping them separate, I could prise them apart, but the longer that Wolsey stayed away the more Henry softened towards him. It was troubling. If Wolsey could last out the summer, then when we returned to London in the autumn, he may well be back in favour, and I would be in danger.
Just before leaving for Cambrai, Thomas More had published his Dialogue, his repose to Tyndale’s Obedience, and other works. I obtained a copy, which was not hard as the Church was busy handing them out as though they were honey tarts. I read it and was both saddened and amazed. More was vicious in his attack on Tyndale, calling him an evil, pus-filled boil sure to bring about a biblical plague of heresy. More said Tyndale was “the beast who teaches vice, a forewalker of the Antichrist, a devil’s limb,” and said he was “so puffed up with pride, malice and evil, that it is more than a marvel his skin can hold together.”
What vile words from one who proclaimed himself to be so godly!
Having read several of Tyndale’s works now, and having heard the humility of his narrative voice, I did not believe More’s take on him for a moment. More cast all reformers, heretics, Lollards, evangelicals, and free thinkers into one pot, and claimed they were all agents of evil. How could a
man, so praised for his intelligence, be so close-minded and easy to judge?
The work was also faintly ridiculous. Where Tyndale had put forth valid arguments and discussed his points well, More’s book was a farce. The book set up a fictional discussion between More and Tyndale, and had them discussing religion and heresy in his Chelsea house. This fictional More easily put down Tyndale’s arguments, which were, of course, designed to be effortlessly dismissed, and persuaded him to alter his opinion. Had this been a real discussion, and not a fictional one, I have no doubt that Tyndale would have come up with arguments that were a great deal more convincing than the ones the author allowed him to have! But that is the way with authors, is it not? They can pick and choose what their characters say, making them appear wise or foolish as they please.
The only saving light of the text was that More did not dismiss the worth of having an English translation of the Bible some day… as long as it was not done by Tyndale. It was clear that More despised Tyndale, and all he stood for and would ever work against him. More said that simple Christians should be protected from Tyndale’s works, as they might be corrupted by them. He thought the same as the Church; that it was for the clergy to control and decide what knowledge the people of God were allowed. I would never agree with More.
But I also found myself less than pleased with Tyndale, when he wrote a pamphlet about the annulment. Saying he found no argument in Scripture for the King’s belief his marriage was invalid, he stated he believed the union should continue. Tyndale wrote that as Henry claimed he loved Katherine still, he should remain with her, as marriage was a divine gift. When Henry received this, I thought he might well abandon his good opinion of the Obedience, in his rage. Fortunately, Henry listened to me.
“Tyndale was not correct on all his assumptions in the Obedience, my love,” I said. “As you, yourself, rightly pointed out. It is therefore for us to read such works, and decide on their truths for ourselves. Do not abandon all that was good in one work, for his mistakes in another.”
“There you speak wisdom, Anne,” he said, sitting down in a chair and taking his velvet cap from his head to mop his brow. “Even learned men require guidance from men such as me… those whom God Himself has put in place to lead and guide them.”
“Exactly, my lord.” I breathed a sigh of relief.
Word came from the peace negotiations at Cambrai. Henry had hoped that continued cooperation between France and England might weigh on the Emperor and force him to abandon his support for Katherine in order to secure a peace. But this was but a fantasy. The French were concerned with their own affairs. Even worse, du Bellay accidentally let slip to one of Wolsey’s men what Suffolk had been up to in France. Wolsey wrote to Henry, saying that Suffolk had slandered him to the French King. Henry could hardly admit that Suffolk’s enquiries had been done at his bidding. Suffolk heard of this and, quite intelligently for him, announced himself indisposed, and left progress. With Suffolk out of the way, Henry wrote to Wolsey saying that it might take some time to discover the truth, but he would look into it, leaving Wolsey to sulk and mutter bitterly in private about the betrayal of the Duke.
Wolsey was beaten down, but was eager to demonstrate he still had worth. Henry believed he was the best man to continue pushing for his Great Matter. In a short time, my father would make it so that the King believed in Wolsey no longer.
Chapter Fifty
Waltham Abbey
Late Summer 1529
That summer’s progress was to take us from London to Waltham Abbey, then on to Barnet, Tittenhanger, Windsor, Woodstock, and Reading. Perhaps trying to make up for the failure at Blackfriars, Henry stuffed my chambers with silks, furs, linen and velvet cloth. He granted me a personal allowance, and it was a very generous one. He presented me with jewel after jewel, expensive books, primers and devotional works, and smothered my coffers with coin. I was a rich woman, almost as rich as Katherine herself. Henry also made my brother the governor of Bethlehem Hospital, better known commonly as ‘Bedlam’ Hospital. It cared for those who were plagued by visions, evil spirits, or were unable to care for themselves due to their troubled minds.
Although none of this aided me in my goal to become Queen, I understood my love was trying to make amends. I accepted each gift with thanks, and started to set aside sums to give to nunneries, monasteries, and funds for scholars of which I approved. Doctor Butts had quietly brought several cases to me of young men who held the same sympathies as us, and I was happy to be able to support their educations. With more young men coming to Butts every month, I was supporting a new generation of reformers. Henry was aware I supported scholars, but he was not aware of all their leanings.
As soon as we were free of London, I felt my heart lift and my spirits soar. The air was warm and rich with the scent of ripening crops and wildflowers. Herons and cranes stood, watchful, over streams and lakes, hunting for fish, and at night bats flew from the rafters of Henry’s houses, silent black shadows winging through the dim blue of the wolf-light. In the warm days, men were out in the fields, bare-backed and glistening with sweat, plunging their shining scythes, with rippled blades, through golden grasses and purple thistles to make hay for their animals in the winter. Hedges were being laid about animal pens, wrens screamed insults at sparrows, and clovers flowered, with bees bustling about them, gathering their sweet offerings to take for making honey in their globed, yellow hives.
On progress, I ruled. I stood at Henry’s side. I was his constant companion. I kept ladies-in-waiting like a Queen... But I was not the true Queen yet. Katherine had been ordered to stay in London. She had accepted Henry’s order by making an overly dramatic speech about her duties as a wife.
“As your good wife and Queen it is my duty and office to bend to your will, my beloved,” she had said to Henry. “I will do all you ask, to please you, if this be your will.
“If you were true to that sentiment, madam,” he had bellowed at her in the presence of her cringing ladies. “Then you would accept my judgement and leave your throne for a nun’s cell! If you wanted to please me, you would not seek to use your nephew against me, nor turn the people of England against me! You are no good wife, Katherine, and you are no wife of mine!”
He had stormed out, furious with her, and we had left for progress that same day. Henry had not taken leave of the Queen. He ordered Katherine was to remain in her chambers and not go into London. Henry put men about Katherine to watch her. He trusted her no longer.
Katherine was also forbidden from corresponding with the Pope or the Emperor. Her letters were intercepted and opened, and when her ladies left her chambers, they were ordered to turn out their pockets and present any laundry or clothing for inspection. Henry now saw Katherine as a viper in his bosom. He was sure that she had heard of the Emperor’s victory in Italy before we had. He raged against her often. Katherine had surprised him, I think… for so long she had, as she herself had said, been amenable to his will. And now, she was not only against him, but had proved herself more than capable of taking him on at his own game, and winning. People forget that Katherine came from a war-like dynasty. Her father and mother had fought for their thrones, and to reclaim their country from the Nasrid dynasty. Such struggles are not won by battle and sword alone. Her father had been one the most ruthless tricksters in all of history. He had managed to deceive his own daughter, Joanna, out of her throne by announcing to the people of Castile that she was insane. He had locked her away in a nunnery, and ruled as regent until his death when Joanna’s son, Charles, had inherited both Castile and Aragon. Should we have been so surprised, therefore, that Katherine came out fighting? Old, fat, weary and broken-hearted she might be, but dead in spirit, Katherine was not. Although I hated her for it, I could not help but feel a grudging kind of admiration for her too. She had prevailed over us, and she had done so with courage and dignity.
And the English adored her. They thought that now, surely, the King would return to her and all would be well. B
ut Henry was not a man to be told he could not have something when he wanted it. He resented it, he burned, and he railed against it… for he knew that he was right! He wanted this annulment now, not only to have me and to have sons, but because everyone told him he could not.
Never, ever, say “thy cannot” to a Tudor…
Although I was still booed by the common people I was treated like a Queen by the nobles and all who supported me at court. Even those who did not like me had to show respect in public. But all the same, I did not get everything I wanted. Wolsey was in disgrace, but not gone entirely from royal favour. Henry agreed that he had failed in his task, but he wanted Wolsey kept in post. My family became obsessed with scheming against the Cardinal.
“Once he is gone,” my father said as we talked on arrival at Waltham Abbey, “I think we may be able to sway the King with alternative options. We may be able to convince Henry to pursue other paths for his annulment.”
I knew what he meant, my father and I, and my brother, had similar views. Perhaps a reform of faith in England would help us. We were starting to turn away from the hallowed peerage of the organised Church. People called us heretics because of it. The new Spanish ambassador Eustance Chapuys who arrived that summer would come to call the Boleyns “more Lutheran than Luther,” but we were not Lutherans. I was never anything but a Catholic. Unlike some reformers, I believed in the Sacraments, but I wanted to see the Church as a great power bringing forth charity and goodness, and not as a snivelling and corrupt child cowering at the feet of any worldly prince. The Pope was wrong to treat Henry and England as he was so doing. I told Henry of my thoughts, but whilst he agreed with me, he was not ready to act on it. We were at a loss, that summer… The fiasco at Blackfriars had done nothing but increase Katherine’s popularity. We were back where we had started.