“A king needs to be wise and resist evil counselors who tempt him to ignoble actions,” he began. “A king’s counselor ought to take good heed of what advice he gives in altering ancient things.” He paused, glaring fiercely at the congregation below him, leaving them in no doubt as to whom he was referring. Anne glanced at Henry, who was looking pensive—exactly what she had hoped for. Cromwell was frowning.
“Look at the example of King Ahasuerus, who was moved by a wicked minister to destroy the Jews,” Skip continued. “That minister was Haman, who had tried to destroy Ahasuerus’s Queen, Esther. But after Esther exposed his evil plot and saved the Jews from persecution, Haman was justly hanged. And thus triumphed this good woman, whom King Ahasuerus loved very well, and put his trust in, because he knew she was ever his friend.”
Henry was nodding sagely. He knew the story well. He had commissioned those tapestries depicting it.
Skip now got to the pith of the tale. “Among his evil deeds, Haman had assured Ahasuerus that eliminating the Jews would result in ten thousand talents being appropriated for the royal treasury, and for the King’s personal gain.” Anne felt Henry stir beside her. “So, in our own day, we have cause to lament that the Crown, misled by evil counsel, wants the Church’s property, and will have it. We can only lament the decay of the universities and pray that the necessity for learning will not be overlooked.”
All eyes were now on Anne; Cromwell’s were full of menace—and, she was gratified to see, fear. He could be in no doubt now. She was setting herself up in opposition to his policies. The swords had been unsheathed.
Now it was Henry’s turn to squirm. Skip was looking sternly on his flock. “But it is not only in fleecing the Church that corruption lies. Look at the example of Solomon, who lost his true nobility through his sensual and carnal appetite, and taking too many wives and concubines.”
Henry’s breathing quickened. He looked as mad as a bull about to charge. Only recently, his painter, Hans Holbein, had portrayed him as Solomon, the fount of all wisdom. It was as well that Skip had finished, and was exhorting the congregation to kneel in prayer. For all his fury, Henry had to obey.
After the service, he grabbed Anne’s hand and pulled her into one of the holy-day closets behind the royal pew.
“Did you put him up to that?” he asked angrily. “Or did he take it upon himself to preach sedition and slander me, my councillors, and my whole Parliament?”
Before she could answer, Cromwell, forgetting his place, barged into the closet. He did not acknowledge Anne.
“Your Grace will surely not let that pass!” he hissed. Anne had never seen him so exercised.
“I intend to have my Council reprimand this priest, and warn him that he had best mind his tongue if he wishes to remain in the Queen’s service.”
“But your Grace agrees with him,” Anne said. “Only the other night you were saying what a worthy thing it would be to divert the wealth of the monasteries into education and charity. It is not you who seeks personal gain.”
“He made it appear that it was me,” Henry growled.
“That was not his intention, I’m sure, and your Grace need not worry, for the world will soon know the truth.”
“Your Grace, I must speak to you in private,” Cromwell insisted.
“Must? Master Secretary, it is the King you address,” Anne reminded him.
“I will see you later, Cromwell,” Henry said.
“We are going to dine now,” Anne said sweetly, and swept out.
—
At table, Henry did not mention Skip’s attack on his infidelity. He could neither deny it nor risk another quarrel. But his mood was sour for the rest of the day, and the unfortunate almoner received a verbal lashing from the Council. Anne did not know what had been said between Henry and Cromwell. It did not matter. She was about to stir up public opinion again.
Hugh Latimer, a fiery reformist who preached regularly before the King, had agreed to take up the struggle on her behalf the next day of that Holy Week.
“Think on the parable of the tenants who refused to pay rent to the owner of a vineyard,” he enjoined in his homily in the Chapel Royal. “Once the tenants have been evicted, the vineyard will pass to more worthy persons, who may convert it to some better use.” There could be no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was referring to the dissolution of the monasteries.
Henry made no comment. After the service, he threw Anne a withering look and stumped off, so she immediately enlisted the assistance of Archbishop Cranmer, who agreed to defend her in any argument with the King, and to write to Master Secretary in support of her views. Soon, thanks to Cranmer, Anne was gratified to find that Henry’s enthusiasm for her plans—and her bed—had revived. But while they had reached common ground and were getting on better than they had in a long time, it did not prevent him from dallying with Mistress Seymour. Anne saw them playing bowls together on Maundy Thursday, smiling at each other with that special intimacy of lovers, and she felt like weeping and raging as she performed the traditional queenly function of distributing money to beggars and washing their feet (which had been thoroughly scoured beforehand) in memory of the Last Supper. Was that little bitch always to be a malign presence in her life?
—
“We are moving closer toward friendship with the Emperor,” Henry told her that night, as they lay in bed. “There are still obstacles to be overcome. I am determined to get Charles to recognize you as Queen, and to that end I have asked Chapuys to come to court on Easter Tuesday, to give him the opportunity of paying his respects to you.”
Relief and elation surged through her. This proved that Henry still respected her as his Queen, even if he did not love her as he used to.
“It’s about time!” she said. “Chapuys has never bent the knee to me as Queen, never kissed my hand.” How she would savor her triumph!
“He will do so now, and in public,” Henry growled, “and he will know he is acknowledging that I was right all along to put away Katherine and marry you. I will not sign an alliance with Charles on any other terms.”
—
Henry sent George to receive Chapuys at the gates of Greenwich Palace, so that the ambassador should be in no doubt that the hoped-for alliance was conditional upon his being cordial to the Boleyns. George had instructions to afford Chapuys a warm welcome, making it plain that Anne, her family, and friends were in favor of a rapprochement with the Emperor.
Cromwell was to follow close behind, bearing a message from Henry inviting Chapuys to visit Anne and kiss her hand, a great honor conferred only on those in high favor. “He will say that this will be a great pleasure to me,” Henry told her, rubbing his hands in satisfaction at the thought.