Again she paused. Campeggio moved in his chair to ease his painful limbs. She makes her own advocate, he thought; where could she have found a better? It will not be easy for them to find against her.
He was pleased with her. It was what he wished, for Clement’s orders were that the court should come to no decision.
“You cause me to stand to the judgment of this new court,” continued the Queen, “wherein you do me much wrong if you intend any kind of cruelty; you may condemn me for lack of sufficient answer, since your subjects cannot be impartial counsellors for me, as they dare not, for fear of you, disobey your will. Therefore most humbly do I require you, in the way of charity and for the love of God, who is the just Judge of all, to spare me the sentence of this new court, until I be advertised in what way my friends in Spain may advise me to take. And if you will not extend to me this favor, your pleasure be fulfilled, and to God do I commit my cause.”
Katharine stood up and all in the court saw that there were tears on her cheeks. The Bishops looked on grimly, not daring to show their sympathy in the presence of the King, who still sat staring stonily before him; but in the body of the hall many a kerchief was applied to an eye and secret prayers for the Queen were murmured.
She took the arm of her receiver-general and instead of making her way back to her seat she began to move through the crowd towards the door.
The crier was in consternation. He called: “Katharine, Queen of England, come again into the court.”
But Katharine did not seem to hear and, staring before her, her eyes misted with tears, she continued towards the door.
“Your Grace,” whispered the receiver-general, “you are being called back to the court!”
“I hear the call,” answered the Queen, in tones which could be heard by those about her, “but I heed it not. Let us go. This is no court where I may have justice.”
“Katharine, Queen of England, come again into the court!” shouted the distracted crier.
But Katharine passed out of the court into the sunshine.
The Queen had gone, and Henry was fully aware of the impression she had made.
He rose and addressed the assembly. He spoke with conviction and considerable powers of oratory; he was well practiced in this speech for he had uttered it may times before. He explained that he had no wish to rid himself of a virtuous woman who had always been a good wife to him. It was his conscience which urged him to take action. It had been put to him by learned men—bishops and lawyers—that he was living in sin with a woman who had been his brother’s wife. The twenty-first verse of the twentieth chapter of Leviticus had been brought to his notice, and it was for this reason that he—determined to live at peace with God—had decided to ask learned men whether he was truly married. If the answer was in the affirmative he would rejoice, for there was none who pleased him as did the woman who had been his wife for twenty years; but if on the other hand it were shown to him that he was living in sin with her, then, much as this would grieve him, he would part with her.
After Katharine’s speech the King’s sounded insincere. It was a fact that the whole court and country knew of his passion for Anne Boleyn, and that it was this woman’s desire to share his crown before allowing him to become her lover which was, if not the only motive for bringing the case, an important one.
However, Henry, believing in what he said while he said it, did manage to infuse a certain ring of truth into his words.
When he had finished speaking Wolsey rose to his feet, came to the chair in which Henry was sitting and knelt there.
“Your Grace,” he said, “I beseech you to tell this assembled court whether or not I have been the first to suggest you should part from the Queen. Much slander has been spoken against me in this respect and there are many who feel that, should this be truth, I am no fit person to sit as Legate in this case.”
The King gave a short laugh and cried: “Nay, my Lord Cardinal, I cannot say you have been the prime mover in this matter. Rather have you set yourself against me.”
Wolsey rose from his knees and bowed to the King. “I thank your Grace for telling this court that I am no prejudiced judge.”
Wolsey returned to his seat and Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, rose to produce a scroll which he told the court contained the names of the Bishops who had agreed that an enquiry into the matter of the King’s marriage was necessary. He then began to read out the names on the scroll.
When he came to that of John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, Fisher rose from the bench and cried: “That is a forgery, for I have signed no such document.”
Henry, who was growing more and more impatient at the delay and wondering when the judges would declare his marriage null and void—which he had believed they would quickly do—was unable to restrain himself. “How so?” he cried irritably. “Here is your name and seal.”
“Your Grace, that is not my hand or seal.”
Henry’s brows were lowered over his eyes. Once he had loved that man Fisher. It was such men who, in the days of his youth, he had wished to have about him. Thomas More was another. They had never flattered him as blatantly as other people did and when he did wring a word of praise from them it was doubly sweet. John Fisher had at one time been his tutor—a gentle kindly man with whom it had been a pleasure for an exuberant youth to work with now and then.
But now Fisher was on the Queen’s side. He was the Queen’s counsel. He did not approve of a divorce. He believed that, having married Katharine and been disappointed in her, his King should yet remain her faithful husband.
What did Fisher know of the needs of a healthy man who was in the prime of life?
As he glowered at his one-time tutor, Henry hated the tall, spare figure. The fellow looks as though he spends his time shut in a cell, fasting, he thought derisively. No matter what love I had for him it shall be forgotten if he dares oppose me in this matter. He will have to learn that those who cross me do so at the peril of their lives.
And now what was this matter of a forgery?
Warham was saying: “This is your seal.”
Fisher retorted: “My Lord, you know full well this is not my seal. You know that you approached me in this matter and I said that I would never give my name to such a document.”
Warham could see the King’s anger mounting. Warham was all for peace. He did not think that Fisher realized the full force of the King’s passion in this matter. Perhaps Fisher was too honest to understand that when the King was being driven by his lust he was like a wild animal in his need to assuage it. Warham tried to end the matter as lightly as possible.
“You were loath to put your seal to this document, it is true,” he murmured. “But you will remember that in the end we decided that I should do it for you.”
“My lord,” said Fisher, “this is not true.”
The King shifted angrily in his seat. Warham sighed and put down the document; it was a gesture which meant that no good could come of pursuing that matter further.
“We will proceed with the hearing,” Wolsey announced. Henry sat sullenly wondering what effect Fisher had already had on the court. By God, he thought, that man’s no friend of mine if deliberately he flouts me in order to serve the Queen.
But all would be well. Katharine had been right when she had said that few in this court would dare disobey him. They would not; and thus they would give him the verdict he was demanding. What difference would one dissenting voice make?
But he hated the dissenters. He could never endure criticism. And when it came from someone whom he had once admired, it was doubly wounding.