This Scepter'd Isle Read online

  Anne only glanced at the book cursorily until she realized from what Lady Alana was saying in her soft, apologetic voice, that The Obedience of Christian Man set out to prove that a king governed by divine right; thus, the ruler was answerable only to God. The pope had no power over a monarch and there could be no distinction between the clergy and the laity. Church affairs and temporal affairs were all under the sole control of the king.

  When Aleneil left to accompany Lady Margaret home, she no longer had the book. When and where it came into Henry's hands Aleneil never asked, but by the late summer of 1530 he had thoroughly absorbed the ideas. These theoretical notions found a more solid basis in the Collectanea satis copiosa, put together from the opinions Cranmer had garnered in Europe. The collection of scriptural, patristic, and historical arguments justified Henry taking into his own hands his matrimonial affairs. What the Collectanea offered Henry was the demonstration that he was already head of the Church, all he had to do was behave as such. The question that remained was how.

  Aleneil devised Anne's New Year gown for the beginning of 1531, a magnificent affair of crimson-colored velvet embroidered in gold and trimmed in sable. Her hair, loose and flowing to her hips, was a glistening shadow against the vivid gown, moving as if it had a life of its own. Aleneil felt there could be no doubt from the king's reaction that he was still and even more enslaved, but Anne's wit rang brittle and Henry's laughter was overloud.

  In private after the feast, Lady Margaret burst into tears, fearing that her idol had fallen at last. Aleneil comforted her; she did not believe that anything was wrong between the lovers. In fact, she assured Margaret, the way they touched and watched each other implied that they were planning together something important . . . and uncertain.

  What that was soon became apparent. Parliament and a Convocation of the Church were summoned for the second and third weeks in January. The entire court knew that Henry planned to extort a substantial sum from the Church to relieve his ever-present financial need. There was no surprise about the demand and no doubt about the response. To avoid various prosecutions for their involvement in Wolsey's schemes, the Convocation quickly offered a hundred thousand pounds.

  To the relief of the prelates, the amount was accepted. The pardon that was offered, however, was a shock. It was not a pardon for involvement in Wolsey's crimes; it was a general pardon for the illegal exercise of the Church's spiritual authority in the past, and it described Henry as "protector and highest head" of the Church and clergy. Aleneil now understood Anne's and the king's tension—and it was not without cause.

  However, the king had the bit well within his teeth and was determined to bolt from the old, well-trodden paths of the relationship between Church and ruler. When the Convocation did not immediately accept this pardon and made protest, Henry sent them another on February seventh. The king had not backed down an inch. Not only was the pardon again for the crime of exercising the Church's authority illegally, but it went even further in describing King Henry as "sole protector and supreme head of the English Church and clergy." It was clear that resistance would not bring compromise, only drive the king to greater radicalism.

  Further argument ensued, but the outcome was a foregone conclusion. As a sop to the Convocation, Cromwell, now officially a royal councilor, suggested that Henry allow "so far as the law of Christ allows" to be added to the phrase "sole protector of the English Church and clergy" . . . and it was done. That Henry and clergy read Christ's law far differently did not matter to him at the moment, the first wedge had been driven.

  Anne's joy seemed to mount to seventh heaven. She was sure that the king only needed to recall Parliament and they would pass a bill of divorcement. Henry, knowing the English Parliament better, was not so sanguine. Through Cromwell the king soon learned that his own council had broken into violent factions over his claim to be head of the English Church. Until he could pressure them to speak with one voice he would make no further move. He delayed the recall of Parliament from October to the following January.

  That news conveyed from Cromwell to Pasgen to Rhoslyn brought from her a sigh of relief. Rhoslyn had not been idle but her efforts produced few results. Maria de Salinas, the queen's favorite lady in waiting, was always eager to pass to Catherine any idea that might forward her cause. But Catherine was not much of a partisan. She knew she was right. She had been a clean maiden when she and Henry had wed; thus her marriage was legitimate and God would protect her claim.

  Her stubbornness was like a great granite cliff. She clung to her position as queen, regardless of the slights offered her or of Anne's presence. Nothing, neither threats nor promises nor strong urgings from the pope that she retire to a convent, thus protecting her daughter's position, would move her. She was Henry's true wife, she always had been, and always would be. Nothing that a man—even a king—could say would make that untrue.

  Even after Henry left her in July 1531 she remained immovable with regard to her position. As late as November of that year she attended state occasions, although she was never allowed into the presence of the king. After a few abortive attempts to offer advice, Rhoslyn realized that her place in the queen's court was essentially useless.

  There was no way without bespelling the king—and that was specifically forbidden—that Henry's affection could be drawn back to Catherine. Thus, there was really no point in her dull role as a nun in Maria de Salinas's household. Rhoslyn knew that she and the queen were already at one on the point that there should be no marriage between Anne and Henry.

  Their reasons differed: Rhoslyn wanted Anne's child to be a bastard so that no one would care what became of it. Catherine wanted her husband as well as the world to acknowledge the legitimacy of her marriage; she wanted her place as queen back and to ensure that there would be no legitimate rival for the throne to her daughter, Princess Mary. Rhoslyn had no fear that Catherine would weaken under any pressure. She told Maria de Salinas that she had been recalled to her convent and left the queen to her own devices.

  Her job there was over. It was time to find a new task.

  CHAPTER 26

  Lord Denno was a frequent enough visitor to Thomas Boleyn's London residence that he was shepherded into the lower parlor without question. There he loosened the rich, wine-red, sable-lined cloak he wore as he approached the settle and two chairs that flanked the fireplace. A huge fire roared on the hearth and its light blinded him so that he swung the cloak off his shoulders before he realized that the chair closest to the hearth was occupied.

  "Good afternoon," he said, bowing slightly, and then more deeply as he recognized the duke of Norfolk and added, "Your Grace, what a pleasure to meet you again."

  "Meet me again?" But the querulous tone only lasted until Denoriel had thrown back his hood and exposed his face. "Oh, Lord Denno. Yes it is a long time since we last met." He smiled suddenly. "That was when you delivered to me the fruit of that little speculation of ours into Turkey carpets. Hmmm." He came more erect in his chair and stared at Denoriel. "You haven't by any chance come to offer a similar speculation to Lord Wiltshire?"

  Denoriel laughed heartily. "No, I am sorry to say. Truthfully it has been a bad time for carpets. I have lost my workshop. The people were all scattered by a new local conqueror. Until peace is made, there will be no carpets woven for me."

  "A social call?" Norfolk's eyebrows went up.

  Denoriel Smiled. "Yes and no. After our business is done, likely Lord Rochford and I will continue on to social pleasures, but I do have business with him. One of my ships is in from France and Lord Rochford has an interest in the cargo."

  "Ah. You did not think I would be interested? Did I not say you would be welcome to me whenever—" He stopped when he realized Denoriel was shaking his head.

  "It was Lord Rochford who came to me with an opportunity for investment," Denoriel said quickly. "He had wind of a cargo of fine wine from Bordeaux but could not hire a ship and was unable to take full advantage of the cargo becaus
e of a temporary embarrassment. I offered my ship Neptune and to cover any charges he could not meet, and we split the cargo between us. This morning I had news that Neptune had come to port, so I sent a message to George, who asked me to meet him here so he could ask his father if he wanted any wine."

  "Bordeaux wine?" Norfolk's interest increased. "A good red?"

  "Unfortunately I have not yet had a chance to taste it and will not for perhaps a week until it is transported to a stable place and allowed to rest." He smiled when he saw Norfolk's avid gaze. "However, if it is as good as George hopes, would you like some wine, Your Grace?"

  "He can't have any," a strong voice said.

  Denoriel turned to meet the eyes of Thomas Boleyn, earl of Ormonde and Wiltshire and, more importantly, father of Anne. He was a man of middle height, what could be seen of his hair under his flat velvet cap still dark. His eyes were large and dark also, like his daughter's, but his nose was stronger. Little could be seen of his chin under his beard, and that, unlike his hair was graying.

  Nonetheless, Boleyn's shoulders under doublet and gown were still broad. He had been one of Henry's companions during his youth, before Henry's older brother Arthur had died. In those days, Henry's father had been desirous that his younger son be more interested in the pleasures of life than in politics, and Henry's companions had been chosen for their addiction to sport. Thus, Thomas Boleyn had been a champion jouster, a wrestler of note, and a bowman who took many prizes.

  Since George was laughing as he walked beside his father and Wiltshire was grinning, Denoriel understood his remark to the duke of Norfolk was a joke. He bowed again to all three and shook his head.

  "I beg you gentlemen, do not embroil me in a quarrel with His Grace of Norfolk, who has always been most gracious to me." He made a piteous face. "It is he whom you must convince about the wine, because if he asks it of me, I will give him what he desires."

  "Oh, he will yield his share readily enough."

  Wiltshire bowed to Norfolk, who had politely stood up to greet him. There was, of course, no need for Norfolk to rise. He still outranked Wiltshire, but Norfolk was not the kind to forget the benefits of being polite to the father of Anne Boleyn.

  "Ah," Norfolk said, jocularly, "You know the wine is bad and wish to save me from wasting my money."

  "Grace of God," George said. "I hope not! Aside from what it would cost me, it would never do to serve bad wine at the Christmas celebrations."

  "Christmas? But that is two months—" Norfolk stopped speaking and nodded. "Yes, I remember. You are in charge of the entertainments. Two months is short enough for making those arrangements." Then he sighed. "I do not envy you."

  "Why?" Wiltshire looked suddenly anxious. "Have you heard bad news?"

  "No." Norfolk hesitated and then seemed to make a decision. "I hope you will not take this amiss, Wiltshire, and it is no reflection on Anne, but I have been troubled about Christmas. This will be the first for the king without Catherine and his daughter."

  "And a fine relief it will be!" George snapped.

  "For you. For Anne . . . yes. But for the king? Catherine was like an old shoe, ugly but comfortable." Norfolk was clearly not comfortable with this situation, though he was not about to protest it. "And the king is really very fond of Mary. He will miss her, her music, her adoration, her joy in being with him . . ."

  "Anne will keep him busy," Wiltshire said, and then added, "Pardon me, gentlemen, let us all be seated and let me send for some refreshment."

  Norfolk dropped back into the chair he had been sitting in, George and Denoriel took the settle, and Wiltshire seated himself in the second chair, after signaling to a servant to bring wine and cakes. When each had a filled glass in hand, Norfolk cleared his throat.

  "It is true that Anne can occupy the king, and while she is with him, he will not repine. But you know and I know she cannot be there every moment. There are times when her presence at his side would not only be politically provocative but would strongly reinforce the scurrilous rumors that she is Henry's mistress." Denoriel listened with intense interest, for there was no one who was as skilled in the delicate movement of the court as Norfolk. "When the Lord of Misrule comes in, and the Mound opens on its surprise, and on a dozen or more significant moments during the celebrations, Henry will be alone. There will be no adoring face for him to look into . . ."

  "Why not?" Denoriel asked.

  All the men turned to look at him with shocked faces.

  "There are proprieties that cannot be ignored," Wiltshire said. "Much as I would like Anne—"

  "Not Lady Anne, my lord," Denoriel said, "the king's own dear son, who loves his father near to worship and can see no fault in him, who will look as adoring as any man could desire, and enjoy without criticism everything presented."

  "God's grace," Norfolk breathed, "I had forgotten Richmond. How did you happen to think of him Lord Denno?"

  Denoriel laughed. "Because His Grace of Richmond and I are very good friends. Wool. You remember the wool I needed for the carpets I wished to have made? Well, there are no carpets at the moment, but there are fine Holland woolens, and I still buy wool from the north. And what better and safer lodging could I have—at no cost, too—than a chamber at Sheriff Hutton? I have visited His Grace of Richmond at least twice a year and sometimes much more often since the boy went north."

  "I had no idea," Norfolk said, not entirely pleased.

  "There was some talk about bringing Richmond south after an attack on the cortege coming from Pontefract, but for some reason that was put off," Wiltshire remarked.

  That vagueness about the cause of putting off Harry's return to court probably meant that Anne had opposed the idea. Denoriel was not certain whether it was because she wanted no rival for King Henry's attention or because she feared the boy might speak against her. Denoriel knew Harry would not do that. And the king must not be allowed to be lonely and unhappy. Anne might think it served her purpose by reminding him she would have been with him if she were his wife, but Denoriel wondered if the diminution of his pleasure might not make the king wonder whether his long pursuit of Anne was worthwhile.

  Beside that, Harry would love a Christmas at court. He was nearly thirteen and growing restless. Although the hard strictures against his riding out had been relaxed, he was now at an age that wanted to see and experience new things. Several times he had asked Denoriel if they could not "take a little trip together," his eyes saying what his lips could not. And Denoriel had been sorely tempted to take the boy Underhill again. But encouraging his desire for Underhill was not healthy. This would be better, fixing his mind on the delights of his own mortal world.

  "But do you not all think that Richmond will make a happy substitute for Mary?" Denoriel insisted. "He is not so musical . . . well, if he sings right now he will provide amusement of another sort. He will have his father in fits of laughter because his voice is breaking . . . but he adores the king and he has no objection at all to Lady Anne."

  "What can he know about her?" Wiltshire asked harshly.

  "What I told him," Denoriel said flatly. "That Lady Anne is a good and gracious lady, that the king loves her dearly, and that her only wish is to make King Henry happy and, if God wills, give him an heir to his throne."

  "But if she gives the king an heir, that would exclude Richmond." Wiltshire looked skeptical.

  "Yes, indeed, and nothing could make Richmond more happy than to be excluded from the succession forever," Denoriel countered. "I cannot speak for the future, of course, but right now, and indeed, for as long as I have known him, the very last thing he wants is to be king. He is a very good boy, my lords, but he does not love his book as well as he loves his horse and he regards the council sessions that he must attend as a form of penance—good for him but dull and painful. To him, kingship is only more, much more, of the same penance. I assure you that Richmond will welcome Lady Anne with goodwill and every courtesy he can devise. And you know, I am sure, that neither Catherin
e nor her daughter Mary have ever regarded him with favor."

  Norfolk and Wiltshire looked at each other. "Should we broach this to the king?" Norfolk asked. "But what reason can we give that does not mention the absences at court?"

  "A very simple reason, and a true one," Denoriel offered. "That the boy is near thirteen years of age, that he feels isolated and confined in the north. That he misses his father and greatly desires to show how much he worships and honors the king. That he yearns for adventure and new sights."

  "Good enough," Norfolk said. "I doubt the king will object . . . if there is no opposition."

  Wiltshire nodded. "I will speak to Anne. I will point out that the boy writes to his father frequently and that if he asks to come, Henry would not wish to refuse. So why not make a necessity into a gracious welcome . . ." He turned to George. "And since we are back to the Christmas festivities, the matter of the wine, or most of it, being settled, is there anything else you need from me?"

  "A list of those suitable to be named Lord of Misrule, if there are men you would like to see so honored," George replied promptly. "I can use my own friends . . . well, some of them. The last thing we need is sly innuendo or coarse jests. But because of . . . of the lack the king may feel, we need some startling entertainments for times when he must be on the dais alone. I have in hand players for several masques and the usual tumblers and jugglers, but I would like something special."

  "You need a conjuror," Denoriel said. "For when the Mound comes in, for example. If there were a great cloud of colored smoke when it opened and the duke of Richmond stepped out of that—"