Anne Boleyn: A Novel (11 page)

It was a good clear speech, and the Pope measured his man by the short way in which he delivered it.

Clement nodded. “I appreciate the King’s wish for sons, and his scruples regarding the marriage. You say that you are petitioning me to authorize a hearing for the case; I presume you mean in England, with Cardinal Wolsey on the board?”

Foxe said coldly: “He is Your Holiness’ Legate. We’re asking nothing unusual in that.”

“Two Cardinals must sit in judgment,” the Pope said. “I must explain to you that the matter is a difficult one for me, as difficult as it is for your master the King. The imperial Ambassador has made strong representations to me about the question of Queen Catherine’s divorce. I have to be impartial to both sides.”

Gardiner spread both hands on his knees and said sharply: “Impartiality can be carried too far. The King’s patience is at an end; he lays claim to Your Holiness’ gratitude for his services to you in the past and his defense of your rights at a time when they were endangered by France.”

“If you will help King Henry’s cause and judge it fairly, you are assured of the protection of France as well as England when the war is concluded,” Foxe interposed quickly.

Clement remembered their last offer of protection; a guard of French and English troops after his release from the Emperor’s custody. That time he had thanked them graciously and rejected the proposal to exchange one set of jailers for another, preferring, as he said, to rely on the help of God and his own little body of loyal soldiers.

“I have no fears for my personal safety,” he said gently, “But I have responsibilities greater than any debt I owe to any earthly King. Now, as to the divorce commission: an Italian must sit with Cardinal Wolsey, to make sure the judgment is impartial.”

He returned to his thoughts. True, the war was going against Charles and the Empire. Clement had a mental image of the tall, cynical King of France parceling up his Italian possessions, on the excuse that he had failed to accommodate his ally, the English King...Francis, Henry and Charles. They were all at his throat, all equally untrustworthy and unscrupulous; absolute monarchs who regarded him as little better than a petty Italian Prince with certain advantageous religious powers which could be turned to their purposes. Which one to choose; which one to trust with the security of the Church in Europe...God help me, Clement prayed, as he talked to the two English envoys, God guide me. Not just for myself, I’m mortal and all men die; but for my Church and all my people. I must have borrowed strength since I’ve none left of my own, but whose lance will shelter me without turning into my back?

He raised his head and looked from one man to the other.

He might have trusted England and, once he had her word, felt safe...But he would never be safe with Francis. Francis was cynical and worldly beyond belief; his goal was power. Francis was worse than that strange, fanatical man Charles, King of Spain and head of the Empire. Charles wanted power too, but there was a vein of orthodoxy in him which might be united to his ambitions.

Foxe and Gardiner were both waiting, sitting a little forward on the edges of their chairs.

“We will meet again in a few days’ time, gentlemen,” Clement said, and I shall have two Cardinals with me to discuss the details in full.”

When the envoys had gone, pages helped the Pope descend from the throne. Slowly, leaning on one of the boys’ shoulders, Clement crossed to a side door set in the tapestry wall. The other page went ahead, holding a lighted taper, and the Pope walked to the still magnificence of the Sistine Chapel to kneel alone before the glorious high altar and pray that the Divine gift of infallibility might work once more through his feeble agency and direct his decision about the divorce of the King of England.

Sir Henry Norreys, Gentleman of the Bedchamber to the King, walked quickly down the gallery leading to Henry’s private sitting-room. The gallery was filled with people as usual, sitting in the window seats, talking and laughing and leaning out. Some of them called to Norreys as he passed; he was a handsome, popular young man with an easy wit and a gallant reputation, and, like most of the men with whom Henry surrounded himself, he was a keen sportsman. His great friend Sir William Brereton looked up from a book of love poems he was reading to one of Queen Catherine’s ladies who was perched on a window seat, giggling, and mocked Norreys for hurrying.

“You’ve grown fast feet, Hal; who’s the fair quarry this time?”

Norreys laughed. “No woman. Will. I’m on duty today and I’m going to the King. He’s sent for Master Wolsey.”

Twelve months ago no one would have dared refer to the Cardinal by that nickname in public. But Norreys knew and so did everyone in the gallery that Wolsey’s star was sinking; the day before, Dr. Foxe had returned from Rome, and judging by the King’s smile and Anne’s gaiety, he brought good news.

A few moments later Norreys had disappeared behind the velvet curtain that screened Henry’s room from the public view.

“The Cardinal is on his way here, Your Grace,” he announced.

Henry was standing by the open window, one hand on Anne’s shoulder. Norreys saluted her, thinking how small she looked beside the King’s great height. He was becoming heavier, and no amount of exercise undid the results of his enormous appetite. Looking at Anne, Norreys marveled. She was as slim as a reed, but he had often waited on them both at supper and seen her eat and drink with the capacity of a man. Nothing improved the King’s appetite more than watching his mistress enjoying the food, and he often sat back, watching her and laughing.

She smiled at Norreys and twisted her fingers through Henry’s. She liked Norreys; he admired her and she knew it; they often joked together in the King’s presence.

“You’re out of breath,” she remarked. “I only hope the Cardinal bestirs himself as quickly about the King’s business as you do.”

“He’s coming as fast as his short legs can carry him, Madame,” Norreys answered, and a noise in the gallery outside confirmed the words.

When Wolsey entered, the King sent his gentleman away, and the curtain fell behind him, leaving the three of them alone.

“Your Grace,” Wolsey said, and his voice was unsteady. As he knelt he saw the hem of a green velvet dress trailing beside the King’s feet, and his eyes lifted to the oval face and the large dark eyes; the heavy lids closed over them for a second, and the hostility was gone.

“Madame,” he said. Henry was smiling and gruff, a sign that he was pleased, and she was leaning idly against him. If he hadn’t seen her expression as he knelt before the King, Wolsey might have trusted her smile and her greeting.

“We’re pleased to see you, Thomas,” Henry said. “Aren’t we, sweetheart?” He pressed her shoulder gently, urging her to receive the Cardinal well. He was happy and full of hope, and he was generous at that moment to the man who had served him so well in the past, and was so pathetically eager to do so in the future. He wished Anne to be generous too.

“Nothing could please me more,” she said graciously.

“Come, Thomas, let us sit down. I have good news to tell you.”

Henry eased himself into a tall oak chair, and the Cardinal hesitated.

“Take the stool, my Lord,” Anne suggested. “I sit by the King.” And she balanced on the arm of Henry’s chair, with her arm round his shoulder.

“I sit by the King.” It might not have been a jibe at his expense; in any case Henry didn’t see it. Wolsey ignored the remark and kept his eyes on Henry’s face.

“Dr. Foxe came straight to me from Rome,” the King began. “In our anxiety to hear his news, we sent for him in person, rather than wait while he made his report to you. There’s no slight intended to you, Thomas.”

Henry felt her stiffen against him as he made his attempt to salve what was left of Wolsey’s pride. She’d be angry and upbraid him for it, but that was only a woman’s pettiness. He patted her knee and continued.

“Foxe has accomplished the mission you set him. The Pope has granted all our requests and ordered a commission to try the divorce in London.”

“Thanks be to God!” the Cardinal exclaimed. His heart was jumping with relief. The Pope had listened, then; his letter and his envoys had opened the way to Henry’s marriage. He
must
regain his favor as a result; even she couldn’t show enmity toward him now...

“He gave a written order, Sire?”

Henry laughed joyfully. “He did indeed. And the thanks are due to you, Thomas. I told Nan we could depend on you. Sweetheart, get the paper and show it to Thomas.”

She moved to an oak cabinet which stood by the window and took a thick document out of a drawer. He recognized the heavy Papal seal hanging on a thread of purple ribbon. He rose and thanked her, and asked Henry’s permission to read it by the window where the light helped his eyes.

Wolsey’s back was half turned toward them as he unfolded the paper and began to read. Henry held out his hand to Anne, and squeezed her fingers affectionately. They waited, smiling at each other until Wolsey turned round and came toward them.

“Well?” Henry asked triumphantly.

The Cardinal held the Pope’s commission in his hands and hoped they wouldn’t notice they were trembling.

“It is everything we could desire,” he said. “Foxe and Gardiner are to be commended indeed.”

“I knew you’d be pleased,” the King remarked. “Even I could see that they’d succeeded. Now, Nan, my love, the time of waiting’ll soon be over.”

“Not soon enough to please me,” she retorted. It was not the answer Henry expected, and he frowned. She was carping because he had thanked Wolsey, and God damn it, it was Wolsey who had planned the approach to Rome. Anne saw the frown, and immediately she looked at the Cardinal standing before them and smiled.

“Forgive my impatience, my Lord,” she explained sweetly, “my love for His Grace is a cruel goad...I am deeply indebted to you for your help and I only pray that I can find a way to show my gratitude one day.”

“Madame, your pleasure is my reward,” the Cardinal answered. The King was in a good humor again; he was pleased that there was a sign of amity between them. It might yet be possible to trust his old Minister again if Anne trusted him and stopped sowing suspicions in his mind...

“May I take the paper and study it further, Sire?”

“Take it, take it, Thomas. We will see you in the great hall this evening.”

Cromwell, the Cardinal’s secretary, was waiting for him in the gallery. He had been standing at a proper distance from the curtained doorway, feeling ill at ease as usual among the groups of chattering courtiers. He hated the nobility with a slow, unwavering hatred. In their presence he was always made aware of his clumsy hands and feet and his unpolished manners. During the Cardinal’s interview he had stood in the gallery and been ignored.

He walked back at his master’s side, but neither spoke until they left the gallery and passed into the empty anteroom leading to the great hall and the courtyard.

“What is the news? The rumors are flying that the Pope’s granted a commission,” he murmured.

“The rumors are right as usual and wrong as usual,” Wolsey answered slowly.

“This is the commission, Tom, and in law it’s worth less than the paper it’s written on. The King didn’t see through it and I dared not disillusion him.”

For a moment Cromwell said nothing; Wolsey’s pace had slowed to a dragging walk.

“Foxe and Gardiner!” he burst out. “Fools, thinking they could outwit Clement! Merciful God, I should have gone myself...But I was afraid, afraid to leave him to that night crow again after what met me when I returned from France.”

“What will you do?” Cromwell asked at last.

Wolsey looked at him; his face was gray and the eyes were sunken.

“God help me, Tom, but at this moment I don’t know. But if I’m going to keep my head, I’ll have to think of something.”

“I knew that wretch was not to be trusted!” Anne stopped pacing the floor of her room at Greenwich and swung round on her brother. George Boleyn leaned in his favorite position by the open fireplace, watching his sister who was pale and shivering with anger.

“Which wretch, the Pope or Wolsey?” he asked.

“Both of them! But especially Wolsey. Oh, God, I warned Henry he was false, and now it’s been proved again. The commission is insufficient, he says, it still leaves the power of final decision to the Pope, whatever the Cardinals decide here! He lied and dodged for a few weeks while we deceived ourselves, and then he comes forward with this. Oh, he made little of it, of course, but it just means we’re no more certain of the divorce than before.”

“Perhaps he was afraid to tell you sooner,” George suggested. “He’s no fool and he must have known when he first examined the documents, but at least he was honest enough to admit it in the end.”

“Good Jesus,” she said bitterly. “Don’t tell me you’re defending him as well. That’s what the King said when I pointed it out to him. ‘Have patience, sweet, he’s going to send to Rome for a decretal defining the powers of the commission beyond any doubt,’ Gardiner’s starting off again...Patience! How easy for him to say patience to me...”

“Calm yourself, Nan,” her brother begged. “You’re overwrought. It’s no use raging, it won’t hurry matters. And don’t accuse me of defending anyone but you.”

Immediately her face softened, and she came to him, and leaned gratefully within the circle of his arm.

“Forgive me, I didn’t meant to spit at you. You just don’t know how difficult it is, how wearing, always being with the King, amusing him, holding him off, waiting, waiting for the time when at least I’ll be secure...”

“He loves you,” George comforted. “No man could have given you greater proof, and everything depends on your keeping that love. For God’s sake, don’t snap at him, however you feel.”

“I know,” she said wearily. “But it’s a hard fight, George, far harder than I imagined, and I’m only a woman after all, fighting the Pope, and the Emperor, and Wolsey, and all my enemies here. Not to mention the Queen.”

“The Queen’s no match for you,” he answered. “And he hardly ever sees or speaks to her now.”