Doomed Queen Anne (13 page)

Perhaps it was my own frailty that caused me to respond as I did. My gaze drifted from my sister to the two children playing nearby The little girl, Catherine, looked much like her mother. As for the boy, I could have sworn that I saw the likeness of the king in the sturdy little fellow. This ignited the old jealousy that had smoldered since childhood.

“This is none of my affair,” I said coldly. “I cannot help you.”

If I had expected tears, or pleading for the children’s sake, or promises to repay me, I was entirely wrong. Mary erupted in a rage. “You!” she cried so loudly that both children stopped in their little game and stared at us, mouths agape. “You have always been the most selfish of women! You cannot use lack of money as an excuse not to help your own needful sister, for I know that you are the king’s mistress, as I once was, and I know that he has showered you with gifts of great value, as he once did me. But I’ve had to sell most of those gifts for a small part of their worth to pay my husband’s debts and now to care for my fatherless children. Yet you have so little true feeling in your heart that you refuse to help your own good sister who suffers in the most direful need!”

Her words incensed me. “For shame, Mary! You dare speak to me like that? You traded your virtue and your reputation for pretty jewels and boasted that the king named a ship for you! The wonder is that your poor husband put up with you for all that time.”

For a moment I thought she was going to slap me, as she often had when we were children. But the rage vanished as quickly as it had come, and my sister threw herself at my feet, sobbing as though her heart were breaking. “But I loved him! I loved him more than you could ever understand, for your heart is made of ice!”

Her fervor surprised me. “You speak of William Carey?”

“I speak of King Henry! I adored him for the man that he is, and I gave myself to him out of the love that overflowed my heart. Not like you. Nan! You want to marry the king only to become queen—
not because you love him!”

Her words cut me to the quick. “You are wrong, Mary,” I said quietly. “I love him well.” My hands dropped limply into my lap. “And the child?” I asked, nodding toward the boy who stood at a little distance, staring at his mother. “Who is the father?”

“I know not,” she whispered. “My husband was Will Carey, but the man I loved was King Henry. Both made claims upon me.”

Overcome with remorse at my harsh words, I reached out my arms, and the child moved slowly toward me, thoughtfully chewing his lip.

“Come, my poppet,” I coaxed. “Let us find the cook and see if she has a sweet confit for you.” The boy looked at me searchingly for a moment, then placed his hand in mine. Little Henry made his decision and came away with me. As he did so, I turned to my sister. “Of course, I will help you, Mary,” I said. “And your children as well.”

KING HENRY RETURNED from his country manor, where he had escaped the perils of the sweating sickness, and called me to join him. Our reunion was a joyous one, as he had promised, and there were more pretty gifts: silver bindings for my favorite books. True to my promise to Mary, I asked the king to make me the guardian of little Henry Carey, and he willingly granted my request.

King Henry seemed more high-spirited than ever, brimming with confidence that soon he would be rid of his wife, the queen, by action of the pope or of the pope’s representative, Campeggio, and we would soon be wed. The king was so certain of the validity of his claim that he refused to consider that he might lose.

With the queen away from court at her manor house in Hertfordshire, the king no longer felt any constraint in publicly showing his great affection for me. We were constantly in each other’s company, exchanging kisses and fond touches and endearments. To amuse ourselves, we exchanged love notes in the chapel royal during the Mass. Henry passed me his book of hours, where he had written on a blank page.

If you remember my love in your prayers as strongly as I adore you, I shall hardly be forgotten. I am yours forever. HR

Before the Mass had ended, I added my own lines and returned the book to the king.

By daily proof you shall me find

To be to you both loving and kind.

On those occasions when we were apart for even a few days, the king wrote me passionate letters expressing his longing for me. Our happy future seemed almost close enough to grasp.

I was even in a mood to forgive my archenemy, Wolsey, should he bring the matter of the king’s annulment to a speedy and happy conclusion. Perhaps it would mean a happy ending even for Catherine, who could withdraw to a convent and spend her life in contemplation and prayer, a role that suited her far better than being wife to a man like King Henry VIII!

AT LAST WE RECEIVED word that Cardinal Campeggio was on his way from Rome by way of Paris. Soon all would be settled. To avoid any accusation of impropriety from this Italian prelate, my mother and I withdrew to Hever, where I would occupy myself in planning the royal wedding. I had to order my gown and choose the designs for the maids and pages who would attend me. There were many other details: the list of guests; the banquets; the arrangements for the chapel royal, where Cardinal Wolsey himself would celebrate the Mass!

But after a few weeks at Hever, I received a visit from George. “Dear Nan,” he said, “I urge you to return to London at once. It is apparent to me that, without your presence, the king loses determination. His advisers, particularly Wolsey, urge him to find an easier course, and I fear that he may come to agree.”

My mood of forgiveness toward Wolsey vanished. I could well imagine the chancellor’s advice to King Henry:
Think of Princess Renée! A marriage with her would strengthen our ties with France, and the princess is just as able as Lady Anne to provide the sons you need!

“We are returning to London,” I informed my mother, and within days we had taken up residence at Bridewell Palace.

When the king did not come to me at once, I began to fret that Wolsey’s poisonous advice was having its effect. Worry shortened my temper and roughened my tongue. “I rarely see you!” I complained on one of the infrequent occasions when the king dared to visit me. “What way is this to treat the woman you wish to marry?”

“Ah, sweetheart mine, have patience, I beg you!” the king implored. “We must behave properly so long as Campeggio lurks about, his ear filled with the pleadings of the queen and her supporters.”

And your ears filled with Wolsey’s!
I fumed silently. “Can you not put a stop to those pleadings?” I cried. “Are you not the king? Have you no say in this matter?”

My intemperate words took King Henry by surprise, and I saw that I had gone too far. “Enough!” he roared. “I will put up with no more of your complaints, madam.”

The king’s fierce temper was well-known. I had often witnessed its power when he unleashed it against a clumsy courtier or a hapless servant. But this was the first time I had felt the heat of it directed at me, and it frightened me. I fell immediately to my knees, begging forgiveness, claiming that it was only my love for him and my desire to be his wife that had given my tongue such sharpness. He forgave me, but I quickly realized two things: The king’s will could be easily undermined by others, and I’d best keep a tight rein on my own temper, for the king’s patience with me clearly had its limits.

CARDINAL CAMPEGGIO did not convene the tribunal to hear the king’s case until the end of May—nine months after his arrival in England. Again King Henry urged me to return to Hever, for the sake of propriety. I was reluctant to leave him, but I dared not refuse.

I heard about the queen’s dramatic appearance before the tribunal not from King Henry, but from my brother, who had been in a position to observe. “Queen Catherine was present,” George reported, “as was the king, who sat on a great throne. The queen defended herself so well from the king’s accusations that her supporters—and she has a great many—cheered her with enthusiasm.”

“It matters not in the least what Catherine’s supporters want,” I reminded him. “The tribunal will decide.”

CHAPTER 11: In the Queen’s Place, 1529-1530

As Nell was helping me dress, King Henry burst into my apartments. His face was red, and a great purple vein throbbed in his temple.

“Your Majesty!” I cried, hurrying to cover my silken shift with a velvet robe. “What is it?”

“Campeggio has adjourned the tribunal without making a decision, and Pope Clement has called the case back to Rome!” he thundered. “Wolsey has failed me after all.”

King Henry will lose his case
, I thought, my legs growing so weak they could scarcely support me.
Perhaps he has already lost it.

“The pope thinks that he is mightier than the king of England!” he roared. “But he is wrong!

Wrong!
I bow to no man, least of all to the pope!” King Henry grasped me roughly by the shoulders. “By Saint George, I will not stand for it, Anne! I will break my ties with Rome. I will seize the power and the responsibility that has been mine all along: I will become head of the Church in England, and I will be the one who decides the rules!”

Before I could reply to this stunning announcement, the king stamped out of my apartments as abruptly as he had come in, slamming the door so hard that the window glass rattled.

A FEW DAYS AFTER this royal outburst, the king proved his determination. He invited me to accompany him on summer progress. I would ride in the queen’s place! In recognition of my new role in the king’s public life, he sent me an elegant traveling costume, as well as a new saddle, a jeweled harness, and trappings for my palfrey in black velvet fringed with silk and gold. I rejoiced at this turn in my life.

How magnificent King Henry looked on the day we left! He sat tall astride his great stallion, the morning sun sparkling on the jewels stitched to his doublet. How much I loved him! And it was clear that the king’s love for me was increasing day by day. He couldn’t bear to be away from me.

Yet I couldn’t stop worrying. My future was far from secure. King Henry had said no more about his determination to be the one to decide the rules, and I was surrounded on all sides by people who wished me ill, chief among them Cardinal Wolsey. The uncertainty of my position gnawed at me.

The days passed pleasantly despite my worries, until we arrived at Grafton, one of the royal hunting lodges. There I learned that our guests would include the hateful Wolsey.

I could not forget that Wolsey had robbed me of my first love, Hal Percy. If the king had not yet resolved to rid himself of this incompetent chancellor, then I would convince him of what he must do and strengthen his will to do it. I was just as stubborn as Catherine and just as determined to have King Henry as my husband.

The king made it known that he wished to have private conversations with his adviser of many years, and I was not included. But I needed to learn how the king would deal with the man who had failed him. After the two had shut themselves in the king’s chambers, I found a bench beneath an open window. From there I easily overheard Cardinal Wolsey s contemptuous words: “Must you persist in this folly, my lord? Once you have attained the annulment, it will be a simple matter to find you a royal bride more suitable than the lady Anne.”

I gasped. How dare he! I waited to hear the king’s response, his ringing praise of me, but King Henry said only, “The lady Anne will be a fit wife for me.” That was all! The king, who claimed he loved me, had only
that
to say to the cardinal? I was hurt, and I was furious.

The talk then shifted to other matters in which I had no interest. As I moved away from the window, trembling with rage, I vowed.
If my future husband will not fight for me, then I must fight for myself.

THAT SAME DAY I arranged a dinner for King Henry in my own chambers (I had brought with me several of my finest tapestries, my most luxurious cushions, my best bed-curtains and coverlets to make the rude hunting lodges more to my liking). Wolsey was not invited.

As we dined, I said carefully, “The cardinal has managed your Great Matter quite poorly, has he not, my lord?” (This was how the king referred to his efforts to rid himself of the old queen.)

“Yes, yes, sweetheart, you are right,” he muttered.

I pressed harder. “In truth, his miserable efforts amount to a betrayal of yourself, do they not, my lord?”

The king glanced at me. “Betrayal? Perhaps.”

“Perhaps, then, sir, it would be well to find a new chancellor. One who can bring about a happy end to it.

“That is my decision. Lady Anne!” he said sharply. Recognizing his rising anger, I retreated from the subject.

Determined to keep the king apart from his chancellor until I could find a way to persuade King Henry to get rid of him, I devised a plan. The next day I suggested a ride to a new deer park “so that I may try out my hunting bow.” Then I arranged to end the hunt with a feast, and after we were done eating and drinking, I called for Nell to bring my harp, that I might entertain the king with a song, or two or three. Thus I contrived to fill the time so that when we returned to our lodgings at day’s end the cardinal had departed.

I was not the only one who hated Wolsey. For weeks, Wolsey s enemies filled the king’s ear with complaints against this greedy butcher’s son who’d used the king’s favor to amass a fortune, this churchman who was known to have fathered illegitimate children. At last, the king reached his own conclusions. Late in October, in a noisy scene in his privy chambers that I was sorry to have missed but which was reported to me by my brother, the king angrily dismissed his chancellor and ordered charges brought against him.

In an attempt to placate his master, Wolsey surrendered nearly all of his property: York Place and its priceless furnishings, including sixteen beautifully carved beds with dozens of mattresses stuffed with the finest wool; Hampton Court and its magnificent tapestries, cupboards filled with gold plate, tables laden with candelabra. My mother and I accompanied the king to admire these vast riches that now belonged to King Henry—and would soon belong to me.