Виктория Холт - The King’s Secret Matter

It was recalled that the Bishop had been one who had worked zealously for the Queen. Now he was only alive because of his frugal appetite, although even he had come close to death. Who would wish to remove the Bishop? The King? He could send the Bishop to the Tower if he wished, merely by giving an order. But there were others.

A cry went up from Smithfield: “We’ll have no Nan Bullen for our Queen. God bless Katharine, Queen of England!”

IN THE CASTLE OF AMPTHILL KATHARINE TRIED TO RETAIN the dignity of a Queen. Her routine was as it had always been. She spent a great deal of time at prayer and at her needlework, reading and conversing with the women she had brought with her and in particular with Maria, the only one in whom she had complete trust; only to Maria did she refer to her troubles, and to the fact that she was separated from the King.

Each day she waited for some news, for she knew that in the world outside Ampthill events were moving quickly towards a great climax.

She could not believe that Henry would dare disobey the Pope; and she was certain that when Clement gave the verdict in her favor, which he must surely do, Henry would be forced to take her back.

She had one desire to which she clung with all the fervor of her nature; only this thing mattered to her now. She had lost Henry’s affection forever; she was fully aware of that. But Mary was the King’s legitimate daughter, and she was determined that she should not be ousted from the succession, no matter what it cost her mother.

“I will sign nothing,” she told Maria. “I will not give way an inch. They can have me murdered in my bed if they will; but I will never admit that I am not truly married to Henry, for to do that would be to proclaim Mary a bastard.”

The great joy of her life was in the letters she received from Mary. What if the final cruelty were inflicted and that joy denied her! How would she endure her life then?

But so far they both had their letters.

Her faithful Thomas Abell had been taken from her when he had published his book, setting forth his views on the divorce. She had warned him that he risked his life, but he cared nothing for that; and when they had come to take him away, he had gone almost gleefully. It was well that he should, he told her, for many would know that he was in the Tower, and why.

News came to Ampthill. The Pope had at last decided to act, and he summoned Henry to Rome to answer Queen Katharine’s appeal; he must, was the Holy Father’s command, appear in person or send a proxy.

Henry’s answer had been to snap his fingers at the Pope. Who was the Pope? he demanded. What had the Pope to do with England? The English Church had severed itself from Rome. There was one Supreme Head of the Church of England (under God) and that was His Majesty King Henry VIII.

This was momentous. This was telling the world that the rumor, that the Church of England was cutting itself free from Rome, was a fact.

But all this was paled by news of her daughter. Margaret Pole was with Mary still, and for that Katharine was grateful; Reginald had been sent to Italy, and Katharine knew that, much as Margaret loved her son, she was relieved that he was out of England, for it was growing increasingly unsafe to be in England and to disagree with the King.

Margaret wrote: “Her Highness the Princess has been ailing since she parted from Your Grace. It has grieved me deeply to watch her. She has had so little interest in life and her appetite is so poor. Constantly she speaks of Your Grace, and I know that if you could be with her she would be well. She has had to take to her bed…”

The Queen could not bear to think of Mary, sick and lonely, longing for her as she herself longed for Mary.

“What harm can we do by being together?” she demanded of Maria. “How dare he make us suffer so! He has his woman. Does our being together prevent that? Why should he be allowed to make us suffer so, merely that he may appease his conscience by telling himself—and others—that I plot against him with my daughter?”

But there was no comfort for Maria to offer her mistress, and at times Katharine came near to hating her husband.

Then she would throw herself on to her knees and pray.

“Forgive me, oh Lord. Holy Mother, intercede for me. He has been led into temptation. He does not understand how he tortures his wife and daughter. He is young…bent on pursuing pleasure, led away by bad counsellors.…”

But was this true? Was he so young? Who was it who had determined that no one should stand in the way of divorce? Who but Henry himself? Once she had blamed Wolsey, but Wolsey was dead, and this persecution persisted and had indeed intensified.

She sat down to write to him, and wrote as only a mother could write who was crying for her child.

“Have pity on us. My daughter is pining for me, and I for her. Do not continue in this cruelty. Let me go to her.”

She sent the letter to him without delay, and then began the weary waiting for his reply.

But the days passed, the weeks passed, and there was no answer from the King.

* * *

STIRRING NEWS came from Court. Sir Thomas More, unable to evade the great issue any longer, had resigned the Chancellorship rather than fall in with the King’s wishes.

Katharine prayed long for Thomas More when she heard that news, prayed for that pleasant family of his who lived so happily in their Chelsea home.

William Warham died; some said that like Wolsey he was fortunate to finish his life in a bed when he was but a few short steps from the scaffold. He was eighty-two years old and in the last weeks of his life had been issued with a writ of præmunire—a small offence but one by which he had shown he had not accepted the King as Supreme Head. Perhaps the old man was forgetful; perhaps he had not understood that it was necessary now to receive the King’s permission in all matters concerning the Church as well as the state. He had behaved according to procedure before the severance from Rome. These were dangerous times and the King was jealous of his new authority.

Fortunate Warham, who could take to his bed and die in peace.

Dr. Cranmer became the new Archbishop of Canterbury. Henry need fear no opposition from him; he was the man who, with Thomas Cromwell, had worked more than any to extricate the King from the tyranny of Rome.

Lord Audley was now Chancellor in place of Sir Thomas More, and gradually the King was ridding himself of the men who might oppose him.

John Fisher had recovered from the poison and was still living, but he was very frail. Katharine prayed for him and often trembled for him.

She heard that the King had honored Anne Boleyn by making her Marchioness of Pembroke and that he planned to take her to France with him as though she were his Queen.

This was humiliating in the extreme because it seemed that François and the French Court were now ready to accept Anne Boleyn as Queen of England.

But all these matters seemed insignificant when the news came from Margaret Pole that Mary had recovered and was almost well again.

“Still grieving for Your Grace, but, I thank God, growing stronger every day.”

“If I could but see her,” sighed the Queen. “I would cease to fret on account of anything else which might happen to me.”

* * *

ON A JANUARY DAY in the year 1533 the King rose early. There was a grim purpose about him, and those who lived close to him had noted that during the last months a change had crept over him. The strong sentimental streak in his nature had become subdued and in its place was a new cruelty. He had always flown into sudden rages but these had quickly passed; now they often left him sullen and brooding. All those men whose duty it was to be in contact with him knew they must tread warily.

The little mouth had a strong determination about it on that morning. This was a day to which he had looked forward for six years, and now that it had come, the thought occurred to him that it was less desirable than it had seemed all those years ago. Waiting had not enhanced his emotions; perhaps they had grown stale; perhaps his main thought as he prepared himself for what was about to take place was one of triumph over great odds rather than the climax of years of devotion.

He was going to make his way to an attic in the west turret of White Hall, not so much as a doting bridegroom as a man who has made up his mind to some action; and, even though it seemed less desirable to him than it had previously, he was determined to carry it out simply because it had been denied him and he was eager to show that he was a man who would allow no one to say him nay.

When he was ready he said to one of his gentlemen: “Go and seek my chaplain, Dr. Rowland Lee, and tell him that I wish him to celebrate Mass without delay. Bring him to me here.”

Dr. Rowland Lee, who had hastily dressed himself, came to the King in some surprise, wondering why he had been sent for at such an early hour of the morning.

“Ah,” said the King who had dismissed all but two of his grooms—Norris and Heneage. “I wish you to celebrate Mass in one of the attics. Follow me.”

The little party made their way to the attic and very shortly were joined by two ladies, one of whom was Anne Boleyn, Marchioness of Pembroke, and the other her train bearer, Anne Savage.

Henry turned to Dr. Lee. “Now,” he said, “marry us.”

The doctor was taken aback. “Sire…,” he stammered. “I…could not do this.”

“You could not do it? Why not?”

“I…I dare not, Sire.”

The blue eyes were narrowed; the cruel lines appeared about the mouth. “And if I command you?”

“Sire,” pleaded Dr. Lee, “I know that you went through a ceremony of marriage with Queen Katharine, and although I am aware of your Secret Matter I could not marry you unless there was a dispensation pronouncing your marriage null and void.”

For one second those assembled thought the King would strike his chaplain. Then suddenly his mood changed; he slipped his arm through that of the man, drew him away and whispered: “Perform this ceremony and you shall be rewarded with the See of Lichfield.”

“Your Grace, Your Majesty…I dare not…”

It took a long time, thought the King, for these dunderheads to learn who was the Supreme Head of the Church. He was impatient, and he could see that this fellow was so immersed in the old laws of the Church that he could not cast them aside easily. Yet this ceremony must take place. Anne was with child. What if that were a boy she carried! There could be no more delay. It would be disastrous if Anne’s boy should be declared illegitimate.

He made a decision. “You need have no fear. The Pope has pronounced himself in favor of the divorce and the dispensation is in my keeping.”

Dr. Lee drew a deep sigh of relief.

“I crave Your Grace’s pardon. Your Grace will understand…”

“Enough,” interrupted Henry. “Do your work.”

And in the lonely attic at White Hall, Henry VIII went through a ceremony of marriage with Anne Boleyn, while Norris, Heneage and Anne Savage stood by as witnesses.

* * *

THE KING SENT for the newly appointed Archbishop of Canterbury.

Thomas Cranmer, who had come so far since the Boleyns had brought him to the King’s notice, was very eager that his royal benefactor should not regret having raised him so high.

When they were alone Henry explained to his Archbishop what he expected of him. There were many in England who clung to old ideas, and he was going to have every man who held any position of importance sign an oath which would declare his belief in the supremacy of the King. But that was for later. There was this tiresome matter of the divorce.

He knew himself never to have been married to Katharine, and he had been surrounded by rogues and vacillating fools—until now, he hoped.

The matter was urgent. He considered himself already married to Queen Anne, and he was certain that he had God’s blessing because the marriage was already promising fruitfulness. He must have a speedy end to the old matter though, and it was the duty of the new Archbishop of Canterbury to see that this was so.

The Archbishop was nothing if not resourceful. “The first step, Your Grace, is a new law to make it illegal for appeals in ecclesiastical causes to be carried out of the kingdom to Rome.”