Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Whilst he struggled to come to terms with what had just occurred, the king beckoned to one of his many pageboys and despatched him to request the presence of Lady Anne.
“You shall meet her,” the king boomed cheerfully, his voice echoing around the chamber. “But you do not seem overly delighted about remaining with us here at Court.”
The king’s shrewd gaze was upon him, as Thomas searched for an honest but inoffensive response. “Forgive me, sire,” he said at last. “I am accustomed to a life of quiet study. Life at Court is something I shall find difficult to adjust to.”
“We understand, master scholar. We too long for quietness and uninterrupted study on occasion. To gain knowledge from worthy writings is worth more to us than material wealth,” King Henry declared, not altogether truthfully. “But God has placed us in this position, and therefore we must act according to His will.”
Impressed by the king’s show of sincerity, Thomas nodded. “Indeed yes, sire. You have set an example of obedience, and I am glad, therefore, to serve you as Your Majesty sees fit.” He pushed aside his disappointment. “I shall send for my books and other possessions within the week.”
“Good,” the king beamed jovially. “And fear not, you shall not be lonely. Your friends Fox and Gardiner are here at Court, and I see you have already made the acquaintance of Cromwell.” The king shot a searching glance at Cromwell’s tidy but sombre figure. Cromwell was a clever man, as skilled in the field of law as the little Cambridge theologian was in theology and classical studies, and he was totally ruthless. Yet, behind the ruthless streak, which the king had quickly identified upon first meeting him, lay a fierce loyalty. Wolsey had failed his king; thus he was no longer needed, yet Cromwell had not deserted Wolsey’s service, unlike many others. Only a couple of days ago, both Fox and Gardiner had resigned from Wolsey’s household, yet Cromwell still wore Wolsey’s badge. Admittedly, he was now taking orders directly from the king, but he still showed outward respect to his former master and gave his services when required. It was a trait that the astute King Henry respected. A loyal servant was invaluable.
A short while later, there was a commotion outside the chamber, and the tapestry covered door opened. It was at that moment that Thomas beheld Lady Anne Boleyn for the first time. She was accompanied by two of her ladies, who, after curtseying to the king, stood some distance away. Following Cromwell’s example, Thomas doffed his cap as she swept up to the king, her wide skirts stirring the rushes as she walked. Less than three feet away from the king, Lady Anne dipped into a deep, graceful curtsey. Her only curtsey. Clearly Court etiquette did not apply to her. The king seized her hand and kissed it tenderly, before inviting her to sit beside him, all the while keeping her hand held tightly in his.
The name ‘Anne Boleyn’ had been on the lips of everyone in the land for months now, and here he was, finally looking upon her. Thomas was somewhat disappointed by her physical appearance – though she was not unattractive, he had seen far prettier ladies – but her attire was another matter. He was certain she was the most stylish, sophisticated woman he had ever beheld. Her gown was the height of fashion, made of velvet in a rich red hue. Velvet could not be worn by anyone below the rank of a knight, so even without the king’s favour, she could wear it, being the daughter of a knight. But the fullness of the skirts and the flowing sleeves required many yards of material, revealing that her outfit had almost certainly been a gift from the king. Her headdress was, in his eyes, different to anything he had ever seen. He was familiar with the standard, gable headdress worn by most women, which hid all but a small piece of hair at the front of the head. His own mother had worn such a headdress. But Anne wore something far more daring, revealing much of her hair at both the front and back. Her long, black, silky locks cascaded beneath her veil, all the way past her waist.
“My lady, Anne Boleyn,” the king announced unnecessarily, his eyes alight with affection.
Anne stood, dipped a very small curtsey – to be shared between Cranmer and Cromwell – and sat down again.
“Dr Cranmer here has just arrived from Cambridge…”
“Oh, so you are the man who has found a solution to our dilemma.” She shot an intimate glance in the king’s direction. Turning her graceful head towards the newcomer she added, “You are most welcome, sir.”
He began to see why the king found her attractive. Her neck was long and graceful; her large, dark eyes seemed to glow, and when she smiled, her usually tight, prim little mouth became warm and luscious. She was one of those women whose personality was sufficiently attractive that they could make anyone consider them beautiful.
“You are to be attached to Lady Anne’s household,” the king reiterated to Thomas. “You shall act as her chaplain.” Taking Anne’s hand, he kissed it again, prompting her to shoot a flirtatious glance in his direction. “The Earl of Wiltshire, or one of his staff, will direct you regarding your duties.”
Anne realised that the newcomer might not know who the Earl of Wiltshire was, and promptly added, “The Earl of Wiltshire is my father.”
Throughout this conversation, Cromwell, who had not said a word, was watching closely. Like Thomas, he considered Anne to be no great beauty – in his opinion, she was no better than any of the other young women at Court – but he knew her to be clever and cunning. She knew how to enhance her attributes; how to display herself to capture the attention of men. For instance, her headdress was a French Hood, named after its country of origin, designed to display one of her greatest assets: her hair. Anne had spent many years as a lady-in-waiting to the French queen, during which time she had learned how to be the sophisticated young woman that she was today. It was this experience that made her stand out from the other ladies at Court, a number of whom were definitely more beauteous than she.
Her ambition and intellect fascinated Cromwell, therefore he had decided that he was prepared to support this woman in her quest to become Queen of England. Not only would he almost certainly benefit from backing Anne over Catherine in the long run, but he also knew that Anne had recently taken an interest in The New Learning, a subject which he himself was also curious to learn more about, though he had not yet admitted as much to Cranmer. Cromwell was of the belief that Catholicism was outdated, and that Queen Catherine, like Cardinal Wolsey, would soon be forced out. Whilst he owed loyalty to Wolsey, he owed nothing to the Spanish princess, and thus registered no regret at the sudden deposition of this woman who had considered herself the Queen of England for the best part of twenty years.
Cromwell’s thoughts were interrupted by the king, who continued to regally inform Thomas of his duties. “We also require you to write a thesis in support of our divorce, and to visit the universities to debate upon the subject. We anticipate that you will still have time to enjoy reading and studying.”
Thomas was speechless. Visit the universities; act as chaplain to Anne Boleyn; write a thesis… it was a lot to take in!
“I am quite sure that the Earl of Wiltshire will enjoy your company.” Cromwell spoke at last, covering for the speechless newcomer. “He is a man who enjoys learned discourse.” Noticing the look of relief and gratitude on Thomas’ face, Cromwell smiled warmly. This man, Thomas Cranmer, was truly likeable. There was a wholesome honesty about him that was seldom seen among those who flocked to the king’s Court, which was nothing more than a hotbed for back-stabbing and treachery. Everyone wanted the king’s favour because the king’s favour could lead to riches and power. He himself wanted the king’s favour for those exact reasons. But Cranmer… Cranmer desired neither wealth nor power. He only wished to read, study, and pass on his knowledge to others. The man was a rarity, and Cromwell suspected that the king had recognised this; Anne too, for she was no fool.
“My father is currently lodging at York Place, my home, thanks to the king’s kindness.” Anne shot another intimate glance towards her doting royal admirer. “You do look after me, Henry,” she purred, before turning to her new chaplain. “Arrangements will be made for you to be taken there by barge later today, when the tide is right.”
Having just made the acquaintance of Cromwell, and having found himself able to converse and enjoy the man’s company, Thomas would have preferred to remain at Greenwich. He had never heard of York Place. Although admittedly, until recently, he had never heard of Greenwich either.
Unbeknownst to Thomas, York Place was one of the many palaces owned by Cardinal Wolsey. The king had discovered that his cardinal owned far more properties than he did himself; as a result, in an effort to regain some royal favour, Cardinal Wolsey had given his two favourite residences to Henry, namely Hampton Court and York Place. The latter was promptly given to Anne, though the king intended to give her Hampton Court also, when he had finished making magnificent alterations to it. He was currently having the chapel and great hall totally gutted and refurbished, whilst the gardens and courtyards were being redesigned beyond recognition. Plus, the state rooms needed renovating. At least, he thought so. Wolsey had been perfectly happy with them as they were.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” he murmured. “I find myself overwhelmed.” But not so overwhelmed that he had failed to notice Anne referring to the king by his Christian name. This lady was most definitely not some fleeting liaison. A mere liaison would have addressed him formally.
The king stood, signalling that the interview was over. “No need to say anything,” he announced cheerily, giving his new servant a hearty thump on the back, causing Thomas to pitch forward and almost fall flat on his face. “We like your opinions, Cranmer, and your loyalty. We believe you will be a great asset.”
Utterly dazzled, he replied, “I shall certainly try to be,” before following Cromwell’s lead and bowing low as he exited the room. To his infinite relief, he successfully remained upright.
“My, you are in favour,” grinned Cromwell.
“I… I don’t know what to say… or think,” Thomas whispered. “I hope I did not make a fool of myself.”
“You conducted yourself very well and presented your case for the king’s divorce most succinctly. We shall meet often, you and I,” Cromwell informed him, his smile as smug as that of a cat who had just been presented with a bowl of fresh cream. “Messengers are constantly travelling back and forth from Greenwich to York Place, so be sure to keep me informed of your duties and of your progress. I suspect you will find favour with the Earl of Wiltshire.”
“I sincerely hope so.” Thomas sounded dubious.
“I will take you back to the room we shared last night, so that you may gather up your belongings,” Cromwell offered. As they walked, he gifted his companion the benefit of his knowledge regarding the Boleyn’s. “Lady Anne’s mother is the sister of the Duke of Norfolk. It was an advantageous marriage as far as Sir Thomas Boleyn was concerned. I am uncertain whether this is true or not, but I have heard tell that the Boleyn’s name was originally Bullen. Apparently, when the earl visited his daughter in France – Lady Anne served the French queen for some years, you know – he discovered that the French struggled to pronounce ‘Bullen’. They said ‘Boleyn’ instead, which I am sure you will agree sounds far nicer. So, he had the family name changed… allegedly. At Court everyone takes pleasure in trying to belittle the Boleyn’s you know. As you may have already heard, Lady Anne is not the earl’s only daughter. She has an older sister, Mary, who for a time was the king’s mistress; she even bore him a child, a daughter. There is also a brother, George, Lord Rochford. The family fortunes all depend upon Lady Anne’s relationship with the king. I believe she is not yet his mistress; she has already seen her sister cave in to the king’s desires and be cast aside when he tired of her. Fortunately for Mary, she had a compliant husband to return to, though he has since died of the Sweat, leaving her a widow.” They had arrived at Cromwell’s quarters and Cromwell stopped, clasping Thomas’ shoulder. “In short, the family have something of a history with the crown.” He grinned jovially. “And that, my friend, marks the end of my oratory!”
Once inside Cromwell’s room, Thomas began to repack the few items he had brought with him, hoping that it would not take too long for his books to be despatched from Cambridge. How would he cope without his books?
“Where is this York Place?” he asked dejectedly.
“Beside Westminster Palace,” Cromwell replied swiftly, then shook his head and laughed. “You don’t know where Westminster Palace is either, do you? It’s downriver; the tide will soon be ready to take you there.”
“The tide?” This was all so very new and mysterious. “Why the tide?”
“The Thames is tidal, so it is easier and faster for the oarsmen to row with the tide, rather than trying to battle against it,” Cromwell explained.
“I see.” Thomas smiled and gave a self-deprecating shrug. “It seems so obvious once it’s explained. I suppose I shall soon get used to it. I have never travelled anywhere by boat or barge before… I’ve never even set foot on a boat.” The very thought made him anxious. “All of my journeys have been on foot, or by horse. Is it not possible to reach York Place by more conventional means?” His tone was plaintive.
“The streets of London are not pleasant to walk or ride through. Many are nothing more than open sewers. Because the ground consists of some sort of clay substance, the streets are damp and muddy even when the weather is dry. Furthermore, all manner of animals are driven through them, so there is an inordinate amount of dung, not to mention the smell permeating through the streets from the tanneries… I believe I have said enough. Whenever the king processes through the streets to meet with his subjects, he always rides; a horse is the best means of preserving your footwear,” Cromwell laughed wryly.
“I remember there was a slight odour when I arrived, but it was not too dreadful. Well… it was no worse than Cambridge,” he amended.
“It depends very much upon the direction of the wind. The great houses and palaces are all situated on, or near, the riverbank, so the scent is less pungent. I shall call upon you at York Place soon. I am well acquainted with the Earl of Wiltshire. He and I… well… we are of similar minds; I suspect you share our opinions on certain matters,” Cromwell speculated. “But before you leave, permit me to recommend an excellent tailor. Forgive my plain speaking, but you will need a new gown, preferably two, in addition to a jerkin, sleeves, cap… all manner of garments. You are at Court now. You must look the part!”
Thomas wished he felt as relaxed as his companion, who seemed to always be at ease, regardless of the situation. But what Thomas did not realise was that Cromwell’s easy manner did not come naturally, having been cultivated after years of uncertainty, spent travelling constantly from place to place.
Cromwell had received very little formal schooling and had taught himself Latin at a young age; he had always had an eye for self-advancement. He and his father, a blacksmith, had clashed violently, prompting Cromwell to flee the country as a young man and begin working abroad as a mercenary soldier in Spain. He had also worked as a merchant in Florence for a short time, before moving to the Netherlands. Upon returning to England, he decided to turn his talents to studying law, and soon became a brilliant lawyer. His status increased when he joined the Honourable Society of Gray’s Inn, one of the four Inns of Court, which brought him to the attention of Cardinal Wolsey. Soon afterwards, he became part of the cardinal’s household.
Though he had not chosen or intended to travel, Cromwell’s experiences, and his time spent in foreign countries, had been most advantageous at Court. Not only did he have first-hand knowledge of foreign affairs, but the experience had also given him time to broaden his mind, and he had read the Bible, many of the works of Luther and Erasmus, and the writings of Machiavelli. Furthermore, he knew how to make people like him, having been forced to make new acquaintances on a regular basis during his travels, and he knew how best to extract information. He hated having gaps in his knowledge, and on this occasion, he knew that the quiet and unworldly Thomas Cranmer was just the man to fill them.
*****
York Place was comfortable and luxurious, more so than anywhere Thomas had ever been before. Not only was his room and his bed more sumptuous than anything he had ever encountered, but the food was rich and plentiful too. Sir Thomas Boleyn, recently titled the Earl of Wiltshire, explained that it had to be of a high standard, for His Majesty’s sake. Since Anne officially resided at York Place, and spent much of her time there, the king was a regular visitor. They never knew when he might arrive, and since His Majesty could not be served an inferior dish, they had no choice but to serve food that was fit for a king at all times.
The earl had been a most welcoming host and had swiftly arranged the services of a tailor to fit Thomas with the clothes he would require to attend the king at Court. The tailor had duly arrived, and two brand new academic gowns were soon to be delivered, alongside a number of other necessary items of clothing, including a new pair of shoes, which had been made by one of the many royal shoemakers. Though Thomas was most grateful for all this fuss, he could not help but fret over how he was going to pay for such luxuries, since he had yet to receive any payment for his services. Furthermore, his savings were meagre, for he spent most of his money on books and saved very little. He made a mental note to ask Cromwell about this dilemma when he next saw him.
Soon his life began to follow a routine. His books had arrived quickly, so he spent most of his days working on his Thesis for Divorce and preparing for his visits to the universities. During that first week, he saw little of Lady Anne Boleyn; she was at Court, in her official capacity as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Catherine. He found himself wondering how the two women could tolerate being in the same room as one another. It was a strange and uncomfortable situation: a queen, who apparently refused to leave Court, living in close proximity to a woman whose desire was to step into her shoes. As he sat pondering upon this in his room early one morning, Sir Thomas Boleyn knocked on the door.
It was the first time Boleyn had actually visited the theologian’s room, and the volume of books took him by surprise. “You appear to have your own library,” he noted, impressed.
Thomas stood up politely. “One day, I would dearly love to possess one,” he admitted, hoping that his forbidden books – by Luther and other reformists – were well tucked away. Not that he had much to fear from Boleyn; he had soon learned of the man’s inclination towards The New Learning.
“I have come to inform you that my daughter shall be residing here for a few days; she will be arriving later this morning. This evening, the king will be joining us for dinner, and you are expected to be present,” Boleyn announced. “You have met my daughter, I believe?”
“Briefly,” Thomas affirmed.
“Anne will have heard Mass with the king already, but she may require you to administer the Holy Sacraments to her immediately upon her arrival. After all, you are officially her chaplain.” Boleyn changed the subject abruptly. “What do you think of Warham, the Archbishop of Canterbury?” he asked.
“I have never met him,” Thomas replied. “But I do know that he is aged, and traditional. He will never advocate any programme of reform within the Church.”
“Sir Thomas More, whom I would find most likeable if he would only consider becoming a Protestant reformist, is aware that the Church is a mess. But he is currently campaigning for heresy – in other words, The New Learning – to be stamped out. This obsesses him more than turning his attention to a programme of reform. Certes, he even has Protestants imprisoned within his own home.” Boleyn was clearly outraged.
“Yes, I have heard as much,” Thomas sighed.
“There is a wave of anticlericalism moving through the land,” Boleyn continued. “All because of that fool Wolsey. His grandeur, pomp and splendour has outraged many, and I do believe that, if Wolsey had only set his mind to it, the king could have been divorced by now.”
“It is a fact that people are dissatisfied with the clergy,” Thomas agreed. He was careful to avoid commenting on Wolsey. “There are tales of immoral nuns; badly educated corpulent priests, and so forth. But you must be aware, although More and Erasmus both want change, they are Humanists. They wish the Church to remain Roman Catholic.”
Boleyn gave a snort of irritation.
Thomas eyed his piles of books and pamphlets thoughtfully. Should he give some of them to Boleyn to read? He owned a pamphlet by Simon Fish, dedicated to the king, called Supplication of the Beggars. It was a commentary on the greed of the clergy, which criticised the over-fed monks. There was also a work by Jerome Barlow, called Burial of the Mass. Both of these had been responsible for fuelling the anticlerical feeling of the population.
As if reading Cranmer’s mind, Thomas Boleyn seated himself in a chair next to the desk, then leaned forward confidentially. “I am not an academic, and though I lean towards The New Learning, I know that I have a lot still to learn. But I suspect that you may be able to help me with this predicament?” He eyed his companion with a keen, forthright stare.
His honesty made Thomas feel comfortable enough to find the appropriate works and offer them to Boleyn, who seized them with alacrity.
“And now,” Boleyn declared, glancing out of the window where a barge could be seen pulling up to the landing stage. “Come with me. My daughter will arrive shortly.” He regarded the works of Fish and Barlow with an air of reverence, which Thomas found touching. “Maybe I had best leave these here with you. Perhaps you will permit me to come here to read them… I assure you, I will not disturb your work.” He nodded towards the sheaves of paper lying on the desk. “You see, I am uncertain where to hide these items. Here, in this room, you have many books – no one will pay any undue attention to them – whereas I have no books at all; they will stand out like blazing beacons.”
“I understand what you mean,” Thomas smiled sympathetically, preparing to follow his host downstairs and once again meet with, Lady Anne Boleyn.
*****
They found Anne pacing the floor of the main room, clutching a small book in her hand, her expression fretful.
“Ah,” Anne declared, upon seeing her father and chaplain. “Greetings, Dr Cranmer. I am pleased to see you here. Forgive me for being so brusque, but I need to show you this.” She thrust the book into his hands.
Thomas looked at the book curiously. There was no title on the front cover, but when he opened it, he found himself looking at an obscene picture of a cow, mounted upon a bull. “Where… how have you come across this?” he enquired gently.
“It was amongst my belongings, in one of my chests. It was most certainly not there last night; it must have been placed there while I was attending Mass this morning,” she replied.
Her voice was husky but pleasing; there was certainly a charm about her. As before, she was wearing the style of headdress he had found so unusual, and about her neck she wore a velvet ribbon, from which hung a magnificent gem. He would eventually discover that she chose to wear wide, close fitting necklaces in order to hide a small, strawberry coloured birth mark on the side of her throat.
“Clearly someone must have wanted you to see it,” he murmured. “Certainly, there is something repulsive about the picture.” He turned the page and found a couple of lines of writing. “Hmm… ‘when cow doth ride bull, then priest beware thy skull’… I do not comprehend the meaning of this,’’ he admitted.
“The badge of the Tudors is the dun cow; the badge of the Boleyn’s is a bull,” Anne explained.
“Oh, I see I have much to learn.” He flicked through the remaining pages of the little book. There was nothing else written, although there were three other drawings, powerfully executed, for each person was easily recognisable. They featured the King Henry, Cardinal Wolsey, and Anne herself.
“It is a prophecy, surely,” the earl speculated, looking over Thomas’ shoulder.
“I don’t like it though,” Anne replied tetchily. “It’s crude. Vulgar. You agree, don’t you my lady mother?”
Lady Boleyn nodded agreement.
“If someone is predicting the downfall of Wolsey, then it is too late. The cardinal has fallen; he has little authority now,” the earl declared, his tone soothing. “If it is his death they are predicting, well…”
“It appears to be predicting his execution,” Anne interrupted. “After all, it does say ‘priest beware thy skull’…”
“Time will tell,” the earl shrugged. “There is little else to say about this book, though I do wonder how it came to be placed amongst your possessions.”
“I don’t like it,” Anne repeated irritably, seating herself elegantly upon a settle.
Closely watching his daughter and Thomas Cranmer, the earl astutely realised that, of the two, the new chaplain was the most affected by the contents of the book. He came from a world where no one placed such malign items into other people’s chests; he looked shocked, both by the lewd nature of the cow and the bull, and by the fact that the book had been placed deliberately where it would be found. He has much to learn, the earl mused silently to himself. Much to learn indeed.
*****
During the following weeks, he corresponded regularly with his Cambridge friends, completed his thesis for the king, and prepared himself for the sessions of debate in the universities, which were due to commence in the late autumn. He was not overly enthusiastic about the travelling, for if the weather was wet, as it often was in autumn, the roads would be muddy, and riding would be miserable. But, if the king commanded that he should commence debating… well, he had no choice but to oblige.
He also spent a great deal of time with Anne Boleyn’s father, the Earl of Wiltshire, and the two of them became firm friends. The earl was ambitious, a fact he made no effort to disguise. He was also committed to The New Learning, though Thomas was uncertain whether the earl’s commitment was for spiritual reasons, or because it suited his own aspirations.
Thomas had visited Court regularly since moving to York Place, and as a result, he was now familiar with the fashions and jewels that were flaunted amongst the courtiers. Thankfully, it was unnecessary for him to attire himself in anything other than the robes of a theologian. His new attire – identical to his old garments, just considerably less shabby – had long since arrived, and he had managed to pay the tailor for his services, thanks to Cromwell. The latter visited York Place at least three times a week and had promptly burst out laughing when Thomas had told him of his financial dilemma, before unbuttoning the pouch which hung from his belt and presenting him with a handful of sovereigns.
“Your wages,” Cromwell had explained.
Thomas had never seen so much money. Flustered, he had plucked a couple of sovereigns from Cromwell’s extended hand, explaining that this was more than sufficient for his needs.
“No, no,” Cromwell had laughed afresh. “These are your wages, from His Majesty. You must take them.”
His immediate thought had been that he could buy more books, which he duly did, rapidly expanding his collection.
When he was at Court, it was obvious to Thomas that Anne was the true queen of the Court. There was something about her which set her apart from the other ladies; even though they were all magnificently clad, she always succeeded in eclipsing everyone else. She would glide through the corridors, followed by a procession of lively young ladies, and the wittiest of male courtiers. Some of them he had come to know by name, including the poet Tom Wyatt, and another young man, whom he feared was dissolute in his habits, named Francis Bryan. All the men were vying for Anne’s attention. Their conversation was amusing… at least, he assumed it was amusing, for everyone seemed to be laughing uproariously. Indeed, even the king seemed eager to join in with their revelry, whenever he was able.
As for Queen Catherine, now that Thomas had seen her in person, he felt a deep pity for her. She was all but shunned by those at Court. On two occasions, he had attended a formal banquet, where it had been necessary for the crowned queen to be present; she had cut a sombre but dignified presence, and had spoken very little. The queen looked older than her years, her figure thickened by numerous pregnancies, though all her children had died apart from her beloved daughter, Princess Mary. Compared to Lady Anne Boleyn, Catherine looked dull and weary, and no one standing near her wished to divert her with merry talk. Pitying her, Thomas had bowed to her, hoping to perhaps to be invited to speak a few kind words. Etiquette forbade that he should address her first. He knew she was devoutly attached to the Church of Rome, but that was no reason for him not to offer some scriptural, Christian solace. But the queen had merely inclined her head abruptly and dismissively, her eyes akin to chips of ice. Afterwards he reproached himself for not realising that she would not wish to converse with a man who was attached to the Boleyn household, but such had been his compassion for her neglected state, that he would have gladly tried to cheer her.
During his weeks at York Place, whilst writing his thesis, his own commitment to Protestantism, which had already been deep, had strengthened to a depth he had never thought possible. Recently, he had managed to obtain one of the late Tyndale’s books, titled Obedience of the Christian Man, which advocated caesaropapism: the belief that the ruler of a country ought to be Head of the Church in whichever country he ruled, and should thus be responsible for the souls of his people. Upon reading this, he felt a surge of delight. This was truly how it ought to be. Why should the Pope in Rome exert power here, in England?
Eager to share his findings, he gave the book to the earl, who in turn requested that it should be passed on to his daughter, Anne. Anne was intelligent, and an avid reader of Protestant literature, so Thomas gladly agreed to share Tyndale’s work with her. He had already enjoyed a number of interesting discussions with her, for her mind was as quick and challenging as any scholar. Why, just two evenings previously, she had spoken of the Virgin Mary, a subject he usually avoided, for his true view could be constructed as heresy. But Anne’s view, he had soon learned, was most definitely Protestant, which gave him the confidence to confide in her.
“My view of the Virgin Mary…” His voice had trailed away thoughtfully after she had first questioned him, as he tried to determine how to make his opinion seem less heretical without telling a lie.
“Marry, it is best I should tell you what I think,” Anne had interrupted boldly. “I am anticipating that you will treat this as a confessional, and therefore as confidential information,” she had stated quietly, observing him with her intense, dark eyes. Once he had given a brief nod of assent, she had continued. “I believe the Virgin Mary was indeed a holy lady, but I do not believe she should be idolised, as she is in the Catholic Church. The Church places her on par with the son of God, which is far too high a position, in my opinion.”
Exactly! He had wanted to shout the word aloud. Anne’s frankness had given him confidence. “I agree,” he had responded solemnly. “Christ died for our sins; he died for us. His sacrifice and infinite love for mankind cannot be contradicted. The Virgin Mary did not make such a sacrifice. She was a good and holy lady, certainly, otherwise she would not have been chosen to bear the saviour of mankind. She is to be respected, as all saints should be. But she should not be idolised.”
Anne had been quick to detect another point of interest. “So, you do not believe in the worship of saints?”
“No. I believe in reverence. Respect. They are close to God. But Jesus Himself sits at God’s right hand; He is intercessor for us. He belonged in heaven yet walked this Earth. He knows what it is like to be an ordinary human being. Everything we feel, He understands, because He has been here and knows what it is to be poor, hungry, alone, cold, weary, and so forth. He lived among men and gave us lowly sinners an example of the perfect life. The saints are now with God, but they did not live the perfect life. They were culpable, as we are.” Thomas had stopped, suddenly realising that he had become carried away with enthusiasm. “My apologies, Lady Anne. I sound as though I am lecturing you.”
“No, I am glad you have spoken with such honesty, Dr Cranmer.” Anne had looked thoughtful. “You have given me much to think about. I believe you have spoken truly of the things I ought to hear.” She had been seated on a low stool, her skirts elegantly arranged about her person. Rising, and thus subtly displaying that their discourse was at an end, she had smoothed the folds of her gown. “I am sure you will be curious to hear what happens tomorrow, when the king’s new reformed Parliament is opened?” She had smirked impishly. “I do think… I hope… that it will set matters in motion for my own situation. One day, I shall be queen, and I will no longer have to endure the sorrowful, pained glances I receive regularly from the Princess Catherine of Spain, who continues to insist that she is the true queen.” A tinge of frustration had crept into her voice. “She makes it intolerable for me to be at Court. But you know something, Dr Cranmer? Henry tells me that he intends to send her away. Very soon, I won’t have to see her ever again.”
Poor woman, Thomas had thought to himself. Catherine sincerely believed she was queen; it would be heart-breaking for her to lose that position after all these years. At least, given her kinship with the Holy Roman Emperor, she would be well treated by King Henry, and would be given a degree of respect.
“I shall be attending the reformation of Parliament session with Cromwell,” Thomas had admitted. “It is a historic occasion; I shall be honoured to be there to witness it.”
*****
The king’s desire to divorce Catherine and marry Anne was unwavering, but he had reasons other than this for decreeing this reformation of Parliament. Yes, he wanted a divorce, but he also felt that the clergy held too much power, something which he intended to do something about - immediately. He was planning to subdue and overawe them, and since the laity were dissatisfied with the Church, he was going to make good use of this anti-clerical feeling that rumbled amongst his people. A king ruled by the approval of his people, so by subduing the Church, he would gain common approval.
Sir Thomas More was the first lay person to hold office as Chancellor, and on this occasion, he was also the first lay person to open Parliament. Henry had received a petition from the Commons, stating that they wished for members of the clergy to hold no more than one benefice each. Under the current system, many members of the clergy held numerous benefices, and usually neglected those that delivered the least money into their pockets. Furthermore, many of the priests failed to properly conduct services, as they had too many parishes to serve, and many benefices reported not seeing a priest for months.
The lay people also felt that the clergy were buying and selling for gain. Surely, the petition stated, it was wrong for people who were serving God to seek to be tradesmen too? As for funerals, some of the clergy demanded such a high price for conducting a funeral service that those who were poor could not afford to pay. Indeed, many would locate a vacant spot in a churchyard, then hastily bury their deceased relative under the cover of darkness. It was not unusual for startled grave diggers to dig in what they believed to be an empty plot, only to find a decomposing corpse lying there. This was a felony, but some were desperate enough to do it, such was the unrivalled financial power of the Church.
*****
Anne, once she had received Tyndale’s book from Thomas, presented it to the king, conveniently opened at the page which advocated caesaropapism.
The king read the text carefully, then reread it, before heartily slapping the cover of the book in delight, exclaiming, “This is a book for all princes to read!” Tyndale’s book had placed a seed of an idea into Henry’s mind, a seed which, one day soon, would grow to become an unstoppable force.