After the service, as Henry had instructed, she rose and descended the stair to the nave, taking her place before a velvet-covered bench on which lay a great quantity of gold and silver rings. Everyone was staring, and there were indignant gasps and murmurs, but she tried to ignore them. It was normally the custom for the Queen to perform the ceremony of blessing the rings, which were distributed every Easter to people suffering from cramp, but this year Henry had insisted on Anne doing it. It was a great honor to receive one, he had explained. She knew that it was just another gesture to placate her for all the delays.
As she blessed the rings, she sensed the hostility around her, and realized that Henry had miscalculated badly. She was not yet crowned and anointed, and thus not invested with the spiritual power to be doing this, and everyone knew it. But she would not show her detractors that she was cowed by their disapproval. Having curtseyed to the altar and to the King, she went back to her place with her chin held high.
—
Henry was increasingly on edge. He had received letters from Rome, but would not tell Anne what was in them. Wolsey was walking around as if he had the weight of the world on his back. Anne felt like climbing the walls in frustration. But at last, at long, long last, all the preliminaries for deciding the Great Matter were concluded, and there could be no more cause for delay. At the end of May, Henry formally licensed the legates to convene their court in the great hall of the monastery of the Black Friars and hear his case.
The court moved to Bridewell Palace. There was a flurry of preparations. Never before had a king and queen of England been summoned before a court, and great care was taken to ensure that everything was done properly. And all the while the people murmured against the King and Mistress Anne Boleyn.
Anne was jittery and nervous, veering between tears and temper. Henry did his best to reassure her, staying late into the night with her, trying to allay her fears—and of course there was gossip about that. She knew that most people believed she was now his mistress in very truth, and raged at how unfair that was, because for nearly four years now she had jealously guarded her virtue—and for what? She was twenty-eight, almost middle-aged! Every time she looked in her mirror, she seemed to look older. There were faint lines of discontent around her mouth, the hint of a furrow in her brow. She was aware of how poor her reputation was, both in England and abroad. Such power and influence as she enjoyed had no basis in law; it rested only on the King’s great love for her. Without him, she was nothing. Unlike Katherine, she had no powerful emperor to back her.
Henry had told her that once his case came before the legates, she would have to leave London. The prospect terrified her, because she would be leaving him open to the machinations of Wolsey and her enemies. She hung on at Durham House for as long as possible, delaying her departure until the very last moment.
Henry was as miserable as she at the prospect of another separation.
“But you must go, sweetheart,” he urged. “It would not be fitting for you to appear at court until the verdict is given.” And so, when the June clouds were scudding across an azure sky, and all the world was tinged with the gold of summer, she bade him a tearful farewell and set off for Hever with a few servants and a royal escort.
She was so agitated that as soon as she arrived home, she wrote to Wolsey, who would probably be astounded to read her extravagant courtesies and protestations of her continuing love and favor toward him. But he would surely realize that she meant them to spur him to the right judgment. He knew her well enough to know that she would not be forgiving if he failed.
She sought respite in the innocent company of Mary’s children, but Mary herself was tart. “The King has set this realm in an uproar for you, but you don’t look very happy about it.”
“One day,” Anne countered, “we will all be grateful that he did so.”
“Don’t count your chickens!” Mary retorted.
Fortunately Father soon arrived with a buoyant letter from Henry, who was missing her grievously, but optimistic.
The drawing near of that time which has been so long deferred so rejoices me that it is as if it were already come. Nevertheless it cannot be accomplished until the two persons most concerned come together, which I desire more than any earthly thing. For what joy in this world can be greater than to have the company of her who is the most dearly loved, knowing that she, by her choice, feels the same, the thought of which greatly delights me.
But she didn’t feel the same, Anne thought. And that must always be her secret, it seemed. For her, the goal was a crown, a thing of cold metal, but infinitely alluring. She had had a taste of power and found it as heady as being in love. What would she not be able to do with that crown on her head! And she would be grateful to Henry, and loving, as would be her duty once they were married. He would never have cause to doubt her.
Her father was to return to court with her reply, so she hastened to pen a warm response, urging Henry to be of good cheer. Soon they would be together for always, she assured him.
—
The legatine court was now sitting. Messengers winging their way back and forth between Bridewell Palace and Hever Castle kept Anne abreast of developments. She was dismayed to hear that the Queen had refused to acknowledge the competence of the court to try the case, protesting that it would not give an impartial judgment. Katherine had even gone on her knees before Henry in the Black Friars’ hall and made a deeply emotional appeal to him, begging him to spare her the extremity of the hearing and protesting publicly that she had come to him a virgin. Then she had walked out and refused to heed the crier calling her back.
Thankfully the hearing was proceeding without her, but it was clear that the long-drawn-out sessions of the court, most of which Henry did not attend, were trying his patience to the limit. Anne was gratified to hear that he had summoned Wolsey and vented his frustrations for over four hours.
It was in the fourth week of July that he summoned her back urgently to court, for Cardinal Campeggio was expected to give judgment imminently. Henry sounded confident, as if he knew it would be in his favor.
She had her maids pack immediately, and made all speed to Bridewell Palace, where Henry was impatiently awaiting her in his privy chamber.
“It cannot be long now,” he said, as they embraced. “It could even be tomorrow. And then, my darling, we can start planning our wedding and your coronation. And you will be mine at last!”
She did not dare allow herself to hope. She wished she could go to the Black Friars to be present with him when the verdict was given, but that would not be politic. So, after Henry had kissed her farewell and departed in the company of the Duke of Suffolk, she stayed in the grand apartment he had assigned her, sipping wine to steady her nerves and trying not to dwell on what might be happening in the monastery just a few yards across the Fleet River.
—
Henry stormed into her chamber, his face thunderous. He was trembling with rage.
“Revoked to Rome!” he seethed.
She had known it in her bones. That faint-heart of a pope would never set him free. Henry had been tricked, hoodwinked! It had all been carefully planned to keep him sweet while Clement did the Emperor’s bidding. If ever there was proof of corruption in the Church, this was it!