This Scepter'd Isle (53 page)

Admiration was always a path to Anne's regard, which was why her relationships were nearly always with men, but this time it fixed her attention on Lady Margaret. The least clever of the Wyatt family, Margaret was only barely pretty in a pallid way, which also made her acceptable to dark and vivid Anne. And, as Margaret was disposed to continue to admire, to listen and agree with Anne's opinions, she soon became necessary to Anne.

In like manner, Aleneil, under the guise of Lady Alana FitzWilliam, distant kinswoman of Sir William FitzWilliam, treasurer of Henry's household, became the attached friend and companion of Lady Margaret. Lady Alana was even plainer than her mistress. Although her features were neat and pleasant, she had a sallow complexion and muddy eyes and hair.

There was simply nothing about Lady Alana that attracted notice; one could look away from her for just a moment and forget her face. However, no one ever forgot Lady Alana's clothing. Her sense of fashion and instinctive knowledge of what color and ornament and what styles would best become her friends soon made her indispensable to both Margaret and Anne. Just at this time, dress was desperately necessary to Anne, who had to balance her somewhat limited purse, her status as the king's acknowledged favorite, and the necessity of looking at one and the same time interesting, magnificent, and never tawdry.

Thus Aleneil was admitted to an inner, inner circle free of any influence except Anne's will and pleasure. She said little for some time, confining her conversation and advice to the color and fit of Anne's gowns. However, after Cranmer and others left to obtain opinions on the king's marriage at various universities, Aleneil managed to introduce, somewhere between the placement of silver lace and the cloth-of-gold stomacher, a book by William Tyndale—who had been exiled for his translation of the New Testament into English. The book was called
The Obedience of the Christian Man and How Christian Rulers Ought to Govern
.

Anne only glanced at the book cursorily until she realized from what Lady Alana was saying in her soft, apologetic voice, that
The Obedience of Christian Man
set out to prove that a king governed by divine right; thus, the ruler was answerable only to God. The pope had no power over a monarch and there could be no distinction between the clergy and the laity. Church affairs and temporal affairs were all under the sole control of the king.

When Aleneil left to accompany Lady Margaret home, she no longer had the book. When and where it came into Henry's hands Aleneil never asked, but by the late summer of 1530 he had thoroughly absorbed the ideas. These theoretical notions found a more solid basis in the
Collectanea satis copiosa,
put together from the opinions Cranmer had garnered in Europe. The collection of scriptural, patristic, and historical arguments justified Henry taking into his own hands his matrimonial affairs. What the
Collectanea
offered Henry was the demonstration that he was already head of the Church, all he had to do was behave as such. The question that remained was how.

Aleneil devised Anne's New Year gown for the beginning of 1531, a magnificent affair of crimson-colored velvet embroidered in gold and trimmed in sable. Her hair, loose and flowing to her hips, was a glistening shadow against the vivid gown, moving as if it had a life of its own. Aleneil felt there could be no doubt from the king's reaction that he was still and even more enslaved, but Anne's wit rang brittle and Henry's laughter was overloud.

In private after the feast, Lady Margaret burst into tears, fearing that her idol had fallen at last. Aleneil comforted her; she did not believe that anything was wrong between the lovers. In fact, she assured Margaret, the way they touched and watched each other implied that they were planning together something important . . . and uncertain.

What that was soon became apparent. Parliament and a Convocation of the Church were summoned for the second and third weeks in January. The entire court knew that Henry planned to extort a substantial sum from the Church to relieve his ever-present financial need. There was no surprise about the demand and no doubt about the response. To avoid various prosecutions for their involvement in Wolsey's schemes, the Convocation quickly offered a hundred thousand pounds.

To the relief of the prelates, the amount was accepted. The pardon that was offered, however, was a shock. It was not a pardon for involvement in Wolsey's crimes; it was a general pardon for the illegal exercise of the Church's spiritual authority in the past, and it described Henry as "protector and highest head" of the Church and clergy. Aleneil now understood Anne's and the king's tension—and it was not without cause.

However, the king had the bit well within his teeth and was determined to bolt from the old, well-trodden paths of the relationship between Church and ruler. When the Convocation did not immediately accept this pardon and made protest, Henry sent them another on February seventh. The king had not backed down an inch. Not only was the pardon again for the crime of exercising the Church's authority illegally, but it went even further in describing King Henry as "sole protector and supreme head of the English Church and clergy." It was clear that resistance would not bring compromise, only drive the king to greater radicalism.

Further argument ensued, but the outcome was a foregone conclusion. As a sop to the Convocation, Cromwell, now officially a royal councilor, suggested that Henry allow "so far as the law of Christ allows" to be added to the phrase "sole protector of the English Church and clergy" . . . and it was done. That Henry and clergy read Christ's law far differently did not matter to him at the moment, the first wedge had been driven.

Anne's joy seemed to mount to seventh heaven. She was sure that the king only needed to recall Parliament and they would pass a bill of divorcement. Henry, knowing the English Parliament better, was not so sanguine. Through Cromwell the king soon learned that his own council had broken into violent factions over his claim to be head of the English Church. Until he could pressure them to speak with one voice he would make no further move. He delayed the recall of Parliament from October to the following January.

That news conveyed from Cromwell to Pasgen to Rhoslyn brought from her a sigh of relief. Rhoslyn had not been idle but her efforts produced few results. Maria de Salinas, the queen's favorite lady in waiting, was always eager to pass to Catherine any idea that might forward her cause. But Catherine was not much of a partisan. She
knew
she was right. She had been a clean maiden when she and Henry had wed; thus her marriage was legitimate and God would protect her claim.

Her stubbornness was like a great granite cliff. She clung to her position as queen, regardless of the slights offered her or of Anne's presence. Nothing, neither threats nor promises nor strong urgings from the pope that she retire to a convent, thus protecting her daughter's position, would move her. She was Henry's true wife, she always had been, and always would be. Nothing that a man—even a king—could say would make that untrue.

Even after Henry left her in July 1531 she remained immovable with regard to her position. As late as November of that year she attended state occasions, although she was never allowed into the presence of the king. After a few abortive attempts to offer advice, Rhoslyn realized that her place in the queen's court was essentially useless.

There was no way without bespelling the king—and that was specifically forbidden—that Henry's affection could be drawn back to Catherine. Thus, there was really no point in her dull role as a nun in Maria de Salinas's household. Rhoslyn knew that she and the queen were already at one on the point that there should be no marriage between Anne and Henry.

Their reasons differed: Rhoslyn wanted Anne's child to be a bastard so that no one would care what became of it. Catherine wanted her husband as well as the world to acknowledge the legitimacy of her marriage; she wanted her place as queen back and to ensure that there would be no legitimate rival for the throne to her daughter, Princess Mary. Rhoslyn had no fear that Catherine would weaken under any pressure. She told Maria de Salinas that she had been recalled to her convent and left the queen to her own devices.

Her job there was over. It was time to find a new task.

Lord Denno was a frequent enough visitor to Thomas Boleyn's London residence that he was shepherded into the lower parlor without question. There he loosened the rich, wine-red, sable-lined cloak he wore as he approached the settle and two chairs that flanked the fireplace. A huge fire roared on the hearth and its light blinded him so that he swung the cloak off his shoulders before he realized that the chair closest to the hearth was occupied.

"Good afternoon," he said, bowing slightly, and then more deeply as he recognized the duke of Norfolk and added, "Your Grace, what a pleasure to meet you again."

"Meet me again?" But the querulous tone only lasted until Denoriel had thrown back his hood and exposed his face. "Oh, Lord Denno. Yes it is a long time since we last met." He smiled suddenly. "That was when you delivered to me the fruit of that little speculation of ours into Turkey carpets. Hmmm." He came more erect in his chair and stared at Denoriel. "You haven't by any chance come to offer a similar speculation to Lord Wiltshire?"

Denoriel laughed heartily. "No, I am sorry to say. Truthfully it has been a bad time for carpets. I have lost my workshop. The people were all scattered by a new local conqueror. Until peace is made, there will be no carpets woven for me."

"A social call?" Norfolk's eyebrows went up.

Denoriel Smiled. "Yes and no. After our business is done, likely Lord Rochford and I will continue on to social pleasures, but I do have business with him. One of my ships is in from France and Lord Rochford has an interest in the cargo."

"Ah. You did not think I would be interested? Did I not say you would be welcome to me whenever—" He stopped when he realized Denoriel was shaking his head.

"It was Lord Rochford who came to me with an opportunity for investment," Denoriel said quickly. "He had wind of a cargo of fine wine from Bordeaux but could not hire a ship and was unable to take full advantage of the cargo because of a temporary embarrassment. I offered my ship
Neptune
and to cover any charges he could not meet, and we split the cargo between us. This morning I had news that
Neptune
had come to port, so I sent a message to George, who asked me to meet him here so he could ask his father if he wanted any wine."

"Bordeaux wine?" Norfolk's interest increased. "A good red?"

"Unfortunately I have not yet had a chance to taste it and will not for perhaps a week until it is transported to a stable place and allowed to rest." He smiled when he saw Norfolk's avid gaze. "However, if it is as good as George hopes, would you like some wine, Your Grace?"

"He can't have any," a strong voice said.

Denoriel turned to meet the eyes of Thomas Boleyn, earl of Ormonde and Wiltshire and, more importantly, father of Anne. He was a man of middle height, what could be seen of his hair under his flat velvet cap still dark. His eyes were large and dark also, like his daughter's, but his nose was stronger. Little could be seen of his chin under his beard, and that, unlike his hair was graying.

Nonetheless, Boleyn's shoulders under doublet and gown were still broad. He had been one of Henry's companions during his youth, before Henry's older brother Arthur had died. In those days, Henry's father had been desirous that his younger son be more interested in the pleasures of life than in politics, and Henry's companions had been chosen for their addiction to sport. Thus, Thomas Boleyn had been a champion jouster, a wrestler of note, and a bowman who took many prizes.

Since George was laughing as he walked beside his father and Wiltshire was grinning, Denoriel understood his remark to the duke of Norfolk was a joke. He bowed again to all three and shook his head.

"I beg you gentlemen, do not embroil me in a quarrel with His Grace of Norfolk, who has always been most gracious to me." He made a piteous face. "It is he whom you must convince about the wine, because if he asks it of me, I will give him what he desires."

"Oh, he will yield his share readily enough."

Wiltshire bowed to Norfolk, who had politely stood up to greet him. There was, of course, no need for Norfolk to rise. He still outranked Wiltshire, but Norfolk was not the kind to forget the benefits of being polite to the father of Anne Boleyn.

"Ah," Norfolk said, jocularly, "You know the wine is bad and wish to save me from wasting my money."

"Grace of God," George said. "I hope not! Aside from what it would cost me, it would never do to serve bad wine at the Christmas celebrations."

"Christmas? But that is two months—" Norfolk stopped speaking and nodded. "Yes, I remember. You are in charge of the entertainments. Two months is short enough for making those arrangements." Then he sighed. "I do not envy you."

"Why?" Wiltshire looked suddenly anxious. "Have you heard bad news?"

"No." Norfolk hesitated and then seemed to make a decision. "I hope you will not take this amiss, Wiltshire, and it is no reflection on Anne, but I have been troubled about Christmas. This will be the first for the king without Catherine and his daughter."

"And a fine relief it will be!" George snapped.

"For you. For Anne . . . yes. But for the king? Catherine was like an old shoe, ugly but comfortable." Norfolk was clearly not comfortable with this situation, though he was not about to protest it. "And the king is really very fond of Mary. He will miss her, her music, her adoration, her joy in being with him . . ."

"Anne will keep him busy," Wiltshire said, and then added, "Pardon me, gentlemen, let us all be seated and let me send for some refreshment."

Norfolk dropped back into the chair he had been sitting in, George and Denoriel took the settle, and Wiltshire seated himself in the second chair, after signaling to a servant to bring wine and cakes. When each had a filled glass in hand, Norfolk cleared his throat.