This was humiliating in the extreme because it seemed that François and the French Court were now ready to accept Anne Boleyn as Queen of England.
But all these matters seemed insignificant when the news came from Margaret Pole that Mary had recovered and was almost well again.
“Still grieving for Your Grace, but, I thank God, growing stronger every day.”
“If I could but see her,” sighed the Queen. “I would cease to fret on account of anything else which might happen to me.”
ON A JANUARY DAY in the year 1533 the King rose early. There was a grim purpose about him, and those who lived close to him had noted that during the last months a change had crept over him. The strong sentimental streak in his nature had become subdued and in its place was a new cruelty. He had always flown into sudden rages but these had quickly passed; now they often left him sullen and brooding. All those men whose duty it was to be in contact with him knew they must tread warily.
The little mouth had a strong determination about it on that morning. This was a day to which he had looked forward for six years, and now that it had come, the thought occurred to him that it was less desirable than it had seemed all those years ago. Waiting had not enhanced his emotions; perhaps they had grown stale; perhaps his main thought as he prepared himself for what was about to take place was one of triumph over great odds rather than the climax of years of devotion.
He was going to make his way to an attic in the west turret of White Hall, not so much as a doting bridegroom as a man who has made up his mind to some action; and, even though it seemed less desirable to him than it had previously, he was determined to carry it out simply because it had been denied him and he was eager to show that he was a man who would allow no one to say him nay.
When he was ready he said to one of his gentlemen: “Go and seek my chaplain, Dr. Rowland Lee, and tell him that I wish him to celebrate Mass without delay. Bring him to me here.”
Dr. Rowland Lee, who had hastily dressed himself, came to the King in some surprise, wondering why he had been sent for at such an early hour of the morning.
“Ah,” said the King who had dismissed all but two of his grooms—Norris and Heneage. “I wish you to celebrate Mass in one of the attics. Follow me.”
The little party made their way to the attic and very shortly were joined by two ladies, one of whom was Anne Boleyn, Marchioness of Pembroke, and the other her train bearer, Anne Savage.
Henry turned to Dr. Lee. “Now,” he said, “marry us.”
The doctor was taken aback. “Sire…,” he stammered. “I…could not do this.”
“You could not do it? Why not?”
“I…I dare not, Sire.”
The blue eyes were narrowed; the cruel lines appeared about the mouth. “And if I command you?”
“Sire,” pleaded Dr. Lee, “I know that you went through a ceremony of marriage with Queen Katharine, and although I am aware of your Secret Matter I could not marry you unless there was a dispensation pronouncing your marriage null and void.”
For one second those assembled thought the King would strike his chaplain. Then suddenly his mood changed; he slipped his arm through that of the man, drew him away and whispered: “Perform this ceremony and you shall be rewarded with the See of Lichfield.”
“Your Grace, Your Majesty…I dare not…”
It took a long time, thought the King, for these dunderheads to learn who was the Supreme Head of the Church. He was impatient, and he could see that this fellow was so immersed in the old laws of the Church that he could not cast them aside easily. Yet this ceremony must take place. Anne was with child. What if that were a boy she carried! There could be no more delay. It would be disastrous if Anne’s boy should be declared illegitimate.
He made a decision. “You need have no fear. The Pope has pronounced himself in favor of the divorce and the dispensation is in my keeping.”
Dr. Lee drew a deep sigh of relief.
“I crave Your Grace’s pardon. Your Grace will understand…”
“Enough,” interrupted Henry. “Do your work.”
And in the lonely attic at White Hall, Henry VIII went through a ceremony of marriage with Anne Boleyn, while Norris, Heneage and Anne Savage stood by as witnesses.
THE KING SENT for the newly appointed Archbishop of Canterbury.
Thomas Cranmer, who had come so far since the Boleyns had brought him to the King’s notice, was very eager that his royal benefactor should not regret having raised him so high.
When they were alone Henry explained to his Archbishop what he expected of him. There were many in England who clung to old ideas, and he was going to have every man who held any position of importance sign an oath which would declare his belief in the supremacy of the King. But that was for later. There was this tiresome matter of the divorce.
He knew himself never to have been married to Katharine, and he had been surrounded by rogues and vacillating fools—until now, he hoped.
The matter was urgent. He considered himself already married to Queen Anne, and he was certain that he had God’s blessing because the marriage was already promising fruitfulness. He must have a speedy end to the old matter though, and it was the duty of the new Archbishop of Canterbury to see that this was so.
The Archbishop was nothing if not resourceful. “The first step, Your Grace, is a new law to make it illegal for appeals in ecclesiastical causes to be carried out of the kingdom to Rome.”
The King nodded, smiling. “I see where this will lead us,” he said.
“And when this becomes a law of the land, it would be meet for the Archbishop of Canterbury to ask Your Grace’s leave to declare the nullity of the marriage with Katharine of Aragon.”
The King, continuing to smile, slipped his arm through that of his Archbishop. “It is a marvellous thing,” he murmured, “that all the wise and learned men who argued this matter did not think of this before.”
And when Cranmer had left him, he continued to think of Cranmer, whose ideas had been so useful to him. Cromwell and Cranmer, they were two men who had suddenly sprung into prominence and, because their ideas were fresh and bold, with a few sharp strokes they were cutting the bonds which for so many years had bound him.
He would not forget them.
IT WAS A BRIGHT April day when Katharine heard the news. It came to her in a letter from Chapuys. Now that she was exiled she did receive letters more freely than she had when she had been at Court surrounded by Wolsey’s spies, and so was in constant touch with the Spanish ambassador.
Often she thought that, had her nephew sent her a man with the energy of Eustache Chapuys some years ago, she might have had the advantage of very valuable advice. Chapuys was indefatigable. She had a great admiration for him; she knew that he was of humble origin and that he had come to England hoping to achieve fame and fortune; yet, when he had heard of the wrongs done to her, he had thrown himself so wholeheartedly into her cause that he had become the most ardent champion it had ever been her good fortune to have. Alas, she thought, luck was never with me, for he came too late.
Now she read his letter and the news it contained startled her.
The King, wrote Chapuys, had secretly gone through a form of marriage with the Concubine who was shortly to be proclaimed Queen. The fact was that she was with child by the King and Henry was taking no chances of the child’s being branded illegitimate. Therefore, Katharine would shortly receive a summons to appear before a court which Cranmer was about to open at Dunstable. On no account must she answer that summons. Nevertheless they would conduct the court without her; but her absence would cause some discomfiture and delay; and owing to the recent law that ecclesiastical cases must be settled in England and not referred to Rome, they could be sure that Cranmer would pronounce the marriage null and void. She would see, of course, that there would then be no need of a dispensation from the Pope, because such a dispensation was unnecessary as the King would accept the ruling of Cranmer’s court, which would be that Katharine and the King had never truly been married.