by G Lawrence
My father took a long breath in through his nose and huffed it out the same way. “Nor is Suffolk interested in pursuing the annulment now. It seems that his wife may have moved him to pity Katherine, for he speaks less and less warmly of the annulment each day. If the King wishes it, Suffolk will continue to seek a way. But Suffolk has less between his ears even than Norfolk, and I am carrying them both on the Council.” He frowned. “I have also wondered, of late, if Suffolk may have finally realised that helping the King to get a new wife might threaten the position of his heir. If Henry has no son, then Henry Brandon may well rise to the throne. He is placed behind the children of Margaret Tudor, at present, but that could change. The King has no wish to hand his kingdom to the Scots, and he disapproves of his elder sister’s divorce from her second husband. He has passed comment about placing Mary of Suffolk’s children above those of Margaret in the succession. Suffolk’s son could become a king, if Henry never has an heir.”
“What can be done?”
“I know not, daughter… we are stuck, and Henry complains daily that his present ministers are not up to the standard that Wolsey set. I fear that the Cardinal will return, and, possibly, stronger than before. Norfolk and Suffolk are too blinded by their present glee at their positions to realise their ineptitude is causing the King to yearn for Wolsey. I do my best, of that I assure you, but carrying the weight of the two Dukes, and all my own work, is no easy task.”
I was troubled, and rapidly it seemed that my father was right.
In early February, Wolsey was given the lodge in Richmond Park in which recover fully from his illness. This edged him closer to Henry. Wolsey sent overtures of love and friendship to me, to George, to my father and all of our faction, hoping to worm his way into our teeth and have us speak for him to Henry. Despite my father’s doubts about Norfolk’s intelligence, the Duke did finally seem to realise that there was a real chance that Wolsey could return to favour. He worked avidly to keep Henry and Wolsey apart, but the numbers of Wolsey’s supporters at court were increasing. Enemies of the Boleyns and Howards, and friends of Katherine, knew Wolsey was their best bet to remove us. There were calls from most unexpected quarters for his restoration. As his terror grew, Norfolk suddenly became attentive towards me again.
“The King would not turn so, to our old enemy, if he thought his counsel from you was good enough, Your Grace,” I snapped as he arrived, as though on a whim, with a gift of fine pike and carp for my table. Norfolk was such an arrogant dullard that he thought he could just turn up with presents and I would fawn at his feet, but I saw through him. He was angry, abashed, and left muttering about this unnatural creature that was related to him by blood.
Both Charles and Clement voiced support for Wolsey’s return. In truth, they harboured little affection for the Cardinal. They meant only to irritate us and make us uneasy and knew, as others did, that Wolsey’s return could mean my removal. Henry was not of a mind to listen to men who had opposed and humiliated him, but he still loved Wolsey and was deeply unhappy with his present Council. He heard all the petitions for Wolsey’s reinstatement, and eventually, frustrated by Suffolk, Norfolk, and even my father, he made a choice.
Gardiner was sent to make an arrangement with Wolsey. The Cardinal would be based in York, far from London, in order to satisfy Norfolk and others, but he would be absolved of the charges which had precipitated his downfall. The Cardinal had been complaining he had not enough to live on. He stated he required no less than four thousand pounds a year to maintain his household; a sum worthy of an Emperor. Whilst many bristled at the idea of handing out so much money to the Cardinal, Norfolk and my father hoped, if he was offered enough coin, he might well capitulate, agree to advise the Council from a distance, and desist in trying to sneak closer to Henry, or London.
“I fear this father…” I said to him in my chambers one day, watching ravens croak and spiral over the high tops of the trees in the gardens. “Norfolk has shown his colours, and Suffolk leans each day more towards Katherine. We are losing allies just as we send our greatest enemy off to the north!”
“Then we must enlist new ones,” he said. “What think you of Gardiner?”
I shrugged. “I trust him. He has worked for me and for this cause on more than one occasion. I believe he is on our side.”
“Be careful in whom you trust, Anne,” said my mother from her chair. “There are many who flock to those they think will bring them privilege and power and retract their loyalty easily enough when their needs are served.”
“As we have seen, most unfortunately, with your own brother, my lady mother,” I snapped, and then, when her face fell, went to embrace her. “I am sorry,” I said. “I did not mean to cause you grief.”
She patted my arm. “I know, child… in truth I am as disappointed in him as you are.”
“Then we seek out new friends,” I said. “You will go to Gardiner and ask for his ideas, father?”
He nodded. “It is time for new ideas, and new minds. Worry not, my child… Soon enough we will have what we want.”
As he left, I turned to my mother. “How is Mary?” I asked. “I hear from her so rarely.”
She smiled. “She complains the same about you.”
I frowned. “You are… kind to each other, are you not?” I asked. “Mary said some things to me that made me think you two were not the best of friends.”
My mother flushed. “I have, it is true, told her of her present situation in this world,” she said curtly. “And I was only honest, Anne. Mary has to see that she is not a great prize for another match in marriage now. I but told her the truth. Mary is fortunate that you were made guardian of her children, for if the King decided otherwise then she could have lost them for her past sins.”
“The King had a hand in those sins as well, my lady mother,” I reminded her.
“Anne! Do not speak so! What if someone heard you?”
I sighed. “Be gentle with her, mother, for my sake if you cannot manage it for hers. I wish her to be brought to court when I am made Queen, if I am ever made Queen, for I miss her company. Be gentler to her than the world has been, mother. This world is not a fair place for women; it aids us not at all to turn on each other as well.”
“I am her mother,” she reprimanded. “As I am yours, and will ever offer my advice when I feel it is fit.” Her face softened. “But I will do as you ask, Anne.” She started coughing. Her long weakness in the winter months had come to her again this year, and she had spent most of the season at Hever, recovering. Although even Henry’s skilled doctors had attended her, no one seemed able to cure what ailed her. They bled her, they fed her pills, they put leeches upon her, and nothing worked. She grew thinner every year, and clumps of her hair had started to fall out. She wore false sections in amongst her tresses now to plump them out. Her teeth troubled her much as well, and she had had many removed over the winter. This caused her some trouble with eating, and she had taken to smiling in a tight-lipped fashion in order to hide her affliction. But even losing teeth and hair, my mother was a charming looking woman. Her high cheekbones and bright eyes gave her face elegance, and she would always be the most beautiful woman in the world to me.
“Here,” I passed her some ale. “If you were not fully recovered, you should not have come back to court.”
She snorted. “I am well enough, to do all I can to help you,” she said sullenly. “I would that my children would stop treating me as though I were a child when I have been grown and a woman longer than any of you!”
I laughed and promised to leave her be. But amongst my other fears, I worried for her. I little wanted to think that one day I could lose her.
Chapter Sixty-Two
York Place
Winter 1530
On the 10th of February, Henry issued a general pardon for Wolsey. A few days later, all of the property Wolsey had granted the King from the archbishopric of York was returned to him, excluding York Place, which Henry was never going
to give up, since he and I liked it too much. Wolsey was given three thousand pounds, and a pension of six hundred and sixty-six pounds. Another three hundred was granted for clothing, and he was given enough livestock to feed his household for months. For a man who had, only a few months previously, complained he had no linen for his bed, this was a quick and profitable turnabout.
The generous offer was made and approved by Wolsey’s enemies on the Council. They hoped it would keep Wolsey away from London and from Henry, enabling our faction to work on undermining the Cardinal once again. But to Henry, it was the start of reinstatement for his old friend. He tried to avoid the subject with me at all costs, and in that silence I knew that he would one day bring Wolsey back. No matter what pain it would cause Henry, I could not let that happen. I had to do as my father had said, and work to remove Wolsey for the good of us all. One day, Henry would see that I was right.
Around this time, Henry started to draw Master Cromwell, that avid advocate of Wolsey’s, more closely into his service. He had found Cromwell’s loyal dedication to Wolsey charming, and liked the quick mind he saw in Cromwell’s defence of his master. Whilst l liked not Cromwell’s love for the fat bat, I saw much usefulness in the man, as did Henry. I suspected that the leniency being shown to Wolsey was, at least in part, due to Cromwell. That he so well understood Henry’s love and sympathy for his former minister, and was able to play on it, was disturbing. My father believed that we should move against Cromwell’s further promotion at court, but, when I saw Henry turn to him in the same manner he had once done with Wolsey, I began to think along different lines.
Henry admired men like Cromwell and Wolsey. They had both risen from humble stock as Wolsey had been the son of an innkeeper and butcher, and Cromwell’s father was a blacksmith and innkeeper. There was a subtle difference between them in this, however. Wolsey never mentioned his family or origins, whereas Cromwell was open about them; he was curiously honest about his past, which I found striking. Many courtiers would seek to hide such humble origins, particularly from the King… but Cromwell did not. He had, in fact, pride in the manner of his rise, and people knew of it. Henry liked men who had worth beyond the nobility of their blood, and was never ill at ease as some of noble blood were with the common man. Henry was interested in people, a valuable trait for a King. But it also gave him a capability that others, like Norfolk, did not have… the ability to see men for their worth, not just for their blood.
“I think,” I said to my father, “that we should enlist Master Cromwell for our side.” He stared at me in disbelief.
“But he advocates for Wolsey…” he said, glancing at me quizzically.
“The King begins to love Master Cromwell,” I replied, gazing on the window through which I could see late snow starting to fall. “And he starts to lean on his judgement. Henry trusts that Cromwell is a man of deep loyalties, for his support of Wolsey… As the King draws him close, why not take him under the shelter of our arms too?”
“He is clever,” my father grudgingly admitted.
“And witty,” I added. “He may be on our enemy’s side at present, my lord father… But what if he were to join ours instead?” I watched my father with thoughtful eyes. “He must have incurred debts to further Wolsey’s cause, must he not? Bribes about the court do not come cheap, and I doubt very much that the flying rodent would have offered him much of his own wealth to Cromwell… Wolsey would just expect his help, would he not?”
My father narrowed his eyes. “So… what say you on this?” he asked.
“Merely that if Cromwell has debts for standing so loyal to his master, then it may be that eventually he will see this as a lost cause, not only for the Cardinal, but for himself. Perhaps there are ways, then, that we might help him… Men are loyal to they who support them. Why should it not be the Boleyns who support this most able man, who is growing every day higher in Henry’s estimations?”
My father nodded thoughtfully. “He is shrewd,” he admitted. “And he has a far better mind behind that dark head of hair than Norfolk or Suffolk.”
“And the King loves him… Those whom the King loves should be our friends if we can make it so.”
“I will inquire into the costs Cromwell has incurred in supporting his master,” my father promised. “And I will invite him to dine with me… This is a dangerous path though, Anne… If Cromwell chooses to remain loyal to Wolsey then this may not go well for us.”
“If we replace his master’s patronage with a patronage of our own, I think he will come around,” I purred. “And besides, the King is not so attached to Cromwell as yet… A word or two from me could dislodge him. But I have been looking, father, since Wolsey fell, for a new tool to use in our cause, and I wonder if Cromwell is not that implement. You, despite your cleverness, cannot possibly fulfil all roles for the King. We need more men, men like you rather than like Norfolk or Suffolk… Men who have brains and know how to use them. Better yet, men who will show loyalty to us, not only for what they may gain, but for Henry’s Matter… And let us see how loyal he is willing to be to his former master in truth, when we offer him more rewards than Wolsey ever could. I will be his Queen one day… A canny man such as Cromwell will come to see that supporting a rising star is better than remaining loyal to a falling one…”
My father nodded. “You have become like a commander, Anne,” he noted with admiration. “You would have made a great general, had you been a boy.”
“Do I not command and move my troops even now, father, even though I be a woman?” I asked. “This war is not fought with sword or blade, but we have troops, we have manoeuvres, we have battles… Perhaps I am a commander in war… with a fight for the love of my King, and the future of the true faith in England at stake.”
I looked out at the snow once more. Swans and geese were alighting the choppy surface of the Thames, whooping loudly as they landed. In those waters, salmon were starting their February run.
It felt as though as winter would soon be ended, that spring drew near, that everything was in motion. There was a sense of expectation. We had to move too… We had to move swiftly to strike our enemies before they came for us.
Chapter Sixty-Three
York Place
Winter 1530
Soon after my father began to enlist fresh blood for our cause, I had a visit from Stephen Gardiner and Edward Foxe. Ever since going to Rome on our behalf, the two had often been in company with each other. My father wanted new ideas, and when they came to me, I could see a sly look on Gardiner’s swarthy face. My maid Kate took their cloaks, and left batting them with her hand and shaking her head for the cold water upon them. I offered them ale, and we sat down at the fireside, for it was a cold morning. Rain and wind whipped about the outside streets, sending merchants’ goods sailing through the air. People hurried through the city, their clothes and coats clenched about them. Inside York Place, it was warm and comfortable. The fireplaces, many of which still bore Wolsey’s emblems, were fine, large and well-stocked with expensive sea-coal.
“My father sent you to me?” I asked as we all sat down on the cushions I had made. I had been embroidering many fine cushions for my apartments, all bearing the Tudor rose and my own emblems; the leopard of the Rochfords and my own personal falcon. They were beautiful creations and I was proud of them. There was something in embroidery that allowed my mind, so often troubled, to calm. It was good to have something to occupy the fingers and yet still leave the mind free to think. In my days of exile at Hever, so long ago when I had been banished from court for daring to become engaged to Henry Percy, I had come to despise embroidery. But now, I turned to it, even as I turned to the works of Tyndale, Lefevre and Luther and to the Scriptures, seeking peace and calm in a world in which life often spiralled wildly out of my control.
“Your father came to us, my lady,” said Gardiner, resting his goblet of ale in his hands, “and asked us for fresh ideas on the King’s Great Matter.”
“And know you of
anything that might help us?”
Foxe and Gardiner looked at each other, and Gardiner nodded slightly to Foxe. “My lady,” Foxe said, his face open and excited. “When you and our royal lord were at Grafton last summer, Master Gardiner and I were put up at a house nearby belonging to a Master Cressey. When we came to dine that night with his family, we found that his sons were being tutored by an old university acquaintance of ours; the scholar and theologian Doctor Thomas Cranmer of Jesus College. Master Cressey is a great advocate of yours, my lady, and he and Cranmer had already talked much on the subject of the King’s Great Matter.”
“And… Master Cressey had something to add to the discussion?” I asked, sipping my ale.
Foxe grinned. “Not he, so much, my lady… but Doctor Cranmer did.”
“And what had he to say on this?”
“He listened patiently to us discussing the trial and its poor outcome, my lady, and then, as we came to talk on what the King would do now, he spoke up.” Foxe paused and looked at Gardiner.
