Henry VIII (50 page)

In 1535–1536, the King converted what had possibly been Wolsey's dining hall at Hampton Court into the Great Watching Chamber, which still survives with its beautiful oriel window and ceiling ornamented with a geometric lattice of gilded battens, drop pendants, and leather-mâché roundels bearing 130 devices and badges of the King and Jane Seymour, in whose time the ceiling was finished.
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This was the first of the outward chambers of the King's apartments, but those beyond its door no longer survive.

Henry was also carrying out works at Greenwich at this time. His refurbished privy chamber on the first floor of the donjon had bay windows overlooking the Thames, tapestried walls, grotesque decoration, and carpets on the floor. The antique-style ceiling was patterned with timber battens with gilded lead leaves at the intersections; it was made by the King's joiner, Richard Ridge, who had carved the decorations on the ceiling of the great hall at Hampton Court.
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In the summer of 1535, the King embarked on one of the most important progresses of his reign. This was not just an elaborate hunting jaunt, but a public relations exercise “with a view to gaining popularity with his subjects”
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and promoting the recent religious reforms. Not only courtiers who had supported the King's policies were favoured with visits, but also traditionalists whose goodwill he wished to retain. During this progress, Gardiner, who had now had leisure to revise his views, secured his return to favour by publishing a timely treatise,
De Vera Obedientia
, which strongly endorsed the royal supremacy. The King rewarded him with the post of ambassador to France.

On 5 July, attended by a vast train of courtiers, servants, and baggage, Henry and Anne travelled west from Windsor to Reading, Ewelme, Abingdon, Woodstock, Langley, and Sudeley Castle, where they stayed a week. Cromwell joined them on 23 July, having come to arrange for the King's commissioners to visit all the religious houses in the west country.

By late July, Henry had reached Tewkesbury. He then rode south to Gloucester; he and the Queen lodged at nearby Painswick Manor, which afforded excellent hunting. They were at Berkeley Castle from 2 to 8 August, then moved on to Thornbury; Henry had intended to visit Bristol, but had been deterred by reports of plague. Instead, a delegation of leading citizens waited upon him at Thornbury. At Iron Acton he stayed at Acton Court, where Sir Nicholas Poyntz had built a lavish new Renaissance-style eastern range especially for the King's visit.
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The Poyntzes were a notable courtier family: Nicholas' grandfather, Sir Robert Poyntz, had been Vice Chamberlain to Queen Katherine, while his uncle, Sir John Poyntz, was a member of Queen Anne's household and a friend of Wyatt, who dedicated to him two of his satires on the superficiality of life at court. Nicholas himself was a reformist, a member of Cromwell's circle, and a friend of Richard Rich.

From Iron Acton, Henry moved on to Little Sodbury and Bromham, where two fervent supporters of reform, Sir John Walsh and Sir Edward Baynton, the Queen's Vice Chamberlain, were respectively hosts to their sovereign. Afterwards, the King made his much-celebrated visit to Wulfhall,
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the home of Sir John Seymour, where he stayed three nights.
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Some writers date his affair with Jane Seymour to this visit, yet while this may be true, there is no evidence for it.

During October there were reports that the King and Queen and all the nobles were merry and in good health, and hawking daily.
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Yet Anne again had cause for concern, for in early October the French ambassador reported that the King's love for her was diminishing daily since he had “new amours.”
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Henry had now lost interest in Madge Shelton, or her sister; Madge was being courted by the widowed Sir Henry Norris, to whom she would be betrothed in 1536. The King was presently pursuing Sir Edward Seymour's sister Jane, one of the Queen's maids of honour. At twenty-seven, Jane was rather old to be unwed, but it appears that her father could not afford to dower her richly. She was neither accomplished nor pretty. “She is no great beauty,” observed Chapuys. “Her complexion is so fair that one would rather call her pale.”
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Her portraits by Holbein
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bear out the French ambassador's opinion that she was plain: they show a wide, angular face with compressed lips, little eyes, and a large nose. Polydore Vergil called Jane “a woman of the utmost charm,” and this was perhaps the quality that attracted the King, although it is not evident in her portraits. She was also the complete antithesis of Anne Boleyn, of whom Henry was rapidly tiring. Jane was quiet, demure, subservient, and discreet, characteristics the King had come to appreciate in a woman. She could read and sign her name, but if she was as intelligent as her champions claimed, she hid it well. The King confided to Chapuys that she had a gentle nature and was “inclined to peace.”
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Her behaviour in the coming months suggests, however, that she was also a tough, ambitious woman of ruthless determination.

In October, the court spent four days in the familiar surroundings of The Vyne, where Lord Sandys extended to his sovereign his usual warm welcome. The King returned to Windsor at the end of the month,
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and soon afterwards, the Queen discovered that she was pregnant again.

By the autumn of 1535, Henry's relationship with Anne had deteriorated significantly, despite their show of cheerfulness. Anne was no longer the alluring young woman who had captured his heart: a portrait of her at Nidd Hall, which must date from around 1535–1536, shows that she was ageing. Chapuys was soon to refer to her as “that thin old woman,” and one courtier described her as “extremely ugly.”
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The King was by now “tired to satiety” of her;
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she had never learned the discretion or decorum befitting a queen, and still upbraided him for his infidelities. She dared to argue with him in public, laughed at his clothes and his poetry, and even appeared bored in his company.
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She remained unpopular and controversial, and her very existence was a barrier to a closer understanding with the Emperor. She exercised so much influence over public affairs that it was said that she wielded more authority than Henry or Cromwell. “The King dares not contradict her,” wrote Chapuys. “The Lady well knows how to manage him.”
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Henry was probably a little in awe of this formidable woman with her strident opinions and inflammable temper, and certainly resentful towards her. However, she was his queen and it was hoped that he would soon honour her as the mother of his son. Nevertheless, by December 1535, the couple were barely on speaking terms; in February 1536, Chapuys claimed Henry had had little to do with Anne for three months.
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At court and in the Privy Chamber, the Boleyn faction was still powerful. It included Wiltshire, Rochford, Archbishop Cranmer, and Lord Chancellor Audley. Cromwell was still, on the surface at least, an ally of the Queen, although they had quarrelled in June 1535, when he told Chapuys that she had threatened to have him beheaded.
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Another ally, Gardiner, was in France. Norfolk had long since been alienated by Anne, and was more of an enemy than a friend. However, there was little apparent opposition. Of the former Queen Katherine's English supporters, only Exeter, Bryan, and Carew remained at court, and they were quiescent. But in December 1535, Henry made it clear which way the wind was blowing by receiving Chapuys at Greenwich with calculated courtesy, putting his arm around the ambassador's neck, and walking with him for some time “in the presence of all the courtiers.”
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Henry knew now that another obstacle in the way of an alliance with the Emperor would soon be removed, for he had received news that the Princess Dowager was dying.

For some time now, Katherine of Aragon had been suffering from what proved to be terminal cancer of the heart. Confined to one room in Kimbolton Castle in the Fens, she was attended by only her physician, her confessor, an apothecary, and three women, who cooked and tasted her food in her presence, for fear of poison. Maria de Salinas, Lady Willoughby, was with Katherine during her last illness, and was at her side when she died on 7 January 1536. Among several items forwarded to Henry was a final letter from his former wife, vowing that “mine eyes desire you above all things”; it was signed, defiantly, “Katherine the Queen.”

Although he wept when he read the letter,
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the King was greatly relieved to be freed from the threat of war with the Emperor, who had staunchly upheld Katherine's cause to the last. Henry and Anne appeared at court in satin outfits of yellow, the colour of royal mourning in Spain at that time, and also in purple mourning, according to one imperial source. Yet the atmosphere was one of triumph rather than grief, as the King carried his daughter Elizabeth into chapel for a solemn mass, to the sound of trumpets, then proudly showed her off to his courtiers at a banquet, which was followed by dancing and jousting.
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At forty-four, Henry still jousted occasionally, but his career in the lists came to an abrupt end on 24 January 1536, when, during a tournament at Greenwich, wearing full armour, he was unhorsed by an opponent. As he toppled to the ground, his armoured steed collapsed on top of him. The King lay unconscious for two hours. “He fell so heavily that everyone thought it a miracle he was not killed,” reported Chapuys.
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At one point it was feared that he was dead, and the Duke of Norfolk hastened to the Queen to break the news to her. But Henry recovered and “sustained no injury.”
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Although his jousting days were over, he continued to enjoy riding and walking a great deal.

Some modern authors
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have suggested that this fall resulted in brain damage that affected the King's judgement and behaviour during the rest of his life, but there is no evidence to support the theory that there was a sudden change in his character. Had there been, contemporaries would surely have remarked upon it. However, the fall may well have exacerbated an existing ulcer or osteomyelitis in the King's leg, or may have caused a varicose vein to burst and later become thrombosed. As Henry had already suffered problems in one leg, this may account for the condition that would soon appear in the other leg.

Henry was still recovering when, on 29 January, Katherine of Aragon was buried in Peterborough Cathedral. Frances Brandon, Marchioness of Dorset, was chief mourner, supported by Lady Willoughby and her daughter, the young Duchess of Suffolk. The King wore black on that day, and attended a requiem mass at Greenwich.

On the same day, Anne went into premature labour. That morning, Chapuys was told by one of Exeter's servants that a distraught King had confided to one of his Gentlemen that he had been “seduced by witchcraft” into marriage, “and for this reason considered it null. It was evident because God did not permit them to have any male issue, and he believed he might take another wife.”
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After the Queen's baby had been aborted, Chapuys learned that it “had the appearance of a male of 15 weeks' growth,” and stated that it was generally held that Anne had a “defective constitution” that would prevent her from bearing healthy children.
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Some even believed she had never been pregnant at all.
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The loss of their son was a crushing disappointment to both Henry and Anne. Anne attributed it to the shock she sustained when Norfolk told her that the King was dead and her distress over Henry's infidelities.
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When he visited her, Henry said bitterly, “I see that God will not give me male children. When you are up, I will speak to you.”
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47

“Thunder Rolls around the Throne”

The King left Greenwich early in February 1536 and went to York Place for the Shrovetide celebrations and the final session of the Reformation Parliament, which lasted from 4 February to 14 April. Both the Queen and Jane Seymour remained at Greenwich, but Anne had removed to York Place by 24 February, when she and Henry celebrated the feast day of St. Matthias there. Chapuys claims that the King had been sufficiently moved by Anne's distress over his affair with Jane to forsake Jane's company for hers on this occasion.
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Thereafter, however, he visited Greenwich frequently to pay court to Jane, for whom his passion was growing. Chapuys, however, placed little reliance on rumours that he wanted to marry her.
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On 3 March Sir Edward Seymour was appointed a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber. He and his brother Thomas were looking forward to many more honours and spoils through their sister's liaison with the King, and both they and their conservative friends, Sir Nicholas Carew, Lord Montague and his brother Geoffrey Pole, the Marquess of Exeter, and Sir Thomas Elyot, urged Jane not to submit to her royal lover but to wrest every advantage from the relationship. There is little doubt that the Seymours and their allies, who were also Anne's enemies and Mary's supporters, meant to use Jane to topple the Queen and further their own interests. Jane, who was of an orthodox religious persuasion, and sympathetic to the Lady Mary, was a willing tool.

She had seen how similar tactics benefited Anne Boleyn, and now played the role of modest virgin to perfection. When, in March, the King sent her a letter with purse of gold sovereigns, she knelt, kissed the letter, and returned both to the messenger, declaring that she could accept a dowry from the King only when she found a husband.
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Impressed by her virtue, Henry promised that he would not visit or speak to her “except in the presence of one of her relatives.”
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In March, Cromwell vacated his rooms at Greenwich, which afforded secret access to the privy lodgings, and Sir Edward and Lady Seymour were installed there, to act as chaperones when the King came “through certain galleries without being perceived” to pay his chaste addresses to Jane.
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Yet even this degree of privacy did not prevent the truth from leaking out. At the end of March, Cromwell, smiling meaningfully, reassured Chapuys that, “although the King has formerly been rather fond of the ladies, I believe he will henceforth live more chastely, and not change again.” But by then the ambassador knew all about Jane Seymour, whom he regarded as just another in a long line of royal mistresses. Although he referred to her as “the lady whom [the King] serves”—which suggests a courtly rather than sexual relationship—he had no great opinion of her virtue. In writing to the Emperor, “You may imagine whether, being an Englishwoman, and having been long at court, she would not hold it a sin to be still a maid.” He added that there were “plenty of witnesses to the contrary.”
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Far from being the doomed heroine portrayed by many biographers, Queen Anne was in a surprisingly strong position during February, March, and April 1536. Rather than having caused a rift between the royal couple, her miscarriage appears to have excited the King's sympathies towards her, and he clearly had no real intention of ridding himself of her at this time; on the contrary, when it came to the imperial alliance, he would be hot to defend her position as queen.

During these months Anne spent lavishly on clothing and other items for herself and her two-year-old daughter. Among her purchases were fabrics and trimmings for gowns: purple cloth of gold, black and tawny velvet, black damask, carnation and white satin, lambskin, and miniver; she ordered thirteen kirtles of white satin and damask; eight nightgowns, including one of orange tawny silk, one trimmed with miniver, and another edged with Venice gold braid; three cloaks of black satin, embroidered tawny satin and black cloth; black velvet for shoes and slippers (which were made up by her shoemaker, Arnold); ribbon for putting up her hair; tassels and fringing of Florence gold for her “great bed”; decorative attachments for her saddles; leading reins for her mule; caps for her female fool; and green ribbon to adorn her clavichords. For Elizabeth, there was an orange satin gown, a russet velvet kirtle, and pretty embroidered caps. The fabrics were supplied by William Loke, the King's mercer, and the garments—which cost Anne an average of £40 (£12,000) a month)—were made up by her tailor, John Matte.
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The Boleyn faction was still dominant at court, still entrenched at the centre of the web of patronage. In March, Wiltshire's lease of crown property at Rayleigh, Essex, was extended with a rebated rent, and Rochford was made joint tenant. After an Act of Parliament separated the town of King's Lynn from the diocese of Norwich on 14 April, the King granted the town to Wiltshire, along with two dissolved abbeys.
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Around this time, the King gave his approval for his son Richmond, who was now very ill and residing at St. James's Palace, to give his manor of Collyweston to Queen Anne in exchange for Baynard's Castle and Durham House.
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The Emperor was now so eager to conclude an alliance with Henry VIII that he was prepared to be conciliatory. He had recently prevented the Pope from publishing the sentence of excommunication that would deprive Henry of his throne, and now that his aunt Katherine was dead, he was willing to offer the King his support for “the continuation of this last matrimony” with Anne Boleyn, “or otherwise,” in return for Katherine's daughter Mary being declared legitimate.
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Cromwell was convinced that, given the threat of excommunication, an imperial alliance was vital to England's security, and even the Boleyn faction had resolved to abandon their hopes of a new entente with France and support an understanding with Charles.
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Late in March, Chapuys had heard that Cromwell had fallen out with the Queen, probably because of his compliance in vacating his rooms for the Seymours. Cromwell confirmed the rift to Chapuys on 1 April, asserting that Anne hated him and wanted to have him executed. He asked Chapuys how Charles V would feel if the King remarried. Chapuys insisted that the world would never recognise Anne as Henry's true wife, but might accept another lady.
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Henry and Anne, however, were determined to secure the Emperor's acknowledgement of her as Queen and, having granted Chapuys an audience for Easter Tuesday, 18 April, the King arranged matters so that the ambassador, who had hitherto refused to pay Anne the courtesy of kissing her hand, would have every opportunity of paying his respects to her.

When Chapuys arrived at Greenwich on 18 April, he was warmly welcomed at the gates by Rochford. Cromwell then came forward with a message from the King, inviting him to visit Anne and kiss her cheek—a great honour conferred only on those in high favour. Chapuys managed to ignore this summons, but allowed himself to be escorted by Rochford to mass in the chapel royal. When the King and Queen descended from the royal pew to make their offerings, Anne espied the ambassador standing behind the door and turned, “merely to do me reverence.” He bowed in response. Anne hoped to speak with Chapuys at the dinner she was to host in her apartments, but after she had left the chapel with the King she was dismayed to see that the ambassador was not among those who were waiting at her door.

“Why does he not enter, like the other ambassadors?” she asked.

“It is not without good reason,” replied Henry, who had in fact decided to approach Chapuys himself during the coming audience. After dining with Anne, he went to his presence chamber, where Chapuys had eaten in the company of Rochford, and spoke with the ambassador in the privacy of a window embrasure. During the conversation, the King showed himself unexpectedly cool towards the mooted alliance, and insisted that the Emperor apologise for his past behaviour toward Henry and acknowledge Anne as Queen—all in writing. Cromwell, who had certainly exceeded his brief in the negotiations with Charles, and was heavily committed to the alliance, watched in consternation, knowing that the Emperor would never agree to such humiliating terms. The Secretary realised that Anne herself was behind Henry's stand, and afterwards attempted to remonstrate with the King. In vain. Henry was so angry and obstructive that Cromwell deemed it politic to withdraw from court and feign illness.
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He knew now that, while Anne was in power, the Spanish alliance, which he believed was vital to the security of the realm and his own future, would be in jeopardy. Anne was now his enemy and the greatest threat to his career, even his life, and her hold over the King was still considerable. It was at this point, as he told Chapuys on 6 June, that he decided she must be eliminated.
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During the last two weeks of April, in the privacy of his London house, Cromwell hatched the plot that would not only bring Anne down but also purge the Privy Chamber and the court of her supporters. He even made common cause with the Seymours, Carew, Exeter, Montague, and Sir Francis Bryan, who had recently returned to court and was a staunch ally of the Seymours. This unlikely alliance between the champions of conservatism and the chief architect of reform would until recently have been unthinkable, but they now shared a common aim, and Cromwell realised that supporting Jane Seymour offered him his best chance of political survival. Another ally was Chapuys, who obtained the Lady Mary's qualified approval of the plot.
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On 23 April, the King, Norfolk, Wiltshire, and the ailing Richmond were among those who attended the annual chapter meeting of the Order of the Garter at Greenwich. A vacancy had arisen, and in honour of a promise he had made to Francis I, Henry chose Sir Nicholas Carew rather than the other candidate, Lord Rochford. Chapuys mistakenly interpreted this as a sign that the Boleyns were losing favour.
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On that same day, the Queen took it upon herself to reprove Sir Francis Weston for flirting with Madge Shelton, and speculated why Sir Henry Norris had not yet married Madge. Weston pointed out, “Norris comes more into your chamber for Your Grace than he does for Madge.” Anne ignored this, although she did not forget it, and told Weston she had heard he did not love his wife, Anne Pickering. Teasingly, she asked if he was in love with Madge.

“I love one in your household better than both,” he answered meaningfully.

“Who is that?” Anne asked.

“It is yourself,” he declared. The Queen “defied him” and indicated that their talk was at an end.
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It was reported conversations such as this that enabled Cromwell to construct a case against Anne.

The next day, Lord Chancellor Audley authorised Cromwell and Norfolk to head a commission to investigate unspecified cases of treason and other offences committed in Middlesex and Kent.
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It is unlikely that, at this stage, the King was aware that his wife was the object of an inquiry, or that he knew about the patent of oyer that Cromwell had obtained, since the issue of such documents was routine.

In fact, contrary to the opinion of nearly every modern historian, Henry had every reason to be pleased with Anne, for the evidence strongly suggests that she was pregnant again. Just as she had conceived rapidly after the birth of Elizabeth, so her reconciliation with the King after the miscarriage in January had quickly borne fruit. Henry made what was probably an oblique reference to her pregnancy that April, when he rounded on Chapuys for suggesting that God had not thought fit to send him male issue because He had ordained that England should have a female succession. “Am I not a man like other men? Am I not? Am I not?” shouted Henry. “You do not know all my secrets.” On 25 April, in a letter sent to his ambassador Richard Pate in Rome, and duplicated to Gardiner and Wallop in France, Henry announced “the likelihood and appearance that God will send us heirs male,” implying that his “most dear and entirely beloved wife the Queen” was once more expecting a child.
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Had Anne conceived towards the end of February, it would have been possible for the King to state this with some certainty, and clearly he was eager to do so. In the past, royal conceptions had not normally been the subject of official announcements, but the urgent resolution of the succession problem was a matter of vital national importance meriting widespread publicity. On a personal level, too, the King was anxious to show the world that he was capable of fathering an heir, and also to justify his marriage to Anne. It is unthinkable therefore that he, a normally discreet man in such matters, would have made such a statement, knowing that his ambassadors would make it public, if there had been no certain hope of a child.

The news that the Queen might yet bear a son and so render herself invincible must have caused Cromwell considerable alarm, and given him the impetus to bring her down while he had the chance. He was keeping all his options open: at the end of April, he and his fellow conspirators were still discussing the possibility of the royal marriage being annulled.
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But the Queen was in a very strong position: only the most damning charges against her would now suffice to destroy her.

On 29 April, a conversation that Anne had with the musician Mark Smeaton was reported to Cromwell. Smeaton had enjoyed more success than most people of his “poor degree”
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ever dreamed of, but he was acutely aware of being outside the charmed circle that surrounded the Queen, whom he evidently admired. Anne now came upon him standing dejectedly in the “round window” in her apartments.

“Master Smeaton, why are you so sad?” she asked.

“It is no matter,” he replied dejectedly.

Anne answered haughtily, “You may not look to have me speak to you as I would to a nobleman, because you be an inferior person.”