9
In November 1529, Henry VIII was as much in love with Anne Boleyn as ever, and still showering her with gifts; although these were now more in the way of peace offerings, for the relationship between them was by then often a stormy one. Anne felt that time was passing her by. She accused the King of having kept her waiting; she might, in the meantime, have contracted some advantageous marriage, she said, and had children- a pointed barb, this. Peace was bought with a length of purple velvet for a gown, linen cloth for underclothes, a French saddle of black velvet fringed with silk and gold with a matching footstool, and a black velvet pillion saddle and harness so that Anne could ride in intimate proximity to her royal lover.
Often, she would threaten to leave Henry, as in January 1531, when they quarrelled violently. At the prospect of losing her, Henry went hotfoot to Norfolk and Anne's father, and begged them with tears in his eyes to act as mediators. When the quarrel was made up, he placated Anne with yet more gifts: furs and rich embroideries. This charade was repeated on several occasions, with Anne lamenting her lost time and honour, and Henry weeping, begging her to desist and speak no more of leaving him. And, always, there were the peace offerings.
As the months, and then the years, went by, Anne became increasingly difficult to deal with. The Long delays and the resultant stress, coupled with the constant strain of holding Henry at arm's length, tested her endurance to the limit. Her position was insecure, and she knew it. Yet she seemed unable to avoid friction with her royal lover. She was furious to discover that the Queen was still mending Henry's shirts. She herself was an expert needlewoman, and the King's admission that the shirts had been sent to Katherine on his orders did little to sweeten her temper. After such quarrels,
however, Anne would soon be fervently assuring Henry how much she loved him. 'Even if I were to suffer a thousand deaths,' she told him - referring to an old prophecy that a queen would be burned at this time - 'my love for you will not abate one jot!' Chapuys drily observed that, 'As usual in these cases, their mutual love will be greater than before.'
Once installed at Whitehall Palace, Anne was attended like a queen and courted like one. In December 1529, her father was formally created Earl of Wiltshire which meant that she herself would from henceforth be styled the Lady Anne Boleyn, and her brother be known as Viscount Rochford. To celebrate Wiltshire's elevation, the King gave a banquet at Whitehall, at which Anne took precedence over all the ladies of the court and sat by the King's side on the Queen's throne. Chapuys was present and, after seeing the lavish feast, the dancing and the 'carousing', came away with the impression he had just witnessed a marriage feast: 'It seemed as if nothing were wanting but the priest to give away the nuptial ring
and pronounce the blessing.' Anne also presided over a magnificent ball hosted by the King on 12 January in honour of the departing French ambassador, who was sympathetic to her cause.
For all Anne's prominence in the life of the court, the King was at pains to convince everyone that he and the Queen were still on good terms, and kept Katherine constantly with him. She even followed the hunt each day. The Venetian ambassador observed that 'so much reciprocal courtesy is being displayed in public that any one acquainted with the controversy cannot but consider their conduct more than human'. Both were good at concealing the tensions that lay below the surface.
In private, however, it was a different story. On 30 November 1529, when Henry paid a rare visit to her after dinner, Katherine blurted out that she had been suffering the pangs of purgatory on earth, and that she was very badly treated by his refusing to dine with her and visit her in her apartments. He told her she had no cause to complain, for she was mistress in her own household, where she could do as she pleased. He had not dined with her as he was so much engaged with business of all kinds, the Cardinal having left the affairs of government in great confusion. As to his visiting her in her apartments, and sharing her bed, she ought to know that he was not her legitimate husband. He had been assured of this by many learned doctors.
'Doctors!' retorted Katherine, in a passion. 'You know yourself, without the help of any doctors, that you are my husband and that your case has no foundation! I care not a straw for your doctors!' For every doctor or lawyer who upheld Henry's case, she went on, she could find a thousand to hold their marriage good and valid.
But she was getting nowhere. Henry was immovable on that issue, and the quarrel ended with him leaving to seek comfort from Anne Boleyn. Yet she, knowing he had been with Katherine, was decidedly unsympathetic. 'Did I not tell you that whenever you argue with the Queen she is sure to have the upper hand?' she scolded. 'I see that some fine morning you will succumb to her reasoning, and cast me off!' With this, Henry had had enough, and fled back to his own apartments in search of peace.
Gradually the concept of radical change had become firmly rooted in Henry Tudor's mind, and on Christmas Eve he told the Queen that if the Pope pronounced sentence against him, he would not heed it, adding that 'he prized and valued the Church of Canterbury as much as the people across the sea did the Roman'. Severing the Church of England from the main body of Christendom was an idea entirely repugnant to Katherine, and she had difficulty in believing that this was what the King really intended. But, as far as his own case was concerned, Henry was being realistic. The long silence from the Vatican was proof that his suit was being deliberately shelved, and it seemed inevitable that he would soon have to take matters into his own hands.
In February 1530, Charles V went to Bologna to be crowned by the Pope, and Henry, resolving to turn the situation to his own advantage, sent an embassy headed by Cranmer and Wiltshire newly appointed Lord Privy Seal - to stress to the Emperor that the King had pressed for an annulment only 'for the discharge of his conscience and for the quietness of his realm'. The embassy was not a success, due partly to the aggressive and provocative attitude of Wiltshire, an ardent reformist, and although Charles told the ambassadors that he would abide by whatever decision the Pope reached, he added that he thought Julius II's dispensation was 'as strong as God's law'. It was painfully obvious that Clement would not dare gainsay him, and in April Henry told the French ambassador that he intended to settle the matter within his own kingdom by the advice of his Council and Parliament, so as not to have recourse to the Pope, 'whom he regards as ignorant and no good father'. Katherine, conversely, was relying entirely on the Pope. In April, she wrote to Dr Pedro Ortiz, whom the Emperor had sent to represent her interests in Rome, and begged him to put pressure on Clement to give a ruling in her case. 'I fear that God's vicar on earth does not wish to remedy these evils,' she wrote. 'I do not know what to think of his Holiness.' Throughout the summer months, she sent letter after letter to Clement, beseeching him to take pity on her and pass sentence, but he ignored them, fearing that a decision in the Queen's favour might provoke Henry into creating a schism within the Church.
Henry's subjects were as supportive as ever of Katherine, and in the spring of 1530 a rumour was circulating widely that the King had separated the Queen from her daughter out of spite. This was not true, and to prove it Henry summoned the Princess to Windsor to be with her mother, and left them there together when the court moved on elsewhere. Mary was now fourteen, old enough to realise what the presence of Anne Boleyn at court betokened. Hitherto, she had been studiously sheltered from her parents' troubles, thanks to the diligence of her mother and her governess, Lady Salisbury. When Katherine left Windsor to rejoin the court, Mary went back to Hunsdon, where her father visited her on 7 July. He had seen very little of her in recent years, and one purpose of his visit was to reassure himself that she had not been infected by what he was pleased to call Katherine's obstinacy. Yet when he left Hunsdon, he almost certainly carried with him the realisation that both Mary and her governess were already staunch supporters of the Queen.
In July 1530, a petition was sent to the Pope from all the lords spiritual and temporal of England - including Wolsey - beseeching His Holiness to decide the case in Henry's favour. Clement peevishly accused them of having troubled him for little cause, and warned them that he had to consider all the interested parties. Nor could he deny the Queen's right of appeal to Rome.
Meanwhile, Henry's agents had canvassed most of the European universities on the issue of the validity of the King's marriage, and where it was felt necessary, bribes were issued to the learned divines in order to obtain the opinions the King hoped to hear. In July 1530, Henry tested his Council's reaction to the prospect of him declaring himself a free man and marrying Anne Boleyn without the Pope's sanction. One councillor threw himself on his knees, and begged his master to wait at least until winter to see what transpired, and Henry, seeing the others to be of like mind, reluctantly agreed. Even the Emperor, however, was certain that the King would marry Anne with or without the Pope's permission. After three years of tortuous negotiations to end his marriage, Henry was still obsessed with her, and more than ever convinced that God was guiding his actions. He described his flexible conscience as 'the highest and most supreme court for judgement and justice', and - according to Chapuys - told the Queen he 'kept her [Anne] in his company only to learn her character, as he had made up his mind to marry her. And marry her he would, whatever the Pope might say.' He was, in truth, no longer the same man who had lodged a plea in Archbishop Warham's ecclesiastical court in 1527. The despot was emerging, determined to have his own way, and even if necessary to alter the process of law to get it.
Throughout 1530, the Emperor pressed Clement VII to pronounce in 'the sainted Queen's' favour, and he urged him to order Henry to separate from Anne Boleyn until judgement was given. In August, Charles granted Chapuys special powers to act on the Queen's behalf, and this gave the tireless ambassador the freedom he desired and needed; from that time on, he would be more zealous than ever in the Queen's cause. Katherine herself liked and trusted him implicitly, and her warm feelings were reciprocated. Years later, after his retirement in 1545, Chapuys would remember her as 'the most virtuous woman I have ever known, and the highest hearted, but too quick to trust that others were like herself, and too slow to do a little ill that much good might come of it'. Here, Chapuys was referring to Katherine's continual refusal during the 1530s to agree to an imperial invasion of England on her behalf. Chapuys would try again and again to convince her that this alone would put an end to her troubles, but such was her loyalty to the man she considered to be her husband that she consistently refused to have anything to do with the plan. Her attitude exasperated Chapuys, but it also increased his admiration for her.
In spite of the pressure from Charles V, Dr Ortiz and Chapuys, the Pope avoided giving a definitive sentence on the King's case. In March 1530, he issued a brief forbidding Henry to contract a new marriage before sentence was given; in May, another brief was issued forbidding anyone to express an opinion on the case if prompted by bribes or unworthy motives - even Clement had heard how Henry had bought off some of the universities. Then, in August, a papal encyclical forbade all persons to write anything against their consciences concerning the 'great matter'; this was a threat to the unity of the English government itself, as the new Lord Chancellor, Sir Thomas More, was known to be against annulment on moral grounds. Then, to add insult to injury, in September the Pope suggested that Henry 'might be allowed two wives', as he could permit this with less scandal than granting an annulment. The King's anger was further fuelled in December, when he was cited to appear in Rome to defend his case. He ignored this, and also a brief issued by Clement in January 1531, ordering him to 'put away one Anne whom he kept about him', and forbidding his subjects to meddle with his case.
Thanks to Clement's conduct, Henry was losing all respect for the Holy See, and paying greater heed to the clamour of Anne Boleyn's faction for reform of the Church in England. This prompted him to consider that the English Church might be better off with himself as its head than owing allegiance to a weak and vacillating Pope. It was a notion that appealed vastly to the King, and once it had taken root in his mind, a break with Rome was inevitable. Both he and Anne were anticipating that much would be accomplished in the new session of Parliament that was due to commence in January 1531, and that their marriage could not be far off. 'The Lady feels assured on it,' commented Chapuys.
By late 1530, Henry was beginning to feel a certain amount of resentment towards Anne Boleyn, and was not above reminding her on one occasion how much she owed to him and how many enemies he had made for her sake. She remained unimpressed. 'It matters not,' she shrugged, refusing to be baited. Nevertheless, according to the Venetian ambassador, her will was still law to him. This had been demonstrated clearly in what had happened to Wolsey.
Just after Christmas 1529, the Cardinal had fallen ill and was thought to be dying. The King sent Dr Butts to him with a message saying he 'would not lose him for 20,000', and bade Anne 'send the Cardinal a token with comfortable words'. Anne knew when not to oppose the King, and meekly detached a gold tablet from her girdle, which she handed to the physician. As a result of these signs of goodwill, Wolsey's health improved daily, though the longed-for summons back to court never arrived.
But while Anne was sending comforting messages to the sick man, she was still plotting his downfall. In February, she remarked in Chapuys's hearing that it would cost her a good 20,000 crowns in bribes 'before I have done with him'. She also made Henry promise not to see Wolsey, for, as she told him, 'I know you could not help but pity him.' Chapuys was convinced that 'to reinstate him in the King's favour would not be difficult, were it not for the Lady'. Because Henry would not order Wolsey's arrest, Anne sulked for several weeks, and was enraged when, on 12 February 1530, the King formally pardoned the Cardinal and confirmed him in his See, which meant he ranked second only to the Archbishop of Canterbury within the Church hierarchy. After that, Anne was 'incessantly crying after the King' for Wolsey's blood. Wolsey himself realised that 'there was this continual serpentine enemy about the King, the night crow, that possessed the royal ear against him.' She was, he told Cavendish, the enemy that never slept, 'but studied and continually imagined his utter destruction'.
At heart, Wolsey was a conventional churchman, and had never supported an annulment of the royal marriage. During the summer of 1530, he began taking an interest in the progress of the Queen's case, and in a letter to Chapuys urged strong and immediate action as the key to its success. In July, he supported Charles V's call for Clement to order Henry's separation from Anne Boleyn, and in August, he wrote to the Pope to urge a speedy conclusion to the King's case, and to ask why the Queen's cause was 'not more energetically pushed'. In Chapuys's opinion, Wolsey was hoping for a return to power once the 'great matter' was settled, but this would only be possible if it were settled in Katherine's favour. With Anne Boleyn out of the way, and a grateful Queen Katherine exerting her influence upon a contrite husband, the path would be clear for him. But Wolsey, like many other people, underestimated the strength of the King's feelings for Anne Boleyn, and this time the miscalculation would be fatal.
Rumours of Wolsey's activities provoked Anne to fresh efforts. Her uncle, Norfolk, was a willing ally, and was not above bribing the Cardinal's physician into falsely accusing his master of having urged the Pope to excommunicate Henry VIII and lay England under an interdict in the hope of provoking an uprising on the Queen's behalf, perhaps dethroning the King and seizing power for himself. When this information was laid before him, Henry, who had recently been informing his councillors that Wolsey 'was a better man than any of you', was shocked and suspicious. For a while, images of the two Wolseys warred in his mind: the mentor of his youth who had devoted his energies to running the kingdom, the kindly avuncular man whom he had chosen as godfather to the Princess Mary; and the arch-traitor of Anne Boleyn's imagination and the evidence put forward by her party.
Anne won. On 1 November, a warrant was drawn up for the Cardinal's arrest and - in a form of poetic justice - was sent to Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, Anne's former suitor. Percy waited on Wolsey at his episcopal palace at Cawood in Yorkshire, and apprehended him on a charge of high treason. Then began the slow journey back to London, the Tower, and inevitable death. But Wolsey was a sick man, and on the way he succumbed to the ill health that had plagued him in recent months, dying at Leicester Abbey, where his escort had been obliged to find him shelter. 'If I had served God as diligently as I have done the King,' he said on his deathbed, 'he would not have given me over in my grey hairs.' He was buried next to Richard III in what Chapuys was pleased to call 'the tyrants' sepulchre'.
The King was saddened by news of his death: 'I wish he had lived,' he remarked. Anne Boleyn, however, was jubilant, and staged a masque for the edification of the court entitled 'The going to hell of Cardinal Wolsey'. Though Henry found this distasteful, Anne's temper was such these days that he dared not cross her. Early in 1531, Chapuys reported:
She is becoming more arrogant every day, using words in authority towards the King of which he has several times complained to the Duke of Norfolk, saying that she was not like the Queen who never in her life used ill words to him.
Henry did not have the courage to say these things to Anne's face, for he was afraid of losing her, although she had no such qualms. Her thwarted ambition and repressed sexuality had turned her into a virago with a sharp tongue, with which she managed to alienate many of her former supporters. For all this, her power over the King remained, based as it was on sexual blackmail and shared aims.
With Cranmer's plan now being put into effect, Anne was preparing for queenship. In December 1530, she commissioned the College of Arms to draw up a family pedigree that invented a descent from a Norman lord who had supposedly settled in England in the twelfth century. 'The King is displeased with it, but he has to be patient,' Chapuys wryly commented. On the same day she ordered new liveries for her servants embroidered with the device:Ainsi sera, groigne qui groigne(Thus it will be, grudge who grudge). When the court rocked with suppressed mirth, Anne was at a loss to know why, until the King bade her get rid of the device, explaining that the motto was meant to read:Groigne qui groigne, Vive Bourgogne!(Grudge who grudge, long live Burgundy!), a device used by the Emperor.
Anne's attitude towards the Queen had by January 1531 deteriorated into outright hatred. Chapuys wrote:
The Lady Anne is braver than a lion. . . . She said to one of the Queen's ladies that she wished all Spaniards were in the sea. The lady told her such language was disrespectful to her mistress. She said she cared nothing for the Queen, and would rather see her hang than acknowledge her as her mistress. Because of Anne's attitude, and the King's resentment of the Queen's stand, Katherine's supporters were finding that their lives were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. There were also signs that the King was no longer prepared to tolerate any defiance on his wife's behalf. Late in 1530, the Duchess of Norfolk was smuggling letters received from Italy to the Queen concealed in oranges. Katherine passed them to Chapuys, who sent them on to the Emperor. The Duchess's actions were noticed, and she was warned not to help the Queen, Anne using 'high words' to her aunt in front of the courtiers. Katherine was of the opinion that the duchess had sent the letters 'out of the love she bears her' and because she loathed Anne Boleyn, but Chapuys suspected that she might have sent them at the behest of the Duke, who perhaps hoped to implicate the Queen in a conspiracy. His fears were without foundation, for, in 1531, the Duchess again acted as go-between for the Queen and the Spanish ambassador, and when the King found out, he banished her from court.
Then there was Thomas Abell, one of Katherine's chaplains. In 1530, he published a book in her defence, entitled Invicta Veritas, which argued that 'by no manner of law may it be lawful for King Henry the Eight [sic] to be divorced'. It was a very brave thing to do, for Abell incurred the King's severe displeasure, and the book went immediately on to the banned list, although not before some copies had been circulated. It would soon be apparent that one supported the Queen at one's peril.
On 21 January 15 31, the Convocations of the clergy of Canterbury and York met at Westminster, and anyone with any grasp of English affairs would have reckoned this significant, for it was only with the assent of Convocation that important ecclesiastical reforms could be implemented. Something momentous was indeed at hand: the meeting marked the beginning of the English Reformation.
It was Thomas Cromwell who had finally convinced the King of the advantages of severing the Church of England from Rome. Cromwell's promotion to the King's service from Wolsey's had been arranged in 1521 by the Cardinal, when Cromwell was thirty-five. The son of a blacksmith, a thick-set bull of a man with black hair and small, porcine eyes, Cromwell had led a somewhat disreputable early life, and had soldiered as a mercenary in Italy, where he may have learned to admire the Machiavellian ideal of political expediency. Upon his return to England in 1513 he had taken up law, and in this capacity had attracted the attention of the Cardinal, to whose service he had been recruited the following year. To great intelligence and ability Cromwell added a complete lack of scruple, although he always professed to be a devout Christian. It was this facet of his unattractive personality that would in time make him essential to the King. Unscrupulous and efficient, his spy network, instituted after his rise to favour following the disgrace of Wolsey, was to become a model for future governments.
Henry was aware that England's relations with the papacy had often lacked harmony over the centuries: several medieval kings had come into conflict with the pontiffs, and the English had always resented paying the burdensome levy to Rome known as 'Peter's Pence'. In the late fourteenth century, John Wycliffe and his Lollards had spoken out against the wealth and corruption of churchmen, and now, in the more enlightened world of Renaissance Europe, there was even more cause for criticism. Henry was no heretic, but he was determined to govern his kingdom 'in concert with his lords and commons only', and even some supporters of the Queen were disillusioned with the Holy See, which had become an institution increasingly at odds with the burgeoning nationalism of the English people. It was in this climate that the English Reformation was planned.
On 7 February 1531, the King stood in Parliament and demanded that the Church of England recognise and acknowledge him from now on to be its 'sole protector and supreme head'. Neither Parliament nor Convocation dared defy the King, and on 11 February, Archbishop Warham announced that the clergy were prepared to acknowledge the King as supreme head of the Church of England 'as far as the law of Christ allows' - a qualification conceded by Henry after some heated negotiations. From henceforth the English Church would not recognise the Pope, who would be referred to as the Bishop of Rome, and he would not receive allegiance from the English bishops or enjoy any canonical jurisdiction in England.
Henry VIII's Church of England remained Catholic in its precepts. The only immediate change was in its leadership, which since that day has remained vested in the sovereign. Parliament at once passed an Act confirming the King's new title, and the news was conveyed to the people of England by proclamation. They learned that Henry VIII was now effectively King and Pope in his own realm, with complete jurisdiction over his subjects' material and spiritual welfare. There was little resistance. Anne Boleyn was ecstatic, and Chapuys wrote: 'The woman of the King made such demonstrations of joy as if she had actually gained Paradise.' Her father, sharing her enthusiasm, offered to prove from scripture that 'when God left this world He left no successor or vicar.' Like Wiltshire, most of the nobility supported the King, and the clergy had no choice. Even Chapuys conceded that the Pope's 'timidity and dissimulation' had been the cause of Henry's break with Rome, and had done much harm to the Catholic Church.
Yet one or two brave voices were raised against the King. John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, made no secret of his opinion that it was against God's law for the King to be Head of the Church of England. Henry was becoming increasingly irritated by Fisher's resistance, and Anne Boleyn and her faction were so furious that they made plans to remove the Bishop from the scene. On 20 February 1531, Fisher's cook, Richard Rouse, added a white powder to the soup which was served to Fisher and his household. Several men died at table, others fell seriously ill, but Fisher himself ate only a little soup and, although he suffered terrible stomach pains, he escaped what was obviously an attempt on his life. Rouse was arrested, even though it was widely believed he had been acting on the instructions of Wiltshire who was said to have given him the poison, and that Anne herself was privy to the plot. However, the King refused to credit the rumours, and pressed Parliament into passing a new law providing for harsh treatment of poisoners: in future, they would be publicly boiled to death, a punishment meted out to the unfortunate Richard Rouse. Chapuys thought the King had been wise to deal so severely in this case; 'nevertheless, he cannot wholly avoid some suspicion, at least against the Lady and her father.' Anne's involvement was confirmed in October 1531, when she sent a message to Fisher warning him not to attend the next session of Parliament in case he should suffer again the sickness he had almost died of in February. If she had not actively intrigued for Fisher's death, she had at the very least condoned the attempt to murder him.
Thomas More was appalled by the break with Rome, the more so because, as Lord Chancellor, he could not do other than condone it. His reluctance to become involved in the 'great matter' was widely known, and he had made enemies because of it. His old friendship with the King had been strained to the limit, and Cromwell, recently appointed to the Privy Council, had taken his place as Henry's chief adviser. How long he could continue in his office was anybody's guess, but he feared it would not be long before he and the King came into open conflict, something he would have given much to avoid.
In July 1531, Chapuys was writing: 'The Lady allows only three or four months for the nuptials. She is preparing her royal state by degrees, and has just taken an almoner (Edward Fox) and other officers.' Visiting ambassadors were warned to 'appease the most illustrious and beloved Anne with presents'; she went about decked like a queen and dispensed favours as one. Save for the crown and the title, her reign had in effect begun.
Although Anne was not, as Chapuys alleged, 'more Lutheran than Luther himself, she certainly supported the idea of radical reform in the Church, while at the same time observing all the conventions of traditional Catholicism. One of the staunchest advocates of the royal supremacy, she was now openly flaunting her controversial views, and was still reading forbidden literature with the King's knowledge. She also had in her possession more conventional works: a volume of the letters of St Paul, as well as a beautifully bound edition of Lord Morley's translation ofThe Epistles and Gospels for the LII Sundays in the Year,presented to her at Christmas 1532, and several devotional and other works in the French language, among them theEcclesiasteand a letter-writing treatise by Louis le Brun, the first book ever dedicated to her, as 'Madame Anne de Rochefort'.
One reason for Anne's strong anti-clericalism was because she felt there were too many priests supporting the Queen. When Henry put in a good word for an erring priest brought before his justices, Anne said loudly to her father that the King 'did wrong to speak for a priest, as there were too many of them already'. She had no love at all for the Church of Rome, and because she supported the newly established Church of England with such conviction it was widely believed that she would urge the King to do away with traditional forms of worship as well. At the end of 1532, Queen Katherine would warn the Emperor that, thanks to Anne Boleyn, Henry had already seized a great deal of Church property. Like Chapuys, Katherine believed Anne to be a heretic, and Anne's own behaviour tended to confirm this: in 1532, she obtained a reprieve from the stake for a noted Protestant, John Lambert, who had been examined and found guilty of heresy by Warham. Her patronage of such people suggested she was one of them, though in truth she was merely putting into effect her own views on religious enlightenment, which were revolutionary enough in her time.
Parliament had, as yet, done nothing about the King's nullity suit, but every day leave of absence was being granted to those Members who supported the Queen, which Chapuys thought ominous. From the pronouncements made by the universities - all of which had now been received - it was easy to see which way the wind was blowing. So confident was Henry of receiving favourable opinions, and of the effect of his bribes, that there was no room in his mind for the possibility of the body of learned opinion being against him. Nor was it. Of the sixteen European universities canvassed, only four supported the Queen. The majority of the finest and most learned minds in Europe - not all of them susceptible to bribes - pronounced the King's marriage to be incestuous and against the law of God; it was therefore null and void, and the papacy had had no business in the first place to dispense with it.
The verdicts of the universities were read out in Parliament at the end of March, and were later published. Most of the King's subjects accepted them, but women, who were, according to Hall, 'more wilful than wise or learned', spoke out and accused the King of having corrupted the learned doctors. A similar reaction was met with by Henry's own treatise on the 'great matter', entitled A Glass of the Truth, which was published that year.
In the spring of 1531, Henry tried again to force Katherine to withdraw her appeal to Rome. Again, she refused, and wrote to the Emperor, begging him to press Clement to give a ruling before October, when Parliament was due to reconvene. In April, a papal nuncio arrived in England, and told the King his case could only be tried in Rome and nowhere else. Henry told him he would never consent to such a thing, even if the Pope were to excommunicate him. 'I care not a fig for his excommunications!' he stormed.
It was Archbishop Warham who now stood in Henry's way. Warham was old and ailing, a staunch religious conservative who had already gone against his principles to acknowledge the King's supremacy, but without him there could be no annulment. Henry, knowing Warham to be near death, did not press the point. He could afford to wait a little longer, and when Warham was dead, Cranmer, who had already shown Henry the way out of his dilemma, could take his place.
Henry was now seeing as little of Katherine as possible, and when they did meet he only pestered her to retire to a convent or withdraw her appeal to Rome. She had been ill in November 1530, and he left her to recover at Richmond while he went to London with Anne. 'He has never been so long without visiting her now,' wrote Chapuys a few weeks later. However, the Queen was well enough to travel to Greenwich for the Christmas season, sitting enthroned with the King in the great hall on Twelfth Night to watch a masque and some dancing. Henry made a point of dining with her every night, and showed her every respect.
After Christmas, Katherine confided to the Pope that her complaint was
not against the King, my lord, but against the instigators and abettors of this suit. I trust so much in my lord the King's natural virtues and goodness that if I could only have him with me two months, as he used to be, I alone would be powerful enough to make him forget the past. They know this is true, so they try to prevent his being with me.
This was a viewpoint from which Katherine never wavered, whatever the King might do to prove she was wrong: she could never accept that Anne Boleyn's influence was more powerful than hers could be, given the chance.
In March 1531, Henry was still playing the part of a man who had been forced to set aside a beloved wife against his will, and was visiting the Queen regularly, even though it was a charade he had grown heartily sick of. 'The Queen is now firmer than ever,' wrote Chapuys in April, 'and believes the King will not dare to make the other marriage.' In fact Henry was doing his best to provoke Katherine into giving him grounds for a divorce by deserting him. When the Princess Mary fell seriously ill with a digestive disorder in March, Katherine, learning that her daughter had not kept any food down for eight days, wanted to go to her. Henry, seeing his advantage, replied meaningfully that 'she might go and see the Princess if she wanted, and also stop there.' The implication was ominous, but Katherine guessed his purpose and refused to leave his side, even though she was desperate to see her child. Throughout the course of her marital problems, her chief aim had been to protect her daughter's interests. According to canon law, a child conceived of a marriage made in good faith could not be declared illegitimate if that marriage were found to be invalid. Mary therefore had a lawful right to a place in the succession, either as Henry's heiress or after any legitimate sons born to the King. Yet Katherine feared that any issue of a marriage between Henry and Anne would oust Mary from her place in the succession. For this reason, she was determined to preserve Mary's rights, with her own life-blood if need be.
Mary's illness marks the beginning of the bouts of ill health that were to ruin her constitution and her life. At fifteen, she was fully aware of the rift between her parents and her ailments were almost certainly the products of anxiety. Her problems were further complicated by a difficult adolescence and the onset of painful and irregular periods and debilitating headaches. Mary loved her father, but, from the first, her sympathies had lain with her mother. She rarely saw either of them, and in her loneliness and grief she turned to her religion for solace: it would very soon become the dominant influence in her life.
Ten days after their confrontation, Henry and Katherine dined together in public. Chapuys was present, and heard the Queen, 'with supernatural courage', ask Henry once again to dismiss 'that shameless creature', Anne Boleyn. He angrily refused. Undeterred, Katherine again asked if she might visit the Princess Mary, who was still very poorly. 'Go if you wish and stop there!' he snapped, to which she replied quietly: 'I would not leave you for my daughter or for anyone else in the world.'
Henry now, belatedly, began to feel concerned about his child's health, and guilty for having deprived her of the comfort of her mother's presence. On 24 March, he arranged for Mary to be brought by litter to Richmond Palace, and for Katherine to join her there. By April, Mary was much better, well enough for Katherine to return to court and leave her in the care of Lady Salisbury. On 4 May, Katherine suggested that Mary visit the court, but Henry was in a cantankerous mood and refused, although a month later he arranged for the Princess to join her mother when the court moved to Windsor.
Henry was still trying to make Katherine withdraw her appeal to Rome. On 31 May 1531, he sent a deputation from the Privy Council to wait on her at Greenwich, its purpose being to ask her to 'be sensible'. She refused to do as the King asked. She denied his supremacy, declaring that the Pope was 'the only true sovereign and vicar of God who has power to judge in spiritual matters'. Then she said:
I love and have loved my lord the King as much as any woman can love a man, but I would not have borne him company as his wife for one moment against the voice of my conscience. Iamhis true wife. Go to Rome and argue with others than a lone woman!
Then, when the bishops attempted to prolong the dispute, she cut them short, saying, 'God grant my husband a quiet conscience, but I mean to abide by no decision save that of Rome'. Afterwards, Chapuys told Charles V that the deputation had been 'confounded by a single woman', and the Duke of Suffolk told Henry VIII that Katherine was ready to obey him in everything save for the obedience she owed to two higher powers. 'Which two?' Henry fumed. 'The Pope and the Emperor?' 'No, Sire,' replied Suffolk, 'God and her conscience.'
This incident provoked Henry's decision to separate from Katherine for good. The court was then at Windsor, but was due to move to Woodstock on 14 July. On that day, Henry left Windsor Castle early, without informing the Queen of his departure, and she, left behind with only her daughter and her attendants for company in the deserted royal apartments, was not immediately aware of the momentous step he had taken, nor that she would never see him again. Then she was informed by a messenger that it was the King's pleasure that she vacate the castle within a month, and in that moment everything fell into place. He had gone, had left her, without saying goodbye. Even in her distress, she remained calm. 'Go where I may, I remain his wife, and for him I will pray,' she told the messenger, and bade him convey a message of farewell, saying how sad she was that Henry had not said goodbye to her, and enquiring after his health as a good wife should. The King, hearing her message, fell into a violent rage, crying,
Tell the Queen I do not want any of her goodbyes, and have no wish to afford her consolation! I do not care whether she asks after my health or not. Let her stop it and mind her own business. I want no more of her messages!
Nor did his spite end there. He wrote to Katherine warning her it would be better for her if she spent her time in seeking witnesses to prove her 'pretended virginity' at the time of their marriage than in talking about her cause to whoever would listen to her; she must cease complaining to the world about her imagined wrongs. To be fair to Henry, it is likely that, had she agreed to the annulment of their marriage, he would have treated Katherine generously and remained on good terms with her - his later treatment of Anne of Cleves argues this. Yet time and again she had opposed him, seemingly blind to the very real dilemma he was in with regard to the succession, and when thwarted Henry could, and frequently did, become cruel.
Katherine remained at Windsor until early August 1531, when she received a message from the King commanding her to leave court. Having seen Mary off to Richmond, she moved with her household to Easthampstead, where, on 13 October, she was visited by another deputation of the Council, come to explain to her what the determinations of the universities meant and to inform her that Julius II's dispensation was 'clearly void and of none effect'. Katherine remained unmoved, declaring on her knees that she was the King's true wife; he had succumbed, she said, to There passion'. And when the lords warned her of what the King might do to her if she persisted in her defiance, she answered, 'I will go even to the fire if the King commands me'. A few days later, Henry sent her to The More in Hertfordshire, a manor house formerly owned by Wolsey, very well appointed and set in excellent parklands. Here, for a time, Katherine kept great state, being attended by 250 maids of honour. At the end of October, thirty Venetians were her guests and were impressed by her vast household and the splendour of their surroundings. On that day, they noticed, thirty maids of honour stood round the Queen while she dined, and a further fifty waited at table. As for Katherine herself, they found her of short stature, 'inclined to corpulence, of modest countenance; a handsome woman of good repute. She is neither disheartened nor depressed,' but 'virtuous, just, replete with goodness and religion, constant, resolute, prudent, good, and always smiling.' But while foreigners were happy to visit The More, Henry's courtiers stayed away.
When winter came, Katherine's mask slipped, and in November, she told the Emperor that what I suffer is enough to kill ten men, much more a shattered woman who has done no harm. I am the King's lawful wife, and while I live I will say no other. At The More, separated from my husband without having offended him in any way, Katherine the unhappy Queen.
In another letter written that month, she begged Charles, 'for the love of God, procure a final sentence from His Holiness as soon as possible. May God forgive him for the many delays!' The Emperor, touched to the heart by her pleas, summoned the papal nuncio and told him he thought it 'a very strange and abominable thing, that the lust of a foolish man and a foolish woman should hold up a law suit and inflict an outrageous burden upon such a good and blameless Queen'. Then he ordered the nuncio to press for Henry VIII's excommunication, in the hope that that would bring the King to his senses. The Pope, as usual, refused to do anything that might provoke Henry to further excesses against the Church: 'His conduct cuts me to the soul,' wrote Katherine of Clement.
On 10 November 1531, Henry and Katherine hosted two separate banquets for dignitaries of the City of London at Ely Place in Holborn, Henry in one hall and Katherine in another. They did not meet, and this was to be the last state occasion that Katherine would attend. On her way home to The More afterwards, crowds gathered to see her and to shout words of encouragement, which greatly displeased the King. He did not invite the Queen to court that Christmas, and the absence of mirth from the festivities at Greenwich was put down to her absence. Mary, too, was absent, being at Beaulieu in Essex. Nevertheless, Katherine sent Henry a gift of a gold cup, with a humble message, for they had always exchanged presents at Yuletide. Henry sent it back with a curt message commanding her not to send him such gifts in future, for he was not her husband, as she should know. 'He has not been so discourteous to the Lady,' observed Chapuys; Anne had given him 'darts of Biscayan fashion, richly ornamented', and in return he had given her a room hung with cloth of gold and silver and crimson satin heavily embroidered. And he even remembered Mary Boleyn, who received a shirt with a collar of black-work lace.
Anne was still as unpopular as ever. Her reputation throughout most of Christendom was dire, and she was openly called a whore, an adulteress, and sometimes even a heretic in the courts of Europe. At home public feeling made itself felt in an incident that occurred on 24 November 1531. On that day, Anne went with only a few attendants to dine with one of her friends at a house by the Thames. Word spread quickly through the City of London that she was there, and before very long a mob of seven or eight thousand women, or men dressed as women, were marching upon the house with intent to seize her, even lynch her. Fortunately for Anne, she received warning of their coming, and escaped by barge along the river. She was, however, badly shaken by this evidence of just how unpopular she was with her future subjects. Since Henry could not arrest every woman in London, he was powerless to do anything about it; all he could do was hush up the affair, so that word of it should not incite further incidents, though the Venetian ambassador learned what had happened, and recorded it for posterity.
News that Anne Boleyn had usurped the Queen's place at court during the Christmas season provoked an outcry in London, and in March 1532, the Abbot of Whitby made history by being the first man brought to justice for calling her a 'common stewed whore'. The Nun of Kent had continued to prophesy against the King, accusing him of wishing to remarry for his 'voluptuous and carnal appetite', and by the winter of 1531, the government had begun to view her as a threat to national security since she was inciting disaffection among the King's subjects, and was secretly believed by Cromwell to be in league with the Bishop of Rochester. From this time on, she would be watched by Cromwell's agents.
On Easter Sunday 1532, Friar William Peto preached before Henry and Anne at Greenwich, and warned the King that if he made 'an unlawful marriage' with the woman sitting next to him, he would be punished as God had punished Ahab, and the dogs would lick his blood. Henry, hearing this, went purple with rage and walked out, with Anne hard on his heels. A month later, one of his own priests, Dr Richard Curwen, delivered a sermon denouncing Peto as a 'dog, slanderer, base and beggarly rebel and [a] traitor. No subject should speak so audaciously to his prince!' Peto was then banished; he went to Antwerp, and later to Rome, where he was eventually made a Cardinal, dying in 1578.
Anne had not only made enemies of the people and Katherine's supporters, but she had also alienated some of her own supporters by her behaviour. By the summer of 1531, she was on increasingly bad terms with Norfolk, although he would for some time to come continue to promote her cause, seeing in her advancement future benefits for himself. Yet he could not approve of the way she treated the King. It was to Norfolk that Henry came running, often in tears, when Anne had been unkind to him, and the Duke's estranged wife told Chapuys that her husband had confided in her that Anne would be 'the ruin of all her family'. Anne had also managed to offend the Duke of Suffolk in the spring of 1530, and he had gone straight to Henry with lurid tales of her supposed affair with the poet Wyatt. Henry refused to listen, lost his temper, and temporarily banished Suffolk from court, but the rift upset him. Suffolk was a close friend and a staunch supporter, even in the face of opposition from his wife, Mary Tudor. Lastly, there was Sir Henry Guildford, the comptroller of the King's household, who in 1531 said complimentary things about Queen Katherine in Anne's hearing. Furious, she threatened him with the loss of his highly remunerative and prestigious office. 'You need not wait so long!' he retorted in anger, and immediately offered the King his resignation. Henry tried to talk him out of it, saying he should take no notice of women's talk, but Sir Henry was adamant: he would go.
On New Year's Day 1532, Anne returned to court after visiting her family at Hever, and was lodged by the King in the Queen's old apartments with almost as many female attendants as Katherine had had. Two weeks later, the King reconvened Parliament 'principally for the divorce [sic]'. In May, as a penalty for their past loyalty to the-
Pope, he exacted a heavy fine from Convocation. This open defiance of the Holy See was not without repercussions, for the next day Sir Thomas More resigned from his office of Lord Chancellor and surrendered the Great Seal of England to the King. He could no longer reconcile his conscience to Henry's reforms, and he wanted nothing to do with the King's plans to marry Anne Boleyn. The King was upset, disappointed, and rather angry, but he let More go, and Sir Thomas was grateful to retire to his house at Chelsea, his family, and his books. Sir Thomas Audley, a staunch King's man, was shortly afterwards appointed Lord Chancellor in his place.
In May 1532, Henry was busy spending a small fortune on providing Anne Boleyn with a wardrobe fit for a queen. One gown was made entirely of gold-embroidered velvet, and cost over 74. Then there was the glamorous nightgown, supplied in June, made of black satin lined with black velvet, which was not to be worn in bed, but to keep warm and to receive guests out of it. That same month, Henry granted Anne the manor of Hanworth, which boasted a fine house in which she frequently stayed.
Meanwhile, in Rome, the King's case still dragged on. A hearing had been set for November 1531, but then it was adjourned again until January 1532, when 'that devil of a Pope' (as the French ambassador described him to Chapuys) once more postponed it. It would not take place until after Christmas, even though Francis I had told Clement, at Henry's behest, that if he agreed to an annulment then Henry might forget all about his new-found supremacy and once more become a dutiful son of the Church. Clement was waiting for Henry to appear in Rome and answer for himself, which Henry dismissed as a foolish 'fantasy'. He would never go, he said. Then the Pope sent a solemn injunction to the King, ordering him to restore Queen Katherine to her rightful place at court and remove 'that diabolic woman' from his bed forthwith; whereupon Henry, who had waited so long and with such impatience to manoeuvre Anne into that bed, reacted with hot fury. 'It is my affair!' he cried. How dared the Pope interfere! But interfere Clement did, threatening excommunication, a threat that Henry ignored. And in May, he issued a brief ordering Henry to treat Katherine with more kindness. In July, in secret consistory, he decreed that if the King did not appear in Rome by 1 November, he would be declared contumacious, and the hearing would go ahead without him.
The Queen also received support from other quarters. In January, Reginald Pole, then studying in Paris, spoke out against the King, after having once used his influence to cause a division of opinion in Henry's favour in the Faculty of Theology at the Sorbonne over the question of the validity of the royal marriage. Henry ordered Pole to explain himself, which he wisely refused to do; later the King tried to gain Pole's support for his reforms, but again, Pole proved uncooperative. In June 1532, John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, preached a sermon in favour of the rights of the Queen, thereby incurring the King's grave displeasure. And in February that year, Archbishop Warham, fearing an earthly king less than a celestial one, formally protested in Parliament against all legislation passed since November 1529 that was derogatory to the Pope's authority, thereby effectively denying the royal supremacy. This was a setback for the King, but he let it pass, for Warham could not live much longer. But he could not silence his own sister, the Duchess of Suffolk, who, in April 1532, used what Chapuys called 'opprobrious language' about Anne Boleyn, and who still stayed away from court on her account. Nevertheless, finally, Mary Tudor would be reconciled to the King before her tragic early death in June 1533, and would tell him in her last letter that 'the sight of your Grace is the greatest comfort to me that may be possible.' Lastly there was Chapuys, who was still as zealous as ever in the Queen's cause. He had even obtained an assurance from the Earl of Shrewsbury, Keeper of the Queen's Crown, that he would not allow it to be placed on any other head than Katherine's.
There were signs in 1532 that the government meant to deal harshly with those who persisted in supporting the Queen. In August, Maria de Salinas, Lady Willoughby, Katherine's closest friend, was ordered to leave her household and not communicate with her royal mistress. And in that same month, Thomas Abell was sent to the Tower of London for publicly upholding Katherine's cause. However, he was released at Christmas, with a stern warning not to meddle in the King's matrimonial affairs. Most ominous of all was Katherine's separation from her daughter. In January, Mary had made a much publicised visit to her mother at Enfield, Henry being anxious to placate his subjects. When the visit ended neither mother nor daughter realised that they would never be allowed to meet again. It suited the King to keep them apart; now that Mary was growing older, he feared they might well intrigue with the Emperor against him. Besides, keeping Katherine from seeing Mary was a good way of punishing her for her obstinacy.
And there were other ways, too. In May 1532, the King ordered Katherine to leave The More and move to the palace at Bishop's Hatfield in Hertfordshire, a red-brick edifice built in the late- medieval style by Henry VII's chief minister, Cardinal Morton, in 1497. Built around a courtyard - all that remains nowadays is one wing containing the great hall - it was a royal enough residence that would later be used as a nursery palace for the King's children. Katherine was installed there by the end of June, but she did not stay long, for on 13 September, Henry sent her to Enfield, where she would be less comfortably housed. She went meekly enough, still holding firmly to her conviction that she was right.
In June 1532, England and France signed a mutual treaty of alliance. Henry now expected to be able to count on Francis I's support when it came to dissolving his marriage and marrying Anne Boleyn, and the two Kings agreed to meet at Calais in the autumn to discuss those matters and to formulate their policy towards the Emperor. In the summer, Henry told Chapuys that he meant to marry Anne as soon as possible, and would celebrate their nuptials in 'the most solemn manner'. Yet for a while it seemed there might be an impediment to their union. The Countess of Northumberland was petitioning Parliament for a divorce from her husband, Anne's former suitor Henry Percy, on the grounds that there had been a precontract between him and Anne Boleyn. Henry had Percy closely questioned by the Archbishops of Canterbury and York, who made him swear solemnly on the Blessed Sacrament that there had never been such a precontract. Parliament, accordingly, threw out his wife's petition, and the unhappy marriage of the Percys had perforce to continue.
In August, Henry took Anne on a progress with him through the southern counties, but was forced to cut it short as a result of the hostility shown by the crowds who lined the roadsides and hurled abuse at her. Some cried out that he should take back the Queen, others that Anne was a whore and a heretic. 'The Lady is hated by all the world,' observed Chapuys with satisfaction. It was around this time that Anne found a book of prophecies in her apartments at Whitehall, obviously left by one of her enemies for her to find for one crude picture showed her with her head cut off. Anne was unperturbed, and told her maid of honour, Anne Saville, that she thought it 'a bauble', adding that she was resolved to marry the King 'that my issue may be royal, whatever will become of me'.
On 22 August 1532, Archbishop Warham died, and the King wasted no time in appointing Thomas Cranmer to the vacant See of Canterbury. Chapuys wondered if the Pope knew of the reputation Cranmer has here of being devoted heart and soul to the Lutheran sect', a reputation that was not undeserved, although the new Archbishop had to keep his heretical views a strict secret from Henry. 'He is a servant of the Lady's,' the ambassador informed his master, 'and should be required to take a special oath not to meddle with the divorce[sic].It is suspected that the new Archbishop may authorise the marriage in this Parliament.'
Of course, Cranmer had every intention of meddling with the annulment, not only because he believed in it, but because his appointment was enthusiastically supported by the Boleyns, whose chaplain he had been; the new primate had a sincere affection for Anne Boleyn, and saw her as a means whereby he might push through the ecclesiastical reforms that were so dear to him. The Queen, like Chapuys, regarded his promotion as ominous, and was also concerned about her daughter, having heard that Anne Boleyn's enmity towards the Princess was as great as it was towards herself. It was said that the King dared not praise Mary in Anne's presence for fear of provoking her vicious temper, and that she had made spiteful remarks about the girl. By September 1532, Henry was having to keep his visits to Mary as brief as possible because Anne was so jealous, and not long afterwards she was boasting that she would have Mary in her own train and might one day 'give her too much dinner, or marry her to some varlet'. Chapuys, hearing her, was concerned, remembering the attempt on Bishop Fisher's life; he had no doubt that Anne was perfectly capable of putting her threats into effect.
Henry VIII took the first step towards making Anne Boleyn his queen on Sunday, 1 September 1532. On that day, at Windsor Castle, he bestowed upon her a peerage in her own right, something that had never before been granted in England to a woman. He created Anne Marquess - using the male style - of Pembroke, Pembroke being a title borne in the fifteenth century by Henry's great-uncle, Jasper Tudor. The ceremonyofennoblement was performed with great pomp, with the King enthroned in his vast presence chamber attended by the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk and the lords of his Council, while Anne was conducted into his presence by a great trainofcourtiers and ladies. She had on a surcoat of crimson velvet beneath a short-sleeved overgown trimmed with ermine - traditional robes of nobility of a style dating from the fourteenth century - and her hair hung loose down her back. She curtsied three times as she approached the King, then knelt, as the Letters Patent conferring her new title were read out. As the herald spoke, the King placed a crimson velvet mantle of estate about her shoulders and a golden coronet on her head. She then gave him humble thanks, and retired to the sound of trumpets. Afterwards, she and Henry heard mass in St George's Chapel, where aTe Deumwas sung in honour of the occasion.
The wording of the patent of creation left some room for speculation, however, as the phrase 'lawfully begotten' had been omitted when referring to the male issue to whom the title might one day descend. Some thought this an indication that Henry had tired of Anne and was pensioning her off and providing for any bastard she might bear him, but this was not the case. Henry was enhancing Anne's status for the coming French visit, and the unusual wording of the patent was devised to ensure that any child conceived out of wedlock would be provided for in the event of the King dying before his marriage to Anne took place. This was highly significant: it could only mean that Anne had at last surrendered to the King.
Henry's and Anne's sexual relationship had begun only a short time before, probably during the previous week. The death of Archbishop Warham on 22 August had broken Anne's resolve to remain chaste, for she knew that it would now only be a matter of time before the King was free to marry her. Thus she took a final gamble, and it was this, not her imminent dismissal, as some courtiers speculated, that prompted her ennoblement. The ceremony on 1 September was arranged at very short notice, so that Anne would have rank and financial security if the King died suddenly.
Those who had predicted Anne's fall were soon to be speedily disappointed. The consummation had only enhanced Henry's passion, and the Venetian ambassador was amazed at his 'great appetite' for Anne. 'The King cannot leave her for an hour,' wrote Chapuys, and it was true: Henry was more infatuated than ever, if that were possible. Thereafter, he and Anne would live together quite openly; in December, the Venetian envoy reported that 'the King accompanies her to mass - and everywhere'.
Undoubtedly, the sexual relationship between Anne and Henry was to begin with a very satisfactory one. Henry was an attractive man. In the despatches of the Venetian ambassadors we find that 'in this eighth Henry, God has combined such corporeal and intellectual beauty as to astound all men! His face is angelic rather than handsome, his head imperial and bald, and he wears a beard, contrary to English custom.' He had a 'bold address', and still excelled with ease at manly exercise: he sits his horse well, jousts, wields the spear, throws the quoit, and draws the bow admirably. He plays at tennis most dextrously. He has an air of royal majesty such has not been witnessed in any other sovereign for many years.
Anne was certainly not immune to Henry's charm, and he found in her a bedmate at once loving and adventurous - perhaps too adventurous, in fact, for he would later declare with disgust that she had been 'corrupted' in France in her youth. The discovery that she had had some sexual experience after all, though it may be that she was still technically a virgin, was doubtless a disconcerting one for Henry, especially after Anne's constant protestations that she meant to preserve her virtue until she married. However, at this stage of their relationship he was too much in love to let it concern him overmuch; though in time to come this would undoubtedly be one of the grounds for his disillusionment with her.
With her marriage reported to be imminent, Anne had gathered her own court about her, and in its inner circle were young people with wit, charm and intelligence who could be guaranteed to ensure that life was never dull. Among them were Anne's brother, Lord Rochford, of whom she was very fond, his wife, the former Jane Parker - with whom he was not happily matched - Sir Francis Bryan - known, with good reason, as 'the Vicar of Hell' - Sir Francis Weston, William Brereton, Sir Thomas Wyatt, and various relations of the Boleyns and their supporters. The older nobility, who as a rule represented the more conservative element at court, were not welcome and resented their exclusion.
There were now only a few weeks to go before the French visit. Henry had expressed a desire for Anne to accompany him as his future queen, and she threw herself happily into preparations for the trip to Calais, confident that Francis I, once her admirer and now Henry's friend and ally, would surely support her forthcoming marriage. There was just one formality to be disposed of, and that was the vexing question of which royal lady would receive Anne in France. Queen Eleanor was the Emperor's sister, and refused to do so; besides, Henry was adamant that 'he would as soon see the devil as a lady in Spanish dress'. Nor would Francis's sister, now Queen of Navarre - whom Anne had known well and admired when she lived at the French court - agree to go to Calais; in fact she delivered a humiliating snub by refusing to have anything to do with one whose behaviour was the scandal of Christendom.
The bickering went on for weeks. Without any lady of rank to receive her, Anne could not go officially to France. King Francis was at pains to find a solution that pleased everybody and would soothe the ill feeling among all the ladies involved, and, at the last minute, suggested that hismaitresse en titre,the Duchess of Vendome, do the honours. It never occurred to Henry that most people regarded Anne as hismaitresse en titre,and he angrily protested that this would be an insult to Anne and her ladies. At last, it was decided- with reluctance on both sides - that Anne would remain in Calais while Henry went to meet King Francis in French territory. There was no question of her being left behind in England - Henry wanted her with him, and many people thought they would secretly marry while in France, for which reason the trip was not popular at court. But Anne Boleyn, hearing the rumours, made it very clear that she would not consent to being married abroad; she wanted to enjoy the moment of her triumph in England.
She and Henry spent the weeks before their departure at Hanwell, where they hunted daily, and here Anne conceived the idea of further humiliating the Queen. She told Henry that she wished to take to France those jewels that were the official property of the queens of England which were still in Katherine's possession; some of them were centuries old, andofgreat historical importance. Henry dutifully sent a messenger to Katherine demanding that she deliver them to him. These jewels were of particular significance to Katherine; although they were Crown property, and not her own, she considered it her right, and hers alone, to wear them. She therefore refused to surrender them without the King's express command in writing, saying that to do so would 'weigh upon my conscience'. Nevertheless, she had no choice but to do so when the King's written order came.
Katherine was well aware that Anne Boleyn was behind Henry's harsh treatment of herself, and knew she would try to humiliate her at every turn. Proof of this was forthcoming that same month, when Anne appropriated the Queen's barge with Henry's knowledge and consent. Afterwards, without consulting him, Anne had Katherine's coat of arms deliberately defaced as belonging to a usurper before it was burnt off. When he learned ofthis, the King was 'very much grieved', and Chapuys commented: 'God grant that she may content herself with the said barge, the jewels, and the husband of the Queen!'
On 7 October, Henry and Anne, with a vast train, left Greenwich and began their journey to Dover. At Canterbury, the Nun of Kent was waiting for them. Anne had seen her two months earlier, when the Countess of Wiltshire had suggested she neutralise the Nun by making her one of her waiting women, but Elizabeth Barton made no secret of her distaste and turned down the position. In Canterbury she repeated her prophecies, though the King ignored her, and went on his way, but after he had gone to France, she continued to speak out publicly in favour of the Queen, and large crowds came to hear her. Cromwell, whom Anne Boleyn called 'her man', now had her under surveillance, and was waiting to pounce.
Henry and Anne sailed to France in the Swallow on 10 October; the voyage took seven hours. They were welcomed in Calais by a deputation of civic dignitaries led by the Governor, and conducted in procession to the Church of St Nicholas, where they heard mass. They then took up residence in the Exchequer Palace, where they had interconnecting bedchambers. There followed a week of merrymaking before, on 21 October, Henry rode out of Calais to meet Francis I and discuss with him his nullity suit. Francis showed himself sympathetic, and at Henry's invitation, he came to Calais on Friday, 25 October, as the King's guest. For two days, Anne Boleyn kept out of sight, but on the Sunday evening, when the supper table had been cleared, she made her entrance, accompanied by seven ladies in gorgeous gowns and masks; her own outfit was of cloth of gold slashed with crimson satin, puffed with cloth of silver and laced with gold cords. She advanced boldly to King Francis and led him out to dance, the other ladies following suit with King Henry and the other gentlemen present. Henry took great pleasure in removing the ladies' masks, and after the dancing Francis spent some time in conversation with Anne. Two days later, he left Calais. The English court stayed on at the Exchequer for another fortnight, while Henry and Anne enjoyed what was effectively their honeymoon. The Milanese ambassador to the French court, seeing them together, thought they had already married in secret, and referred to Anne as 'the King's beloved wife' in dispatches. The idyll came to an end at midnight on Tuesday, 11 November, when a convenient wind made departure for England imperative. The lovers took ship for Dover, and then made their way to Eltham Palace.
Now that she was the King's mistress, Anne realised that becoming pregnant would both consolidate her position and expedite her marriage. Her hopes of this were awakened during the Christmas festivities at Whitehall, and with the coming of the new year of 1533, hope turned to certainty: she was, indeed, pregnant. When the King learned of it, he made up his mind that they should be married at once. As far as he was concerned, he had never been lawfully married to Katherine, and was therefore a free man. The best scholars in Europe had said so.
Just before dawn, on the morning of 25 January 1533, a small group of people gathered in the King's private chapel in Whitehall Palace for the secret wedding of the King to Anne Boleyn. The officiating priest was either Dr Rowland Lee, one of the royal chaplains, or - according to Chapuys - Dr George Brown, Prior of the Austin Friars in London and later Archbishop of Dublin. As Lee was preferred to the bishopric of Coventry and Lichfield in 1534, he seems to have been the likelier choice. There were four, possibly five, witnesses, all sworn to secrecy: Henry Norris and Thomas Heneage of the King's privy chamber, and Anne Savage and Lady Berkeley, who attended Anne. William Brereton, a groom of the chamber, may also have been present. Thus, in a hushed ceremony quite unlike the one she had hoped for, Anne Boleyn became Henry VIII's second wife.
Although their marriage and Anne's pregnancy remained strictly guarded secrets for some time, neither Henry nor Anne could resist dropping hints about what had happened, and Chapuys took them so seriously that he was thoroughly alarmed. Anne Boleyn was going about in a mood of high elation and, in February, Chapuys heard her say to Thomas Wyatt, before a large crowd of courtiers, that she had
an inestimable wild desire to eat apples, such as she has never had in her life before, and the King had told her it was a sign she was with child, but she had said it was nothing of the sort. Then she burst out laughing loudly.
Wyatt, whose desire for Anne was long since 'sprung and spent', told Chapuys afterwards that he was ashamed of her. A few days later, Anne told Norfolk that if she did not find herself pregnant by Easter, she would go on a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Walsingham. On 24 February, she and the King held a great banquet at Whitehall. Henry behaved like a bridegroom; Chapuys watched him fawning upon Anne and showing every sign of uxoriousness. By the end of the evening he was very drunk and roaring with laughter; much of what he said was incoherent, yet the Duchess of Norfolk heard him refer to Anne Boleyn's 'great dowry and a rich marriage' - waving his hand to indicate their sumptuous surroundings.
During that month, the Privy Council once again examined the facts of the King's case, and recommended that he proceed at once 'to his purpose by the authority of the Archbishop of Canterbury' and the Queen was officially informed of Henry's intentions.
Katherine had spent a wretched Christmas in isolation at Enfield, and the news filled her with dread. Little information reached her nowadays. She was forbidden to communicate with Chapuys, but both defied this order whenever possible, although it was difficult for Katherine, as she knew Cromwell's spies were watching her. In January, she had got a message through to the ambassador, begging him to press for a papal sentence on her case, and saying she took full responsibility for the consequences. Even if the King refused to return to her, she would 'die happy' if their marriage was decreed good and valid, knowing that the Princess Mary would not lose her place in the succession. Furthermore, she believed the people of England would support a papal decision in her favour.
In February, when the King had decided to proceed to the annulment of their marriage, Katherine was ordered to move to Ampthill. As this new abode was some way from London, the move amounted to virtual banishment, which Henry hoped would break the Queen's resistance. Built in the early-fifteenth century, Ampthill had hitherto been a favoured residence of the court while on progress. Nothing remains of it today, for it was demolished in 1616, and by the eighteenth century only traces of the gardens could be seen. Katherine had been there several times, and tried with good grace to make herself feel at home. Yet she would not be left untroubled in her new home for long, for in early March Henry sent a deputation to Ampthill in another vain attempt to make her withdraw her appeal to Rome.
The Pope had several times threatened Henry with excommunication, yet even the threat of this, the most dire sentence that could be meted out to a devout Christian, did not move the King. Nor did appeals to take back Katherine and dismiss Anne. When the papal nuncio ordered Henry, in the Pope's name, in January 1533, to recall Katherine to court, Henry refused 'for good reasons', notably 'her disobedience and her severity towards me'. In February, the Pope and the Emperor concluded a new alliance, and Clement promised Charles that the Queen's case would be heard in Rome and nowhere else. Yet no date was set.
Charles V was then fully occupied with driving back the Turks from the eastern borders of his Empire; he had for the present neither the leisure nor the resources to invade England on his aunt's behalf. This, and the knowledge of Anne Boleyn's advancing pregnancy, prompted Henry VIII to the decision that now was an opportune moment to resolve his marital problems. Moreover, it was essential that the succession of Anne's child be lawfully assured, for the infant's rights must be undisputed from the first. What Henry was planning was for a time kept entirely confidential. Anne's brother Rochford was sent to France on 13 March with a secret message for Francis I, but no one knew what it was. After his return on 7 April, the King summoned his Council and informed them that he had married Anne Boleyn two months ago, and that she was carrying in her womb the heir to England. On hearing this staggering news, the Council advised the King to inform Queen Katherine at once. Henry chose Norfolk and Suffolk to perform the unpleasant duty, and on 9 April they saw Katherine at Ampthill and warned her she must not attempt to return to the King, seeing that he was married. From henceforth, she was told, she was to abstain from the title of Queen and be referred to as the Princess Dowager of Wales. The King, in his generosity, would allow her to keep her property, although he would not pay her servants' wages or her household expenses after Easter. Katherine took the news quite calmly, although her inner turmoil must have been considerable. Afterwards, she told her chamberlain, Lord Mountjoy, that as long as she lived she would call herself Queen of England. Failing food for herself and her servants, she would go out and beg 'for the love of God'.
When Chapuys heard that Katherine had refused to allow her servants to address her as anything but Queen, he resolved never to refer to Anne Boleyn by that title, and he urged Charles V to declare war on Henry VIII, reminding him of the great injury done to Madam your aunt. Forgive my boldness, but your Majesty ought not to hesitate. Your Majesty must root out the Lady and her adherents. When this accursed Anne has her foot in the stirrup, she will do the Queen and the Princess all the hurt she can, which is what the Queen fears most.
Charles was in no position to act; he had enough to do in fending off the Turks. However, the English government had no means of knowing where his priorities lay, and even the King anticipated trouble with the Emperor, fearing that he might have brought England to the brink of war by marrying Anne. He knew also that public opinion was not with him.
None of these things deterred him. One by one he had removed all the obstacles in his way, and he would remove any others that presented themselves. When, on 11 April 1533, Archbishop Cranmer requested permission to proceed to the 'examination, final determination and judgement in the said great cause touching your Highness', Henry VIII wasted no time in granting his request.