Anne Boleyn, a King's Obsession

“Never fear, I will not risk my skin,” Anne assured him.

Her interest was piqued, though. She could not be seen to be seeking out a copy of A Supplication for the Beggars. Instead, she sent one of her servants abroad to Antwerp, ostensibly to buy diamonds, but with secret instructions to procure the book. Within a week it was in her hands. She stored it under a floorboard, only taking it out to read at night, and was impressed. Simon Fish argued the case for translating the Scriptures into English. He appealed to King Henry, to whom his work was dedicated, to help the poor and the needy, since the Church only increased their miseries through its rapacity. Half of England’s wealth was in its hands—a disproportionate amount, given that fewer than one person in a hundred was in holy orders. He accused the monasteries of corruption and heaping taxes on the poor, whom they were supposed to succor. Their wealth was obscene! What Fish really wanted to see was its redistribution, to the greater benefit of the realm.

But it was not just the Church’s riches that he was targeting. The clergy, he asserted, had usurped sovereign power in England and cleverly subverted laws restraining them. The ancient kings of Britain had never been subject to Rome or paid taxes to the Holy See, a foreign power. But now the kingdom was in bondage, thanks to the many clerical parasites infesting it.

The book was strongly argued and provocative, explosive even, but it hit the core of the matter, and it was like a revelation. No wonder Wolsey had banned it!

Henry should see this, Anne resolved. It would give him much to think about. It was so apposite for the times that it would be worth her taking the risk. She did not think he would punish her.

She pushed it across the table when next they were dining together.

“Your Grace ought to read this,” she urged.

She knew by his frown that he had heard of it. “The Cardinal banned it,” she said, “but Master Fish makes some cogent arguments.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Where did you get this?”

“From Antwerp.” She would not lie to him. “Master Fish fled there for fear that the Cardinal would persecute him. I can see why Wolsey would object to it, but Henry, I would really value your opinion. Have you read it?”

He shook his head, turning over the pages, intrigued.

“Sir, are you content to leave it to the Cardinal to decide which books should be banned? He does it in your name.”

“I trust Wolsey,” Henry said. Did she detect a note of doubt in his voice?

“You might think differently when you have read Master Fish’s book.”

“Very well, I will do so,” he said, and took it away with him. He had not uttered one word of reproof to her for procuring a heretical work.

Some days later he told her that he had read it, and that it had made him very pensive. But he would not give the order for it to be struck from the banned list. Nevertheless, Anne told herself, she had sown seeds that might ripen.



Katherine would not see reason. She refused, time and again, to enter a nunnery. Instead, she repeatedly asserted to the two cardinals that she was the King’s true wife. Their begging, cajoling, and bullying had not the slightest effect.

The November skies were lowering when a furious Henry stamped off to see Katherine himself, shouting, “I’ll make her go! I’ll ram the veil on her head!” Anne did not see him for hours, and when he did come to her late that evening, he was in a foul mood.

“What did the Queen say?” Anne ventured.

“She is adamant. It is against her soul, her conscience, and her honor.”

“So are you forcing her?”

“If it comes to it, I will. Campeggio is all for it. I’ll let him put the pressure on.”

You’re still afraid of her, Anne thought. You’ll leave others to do the confronting.

“You’d think she’d be pleased to retire to a nunnery and leave all this behind,” she said. “She would avoid the embarrassment that might arise if the case goes to trial. A lady of her sensibilities must shrink from the intimate details of her married life being exposed to public scrutiny.”

“I shrink,” Henry retorted. “But nothing daunts her.”

Even Uncle Norfolk had praised Katherine’s courage. But her refusal to face the reality of the situation was infuriating, as was the way that the commons continued to espouse her cause.

“Sir, the people seem to express their love for her ever more loudly, now that the legate is here. And they cry out against me.” Anne knew what they called her. “Strumpet!” “Whore!” “Jezebel!”

“I know,” Henry said, pacing up and down, a lion ready to pounce. “I will not have these foolish rumors and demonstrations. I shall invite the Lord Mayor and my lords, councillors, judges, aldermen, sheriffs, masters of the city guilds, and anyone else who cares to come here, and I will tell them so!”

And he did. Anne was not present in the great hall at Bridewell Palace when he addressed his leading subjects, but there were plenty to tell her how majestic the King had appeared, standing in his robes of state in front of the canopied throne, and how commandingly he had spoken, reminding everyone that he had so ordered affairs during his nineteen-year reign that no enemy had oppressed them, and of the necessity for preserving that peace by securing the succession. He praised the Queen, and said that, if she were judged his lawful wife, nothing would be more pleasing to him, and if he were to marry again, he would choose her above all women. Anne blanched at that, but she told herself it was only policy that dictated Henry’s fair words.

But then he had declared his doubts of conscience and his fear that he had lived in adultery for so long. He had had them all nodding in sympathy. Only at the last did he declare that he would brook no opposition to a divorce, saying there was never a head so dignified but that he would make it fly. It was all bluster, of course—Anne did not believe he would ever go that far.

The King’s speech was the sole topic of conversation in the court. Some expressed compassion for his plight, some remained mute, their silence eloquent, and a few bold souls expressed the view that he should never have raised the matter in public. But there were several whose hostility was replaced by understanding, and when reports of the speech spread to the streets of London, people spoke more soberly about the Great Matter than they had done before.

Anne decided it was best to stay at Durham House until things had quieted down. She did not want to undermine the good work Henry had done in calming his people. Let him visit her secretly, his unmarked barge mooring silently away from inquisitive eyes. She would miss seeing Norris, but she did not need any more turmoil in her life just now.

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