“But to stand before those men and accuse you!”
“Poor fellow, I was quite sorry for him. At one point he faltered, but Wolsey pulled him through. I listened carefully to what he had to say and when he had finished they were all watching me intently. I told them then how grieved I was and how I could understand their concern. I had no hard feelings toward those who had thought it necessary to bring this case.”
“You could not have been expected to have hard feelings against yourself,” I reminded him.
He frowned. That was one thing I had to learn about him. In the midst of the most blatant hypocrisy he could delude himself into believing what he was trying to make others believe. It was extraordinary that a man of his intellect could do that. It showed an unusual dexterity of the mind. It amused me and I could not help referring to it. That was dangerous. I was as impetuous and reckless as Thomas Wyatt.
But he was too excited at that moment to reprove me. He went on as though I had not spoken: “I think there is only one thing for me to do and that is, however distressing, to submit to an inquiry.” He turned to me, his face alight with joy. “Anne, it will not be long now. We shall be together. All we have to do is wait for Wolsey. He will go to the Pope and get the whole matter sealed and settled before the Emperor hears a word of it.”
I was beginning to believe that this fantastic future could be mine. The King would submit to an inquiry which Wolsey would see took the right course. The clergy would be convinced that the King's marriage to Katharine was no true marriage; and then Wolsey would declare it invalid. All he would need was the sanction of the Pope as a matter of form, and as a Cardinal he would be in a position to get that.
It did not occur to Henry that the Queen would raise any objection. She had always been gentle and loving; she had pretended not to notice his peccadillos; she was of a dignified, quiet and retiring nature. He said with an air of magnanimity that he would regard her as his sister. She would be well looked after. She should have a household worthy of her, and she could spend her days in meditation and prayer. Perhaps she would like to go into a nunnery? It all seemed very simple.
I was changing. That was inevitable. I excuse myself by stressing my youth. I was only twenty years old and not really as wise as I thought I was. Who is, at twenty? I thought, because I had been brought up in the sophisticated French Court, because I had a ready wit, because I was an accomplished musician, because I could thrust and parry in conversation and join in a discussion with the best of them, that I was wise.
If only I had been, my story might have been different.
Now my reluctance was slipping away from me. I now knew why it was that men risked everything for a crown; through the ages that had been so. They fought for it, sacrificed everything they had for it. I did not pause to think that often, when it came, it had brought only trouble, care and tragedy.
I wanted now, desperately, to be Queen of England; and only now, when the crown seemed to be within my grasp, did I realize how much.
I was sorry for the Queen but I told myself I was more suitable to share Henry's throne. She would have hidden herself completely away if that had been possible. Henry needed someone as lively as he was, someone who could share in the revelries, plan them, sing, dance, look the part of Queen just as he did that of King.
He had urged me to buy what materials I needed—velvets, brocades, cloth of gold and silver. The cost would be taken care of. He wanted to see me outshine them all, which he assured me I could do if I were dressed as a beggar; but that did not mean he wished me to have anything but the finest.
I gave way to my passion for clothes and he supplied the jewelry. Gifts came to me frequently; and they were usually priceless gems.
I was now learning the meaning of ambition.
The Queen was aware that something was very wrong. It was impossible to hide it from her. The King had not yet spoken to her as he intended to. He wanted the ecclesiastical court to have progressed a little farther in its findings. Then he would go to her, and I was sure he would put up a great show of melancholy which would appear all the more genuine since, while he was with her, he would be able to convince himself that he really felt it.
I think she was a very frightened woman.
She knew of his favor toward me, but she was not really concerned, for she did not realize what part I was to play in “the King's Secret Matter.” I was, she no doubt believed, his mistress as my sister had been before me.
That she would have liked to banish me from Court I was sure, but she would not run the risk of dismissing me any more than she had Mary, for she knew that, if she did, the King would call me back to Court, which would be humiliating for her; she did not want, at this stage, to irritate him.
There were only a few—my brother George, for instance, and my father, both on intimate terms with Henry—who knew of his plans for me. He was very anxious to keep me out of it, and I believe he was determined that Wolsey should not know. Though Wolsey was his servant, he was also a Cardinal and owed a certain allegiance to the Pope. I could not guess what Wolsey's reactions would have been had he known. I expected he would have done his best to dissuade the King from that course of action and tell him that the only thing he could do, when he was free from Katharine, was to marry a foreign princess.
Ambassadors were natural spies. I had always known that; and the Spanish ambassador was as skilled in the art as much as any, save only the French. They had to be because of the relationships between the countries. I do not know how many people Inigo de Mendoza had working for him in secret—although we did learn that he knew that Wolsey was promoting the divorce and that the King had assembled bishops and lawyers to prove that the marriage was illegal.
I believed at this time that everything was going well. Wolsey was about to proclaim the marriage invalid and then go to Rome to persuade Clement to give the final word, which would be easy with a sizeable bribe. Only when this had been accomplished did the King wish him to know that he intended to make me his Queen.
We anticipated no trouble, and the end seemed in sight.
Soon, I told myself, I should be going to my coronation.
An entertainment of rather special splendor was in progress. Since I had been of such importance at Court, I flattered myself that our masques and playlets were more cultivated, more witty. I was remembering so much of what I had learned in France.
On this occasion we were dancing. I was with the King as usual, and people had fallen away so that we could be almost alone as we danced. This often happened when the King performed. He liked it. It was an indication that when he danced people wanted to look at no others but him … and his partner.
I enjoyed it, too. I knew that my dancing was of the highest standard. I liked to be watched and admired—even as he did.
Then there was a clatter beyond the hall. A man appeared in the doorway. The ushers sought to hold him off, but he cried: “I must see the King. I have news.”
He was travelstained and muddy and looked as though he had ridden far.
Henry shouted: “How now. What means this? What news have you brought? Ill it would seem.”
“Your Grace, a most terrible tragedy. Rome has been overrun by the Constable de Bourbon's troops. The Constable has been killed. The troops have sacked Rome, and the Pope has escaped to the Castle of St. Angelo, where he is a prisoner.”
There was a deep silence throughout the hall. The King's face had turned ashen and then purple.