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ANNE HAD BEEN IN A sort of limbo since she had been noticed by the King. She could not look to the future, as she could see no future, not for her. No other man would dare pay her attention while the world knew that Henry wanted her.
She looked back over those years, how she had dreaded the Irish marriage, how pleased she had been to meet Harry. She would never forgive Cardinal Wolsey for the way he had treated Harry, for the way he had upbraided him before his entire household.
She had not been allowed to see him after that, had no chance to discuss things with him, assure him it did not matter, that they would get their revenge. But that had been then, when they believed their love could overcome any obstacle.
They had no idea then that it was the King who was the obstacle they needed to overcome, the King who had his eye on her, the King who had ordered not only Harry’s marriage to Mary Talbot, but the dissolution of her own betrothal to James Butler.
Anne thought then that she could be in control, that all she need do was keep refusing him, and Henry would give up and find someone else to satisfy his lust. But it had not worked that way. Instead he wanted her more and more and people actually blamed her for that, thought that it was she who was scheming to become Queen.
The King’s sister, the Princess Mary and Duchess of Suffolk, had much to say about his attempted annulment. A great friend of Katherine, she soon forgot how the young Anne Boleyn served her during those long ago days when she was sent to France to marry its King. She despised Anne now, as did her husband, and might well persuade her brother against his scheme. But it would be too late for Anne, as her reputation was already in shreds and it was so unfair. She was quite content to be Mistress Anne Boleyn; she wanted nothing more.
Now Henry had sent Katherine away, sent Princess Mary somewhere else and Anne was being blamed for it. It was cruel, to separate Mary from her mother, especially now when they needed each other more than ever.
But Henry was a cruel man, a man who would brook no argument, who was determined to get his own way no matter who suffered in order to achieve that and the worst thing was that he had the power to do so. What sort of God would give so much control to a man with such an enormous ego?
“He has failed me, my love,” Henry’s deep voice came from behind her, making her start. Many men had failed him these past years and that was a dangerous thing to do.
“Who has?”
“Wolsey, of course,” he replied.
He strode to the sideboard and poured himself wine, poured a second goblet for Anne and handed it to her. She did not want it, but it was pointless to refuse. He would only tell her she did not mean it; that was his answer to everything, that she did not really mean it. Anne had given up trying to explain anything to him, trying to tell him how she felt. He simply did not believe it; he simply did not care. What Henry wanted was the only thing that mattered and he believed that everyone else wanted the same. It was hopeless.
Her sense of fairness wanted to defend the Cardinal, knew that he would have obtained Henry’s divorce if he could have. Why would he not? But she had never stopped hating him for the way he had torn her from Harry, humiliated him, called her a ‘foolish girl’ as though she were nothing. He would not even speak kindly to them, would not consider their feelings.
She cared nothing for Wolsey and if he should fall from grace because of this divorce, that was the best thing to come out of it.
“Henry,” she said. “Can you not see that it is pointless? The Pope will never allow you to divorce Katherine; he is too afraid of the Emperor.”
He came and sat beside her in the window seat, put his arm around her and brushed his lips across her cheek. There was a time she would have suppressed a shudder, but not anymore. He had interpreted her shudders as tremors of desire and to tell him otherwise was far too hazardous. Now she had grown accustomed to having him near her like this.
“He will pay,” said the King. “I have stripped him of all his offices.”
“All of them, Your Grace?”
Anne was pleased to hear it. He was far too high and mighty, had come too far from his station in life.
“All except York. He can keep his archbishopric, but everything else will go, probably to Cranmer. He has been loyal.”
She turned away to hide a smile, kept her eyes on the landscape outside. Cranmer was a better option; he was embracing the Lutheran religion, though secretly. Anne had been studying the works of Martin Luther herself and she would be only too delighted to see Cranmer in Wolsey’s place.
She covered his hand with her own.
“It is good, Sire. You cannot have men around you who defy you.”
“And the best thing,” he said, “He has given me Hampton Court.”
She turned, looked at him in astonishment.
“That beautiful house? That must have hurt him.”
“Likely it did, but think, Anne. It will be ours, yours and mine. I shall have our initials carved into the masonry. They will stay there forever as a testament to our love for each other.”
She squeezed his hand then turned back to the view. On occasions like this, she pitied him, this all powerful man. Who would have believed that? But he was like a child sometimes, a spoilt child it was true, but a child nonetheless. He simply refused to accept that there was something he could not have; he thought he loved her, so she must love him back.
“He’s taken himself on a pilgrimage to York. Tis the first time he’s been there I believe, and he’s supposed to be their Archbishop.” He paused thoughtfully, then smiled. “I shall send your Harry Percy to arrest him. Will that amuse you, Anne?”
Tears gathered in her eyes. He went from arousing her pity to acts of immense cruelty in the space of a moment. He knew well the humiliation the Cardinal would suffer to have his former page be the one to bring him down. Yet she might get some satisfaction from the irony, so might Harry.
He had written to her that his wife was with child. Strange how such news could still affect her, could still drive a blade into her heart. She thought they despised each other, and it was true they were living apart, but not that far apart apparently.
***
WHEN HARRY RECEIVED his wife’s news that she was with child, his first thought was to wonder if it was his. The other times had been fruitless, so why this time?
He wrote to Anne with the news. He did not want her to hear it from someone else and think he was reconciled with Mary. If only he knew, Anne would have rejoiced in such news. She wanted him to be happy and she knew he never would be.
The child was not due until April so he would set out after Christmas to visit. He was still unsure of where to go from there, whether he should grant her request to return to Alnwick Castle. It was likely, after their last encounter, that she no longer wanted that. On the other hand, she would not want her father interfering in her child’s future.
These were all thoughts to fill his head and give him a familiar headache. He was never sure, as the years went past, if his illnesses were made worse by his miserable existence.
He had few visitors but those that did pass through seemed to take great pleasure in reporting on the state of things at court. That’s how Harry knew that Anne was still holding out against the King and how he knew that he was still trying to achieve the impossible – a divorce from his lawful wife.
If King Henry did manage to find a way to defy the Pope, he would be excommunicated, which would put the whole country under an interdict. There would be no weddings, no baptisms and no funerals. Harry had little time for Rome; he had, in the long, distant past, discussed the new religion with Anne and decided it was the right way. He wondered if she still felt the same, since nothing could be committed to writing; that would be far too dangerous. Harry would be delighted to see England free from the yoke of Rome, but he saw no reason why the whole country should suffer because of its King’s lust.
He could not help but wonder if the King really did love Anne. He knew how easy that was, to fall for her, to yearn for her and dream about her, and he knew what it was to be denied her. He would almost have felt sorry for Henry Tudor had he not ruined Harry’s life.
Before twelfth night, Harry set out for Shrewsbury. He knew he would have to take his time, the roads being icy and possibly thick with snow in places. He also remembered how the journey had affected his health last time he visited his wife; this time he intended to take much more care, have many more stops and for longer.
And everywhere he stopped he heard more gossip about his beloved Anne and her scheme to take the throne from Queen Katherine.
***
MARY WENT INTO LABOUR early on a windy April morning. She had waited for this, waited impatiently, wondering all the time if she still wanted to return to Northumberland, still wanted to be the Countess there. This was his condition, that she gave him an heir. It was the most important thing in a man’s life, that his wife should give him an heir and even the King was turning the country upside down for that same thing.
They had begun to call Anne Boleyn the Concubine, a name given her by the Spanish ambassador, and it was said she had promised the King a son if he married her. Mary thought that a foolhardy promise to make and no woman in her right mind would ever make such a vow, but Mary hated Anne enough to believe her that stupid.
Whilst these thoughts raced through her mind, a sudden pain shot through Mary and she screamed. Harry arrived just in time for the birth of his dead son.
***
SHE WAS SO WHITE AS she lay upon the pillow that she almost blended in with the linen. There were shadows beneath her eyes, so dark that if he had not known better, Harry might have suspected someone had hit her.
He sat on the bed beside her, something he had never done before. He wondered why that was; could it be because it was such an affectionate gesture, such a compassionate one? Now his heart melted.
Mary had always wanted a child; instead she had been condemned to life with him, a man she despised, a man in love with someone else.
For the first time in their turbulent marriage, Harry felt the shame of that, but he was still not sure if it was Mary he pitied or the cold little bundle of dead flesh he had seen quickly removed from her bed.
She kept her face turned away from him and he wondered if she were sleeping, exhausted from the ordeal.
“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, not wanting to wake her if she should be asleep.
It was a few minutes before she turned to face him, before he saw more tears running down her face than he ever thought she had in her. Her voice struggled past a sob to reply.
“How would you expect?” she said bitterly. “You implant your seed in me, then run away and leave me to face this alone.”
“I came as soon as I could.”
“You knew when the child was due.”
“And I left Alnwick in good time, but I took ill on the road. I make no excuses; I should have taken you home with me then, as you asked. I know not why I failed to do so.”
“Because you hate me as much as I hate you, that’s why,” she said bitterly. “There is little point in even trying to salvage this ruin of a marriage. I have vomited the last nine months away and the last three days I have suffered the worst pain I’ve ever known. I refuse to go through that again and if you try to force me to it, I swear I’ll take my own life.”
He nodded his agreement. She was right, there was no point, and all he felt at the realisation was relief.
His only heir now was one of his brothers and he detested them both.
The return journey to Northumberland was not so arduous, as the warmer weather was fast approaching. He felt strangely bereft; he could not really mourn his dead son, as he had never known him and had not even been there for the child’s mother. Surprisingly, the thought that entered his head was that Anne would not approve of that.
Harry was exhausted when he finally arrived back at Alnwick and had no inclination to read the letter that awaited him, the letter which bore the royal seal.
What now? Was he to be accused of something, perhaps neglecting the borders again? Mary had not been here to send reports to Norfolk, but the Duke might have found another spy.
As to the King, would the man never realise that he was ill? He needed help and if his brothers were as they should be, he would rely on them for that help. But they were not; they were too busy trying to defend the Catholic faith and Harry was very much afraid they would soon be in real peril because of it.
A servant set a flagon of wine beside his chair, along with a goblet. Harry poured himself a drink and when he had drained it, he tore open the seal on his letter with a sense of deep dread. Always he was afraid to hear that the King had grown tired of waiting for Anne and had found something for which to condemn her.
For he would never release her to live a quiet life, not Henry. He was more selfish than any other creature on earth and if he could not have Anne, he would make quite sure that no other man could. That was a fact proven by his treatment of Bessie Blount, once he had finished with her and she had given him a son. He had allowed her husband to condemn her to a life of austerity in a convent, separated from that son. And she had given him what he wanted; Anne had resisted, so her penalty would be much harsher.
But as Harry read the words in the letter, he felt a little smile tilting his lips. It was a command from King Henry that he, Harry, should go to Cawood in Yorkshire and arrest Cardinal Wolsey for treason.
For years he had loathed this man, ever since that long ago humiliation when he was giddy with the future he and Anne had planned together. Wolsey was the one who had destroyed that warm feeling, even though Harry now knew it was on royal orders. But he did not need to do it so publicly, so smugly, a common little butcher’s son thinking himself very superior to the heir to an important earldom.
And now the King wanted him to arrest that common little butcher’s son. He would have his revenge; he would make the arrest as public as he could, he would treat the once great Cardinal just as he had been treated, and he would relish every moment.
But he needed to rest. He supposed the King thought Northumberland must be close to North Yorkshire, as both counties were in the north somewhere. He could have no idea that they were some days journey apart and Harry had only recently returned from Shropshire.
So he took that time and when he finally set out to obey the King’s command, he felt recovered and looked forward to the duty imposed upon him. He wondered why he was the one who had been chosen; he wondered if it was at Anne’s request, for she hated the Cardinal as much as he and there was no doubt she had the influence to make such a request.
He had no way to ask her. It was far too dangerous to write to her, or for her to write to him. All he had was rumour, news distorted out of all recognition by the time it reached him. To tell him the truth, he clung to his own knowledge of the young girl he had once wanted for his wife.
Cawood was where the Cardinal was staying on his way to York. It was the first time he had been there, in all the years he had held the post of Archbishop of that city, the second most important church position after Canterbury. Yet Wolsey had not bothered to visit, to let the people see their religious leader. If he thought this last minute pilgrimage would win him favour with the Almighty, he was to be disappointed.
Harry ate his midday meal before he set out with his arrest warrant to meet Master Walsh, who was to accompany him. He wanted to catch Wolsey in his luxurious apartments, surrounded by his grooms and his pages, just as he had been on that long ago day when he had torn a schism in Harry’s dreams.
On arrival at Cawood Castle, surrounded by many soldiers, Harry ordered the porter to surrender the keys to him and was furious when he refused.
“I come in the King’s name,” said Harry. “I order you in the King’s name to surrender the keys to me.”
“My Lord,” said the porter. “My Lord Cardinal entrusted me with the keys and I cannot surrender them to anyone without his consent.”
Harry felt his fingers bunch into fists, then felt Master Walsh’s grip upon his arm.
“Let him keep the keys, My Lord,” he said. “The Cardinal will no doubt give the order when we have finished.”
Harry nodded, then proceeded up the stairs to the Cardinal’s suite, where he was announced. He had wanted to burst in on him, embarrass him before his household, but that was not to be. The Cardinal came out to meet him and, to his consternation, reached out his arms and held Harry close to him.
Harry’s resolve melted. This would not happen before the whole company; he simply did not have the heart for it.
“We have nearly finished our dinner, My Lord,” Wolsey told him. “We can offer you something, I am sure.”
He led him into the hall where the remnants of the meal could be seen, where the men of his household still sat at table.
“I did not come for dinner, Your Grace,” said Harry.
“Then we best go to my chamber,” said Wolsey.
Inside the Cardinal’s chamber, accompanied only by Master Walsh and the Cardinal’s servant, George Cavendish, Harry put his hand on the Cardinal’s arm and spoke quietly.
“I come in the name of the King, to arrest you for high treason.”
Wolsey’s face showed his astonishment, his complete surprise.
“I do not believe it,” he declared. “I have done nothing against the King’s Grace. Where is your warrant? I would see it.”
Harry shook his head.
“No,” he said. “You must not see it.”
“Then I refuse to come with you,” said the Cardinal.
“Come, Your Grace,” said Harry. “You do not want us to have to force you out, before your servants.”
Master Walsh was growing uncomfortable with this exchange. This was Cardinal Wolsey, until recently the King’s right hand. This was not right.
“Your Grace,” he interrupted. “You cannot see the warrant because it lists items the King has ordered be kept from you.”
“If that be the case, Master Walsh,” said Wolsey. “I shall agree to accompany you, not my Lord of Northumberland, who I knew as a wilful page in my household.”
And Harry had softened toward him, had pitied him, but he still thought himself superior, this butcher’s son who, like Icarus, had flown too close to the sun and melted his wings.
“I shall stay here,” said Harry. “I must inventory your goods and chattels, audit your accounts and see that they are in order.”
That was when the Cardinal finally gave in to his distress. His eyes filled with tears, his already haggard face seemed to form new lines before the eyes of the men there with him.
“Be of good cheer, Your Grace,” said Walsh. “His Majesty was always fond of you. I am sure that once he has heard you out, he will know it is but scandal by your enemies that has caused this. You will soon be back where you belong.”
Harry’s heart softened again for a brief moment, then he remembered why he hated him and it was not only that humiliating scene in the Cardinal’s own household. He recalled when he married, how Wolsey had sent servants from his own household to spy on him, how he had tried to control Harry’s life even after he left his service.
Butcher’s son!
As the Cardinal tipped his tankard to drain it, his eyes caught Harry standing there, watching and enjoying his humiliation. He had changed somewhat from the gangling youth who had presumed to get himself betrothed without consent. Wolsey had heard many times that Percy was not a well man and his appearance here proved it.
He did not stand, only leaned back in his chair and stared at his visitor.
“How have I offended His Majesty?” Wolsey muttered.
“Do you question His Majesty’s orders?” Harry demanded.
“No, no, of course not.”
“Good. You will go with my men,” said Harry. “They will see you safe to London.”
He watched them lead the old man out of the building and into a waiting carriage. He would have a long journey in which to reflect on his failures, in which to regret that he had ever made an enemy of Lord Harry Percy.