Above All Others

by G Lawrence

  The petition warned that if Henry was not given his annulment, it would make his subjects miserable, but, “not wholly desperate, since it is possible to find relief some other way.” It was a veiled threat; should the Pope fail Henry again, then perhaps he would take matters into his own hands and turn to the new ideas of reform sweeping through parts of the Holy Roman Empire and the Low Countries… perhaps Henry would turn his back on the authority of Rome as other states were, and decide upon the Great Matter himself.

  It was, in truth, what I wanted him to do. Not only for us, not only so that we could finally be together… but also for his people, for the faith. Henry was poised on the cliff edge of possibility. But he was still not ready, not yet, to be the King I knew he could be.

  The amended petition was taken about the country by a man named William Brereton, a groom of the Privy Chamber. Brereton was a bit of a rogue. He was an older man with a colourful past who had once been suspected of piracy. But he was a good friend to our cause and was eager to help. My father liked him and found him amusing company. They often jousted together. Assisting Brereton was a young man named Thomas Wriothesley. This man was a servant of Gardiner’s, but he owed his education at Cambridge to my father and the money that we Boleyns had given towards helping young scholars who had not the funds to be educated themselves. The two rode up and down the country in the summer sun, the air about them humming with the sound of dragonflies, bees, and flies, as swift-winged flycatchers and skylarks hunted through the insect-rich air. And as bugs and bees buzzed about their heads, so they did the same to the nobles of England.

  All adult peers visited by Brereton and Wriothesley signed, along with twenty-two abbots, and all the senior members of the royal household, including Henry’s personal clergy and lay preachers. Six bishops also put their name to the document. Those bishops and other clergy who we knew would refuse, were simply not asked. “Even if the petition has no effect on the Pope,” my father said as he listened to reports on its progress about the country. “Then at least we know well enough now who Katherine’s people are, don’t we?”

  It was remarkable that my father could still take me by surprise after all this time, for in truth I had not even thought of something so devious, but he was right. We knew who some of our enemies were, but we did not know them all. Men who had wavered, who we were unsure of, would now be called on to make a choice. We would finally see who was with us and who was against through this petition. There were other suspect elements about the petition, too. George had apparently signed, which was impossible seeing as he was in France continuing to petition François for help, and aiding Henry’s envoys as they presented our arguments to universities. When I questioned my father, he flicked his hand airily, saying that George had signed before he left… but I was not entirely convinced this was true.

  Henry’s impatience with the Pope became unquestioningly apparent that summer. He asked his Council whether, in their opinion, he could disregard the Pope in his Great Matter if it became clear he had the support of scholars, universities and theologians. Henry was running out of patience. His Council received the question in stunned silence. My father soon found his voice, and declared that, in his opinion, Henry was free to ignore Rome, but the Marquis of Exeter dropped to his knees before Henry. “Majesty,” he begged in a quiet voice. “Please, if you are to do such a thing, wait at least until the winter, for then the cold and wet will discourage those who might raise their hand in rebellion at such an act.”

  Henry blinked as though he had not considered that his people might rise against him, but the Marquis went on. “We all know of Your Majesty’s impatience and frustration at the slowness of this matter,” he said, holding out his hands to Henry. “But perhaps it would be better to allow the canvassing of support to continue, so that we knew where and how strong we stood in public opinion on the matter. I speak only out of love for Your Majesty, and to keep our sovereign safe upon his throne.”

  Henry came to me that night, and I spoke warmly of Cranmer’s work. Henry huffed sullenly at me that he wondered if the evidence of the universities could ever stand up to the authority of the Pope. “You should have more faith in your own servants and your own self, Henry,” I scolded. “Have I not held that same faith in you all this time?”

  “And there is much I have done for you, madam, that I would remind you of!” He glared at me, drinking heavily from his goblet. His cheeks were puffed and paunchy. Of late, he had taken more often to reading and attending to matters of state, than to riding, hunting or playing tennis. Henry was becoming heavier, thicker, softer, for his appetite for meat and wine had not diminished as his sporting activities had. I knew Henry was angered that another barrier had been put in his way and sought to take it out on me. “I would remind you,” he continued darkly, “that you owe me much, and you have made many enemies at court and beyond.”

  “Any enemies I have were made in my love for you,” I replied. “And it matters not. Gossip tells me that there is a prophesy told that a Queen shall die at this time, burnt in flame. But even if I were to suffer a thousand deaths, my love for you will not abate one jolt.”

  Henry stared at me and then set his wine to one side. He embraced me. “My Anna,” he whispered lovingly. “I am sorry, my love. I spoke like a beast. What would I do without you?”

  “That is something you will never have to find out, my lord,” I said, stretching my arms up and drawing his head down to kiss. Our kiss grew hungrier. He pushed me to the fireside, and there pulled at my gown until he had my breasts free. He pushed his face into them, cupping his hands under them. I took my hand down to his breeches and pushed my way inside until I had him in my hands. Against the fireplace, with my King’s head nestled in my naked breasts, I brought him to ecstasy.

  Afterwards he picked me up and carried me to my bed where he put me down, taking my gown from my body. He traced a light finger over my shivering, naked flesh, and then he lowered himself to put his head between my thighs. I clung to the back of the bed, letting out breathy gasps and cries of joy. As he brought me to my own climax, I screamed out, unable to resist the power that moved within me, and then we lay by each other’s sides, with his hands about my breasts.

  “Henry,” I murmured, hearing his breathing slow as he drifted towards slumber.

  “My love…” he murmured.

  “Is the full act of love… like this?” I asked.

  “Better,” he murmured and then looked up at me with a wicked little grin. “Better even than this.”

  “I cannot wait to try it, my love,” I whispered.

  “Nor I, Anne,” he sighed, putting his head back against my skin. “Nor I…”

  Chapter Seventy

  Greenwich Palace

  Late Spring 1530

  One day, Henry came to visit with me in my new apartments at Greenwich. They were the finest I could ever imagine, with tapestries lining all the walls, Turkish carpets on much of the bedchamber floor, and rushing mats strewn with sweet-scented herbs covering the rest. Mulberry branches to ward off pests lay under my bed, and dark oaken cupboards filled with my own plate lined the walls. Henry had given me gifts of standing clocks, maps, and portraits to hang upon the walls, and there was a writing desk decorated with the arms of the Rochford leopard and my white falcon. I had servants to bring me anything I wanted, and my own kitchens prepared to make me whatever I fancied. Henry’s fool, Patch, who had been given to him by the Cardinal, was entertaining us merrily as Henry and his men arrived.

  Henry was announced just as we were all doubled up with laughter at a jest Master Patch had made about Norfolk, and we all struggled to contain ourselves even as Henry walked in. He looked at our faces, flushed with laughter and our twitching lips, and asked us what the jest was. Patch leapt in before I could say anything, and with the usual daring boldness of a court fool, he simpered before Henry in his fool’s tunic of many colours, and horned hat. He waved his staff, topped with a jester’s head in Henry’
s face. “Sire!” he exclaimed, “how does your fat face this fine day?”

  Henry laughed with good humour, for it was the place of the fools to be rude and outlandish. Although it was a jest, there was a ring of truth to it. Henry was gaining weight. He waved Patch away. “Sweetheart,” he said lovingly. “How are you this day?”

  “Recovering from the mirth that your fool inspires, Henry!” I giggled, watching Patch scamper about the room, insulting Henry’s men.

  “It is good to see you merry, my love,” he noted.

  “I have much to be merry for, Henry,” I smiled at him. “Master Cranmer is working hard on our case, so he writes to me. I feel as though we are finally reaching a point at which we may be able to act as we should do!” I grinned wickedly at him and indicated to Bridget to bring a deck of cards over.

  “You wish to lose more money to me, sweetheart?” Henry teased.

  “I have a new game for Your Majesty,” I told him, taking him over to the table and shuffling the cards.

  “And where has this game come from?” he asked, sitting down as Nan brought us wine.

  “It is a variation on an old game, Your Majesty,” I said, a teasing smile playing on my lips. “Brought forth by my imagination.”

  “And its name?” he asked as we waved Norris and Tom over to join us at the card table. Margaret and Bridget took seats too, and Nan poured out the wine.

  “Pope Julius.” My lips sprang up in a cheeky grin. Pope Julius II was the man who had allowed the marriage between Katherine and Henry.

  Henry glanced at me with a startled expression and then chuckled. “And what are the rules of this game, my love?”

  I explained the game. It was quite simple. Players took four cards each. The player with the highest in the suit was in the best position. Hearts was the best suit, followed by Clubs, Diamonds and then Spades. The King of Hearts was the highest card one could draw, the Ace being low in this game. Players would bet on their first hand and then be allowed to swap a card at each round as wagering continued. There was a rebel card; the Knave of clubs, who represented the Pope. This card could be used to best any King when the cards were called. If a player therefore put down the King of Hearts, another player with the Knave of Clubs could put his hand down, and win. The way to flummox this rogue hand was to play the Queen of Hearts, who could best the Knave, but not the King. Should someone put down the Queen of Hearts, the player with the King would win after all. If you had both the King and Queen of Hearts, victory was certain.

  Henry rumbled with mirth as I explained the game, and we started slowly. Within no time at all, wagering was growing wild, and Margaret and Bridget were overtaken with giggles as Henry handed them money with which to bet. I had the rebel Knave in the first game, and laid it down to beat Bridget who had the King of Clubs, but Tom bested me with the Queen of Hearts. Henry clapped him on the back in approval. Then he laid down his cards, which included the King of Hearts, winning the game.

  “A fine game, Anne.” He chortled with approval as the money on the table was taken by one of his men and put into a pouch. “We must play this often.”

  “But, as you see, Majesty,” I purred. “The King will always win, as long as he has his Queen of Hearts to best the Knavish Pope.”

  “Let us hope that this happens in our own lives, my sweet,” he said, and then Henry called for another round of my new game, as he had so enjoyed the first.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  York Place and Woodstock Palace

  Summer 1530

  In June, as the marbled, fluffy chicks of lapwings ran between the forest-like stems of grass in the fields, my father had word that the Cardinal was sending messages to Chapuys, the Imperial ambassador. Although my father’s spies in Wolsey’s household knew not what these messages contained, we were advised that the Cardinal had sent his physician to Chapuys and had been closeted with him for some time. It was enough to suggest that the fat bat, who would not find support for his return to favour amongst the Boleyns, was instead attempting to gain help from our enemies. Apparently, the Cardinal had first approached the French ambassador, who had turned Wolsey’s man away, saying that all favour the French were shown in England was due to the good offices of the Lady Anne.

  I smiled when I heard this. “At least du Bellay is a good friend to me…” I tapped my fingers on the top of the fireplace.

  “We will keep a closer eye on the Cardinal, and on Katherine too,” said my father. “If he is indeed conspiring with her then we will take it to the King with all speed.”

  I paused in thought. “No,” I said quietly. “You will not.” I fixed my eyes upon his. “You will wait until there is full proof of the Cardinal’s treason,” I said. My heart hammered within me for I knew I was laying a trap. “Only then will we take it to the King.”

  He let out a low, quiet whistle. “You mean when there is enough proof that the Cardinal has betrayed his master,” he said thoughtfully.

  “I mean when there is enough proof so that Henry knows beyond doubt that he can trust in Wolsey no longer. This must be the last time that the Cardinal rears his head, father… I want you to make sure of that.”

  “Trust in me,” he said softly, kissing my hand.

  Soon after that conversation, another bout of sickness broke out in London. Summer was all but another word for pestilence in the cities. Henry moved us out into the country, where we settled at Eltham Palace together. Katherine, with her daughter Mary, were sent to Windsor. Henry would have sent them further away, but he feared what his people’s response to this might be. I worried more about them being kept together.

  Princess Mary was now fourteen years old, and was aware that her father wished to rid himself of her mother. She was utterly devoted to Katherine. Henry visited Mary but little, for he knew that her mother poured poison into Mary’s ear, and most especially about me. Despite his frustrations with Katherine, he still loved his talented daughter a great deal. I did not like this, for it gnawed at my old fear that Katherine would prevail against me. She was not above using any weapon, even her own daughter, to get her way, and I was worried that spending time with Mary would distract Henry from keeping his eye set on our goal. Since Mary was often in her mother’s company, however, when he came to call on her, this was not so much of an issue, as Henry tried to avoid Katherine at all costs. I suspected Mary was so often with her mother so that she and Katherine could, together, attempt to force Henry into spending more time with Katherine through her. It did not work as they would have wished; it meant only that he spent less time with the both of them.

  When he went to tell Katherine she was to be moved, the Queen took the opportunity to reprimand him. “I call upon you to be a good prince once again to me, to your daughter and to your people,” she said. “Set aside this evil life, Henry, and set a good example for your people as once you always did.” Katherine went on to say that even if he did not respect her as his true wife and Queen, “you should at least respect God and your conscience.” She urged him to listen to the Pope, and to set me aside.

  Henry replied that the Pope’s opinion meant little to him, and he was acting upon his conscience in the Great Matter. “There are plenty of people in this world who agree with me, Katherine,” he said. “And fewer and fewer who take side with you and the Pope.” He had left the room without saying another word, and had her quickly dispatched to Windsor.

  After spending a week or so at Eltham we travelled north and spent time at Woodstock. I loved that old palace. Many parts of it were in sad decline, and I said to Henry that here, we should establish yet another building project. Work was progressing to expand and improve York Place, and at Hampton Court Henry was having his own private tower built, with hot and cold running water, and a whole floor built to hold part of his vast personal library. But Woodstock seemed to speak to me. Its rambling corridors, beautiful, almost wild gardens and magnificent, ancient great hall had romance about them, and the walls echoed with stories and voice
s of the past.

  Here, legend said, Alfred the Great, the saviour of England against the Danes, had once held court. Henry I had built a hunting lodge here, and many kings had followed after, adding to the building and making it into a great manor house. There were acres of parkland and woodland surrounding it. Henry II had kept his fair mistress, Rosamund de Clifford, in this place, and it was rumoured that his Queen had come to Woodstock, offering the mistress either a knife or bowl of poison with which to die. Rosamund’s Well still stood within the grounds, and Henry and I spent much time sitting there, near to the great ponds, poring over the texts on reform I had given him. Perhaps because Woodstock had also witnessed the great clash between Henry II and his former friend, Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, this place moved me all the more, for it I believed we were coming, in our own time, to another conflict between state and Church… Although this time the King was clearly in the right.