Six Wives (52 page)
Authors: David Starkey
For Henry had decided that, if Anne could not come to London, then he would come to her. Or at least he would come almost half way and meet her in the vicinity of Beddington. This was the country seat of his friend and Anne's cousin, Sir Nicholas Carew. Beddington is near Croydon in Surrey: it is some ten miles from London and about sixteen miles from Anne's parents' house at Hever. There Carew had turned his old family home into 'a fair house (or palace rather) . . . which by advantage of the water is a paradise of pleasure'. Even in November, it was a fitting retreat for the would-be lovers.
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* * *
According to the Spanish ambassador, of course, Henry's departure from London had scarcely been voluntary: instead, he had been driven out by demonstrations in support of Catherine. Perhaps. But it seems more likely that the attraction of Anne was at least as powerful as the repulsion of popular feeling. Moreover, Henry intended to do more than canoodle with Anne: he needed to consult her on the sudden worsening of their position on the Great Matter.
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Only five weeks previously Legate Campeggio had arrived in England, bringing, Henry had convinced himself, and had almost convinced Anne, the solution to all their problems. But Henry's hopes had been quickly dashed – to his embarrassment and Anne's irritation. Campeggio, instead of pressing forward with the trial, was trying every device to put it off: from the non-starter (from Henry's point of view) of reconciliation, to the equally unacceptable notion (from Catherine's perspective) of persuading the Queen to withdraw to a nunnery. Still worse, Catherine had struck back by revealing the Spanish Brief, which, if it were genuine, nullified all Henry's gains in Rome and rendered the decretal commission worthless.
Finally, and underlying everything else, were the larger realities of the French collapse in Italy and the triumph there of Catherine's nephew, the Emperor Charles V.
Henry, in short, desperately needed to regain control of events. Already, in such circumstances, he had formed the habit of turning to Anne for inspiration. Now he did so again, and, as usual, she obliged. When he returned to London on 14 November, after four intense days of business and pleasure at Beddington, a further initiative had been decided on. Henry would send a new Embassy to Rome; he would try new approaches; above all, he would employ new men.
The chief of the new Embassy was Sir Francis Bryan, Henry's favourite and, since their mothers were half-sisters, Anne's 'cousin'. The sixteenth century took ties of kindred and marriage much more seriously than we tend to. But, even by those standards, the relationship was not an especially close one. Nevertheless, Bryan had identified himself wholly with Anne. On 25 June he had been finally reappointed to the Privy Chamber to replace her brother-in-law, William Carey, who had died of the sweat two nights previously. Now he was being sent to Rome as her eyes and ears as well as Henry's.
And he could be relied on to report frankly what he saw and heard. For one of the principal features of Bryan's strange, contradictory character was an addiction to plain speech. He called a spade a spade, and often, as one would expect from 'the Vicar of Hell', a bloody shovel as well. As with other famously plain-speakers, a mixture of motives was involved. Bryan had a genuine commitment to the truth; he also enjoyed making mischief. The mission to Rome would offer him plenty of scope for both.
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Assisting Bryan was the expert Latinist and native Italian speaker, Peter Vannes, who served as Latin Secretary to both Wolsey and Henry. Vannes was intended to hold a watching brief for Wolsey, with whom he maintained a separate Latin correspondence. But equally he was a pliable careerist, bending to every prevailing wind. And the likely direction of the wind was indicated by the fact that it was also planned to include in the Embassy Dr William Knight, Wolsey's
bête noire
, after he had coordinated approaches to Rome with Henry's ally, Francis I of France.
bête noire
, after he had coordinated approaches to Rome with Henry's ally, Francis I of France.
Clearly, if the rather skewed composition of the Embassy was anything to go by, Henry and Anne were deciding to find their own way to Rome – without Wolsey and perhaps against him.
Bryan and Vannes left at the end of November. After a terrible Channel crossing, during which one of them (they would not specify which) suffered from 'dreadful nausea and vomiting of blood', they arrived in Calais on 6 December. Travel by land then proved almost as problematic as by sea, as the 'shortness of the days and the bad state of the roads' kept them to a snail's pace.
It was not a good beginning, as their defensive letters home showed.
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* * *
Meanwhile, Henry had lost patience with his enforced separation from Anne. To bring her back to Court would defy public opinion; it also risked alienating Campeggio. But Henry was beyond caring. As for Anne, she was always less sensitive than Henry to outward appearances. She also seems to have calculated that, with the sudden darkening of the political skies, she could do more good at Henry's side than languishing in the country.
So back to Court she came. Wolsey, as usual, was left to sort out the logistics, which he did with his accustomed efficiency. 'As touching a lodging for you, we have gotten one by my lord Cardinal's means', Henry informed Anne in a brisk, business-like letter in English, 'the like whereof could not have been found hereabout for all causes.' Work in preparing the new establishment, he continued, was proceeding rapidly, and her father had been instructed 'to make his provisions with speed'. Soon her accommodation would be ready and they would be together.
As for 'our other affairs', Henry assured Anne, 'there can be no more done; nor more diligence used, nor all manner of dangers better both foreseen and provided for'. All, he vowed, would turn out well, as 'shall be hereafter to both our comfort'.
The endless iteration suggests a doubt in the mind of the writer; there was certainly one in the reader's.
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The 'hereabout' in Henry's letter was, almost certainly, Bridewell, Henry's London palace, which he was using as his base to conduct negotiations with the barely mobile Campeggio. There have been several guesses as to the exact building allocated to Anne. They include Durham House in the Strand, Suffolk Place in Borough High Street or even an apartment in Bridewell itself. None seems very plausible. More likely was a site on the South Bank, where Anne's father had his London house. Thence it was only a short boat-ride to Bridewell and Henry's arms.
Wherever it was, Anne was installed by early December. 'The King', the French ambassador reported, 'has lodged her in a very fine lodging, which he has prepared for her close by his own.'
Any pretence about Anne's position was now abandoned: she was close to Henry physically, and she was close also, ceremony soon made clear, to the throne itself. 'Greater court is . . . paid to her every day', the French ambassador continued, 'than has been to the Queen for a long time.' The ambassador, the shrewd and worldly prelate Jean du Bellay, assumed that Anne's sudden public prominence was a deliberate tactic: 'I see', he informed Montmorency, Francis I's favourite and minister, 'they mean to accustom the people by degrees to endure her, so that when the great blow comes it may not be thought strange'.
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Du Bellay had a vested interest in the dethroning of the Spanish Queen Catherine. But even he doubted the efficacy of Anne's move to London. 'The people', he reported, 'remain quite hardened' in their hostility to both the Divorce and Anne as its intended beneficiary. 'And I think', he continued, 'they would do more if they had more power.' But the government was alert to the risk of public disorder, and took elaborate precautions.
Anne scarcely left Henry's side again, with the result that Henry's letters to her, which cast such a powerful if one-sided light on their love affair, cease.
But, of course, Anne's public visibility continued to fluctuate with the exigencies of the Great Matter. The Christmas holidays of 1528–9 were such a moment. The King joined the Queen at Greenwich on 18 December, and Anne moved to Greenwich as well, but had a separate establishment. Perhaps, as du Bellay guessed, the reason was that Catherine's lofty disapproval unsettled Anne. But it seems unlikely that someone who was ordinarily so brazen was intimidated thus easily. A much more likely explanation for Anne keeping a low profile was the presence at Greenwich for much of the festivities of Cardinal Wolsey and Cardinal Campeggio. Henry poured his charm on Campeggio; knighted his son, who had been born in wedlock before he became a priest; and dangled, Du Bellay heard, the vastly rich bishopric of Durham under his nose. Anne would have been out of place while these games were being played.
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She would come into her own soon enough.
* * *
Within a few days of the ending of the festivities, extraordinary news arrived at the English Court. Secretary Knight, after the usual dreadful winter Channel crossing, had reached Paris at the beginning of January. There he met Vincento Casale at the French Court, en route to Henry with letters from his brother Gregorio in Rome. The letters painted the blackest picture of the Pope's mood: 'he was never more afraid of the Imperialists than now'; he was surrounded by pro-Imperial advisers; 'he daily shows signs of repentance for having granted the [decretal commission], saying that he is undone if the decretal comes to the knowledge of the Emperor'. In short, Knight concluded, Clement was utterly 'untoward . . . in the King's Great Affair'.
Knight, who had been through a similar
renversement
before, wrung his hands at the ill-luck which seemed to dog Henry's efforts: surely, he wrote, there is 'some
cacade
[?cassation or annulment] that inturbeth [confuses] all godly devices'. But, bravely, he acted and advised according to his best judgement. It would, he informed Henry and Wolsey, be folly to continue with his mission to Rome, since its only effect would be to alert the now pro-Imperial Clement to Henry's most secret plans. He would therefore continue on his way with deliberate slowness (to put the French off the scent) and await the countermand which he was sure would come.
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renversement
before, wrung his hands at the ill-luck which seemed to dog Henry's efforts: surely, he wrote, there is 'some
cacade
[?cassation or annulment] that inturbeth [confuses] all godly devices'. But, bravely, he acted and advised according to his best judgement. It would, he informed Henry and Wolsey, be folly to continue with his mission to Rome, since its only effect would be to alert the now pro-Imperial Clement to Henry's most secret plans. He would therefore continue on his way with deliberate slowness (to put the French off the scent) and await the countermand which he was sure would come.
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Both his reasoning and his recommended course of action were excellent. But, as before, Knight got no thanks for them. And the reason was the same as before: he had, once again, got across Wolsey. What he said might be true. But it was not the truth that Wolsey wanted to hear – nor, still more importantly, that Wolsey wanted Henry to hear.
The Papal Chamberlain, Francisco Campana, who had been sent as an envoy from Clement himself, arrived in London on 11 January 1529, preceded by Casale who had reached the city a day or two earlier. Wolsey now worked furiously to undo Knight's advice. His argument was a model of revisionism – that is, of proving conclusively that black is white and that the best scientific evidence demonstrates the moon to be made of green cheese. So what, Wolsey blustered, if the Pope was frightened of the Emperor? Were not the instructions of the English ambassadors designed to obviate that very fear by offering him an AngloFrench garrison or 'presidy' in Rome? This would enable him to defy Charles V and his Spanish army of occupation. Let the presidy be pressed on the Pope and all would be well.
Moreover Campana, Wolsey informed Knight, had sung an entirely different tune about the Pope's attitude. Far from being Imperial, Campana had assured Henry, Clement was his fast friend. So the Pope would not only do all he could for Henry according to 'law, justice and equity', he would go further and act on his behalf
ex plenitudine potestatis
. The latter, as we have seen, means 'from the fullness of his power'. In one sense it is a mere technical phrase, which was included in all formal Papal acts. But it might mean more. For, in theory, the plenitude of Papal power was absolute. Understood in this sense, therefore, Campana's words were an unequivocal assurance that the Pope would settle the Great Matter in Henry's interest.
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ex plenitudine potestatis
. The latter, as we have seen, means 'from the fullness of his power'. In one sense it is a mere technical phrase, which was included in all formal Papal acts. But it might mean more. For, in theory, the plenitude of Papal power was absolute. Understood in this sense, therefore, Campana's words were an unequivocal assurance that the Pope would settle the Great Matter in Henry's interest.
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Dispute was later to rage about Campana's words and their exact meaning. But there is no doubt that Wolsey persuaded Henry at the time that the second, 'strong' interpretation was the right one. And there is no doubt that this saved the day for Wolsey. Knight was seen off once more and was loftily upbraided by Wolsey for his panic and cowardice.
But equally, as previously in 1527, there is no doubt that Knight's reading of events was right and that Wolsey's was wrong. For, despite all the Papal Chamberlain's smooth, equivocal assurances to Henry, his real mission spelled the end of Henry's hopes of the Pope. Acting in strictest secrecy and on Pope Clement's direct command, Campana ordered Campeggio to continue his policy of delaying the Legantine Trial; he also instructed him to destroy the decretal commission. Campeggio obeyed and the rest of his legacy in England was to be a mere postscript to this action.
* * *
Wolsey's performance was magnificently audacious. But, like all highwire acts, it left him dangerously exposed. Du Bellay, the French ambassador, realised this immediately. 'Monsieur the Legate', he reported on 25 January, 'is in grave difficulty, for the affair has gone so far that, if it do not take effect, the King his master will blame him for it, and terminally.' But, Du Bellay was convinced, Wolsey would make a fight of it. Henry, he predicted, 'would have to deal with a tough nut', and one that even the King would find it hard to crack.
Anne, too, was quick to realise Wolsey's vulnerability, and, in the same despatch Du Bellay described her dramatic move against him at Court. The long-running quarrel between Russell and Cheyney had flared up again. 'Cheyney', Du Bellay reported, 'had given offence to the Legate within the last few days, and, for that reason, had been expelled the Court.' But, instead of trying to pour oil on troubled waters, as she had done before, Anne had gone on the offensive against Wolsey too. 'The young lady', Du Bellay continued, 'has put [Cheyney] in again, whether [Wolsey] would or no, and not without sending him a message couched in disrespectful words'.
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