by G Lawrence
I stared steadily into Henry’s blue eyes. “He is saying that the King of each realm is the true servant and instrument of God, my lord,” I said. “Above the Pope, above the Church, above all men. And I believe he is right.”
Henry nodded, taking back the book. “Yea and it is better to have a tyrant unto thy king than a shadow, a passive king that doth nought himself, but suffer other to do with him what they will, and to lead him where they list.” His eyes were troubled. “Do you think I have been such a king as he speaks of here, Anne?” he asked. “That I have not led, but followed, and thereby brought the ill temper of God upon me?” The servants, unaware of this most important discussion, interrupted us, bearing platters of baked, spiced custard, and cheese tarts, placing them on the table in silence.
I reached out and put my hand into his. “No, my love,” I whispered. “I do not think so. You are a strong and wise King. But I do think that you have suffered from the ill advice of others, those who would keep much hidden from you. But you see now, do you not? What other thoughts there are in this world that might aid us in our cause? If spiritual authority in this world belongs not to the Pope, but to each King in his own kingdom, then matters such as this that now tortures us should be decided by you! You have long known the righteousness of our cause, and our justice is delayed by the Pope who fears to make a ruling, not because he has deliberated on our arguments and weighed them in his mind, as you have, but because he fears to offend the Emperor! Such fears would not have stopped you, would they? And that is because you are the true spiritual leader of England. The Pope is corrupted… and you are not.” I sat back. “Such theories as are written in this book… they bring into question the authority of the Pope to decide on the Great Matter at all. They say the authority is yours.”
Henry nodded, but his eyes were uneasy. “There is certainly much to think on here,” he agreed. “Not the least where Tyndale asks me to count the wealth the Church has cost me since I came to my throne…” he looked up at the ceiling. “The man estimates it may be more than fifty thousand pounds in taxes and tithes.” He put the book to one side, taking up his plate and spooning flakes of white fish swimming in fresh broth to his platter. “And I will think on them.” He toyed with the fish with his silver spoon. “Although I do not agree with him about the Seven Sacraments, Anne. There, I believe he is in error.” Henry frowned. “Tyndale recognises only the Eucharist and baptism, but I believe in the holiness of the other Sacraments. Absolution through confession is a holy right and a divine comfort for the people of God.”
“I believe that is the truth, also, my love,” I said, for I agreed with him. “But you must admit that whilst there are errors in the book, there is much of worth too. And, should the Bible not be what leads us in our faith rather than the clergy, who, as you know, are often less well-informed about Scripture than even laymen due to the poor education of priests? Why should we fear to put ourselves in the gentle hands of God and the Holy Spirit?”
Henry nodded. “Although I see sense in your words, my love, there are many in this word not capable of understanding the Scriptures as well as you or me. But I agree that in certain circumstances, some should be allowed to trust in their own reading of the Word of God.”
“Would not every man benefit from study of the Scriptures?” I asked. “Jesus commanded that his people read Scripture for themselves, so we would know false prophets when we saw them.” Henry looked deeply thoughtful at that and continued to play with his food.
Since Henry had written the Assertio Septum Sacramentorum, The Defense of the Seven Sacraments, which had earned him the title Defender of the Faith from the Pope, I was not surprised that he would disagree with Tyndale. Tyndale said that the only Sacraments which should be upheld were the Eucharist and baptism, as Jesus Christ had performed these himself. All others, such as holy confession, confirmation, anointing of the sick, the taking of holy orders and the holy rite of matrimony, were superstitious rites of the Church, in his view. I did not agree with Tyndale on all points, and, like Henry, believed in the Sacraments, but still, Henry’s enthusiasm for the rest brought me hope. There was a queer expression on his face; at once excited and troubled. “I would like to talk over this book with you more,” he said. “And any others, in the same vein of thought, if they should… happen… into your possession.”
There was a sparkle in his eyes, and I understood then I was safe to bring him other works that I had hidden in my rooms. I was so happy then! I had hidden a whole side of my own self, but now I could be honest with Henry, as I had so longed to be. Others would continue to be persecuted for possession of the Tyndale Bible, and the Obedience by Thomas More and the Church, but Henry would ensure I was kept safe, and more than that, he would read the works of reformers and evangelicals that I brought to him. It was a start… it was the start of something wondrous in my eyes. That one day, perhaps I could prevail upon Henry to move against the Church and prevent the persecution of those who only wanted more knowledge of God. Tyndale remained a wanted man, and his list of enemies amongst the Church was growing, but in England, the King had set his mind into the path of liberty, at last.
The book also showed us there was a radical alternative to the trials and popes and cardinals and delays we had endured. There was much in this small and innocent-looking volume that was to become important to us. But Henry was not yet ready to be so bold, so rebellious as to take up the ideas of Tyndale. For now he wished to pursue the course we were set on. The trial must proceed, we agreed. But I knew that something was lodged within Henry now, and when something took up residence in the King’s mind, there was nothing that could remove it. I would not push him, not yet… but I was happy in the knowledge that he not only accepted some of the points in this book, and believed them to be true.
Zouche came to me afterwards to beg my forgiveness. He pledged his loyalty to me for my swift intervention, and swore that he would be forever grateful to me for saving him. I replied that I owed gratitude to him, for he had not abandoned me to save himself from the Cardinal, despite Wolsey’s threats of beatings and whippings. He had showed himself to be my true servant.
“We owe much to each other, Master Zouche,” I said. “Let us remember this in the future.” He nodded and bowed. I had gained another ally.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Blackfriars
Summer 1529
As roses bloomed in Henry’s gardens, and the skies came alive with the chirruping of baby birds, the Legatine Court dragged on, hearing evidence regarding Henry’s marriage. Much of it was embarrassing… for Henry especially. Intimate details were presented, laying bare the King’s private life to all and sundry. Katherine did not have to face any of this. Since her dramatic exit on the first day of proceedings, she had refused to attend. Henry gave orders that she was to restrict herself to the palace and to her quarters therein, but she found many a sly chance to escape and ride through the streets in her litter. She was cheered everywhere she went.
Henry was furious not only for her outward rebellion, but also for the secret game she was playing. Parading herself before the people only added to her popularity and increased the people’s hatred for me. Songs and poems calling me a bawd, a whore, a witch and a heretic were now being secretly printed and pinned to church and market walls. Even though singing them openly in the streets would bring Henry’s watchmen upon them, some people still continued. Henry ordered the printed sheets to be collected, confiscated and burned, but I heard the songs still. Every word, every verse, every slight, hurt me. These people… they knew nothing of me, and yet they judged me to be the very worst of women. The unfairness of the situation struck me hard. Katherine had lied about her virgin state when she came to Henry’s bed. I actually was a virgin, and yet I was the one named whore, and she was the one praised for her virtue! At court, I stuck my chin out, held my head high, and tried to shrug them off. My good friends rallied about me, and other supporters flocked to me as well, but I could no
t ignore the pure hatred of Henry’s people.
But the trial, however embarrassing, was going in Henry’s favour. A great deal of it centred around whether or not Katherine’s marriage to Henry’s brother, Arthur, had been consummated. The King’s arguments were founded upon the idea that had that union been consummated, and so Henry and Katherine were as brother and sister in the eyes of God. It was therefore critical that Henry prove consummation had indeed taken place. Proving this would also mean that Katherine had lied before her husband, before the people and in the name of God, which could only help us if we could prove it.
I was sure that Katherine was lying. In the months that Katherine and Arthur were man and wife, alone at Ludlow Castle, they must have shared each other’s bed and known each other carnally… They had been young, and the young are often apt to give in to persuasions of passion. Also, had consummation not taken place, Katherine and Arthur would have been ignoring their royal duty, both to England and Spain. Katherine said Arthur had been too sick and weak to consummate the marriage, but there were plenty of his men who vouched that the Prince had been fit and hale. There were many who agreed with me, thinking the saintly Queen was blustering her way through this. She would not admit she had lied now, because she had so long protested to Henry that he was her first, and only.
I was again hidden at the back balcony under my vast hood when I heard evidence put forward by several of Arthur’s attendants who had put the couple to bed on their wedding night, and who had been outside the door afterwards. Outside Blackfriars, thunder rumbled ominously above London. That summer had been hot and wet. Sultry days turned easily to storm and rain.
“There was enough heaving and grunting to suppose that consummation had taken place, my lords,” announced Sir Anthony Willoughby to outbursts of laughter from commoners and nobles alike. Allowing himself a snort of mirth, he continued. “And when Prince Arthur emerged the next morning, he told us it was a fine thing to have a wife. Then he called to me to fetch him much wine as he was thirsty from having been in the midst of Spain.”
The crowded courtroom roared with laughter and had to be quietened by the guards. Although Henry obviously found all this shameful, I listened with glee. Katherine could no longer pretend to be innocent!
Bishop Fisher, taking up the Queen’s defence, however, I did not find so amusing. He was articulate, well-versed in cannon law and he argued well. He asked that the marriage bed sheets be brought out to show the blood stains that were created when a woman loses her virginity, and was told they had not been saved. “How are we to know for sure, then, that the alleged consummation took place?” he asked the crowds and the Cardinals. “All I hear is the bluster of a young Prince… a Prince who would have been mortified to have to admit that he had failed in his duty.”
Many in the crowds murmured in agreement. It angered me that the people were only too willing to happily accept anything in Katherine’s favour, yet they would question everything said against her! It was not fair! I hated Fisher for his calm and composed manner. He was Katherine’s knight, facing down all that was brought against her with grace and courage.
Henry’s face was crimson with anger as Fisher openly suggested Henry wished to separate from Katherine to satisfy his desires. “Our King has forgot that he is not above the laws of God and the jurisdiction of the Holy See of Rome!” roared Fisher with mighty boldness. “Our King would set aside a lawful, pious and good wife, who has done much for our country and her people, merely in order to satisfy his carnal lust!”
“Your opinion, Bishop Fisher, is but that of one man,” Henry said, his face suffused with pure hatred, his eyes glittering blue against the red of his skin… But even the obvious anger of his King did not sway Fisher to desist. Even I found Henry’s argument weak. He needed to speak out, to speak of his conscience, not just sit there and try to discount Fisher with feeble words!
Witnesses trundled in like deliveries of grain and meat to Henry’s palaces; blushing laundresses who testified they had seen the sheets of the wedding bed ruddy and stained with blood; more men of Arthur’s household who had put the Prince to bed with his wife and not only on their wedding night. Fisher stood firm, but it seemed from the amount of evidence presented that Katherine had indeed lain with her first husband. This gave me heart. We were winning.
But the dispensation in Katherine’s possession was a problem. Fisher read it to the court, and it said clearly that consummation had ‘perhaps’ taken place, and allowed her second marriage with that consideration in mind. If this document was genuine, which we could not prove as Katherine would not give it up, then Henry’s marriage was valid whether Katherine was lying about her virginity or not. Henry’s men argued that the dispensation was given in error, and Pope Julius was wrong to have done so. But it is a hard task to convince people that the spiritual leader of the world had acted in error. The Pope was seen as infallible, as guided by God.
On the 23rd of July, after weeks of argument, shame, laughter and gravity, Henry, who by then had experienced as much as he could take, strode to the front of the court and asked for a final judgement. Just a week later, we gathered to hear the decision of the Legatine Court. It could, of course, be overturned by the Pope, if he decided so, but whichever way the verdict came, it was important.
The great hall of Blackfriars was packed to breaking point. There was not an inch of space between one body and the next. Outside, you might well have thought the whole of England had come to hear the verdict; milling masses gathered under the hot sun. Anticipation and the pungent scent of sweat filled the air, as we waited with bated breath. Courtiers, clergy, common men and women were all there. I put a hand, damp with sweat, upon the balcony’s banister, willing them to decide in favour of Henry… willing there to be an end, finally an end to all of this! They must decide in favour of us… They must!
Wolsey started to speak about the trial as a whole, giving a round-up of all the evidence and arguments, when Campeggio rose to his feet. The gabbling murmurs of the crowds hushed. Wolsey started. It was clear he had not expected Campeggio to interrupt him. Wolsey gazed at his brother Cardinal as a starving hound looks to a juicy bone. He knew that this was his final chance to please the King and clearly hoped Campeggio was about to announce in Henry’s favour, and produce the bull Clement had sent, allowing Henry to separate from Katherine.
But what he announced was not what Wolsey had expected, not what anyone expected... Campeggio looked about him solemnly, and spoke in Latin. “I have decided that no judgement will be made upon this case until I have related all that has been presented here unto my master, the Holy Father, Pope Clement. This case is too high, too notorious about the world to give any hasty judgement. I have not come so far to please any man, for fear, meed, or favour, be he king or potentate. I have no respect to the persons I may offend with my conscience. I will not ask favour of or displeasure of any high estate, or mighty prince, and will do nothing against the Law of God. I am an old man, looking daily for death. What should it then avail me to put my soul in the danger of God’s displeasure? I will, therefore, God willing, wade no further in this matter, unless I have the just opinion of the Pope, as within his experience and counsel, there is great wisdom. And if I should go further than my commission doth warrant, it were vain folly, like to bring slander and blame upon us.”
Continuing to speak clearly and calmly, he announced that since no cases were heard in Rome during the summer months, the case would be adjourned until October. He made no mention of actually moving the trial to Rome, but the inference was all too clear. “No more pleas will be heard on this matter,” Campeggio said. “Until October, this trial is adjourned.”
The trial was being postponed. And when it came to be heard again, it would be decided in Rome, not in England.
There was a moment of great silence.
I could not believe what I was hearing. This trial, this Legatine Court, this whole thing had been a farce! All that had been said and done he
re was useless. We were no closer to our goal. We had been duped.
Wolsey was staring with dumb horror at Campeggio. His mouth dropped open, like a haddock ready for the pot. His face was grey and turning white rapidly. When he dared to look at Henry, Wolsey saw his King glowering at him. Henry knew, as I did, that we had been deceived. The long journey Campeggio had made to get here, the extended delays in preparation for the trial, all the promises the Pope had made… they had all been tactics to distract us. The Pope would not decide on this matter with any fairness. No… we would not see justice from the Church.
Henry stood up, his face shocked and black with rage, his eyes flat and his hands clenched. He looked ready to tear Campeggio apart with his bare hands. Wolsey sat, still gaping with disbelief at his brother Cardinal, who sat down, apparently completely composed, writing at his desk as though nothing had happened. He ran a finger through his long beard, scribbling his notes on the parchment before him.
