Catherine the Inquisitor

by Leigh Jenkins

  Thomas’ lack of response to my son alerted me to our loss. More, as a lawyer, would fight until the last moment for his cause.

  I remembered the conversation we had that morning, and More saying that a last resort would be to overrule Harry — he was a vassal of my lands and I could overturn his decision. But More had cautioned that doing so could harm Harry’s rule and undermine any authority he would hope to have later in life. To contradict him was to say that his decisions were not supported by the country of England — a dangerous thing to imply about my heir and to the county of Wales.

  I thought back to Anne and the book she had given me. It had espoused that a king must be a ruler of all things in his kingdom, spiritual and temporal. It was ironic, but that book would have given me absolute power over the spiritual rights of my people, the very rights that Harry was denying Anne. Perhaps she had not been so wrong after all.

  “May I make a recommendation?”

  Thomas’ voice rang out across the room, which had remained silent.

  “My advisors and I welcome all recommendations from great men such as yourself,” Harry answered.

  “Before declaring your intentions, wait for Cardinal Wolsey to arrive. He has been summoned by Queen Catherine and will be here in the next two days. He is the only Cardinal in England. His expertise could be helpful.”

  Harry glanced towards Hastings in the same way that I often glanced towards my advisors. On one hand, it heartened me to see this familiar action in my son. On the other, it made me realize how lost my son was to me. He would glance towards the Bishop and he would glance towards his mother, but he had yet to look to me for any advice.

  “We will wait for the Cardinal,” Catherine said, speaking for the first time that morning.

  Harry nodded, but the steel in his eyes didn’t waver. I was not sure how much Wolsey could help.

  The court was silent over the next two days. Anne Boleyn remained in her chambers. Harry had considered moving her to the dungeons of the castle, but the little sway I still held with him had prevailed and he left her restricted to her rooms.

  The Boleyn family continued to tiptoe around the court; the Lady Elizabeth visited her daughter for most of the day, but Mary remained in Catherine’s chambers, keeping an eye on my wife and son.

  Thomas More spent most of his time in my wife’s chambers as well, attempting to talk to Harry. Much to Harry’s chagrin, his mother allowed More to stay in her rooms as she enjoyed debating with him on many different matters. Unfortunately for our cause, Catherine was skilled at drawing the conversation away from religion or the punishment that Harry had hoped to dole out.

  More, while a deeply devout man, had always argued against my decision to execute heretics, saying that the way to burn out heresy was not by frightening people into conforming but in educating those who had gone astray. His argument, which gained no traction with Harry, was that Anne Boleyn should be instructed in the ways of the church and should be engaged in an open dialogue. If Thomas had his way, this discussion would take place in an open forum for the common men to hear, something not even I would allow.

  I had remained in my chambers, reading more than my usual three hours a day, attempting to find any way that I could regain control of the trial without undermining Harry. It began to dawn on me that I was losing control over my son, control that perhaps I had never had to begin with.

  Wolsey’s arrival was not the relief I had hoped it would be. He was whisked immediately to my rooms, and Cromwell was sent at once to fetch More from Anne Boleyn’s chamber, where he had been arguing with her over Martin Luther’s recent religious treaties.

  I allowed the old man to sit, though I continued to pace in front of the window, my gaze drifting down like it had so often on this trip to watch Catherine and Harry. The queen’s ladies, including Mary Boleyn, followed behind. The young girl had aged seemingly overnight, her bright eyes dull and dark. I didn’t speak to Wolsey, my frustration with the matter tightening my voice.

  I could not describe to Cromwell, when he asked, why I had become so involved with Anne Boleyn’s fate. It was more than something I felt I owed her sister Mary, and more than the attraction I had felt to Anne herself upon meeting her. While I enjoyed the uses a woman could bring, I would not normally rise to fight for one to this degree.

  But Anne had done something unusual. In a court filled with men who pushed their own agenda, this woman had spoken purely for me. She hadn’t looked to advance her family like her sister had, or gain power as her uncle so often did. Instead, she had looked to assist me for my own sake, something no courtier save Thomas More had done.

  And now Harry’s desire for Anne’s downfall disturbed me. I had been shocked to learn that the prince had ordered the burning of a nun and two monks who had made complaints to Harry about their religious houses. As soon as I had heard Harry boast of his burnings, I had commanded the local mayor to tell me about all three cases. Both of the monks had come to Harry with complaints about the strict rules that their houses followed; in one case, the monk had passed the age of sixty and was merely asking to remain kneeling throughout the extended services so he did not continuously rise and lower himself to the floor. The nun had been found with a copy of the psalms in English, something I did not realize a poor nun would have access too. Without hearing how she had obtained this treasure, Harry had burned the book and then burned her.

  I had shared these findings with More and could see his concern with what had happened under Harry’s watch. He expressed the same concern I did that we had heard nothing of these executions.

  When More arrived, Wolsey rose from his stool by the fire and we sat around the same table I had confronted Harry across two days before. This time I sat at the head and allowed the two men to take their places beside me. Thomas More sat rigidly in a chair to my right; his dark, austere clothing barely able to hide the hair shirt he wore. Cardinal Wolsey took the chair to my left and motioned immediately for a glass of wine, his red cardinal’s robes swathed around him, the rich cloth illuminating his pale skin. Cromwell went to his usual location next to my desk to take notes or find necessary documents.

  “What do you know?” I asked Wolsey, leaning across the table.

  “Not much, Your Majesty,” he said. “I received Queen Catherine’s letter requesting my presence to begin the proceedings on a case of heresy against one of her ladies. I had assumed the lady was one of the Boleyn girls, but I admit I had thought it would be Mary.”

  He didn’t have to elaborate on why my wife would target my mistress. I nodded for him to continue.

  “I received a letter the next evening after I had already left London from Master Cromwell, giving more details about what was found and how. It does not surprise me that Lady Anne had this book in her possession. That afternoon, while on the road, I received word from Bishop Hastings about Harry’s proclamation that he would determine her trial himself, without the jury of peers and he confided in me that the scaffold is already being constructed. It is obvious they are planning on her burning in the morning.”

  “I will not waste any time then,” I replied. “Is there anything we can do to spare Anne Boleyn’s life?”

  Wolsey leaned back in his chair and continued to stare at his hands while he replied.

  “Why would Your Majesty be concerned with saving her life?”

  I glanced to Thomas More to answer this question, as I was once again unable to explain exactly why I was interested in this woman’s wellbeing.

  “There are multiple reasons,” More started. “I personally do not believe that execution is the answer to heresy, it should instead be debated and the confused returned to the flock. Beyond which the execution by burning of a noble lady has not taken place in over a century. It would cause undue comment in the courts of Europe and unfavorable comparisons with the Inquisition in Spain. Already Harry has had three people under religious orders burned for merely questioning their superior’s orders.”

&nbs
p; “Why were we not alerted to this?” Wolsey cut to the heart of the matter.

  “This is still unclear,” Thomas responded. “I have recommended leaving a man behind to act as a liaison between the court and here, a man who will have the king’s interests at heart and who will report everything to us.”

  “I know of a good man,” Wolsey responded. “Richard Rich, the lawyer, will do. I will send for him at once.”

  I waved aside this concern; it was something that needed to be dealt with, but after we had determined what to do about Anne.

  “Yes but what can be done about Mistress Boleyn?”

  “Your Majesty, I do not see a way to save the young lady’s life without causing something of a scandal here among the court. I firmly believe that the problems that would arise from blocking Harry from ruling in his own district would be larger than the death of a minor noble woman.”

  This was not what I wanted to hear, but I understood that another member of my court was backing Prince Harry. I may have Thomas More on my side, but he was the only nobleman of any concern who would speak out on Anne’s behalf. The Duke of Norfolk did not want to see his niece burned; however, he would be chiefly concerned with the scandal this would bring to his family — and him fighting this would create more of a scandal. The Duke of Suffolk had nothing to say on the case one way or the other. Of course, Queen Catherine sided with young Harry; it would not surprise me if she had been the one to suggest that he take the case over himself.

  I looked to Thomas and he nodded at me. I allowed him to rise and exit. I was sure he was hurrying back to Catherine’s rooms to speak with Harry. Appealing to my son seemed to be our only option now.

  “Wolsey,” I said, stopping the old man from rising. “What do you know of Bishop Hastings?”

  He shook his head, smiling at me gently.

  “He is of the order of the Friars Observant, and I have heard even from the head abbot there that he is considered to be extreme in his desire to eradicate not only heresy but those he does not consider being of sufficient dedication to the Pope.”

  I had known as much, but nodded my thanks to Wolsey anyways. There had to be way to stop what was spreading among my family. As soon as this business with Anne had finished, I would look towards Bishop Hastings.

  “Papa, Papa!”

  I looked up from my most recent letter from King Francis to see my nine-year-old daughter run into my chambers, darting past one of the guards who tried to stop her.

  I held my hand out for the man to keep his peace and lifted Mary up into my arms.

  Normally when Mary would run in to interrupt my work, she would throw her arms around my neck and pull down, insisting that I come outside to play bowls or to go riding with her. But today she merely pulled herself into my lap and hid her head into my jacket.

  I let her cry for a few minutes and it wasn’t until she pulled her head out that I patted down her hair and asked her to tell me about it.

  “Are you sure, Papa?” she responded, still sniffling.

  “Yes Princess,” I answered, smiling gently at her. I didn’t truly want to hear, but someone would have to tell me and better my daughter than one of my ministers.

  “Very well,” she said, leaning back into my arms. “Mama interrupted my lessons this morning. Nellie had to put my very best dress on me, the one with the nasty velvet, and I joined Harry and Mama on a procession out into the streets. The people were so quiet, Papa.”

  She looked up at me, waiting to see if that shocked me but I simply nodded for her to continue her story.

  “No one said anything bad, but I think they would have if all the guards hadn’t been there. Harry led us up onto the stage and we sat down. I wanted to climb into your seat but Nellie said I had to be on my best behavior today so I didn’t. Instead, I crossed my legs and hands like Mama taught me and we sat down. The crowds didn’t cheer like they do when you are there, Papa.”

  Mary stopped talking, seemingly trying to take in the crowd’s lack of response. I imagined this was the first time a crowd had not cheered for my daughter and this thought would remain with her long after the memory of what she had witnessed today had.

  After a few moments I tapped her arm, and she looked up at me started. Before I could say anything she continued with her story.

  “I wasn’t very happy because we sat there for a long time while Bishop Hastings read a long list of charges. I didn’t understand what all he said, Papa, but Harry nodded a lot and Mama had her head bowed like she didn’t want to listen.”

  “It’s OK, darling, you don’t have to remember what Bishop Hastings said.” I knew Thomas More would already have a copy of the charges for my review.

  “Well, when he finished reading, Harry stood up and his page clapped his hands for silence. I don’t know why he did that. There wasn’t anyone speaking, Papa! Everyone was so quiet. Harry stood up then and was quiet for a while. I don’t know what he was waiting for. But then when he spoke his voice was very loud and he said ‘We find the accused to be guilty of these charges.’ Bishop Hastings nodded and then asked Harry what his pleasure was. I had hoped this would mean dancing or something, but Harry only replied, ‘A burning of the prisoner.’ There was a hiss from the back of the crowd, but the guards moved in that direction and it stopped.”

  Mary took a deep breath and snuggled in closer to my jacket.

  “Then there wasn’t anything for a moment. Bishop Hastings walked forward with a paper, which Harry signed and then a cart was wheeled out with Lady Anne on it. She had a horrid grain sack over her head. They pulled it off and Papa, she was all bloody! The crowd started muttering when they saw this and there was a shriek from the ladies. The nice Lady Mary fainted then and her husband had to take her away.”

  I took a deep breath — the murmurings would have been about why Lady Anne was bloody. It did not sound like this had been handled well at all.

  “Go on, please, darling,” I whispered, ready to get this over with.

  “Well they made the Lady Anne walk up to the big pile of wood. A young bishop came forward and read her the last rites — Harry started to protest but Mama held her hand out and he didn’t. I thought she was going to make a speech but when I asked Sir Thomas about it on the way back he said that Harry wouldn’t let her. I don’t think that seemed fair.”

  In my sons defense I imagine I would not let her have speak either. It was unlikely she had anything kind to say about how she had been treated thus far.

  “But then they tied her up to the stake,” Mary’s voice dropped down. “They made her put her own hands behind her after she gave the executioner some money. He put a blindfold over her and her mouth was moving very gently, it looked like she was praying. The executioner looked to Harry and waited for him to nod before he lit the wood below her. I didn’t realize it would burn so fast, Papa.”

  I held Mary a bit closer to me and let her be silent for as long as she needed to be. She had started to cry again and when a herald stepped inside the room, I could see Sir Thomas behind him. Without even needing to open my mouth, I saw Thomas call the man back out and turn away.

  I wanted to know more but I was scared to ask my young daughter — did she scream? Was her death quick, or did Anne agonize for a long time? How had Harry — unpredictable Harry — reacted when she was dead?

  But I knew there would be courtiers by the score ready to answer these questions for me and many more I would not even think to ask. The court would speak of nothing but this morning’s events for a very long time.

  Mary finally stopped crying and when I looked down I saw she had fallen asleep in my arms. I was unused to being in charge of something so precious, of having someone act so human around me — the last person to trust me like this had been my younger sister Mary, and it had been many years since she had called me Harry or thrown her slipper at me when upset.

  I lifted Mary up and took her into my inner chamber to place her on my bed. Two grooms came forward from a corner,
but I waved them back after I had tucked a light sheet around her shoulders. I sent one of the two young boys to fetch Nellie, Mary’s young waiting woman, so there would be someone familiar there when she awoke. While I waited for the woman, I sat on the bed, taking a few minutes to watch Mary sleep.

  I had tried to convince Catherine that Mary did not need to witness the events of today. But my wife was angry enough that I refused to come to the execution, I had not wanted to push her further when she was already so dangerous. But looking down at my young daughter, I wish I had fought Catherine harder on this. I had been swayed by her argument that Harry had witnessed executions at a much younger age and this had not affected him — but after today I was not so sure it hadn’t.

  Nellie arrived and when I exited the chamber it was to find Sir Thomas More waiting for me. He swept into a low bow and I made sure the room was empty before I gestured for him to sit with me. Before doing so, he came over and placed a light hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her, Harry.”