Anne Boleyn, a King's Obsession

That spring, he ordered that an Act be passed naming Anne as regent of the realm and absolute governess of her children in the event of his death. Another Act deprived Katherine of the lands she had held as queen, and returned to her the lands that she had once held as Prince Arthur’s widow. The Queen’s estates were now assigned to Anne. An Act of Attainder was passed against Bishop Fisher, condemning him to imprisonment in the Tower. Cromwell had learned that the Bishop had interrogated the Nun of Kent about her prophecies, but had failed to tell the King about it, and Henry was ready to believe that this signified treasonable involvement. But Fisher was too ill to travel to London.

The Nun herself and four of her acolytes were attainted for high treason. But the piece of legislation that meant the most to Anne was the Act that vested the succession to the crown of England in her children by Henry. Better still, this new Act required all the King’s subjects, if so commanded, to swear an oath acknowledging Queen Anne as the King’s lawful wife and the Princess Elizabeth as his legitimate heir. Those refusing to swear would be accounted guilty of abetting treason and sent to prison.

The prospect of her enemies being forced to acknowledge her calmed Anne’s nerves. But on a sunny day in early April, Henry burst into her chamber.

“That whoreson Pope!” he spluttered, seething with fury. He looked so puce in the face she feared he might have an apoplexy. Rising quickly from her curtsey, she made him sit in the chair she had vacated.

“What has he done?” she asked.

Henry looked ill. “The French ambassador has just informed me that Clement has found for Katherine. He said that our marriage always had been, and still stands, firm and lawful, and Mary is its legitimate issue.”

Anne felt sick. This judgment might rally many waverers to Katherine and her daughter, and the Emperor might now decide that making war in his aunt’s cause was worthier than crushing the Turks. The Act of Succession had been passed not a moment too soon.

“But he has ignored all the determinations of the universities!” she exclaimed. “Plainly the opinions of the finest minds in Europe are of no consequence to him. He is a disgrace to his office, and should be defrocked!”

Henry nodded in vehement agreement. “He has ordered me to resume cohabitation at once with Katherine. I’m to hold and maintain her as becomes a loving husband and my kingly honor. If I refuse, I will be excommunicated. And—this is the final insult—I am to pay the costs of the case!”

He was visibly shaken, and Anne realized that even after all he had done to break with Rome, he had been hoping, right up until the last minute, that the breach could be healed. But Clement, by this judgment, had wrecked all hope of that. If England was in schism, it was the Pope’s fault.

“This was a political decision,” she said.

“Aye, but that’s been Clement’s approach these seven long years. He cares not a fig for the Scriptures, or the theologians, who are far more learned in these matters than he is. But he shall rue the day he gave this judgment. The sentence of this Bishop of Rome no longer carries any weight in England. I will have sermons preached in every church in the land declaring his perfidy.”

The order went out. On Easter Day, congregations all over England were informed of the wickedness of Pope Clement, and true subjects were commanded to pray every week for King Henry VIII as being, next unto God, the only and Supreme Head of the Church, and Anne his wife, and Elizabeth their Princess. It did not prevent public celebrations being held in some places in anticipation of Katherine’s expected return to favor.

Henry now sent out commissioners to all parts of the realm to administer the new oath upholding the Act of Succession to all who held public office and anyone else whose loyalty was in question. Anne was tense, waiting for reports of disaffection to come pouring in, but her fears were soon allayed, because most people, even members of the religious orders, were swearing it without demur. Only a few refused. She was not surprised to hear that Bishop Fisher, whose sentence had been commuted to a fine, was among them—and Sir Thomas More. He had refused the oath twice, and no amount of pressure could persuade him to say why.

Henry was deeply hurt. “I accounted him my friend,” he said. “This will go against me with the people because he is so universally respected. My commissioners advise that he should be left alone.”

“You mean they would collude in his breaking the law?” Anne was amazed. “Henry, this man should be made an example of. If others see him defying you and getting away with it, they will refuse the oath too.”

Henry had his head in his hands. “How can I proceed against More? I have loved him, Anne. And I would bring much hatred on myself by punishing him.”

“Whatever he is, he should not be exempt from your laws. By allowing it, you undermine the oath and the Act and our marriage.”

“Very well,” Henry capitulated. “I will have the oath put to him again.”



He sent More to the Tower for defying him a third time. Anne had not thought him capable of it, but he surprised her. She suspected he had done it as much for fear of her reaction if he had not, as out of anger and righteousness. He would not risk upsetting her while she carried his child.

As Henry had predicted, there was much murmuring at More’s imprisonment, which would no doubt soon reverberate all over Europe. And there was a lot more murmuring when the Nun of Kent and her associates were drawn on hurdles to the gallows at Tyburn, where, before huge crowds, she was hanged until dead, then beheaded, and the men suffered the horrors of a traitor’s death: hanging, drawing, and quartering. Theirs, Anne realized, was the first blood that had been spilled on her account. Well, it would serve as an example to the people, and a warning that they must obey their King or it would go worse for them.



Cromwell, she was aware, was becoming very powerful. That April he was advanced to the office of Principal Secretary to the King. He had risen above everyone except herself, and had more credit with his master than ever the Cardinal had.

“There is now no one who does anything except Cromwell,” George said, sitting with Anne in the window seat in her chamber. “He is become the most influential of the King’s ministers. You had best watch out, sister.”

“Henry heeds me more than he heeds Cromwell,” she insisted, but her brother’s words had chilled her. What would happen if she bore another daughter? Would Cromwell creep closer into the King’s counsels and oust her? He could prove a formidable rival. “Cromwell is on our side,” she declared. “He is still my man, and we owe much to him for implementing the changes Henry has made and promoting the royal supremacy.”

George frowned. “I’m just asking you to be watchful. This man thrives on power. He controls access to the King. He uses a host of paid informers and grateful clients anxious to do him service. Knowledge is power, Anne, and Cromwell has seen to it that he occupies a position of enormous influence. He could try to undermine you.”

“Henry would not let him,” she assured him. “He doesn’t love Cromwell as he loved Wolsey. And Cromwell and I share common aims. We both support reform and the King’s supremacy.”

“Well, just make sure that you keep him on your side,” George warned. “He’s already unhappy with what Brereton did.”

Alison Weir's books