by G Lawrence
The weighty tome had occupied my thoughts for days. It was a text that had influenced many reformist thinkers, such as Luther, as the key to the Augustinian ethos was learning and love. Augustine’s cry, that his disciples should be of “one mind and heart on the way towards God,” struck a chord with reformists. A personal relationship with God, free from the intervention of the Church and Rome, was a key element in cries for reform. Augustine wrote, “Victoria veritatis est caritas; nothing conquers except truth, and the victory of truth is love.” Through learning and love, not only for God but for each other, would victory come.
Perhaps you can see why this appealed to me. Since St Augustine had also been fond of music, and celebration of that art was a part of his ethos, I felt we had much in common.
The Confessions interested me for another reason. They were not a full autobiography of Augustine’s life, but they spoke of his struggles with sin, and mistakes he had made before finding the path to God. I liked this Saint because he did not pretend to be perfect. It gave me hope. Even those who think themselves lost may be found.
I struggled with my sins. It was tempting to think there might come a time when I would skirmish no more. When all of this was over, when I was Queen, there would be time to set things right. But until that moment, there was no room for mercy and sweetness. Love for God and for Henry, I would always uphold, but my enemies were ruthless, so I had to be too.
As Henry came in, I went to get up but he crossed to the window seat so fast I had not the chance. He took the book from my hands. “Always you are reading,” he said with an indulgent gaze. “Always my Anne finds new ways to improve her mind.”
“I find solace in the wisdom of better souls than I.”
“You are enjoying the book? I thought it would please you.”
I smiled. Henry appeared to think he had recommended the tome. Actually, I had come asking for it from his vast library, but it seemed his memory had brought forth an altered version of what had happened. Henry enjoyed playing the part of the wise man who guides others, and since this was exactly what I wanted him to believe, as he set out to bring the clergy into line, I did not correct him.
“You always know how to please me,” I said. “And you were right, I am enjoying the book.” He handed it back and I set it on the seat. “You are on your way to Parliament?” I asked. “Do you think it will go swiftly for us?”
“We will progress in stages, my love,” he said. “When the Convocation of Canterbury meets, we will start the process that will make me Head of the English Church, and you my Queen.”
When Henry left me, he looked ready to take on the world. Cromwell was no less enthused. A fine was going to be demanded of the Church for supporting Wolsey, and Cromwell liked the notion of filling Henry’s coffers and bringing the clergy under the King’s power. We had known for a long time, ever since Blackfriars, that if Henry’s marriage was to be decided in England, Parliament and the English Church would have to decide upon it. There was no mystery in this, but it could not be done all at once.
Step by step, inch by tiny, infuriating inch would we proceed. But at least we were finally heading in the right direction.
When Parliament met, Henry called the Convocation of Canterbury at the same time. Approaching them during one of their sessions, Henry declared that the delays caused by Clement in the Great Matter had cost him dear, and demanded the sum of one hundred thousand pounds from the clergy as restitution for his losses. He claimed that every bishop or priest who had surrendered to Wolsey’s authority during his lifetime had aided the Cardinal’s praemunire, and were therefore at risk of life imprisonment, and the forfeiture of their property to the Crown.
Wolsey was swiftly proving more useful to us dead than he had ever been alive.
Convocation were distressed. They discussed the fine for three days, with Cromwell and his ally Thomas Audley, Speaker of the Commons, in their ears, wheedling their way deep into their terrors. Eventually, not wanting to be imprisoned or lose their wealth, they agreed to pay. But they came back with a counter-offer. They wanted Henry to offer a full pardon for any crimes committed in conjunction with Wolsey, and asked him to reconfirm the traditional privileges of the clergy. They were trying to hold on to the power they felt slipping from their fingers.
“If you would hear me on this, Your Majesty,” said Cromwell on the night the offer was made. “I would refuse to do both.”
Cromwell and Henry were both in my chambers at York Place, with my father and Norfolk hovering by the roaring fire. Henry’s improvements to York Place, once the seat of Wolsey, had ensured there was no end to its generous chimneys and hearths. Henry liked his palaces warm and comfortable; something that always impressed foreign ambassadors who inevitably found England’s changeable weather disconcerting. Outside, sleet fell from the skies, sliding down the windows like tears. Inside, golden warmth encompassed us.
“The clergy have agreed to the fine,” said Norfolk. “And have admitted wrongdoing in their dealings with Wolsey. Why should the King withhold privileges that have always belonged to the Church?”
“When you see a hind limping, Your Grace, with your arrow in her leg, do you stop and merely allow her to hobble away?” Cromwell shook his head gently. “Rather than allow our quarry to escape, I think we should capture it.”
“Remind me to take you hunting, Cromwell,” I said as I started to glean his idea. “I think we would have a fine day together.”
“I am always at your disposal, my lady.”
Norfolk was baffled. It was not surprising; he was not a clever man. He relied on the wisdom of others and passed it off as his own. Since he was a duke, no one was about to contradict him or tell others he had filched fragments of their wit. But he could not fool me anymore.
“We have the clergy on the run,” said Cromwell, noting Norfolk’s bemused expression. “They have admitted they were complicit in Wolsey’s praemunire, and fear to face the same fate as the Cardinal. All we have to do is prove that they, themselves, are guilty of the same crime, and not just by association. Until they admit they have supported the laws of Rome over those of England, their traditional rights should be withheld, and no pardon should be offered.”
“They are guilty,” I said. “The English clergy has long held the laws of Rome above those of England, and disobeyed the King in doing so.”
I glanced at Henry. He looked interested but weary. I was not surprised, for my nights were restless too. I felt as I often did when I was close on the trail of game in the parks. That restless surging of the blood, the sensation of intense concentration as your eyes narrow in on one target… And there was always the possibility during the noble chase that you might become so fixed on your quarry that you cease to note the world around you. That can be treacherous. It only takes a stray branch to tip you from your horse, or a risen root to make your mount stumble. It only takes one accident to make you lose sight of your prey.
“Anne speaks truth,” said Henry. “Until recent years, I had not even considered there was a body of people in my realm not under my power. I accepted the clergy were the servants of Rome first, and mine second. I accepted it, because every other King of England had.”
“But your eyes, my King, are the first to open. You see what your forebears did not and understand what must be done to alter this ignoble situation.”
Henry smiled, his eyes bright with love. “They have been opened,” he said. “God has shown me the way. How can any king rule with nearly half his people beholden to another master? How could he ever sit secure upon his throne knowing his people’s loyalty does not belong to him first?”
“You will be the first true King of England, Majesty,” I said. “The first English King to be invested with the power that your forebears should have had, and were denied.”
Cromwell was watching. I often found his eyes on me, particularly when I talked to Henry. I believed he was learning tricks; noting how I managed Henry… how to flatter and pr
aise him, build up his confidence and convince him to follow the path I had chosen. I did not mind. Norfolk was useless at this delicate art, and my father, although a talented courtier, had never found his way into Henry’s love as I had, and as I believed Cromwell would.
Long ago I had accepted that manipulating Henry had become part of this war. I no longer even thought about it. I was acting for his best interests, and for England’s. And I said nothing that was false. Everything I told Henry I believed, and when I flattered him, it was an expression of my admiration and love. I wanted to shelter Henry. I think that is common when one is in love. The best way to protect Henry was to get him to believe in the vision of the King I saw. I knew he could be more than he was. I understood, deep down, Henry was not the bold, brash King he presented to his country. Inside, Henry was a little boy.
But I had learned to manage my methods of expression, to twist and turn through an argument so Henry would always hear praise, but would also be bolstered to enter another fight. I needed him strong, decisive and determined. With Henry leading the English Church, we would have a papal tyrant no more, but a good, learned and wise leader, who would take his people into glory.
There was time, later on, when I would look back at the way I had seen Henry, and wonder at myself. A time when I marvelled that I could have thought of him as a saviour who would never abuse his privileges. But this is the power of love, is it not? We see those we love in a glow of golden haze. At that time, I thought Henry would lead England to a new and better future. I was an innocent, even though I thought myself worldly.
“I would suggest, Your Majesty,” said Cromwell. “That we extend the charge of praemunire to include the Ecclesiastical Courts, on the grounds that the King of England should govern his realm entirely. The Church should not be able to hold hearings and try cases of law, even for their own people. Justice should be the jurisdiction of the King.”
Henry nodded. “And this will be the prologue to my demand to be acknowledged as the Head of the English Church, Thomas?”
Although my uncle obviously knew this was Henry’s plan, I saw him balk. Norfolk had always supported Rome in the past, so this notion was unsettling to him, no matter what he said in support of it when Henry was around. But my slippery uncle had no wish to be included in charges of praemunire, and hid his discomfort.
“Indeed, Your Majesty, we will hit them with this, and inform them their pardon is reliant upon admission that, in following Rome’s laws, they have betrayed their King. When they have a chance to consider this, the more reasonable amongst them may understand the position you, as King, have been forced into. Then, when we strike them again, with your demand to be recognised as Head of the English Church, they will understand the origin of this idea.”
“You say the reasonable will understand,” I said. “What of those who are not?”
“Every man reasons differently, my lady,” he said. “But I have found the best motive for stirring a man’s conscience is always to preserve his freedom, and retain his wealth. These will be the concerns of the majority. They care not for right and wrong, but for coin and liberty.”
I chuckled. “And when will the King’s status be agreed?”
“As soon as we can scare the clergy into submission, madam,” said Cromwell, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips.
Chapter Nine
York Place
February 1531
A pardon was offered to the English clergy on the charge of praemunire, on condition they paid the fine and acknowledged their crimes. As Cromwell had expected, this led to a great deal of surprise, and a tumult of heated, fraught, discussion. On the 7th of February, Henry demanded that they immediately recognize him as “sole protector and Supreme Head of the English Church and clergy”.
I was prouder of Henry than I could express. Some events, some emotions defy explanation. Finally, he was becoming the King he was born to be.
The clergy and Parliament were shocked. The notion that Henry was the Head of the Church had been bandied about court for some time, but to actually hear the King demand it as a right was unprecedented. I suspect many of them, not knowing Henry, or assuming they knew him, had believed he would never go through with it. They did not see he had changed. He was angry, frustrated, and felt his power was being belittled by Rome. And he was right. Rome wanted him as a plaything, to pick up and toss away as desired.
No more… No more would England’s sovereign be a slave.
We were so close to the birth of a brave new world. But there were men standing in our way. I had expected Chancellor More to object to Henry’s declaration, but he remained unusually silent. Afterwards, I heard he had said to Chapuys that he would resign his office if this went ahead. More would not speak against Henry, he said, for he had sworn never to do so, but he could not sanction the horror of splitting the English Church from that of Rome.
But whilst More remained silent, Fisher argued that the royal supremacy was “a tearing of the seamless coat of Christ in sunder,” and in the abandonment of Rome, “we renounce the unity of the Christian world”. He thundered at the Convocation, “and so leap off Peter’s ship, to be drowned in the waves of all heresies, sects, schisms, and divisions.”
But Henry would not be stopped. George was busy, running from Parliament to court with messages. Henry wanted his title recognised with no qualifications, and sent George with tracts, books, theories and essays, collected during Henry’s months of diligent study, on his legal and godly right to the title. The findings of the universities were laid out and each night Cranmer advised Henry on his arguments. He and George were Henry’s constant companions and this sign of favour brought my brother new enemies. Derogatory stories about our family origins popped into existence and slanderous tales of our religious beliefs surfaced. The old charge, that we were more Lutheran than Luther, became the court’s constant whisper. People believed the Boleyns were a nefarious influence, and all that was happening was our fault. But it was not. Henry believed. We had no need to influence him. When Henry took up a thought, it became as one with his soul and no man who could persuade him he was wrong.
Not wanting to communicate through George, Convocation attempted to contact Henry directly, and failed. Henry would not set any Boleyn aside. As the discussion raged on, I believed I could almost hear Fisher’s potent, poisonous voice from clean across London. The desperation of the clergy was showing.
Cromwell arrived at York Place as the fight went on. Cromwell always knew where to find Henry. Even when the King was officially at court in Greenwich, or Hampton Court, he was in reality usually with me.
“I have an idea,” he said as Henry waved him over to the fire to join Cranmer and me. “To allow this matter to move swiftly through Parliament, Your Majesty.”
“Do you not think it is moving?” Henry asked. “God’s Blood! How much do I have to send them before they see the truth?”
“It is the truth they fear, my lord,” I said. “The truth that you are their true master. They fear having a master close, for you will see all they do. They resist not from ignorance or because they do not understand the materials Your Majesty has sent. They resist because they know this will reduce their power.”
Cranmer nodded. “They have been long with only an absent master,” he said. “My lady Anne sees their hearts. Their love for Rome is not true. They wish to hold on to it only to protect their own interests.”
“I think you are right.” Henry scowled. “They do not understand I will be a gentle master, if shown loyalty.”
“They think you will stop them from their sinful ways, Majesty,” I said. “And they are right. But if immoral men rule our Church, it cannot serve your people. One day, the people of England will thank you, Majesty, for saving their souls by bringing the Church back to God.”
Henry smiled at Cromwell. “Anne has such a talent for expression, do you not think, Thomas?” he asked. “Whenever I am low, sinking into a pit of misery, she finds words to
shed light upon me, and shows me the path out of the darkness.”
I reached for his hand. “You do the same for me, Majesty.”
“As every good husband and wife should,” Cranmer said. “You each support the other, and are made stronger by your love.”
“Let us hope that one day soon His Majesty and I can become husband and wife in truth.” I turned to Cromwell. “What is your plan?”
“The clergy are quibbling,” said Cromwell, taking a seat. “This could go on for some time, and you, Majesty, have told me you want your title recognised as soon as possible.”
“I do, but without qualifications. I will have no man question my rights.” Henry’s face was fierce.
“And they will not, Majesty, but I would suggest one qualification. A clause that will allow the clergy to agree your title, but would also allow you to use it to the best and fullest effect.”
“And what is this qualification?” I asked before Henry could grow angered at Cromwell for even suggesting it.
“We will add one sentence,” he said. “It will read, quantum per legem Dei licet… as far as the law of Christ allows.”
