“You don’t have to show him such favor!” she flung back. And so it continued, back and forth, in a vicious cycle that left her feeling drained and ragged.
She could no longer control her fears or her temper. She lived in trepidation that Henry would welcome Wolsey back, and that Wolsey, knowing her enmity, would do his best to destroy her. She knew she was trying Henry’s patience to the limit, but she could not curb her tongue. Entering his privy chamber one day, she came upon him talking to Sir John Russell, a courtier with a distinguished career behind him, and heard Sir John urging the King to show kindness to the Cardinal.
“He is a consummate statesman, sir, and no one served you more loyally, even if he did fail you in the end—”
“Sir John,” Anne said, interrupting, “I marvel that you should praise such a man to the King’s own face, when he has been accused of so many offenses against His Grace. A pardon does not mean that they have been forgotten.”
She did not wait for the astonished Sir John to reply. Aware that Henry was glowering at her, she walked away. She would not speak to Sir John again, she vowed.
But Henry came after her. “Anne, I love you very much, but I will not have you ill-treating a gentleman of my household in my presence,” he reproved her, as courtiers standing nearby watched, smirking. “And yes, a pardon does mean that a man’s offenses are forgotten—by me, and it’s my opinion that matters.”
“Then I beg your Grace’s pardon,” Anne said scathingly, sweeping a graceful curtsey and moving away before he could say any more.
He came to her, of course, as soon as he could—all contrite, and terrified lest she threaten again to leave him—and she graciously accepted his apology. As usual, after a quarrel, he was more ardent than ever, so she let him kiss and caress her.
It worried her that she could so easily let her tongue run away with her. But she could not help herself. It seemed that she was always fighting her demons. And chief of them, right now, was Wolsey.
—
The bickering continued, fueled by Henry’s reluctance to act on Cranmer’s treatise, which was now finished. Soon it was spring, and now it was summer, and still he hesitated, loath to take that final leap that might well bring him into schism with Rome. And no amount of urging or nagging could move him.
“You were so fired up by Dr. Cranmer’s solution,” Anne reminded him.
“Yes, but I have thought about what might ensue if I take that course. I mean now to have all my lords, spiritual and temporal, petition the Pope to decide the case in my favor.”
“And you think that will move him?” Anne was scornful. “Henry, I am twenty-nine, and not getting any younger. If you hope for sons, you must do more than send petitions.”
“Anne, if I take any course other than seeking the Pope’s judgment, the Emperor may declare war. Do you realize how many enemies I have made in pursuing our marriage? Not just abroad, but here in my realm, in my court! Do you have any idea what I am risking for you? My popularity, England’s security, even my very throne!”
“That matters not,” she countered passionately, knowing she had to stop him from seeing her as part of the problem. “What matters is us and our marriage. Do you know, I read of an ancient prophecy that at this time a queen shall be burned. That could be me! I know I am hated, and I grieve for it. But even if I were to suffer a thousand deaths, my love for you would not abate one jot!”
He kissed her then, his anxieties forgotten for a space. But he had given her a jolt, and she resolved to show a little more deference to him from now on—and to try to be the person he had fallen in love with in the first place.
—
Henry was to visit his daughter, the Princess Mary, at Hunsdon. She was fourteen now, and had rarely been at court since the Great Matter had arisen, since both her parents wished to protect her from its consequences.
“I miss her,” Henry told Anne, “and I would reassure myself that she has not been infected by Katherine’s obstinacy.”
He came home in a foul mood.
“It’s a fine thing when a man’s own daughter starts telling him he is in error,” he growled. “Never mind the duty she owes him! Katherine’s got at her—Mary is repeating the same old arguments. I told her I would visit her again only when she has accepted the truth. The little minx said that she was ready to obey me in all things save what was against her conscience.”
“Has she no respect for her father and King?” Anne asked, indignant.
“She has never defied me before, ever,” Henry mourned, deeply upset. Anne could remember often seeing him with Mary in Katherine’s chamber. He had adored the child, and she him.
—
The lords’ petition had been sent to Rome. In Henry, hope sprang anew, but Anne expected nothing. Weeks went by with no word in response. Then, in September, Clement, still avoiding pronouncing sentence, suggested that the King might be allowed two wives.
“Two wives!” Henry erupted. “Does the Church now sanction bigamy?”
“How can he justify it?” Anne gaped, shocked to her core.
“He says he can permit that with less scandal than would be caused by granting an annulment.”
Secretly, she was pleased. In stooping so low, Clement had lost all credibility with Henry—and, if there was any justice, with the world at large.
“I’m finished with him,” Henry said, his eyes steely. “I should have relied all along on my conscience, which is a higher court of justice than the corrupt court of Rome. God, I know, is guiding my actions. Clement has kept me waiting for three tortuous years, and now he shall know that my patience has worn out. Send for Cranmer!”
—
Thomas Cromwell came upon Anne as she was strolling along the riverside at Greenwich, wondering how long it would be before they could expect the universities to give their opinions. Cromwell was now a member of the King’s Privy Council, and Henry spoke highly of him, being impressed by Cromwell’s zeal in his cause. Anne did not much like the man personally, but they shared a common desire for reform and the translation of the Bible, and if he was willing to use his considerable talents to help secure an annulment, she was more than ready to give him the benefit of the doubt.
She doubted that Henry would ever again rely on a counselor as much as he had relied on Wolsey—he had become too much his own man for that—but she knew that Cromwell’s influence was growing. As long as he realized that her will was law to the King, they would get along very well.
Cromwell bowed. “Lady Anne, I thought you would wish to know. New evidence has been laid before the Council about the Cardinal.”