So all through that year we waited.
Everything concerned with the matter seemed to take on an almost farcical note. The King had decided that Campeggio should be given a royal welcome. Indeed, while he was in England, deference must be paid to him; he must be placated; in every way his sympathy was to be won. Therefore he was to have a warm welcome.
The merchants of London with their apprentices brought out the banners of their guilds and their houses were decorated with streamers of cloth of silver and gold. Noble lords and their retinues formed the procession, which was joined by the clergy with all their paraphernalia of office, making a colorful display. And at the head of it rode the Cardinal, more splendid than any, in his rich red robes, his silver crosses and the Great Seal of office borne before him with his cardinal's hat.
This was to be the great occasion—the meeting of two Cardinals both appointed legates of the Pope. Such scenes were rare in London.
It was characteristic that Compeggio, for whom all this pomp and ceremony had been arranged, should fail to appear.
While London was waiting for his great entry, he was in bed, suffering from another attack of the gout. So the crowds who had come out to see him were disappointed of the spectacle to which they had looked forward.
Campeggio came into London by barge the next day, and no one noticed his arrival. As soon as he was there, he had to retire at once to bed.
I had expected that once he was in London the court would be set up and the verdict given quickly.
But no. That was what Wolsey might desire but he could not act without the cooperation of Campeggio, and I began to wonder whether that prelate ever intended to give a judgment, for he showed every reluctance in taking even the first steps.
Henry was in a state of suppressed fury. He wanted to shake them until their teeth rattled. He wanted to threaten to have their heads. But, of course, he was not Campeggio's master—even Wolsey must bow to the wishes of that other beside whom even the King's power was ineffective.
The head of the Church was the Pope of Rome, and this was a Church matter.
But for his difficult position I believe Henry would have stormed at them, threatened them, but he could not do so. He was caught by his own conscience. He must pretend throughout that it was the reason for the inquiry.
I soon realized that Campeggio must have had his instructions from the Pope to delay matters as long as possible, in the hope that most likely the King's passion for me would burn out—and they could play a waiting game until that happened, when the entire dangerous business could be forgotten.
This was all due to the powerful Emperor, who was clearly a man not to be trifled with. The Pope's position was very insecure. The Emperor had made great progress in Italy; and while the Pope sought to placate Henry, he could not offend the Emperor. My future depended on the politics of Europe.
After he had arrived in London, Campeggio lay in bed for two weeks, unable to move. Henry was getting frantic and Wolsey had to make some move, so he visited Campeggio and pleaded with him to help bring the matter to a conclusion. The court must be opened.
Campeggio was not feigning illness. He really was in great pain. The devious Pope must have sent such a man because he knew his very incapacity could help to bring about delay.
Then Henry had an unsatisfactory meeting with the legate; he explained to him how much his conscience troubled him. Henry could be very eloquent where his conscience was concerned. But he nearly lost his temper—which he realized he must not do—when Campeggio suggested that the Pope might be ready to give him a dispensation so that he need have no more qualms about his marriage to Katharine.
Henry was adamant. He could not reconcile his conscience to that. He had had God's warning in his inability to get sons.
God had made it clear to him that He was displeased with the marriage. He quoted Leviticus. No, Henry must divorce Katharine and marry again speedily for the sake of the heirs his country needed. He was acting as a monarch should—thinking solely of his country.
When Campeggio suggested that Katharine might go into a nunnery, Henry was delighted. He almost clapped the poor old man on the back, which would have had a disastrous effect on his bones. It was the answer. Why, there had been an example across the water only a short time ago. Louis XII's Jeanne had retired to a convent and the King of France had married Anne of Brittany. Yes, that was indeed an excellent idea.
Campeggio was sure the Emperor would not object to that.
“The Queen is a lady of great virtue and deeply religious,” said Henry. “I am sure that she would feel great happiness in a convent. She shall have her own. She shall live just as she chooses. It is the answer.”
Full of optimistic hopes that the end of this contentious matter was in sight, Campeggio and Wolsey presented themselves to Katharine.
The Queen never forgot that she was the daughter of the great Isabella. Her health was not good but her determination was strong. Her devotion to her daughter was unswerving. I think she would willingly have sacrificed her life for her daughter's sake. Now she was going to fight for her daughter. Mary at this time was heiress to the throne and would remain so until the King begat a son. Katharine knew that she would never bear that son. Henry was her husband, she maintained, and therefore the crown must in time be Mary's. She would fight for her daughter as she never would have fought for herself. If she allowed her marriage to be branded invalid, then her daughter would have no right to the throne. I was sure that was the one thing which was uppermost in her mind. Strictly religious, adhering to the rules of the Church of Rome, she was not going to lie about her marriage because the King was besotted with one of her maids of honor who was ambitious enough to demand marriage in return for her favors. She told Campeggio and Wolsey that, although she had been married to Prince Arthur, the marriage had never been consummated and she had come as a virgin to Henry. She was not going to tell or act a lie before God; nor would she live a lie if by allowing herself to be sent to a convent, which would be tantamount to admitting that she had never been married to the King and had been living in sin all those years. The answer was No.
How Henry fumed! How Wolsey trembled! Campeggio retired to bed; he had no desire, it seemed, except to rest his painful body.
Anxiously we watched events on the Continent. The successful Emperor made an offer of peace to Clement which would be of advantage to him. Clement, in a difficult position, wavered. There was Henry thundering on one side and Charles menacing on the other; and Clement had more to fear from Charles than he had from Henry. What could he do? The peace with the Emperor was still being considered; Clement dared not offend on that front; on the other hand he needed Henry's friendship. He was an unlucky man. On other occasions when his predecessors had been asked to help kings out of unfortunate marriages, there had not been these complications. It had simply been a matter of placating the powerful monarch or accepting a bribe. Rarely had a man been in such a position— and a man such as himself who asked only for a peaceful life!
Campeggio was holding back—just in case affairs with the Emperor did not go as promised, for then, if Henry was offended, where would Clement be… without friends and allies?
To Wolsey the Pope wrote with feeling that if it were merely a matter of his own personal safety he would have given the King what he wanted; but it was more than that. If only the lady concerned did not have such powerful relations, it would have been easy. But he, Clement, could not risk what action might be taken by the Emperor if he considered his aunt had been unjustly treated, even by a monarch so great as King Henry.