Chapter Four
Chapter Four
In late November he found himself thankful for the fact he was an excellent horseman. He always had been, few horses were too spirited for him to handle. He was travelling back and forth between Oxford and Cambridge, each journey through the rain, frost, and icy winds, tested his horsemanship to the extreme. His task was to set up a commission, whereby scholars and theologians would debate upon whether the king should be permitted to divorce and remarry. There would be a series of debates, then, in January, the theologians would make their final decision. After the final vote, a report would be submitted, to declare whether or not the universities agreed with the king’s proposal.
Stephen Gardiner was also involved in garnering support for the king’s cause within the universities, though he somewhat resented the task, for he had recently lost his benefices of Taunton, Norfolk, and Worcester as a result of the king’s new parliamentary ruling, regarding members of the clergy having affiliations with multiple benefices. His ambition, however, was greater than his discontent, so he continued to begrudgingly serve the king in the hope that he might gain favour, and be granted a more important position in the near future.
During the weeks leading up to his visits to the universities, Thomas had sent a stream of correspondence to the theologians and scholars, in the form of letters and pamphlets which supported the king’s proposal. He had always suffered from low self-esteem, which he preferred to regard as modesty, but during the debates, he found his self-confidence boosted by the discovery that his learned discourse had persuaded a number of eminent men towards his own opinions.
Despite the dismal travelling conditions, it was a pleasure to be reunited with his former colleagues in Cambridge, though, oddly enough, his visits were not as nostalgic as he had thought they might be. He felt comfortable with the familiarity of the place, and would often gaze fondly at his surroundings whilst debating, amazed that he had been fortunate enough to have lived there for so long. Even the horror of his brief, nightmarish marriage no longer pained him, the passage of time having blurred the remembrance of that terrible era in his life.
His time at Cambridge had been one of contentment, that much was certain, but though he still had a great fondness for the peaceful, studious life he had led as a scholar, his new life at Court was challenging… exciting. He had never felt so alive, or so mentally stimulated. Cromwell and the Boleyns were certainly partly responsible for making his new life so invigorating, but the king was undeniably the one who had made the greatest impact. Once a frightened schoolboy, Thomas was now one of the king’s most trusted advisors, and Henry’s unreserved faith in him had done wonders for his confidence and self-belief. The king dazzled him, which was to be expected. After all, God Himself had placed Henry on the throne; it was Thomas’ duty, as well as his pleasure, to obey and to be of service to this monarch. He knew that if the king released him from service, and permitted him to return to Cambridge, he would be content to resume his former studious existence. But for the time being, he was enjoying the excitement of life in the king’s service.
*****
After what had felt like an eternity spent travelling, Thomas was granted a few weeks of respite, in order to celebrate Christmas with the king and His courtiers, at Hampton Court. Unsurprisingly, it was a Christmas unlike any other. As a child, he had only known this season to be a time for worship and a modest feast. There had been no exchanging of gifts, for his mother had deemed them an unnecessary extravagance; though his parents had been far from poor, they had not been wealthy either. At Cambridge, the season had been even more austere; a time for worship and contemplation, not frivolity. But in the Court of King Henry, Christmas was a season of magnificent indulgence.
The king distributed gifts lavishly, as did his courtiers, who tried to outdo each other with the magnificence of their offerings. Cromwell had forewarned him of this, and the two men had agreed not to exchange gifts with one another, focusing instead on purchasing gifts for those at Court who would expect to be indulged. Mercifully, Thomas was able to delegate, leaving the acquisition of gifts to the servant who was temporarily acting as his secretary. In keeping with the holiness of the season, he had instructed his secretary that these gifts should take the form of illuminated prayers, which were not only appropriate but were also easy to purchase.
Never had Thomas seen such colour; such magnificent food; such revelry as he saw during the twelve nights of immoderate feasting that began with Christmas Day. Mummers and minstrels entertained the king’s guests during each banquet, and once the food was dispensed with, it was time to dance, an activity which he was content to simply observe. Fox and Gardiner, he noted, were far from reluctant to take part, indeed, Fox appeared eager to display his dancing skills. There were games too, Blind Man’s Buff being a favourite; the more boisterous the games were, the more the king and his Court enjoyed them. Again, Thomas avoided taking part, thankful that Cromwell was also not a man for games, and was happy to keep him company outside in the crisp winter air, where they could chatter freely, without the fear of being overheard.
By this time, Queen Catherine had been sent away from Court, so Lady Anne became the undisputed, albeit uncrowned, queen of the season. It was apparent then that she had firmly secured her new position, and if any were still in doubt, the king’s most recent alterations to the great hall revealed his intentions. Though the work was yet unfinished – the king’s plans had turned out to be far too extravagant to be completed before the Christmas period – there had been time for the initials H and A to be prominently and decoratively carved into the wood panelled walls.
*****
In January, Thomas once again mounted his horse and rode to Oxford, to determine the results of the commission. He was tense; after weeks of campaigning, he would finally discover whether his words had made an impact. He was more confident of the verdict in Cambridge; he knew the people there and felt that he had managed to sway the majority to vote in the king’s favour. Oxford was another matter, for the scholars there were far more inclined towards the Church of Rome. Most of the theologians there believed that the Bull, issued by the Pope, had voided Catherine’s marriage to Henry’s brother, thus making Henry and Catherine’s marriage binding in the eyes of God. Thomas had debated with them energetically, trying his upmost to convince them otherwise, but there had been no way of knowing whether his attempts had been successful, until now.
Upon arriving in Oxford, he was ushered into the Chancellor’s study and handed two tightly bound scrolls: the first pronouncement. Hands trembling, he unrolled the first of two scrolls, upon which was written the results of the vote. He sighed with relief. The majority of scholars and theologians had voted that the king should be permitted to divorce and remarry. Hands still trembling, he unrolled the second report. Again, relief flooded though him. The parchment stated clearly that the union between King Henry and the Princess Catherine of Spain was unlawful. As far as Oxford University was concerned, King Henry VIII was a free man, and could marry Lady Anne Boleyn, or any other lady of his choosing.
His spirits lifted, he travelled to Cambridge, where he was met by his good friend Latimer. His stomach lurched with sudden fear as he was handed the reports. The result was not a totally foregone conclusion, he knew that. But surely his colleagues at Cambridge would have made the right choice? As he opened the first report, then the second, he sighed with relief. The king’s marriage had been deemed unlawful by the majority, and they had voted for him to be permitted to remarry. As he looked up from the reports, he found himself staring into the forthright and honest blue eyes of Hugh Latimer.
“The king is free to remarry.” Thomas’ voice was shaking.
“I am glad to hear it. Shall you return here to work now?” Latimer enquired.
“Not yet.” He shook his head. “You see, I am to travel to Rome with the Earl of Wiltshire, Lady Anne Boleyn’s father. Once there, I must debate with the Pope himself.” He had been informed of this task by the king only a week ago, and the very thought of a sea voyage filled him with terror.
“But you are staying in Cambridge until morning.” Latimer took his friend’s arm. “Come, let us dine together. You know something…” His voice trailed off as he scrutinised his friend. “You know something… I do believe you are not the man you used to be. You have grown, Cranmer.”
“I think you will find I am as short as I ever was.” He smiled as Latimer laughed in response. “Though certainly, at this moment, I feel at least a foot taller with relief. The outcome of this commission has eased my mind.”
“No, my friend, you have grown,” Latimer insisted. “You have grown within yourself. There is a sense of purpose; a sense of fulfilment that was not there before.”
The two of them stepped out into the darkness and walked towards the welcome noise of the White Horse Inn. There, they sat together companionably, totally at ease with one another, their food and drink sitting on the table in front of them.
“So,” Latimer enquired, pausing to swallow a piece of bread. “Do you think the king will wed Mistress Boleyn very soon?”
“I don’t see why not, though it is possible the Archbishop of Canterbury, William Warham, will be requested to authorise their divorce.” Thomas looked thoughtful. “Warham is firmly orthodox, as you well know, and is obedient to the Pope. But now that the universities have declared His Majesty’s union unlawful, Warham should acknowledge that the king is a free man and agree to conduct a marriage service between His Majesty and Mistress Anne.”
“Can you see Warham doing that without putting up a fight?” Latimer asked in his direct manner.
Thomas sat in silent contemplation for a long time, before eventually giving a reluctant shake of his head. “I don’t think Warham will do anything without the Pope’s assent.”
“So, the king will not be able to remarry any time soon.”
“Regretfully, I think you are right. I believe the king thinks likewise, which is why I have been asked to board a ship and accompany the earl to Rome. I hate ships,” he voiced plaintively.
“Nonsense, you’ve never been on board a ship in your life. You’ll love it. The bracing sea air…” Latimer stopped, letting out a guffaw of laughter at the sight of his friend’s anguished face.
*****
The king was so pleased with Thomas’ work, and the verdict of the universities, that he made Thomas Cranmer Archdeacon of Taunton, a position recently vacated by Stephen Gardiner. Though he was, of course, delighted with this turn of events, it had also come at rather a bad time, for despite thoroughly disapproving of absent clergy, he now found himself having no option but to be absent from his own benefice, whilst he travelled to Rome upon the king’s errand. Wanting to ensure that the spiritual needs of his beneficiaries were taken care of during his absence, he ensured that a substitute priest was installed – one who was inclined towards The New Learning – to take his place until he returned.
Unbeknownst to him, he was to remain abroad for longer than he had envisaged; when boarding the ship towards the end of January, he had no way of knowing that he would not see England again until September. Thomas, the earl and their retinue, boarded at Ramsgate on a bitterly cold day. The ground was thickly covered with snow and was frozen so hard that it looked likely to remain thus until at least March. Initially, their brief had been to simply debate with the Pope and convince him of the decision made by the universities, but by the time they set sail, Thomas had also been instructed to visit Bologna, to attend the coronation of the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles of Spain, as a representative of His Majesty King Henry VIII. The Pope himself would be placing the crown upon Charles’ head, so once the ceremony and celebrations were finished with, Thomas and the earl would accompany the Pope to Rome. Thomas had also been asked to visit Paris, after his stay in Rome, to debate with the scholars there and seek their opinion on The King’s Great Matter. It made him dizzy just contemplating the hectic schedule ahead of them.
To his gratification, he discovered that he was a good sailor; it would have been humiliating to have been forced to languish in his bunk, suffering from sea sickness, whilst the earl and most of the crew went about their days as normal. But although he experienced no ill effects during their voyage, he found life aboard the ship most distasteful. Their quarters were cramped; writing and studying was challenging, if not impossible, due to the constant pitching of the vessel, and the food was foul. Fortunately, the wind was favourable, and they steadily journeyed towards the coast of Italy without any delays.
After they had gladly disembarked, they travelled ponderously towards Bologna, for many of the roads were less passable than those they had left behind in England. Thomas felt much more comfortable now that they were on horseback, and was beginning to actually enjoy their journey. The opportunity to travel had been given to him, and although he would never have chosen to venture abroad, he reasoned that it would be wasteful not to learn from the experience. He was fortunate that the earl was such an insightful and interesting travel companion; having someone interesting to converse with did wonders for reducing the tedium.
The earl thought likewise, and was thankful for Thomas Cranmer’s companionship; so much so that he wrote a highly complementary letter to the king, following the coronation of King Charles.
“Here, this is what I have written to the king.” The earl thrust a sheet of paper into Thomas’ hands. “You may as well read it; it tells His Majesty of yesterday’s coronation, and of our journey thus far.”
Thomas began to read, thankful that it was his companion, and not himself, who was required to describe the pomp, colour and ceremony of such an occasion. He would have personally found it very difficult to describe the event in adequate detail; but the earl had done so with ease, writing for some considerable time, his pen scratching rapidly across the page, only pausing when it was necessary to sharpen the tip, or else change to a new pen.
After his description of the coronation, the earl had written a segment commending his travelling companion. Flushing with gratification, Thomas read: ‘I am well pleased with my companion, Dr Thomas Cranmer, a man of subtle wit who conducts himself with dignity, and whose demeanour has been most pleasant throughout our journey’.
“I am undeserving of this,” he murmured, willing his flushed countenance to return to its usual, sallow colour.
“You need to learn to accept compliments, my friend,” the earl chuckled.
Handing the letter back to his companion, Thomas deftly changed the subject. “I have been giving the matter at hand a great deal of consideration. Both the emperor and the Pope leave tomorrow, and the king has asked us to speak with them both. Instead of the two of us accompanying the Pope, then doubling back to visit the emperor, I suggest we separate. Our retinue is large enough to be shared between us, so neither of us shall be travelling unprotected or unattended.”
The earl nodded slowly. “Good idea.” Throughout their mission, the earl had been glad of Cranmer’s wisdom. Though he himself was well-educated, his companion was by far one of the most learned men he had ever met. Cranmer spoke French, German, Latin and Greek – he was particularly fluent in the latter two languages – and would have no problem conversing with Pope Clement, whereas the earl would have required an interpreter. But he would be able to communicate with the emperor, since they were both fluent in French. Yes, Cranmer’s suggestion made sound sense.
“This way, we should also be able to return home more quickly,” Thomas stated hopefully. He would miss the earl, for they had grown close during his time at Court and were now firm friends. But splitting up was by far the most efficient way to complete the king’s mission. A year ago, if the king had been declared free to marry Anne Boleyn, Thomas would not have understood why His Majesty did not just wed her immediately. But during his time at Court, he had learned that the situation was not that simple. As the King of England, Henry was certainly powerful enough to marry the woman he loved, but he would not be able to control the repercussions of such a complex political statement.
The king had to look further than domestic politics; he had to take account of foreign politics as well. The Emperor Charles was powerful, and was currently strongly allied with King Francis I of France. Queen Catherine was the aunt of Charles, so if Charles were to become offended by the king’s new marriage, there would be Spain’s alliance with France to consider; fighting a war against the combined forces of France and Spain was something King Henry was keen to avoid. However, if Catherine herself were to admit that her marriage to Henry was unlawful… well… that would change matters. But she had, thus far, stubbornly refused, hence King Henry’s desire to convince the Pope and Charles of the unlawful status of his union. If that failed, Henry would be forced to find himself another powerful ally, to keep France and Spain at bay.
As for Pope Clement, he was terrified of the Emperor Charles, whom he perceived to be the dominant force in the Catholic Church. A few years ago, Pope Clement had thought it a good idea to ally with King Francis of France, in an attempt to frighten Charles, but quite the reverse had happened. Charles and his army had promptly marched into Italy and defeated the Italians and the French, after which both countries had swiftly allied themselves with Spain and the Holy Roman Emperor. This was, of course, the reason why the earl needed to gain the support of Emperor Charles.
“It would be a great relief to get home sooner,” Boleyn sighed. “For I must oversee the wedding of my son.”
Thomas nodded sympathetically. The earl’s son, George, otherwise known as Viscount Rochford, had recently become (unwillingly) engaged to one Jane Parker, a former lady-in-waiting to Queen Catherine, and an heiress, hence the eagerness with which the earl had pursued the match. Unfortunately, the future bridegroom could not tolerate Jane Parker, so whilst Jane Parker had initially been happy to marry George, his blatant coldness towards her had eroded her enthusiasm.
“Do you think they may refuse to wed?” He enquired.
“It could happen,” Boleyn shrugged helplessly. “George can be a hot-headed fool sometimes.” His voice rose in frustration. “He wrote to me not so long ago asking if I could find him a different heiress. He seems to think heiresses just sit there, waiting to be picked like an apple from a branch.”
Thomas nodded, having already been informed of this numerous times.
The earl continued anyway, exasperated by his son’s incomprehension. “Honestly, the youth of today! Why, my eldest daughter, Mary, she recently married Will Stafford, a mere knight of no particular fortune, and I do believe he expects me to provide for them! If he does, he shall find himself deluded.”
He had heard this, too, though he could understand the earl’s frustration. His own parents would probably have been equally outraged had they known of their son’s marriage to a tavern girl of dubious morals.
Fortunately for the earl, he arrived home less than a month after the two friends parted; his meeting with the Holy Roman Emperor had been brief, but final. Thomas had assumed that his visit to Rome would be equally as brief, but after a month and a half, he had still not left Italy.
At first, the splendour of the Vatican had been dazzling. Though the scars of the violent battle with the Emperor Charles and his troops, plus the looting in the aftermath of the conflict, remained - many buildings still awaited repair - the air of dignity that exuded from the very cobblestones of the city made even the most disfigured of buildings seem regal. Well aware of the need for a peaceful negotiation with England’s neighbours, it occurred to Thomas that the ravages evident in Rome could well become evident in London, should the emperor decide to make war with Henry. Unfortunately, the Pope’s fear of offending Charles prevented him from declaring the English king’s marriage to Queen Catherine unlawful; no matter how energetically Thomas debated with him and his cardinals, the Pope consistently refused to risk affronting the Holy Roman Emperor. Frustrated but defeated, Thomas had promptly written to King Henry, requesting permission to leave Rome, given the Pope’s intractability regarding this matter. But the response from the king had been an instruction to remain for a while longer, and to keep trying to convince His Holiness the Pope.
Disappointed by King Henry’s command, he gazed disconsolately from the balcony of his chamber. A brightly dressed young woman waved and blew him a kiss, then stood staring at him, obviously anticipating an invitation to enter. Hastily, he retreated, stepping back into his room. There seemed to be a large number of courtesans in Rome, far more than he had ever seen in London, though perhaps those in London were simply less visible. On one recent occasion, he had accompanied a group of cardinals to the Coliseum, as they had been eager to show him this splendid symbol of ancient Rome. To his intense surprise, the Coliseum had been swarming with prostitutes, who had clearly gathered there to take advantage of the popularity of the great monument. As for the cardinals, they had been rather taken aback by his surprise, indeed, they saw nothing wrong with the presence of these young women.
Trying to forget the beauty of the courtesan who had gaily waved to him, he distracted himself by writing a letter to the Earl of Wiltshire, but barely had he put pen to paper when someone knocked upon his door. For a wild, anxious moment, he thought it might be the beautiful courtesan, but to his relief, he discovered it was simply a messenger, holding a scroll bearing the seal of Thomas Cromwell. So far, he had written several letters to his friend, but this was the first he had received in return. To his satisfaction, it turned out to be lengthy and full of gossip.
‘Permit me to tell you what is happening here’, Cromwell began. ‘The king has decreed that all forbidden books must be burned, and the houses of those known to be interested in The New Learning have been searched. Fortunately, thus far, no one from the Court has had their lodgings disturbed’.
Thomas gave an audible sigh of relief; his own precious books were safe.
‘There have been many outbursts in the streets, and many bonfires. I do believe the Archbishop of Canterbury, Warham, is mostly to blame, for he has been complaining to the king lately about the amount of Protestant literature that has been flooding into the country. Warham looks ill now; when you see him next, his appearance will shock you. He looks as if death is close. Well, that is my opinion, at least’.
The letter continued chattily. ‘As for my lady Anne Boleyn, she rules at Court, and is much disliked by many. She has argued publicly with both the Duke of Norfolk – her own uncle, and a senior member of the Privy Council, to boot – and the Duchess of Norfolk, though one might argue that her anger is valid, for the Duchess publicly mocked the new family tree that the Boleyn’s have had drawn up. As you know, the earl’s wife is sister to the Duke of Norfolk, hence why Mary, George and Anne are considered at least partly aristocratic. The earl hails from a line of wool merchants, a wealthy background to be sure, but not as illustrious as his wife’s. However, his new family tree tells a tale of him being descended from a Norman Lord. Anyway, the Duchess of Norfolk was most scathing, so Lady Anne snapped back at her by publicly asking after the health of Bessie Holland, the Duke’s mistress, who happens to be a laundress. This sort of behaviour will not bring her support, though I believe her temper had flared as a result of her delicate position’.
The letter took on a more serious tone. ‘Her future depends totally upon retaining the king’s good grace, which she seems to manage very well. His Majesty dotes upon her, but she is no longer young – I am certain she must be heading towards her late twenties – and if he should tire of her, or cast her aside, I doubt she will find a noble husband at her age. The Duke of Suffolk, the king’s brother-in-law, has tried to spread a rumour about Lady Anne being the mistress of Tom Wyatt, the poet, but since Wyatt is currently in Calais, I think that rumour will be swiftly scotched. I must also inform you, for when you return home, that you must now refer to the former Queen Catherine as the Princess Dowager, for such is her official title these days’.
The letter continued to be informative, revealing that the Archbishop of Canterbury had been summoned to Hampton Court, where the king was currently residing, and had, not for the first time, refused to sign the king’s divorce papers. Also, much to Anne’s chagrin, Wolsey was his way back into the king’s favour.
Having finished reading, Thomas leaned back against his chair, feeling the roughness of its intricate carving pressing against his spine. Cromwell was right; Lady Anne’s position was fragile. The king was in love with her, that much was evident, but should that love turn sour, what would happen to her? Having known the love of the king and the power and authority that accompanied his affection, it would be very difficult for Anne to look elsewhere and find someone comparable. Lady Anne was doing herself no favours whatsoever by alienating powerful people. She ought to be making friends, but instead, she was making enemies. Powerful enemies.
It was nearly two weeks before Thomas received another letter, this time from the king himself. From it, he learned that the earl was now back in England, and that the king desired for Thomas to complete his work in Rome as soon as possible, travel to Paris for a short sojourn to debate in the universities there, then return to England. His relief at the prospect of returning to England was short-lived, for the king went on to say that the earl’s glowing commendation of his diplomatic skills had convinced him to send Thomas on another embassy abroad later that year. Still, at least for the moment, he had plenty to occupy himself with, including the prospect of paying a visit to his benefice in Taunton, to ensure that his beneficiaries had been spiritually supported and educated to a suitable standard during his absence.
*****
He returned to England to learn that Cardinal Thomas Wolsey had died. Though he had never managed to regain his former favour with the king, his death was still a huge shock to the Court; he had been a master statesman for so many years that it was difficult to accept he was gone. Cromwell, who had been released from Wolsey’s service, had become an official advisor to the king, and wasted no time in visiting York Place as soon as his friend had returned.
“Are you rested yet?” Cromwell demanded cheerily, taking stock of Cranmer’s appearance. His friend looked weary and dishevelled, and his usually sallow complexion had become an unflattering shade of brown after months spent outdoors and upon the deck of a ship.
“I am indeed. I slept more soundly last night than I have in a long time. I am glad to be home again, although His Majesty requires my services for another diplomatic mission, so I doubt I shall be here for more than a few months.” He sounded resigned.
Cromwell was amused. Many a man would be only too glad to go abroad and serve the king. It was a good way to earn a promotion.
The two friends headed downstairs to join the earl, his wife, and Lady Anne, who was also present, though she was mostly at Court these days. Her regular appearances had prompted those at Court to speculate that she might now be the king’s mistress, but those closest to her knew otherwise. They knew that she continued to resist becoming Henry’s mistress in order to ensure that she would one day become queen; if she surrendered herself to her royal admirer, it would be unnecessary for him to marry her.
“Cromwell here has been amusing himself by tormenting the clergy,” the earl observed drily.
“Persecuting the clergy?” Thomas enquired curiously. What was Cromwell up to now?
“Not exactly persecuting then - just tormenting them a little! I have placed them under a writ of praemunire,” Cromwell enlightened, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
Anne, who looked tense and uptight, was seated on a low chair. It had taken Thomas some time to realise she had a preference for low chairs or stools, because she fancied that they showed off her wide, sweeping skirts to a greater advantage. There was a brittle restlessness about her that had not been there all those months ago when he had left for Italy.
“Praemunire?” Anne exclaimed. “Marry, what does praemunire mean?”
Thomas blinked, then explained gently, “A writ of praemunire is a law that was made… oh, sometime in the fourteenth century, I believe. It forbids papal jurisdiction, or any other foreign jurisdiction for that matter, to claim supremacy in England against the supremacy of the monarch.” Inwardly, he was marvelling at how quick and subtle Cromwell’s mind was. He knew about this law, but it would never have occurred to him to apply it.
Anne shrugged and continued to look at the two men, her expression questioning.
“The clergy are mindful of Wolsey’s fall,” Cromwell explained gleefully. “It is almost as good as a jest: the clergy, threatened with praemunire, because their courts function independently from the Crown Courts. I tell you, Warham looked devastated when I delivered the news.”
Anne still looked uncertain.
For a moment, Thomas felt sorry for the aged Warham, who was much too old to adapt to change. Personally, he had always disagreed with the fact the clergy answered to their own court of law, and not to the Crown Courts. It was wrong, he reflected. A priest could commit a crime, theft for example, but instead of being dealt with severely by the Crown Courts, he would be sent to the Clerical Courts and receive a much more lenient sentence. “It means the clergy must submit to the same law courts as everyone else,” he clarified, for Anne’s benefit.
Anne gave a nod of satisfaction.
“I have also fined the Church one hundred thousand pounds,” Cromwell continued, more seriously. “Which they have agreed to pay, though Warham has stressed that he wishes the principles and liberties of the Church, stemming from the Magna Carta, to be confirmed in return. However, the king has refused to bend to Warham’s wishes. Indeed, His Majesty wishes to be more than simply Defender of the Faith, the title given to him by the Pope; he wishes to be Protector and Supreme Head of the English Church, and to become responsible for the Cure of Souls. There is hope that we may soon be heading towards a break from Rome.”
Thomas, listening gravely, turned to Lady Anne, thinking she might perhaps require an explanation for this also. “The Cure of Souls is a term used to refer to the spiritual well-being of the king’s subjects—”
“I know what the Cure of Soul’s means,” she snapped, ignoring the glance of rebuke from her mother.
Abashed, Thomas turned to Cromwell. “Do you really think this could lead to a break with Rome?”
Cromwell was shaking his head solemnly. “Don’t be too optimistic yet, there has been a setback. Bishop Fisher, always a thorn in the king’s side, has spoken publicly against this, not that anyone expected any less from the old fool. The clergy are still strong; thus far, they have unwillingly accepted the king’s proposal to have responsibility over the Cure of Souls and have ambiguously said that they will allow the king to be their head ‘as far as Christ allows’, which could be taken in several ways. But despite this potential progress, the king has taken a backwards step, and has applied for a Papal Bull to permit him to ordain Stephen Gardiner as Bishop of Winchester. It seems to me His Majesty does not yet believe in his own authority.” He gave an exasperated sigh.
“If Henry keeps going back and forth in this way, I shall be past child-bearing age before we get married. I never did imagine this divorce would take so long, or be so convoluted,” Anne pronounced tartly.
The earl spoke up. “When the king addressed Parliament, he said, ‘well beloved subjects, we thought that the clergy of our realm had been our subjects wholly, but now we have perceived that they are but half our subjects, for all prelates at their consecration make an oath to the Pope, which contradicts the oath they make to us. If anything, they are his subjects, not ours’, and I wholly agree. The clergy should belong to the king, not to the Pope.”
Anne laughed. “Do you recall Chapuys, the Spanish Ambassador, complaining afterwards? He was distressed that the clergy might end up becoming ‘of less account than shoemakers, who at least have the power of assembling and making their own statutes’. I ask you, what would be wrong with that? I fail to understand how Chapuys cannot see that the Church needs a good shaking.”
“Like my feather pillows,” her mother murmured, speaking for the first time that morning.
Anne shot an impatient glance in her direction.
Thomas could not share his own thoughts, not even in the company of these people, whom he considered friends. One day, in the not-too-distant future, he knew that Archbishop Warham would die, and that his likely successor would be the vigorous Stephen Gardiner. Surely that was why Gardiner had been made Bishop of Winchester? Unfortunately, Gardiner was most assuredly devoted to the Church of Rome, and if he were to be made archbishop, Thomas knew that there would be no change to the structure of the English Church. England would forever be shackled to Rome, deferring to a man who lived hundreds of miles away, and whose theology was totally alien to the scriptures. Without realising it, he gave a deep sigh.
“What troubles you?” the ever-observant Cromwell asked.
“The embassy I have just returned from has hardly been of any use,” he replied. “There has been no progress whatsoever as far as I can see, with the divorce or the reformation of the Church.”
“Come now, we have made some progress,” Cromwell protested stoutly. “Take heart, King Henry just needs some persuasion, that is all. After all, it is a huge decision for him to make. We just need to keep chipping away, dripping reformist viewpoints into the royal ear.”
“Then, when it is all decided and we break from Rome, we must convince Henry that it was all his idea in the first place,” Anne added waspishly.
Thomas shot a quick glance of surprise in Anne’s direction, then quickly lowered his gaze. Yesterday, when he had returned, she had rushed to him, demanding that he should hear her confession, without giving him the chance to freshen up or rest. Naturally, he had conceded to her demand, but it had turned out that she had simply needed someone to confidentially vent her rage upon. Of course, as her chaplain and confessor, anything she said to him had to remain confidential, despite neither of them believing that one could receive absolution from a priest. Absolution – in any reformist’s mind – came from repenting to Christ alone and was automatically given to any penitent soul.
He had seen the change in her as soon as he had returned to England, and the more he looked upon her, the more he noticed. She was thinner; her features were sharper; her general air was one of stress and anxiety, and her temper more volatile. He had already witnessed her speaking sharply, not only to himself and the servants, but to her mother and father as well. She was brittle and bitter, though he assumed she restrained herself when in the king’s company. No doubt she was witty, flirtatious, entertaining and charming in His Majesty’s presence, putting on a display of smiles and good humour to keep the king enchanted. He was disturbed to realise that, when in the presence of those she did not need to impress, her acerbic nature reminded him very much of someone he would rather forget. His late wife, Joan.