The King's Secret Matter

“Come into the Court”

HENRY WAS GROWING MORE AND MORE DISTURBED. HE HAD noticed the change towards him in the people’s attitude. When he rode in the streets there was no longer the spontaneous outburst of cheering; and the approval of the people had always been very dear to him. Anne was growing restive; she continually complained and accused him of making promises which he was unable—or unwilling—to keep. The knowledge of his impotence in this matter infuriated Henry.

Moreover the popularity of the Queen had increased since the plan for the divorce had become known. If she appeared at a balcony crowds would collect and shout: “Long live our Queen!” as though to remind all who heard them—including the King—that they would not allow her to be cast aside for the sake of Anne Boleyn. Anne herself had on one or two occasions been in danger from the people. They called her the “whore” and shouted that they’d “have no Nan Bullen as their Queen!”

Moreover the copy of the brief had arrived, and that was useless for Henry’s purpose while the original was in the Emperor’s keeping. The Pope, weak in health and weak in purpose, vacillated between the King and the Emperor, desperately trying to placate first one, then the other.

But the Emperor was nearer at hand and more formidable, so Clement had declared that, since Campeggio seemed unable to proceed with the trial in England, the whole matter had better be referred to Rome.

“Tried in Rome!” shouted the King. “A fine state of affairs. What hope should I have of obtaining a divorce if the matter were tried in Rome under the whip of the Emperor!”

No. There must be no more delay. They must go ahead with the trial even though the brief did remain in the Emperor’s hands. He must rely on Wolsey who knew full well, the King malevolently reminded himself, that if the case did not go in the King’s favor Master Cardinal would have a great deal for which to answer.

In the meantime he could not endure his unpopularity with the people and sought to remedy this by making a public pronouncement of his difficulties. He therefore called together as many of the burgesses of London who could be squeezed into the great hall of Bridewell Palace, led by the Lord Mayor, aldermen and many from the Inns of Court; and on a dull November Sunday afternoon he took his place on a dais and endeavored to put his case before them.

Henry was always at his best when he played a part, because his belief in the part of the moment was absolute.

He was a glittering figure, standing there on the dais, the light filtering through the windows making his jewels scintillate; he was exceedingly handsome, standing in his characteristic attitude, legs apart—which made him look so broad and sturdy—his glittering hands folded across his blue and gold doublet.

He surveyed the crowd before him with the benevolent eyes of a father-figure, for he had already assured himself that what he wanted was for their good rather than his own.

“My friends,” he cried, “there is much disquiet throughout the land because up to this time God has denied me my greatest wish—to give you the heir who would naturally follow me. This matter has for some time gravely disturbed my conscience, and I doubt not that there have been many evil rumors in the streets concerning it.”

He went on to remind his audience of the prosperity they had enjoyed under his rule.

“My beloved subjects, it is a matter of great concern to me that one day I must die and be no longer with you. So I wish to leave you one, whom I have trained to take the burden of kingship from my shoulders, one on whose head I could contemplate the placing of my crown and die happy. There are some among you who may remember the horror of civil war. If this country were to be plunged into like horror on my death, my friends, my dear subjects, I believe I should have lived in vain. I wish to live in friendship with France and so I plan to marry my daughter to a French Prince. I wish also to live in friendship with the Emperor Charles, for I know full well that this country’s disagreements with him have caused certain hardship to some of our people.”

There was grave nodding among the assembly. The clothiers had cried out again and again that they could not live if they could not sell their cloth in the Flemish markets.

“It was during the negotiations for my daughter’s marriage that a point was made which has caused me great perturbation. The French ambassador, the Bishop of Tarbes, has raised the question of my daughter’s legitimacy. It was a point which I could not ignore since, my friends, this matter had for some time given me cause for uneasiness. I have since consulted bishops and lawyers, and they have assured me that I have, for all the years that I have believed the Lady Katharine to be my wife, been living in mortal sin.

“Ah,” went on Henry, “if it might be adjudged that the Lady Katharine is my lawful wife, nothing could be more pleasant or acceptable to me, both for the clearing of my conscience, and for her own good qualities, and conditions which I know her to be in. For I assure you all that beside her noble parentage she is a woman of gentleness, humility and buxomness; yea, and of all good qualities pertaining to nobility she is without comparison. So that if I were to marry again I would choose her above all women. But if it be determined in judgment that our marriage is against God’s law, then shall I sorrow, parting from so good a lady and a loving companion. These be the sores that vex my mind. These be the pangs which trouble my conscience, for the declaration of which I have assembled you together. I beg of you now go your ways, and in doing so form no hasty judgments on your Prince’s actions.”

The meeting was over. Henry left the hall, and those who had assembled to hear him went into the streets where they stood about in little groups talking; but the theme of their conversation was still sympathy for the Queen.

IÑIGO DE MENDOZA, who had learned of the King’s oration at Bridewell, sat down to communicate with his master.

“There is nothing I can do here,” he wrote, “to further the Queen’s cause. The King is determined to have an end of this matter and there will be a trial. The Queen’s chances of receiving justice at the hands of the judges are slight. She needs an ambassador who is also a lawyer. I therefore implore Your Excellency to recall me from a post which I have not the ability to fulfill.”

All through the winter Mendoza awaited his recall.

It came at the end of the spring, when it had been decided to open the Court at Blackfriars for the hearing of the King’s Matter, which was no longer secret.

THERE COULD BE NO more delay. The summons had been sent both to the King and the Queen, and the Legatine Court was to be set up in Blackfriars on the 16th day of June.

Katharine, who during this most difficult time had not changed her mode of life, was with her daughter when the summons came.

Poor little Mary! She was fully aware of the troubles between her parents and how she herself was affected. She had lost her healthy looks and had grown nervous, starting with dismay when any messengers appeared; she still kept her feelings under control, but there were occasions when she would throw herself into her mother’s arms and without a word demand to be comforted.

Now as the scroll was handed to her mother Mary began to tremble.

The Queen dismissed the messenger, but she did not look at the scroll.She laid it aside, telling herself that she would study it when her daughter was no longer with her. But although Mary tried to play the virginals, she was thinking of the scroll and her fingers faltered so that Katharine knew that it was useless to try to keep the secret from her.

“You must not fret, my darling,” she said.

“Mother,” answered the Princess, turning from the instrument, “if you are in truth not married to the King then I am but a bastard, is that not so?”

A hot flush touched the Queen’s pale face. “It is wrong even to question it,” she answered. “I will not allow it. You are the legitimate daughter of the King and myself, the only heir to the throne.”

“Yes, I know that to be true, Mother; but there may be some who insist it is not so, and if they should succeed, what would become of us?”

The Queen shrugged her shoulders. “They cannot succeed…if there is justice.”

“There is not always justice, is there, Mother?”

The Queen did not answer and Mary went on: “I was talking to Reginald of this matter. He said that no matter what the verdict of the court was, he would never call anyone but you the Queen of England, and none heir to the throne but myself.”

“So we have some friends,” said Katharine. “Why should we not have justice too?”

“Perhaps because our friends will not be in the court? That is what you are afraid of, Mother. Your friends are not allowed to stay with you here, so why should they be allowed to act as judges?”

“I think I have some friends.”

“But, Mother, what is important is that we are not separated. That is why, when I am frightened, I remind myself that if they say you are no true Queen, then I cannot be the true heir. So that if you are sent away I shall go with you.”

“My darling…my darling,” said the Queen with a sob in her voice; and Mary ran to her and knelt at her feet.

“Is that all you care about then?” asked Katharine.

“I do not care what they say of me,” came Mary’s muffled answer, “if they will but let me stay with you for ever. If I am a bastard the French Prince will not want me. We shall go away from Court, Mother, you and I, and we shall stay quietly somewhere in the country, and there will be no talk of my going over the sea to marry.” She laughed on a high, hysterical note. “For who will want to marry a bastard!”

“Hush! Hush!” admonished the Queen.

“Oh, but you are afraid, Mother.”

“No…no…”

“If you are not afraid, why do you not open the scroll?”

“Because we are together now and I do not see you as often as I wish. So matters of state can wait.”

“We are both thinking of it, Mother. We do not escape it by ignoring it.”

The Queen smiled and, going to where she had laid the scroll, picked it up and read it. Mary ran to her and stood before her, anxiously scanning her mother’s face.

“It is a summons to appear at Blackfriars,” she said.

“A summons? Should the Queen be summoned?”

“Yes, Mary. For the King will be summoned also.”

“And at this court they will decide…”

Katharine nodded. “They will decide.”

Mary kissed her mother’s hand. “All will be well,” she said. “If they decide one way you will be the King’s wife and we shall be as we were. If the other, we shall go away together, away from the Court, away from the fear of a royal marriage in a strange country. Oh, Mother, let us be happy.”

“Yes, let us be happy while we are together.”

And she tried to set aside the gloom which hung about her. She did not believe, as Mary did, that if her marriage were proved invalid she and her daughter would be allowed to slip away quietly into oblivion. But she did not tell Mary this. Why disturb the child’s peace of mind, and how could she know how long such peace would be enjoyed?

THE QUEEN CAME to Campeggio’s apartment. She felt desolate; she scarcely knew this man, and yet it was to him she must go.

She had confessed to John Fisher on the previous day and they had taken advantage of their privacy to discuss the coming trial. She had not asked Fisher to come to her for this purpose, because she knew that Wolsey’s spies were all about her and, although it was reasonable that she should ask the advice of a man who had been chosen to defend her, she did not want to put John Fisher in any danger, for she knew he was an honest man who would speak his mind even though his views were not those of the King and Cardinal.

It was Fisher who had advised her to see Campeggio in the vain hope that she might be able to persuade the Legate to have the case tried in Rome.

Campeggio, who could feel the beginning of an attack of the gout, was irritated by the arrival of the Queen. If only she had shown good sense she would be in a convent by now and he would be back in Italy where he belonged. He had used his delaying tactics, on Clement’s command, for as long as he had been able, but it was impossible to hold out any longer against the King’s desire. What he must do now was prevent the case from reaching any conclusion, for he was certain that the King would not allow it to be said that there had never been any impediment to the marriage, and Clement dared not so offend the Emperor as to grant the divorce.

A delicate situation, especially so since his fellow Legate was Cardinal Wolsey whose own fate depended on giving the King what he wanted—and quickly.

Thus he felt irritated by the Queen who could so easily have solved the problem for them all by giving up her life outside convent walls.

“Your Grace…,” he murmured, bowing with difficulty.

“I regret that you are in pain,” said the Queen with genuine sympathy.

“I am accustomed to it, Your Grace.”

“I am sorry for all who suffer,” said the Queen. “I have come to ask you not to hold this court. I have lodged an appeal to His Holiness and have high hopes that the case will be heard outside England—where I might have a greater chance of justice.”

“Your Grace,” Campeggio pointed out, “His Holiness has already appointed two Legates. This is tantamount to having your case tried in Rome.”

“I am surprised that you should have so small an opinion of my intelligence as to push me aside with such a comment,” Katharine retorted scornfully. “If this case is tried in England all the advantages will be the King’s. Have you forgotten who one of the Legates is?”

“The matter has not slipped my memory, Your Grace.”

“Wolsey!” she cried. “The man whom I have to thank for all my troubles. I have always abhorred his way of life, which is not that of a priest. He hates my nephew because he did not help him to become a Pope.”

“You should pray to God,” Campeggio told her. “He would help you to bear your trials.”

“And who,” cried Katharine, “would dare to pronounce a verdict contrary to the King’s wishes?”

“I would, if the findings of the court should show me clearly that the King was wrong.”

“The findings of the court!” snapped Katharine. “Do you not know that there cannot be more than one or two men who would dare give a decision which the King did not want? So you can rely with certainty on the findings of the court!”

“Let us pray,” said Campeggio.

They did so, but Katharine could only think of the fate which was waiting for her and her daughter.

What will become of us? she asked herself. And then she prayed that whatever disaster should befall her, her daughter should remain unscathed.

THERE WAS TENSION in the great hall at the Blackfriars Palace. The case had begun.

Never had those assembled seen anything quite like this before.

Seated on chairs covered by cloth of gold and placed at a table over which was hung a tapestry cloth sat the Legates, Cardinals Campeggio and Wolsey. On the right of the table was an ornate chair with a canopy over it; this was in readiness for the King who was expected to appear in a few days’ time; on the left hand side of the table was a chair as rich but lacking the canopy, which was meant for the Queen.

Henry did not appear in person but sent two proxies. Katharine, however, arrived in the company of four Bishops and several of her women.

As Katharine entered there was a stir in the court, for she was not expected until that day when the King would be there. She did not go to the chair which was intended for her, but to the table where she stood before the Legates. There was a hushed silence in the court as she began to speak.

“My lords, I come to make a protest against this court and to ask that the case may be transferred to Rome.”

Katharine was conscious of the malevolent gaze of Wolsey and the peevish one of Campeggio. To the first she was an enemy to be ruthlessly removed; to the second she was an irritation, the woman who might, by going into a convent, have saved him so much trouble and allowed him to rest his gouty limbs in a more congenial climate. The sight of those two men filled Katharine with further apprehension and an immense determination to fight for her future and that of her daughter.

“Why does Your Grace object to this court?” Wolsey asked coldly.

“I object because it is hostile to me,” replied the Queen. “I demand to be tried by unprejudiced judges.”

Campeggio appeared to be shocked; Wolsey looked pained, but Katharine went on boldly: “This case has been referred to Rome; in due course it could be tried there; the verdict must have the sanction of the Holy Father. I protest against this matter’s being tried here.”

Wolsey rose and said: “Your Grace is misinformed.” And Campeggio added: “Your Grace can be assured that justice shall be done, and I urgently pray you to take confidence in the members of this court who serve none but justice.”

Katharine turned away and, holding her head high, left the court followed by her train.

It was useless, she was telling herself. There was nothing she could do to prevent the trial.

She could only go back to her apartments and wait until that day when she, with Henry, must appear in person before the Legatine court.

“HENRY, KING OF ENGLAND, come into the court!” The cry rang out in the great hall of Blackfriars.

Henry was seated under the canopy, and above him on the dais were the two Cardinals, magnificent in their robes of scarlet. At the foot of this dais were the Bishops and officers of the court, with William Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, at their head. There sat the counsellors of the two opposing parties; Dr. Bell and Dr. Sampson for the King, and the Bishop of Rochester and the Bishop of St. Asaph’s for the Queen.

The voice of the crier, calling the King, silenced the whispers. Those who were present could not help but marvel that the King and Queen could be called into court as though they were common people.

This, it was murmured, shows the power of Rome. Only the Pope would dare summon the King of England to appear in court in his own country. Since we were ruled by one of the Pope’s cardinals—our butcher’s son—England has been but a vassal of Rome.

Henry himself felt a wave of anger to be so summoned. He would have refused to attend this trial; he would have stated that he had no intention of accepting any verdict but the one he wanted; but the people must be placated; they were already murmuring against the injustice done to his Queen. It was part of his policy to say: “Reluctant I am to part from her whom I believed to be my wife, but I do so on the orders of the Church.” Therefore what could he do but submit himself to the jurisdiction of the Church, making sure, of course, that his Cardinal understood how the verdict must go.

So he answered in a voice devoid of rancor: “Here I am, my lords.”

“Katharine, Queen of England, come into the court.”

Katharine stood up, crossed herself, and to the astonishment of the Bishops and officers of the court, made her way to the chair in which Henry sat. She knelt before him and began to speak in a ringing voice which could be heard all over the hall.

“Sir, I beseech you, for all the love there has been between us, and for the love of God, let me have right and justice. Take pity on me and have compassion for me, because I am a poor stranger born outside your dominions. I have here in this court no unprejudiced counsellor, and I appeal to you as the head of justice within your realm. Alas! Wherein have I offended you? I take God and all the world to witness that I have been to you a true, humble and obedient wife, ever conformable to your will and pleasure. I have been pleased and contented with all things wherein you had delight and dalliance. I loved all those you loved, only for your sake, whether they were my friends or mine enemies. These twenty years I have been your true wife, and by me you have had divers children, although it has pleased God to call them out of this world, which has been no fault of mine. I put it to your conscience whether I came not to you as a maid. If you have since found any dishonor in my conduct, then I am content to depart, albeit to my great shame and disparagement; but if none there can be, then I beseech you, thus lowlily, to let me remain in my proper state.”

There was a hush in the court as she paused for breath. She had at the beginning of the hearing stated that fact which was the crux of the matter. Her marriage to Prince Arthur had been no true marriage; she had stated before this court that she had been a virgin when she married Henry.

The King flinched a little; his face was stern; he did not look at his kneeling wife, but stared straight before him.

“The King, your father,” went on Katharine, “was accounted in his day a second Solomon for wisdom, and my father, Ferdinand, was esteemed one of the wisest kings that had ever reigned in Spain; both were excellent princes, full of wisdom and royal behavior. They had learned and judicious counsellors and they thought our marriage good and lawful. Therefore it is a wonder to me to hear what new inventions are brought up against me, who never meant aught but honestly.”

Again she paused. Campeggio moved in his chair to ease his painful limbs. She makes her own advocate, he thought; where could she have found a better? It will not be easy for them to find against her.

He was pleased with her. It was what he wished, for Clement’s orders were that the court should come to no decision.

“You cause me to stand to the judgment of this new court,” continued the Queen, “wherein you do me much wrong if you intend any kind of cruelty; you may condemn me for lack of sufficient answer, since your subjects cannot be impartial counsellors for me, as they dare not, for fear of you, disobey your will. Therefore most humbly do I require you, in the way of charity and for the love of God, who is the just Judge of all, to spare me the sentence of this new court, until I be advertised in what way my friends in Spain may advise me to take. And if you will not extend to me this favor, your pleasure be fulfilled, and to God do I commit my cause.”

Katharine stood up and all in the court saw that there were tears on her cheeks. The Bishops looked on grimly, not daring to show their sympathy in the presence of the King, who still sat staring stonily before him; but in the body of the hall many a kerchief was applied to an eye and secret prayers for the Queen were murmured.

She took the arm of her receiver-general and instead of making her way back to her seat she began to move through the crowd towards the door.

The crier was in consternation. He called: “Katharine, Queen of England, come again into the court.”

But Katharine did not seem to hear and, staring before her, her eyes misted with tears, she continued towards the door.

“Your Grace,” whispered the receiver-general, “you are being called back to the court!”

“I hear the call,” answered the Queen, in tones which could be heard by those about her, “but I heed it not. Let us go. This is no court where I may have justice.”

“Katharine, Queen of England, come again into the court!” shouted the distracted crier.

But Katharine passed out of the court into the sunshine.

The Queen had gone, and Henry was fully aware of the impression she had made.

He rose and addressed the assembly. He spoke with conviction and considerable powers of oratory; he was well practiced in this speech for he had uttered it may times before. He explained that he had no wish to rid himself of a virtuous woman who had always been a good wife to him. It was his conscience which urged him to take action. It had been put to him by learned men—bishops and lawyers—that he was living in sin with a woman who had been his brother’s wife. The twenty-first verse of the twentieth chapter of Leviticus had been brought to his notice, and it was for this reason that he—determined to live at peace with God—had decided to ask learned men whether he was truly married. If the answer was in the affirmative he would rejoice, for there was none who pleased him as did the woman who had been his wife for twenty years; but if on the other hand it were shown to him that he was living in sin with her, then, much as this would grieve him, he would part with her.

After Katharine’s speech the King’s sounded insincere. It was a fact that the whole court and country knew of his passion for Anne Boleyn, and that it was this woman’s desire to share his crown before allowing him to become her lover which was, if not the only motive for bringing the case, an important one.

However, Henry, believing in what he said while he said it, did manage to infuse a certain ring of truth into his words.

When he had finished speaking Wolsey rose to his feet, came to the chair in which Henry was sitting and knelt there.

“Your Grace,” he said, “I beseech you to tell this assembled court whether or not I have been the first to suggest you should part from the Queen. Much slander has been spoken against me in this respect and there are many who feel that, should this be truth, I am no fit person to sit as Legate in this case.”

The King gave a short laugh and cried: “Nay, my Lord Cardinal, I cannot say you have been the prime mover in this matter. Rather have you set yourself against me.”

Wolsey rose from his knees and bowed to the King. “I thank your Grace for telling this court that I am no prejudiced judge.”

Wolsey returned to his seat and Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, rose to produce a scroll which he told the court contained the names of the Bishops who had agreed that an enquiry into the matter of the King’s marriage was necessary. He then began to read out the names on the scroll.

When he came to that of John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, Fisher rose from the bench and cried: “That is a forgery, for I have signed no such document.”

Henry, who was growing more and more impatient at the delay and wondering when the judges would declare his marriage null and void—which he had believed they would quickly do—was unable to restrain himself. “How so?” he cried irritably. “Here is your name and seal.”

“Your Grace, that is not my hand or seal.”

Henry’s brows were lowered over his eyes. Once he had loved that man Fisher. It was such men who, in the days of his youth, he had wished to have about him. Thomas More was another. They had never flattered him as blatantly as other people did and when he did wring a word of praise from them it was doubly sweet. John Fisher had at one time been his tutor—a gentle kindly man with whom it had been a pleasure for an exuberant youth to work with now and then.

But now Fisher was on the Queen’s side. He was the Queen’s counsel. He did not approve of a divorce. He believed that, having married Katharine and been disappointed in her, his King should yet remain her faithful husband.

What did Fisher know of the needs of a healthy man who was in the prime of life?

As he glowered at his one-time tutor, Henry hated the tall, spare figure. The fellow looks as though he spends his time shut in a cell, fasting, he thought derisively. No matter what love I had for him it shall be forgotten if he dares oppose me in this matter. He will have to learn that those who cross me do so at the peril of their lives.

And now what was this matter of a forgery?

Warham was saying: “This is your seal.”

Fisher retorted: “My Lord, you know full well this is not my seal. You know that you approached me in this matter and I said that I would never give my name to such a document.”

Warham could see the King’s anger mounting. Warham was all for peace. He did not think that Fisher realized the full force of the King’s passion in this matter. Perhaps Fisher was too honest to understand that when the King was being driven by his lust he was like a wild animal in his need to assuage it. Warham tried to end the matter as lightly as possible.

“You were loath to put your seal to this document, it is true,” he murmured. “But you will remember that in the end we decided that I should do it for you.”

“My lord,” said Fisher, “this is not true.”

The King shifted angrily in his seat. Warham sighed and put down the document; it was a gesture which meant that no good could come of pursuing that matter further.

“We will proceed with the hearing,” Wolsey announced. Henry sat sullenly wondering what effect Fisher had already had on the court. By God, he thought, that man’s no friend of mine if deliberately he flouts me in order to serve the Queen.

But all would be well. Katharine had been right when she had said that few in this court would dare disobey him. They would not; and thus they would give him the verdict he was demanding. What difference would one dissenting voice make?

But he hated the dissenters. He could never endure criticism. And when it came from someone whom he had once admired, it was doubly wounding.

He scarcely heard what was being said about him until it was Fisher’s turn to make his speech for the Queen.

“Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder…”

As soon as Fisher had finished speaking, Henry rose from his seat.

He had had enough for one day. The session was over.

THE DAYS PASSED with maddening slowness for the King. It was a month since the trial had begun and still no conclusion had been reached. Each day the counsels for the King and those for the Queen argued their cases; and it was clear that Fisher alone was determined to do his utmost to win a victory for the Queen.

Campeggio was in despair, for although he applied his delaying tactics whenever possible he could see that he could not extend the proceedings much longer, and, in view of the evidence he had heard, he knew that if he made a decision it would have to be in favor of the King.

This he could not do, as his strict orders from the Pope were that he should give no definite verdict.

Understanding the motives behind his fellow Legate’s methods Wolsey was depressed; he knew that Campeggio’s one desire was to prolong the action of the court until he could suitably disband it.

This was the state of affairs when the Cardinal was summoned to the King’s presence.

Henry was purple with anger, and striding up and down the apartment waving papers in his hands. He did not speak as Wolsey approached, but merely thrust the papers at the Cardinal.

Wolsey read the news and felt sick with horror. François had suffered defeat in Italy and a peace was to be made between him and the Emperor. Margaret, Regent of the Netherlands, who was the Emperor’s aunt, and Louise of Savoy, the mother of François, had arranged this peace which was consequently called The Ladies’ Peace. It was natural that Clement should at the same time sign a treaty with the Emperor.

“And,” cried Henry, glowering at his Chancellor, “these matters are settled and we are told nothing of them until they are completed. It seems to me that our French ally is as treacherous as our Spanish ones. Why is it that we are always betrayed?”

“Your Grace,” stammered Wolsey, who was near exhaustion and whose mind had been concentrated on the King’s divorce, “this will mean that Campeggio will never give us the verdict we want.”

“This trial is nothing but a mockery!” roared the King. “Is it not marvellous that I should be made to wait so long for that which others have for the asking?”

“Circumstances have moved against us, Your Grace. But for the sack of Rome…”

“Do not give me your buts…,” cried the King. “Give me freedom to marry, that I may provide my kingdom with an heir.”

“It would seem, Your Grace, that we should make another appeal to the Queen. If she would but retire to a convent, I am certain that Clement would immediately grant the divorce. All we need is her consent to do so, nay her desire to do so. The Emperor himself would not object to that.”

“She must be made to see reason,” insisted the King.

“Your Grace, have I your permission to make one more appeal to her?”

“Do so, without delay.”

Wolsey was relieved to escape from the King, and immediately went to Campeggio’s apartments, and there made the suggestion that they should go to the Queen and endeavor to show her what a benefit she would confer, not only on herself, but on all others, if she would retire to a nunnery.

THE TWO CARDINALS went by barge to Bridewell where the Queen at that time had her lodging. She was sitting with some of her women, working on her embroidery, for, she had said, she was so melancholy at this time that working with bright colors raised her spirits.

When she heard that the Cardinals had called on her, she went to greet them with skeins of red and white silk hanging about her neck.

“Your Grace,” said Wolsey, “we crave your pardon for disturbing your peace, and pray you to give us a hearing.”

“Gladly will I do so,” she answered, “but I cannot argue with such as you. I am not clever enough.” She touched the skeins about her neck. “You see how I pass my time, and my maids are not the ablest counsellors, yet I have no others in England. And Spain, where there are those on whom I could rely, is far away.”

“Take us into your privy chamber,” said Wolsey, “and there we will show you the cause of our coming.”

“My Lords,” answered the Queen, “if you have anything to say, speak it openly before these folk, for I fear nothing that can be alleged against me, but I would all the world should see and hear it. Therefore speak your minds openly, I pray you.”

Wolsey was uneasy and had no desire to speak before the women, so he began to explain his mission in Latin, but Katharine interrupted.

“Pray, my good lord, speak to me in English, for I can, thank God, speak and understand English, though I do know some Latin.”

So there was nothing to be done but to speak to her in the presence of her women in English, and Wolsey said: “Your Grace, if you will consent to the divorce you shall lack nothing you desire in riches and honors. If you should desire to go into a convent, which would be a seemly setting for your devout manner of living, you shall have all that you require there. The King will place the Princess Mary next in order of succession to the issue of his second marriage.”

“My lords,” said Katharine, “I could not answer you suddenly, for I have no one to advise me.”

Campeggio said: “Cardinal Wolsey and I would gladly give you the advice you need.”

“Then now come to my private chamber and there we will speak of these matters,” she said.

So the two Cardinals and the Queen retired together, and she told them once more that she had no wish to enter a convent, that the Princess Mary was the true heir to the throne, that she herself was indeed married to the King, for she had never in truth been wife to his brother; and this she would maintain no matter what befell her.

It was clear to the Cardinals that they could not make her change her decision, so they left her, Wolsey in deep melancholy, Campeggio determined to bring a speedy end to the case.

“This matter,” said Wolsey as they stepped into the barge, “must be settled without delay. We must give our judgment, and, on what we have heard, how can we help but decide in the King’s favor?”

Campeggio shook his head. “I am not satisfied that we have heard all the truth. The Queen is right when she says this is a prejudiced court. Nay, there is one course open to us. We must refer the matter to His Holiness.”

“The King will never stomach further delay.”

“This matter,” answered Campeggio, “is not in the King’s hands.”

Wolsey did not answer. He envied Campeggio his freedom. He would return to Rome where he had only to answer to the Pope and by delaying judgment he had carried out his orders. But Wolsey…he had served the King, and each day Henry’s displeasure and dissatisfaction increased.

So slowly they sailed along the river—Campeggio would leave the barge for his lodgings and the rest for which his limbs were crying out, but Wolsey must return to the King and once more report failure.

CAMPEGGIO ARRIVED at the court. He took his place beside Wolsey, but as the proceedings were about to open, he rose and addressed the company.

“This court is under the jurisdiction of Rome,” he announced, “and the holidays have begun in Rome. Therefore this court is closed until the holidays are over. We shall reassemble here on October the first.”

There was a gasp of astonishment. Wolsey was as startled as the rest, and his brown eyes looked like great marbles in his pallid face. True, he had been expecting something like this, but not so soon. He knew, of course, that Campeggio would never open the court again; that his one idea was to return to Italy and not come back. He had done his duty. He had opened the court of enquiry and had kept it going for a month; now he sought this excuse to close it; and meanwhile the state of affairs in Europe had steadied themselves, giving Clement some indication of which side he must take.

This was disaster at home and abroad. Wolsey’s French foreign policy had failed, for the Emperor and François were now friends, and neither felt much affection for England. So he had failed in that, and the people would be more against him than ever. He had also failed the King. He had promised him divorce, yet he was no nearer getting it than he had been more than a year ago.

Suffolk, Henry’s brother-in-law, who had been working zealously in the King’s cause, suddenly clenched his fist and hammered it on the table.

“England was never merry,” he declared, “since we had Cardinals among us.”

And as he spoke he glared at Wolsey who could not resist reminding him of that occasion when Suffolk had married Henry’s sister Mary and had appealed for the Cardinal’s help to placate the King. “Had it not been for one Cardinal,” he said, “you my Lord Suffolk, might have lost your head, and with it the opportunity of reviling Cardinals.”

The court broke up, and Wolsey was smiling as he saw Suffolk’s crestfallen face. Norfolk was watching him with hatred too. So was Darcy. But they dared not speak against him. He was still the most powerful man in the land—under the King; and while he had the King’s support, his enemies were powerless to touch him.

The King had already heard the news when Wolsey reached him.

Henry was alone and the Cardinal was surprised to see that his face was pale rather than scarlet as might have been expected. The eyes were as cold as ice.

“So,” he said, “the Pope’s man has closed the court.”

Wolsey bowed his head in assent.

“And all these weeks have been wasted. He never meant to settle this matter. Meanwhile I am left uncertain.”

“Your Grace, the Papal Legate has from the beginning practiced procrastination to a fine degree.”

“You need not tell me this. And the Queen has refused once more to enter a convent!”

“It is so, Your Grace.”

The little blue eyes were narrowed. “I’ll warrant she wishes me dead,” he said.

Wolsey was startled. “Your Grace…,” he began.

Henry was scowling. His Chancellor had not the sharp wits which had once been his.

“It would not surprise me,” went on Henry, “if there should be a plot afoot to kill both me and you.”

“Is it so, Your Grace?” Wolsey was waiting for orders and the King was satisfied.

“If such a plot should be discovered,” went on the King, “and it was found that the Queen had a part in it…” The little mouth was cruel, the eyes ruthless. “…she should not expect to be spared,” he added.

Wolsey was thinking: Queen Katharine, you are a fool. Why did you not take yourself off to a convent? There you would have been safe. This is a man who takes what he wants, no matter who stands in his way. And you, Queen Katharine, now stand most dangerously in his path.

The King went on: “This is a matter which should be laid before the Council. They will be prepared to act if evidence is brought before them. You will see to this, for I hold it to be of great importance to our safety…yours and mine.”

Wolsey bowed his assent.

He was vaguely troubled by his conscience, which over the years of good living he had learned to stifle.

So it has come to this, he thought. Katharine, you are in acute danger…and so am I.