The Lady in the Tower (41 page)

I do not think my spirits had ever been so low as they were on that occasion. I saw the fear in Henry's face. He was still sufficiently under the influence of Rome to dread that threat.

“He would not dare,” I said.

“He has the Emperor behind him.”

“He has always had the Emperor behind him. That is the reason why we are as we are.”

“Excommunication,” murmured Henry. I knew what he was thinking. There had been one occasion when a King of England had suffered this at the hands of a Pope. It had plunged the country into tumult; indeed, it had been one of the most disastrous periods of King John's disastrous reign. Although the new religion which had been started by men like Martin Luther and William Tyndale was being discussed with interest throughout the country, there were still many who regarded the Pope as the Vicar of Christ and who might well turn against the King if that dreaded sentence were carried out.

I feared that even for me the King would not lay himself open to a threat of excommunication.

I said boldly: “So the Pope is still your master.”

He clenched his fist. “Marry, God forbid it,” he said. “I'll not endure this. There must be a way out, Anne. I swear I'll find it.”

I put my arms about his neck and held him closely to me.

“Yes,” I said, “we'll find a way. You'll ignore this threat?”

He nodded. “They must come up with an answer soon.”

Would they? I wondered. Was there an answer? My uneasiness was increasing hourly.

For a time no more was said of the possibility of excommunication. It may have been that the Pope's agents, who were everywhere and would have a good idea of the state of affairs throughout Europe, realized that, if the King were cut off from Rome through excommunication, he might turn to Lutherism. These ideas were spreading with a speed which must have seemed alarming. Books might be banned but that did not prevent their being smuggled into various countries. Although the King had always supported the religion of Rome—was he not Defender of the Faith?— he was adamant about this matter of the divorce, and excommunication in the circumstances could be a double-edged weapon.

As an act of defiance he took me everywhere with him. Sometimes I rode beside him, my horse caparisoned in royal fashion; I even rode pillion with him.

I shall always remember riding through the sullen crowds as we came into London. The people did not cheer him, because I was with him. A man shouted an insult to me and the King ordered his arrest.

He had always enjoyed the people's acclaim and never lost sight of its importance; he had always gone to great lengths to seek popularity; but at the same time they must know who was master; and if he wanted to ride into his capital with me sharing his horse he would do so.

But he did not like it; nor did I… perhaps less than he did. It struck fear into my heart. He might wake up to the fact that it was I who was turning his people's love away from him. The years were passing. I was getting older. How long? I continually asked myself. How long?

Wolsey was still a source of anxiety. I could quite well imagine his returning to power. If the King were to repudiate me… then everything would be as it had been before… friendship with the Pope and the Emperor. And the divorce—for Henry was bent on that? As well as his obsession with me was that of getting a male child, which he believed he could never do with Katharine. Then Wolsey would negotiate marriage with some foreign princess, and Anne Boleyn could fend for herself. That was a continual nightmare, even though the King showed no sign of swerving from his devotion to me; but it was there, a niggling thought at the back of my mind even when I was riding in pomp beside him.

I knew that Henry thought of Wolsey often, and he was well aware how I hated and distrusted the Cardinal; but Sir Henry Norris, who was my very good friend, told me that, when Norfolk and Suffolk had taken the Great Seal from Wolsey and found much pleasure in doing so, Wolsey had been ordered to Esher.

He took his barge to Putney, from where he would go by mule to Esher; and thinking of him, the King was overcome with pity, for he knew that Wolsey's enemies would be assembled to jeer at him on his way.

So the King called Norris to him and gave him a ring which contained a rich ruby. Wolsey would know the ring well, for he had seen it on the King's finger. Norris was to give the ring to Wolsey and tell him to be of good cheer, and wear it for love of the King.

Norris, telling me, said: “It was a most affecting scene. Wolsey was like a man reprieved from the scaffold. I shall never forget his face when he saw the King's ring. I do believe he thought that his troubles were over. He believed that, if only he could get to the King, talk to him, explain so much to him, tell him that all his wealth had been accumulated that he might leave it to the King, all would be well.”

Norris went on: “He took a chain and cross from his neck and gave it to me. ‘Take this from my hand, good Norris,’ he said. I was deeply touched,
as any man must be to see this once-great man now brought low, and hope come flowing back because of the kindness of the King. The King truly loved Wolsey. So did Comus, Wolsey's Fool. Comus was one of the best of Fools. One could be sure Wolsey would have the best of everything. He said to me then, ‘Take my Fool and give him into the King's care. Tell him I loved the man and mayhap that will endear him to the Fool.’ Then he said to Comus, ‘Come here, Fool. You are to have a place at Court.’ And do you know, the man begged Wolsey not to send him. He wanted to stay with his master. He wanted no other … not even the King.”

“You speak most affectingly of him, Sir Henry,” I said.

“It was a scene never to be forgotten. The Fool would not go and Wolsey called several yeomen to drag him away. I felt I was taking away a man in chains. And I said farewell to Wolsey and he went on to Esher.”

“Where I believe he found no warm welcome waiting for him.”

“A cold house without furniture…or plate or goblets. Poor Wolsey! How are the mighty fallen!”

And, I thought, so must he remain.

That Christmas the Cardinal was very ill.

I remember the news being brought to Henry when I was with him. Norris told him and I saw the concern in the King's face. Perhaps he felt a twinge of that conscience which was ever ready to be aroused—though usually at his bidding. However, this was a genuine twinge.

“How sick is he, Norris?” he asked.

“They say sick unto death.”

“I will send Dr. Butts to him without delay.”

This he did, and when Dr. Butts returned, he summoned him and wanted to know how the Cardinal fared.

“Tell me,” he said, “have you seen yonder man?”

“I have, Your Grace.”

“And how do you like him?”

“Your Grace, if you will have him dead, I warrant you that he will be dead in four days if he does not receive comfort from you.”

“Marry, God forbid that he should die,” cried Henry. “I would not lose him for £20,000.”

“Then must Your Grace send him some comforting message.”

“That I will do by you, good Butts.” He took a ring from his finger. “He will know this ring,” he went on, “for he gave it to me. Tell him that I am not offended with him in my heart for anything and bid him be of good cheer.”

“That will I do, Your Grace, and great good will it do him.” Dr. Butts looked at me significantly. Wolsey had probably told him that I was his enemy and that it was due to me that he had been brought low.

Henry intercepted the glance and understood it. “Good sweetheart,” he said, “As you love me, send the Cardinal a token at my request, and so doing you shall deserve our thanks.”

There was nothing I could do but obey when the King was in such a mood, so I unlinked a gold tablet which I wore at my waist and gave it to Dr. Butts and asked him to convey my wishes to the Cardinal for a speedy recovery.

The King's eyes were glistening with sentiment. He took my hand and kissed it.

And Dr. Butts went back to Wolsey with the tokens.

They were evidently effective, for within a few days Wolsey had left his bed.

I could see no way out of the maze in which we were caught up. Things grew worse instead of better.

Clement and the Emperor were now on good terms. Peace had been reached; the Pope was back in Rome; and Charles had received the crown of the Holy Roman Empire which was a symbol of unity between the Church and the States of Europe.

It was clear to me that we were never going to get papal approval for the divorce.

Then came a glimmer of hope from an unexpected quarter.

Henry's two chief agents who had been working assiduously for a settlement—his secretary Gardiner and his almoner Fox—happened to be staying at the house of a certain Mr. Cressy at Waltham Abbey. Mr. Cressy had two sons, both scholars who had been at the university with a certain Thomas Cranmer, and this Cranmer happened to be staying at the Cressys’ house, on a visit to his friends.

Cranmer was a man of about forty. We learned that he was a brilliant scholar who had taken degrees of B.A. and M.A. with great distinction and had become a fellow of Jesus College. He married, and this could have called a halt to his career at the college, but so that this should not be unduly interrupted, he sent his wife to live at an inn in Cambridge which was run by a relative of hers. There he used to go to see her until, about a year after the marriage, she died in childbirth. He was then re-elected to a fellowship. So, unencumbered, his career progressed and he was at this
time one of the university's public examiners in Theology. It was only to be expected that, on the arrival of Gardiner and Fox, there should be a great deal of lively conversation, and the topic which was uppermost in the minds of most people at this time was the divorce.

Few men knew as much about this intricate matter as Gardiner and Fox, and Cranmer listened intently to what they had to say.

“There will be a very long delay if the King pursues this matter through the courts of Rome,” said Cranmer.

I could imagine the scene. The two men who had traveled extensively and talked endlessly in this search for a solution, to be confronted by a fellow who could not know very much about the affair.

“What the King needs,” went on Cranmer, “is sufficient assurance that his marriage is invalid—notwithstanding the dispensation. He then might take the responsibility of marrying again at once. He ought therefore to take the opinions of the divines of the universities and act accordingly.”

The two agents looked at him incredulously.

“To act against the Emperor!”

“As I see it,” said Cranmer, “the King does not need Rome. He just needs the assurance of the divines that his marriage is invalid.”

“You take a simple view of a complicated matter,” said Fox.

“The solution to most matters is found to be simple when one knows what it is,” replied Cranmer with a smile.

Then the matter was apparently dropped, but both Gardiner and Fox pondered what Cranmer had said and when they were next in the company of the King they mentioned it to him.

I was present at the time, so I saw what effect those words had on the King.

He was quiet for a second or two; then he crashed his fist down on the table. “By God,” he cried, “that man hath the right sow by the ear!” He turned to Fox and Gardiner. “Where is he? Bring him to me. I would see him without delay.”

Within hours Thomas Cranmer was at Greenwich.

The King talked for a long time with him and his mood changed. He saw hope through Thomas Cranmer.

Cranmer was made much of and taken into my father's household, where he was given a very comfortable apartment. He was to write a treatise on the matter and then to return to Cambridge to give a lecture in which he would persuade the learned divines to give their vote in the King's favor.

There followed months of preparations. It was necessary that the divines, not only in England but in the whole of Europe, should give the right answer. This involved a great deal of money for the expenses of journeys and also for bribes and promises of favors to come.

All through those months Henry labored. He was sure that we were working in the right direction now. If he could get the approval of the divines, he would dispense with that of the Pope.

Finally he had all the information he needed. He summoned the clergy and the nobles; he wanted their seal on the document he was sending to the Pope. It was amazing that some of them had the courage to refuse. There was Bishop Fisher and Sir Thomas More among the leaders of the opposition. If the King married without the approval of the Pope, they pointed out, the succession would be in danger.

If they did not agree, thundered Henry, he would find some other form of redress.

They were uneasy. I knew what the King had in mind. There was that man who had recently come into prominence—a very clever and artful fellow—a man of the people whom the King heartily disliked personally but who, he had to admit, had clever ideas. This was, of course, Thomas Cromwell—said to be the son of a blacksmith, who had risen high through his cunning. He had made an extraordinary suggestion which Henry could not forget. Since the Pope would not grant what the King wanted, why did not Henry make himself Head of the Church of England, which would mean that he could have his own way in the matter of the divorce—besides bringing many other advantages with it. Why this adherence to the Pope, a foreigner? It was obvious that the Pope regarded himself as the King's master. Had he not recently summoned him to Rome?

Henry had been obsessed with the idea ever since he heard it.

And now he was incensed because some members of the clergy and the nobility hesitated to sign his petition to the Pope.

They wanted discussion on the matter, they said.

“Delay, delay,” cried Henry. “Procrastination. By God's Holy Mother, I have had enough of it.”

He knew that their talk of discussion was just another example of those delaying tactics which was the method of all who feared to bring the matter to a conclusion.

He sent commissioners to the houses of all those who hesitated over giving their signatures, and it was made known to these dilatory men that if they did not sign they would lose the King's favor.