“But, sweetheart, if any man can get me my divorce, that man is the Cardinal,” Henry had insisted.
Anne had agreed with that. They should use the Cardinal, for he was a wily man; she did not deny that. But he believed that the purpose of the divorce he was trying to arrange was that Henry might marry Renée, daughter of Louis XII, not Anne Boleyn.
So there were secrets which the King had kept from the Cardinal, and during recent months it had often been necessary to deceive him. Once there had been complete accord between them, but this was no longer so, and now Henry was irritated to think of those secrets; he might have despised himself for his duplicity, but as he could not do that, he gave vent to his feelings in his dislike of Wolsey.
He brushed the man out of his thoughts and had the Court searched for Francisco Felipez. He could not be found. It seemed that he had left England several days before.
THE KING SENT for one of his secretaries, Dr. William Knight. This was a man whom he trusted and who had already shown himself a worthy ambassador, for Henry had often sent him abroad on state business.
William Knight was a man of some fifty years and Henry had chosen him for his wisdom and experience.
“Ah, my good William,” said the King as soon as Dr. Knight entered his apartment, “you have been in my service many years, and I have great faith in you; that is why I now assign to you the most important task of your life.”
William Knight was surprised. He stammered: “Your Grace knows that whatever task is assigned to me I will perform with all my wits.”
“We know it, William. That is why we are entrusting you with this matter. You are to leave at once for Rome, travelling through France of course.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And when you reach Rome you must find some means of seeing the Pope. I wish this matter of the divorce to be hastened. I chafe with the delay. I wish you to ask the Pope to give Cardinal Wolsey the power to try our case here in England. And there is one other matter. As soon as the divorce is settled I shall marry—immediately. I consider it my duty to marry and I have chosen the Lady Anne Boleyn to be my wife.”
William Knight did not answer. He had heard rumors of course. He knew that the Boleyn faction had great influence with the King, but had not realized that the matter had gone so far and that the King could possibly contemplate marriage with Thomas Boleyn’s daughter while Wolsey was in France—not exactly negotiating for a marriage with the Princess Renée, but surely with this in mind.
“There is one matter,” went on the King, “which gives me great concern. I fear there may be an obstacle to my union with the Lady Anne, owing to a relationship I once had with her sister, Mary. Because of the existing canon law a close relationship has been established between the Lady Anne and myself, and in order that this be removed there would have to be a dispensation from the Pope. Your mission in Rome is that you request the Pope, beside giving Wolsey permission to try the case, to give you the dispensation which would enable me to marry the Lady Anne with a free conscience.”
William Knight bowed. “I will set out for Rome at once,” he told the King, “and serve Your Grace with all my heart and power.”
Henry slapped his secretary’s shoulder.
“Begone, good William. I look to see you back ere long. Bring me what I wish and I’ll not forget the service you have rendered. But, by God, make haste. I chafe against delay.”
WOLSEY HAD set out for France, travelling to the coast with even more than his usual pomp. His red satin robes, his tippet of sables, made him a dazzling figure in the midst of his brilliant cavalcade; he held himself erect and glanced neither to right nor left, because he knew that the looks of those who had gathered to see him pass would be hostile. At one time he would have scorned them; he did so no longer; he, the proud Cardinal, would have eagerly welcomed one kindly smile, would have been delighted with one friendly word.
He thought as he rode along that he was like a man climbing a mountain. He had come far over the grassy slopes which had been easy to scale; but now the top was in sight and he had to traverse the glacial surface to reach it. He had come so far that there was no going back; and he was on the treacherous ground where one false step could send him hurtling into the valley of degradation.
All about him were his servants in their red and gold livery. Where the crowd was thick his gentlemen ushers cried out: “On, my lords and masters, on before. Make way for my Lord’s Grace.”
Even he who had been wont to pass each day from York Place or Hampton to Westminster Hall in the greatest pomp had never travelled quite so magnificently as he did at this time. Now he rode as the King’s vicar-general, and as he went through the City and over London bridge, through Kent on his way to the sea, he could not help wondering how many more such glorious journeys there would be for him; and what the next journey would be, and whether the people would come from their houses to watch Wolsey pass by.
Yet even though his heart was heavy with foreboding, he could enjoy this ostentatious display. Here he was the central figure among nine hundred horsemen, seated on his mule with its trappings of crimson velvet and stirrups of copper and gilt. In his hand he held an orange, the inside of which had been removed and replaced with unguents and vinegar which would be proof against the pestilential air. Delicately he sniffed it when he passed through the poor villages and from the corner of his eye saw the ragged men and women who had come out to stare at him. Before him were carried two enormous crosses of silver and two pillars, also of silver, the great seal of England and his Cardinal’s hat, that all might realize that he was not merely the great Cardinal, as his red robes proclaimed him, but the Chancellor and the richest man in England—under the King.
He proposed to make two calls on his way to Dover. One should be at Rochester and the other at Canterbury, that he might confer with the Archbishops, Fisher and Warham. The King had commanded him to do this for Henry was unsure of those two. It was Warham who had wanted time to consider the findings of the court. If this had not been so, it might have been declared, before the news of the Sack of Rome reached London, that the marriage was invalid. As for Fisher, since he was the Queen’s confessor, Henry suspected him of being the Queen’s friend.
So the Cardinal halted at Rochester and there was received in the Bishop’s palace.
When they were alone together Wolsey said tentatively that he believed the Bishop was not fully informed of the King’s Secret Matter and that the King was eager that this should be remedied. He then went over the old ground to stress the suggestion made by the Bishop of Tarbes and the King’s consequent misgivings.
Fisher listened gravely, and his compassion for the Queen was intensified by all he heard.
“I fear,” said Wolsey, “that when His Grace broached the matter to the Queen she became hysterical, much to the King’s displeasure.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” answered Fisher.
“As her confessor,” Wolsey replied, “you might bring her to a mood of submission. His Grace feels that you have much influence with her and that you might remind her of the comfort to be found in a life of seclusion.”
The Bishop nodded and, when the Cardinal had left him, he was on his knees for a long time praying for the Queen.
Then on to Canterbury to see Warham and to hint to him that Henry would expect no opposition to the divorce; and, sure that he was bringing Warham to the right state of mind, he continued on his way.
And so to France, there to pass through the countryside, to be gaped at and watched in silence as he proceeded along the road to Paris.