He summoned the mayor, the aldermen, and the leading citizens to the palace, and addressed them in the great hall.

  “I assure you all, my good people of London, that I have instigated nullity proceedings only to set my mind at rest in regard to some doubts of conscience, and that, were I to choose again, I would take Queen Katherine for my wife above all others.”

  There were nods and cheers of approval, and he relaxed, beaming at them. He had them in his hand.

  Feeling more confident, when Kate visited Mary at Richmond in December, he took advantage of her absence and installed Anne at Greenwich in a very fine lodging near his own, letting it be known that he expected people to pay court to her daily as if she were already queen. And they came—courtiers and supplicants, all seeking her patronage.

  The atmosphere was tense during the Christmas celebrations. Kate presided with Harry over the revelry in the great chamber, and twelve-year-old Mary was there, too, charming everyone. Meanwhile, Anne kept open house in her own apartments. Harry knew that Kate was putting on a brave face, but it was painfully clear that she found it hard to look cheerful. He ignored her misery; she did not have to suffer like this. With a single word, she could end all this unpleasantness.

  1529

  After Christmas, Campeggio and Wolsey began preparing for the hearing of the nullity suit.

  “You will need your own counsel to represent you,” Harry told Kate, during one of his increasingly rare and acrimonious visits to her apartments. “Might I propose Archbishop Warham and Bishop Fisher?”

  She agreed, ever the obedient wife. He left, feeling he had been fair. Both were men of principle, and he was confident that they would steer her in the right direction.

  It was almost June by the time everything was ready, and Harry had long suspected that Campeggio had again been resorting to delaying tactics. But Wolsey was in a good mood as he went over the final arrangements with Harry and showed him how the great hall of the priory of the Blackfriars had been turned into a legatine court.

  “I am confident of a happy outcome,” he smiled.

  “Do you think the Queen will obey the summons?” Harry wondered.

  “It would be in her interests to do so,” Wolsey replied severely. “Let us hope there are no demonstrations in her favor.”

  “That’s a vain hope,” Harry said, gazing at the two thrones, one on each side of the hall, the chairs set on the dais for the legates, the rows of benches, and the tables stacked already with legal papers. “Opinions are running high. And I have never heard or read of a king and queen being summoned before a court in England.”

  “Small wonder there is great interest in the proceedings. But set your mind at rest, Sir. I think Campeggio will deliver the verdict you desire.”

  “I pray so!” Harry said fervently, hoping that, very soon, Anne might be lying in his arms, in his bed, his lawful wife at last. He was missing her terribly, having sent her home to Hever, thinking it politic while the court was sitting. But it would not be long, he was sure, before she was back with him.

  * * *

  —

  “King Harry of England, come into the court!”

  “Here, my lords!” he replied in ringing tones.

  Then Kate, seated in a lesser chair opposite, was formally called. Harry started as she rose and crossed the court with her ladies following. Ignoring the legates, she made her way toward him and—to his horror—fell to her knees before him. He was so thrown, so consumed with mortification, that he could hardly take in her words. She was pleading with him, begging him to spare her the extremity of the court, protesting that she had been a true wife to him, and that when they had married, she had been a true maid, without touch of man. Then she raised her eyes to his. “And whether it be true or not, I put it to your conscience.” He looked away, embarrassed; it was not proper for her to be speaking of such intimacies in public.

  If he would not heed her, she concluded, she would commit her cause to God. There was a long pause, and he knew she was waiting for him to say something in response. But he could not, would not, and it was foolish and ill judged of her to expect it. In the end, she rose, curtseyed and, leaning on the arm of her receiver general, left the court, ignoring urgent calls for her return. Harry could hear the crowds outside, cheering and clapping her.

  He thought he could detect a certain sympathy in Campeggio’s face, but the legate still declared her contumacious.

  “We will proceed without her Grace,” he decreed, to Harry’s relief.

  * * *

  —

  Harry did not attend the court during the days that followed, but relied on Wolsey to keep him informed of its proceedings. The weather was hot and the cardinal often arrived perspiring and uncomfortable after long hours of sitting on his high chair.

  “Another day of interminable depositions and heated discussions,” he reported, after a month had gone by and Harry’s temper was becoming so frayed that he was like a lion at bay with all who approached him.

  “We are getting nowhere,” he fumed.

  “I fear so,” Wolsey agreed, looking gray and drained. “Much of the evidence relates to whether Prince Arthur consummated his marriage. We’ve had a whole host of lords lining up to boast that they were capable of it at his age, which really is immaterial.”

  “But the case is going my way?” Harry could not disguise his anxiety.

  “I think so. Much of the evidence is heavily weighted in your Grace’s favor, though Bishop Fisher did not help when he stood up in court and insisted that no power, human or divine, can dissolve your marriage.”

  Harry was crestfallen. He had counted on Fisher. “But that’s just the view of one man.”

  “Indeed, and I do not think that many gave credence to it.”

  “What about Campeggio?”

  “He gives nothing away, but I sense he is sympathetic. I do not think your Grace should be concerned.”

  But it was impossible not to be, as the weeks went by, June turned into July, and still the case dragged on. And then, with August only days away, Wolsey came to Harry, wearing a triumphant smile.

  “Your Grace, you might wish to attend the court today. Campeggio has hinted that he is ready to give a decision.”

  His heart singing, Harry made his way across the river gallery to the Blackfriars and seated himself on his throne. Kate’s remained empty; she had not attended the court since her dramatic appeal.

  Campeggio rose. “Having listened to both pleas, and heard all the evidence, I find that I am unable to pronounce sentence. I hereby adjourn this case to Rome, to be tried by his Holiness himself.”

  There was a shocked silence as Harry tried to take in the import of his words. Adjourned to Rome…That could mean weeks, if not months, of more delay. He saw Anne slipping away from him, himself getting older, his hopes of an heir shattered…

  A fist banged down hard on a table. It was Suffolk, his face red with anger. “By the Mass, it was never merry in England while we had cardinals among us!” he shouted.

  Harry looked at Wolsey—Wolsey, who had led him to believe that all would be well. The Cardinal looked as appalled as everyone else, doubtless because he knew that the adjournment might mean his ruin. Harry watched him fix his gaze to Suffolk.

  “Of all men in this realm, my lord, you have least cause to be offended with cardinals. For if I, a simple cardinal, had not come to your aid when you married the King’s sister, you would have no head upon your shoulders.”

  By St. George, the arrogance of the man! It was not the moment to refer to the power he had long wielded and enjoyed, thanks to the munificence and misplaced trust of his King, whom he had failed grievously. Harry seethed inside. This was what Wolsey had brought him to, everyone staring at him as he stood there, his humiliation exposed for all to see. Rage welled in him. He would not brook such treatment, even from the Pope, who owed him a great debt of gratitude for championing the Church against Luther.

  Clement must be forced to see the error of his ways, Harry resolved, as he stalked out of the hall, looking to neither right nor left. If he did not, there would be a chill wind coming his way from England.

  * * *

  —

  Anne had hastened back to court for the judgment. She was incensed at the adjournment, as well she might be. Kate was no doubt rejoicing in the solitude of her apartments, while Wolsey was skulking in disgrace. When Harry took Anne with him on his summer progress, he ensured that she kept state like a queen. She, Norfolk, Rochford, and the rest of their faction urged him incessantly to be rid of the cardinal for good. But, angry though he was with Wolsey, Harry found that he could not just cast him away. It would take more than one disappointment to kill a friendship that had lasted for more than twenty years. What he felt now, weeks having passed since the court rose, was not so much anger as grief.

  They were at Grafton, near Northampton, when the two legates arrived, so that Campeggio could take his official leave of the King before returning to Rome. Anne, of course, was against Harry receiving Wolsey, but he insisted on observing the courtesies.

  Wolsey looked full of trepidation as he entered the crowded presence chamber and knelt before his master. Seeing him looking so miserable and diminished, Harry felt a sudden upsurge of his old affection for him. Smiling, he raised him and led him to a window embrasure, as the courtiers stared. No doubt someone would be speeding on their way to Anne to tell her how warmly Harry had received her enemy, but he was determined to show her that Wolsey could still prove useful to them.

  “Your Grace, forgive me,” Wolsey murmured. “I did everything I could to persuade the legate to grant your suit. I strongly suspect he had orders to adjourn the case before he even left Rome. If there is anything I can do to make amends, I shall not hesitate to do it.”

  Harry placed an arm around his shoulder. “I am sure there is a way through this impasse. Let us work together to find it.”

  The gratitude in Wolsey’s eyes was a joy to behold.

  “We will meet in the morning to discuss the matter,” Harry said. “Now, you must be hungry. Go to dinner and I will see you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  —

  Anne was incandescent. Seated opposite Harry at table, she ranted and wept and upbraided him.

  “How could you entertain, for one moment, a man who has done you and your realm so much ill?” she shrilled. “Let alone spend the morning closeted with him!” She was so beside herself that Harry began to fear that she might take herself off to Hever again.

  “We were going to see that new hunting park tomorrow,” she pouted. “I’m not wasting the day waiting for you to talk to Wolsey.”

  “But, darling, I have business to discuss with the cardinal.”

  “You have no business with traitors!”

  She won the argument, as she always did. Miserably, in fear of losing her, Harry agreed to ride out with her to the hunting park.

  Just as they were mounted and ready to leave, the two cardinals entered the courtyard. Harry registered the dismay in Wolsey’s face.

  “My lord Cardinal,” he called from the saddle, “I fear I have no time to talk this morning. Fare you well!” And he rode off with Anne, who threw a triumphant smile at Wolsey over her shoulder.

  She had ordered a lavish picnic and saw to it that they were away all day. When Harry returned, Wolsey and Campeggio had left, for the legate had a long journey ahead and could not afford to tarry.

  * * *

  —

  Harry soon became aware that Kate now had a staunch champion in the newly arrived Imperial ambassador, Eustache Chapuys, a fellow humanist and a friend of Erasmus. The Emperor had chosen well. Aged forty, Chapuys was a highly efficient canon lawyer and judge from Savoy, able, astute, and—as Harry quickly learned—never afraid to speak his mind. His zeal for the Queen shone forth. It irritated Harry, but he genuinely liked Chapuys; in other circumstances, they would have been friends. Anne and her family loathed him, of course, and the antipathy was mutual.

  “The new ambassador has been complaining about Mistress Anne’s religious sympathies,” Suffolk told Harry as they stood in the autumn chill, shooting arrows at the butts.

  “She but favors the reform of the Church, and God knows it needs it,” Harry said. “It’s no more than Erasmus advocates.”

  “Chapuys has been saying that she and her family are more Lutheran than Luther himself, and that they support his heretical doctrines and practices. He claims she is the principal cause of the spread of Lutheranism in this country.”

  “By God, I’ll have him muzzled,” Harry exploded.

  “To be fair,” Suffolk said, flexing his bow, “Mistress Anne’s support of reformers who are openly challenging the traditional teachings of the Church might be giving the wrong impression.”

  Harry had been troubled by that. He wished Anne would desist. But she was on a mission, leading her own personal crusade to reform a church that sanctioned the sale of indulgences, obscenely wealthy clergy—and a pope whose rulings (or lack of them) were dictated by political considerations. And how could he argue with that?

  * * *

  —

  In the days and weeks that followed, whenever Harry spoke up for Wolsey, or of enlisting his formidable capabilities in his cause, Anne reacted so passionately that he backed down, hating himself, but dreading to hear her say that enough was enough. She even accused the cardinal of witchcraft. She would not be satisfied, she declared, until he was made to pay for having schemed to bring about her ruin. In vain did Harry protest that that was not true, that Wolsey had worked himself almost into the grave to secure an annulment. But Anne was having none of it.

  In the end, he agreed that the cardinal be indicted under the Statute of Praemunire.

  “What’s that?” Anne asked, looking suspicious.

  “It prohibits Papal interference in English affairs without royal consent. Wolsey cannot deny that he received bulls from Rome without my knowledge.” Harry dared not admit to Anne that he had trusted Wolsey so implicitly he had given him leave to deal with the Holy See as he thought fit.

  He agonized over how to deal with the cardinal. In October, he stripped him of his office of Lord Chancellor, and sent Norfolk and Suffolk to collect the Great Seal from him at Esher. Aside from that, he was resolved to be merciful. When, in November, Parliament arraigned Wolsey on forty-four charges, Harry refused to proceed against him. Instead, he allowed him to retire to his diocese of York.

  He had not anticipated the effects of Wolsey’s fall, or the wave of anti-clerical feeling it unleashed, which was fueled by Norfolk, Suffolk, and the Boleyns. Years of pent-up resentment and jealousy drove other lords to support them. It left the Privy Council and the nobility more powerful now that they had no rival.

  Harry’s own feelings toward Wolsey were mixed. He missed him, yet he enjoyed the autonomy of ruling without him. He seized York Place and three more of Wolsey’s most desirable houses, along with their priceless contents. He ordered that building works continue and had Wolsey’s coats of arms torn down and replaced with his own. But, early in November, when he, Anne, and her mother went to look around York Place, he was overcome by a sense of loss and guilt, seeing the cardinal everywhere, in all his old familiar places. He watched Anne looking over the inventory of goods that Wolsey had left, and eagerly inspecting the piles of gold plate set out on trestles in the presence chamber and the sumptuous hangings in the long gallery, and could not help feeling a treacherous resentment toward her, quickly suppressed.

  “I like this house,” she declared, taking his hands and spinning him around before the startled eyes of their attendants. “It has no apartments for the Queen; I can share it with you alone. And there is plenty of accommodation for my family.” She was full of plans.

  * * *

  —

  Harry now lived in fear that his nullity suit might drag on indefinitely. He returned to Greenwich feeling dejected and was in no good mood when he learned that his recently appointed secretary, Dr. Stephen Gardiner, and his almoner, Edward Foxe, had just returned from a mission to Rome and were requesting an audience.

  He knew it would be bad news. He had hoped that the swarthy, arrogant, and irascible Gardiner, an able Cambridge man who had served Wolsey and held conservative views, would have made some headway with Clement, for Gardiner staunchly believed in the absolute power of kings and was hostile toward Kate for defying it. That had been enough to endear him to Harry, but today he was not in the frame of mind for Gardiner’s strident dogmatism, or for yet another disappointment. Wearily, he agreed to see him and Foxe, and was surprised when they arrived with a short, moon-faced cleric he had never met before. As he raised his eyebrows, Gardiner ushered the man forward.

  “Your Grace, this is Dr. Thomas Cranmer, whom we both knew at Cambridge and fortuitously encountered on our way back from Rome. We think you will be interested to hear his views on your Great Matter, given that his Holiness will do nothing for you.”

  Harry seized on his words; he had expected nothing from Clement. He felt his mood suddenly lighten. He was desperate for any counsel that might bring his case to a speedy and satisfactory conclusion. “Yes, Dr. Cranmer, we are listening,” he said.

  Cranmer seemed nervous, but he cleared his throat and spoke up. “Your Grace, I have studied this matter at length and come to the conclusion that it is a theological issue that cannot be dealt with under canon law. I respectfully suggest that you canvass the universities of Europe, where are to be found the greatest experts on theology, and seek their opinion. That will give weight to your case.”