Henry had castigated Luther, yet this Church he had defended so vigorously was now showing itself to be rotten to the core. And it was the same Church to which Queen Katherine and the Emperor and countless other orthodox Christians rendered unquestioning devotion, regarding any criticism of the corruption within as an attack on faith itself. It was the Church of which Anne saw Wolsey as the living embodiment.
She had read some of the Lutheran tracts that had reached England from abroad. People circulated them surreptitiously at court, and discussed them in secret, for they were officially banned. She had spoken about them with Father and George, who both saw some wisdom in them. But her traditional upbringing in the old faith was sufficiently deep-rooted for her to believe that one could get to Heaven through good works, not just through faith alone, as the Lutherans claimed. She could not accept Luther’s rejection of five of the seven holy sacraments, leaving only baptism and communion. But in recent months she had been questioning the probity of the Church and even of the Pope himself. Why was it, she had begun to wonder, that those who were ordained were the only people allowed to interpret the Scriptures? And why did the Bible have to be in Latin? Why could not people read the word of God for themselves? It seemed that the enlightened days when Erasmus could freely translate the Scriptures were long gone, swept away by a reactionary fear of heresy. How could people come to a God they could not know properly? Some ignorant priests did not even know Latin!
Reform had to come. And she was uniquely placed to make it happen. Every word that fell from her lips had Henry spellbound. She could make him listen to her. She would lay the foundations of reform now, and build on them when she was queen. A sense of exaltation filled her. She would be a queen such as Esther had been in the Bible. The Jewish Esther had become the beloved second wife of the pagan King Ahasuerus of Persia, after he had set aside his first Queen. His overmighty chief minister, Haman, had tried to massacre the Jews, but Esther had interceded and saved her people. And it would be said of Anne, as it had been said to Queen Esther, “Who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”
“Darling?” Henry said plaintively. “Did you hear what I said? You were miles away.”
“I’m sorry,” Anne excused herself, coming back to reality with a jolt. “I must confess I am tired tonight.”
“Then you must rest, sweetheart,” he said, and took a loving leave of her.
She was glad to be alone to think, and in bed an hour later, she lay wakeful, conscious of the enormity of what Henry had said, and what she was planning. She was honest enough with herself to know that her aims were not purely grounded in principle. Taking a stand against the Church would enable her to stake out the high moral ground against Wolsey and the Queen. But had Henry really meant what he said about annihilating the Pope’s authority, or had he threatened it in a fit of pique?
—
When Father and George visited two days later, Anne made them sit down.
“The King has said that if Clement does not grant this divorce, he will annihilate the authority of the Holy See in England,” she told them.
For a moment they were speechless. Their faces registered their astonishment at the enormity of what she had just said.
“Father, you agree the Church needs reforming. This might be the golden opportunity for it.”
“Reform, aye. But severing England from the Holy See?” Father frowned. “Is this what the King really means to do?”
“He said so. I think he meant it.” Anne rose and began walking up and down the gallery. “He is determined to have what he wants, by whatever means. And if it comes to a break with Rome, that will be our moment.”
“By God!” George exclaimed. “If anyone can seize the day, it’s you, Anne. I’m almost hoping that the Pope will declare the King’s marriage valid, just to see what follows.”
“Don’t be flippant,” his father reproved him. “This is no light matter. It’s the weightiest one to be raised in England in a thousand years. The King must be powerfully moved if he’s making such threats. He’s a conservative at heart when it comes to religion. He attends Mass faithfully and creeps to the Cross on Good Friday. He might waver in his resolve. That’s where you come in, Anne. No one is better placed to lead him the right way. If Clement says yes to him, well and good, and we’ll all go on telling our beads and asking the saints to intercede for us. But if not—I say thank God for you, daughter! You can lead us to the Promised Land.”
Anne stared at him. Never had Father revealed that he had such confidence in her, or encouraged her to use her power to its uttermost. He was virtually conceding supremacy to her, and acknowledging that she, not he, was now the head of her faction—and her family.
—
Reform was a favorite topic in the darkening autumn evenings, when she sat with Father and George by the fire in the great chamber at Durham House.
“We, the laity, should be able to make our own minds up about what the Bible says,” George declared.
“Give me one good reason why it should not be in English and freely available,” Father challenged, draining his goblet.
“They fear we will find out that the Scriptures don’t offer any grounds for the corruption in the Church,” George said. “Remember how the Bishop of London ordered all copies of William Tyndale’s translation to be burned? Then Cardinal Wolsey condemned Tyndale as a heretic.”
“It’s as well for him that he’s living in Germany,” Anne said, getting up to fetch more wine.
“Tyndale was right,” Father stated. “He said that nowadays no man may look on the Scriptures until he has had eight or nine years of indoctrination and become armed with false principles, by which time he is incapable of understanding them.”
“The Church wants to stay in control by censoring what the laity know,” Anne declared. “Does it fear that if we could all read the Scriptures for ourselves, we might start questioning its authority?”
“We already are,” George observed.
“It’s not just the Scriptures that we can’t read,” Father said. “Wolsey keeps a long list of the books he’s banned.”
“What books?” Anne asked. “Lutheran tracts?”
“I don’t know all the titles, but only last week he was clucking about one called A Supplication for the Beggars. It’s by an Englishman, Simon Fish, who lives in exile in Antwerp. Wolsey called it vicious and subversive, and said it would incite heresy, murder, and treason.”
“It sounds like my kind of book,” Anne smiled. “If Wolsey hates it, I am bound to like it. Where can I get a copy?”
Father and George stared at her. “Are you mad, daughter?” Father barked. “Do you want to be accused of heresy?”
“It’s a long time since anyone was burned at the stake in England,” Anne retorted.
“The law is still in force,” he reminded her.
“But Anne is not subject to the same laws as the rest of us,” George said, grinning. “I’ll wager that her influence with the King is such that she could with impunity read any book that was banned.”
“I wouldn’t like to put that to the test,” Father retorted.