I had rarely seen Henry so happy.
It was not until 14th of November, about a fortnight after we had said goodbye to François, that we landed at Dover.
Christmas, which had been celebrated with the customary festivities, had passed and January had come. I had made a momentous discovery. I was pregnant.
I could scarcely wait to convey the news to Henry. He was overcome with joy. I sometimes wondered whether his desire for a son surpassed that for me. The two ran very close.
“I knew it must come,” he said. “When, sweetheart? When?”
“In September, I think.”
“It is a long time to wait.”
It was the usual period, I reminded him. “And in those months there is much to be done…unless you wish your son to be born a bastard.”
He was sober at once.
“A pox on Clement,” he said. “This matter would have been settled long ere but for him.”
I agreed.
His brow was furrowed. I understood our predicament as well as he did.
Warham had, most conveniently, died during the previous August, and Cranmer was to take his place, but until he was actually installed as Archbishop of Canterbury he could not declare Henry's marriage to Katharine invalid; and until this was done we could not marry. If the Pope's court decided that Henry was indeed married to Katharine, our marriage would be invalid.
But with the child on the way, something had to be done.
Henry was torn by different emotions. Immense joy at the prospect of the child was uppermost; but he knew what effect excommunication could have and he could visualize the country rising against him—men like Fisher and More who had no fear of consequences.
But the child was on the way.
It was early morning of a day I shall never forget—25 January in the year 1533. I was told I must be in the west turret with Nan Saville in attendance.
The King was there with William Norris and my father and brother.
As soon as I entered, I saw that the King was talking earnestly to one of his chaplains, Dr. Rowland Lee, who, Henry told me afterward, had come in the belief that he was to celebrate Mass. When he was told that he was to perform a marriage ceremony, he was overcome with fear. He had to obey the King but he was in terror of offending the Pope, which he would most certainly do if he officiated at this ceremony.
Henry was exasperated but managed to control his wrath for he needed the man's help, and he was afraid he might be one of those martyrs who were ready to face any consequences rather than go against the Pope.
In order that the ceremony should go on, Henry was forced to tell him that the Pope had declared his marriage to Katharine invalid.
So, with great trepidation, and obvious uneasiness, Dr. Rowland Lee complied.
Henry and I stood hand in hand. Then he solemnly kissed me. I was Queen of England in very truth.
I was exultant. At last I had reached my goal. Once my son was born, I should be secure in my power, but for the time we must act cautiously. The wedding was a secret. Only those present knew of it. Even Cranmer was kept in the dark.
I wish I had been wiser. I wish I had been able to look ahead. I was surrounded by ill-wishers and I snapped my fingers at them. How the Queen and her daughter Mary must hate me! I had usurped Katharine's place, and through me Mary had lost her birthright. What did that proud Princess feel to be branded illegitimate?
But I did not stop to think. I was overwhelmed by the power which was in my hands. I had seen the fall of the great Cardinal—once the most powerful man in the land—and his fall was in part due to me. I had toppled him from power—that “foolish girl” at whom he had sneered.
I saw no obstacles now to my progress. Henry was my slave; and all these important men must bow to my wishes.
At last Cranmer was installed as Archbishop of Canterbury. Before taking office he had made a declaration that the oath which he was about to take in obedience to the Pope, was a matter of form, and could not bind him to act against the King or prevent his reforming anything that was amiss in the Church of England.
The matter was now getting urgent. April had come. I was four months pregnant. We had to move fast, I reminded the King—not that he needed reminding—if our child was to be acknowledged as legitimate.
Cranmer was entirely the King's man. He opened a court and gave sentence; the marriage to Katharine was invalid and the King was, in fact, married to me.
That was the signal. Now I could really come into my own. I arranged my household. I lived in the state of Queen—although to some extent I had done this before. Now all must recognize me as such.
Moreover, it was time for my coronation.
May was a beautiful month—a momentous month for me, as it was to be not so very long afterward.
I was to be crowned at Whitsun. The people loved these ceremonies even though this one was for someone of whom they could scarcely be said to approve. Still, they were determined to have their fun.
Everyone who could find a craft seemed to be on the river that day. The city merchants were out in their decorated barges, and dressed in scarlet, their heavy gold chains about their necks, they made a fine sight. The Lord Mayor, splendid in his ceremonial robes, was followed by fifty barges filled with the leading men of the city… all rowing down to Greenwich. In the leading barge—the Lord Mayor's—was a dragon which, to the amusement of the crowds on the bank, capered as the barge passed along and spat out fire—a most ingenious feat. The people laughed and cheered. The vessel I liked best was the one decorated with my device and in which were seated young girls singing sweetly of my beauty and virtues; in the midst of them sat a white falcon surrounded by red and white roses. At the foot of this was written my motto, “Me and Mine.” The white falcon was henceforth to be my device. It was taken from the Butler crest, and of course the roses indicated that my offspring would bind even closer the Houses of York and Lancaster.
I came out from Greenwich Palace at three in the afternoon, dressed in cloth of gold, and as I stepped into my barge, the trumpets sounded. This was indeed triumph.
We went up the river toward the Tower—my barge followed by members of the nobility, my father in the lead. As I approached the Tower, the guns began to sound. I alighted and was conducted to the postern gate, where Henry was waiting to greet me.
He kissed my hand, his eyes alight with pride. I was doubly dear to him because of the child I carried.
Nan Saville had wondered whether the ordeal of the coronation would be bad for me in my condition, but I told her no. I had waited years for this and I was determined to enjoy every moment.
I was to stay in the Tower for several days. There Henry knighted several people in honor of the occasion, and through those days the river was alive with craft; the sound of music was everywhere; there was singing and revelry and the streets were crowded. For these few days the people were ready to forget their animosity toward me. I might have been Nan Bullen, the King's concubine yesterday, but today I was Anne, Queen of England, and this was my coronation. These were great days for them as well as for me: a holiday with feasting, sporting, dancing, singing and general rejoicing. So therefore just for today it was “God bless Queen Anne.”
There had never been a more splendid occasion. Henry was determined that it should be so. It was more than a coronation. It was an act of defiance against the Pope. No one should gainsay Henry. He was King in his country, and his will should be law.
I was to ride through the city from the Tower to Westminster Abbey. Rails had been set up in the streets to protect the people from the horses. The Lord Mayor, Sir Stephen Peacock, received me at the Tower gate. Then came the French ambassador, the judges, the nobility and the Arch-bishop of Canterbury with the bishops. Suffolk was there as Lord High Constable of England. I wondered what he would be feeling to see me here as Queen. He had tried to destroy me and had worked hard to try to prevent my reaching this position; his wife, my one-time mistress, had refused to accept me. Poor woman, there would be no question of that now, for I had heard that she was very ill—sick unto death, they said— and even if she had wished to leave her home at Westhorpe to come to my coronation, she could not have done so.