“All lies,” she assured him. “My enemies have united to get rid of me, and they have turned the King against me. Tell me, does he really believe it all?”
Cranmer looked miserable. “I fear he does. But I have hardly seen him. No one has. He has shut himself away, and will see only me and Cromwell. When I saw His Grace today, he was in a pensive mood. But you know him of old, Anne. It’s impossible to know what he is thinking. He spoke of the succession. He said that the Princess Elizabeth cannot stand in the way of any heirs he might have with a future wife.”
“Then he really does mean to be rid of me,” she whispered, feeling again the rising terror she had fought so hard to control. He meant to make Jane Seymour queen. A fine queen she would be, who was sly, deceitful, and never had a word to say for herself!
“All I can say is that he has charged me with finding cause to dissolve your marriage,” Cranmer said.
“The marriage you found to be good and valid just three years ago!” Anne retorted bitterly. “And what will that make my daughter—a bastard?”
“I fear so,” Cranmer admitted, wringing his hands.
Anne stood up. “Has anyone pointed out to Henry the absurdity of charging me with adultery if I was never lawfully his wife?” She laughed mirthlessly. “Of course, it makes little difference, for they cleverly added that charge of plotting the King’s death, which is high treason by anyone’s reckoning!”
She regarded Cranmer. He loved her, but his admiration for her counted for little against his desire to please the King, his sense of self-preservation, and his zeal for reform. She would be a hindrance to that now, with her reputation in tatters. But she must be fair. Cranmer was in a difficult position. Her fall might well have an adverse impact on him, the man who had facilitated her marriage to the King. He needed to survive to fight for the cause another day.
“So what is it to be?” she asked. “Consanguinity? A precontract with Harry Percy? Insanity? By the way, how is Harry Percy?”
“Mortally ill, I fear,” Cranmer said, rising to his feet. “Madam, I cannot argue that the King’s union with the Princess Dowager was lawful after all. We’d all be a laughingstock. And Percy has again denied that there ever was a precontract. That leaves the impediment raised by the King’s relations with your sister. Now I know that the Bishop of Rome issued a dispensation covering that, but the recent Dispensations Act provides that it cannot be held as valid because it is contrary to Holy Scripture and the laws of God. Thus your marriage may be deemed null and void. I have come to summon you and the King to appear before my court at Lambeth Palace to hear my judgment. I advise you not to contest it.”
All she could think of was that she would see Henry. She would have this one last chance of convincing him she had never betrayed him, and of telling him she would make no fuss if he divorced her, but would go abroad and disappear into a nunnery. Anything would be better than facing the flames.
“The King will be there?” she asked eagerly.
“Neither of you will be there,” Cranmer said. “You will both be represented by proctors.” It was crushing to hear that, but then hope sprang again. If Henry meant to have her executed, why go to the bother of annulling their marriage? Sadly, the answer was plain. He must ensure an undisputed succession.
“My daughter was born before the Dispensations Act was passed, when the King and I believed we had entered into marriage in good faith. Surely she must be deemed legitimate?”
“Anne, this is no time for legal niceties,” Cranmer warned her. “I am come to obtain your admission of the impediment to your marriage, and your consent to its dissolution, which will mean the disinheriting of your child. In return for that, I am authorized to tell you that the King promises you the kinder death. Already, out of pity, he has sent to Calais for an expert swordsman to do the deed swiftly. Madam, I urge you to consider well and accept the offer. If you do, I am hopeful that you might be spared the extreme penalty altogether.”
There could be no contest. The prospect of a reprieve was too compelling. Even if Henry did not pardon her, it would be easier for Elizabeth to grow up in the knowledge that her mother had died by the sword rather than by fire. The child was sharp, with her wits about her, and had it in her to fend for herself. Henry loved her, there was no doubt of it; he would protect her. As his bastard, she would be safer than if she was a contender for the succession. Look at the misery that had befallen the Lady Mary. Anne thanked God now that, for all Mary’s treason, Henry had never carried out any of his threats. His fatherly love went too deep, and Anne trusted that Elizabeth too would be safe from his anger against her mother. Anyway, who would take up the cudgels on Elizabeth’s behalf now?
“I accept,” she said. “Thomas, will you hear my last confession?”
Cranmer hesitated. Naturally, he did not want to carry the burden of her innocence. But he surprised her. “Of course,” he said. “I will return.”
—
At supper, she felt more cheerful than she had in days. She had wondered all along if Henry would actually send her to her death, and now she was becoming convinced that he would not.
“I believe I will go to a nunnery,” she said. “I am hoping that my life will be spared.”
They were all looking at her with pity in their eyes.
“The gentlemen are to die tomorrow, madam,” Kingston said gently.
She realized she had been cruelly deceived. Henry had meant all along for her to die. There would be no reprieve. She had been tricked, by the lure of a mercifully quick end, into sanctioning the disinheriting of her child. She kept her composure, although her stomach was churning at the thought of what lay ahead of her days, hours perhaps, hence. “I do hope that those poor gentlemen will not suffer traitors’ deaths,” she said.
“I have just had word, madam. The King has been pleased graciously to commute the sentences to decapitation.”
“Thank God!” she breathed.
“That is a great clemency to Smeaton,” Lady Kingston observed. “He is a lucky fellow. Only persons of rank get their sentences commuted.”
“Maybe it is because he confessed to something they knew he had not done,” Anne said, remembering how Cranmer had bargained with her.
“Master Kingston, I desire very much to be shriven of my sins,” she said. “His Grace of Canterbury promised to return to hear my last confession.”
“I will send for him,” Kingston said, “when the time comes.”
“He told me that a French swordsman had been summoned.”
“Not French, madam. It is one of the Emperor’s subjects, from Saint-Omer.”
She managed a smile. “That will please Messire Chapuys.”