He stared at her coldly, she had disdainfully refused his help in the past and she would receive no help from him now. He turned away from her.
“Help me! Uncle Norfolk, Help me!” she cried desperately before the room went completely black and she fell to the floor, oblivious to the fact that Norfolk had gone, leaving her where she had fallen.
A few days later, upon the very day that Katherine was buried at Peterborough. Anne was delivered of a dead son. In her fear and weakness she blamed her Uncle Norfolk and Henry’s infidelity for the loss of her child but this time Henry was too disappointed and angry to care.
“You will have no more sons by me, Madam!” he told her brutally.
“She has miscarried of her saviour.” Norfolk thought to himself. Henry left her behind at Greenwich when he returned to the city and the Duke heard whispers of divorce that was being bruited about. It was no more than she deserved, he thought, for she had become too high and mighty and had refused his help, turning instead to Cromwell who now showed little inclination to help her.
Not for Anne the humiliating, but comparatively safe, position of divorced Queen. For her the penalty of her pride was to be death!
On the 24th April, Norfolk headed a commission which included Cromwell, Suffolk, Thomas Audley, seven earls (amongst them Anne’s own father) and many judges and officials. The commission was to enquire into any form of treasonable practices by any person or persons.
The unsuspecting Anne attended the May Day Tournament with the King but to her consternation, half-way through the programme Henry suddenly rose and left, leaving her bewildered and afraid.
Late that same evening she sat silently brooding while her few faithful ladies tried to cheer her. A loud knocking came upon the door and Margaret Wyatt exchanged a frightened glance with Madge Shelton before she went to open it.
Norfolk pushed past her and Margaret’s eyes filled with horror as she caught sight of the two yeomen of the guard, halberds upon their shoulders, who waited outside. He was followed by Thomas Cromwell and the Lord Chancellor and Sir William Kingston, Constable of the Tower.
Anne's frightened gaze darted from one hard, embittered face to the next. “Uncle Norfolk, what is amiss…?” she stammered.
“Madam, we have come to escort you to the Tower there to await trial for treason!”
“The Tower... treason… but I…”
“You had best fetch your mistress’ cloak,” Norfolk informed Margaret Wyatt.
Distractedly Anne caught his arm, “Uncle, before God I am not guilty! I beg of you to beseech the King's Grace to have pity upon me!”
He shook off her arm disdainfully. “You will accompany us now, Madam.”
Throughout the journey down-river to the Tower she wept and begged him to have pity upon her but he sat as though carved from stone, indifferent to her plight and once she had been safely consigned to the care of Kingston he returned to his master to inform him that his mission had been completed.
Two weeks later in the Great Hall of the Tower she was brought to answer the charges against her. The grey, stone chamber was packed and although the sunlight streamed through the small, narrow windows set high in the walls, the chamber was cold, damp and smelled strongly of the river.
At the far end sat her judges, presided over by Norfolk, with his nineteen year old son, Henry, acting as Earl Marshall. Amongst those who had been called were her father, Thomas Boleyn – Earl of Wiltshire – and Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland.
Anne was brought before them, pale but composed, but the sight of Henry Percy unnerved her. Gone was the boy she had once loved. This man was ill and aged beyond his years, his face haggard and haunted. After all she had endured the past two weeks the sight of Harry upon that bench tore unmercifully at her heart.
“Harry, what have they done to you? Why could they have not left us in peace?” she wanted to cry. She dragged her eyes away from his face and looked at her uncle. “Why could you have not left me alone with my grief instead of implanting in my mind the seeds of my destruction?” she thought.
Norfolk’s harsh voice brought her back to the nightmare reality. “Madam, despising your marriage and entertaining malice against our Sovereign Lord, King Henry, and following daily your frail and carnal lusts, you did falsely and traitorously procure… divers of the King’s daily and familiar servants namely one Francis Weston, one Henry Norris, one Thomas Breton and a musician, Mark Smeaton, to be your adulterers and concubines. You are also charged with having procured and incited your own natural brother, George Boleyn, to violate your body. You are further charged with having conspired with the said lovers to bring about the death and destruction of our Sovereign Lord.”
She drew herself up proudly, “My Lord of Norfolk, these charges are false. I have never desired the King‘s death in either thought, word or deed. As for the other charges, would I be so foolish as to risk the wrath of the King by committing such acts?” She turned appealingly to the people assembled there. “As for that other vile, unspeakable charge! I know not what evil, filthy mind hath devised such an abominable charge! The man who hath insinuated that my brother whom I have loved since infancy with sisterly love and affection, with whom I shared a nursery and innocent, childish pastimes, could have…” she could not continue but placed her hands over her face and shook her head.
There was a murmur of sympathy amongst the people but Norfolk continued to read the evidence against her. “It is stated that early in October, 1533, you did entice the aforesaid Francis Weston to violate your body!”
“That is plainly a lie!” Anne cried “for I was still abed after the birth of my daughter the Princess Elizabeth!”
Again a murmur of assent ran through the chamber and the Duke hastily continued “Do you deny, Madam, that you asked Henry Norris why he had delayed his marriage and that upon his reply that ‘he would tarry a time’ you replied ‘you look for dead men’s shoes for if aught came to the King but good, you would look to have me!”
“That is not true!”
He continued with the evidence and to every charge she replied that they were all lies. When he read the evidence to support the charge of incest she merely repeated her former statement and it was at this stage of the proceedings that the Earl of Northumberland declared that he was too ill to continue and stumbled from the court.
She was taken to a small ante-chamber while her judges reached their verdict, a verdict which she knew was a foregone conclusion. When she had returned to her place, Norfolk rose and addressed her.
“Madam, it is the verdict of this court that you are guilty of all the charges brought against you.”
She gazed at him steadily and for an instant his gaze faltered but after momentarily glancing at the papers which lay before him he raised is eyes and fixed her piercingly with those cold eyes.
“This court doth sentence you to be burnt or beheaded at the King’s pleasure!”
She did not cry out, she did not move but continued to stare at him until finally he was forced to drop his eyes before her gaze which seemed to penetrate his soul.
* * *
George Boleyn, Norris, Weston, Brereton and Smeaton were executed on Wednesday, 17th May and two days later at nine o’clock in the morning Anne knelt upon the scaffold and bared her neck to the sword of the executioner sent especially from France.
Norfolk was present and watched her die without regret or self-recrimination. As the gun sounded to inform Henry that the deed was done, the Duke turned away thinking only of the new threat to his power that was now afforded by the two brothers of the girl who waited patiently at Wolfe Hall for her Royal bridegroom.
At Hever Castle in the county of Kent, Joyce Boleyn sobbed heart-brokenly upon her husband’s shoulder. Thomas Boleyn’s grief was profound for he had sacrificed both his son and daughter upon the altar of his greed and ambition. Joyce raised her swollen, tear-stained face and upbraided him for the first time in her life.
“You killed her!
You killed her! All of you! You made her what she was, why could you not have left her alone?”
Five
Henry married Jane Seymour with indecent haste and took his new Queen off on a summer progress, arriving at Dunstable in late August. It was here that the Duchess of Norfolk finally gained an audience with the King to complain of her husband’s treatment and to try to obtain some justice.
The audience was private but in order to obtain a fair hearing the Duke had been requested to attend.
Elizabeth bowed coldly in recognition of his greeting and Norfolk had to admit that she had surpassed herself in achieving a dignified elegance. Her gown was of a deep claret velvet, split to the waist to show the richly embroidered undergown of white satin. The long, hanging sleeves were lined with the same white satin and turned back to show the claret satin undersleeves slashed with white. Her girdle was richly wrought and a small, gold-framed, Venetian mirror hung from it by a silken thread. She had abandoned the now outmoded gable hood and had adopted the new, smaller, French hood which was of the same velvet as her gown and which perfectly framed her oval face.
“Lady Howard, you have requested this audience to bring to our notice certain disagreements and alleged ill treatment,” Henry began.
“That is correct, Your Grace.”
“Before we embark upon this… painful process, could we not consider the possibility of a reconciliation? Could not you and my Lord of Norfolk put aside your differences and start anew? It grieves me to witness such dissimulation between husband and wife.”
“Hypocrite!” the Duke thought, “he is content with his ‘sweet Jane’ at present but for how long?”
“I am afraid that it is impossible, Your Grace. The treatment meted out by my husband has made any such consideration impossible!”
“Alas, it grieves me to hear you take such a firm, uncompromising stand. Pray, what exactly are the complaints against your husband?”
“Your Grace, his treatment of me has been despicable! Your Grace will understand that in a marriage such as ours affection was not considered to be of the prime importance, but it was expected that decent and honourable treatment to be the outcome. I have fulfilled my obligations, as Your Grace is aware we have three children, all of whom my husband has turned against me!”
“That is unjust!” the Duke interrupted “I did not influence them against their mother in any way. The choice was entirely theirs!”
Elizabeth ignored him, “As to the somewhat delicate matter of Mistress Holland, Your Grace, I am a reasonable woman. I would have been willing to close my eyes had my husband had the decency to keep that woman in her proper place and present a semblance of decent domesticity. But that he would not do though I have begged him to consider my position upon many occasions. It is not seemly to have a servant flaunt herself openly above her mistress!”
The King nodded, “I quite understand.” He turned to the Duke. “Tom, all this scandal, this disquiet, could have been avoided, a little discretion…” he admonished.
Norfolk fidgeted uneasily. “My only excuse, Your Grace, is the constant shrewishness and vindictiveness of my wife.” “Surely,” he thought “he can understand that, for in her later years Anne was guilty of the same failings.”
Henry did not reply but appeared to be pondering the matter although Norfolk’s veiled reference to his late wife had struck home. Finally he tried once more to extract a promise from Elizabeth that should the Duke agree to relegate Bess Holland to her former position, the Duchess would attempt a reconciliation.
Elizabeth reluctantly agreed.
“And you, Tom, will you agree to these conditions?”
Put into this position Norfolk could not do otherwise, although he had no intention of keeping to the terms laid down by the King.
After a short (and in Henry’s opinion) genial discussion with the Duke and Duchess, he decided that he had done his duty and that the matter was now settled. Smiling benignly upon them both he left.
“You will keep your promise to the King?” Elizabeth enquired.
“Will you, Madam?”
She glared at him. “No, I will not! I shall not set foot in the same house as that slut!”
“Then, Madam, you may do as you please!” he replied coldly.
* * *
Late in September, 1536, the ominous rumblings of discontent were heard in the North. In the northern counties the break with Rome had been viewed with apprehension and fear. The dissolution of the monasteries had disturbed the men of these counties who clung tenaciously to the ways of their fathers.
The first signs of trouble came from Lincolnshire where the men rose against the statute of uses, demanding that the King repeal the first fruits and tenths statute. They also demanded that no more monasteries be suppressed and that all heretical bishops be removed and Cromwell be turned over to them. A free pardon was also requested for all those who had joined the rising.
Norfolk, watching the growing influence of the new Queen’s brothers, had decided that it would be prudent to retire for a while and had returned to Kenninghall. It was from there that he heard of the rising in Lincolnshire.
The King’s answer to the demands of the rebels was not conciliatory. “This assembly is so heinous that unless you are persuaded to disperse and send one hundred of the ringleaders to London, my vengeance will be terrible upon man, woman and child!” had been the reply that was read out by the Lancaster herald.
The Duke was hastily called out of retirement while the Duke of Suffolk was sent to deal with the rebels and although he had but nine hundred men, surprisingly the rising collapsed. The trouble was, however, far from over for once roused the men of the north were hard to quell.
Under the leadership of Robert Aske, a lawyer, Beverley rose on the 8th October, followed by the East Riding and Marshalden on the 13th. Northumberland, Durham, Richmondshire, Marshamshire, Sedborough and Nidderdale had risen two days previously and on the 16th, Robert Aske entered York at the head of forty thousand men. The rising had become a crusade to save the monasteries and the old faith and the insurgents wore the insignia of the five wounds of Christ as their badge.
“For this pilgrimage we have taken Him for the preservation of Christ’s Church, of this realm of England, the King our Sovereign Lord, the nobility and commons of the same and to that intent to make petition to the King’s Highness for the reformation of that which is amiss with this his realm!” Aske told his followers. “We mean no malice or displeasure to no person but such as be not worthy to remain nigh about the King Our Sovereign Lords person (a thinly veiled reference to Cromwell and Cranmer) but we will fight and die against all those that shall be about to stop us!”
His words were drowned in a rousing cheer.
Aske was a serious man – no hell-raiser – and he allowed no looting or burning but insisted that all goods be paid for.
The rising had now become a sacred pilgrimage – the Pilgrimage of Grace – and by the 19th of the month the whole country north of the river Don had joined him.
As Norfolk rode north, with the King’s instructions clear in his mind, he was not at ease. In principle he sympathised with the rebels. He was in complete agreement with any plan to remove the hated Cromwell and in spite of his many faults, he remained at heart a Catholic and was profoundly suspicious of the ‘new learning’ which was gradually infiltrating the country. But whatever his sympathies, he was the King’s servant for to resist his master’s will was to see his power and position swallowed up by the Seymours and men like Cromwell.
He knew what must be done and he would carry out the King’s instructions to the letter – whatever the cost.
On the 21st, October, Lord Darcy surrendered Pontefract Castle to the rebels, although the Earl of Northumberland refused to have anything to do with them – despite the fact that both his brothers had joined them – and when Norfolk arrived at Doncaster it was to find that Aske had mustered his considerable force on the plain beyond.
The position was far from satisfactory from the Duke’s point of view for Aske’s men far outnumbered his own and the weather was diabolical!
He therefore decided to make camp and wrote to the King, “I beseech you to take in good part whatsoever promises I shall make unto the rebels for sewerly I shall observe no part thereof.” He had decided that his best course of action was to try and treat with them, try to persuade them to disband with false promises.
In return he received further instructions from the King. “Devise, never to give stroke unless you shall, with due advisement, think yourself to have great and notable advantage for the same; but should the insurgents reject the conciliatory offers, retire into the passes of Nottingham and Newark.”
That night and all the next morning the rain poured down turning the Duke’s camp into a quagmire. His son, the Earl of Surrey, had accompanied him and after reconoitering the position, returned to his father.
“’Tis impossible to seek battle in this!” he announced, shaking the water from his hat and throwing his sodden cloak upon a chest. ‘”Tis only to be expected that Harry Percy is old beyond his years and dying of the ague if this is an example of the weather in these parts!”
“I have decided to appeal to their better judgement if they have any,” his father replied. “I have lived amongst them in the past, governed them and fought beside them too, mayhap they will listen to me.”
“And should that fail?”
“We shall have to wait and see. I shall treat with them to-morrow but first I shall send them a message.” He picked out a quill and began to write, “Alas, ye unhappy men! What fancy, what folly hath led and seduced you to make this most shameful rebellion against our most noble and righteous King and Sovereign who is more worthy for his innumerable graces and noble virtues and gentle conditions, to be King, master and governor of all Christendom, than of so small a realm of England. Alas, that ever it should be said that ye northern men that have so well served their Prince in our companies and in many other places should now come to fight against us and we, defending our Prince, quarrel against them. Finally, it is now at your choice whether ye will abide the danger of battle against us or else to go home to your houses, submitting yourself to the King’s mercy!”
The White Lion of Norfolk Page 8
