“Silence!” roared Henry.
“Have that man and Friar Peto brought before my Council,” he ordered Cromwell afterward. Later that day, Anne heard that Friar Peto had been imprisoned. His friend had escaped with a reprimand—too lightly, she thought angrily.
Now here was Father, come to supper with her and Henry, and looking unusually worried. “In truth, sir,” he said, breaking his bread, “I wonder if this is all worth it.”
Henry frowned. “Is what all worth it?”
“Your Grace’s determination to marry Anne, flattering though it is.”
“Father!” Anne burst out, shocked. “Have you gone mad?”
“Sometimes I think all this will drive me to insanity,” Thomas Boleyn confessed. “We are forever in your Grace’s debt for the great honor you have shown us, but it’s a pretty nest of vipers that’s been stirred up.”
To Anne’s astonishment, Henry reached over and patted Father on the shoulder. “Have patience, man,” he encouraged. “What I have resolved, I will carry out. My marriage is invalid whoever I choose to make my next Queen. And the English Church is sorely in need of reform. My Great Matter has merely exposed the corruption in Rome. And by God, sir, I will have Anne to wife, whatever the opposition!”
“Bravely said, your Grace,” Father applauded, rallying. “You must forgive my concern for my daughter. All these delays cause unbearable strain.” So he had noticed. Anne had thought him too preoccupied with the glories to come. “And that business at Durham House,” he was saying, shaking his head. “It shook us.”
“It shook me, too,” Henry said, signaling for more wine to be brought, “but you may rest assured that I will never allow anyone to harm Anne. She will always be under my special protection. Yet the delays weary me too. I have waited five years now to marry her, and still I do not have a son to succeed me. And, as I told Parliament, I am nearly forty-one years old, at which age the lust of man is not so quick as in lusty youth.”
Anne stared at him. She had wondered if her own juices were drying up at thirty-one; it had never occurred to her that Henry, with those great embroidered and bejeweled codpieces he wore protruding from the bases of his doublets, and his ardent importunings for some kind of sexual satisfaction, was anything less than energetically virile. But there he sat, looking sorry for himself, and Father was commiserating.
“Fear not,” Anne told them. “That which we have so long wished for will soon be accomplished.”
—
That spring, the clergy in Convocation formally renounced their allegiance to the Pope, and Henry exacted a steep fine as a penalty for their past misplaced loyalty to Rome.
The very next day, pleading ill health, Sir Thomas More resigned from his office of Lord Chancellor.
Henry was cast into gloom when he joined Anne in her great chamber later that day. “There is nothing wrong with his health. It’s his conscience that bothers him. He says he can’t uphold my case.” He sighed. “I would have given much to have his support.”
“He has retired from public life?” Anne asked, hopeful.
“Yes, he’s gone home to Chelsea, to his family and his books. I’m appointing Sir Thomas Audley Chancellor in his place. He can’t hold a candle to More, but he’s staunch in my cause.”
He leaned over and kissed her. “Be of good cheer, darling. We cannot have long to wait now. Warham is at death’s door, and as soon as he’s gone, I’m having Cranmer in his place. And then, Anne, you’ll see, things will move quickly.”
As if in earnest of that, he summoned his tailors, who appeared with their arms laden with beautiful garments.
“My Queen shall have only the best,” Henry declared, as one held up a gown of rich gold-figured fabric. There was another of black velvet edged with pearls, with a matching French hood, and a third of royal purple. Yet what delighted Anne the most was a sumptuous nightgown of black satin trimmed with black velvet.
“For our wedding night,” Henry murmured in her ear. “You need wear nothing under it.”
—
That spring, through clever diplomacy, Henry managed to lure King Fran?ois away from the Emperor, and in the summer, England and France signed a treaty of alliance against Charles V.
“Now I can count on Fran?ois’s support in my Great Matter,” Henry rejoiced. “I’m meeting with him in the autumn at Calais to discuss it. And you, darling, are coming with me.”
Henry’s patience with Katherine had almost run out. Exiled from the court, yet living in great state, she had remained resolute. He had thought to weaken her resolve by depriving her of the company of their daughter, but that had provoked a public outcry, so he had relented and allowed the Princess to pay her mother a widely publicized visit.
Yet still Katherine insisted that she was his true queen, and it was clear that she had further infected Mary with her obstinacy.
“I’m keeping them apart in future,” Henry growled. “Mary is growing older and might be persuaded to intrigue with the Emperor against me.” And, of course, he wanted to punish Katherine. It would serve her right, Anne thought.
—
The prospect of returning to France delighted Anne. She set about choosing the ladies she wanted to wait on her. Her sister Mary, who had now joined her household, would be one of them.
But then—was there no end to the obstacles that had been placed in her way?—Mary Talbot, Countess of Northumberland, petitioned Parliament for a divorce from Harry Percy. Henry stumped into Anne’s chamber with the news. “The Countess says there was a precontract between you and her husband,” he told her, watching her jealously. “Was there?” They had never spoken of her affair with Harry Percy.
“We made a foolish promise, not really knowing what we were doing,” she admitted. “I understood that the Cardinal had dealt with it. He told me that Harry Percy was already betrothed.”
Henry said nothing for a few moments. “Did you love him?” he asked at length, his piercing eyes intense.
“It was a youthful infatuation,” Anne lied. “I did not love him in the way I love you.” That, at least, was the truth.
“Well, the matter needs to be resolved,” Henry said, apparently satisfied, and getting up to leave. “I’ll have Warham and the Archbishop of York question the Earl.”
“You don’t believe me?” Anne asked.