by Julia Fox
The unseasonable weather hardly lifted the spirits. Campeggio complained that he was forced to wear his winter clothes and have fires lit. There was anxiety that the sweat was about to make an unwelcome return. Yet once the case began, Anne, Henry, and her entire family anticipated victory rather than defeat. The king and queen returned to the capital from Hampton Court a couple of days beforehand in readiness for the proceedings. Henry was rowed to Greenwich, close to where Anne already had her own apartments. She obviously liked the general area for Henry later bought her a farm there for just over eighty-six pounds.
George and Jane were probably in the same vicinity, for the king rented a house for them at Greenwich at about this time at a cost of ten pounds per annum. Unfortunately, the little noticed reference gives us no details of what the house was like but the rent was sufficiently high for it to have been far more than merely comfortable. Jane was becoming used to the benefits of close association with royalty. Indeed, these advantages were coming thick and fast to the couple. Appointed squire of the body, a lucrative if honorific post, a few months earlier, with a salary of sixty-five pounds, six shillings, and eight pence, George was also awarded an annuity of fifty marks (thirty-three pounds) a year to be paid “by the chief butler of England, out of the issues of the prizes of wines” and in addition was given the office of master of the buckhounds. These hunting dogs were so dear to the king’s heart that George was frequently allowed sums as huge as three or four pounds to find them meat. Then he received the jackpot: in the list of grants authorized by the king for November 1528 is one that gave him the keepership of the old Ormond estate at Newhall, which Henry had transformed into his sumptuous palace of Beaulieu, together with a variety of other offices, once the perquisites of William Carey. This really was something worth having, if only for the privilege of residing on the premises whenever he wanted. Although she and George did not move in immediately, Jane would soon have the chance to live like a queen herself. In fact, she was very much the established court lady by now. She received a gift from the king in her own right in the New Year’s gift lists of 1528 and 1529, the same years in which her servants were also given rewards by the king. She had come a long way since those days at Great Hallingbury.
For the moment, however, much depended on the outcome of the court case. It took place in the Parliament Chamber at Blackfriars, close to the river and to Henry’s palace at Bridewell, where he spent several nights during the trial, more or less alternating with Greenwich. Since it was not held in camera, there were plenty of spectators inside the hall and gawping crowds outside, straining to catch a glimpse of the main protagonists. For the pretense of her total noninvolvement to be remotely credible, Anne, of course, had to bow to decorum and stay away, but Thomas and George were almost certainly present and there is no reason to suppose that Jane was not there as well. It was too important to miss. The room was carefully arranged. Campeggio and Wolsey sat on a dais at the far end with the officers of the court immediately in front of them. The king’s chair was on the right underneath a gold brocade cloth of estate; a similar chair was placed for Katherine on the left, again under a canopy, but at a slightly lower level than that of Henry. Then there were judges, bishops, the archbishop of Canterbury, and the counsels for the two parties. Henry and Katherine had their own individual legal advisers, with the ascetic but formidable and highly regarded Bishop Fisher foremost in the queen’s camp. Both Henry and Katherine were there in person not just in proxy. Once the pope’s commission giving authority for the court to sit was read aloud, the trial could begin.
Almost straight away, Katherine reduced the hall to a stunned silence. She heard Campeggio and Wolsey reject her request that her cause be heard outside of the kingdom, she listened impassively while the king earnestly explained that all he wanted was to have his scruples answered and his troubled conscience put at rest, and then she struck. Ignoring the judges, ignoring everyone else in the room, she concentrated on the man who, she maintained, was her lawful husband. She rose from her chair, crossed to where Henry sat and knelt at his feet. She was truly center stage. She may have been sidelined while Henry dallied with Anne but on this day Katherine was regal dignity epitomized. Even the Boleyns could hardly deny that she was magnificent as she fought for her marriage and for the legitimacy of her daughter. Throwing herself on the king’s mercy as a woman and a foreigner, she appealed to him directly. As she did so, the situation slid from bad to worse for the amazed and disconcerted Henry. She vowed that she had been “a true humble and obedient wife,” always “conformable” to his “will and pleasure.” Referring to her many fruitless pregnancies, she touched profoundly many of those who listened spellbound when she said that “by me ye have had divers children, although it hath pleased God to call them out of this world, which hath been no default in me.” Although her own colors were firmly nailed to the Boleyn mast, the queen’s childlessness would resonate with Jane, herself still without issue after some years as George’s wife. And Katherine was not finished yet. With a tilt at Henry’s assertion that her marriage to Arthur was consummated, she vowed that she remained “a true maid without touch of man” at Arthur’s death, as Henry’s conscience should tell him. With a final request that she be spared this trial until she had more neutral counselors, men who would risk the king’s displeasure as her current ones would not dare to do, she begged for time to seek further advice from her “friends in Spain.” “If ye will not extend to me so much indifferent favor,” she said to Henry, “your pleasure then be fulfilled, and to God I commit my cause.” With that, she made a deep curtsy to the king and swept from the room, followed by many of the women. It was spine tingling.
And it presaged disaster for the Boleyns. The trial continued in the queen’s absence, of course, but hopes of a quick result were at an end. Bishop Fisher, exhibiting scant consideration for self-preservation despite Katherine’s claims, fearlessly fought her corner against everything that came up. Nonetheless, Henry’s argument was not finished yet. Evidence was given that Arthur and his bride had been of an age to consummate their union, that Arthur was often conducted to his wife’s bedchamber “in his nightgown,” that they spent their nights together, that Arthur, who was of a “good and sanguine complexion,” was physically fit enough to do his duty. It all added up. The most vivid description of the morning after the wedding came from Sir Anthony Willoughby who said that the prince demanded “a cup of ale” for he had been “this night in the midst of Spain.” A Mr. St. John, who also affirmed that Arthur had boasted about being “in the midst of Spain,” felt that such strenuous activity actually caused the prince’s “decay” as he “was never so lusty in body and courage until his death.” The testimony was all to no avail. As Clement said to Wolsey, he could not give the king all he wanted “without incurring manifest danger, and causing a scandal to Christendom.” So, on the pretense that the trial was dragging on into the summer months when all such cases were suspended in Rome, Campeggio adjourned it. And that was it. Well might he say that it would be resumed in the autumn, Anne and the king were only too aware that this was a way of transferring the trial to Rome, especially when the devastating news of Clement’s accommodation with Charles reached them. Katherine had won this round.
But the battle was not conceded. As Jane and George repaired to the house at Greenwich, she watched the Boleyns regroup and replan. They knew precisely where to lay the blame. The court was buzzing with excitement and anticipation: even the queen, no friend of the cardinal, wrote to Mendoza that “she perceives that all the king’s anger at his ill success will be visited on Wolsey.” Jane, who had grown up during the years of his ascendancy, was about to see a furious Anne, together with George and Thomas, bring him down. Suffolk was quick to join them. “It was never merry in England whilst we had cardinals among us,” he berated a shocked Wolsey, contemptuously brushing aside memories of the aid that he had once been so relieved to receive following his own clandestine marriage to the king’s sis
ter. There was no point in Wolsey’s counting on calling in past debts. Well might he refer to Cromwell as his “only refuge and aid” in the numerous notes with which he bombarded him.
It was really only a matter of time. Even for the once great cardinal, the odds stacked against him were too high. Not only had he failed the king, he had done so in the most spectacular fashion in the one area in which Henry would not accept defeat. And if it is true that Anne had vowed her revenge for the Percy incident all those years ago, as Cavendish asserted, her wish was granted in spades. First Wolsey lost the chancellorship. But the fight had not quite gone out of him: when the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk arrived at his London house to demand that he yield the great seal, he refused to hand it over until they brought written orders directly from Henry. Such defiance just postponed the inevitable, for they returned with such orders the following day, and Wolsey’s resistance could not go on. When confronted with charges of praemunire*7 for his dealings with Rome, Wolsey pleaded guilty, knowing that he faced the penalty of permanent imprisonment and the confiscation of all the property and goods he had so painstakingly accumulated. After deliberating with his counselors, including Norfolk, Suffolk, and Thomas Boleyn, the king sent the disgraced and ailing man to Esher and finally to York to take up the pastoral duties he had neglected there. It was the end of an era.
But it was bonanza time again for the Boleyns. They soon secured a seat in Parliament for James, that dedicated Hebrew student, and a benefice in the diocese of Durham for George’s second uncle, William, ordained as a young man. And on the principle of family solidarity, a third uncle, Edward, would secure the wardship of John Appleyard, the only son and heir of Roger Appleyard, a Norfolk gentleman. As the husband of wealthy heiress Anne Tempest, Edward tended to stay out of mainstream Boleyn affairs to concentrate on his Norfolk and Yorkshire lands, but it was as well to toss him something from the treasure trove. The king gave Anne’s father, Thomas, the splendid Durham House, part of the assets of the bishopric of Durham, which Wolsey had lately exchanged for Winchester, adding to the profits Thomas was already raking in from other Durham lands Wolsey had once controlled. Sited close to the Strand, a stone’s throw from Charing Cross and Covent Garden, the house had gardens stretching down to the banks of the Thames. Over three hundred years old, it had a hall of regal proportions supported by tall marble pillars. As a fine London mansion, it could not have been bettered. George and Jane had profited from Wolsey’s troubles too. Realizing the danger he was in, the cardinal had hoped to win friends by arranging for George to receive an annuity of £200 from his lands as bishop of Winchester and another of two hundred marks (£133) from the Abbey of St. Albans. This was very serious money, and once Wolsey’s property was confiscated by Henry, things improved further for the Boleyns.
Not only did he lose everything, the new Spanish ambassador, Eustace Chapuys, informed Charles V, but as an extra humiliation Wolsey was forced to make lists of all his possessions down to the last kitchen pot. The extant records are certainly incredibly full and minutely detailed. Wolsey had denied himself nothing. His residences were awash with color, beauty, and items of superb craftsmanship. There were countless embroidered wall hangings, many of which the cardinal had bought from the executors of various nobles; there were silk table carpets; there were magnificent arras tapestries with real gold and silver thread. His numerous beds and voluminous quantities of bed linen too were of the very best quality. There were fifty-six pairs of blankets, pillow cases of black silk embossed with gold fleurs-de-lis, eighty-eight down pillows, 157 mattresses. Among the multitude of plate, we hear of eighteen gilt trenchers or serving plates; a gold salt adorned with pearls and precious stones; and a gold bowl decorated with rubies, diamonds, pearls, and a sapphire. It was all worth a king’s ransom. And, says Chapuys, the king could not wait to show it to the woman he wanted as his queen. When Henry apparently went to look at his spoils, finding them “much greater than he expected,” Anne and her mother, Elizabeth, accompanied him.
The rewards for the family went on and on. George, back in the privy chamber and sent on a diplomatic mission to France, was knighted in the autumn and was soon Viscount Rochford, making Jane a viscountess. He received this title, which made him George Rochford as well as George Boleyn, because his father needed it no more: Thomas became Earl of Wiltshire and Earl of Ormond. The investiture ceremony, at which Jane was almost certainly an honored guest, was lavish and occurred at Wolsey’s former palace of York Place,*8 now in the king’s possession. With every month that passed, the Boleyns were obviously becoming more and more comfortably entrenched at court and within the king’s most intimate circle. Their leisure hours were often spent with him, whiling the time away in the open air or within the candlelit confines of the private apartments. They played bowls, they raced greyhounds, they competed at archery, they watched their coins spinning along in shovel-board. Each time they would bet on the result, with George winning sums as large as forty-five pounds and once fifty-eight pounds. Jane’s husband was particularly adept at cards, beating his sovereign at new and fashionable games like primero, in which each player was dealt four cards with each card being worth three times its face value.
As for Anne herself, Jane could only watch with astonishment as the gifts came almost by the cartload. Nothing was too much for Henry’s darling. Knowing her love of riding, the king sent her saddle after saddle, all of the finest workmanship and latest French fashion, with superb trimmings in black velvet fringed with silk and gold thread. Matching harnesses, reins, and girths soon followed, together with the very best accoutrements for her litter. And Henry certainly kept his jeweler busy. Again, Anne’s family could only be overwhelmed for her as the most exquisite jewels were delivered. It was almost as if he wanted to adorn her entire body with gold and precious stones: a golden girdle, bracelets of pearls and diamonds, diamond rings, diamonds for her hair, gold borders studded with diamonds and pearls for her sleeves, gold buttons, diamond buttons, brooches, the list was endless. Twenty pounds was authorized for her to redeem a jewel once owned by her sister. He even arranged for some of her books to be decorated in silver and gilt. Her finery extended to her dress where again costly materials, such as almost twenty yards of crimson satin at sixteen shillings per yard, were dispatched for her tailor to turn into breathtaking gowns.
The trouble was, of course, that while he could shower gifts on her, Anne was still Henry’s sweetheart, not his wife. Wolsey had fallen, the Boleyns were becoming increasingly paramount at court, Anne and her family were growing richer and richer, but Katherine was still in place. So were her supporters, from Bishop Fisher to Charles V. For the king, another route must be devised, different experts consulted. Henry’s relationship with Anne and the struggle for the divorce were about to move into a new phase and take a new direction.
CHAPTER 11
Almost There
IT WAS 1532 AND OCTOBER, not a good month for crossing the Channel. The winds, the storms, the mists were all unpredictable. A journey that could be as short as five hours in good weather could quickly become infinitely longer, with hours of debilitating seasickness only too common and fears of being driven into another port at best, or sinking at worst, being realized. No one would undertake such a voyage lightly, but Henry was determined to meet Francis again. For Jane, who had taken a similar trip back in 1520, this was an altogether different experience. Then she had been very young and unimportant. Now one of the royal party that gathered at Dover ready to embark, she was not only a married woman with her husband beside her, she was a viscountess and a member of the family that was influencing court politics and altering so much that back then she had thought firmly established. Times were changing.
A few moments’ reflection would have revealed to Jane just how much had happened already. Her own position, as the poised viscountess appreciated, had been immeasurably transformed; her status and responsibilities emphasized by her generous New Year’s gift to her king of two velvet and
two satin caps, two of which were trimmed with gold buttons. Henry expected more than merely a token present from her, just as he did from her father, Lord Morley, who typically presented a book covered in purple satin, and from George and Thomas, whose offerings were more costly. No doubt after much deliberation, George gave two gilt “hyngers,” or daggers, on velvet girdles that Henry could hang around his slightly thickening waist, while Thomas’s carefully chosen gift of a black velvet box with a gold stylus for writing was yet more impressive, especially pleasing to a king who loved executive toys for his desk. This was the circle in which Jane now moved with ease and her marriage to the favorite’s brother enabled her to live in some style. George’s position in the privy chamber and his rank assured them of good rooms at court, but with Thomas’s acquisition of the impressive Durham House, there also was ample space for his son and daughter-in-law if they wished to stay there instead. With George such an active advocate of his sister’s cause, both in England and in France, Durham House had proved very useful.
So had York Place, another of Wolsey’s former residences close to the Thames. From the moment it had fallen into the king’s hands at Wolsey’s initial disgrace, Anne and Henry realized its practical value as a London palace and the king happily started to improve and extend it. Money was no object. Nearby houses were compulsorily purchased at a cost of over one thousand pounds so there was more space for the park, the gardens, and the new buildings. Land was drained, trees felled, stone bought from Caen and Reigate, and then there were glass and lead and oak rafters to be found. Seven pounds of candles were needed to provide light for those who labored at night to try to get the work finished. The shopping list was endless. Wolsey’s timber-framed gallery from Esher was transported as the nucleus of one of the new galleries that Henry ordered to be constructed, one of which he used to cross from the main palace into the park without getting wet. Then, of course, since Henry and Anne needed diversions, there were bowling alleys, tennis courts, a cockpit, and a tiltyard for jousting. The privy pier, Henry’s personal river landing stage, was redone and every room was brought up to the standard the king demanded. What Jane saw as she wandered through the tapestry hung rooms or through the gallery painted with scenes from Henry’s coronation was grandeur on a massive scale. Chapuys said that Anne particularly liked York Place as there were no apartments for Katherine. There were, however, quarters for her family as well as herself. Anne’s own paneled rooms were underneath the old library and therefore below those of the king. George’s rooms were rather special, with a window, perhaps looking out over the park, set with “a pair of garnets,” presumably small panes of ruby-colored glass. With such luxurious and convenient living space, it is no wonder that the house at Greenwich that the king had rented for the Rochfords for the last two years became redundant.
