But Henry was a strange mixture. He truly loved poetry and therefore appreciated Wyatt's; he liked good-looking people about him and he enjoyed wit. There were two natures battling for supremacy in Henry; I knew that much—even then, but I was to learn more of him later.
On this occasion Henry was playing bowls with Wyatt, the Duke of Suffolk—who was back at Court with his wife, the King's sister, who had once been my mistress—and Sir Francis Bryan.
There arose a little dispute between the King and Wyatt. Any but Wyatt would have glossed over the matter and accepted the King's opinions. The King had said that his bowl had passed that of Wyatt.
Wyatt protested. The King was not annoyed at this stage. He liked to talk in parables and always had done. He was very proud of the ring I had given him, and he probably wanted to stress to Wyatt that he was the successful suitor.
Displaying the ring which I had worn often and which was well known to Thomas, he ostentatiously pointed to the bowl with his hand in such a way as to call attention to the ring.
“I tell thee, Wyatt,” he said, “it is mine.”
Francis told me that Wyatt looked mildly crestfallen but only for a few seconds. Then he felt in his pocket and brought out the jeweled tablet. “I knew at once that it was one of yours,” he said. “I have seen it often. Moreover it had your initials on it.”
“I remember it well,” I said.
“What do you think Wyatt said? ‘If Your Grace will give me leave, I will measure the cast with this. I have good hopes that it may yet be mine.’”
“The fool!” I cried.
“Fool indeed, but you know Wyatt.”
“And what said the King?”
“He was very put out. He could not take his eyes from the tablet. Then he said sharply, ‘It may be so, but then I am deceived.’ The players knew not which way to look. I thought Wyatt would be sent to the Tower. He just stood there. Picture him looking pleased with himself, turning the tablet over and over in his hand and gazing at it with fond absorption. The King said, ‘The game is over.’ Then he strode away.”
I felt deeply apprehensive. He could not believe that Wyatt was my lover! But he would know that we had seen a good deal of each other all through our lives and that there was a close friendship between the two families. I wondered what action he would take.
It was not long before I discovered. A messenger came to me. The King commanded me to go to him at once. That sounded ominous.
I was taken to him almost like a prisoner. When we were alone, he said: “Anne, is Wyatt your lover?”
“I believe he has some affection for me.”
He came to me and took me by the shoulders. He shook me. I drew myself up haughtily. “Your Grace, I do not know what I have done to merit such treatment.”
I saw the fondness come into his eyes, and I marveled at my power over him.
He told me what had happened on the green. I was glad that Francis had warned me so that I was prepared.
“He had your tablet. I know it was yours. I have seen it about your person. He suggested that you were his.”
“Your Grace, I am no man's.”
“The tablet…”
“He snatched it from me when the link of the chain which held it was broken. I demanded that he give it back to me and he refused to do so.”
His mouth slackened. He was believing me. I was touched because I could see that he so desperately wanted to believe.
“And he has never been your lover?”
“I have told Your Grace that I have never been any man's mistress and I never will be.”
“Then all is well, sweetheart. And I am happy.”
He took my hand and kissed it.
“This waiting is intolerable,” he went on. “But soon now … soon.”
The incident was not over.
George told me that the King had suggested that Thomas Wyatt should retire from the Court for a while.
This Wyatt did. I heard that in leaving the Court he had met Sir John Russell, who was an ambassador at the Papal Court. Russell was on the point of returning to Rome, and Wyatt said in a characteristically impulsive manner: “Suppose I accompanied you? I could get the King's leave, for I do not think he is in the mood to deny it. Can you delay your journey for a few hours?”
Russell was delighted to have such entertaining company, and the King readily gave his permission.
So after that fracas on the green, Thomas Wyatt retired from the Court and went off to Rome with Sir John Russell.
Henry had certainly decided there should be no more delay. He told me gleefully that Wolsey believed that, as Papal Legate, he could give the divorce, and all that would be needed would be the Pope's endorsement.
“Therefore, sweetheart,” said Henry, “you may set your fears at rest. The Emperor will know nothing of what is happening until it is too late for him to do anything about it.”
Then he went on to tell me what he proposed.
“Wolsey is a past master in diplomacy. There are few problems that man cannot solve. And he is giving his full attention to this matter. There is to be a meeting at York Place between myself and the clergy.” He gave a little grin of amusement. “I… I am to be summoned to appear before them. Wolsey will preside and Warham will be there.”
I eagerly awaited the outcome of that meeting. It was to be conducted with great secrecy insomuch as the people were not to know what was taking place.
The King arrived by barge at the York Place privy steps and with him were Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, and several lawyers.
I did not greatly fear Warham, for I guessed he would go which way the King wanted him to. He had held his archbishopric since the early years of the century; he was a tired old man and no doubt longing to escape from his duties. Wolsey had, so the King told me, referred to him as “an old fool.” It seemed likely that he would raise no objections.
There were of course the lawyers and Wolsey himself. But I knew that none of these men would have entertained for a moment the thought that the King could possibly be thinking of marrying me. They would all be of the opinion that it was simply because of Katharine's inability to provide a male heir that she was being replaced, and they would be assuming that, when the divorce was completed, Henry would marry some princess—almost certainly Queen Claude's sister, Renée—as we were on such friendly terms with the French.
If any of them had known that the King wanted a divorce in order to marry me, their reactions would be very different. Of course I was not foolish enough to expect the King to tell them the truth. They must believe that all this had been set in motion because the Bishop of Tarbes had raised the question of Mary's legitimacy, and Henry felt the need to sift the matter in order to get at the truth. So the ecclesiastical court which was to assemble in York Place at the command of Wolsey must not know of the King's infatuation for me and my refusal to be anything but his wife.
As soon as the meeting was over, the King came to me to tell me about it.
“Wolsey was superb,” he said. “I never saw him more astute. The man is truly marvelous. He sat there at the table surrounded by the clergy and the lawyers and he told the court that the Archbishop had a searching question to put to me. You should have seen poor old Warham. He was trembling in his shoes. And understandably so. He had to stand up and charge me with living illegally for all these years with a woman who was not my wife.”
“Oh yes, I can understand his fear.”
“Wolsey had told him beforehand that it would be no surprise to me and that my conscience had been troubling me on this score for some time, so there was no need to fear that he would offend me. He told him that when I had heard what the Bishop of Tarbes had said and this was conveyed to me by the French ambassador, I knew that I must search my soul and face up to any questions which a court of inquiry might ask me.”