Anne Boleyn, a King's Obsession

“But the Dean of the Chapel Royal came upon him and confiscated the book and gave it to the Cardinal,” Nan wailed.

“Do not fear,” Anne reassured her, and called for her barge. When it moored at Greenwich, she went straight to the King, whom she found relaxing in his privy chamber among his gentlemen. He looked astonished as she entered, curtseyed, and knelt before him.

“Do not kneel to me, sweetheart,” he said, and, dismissing his companions, would have raised her, but she stayed on her knees and told him what had happened, begging him to help her retrieve the book. “For the Cardinal will think I dabble in heresy. All I sought was to understand why Master Tyndale is regarded as a heretic, when in fact his arguments make sense to me. Sir, I do beseech your Grace for your protection.”

Henry took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “And you shall have it. Leave this with me.”

She emerged from his apartments triumphant. Again he had not censured her for reading a banned book. She was even more gratified when Wolsey came in person to Durham House that evening.

“This is yours, I believe, Mistress Anne,” he said, handing the book to her as if it were as innocent as a child’s first primer.

“I thank you, my lord,” she said, and invited him to take some wine with her. As they were drinking and making polite conversation, Henry himself was announced, and after they had chatted awhile, Wolsey left, bowing obsequiously.

“You have my undying gratitude,” Anne told Henry. “I could see myself up before the church courts!”

“Do you think I would have allowed that to happen?” he asked, taking her in his arms and kissing her fervently.

“I hope not! But here is the book, and I urge you to read it. You will be surprised—and maybe impressed.”

He was. When she saw him next, he was full of it. “These are compelling arguments, darling. This is a book for me and all kings to read.”

“But if the Cardinal has his way, no one would be able to read it,” Anne pointed out. “Sir, is it right that the Church should wield universal control?”

Henry looked pensive. “It’s a good question, one I have asked myself several times recently.”

Anne sat up straight and braced herself, clearing her throat. Here was the moment she had been waiting for. “The Church is in great need of reform,” she began, “and a king who was unhampered by the dictates of Rome would be able to stamp out abuses. You have already said you will annihilate the Pope’s authority in England if he does not satisfy your conscience.”

Henry stared at her. As she’d suspected, it had been mere bluster. “You think I should break with Rome?”

“Sir, you yourself say you are disillusioned with the Church of Rome. You have said there is great need for reform.”

“Reform is one thing; breaking with Rome quite another. Besides, Rome may yet prove our champion in this Great Matter.”

“It may. I dare not allow myself to hope, because I have been having my hopes dashed for so long. I am sick to the teeth of living my life in suspense.” Tears were threatening, and as ever Henry hastened to comfort her. As he held her against his gem-studded doublet, she allowed herself the luxury of weeping. Sometimes she felt she could strive no more, but she was not one to give up easily. She was a fighter, and tonight she had planted another seed—in fertile ground, she thought. If the Great Matter was not resolved soon, radical action would be necessary. Henry would see that.



The King was no longer as friendly toward Wolsey as he used to be. The long delay in hearing the case was making him tense and short-tempered. One evening at supper at Durham House, Anne was jubilant to hear him voice his suspicion that the Cardinal was secretly opposing the dissolution of his marriage.

“We have feared that all along, sir,” Norfolk leapt in.

“He works against your Grace because he thinks a decision in your favor will undermine the authority of the Holy See,” Anne said softly. “The Pope can do no wrong, or so we are told, but you have asked his Holiness to undo what his predecessor did. If the Pope is infallible, then the dispensation allowing you to marry the Queen must be valid. But we know it was at variance with Scripture, and so by bringing this case, your Grace has exposed the flaw in the Pope’s judgment. And that can only do damage to the Church.”

The men were all looking at her, clearly impressed.

“Now your Grace must see why you cannot trust Wolsey,” she concluded. “He owes a greater allegiance to Rome.”



The next day, she went to Greenwich and sought out the Cardinal, demanding to know what was holding up the hearing.

He looked flustered. “We are awaiting documents, Mistress Anne.”

“Documents?”

“Yes, for the Queen to produce in evidence.”

“My lord,” Anne bristled, “this delay is caused by you and, I doubt not, Cardinal Campeggio. The King is not pleased. I am not pleased. No doubt the Queen wants the matter settled too.”

“I am doing my best!” Wolsey protested, reddening with anger.

“I think you are doing your best to delay matters!” Anne flung back. “But I am watching you—and the King is too!”



All government business had now ground to a halt. Nothing was spoken of but the Great Matter. The Queen had lodged an appeal in Rome against the authority of the legatine court, but no one in England was taking any notice. Anne was becoming ever more incensed at the delays. The kingdom could not remain in suspension forever.

“Soon you shall have all you wish for,” Henry assured her, but the weeks and months were passing and still the court had not been convened. And now it was Easter.

On Good Friday, Anne took her place in the royal pew above the Chapel Royal at Greenwich and watched as Henry, barefoot in token of his humility, crept to the Cross on his knees before an awed congregation of courtiers. She listened as Archbishop Warham invoked the Virgin Mary’s blessing on his sovereign: “Pray your sweet Son Jesus for our renowned King, Henry VIII, and beg for longed-for joys and never-failing glory to be granted him always.” Amen! Anne prayed vehemently.

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