The King's Secret Matter (38 page)

Thomas Abell bowed low before the King.

‘Now to our business,' said Henry.

‘It is His Grace's wish,' said the Cardinal, ‘that you should leave at once for Spain. You are to go to the Emperor and hand him a letter from the Queen. He will give you a certain document, and this you are to bring to His Grace with all speed.'

‘Your Grace, Your Eminence,' said Thomas Abell, ‘gladly would I serve you, but I must tell you that I have little Spanish and I fear that would be an impediment to me in this mission.'

Henry looked at Wolsey who said quickly: ‘You shall take a servant and interpreter with you.'

‘Then I shall set out with all speed. There is a man in the Queen's household who would make a good servant and is moreover a Spaniard. I refer to Montoya. If this man could accompany me I should have no qualms in setting out immediately.'

‘Let it be so,' said the Cardinal. ‘You should leave tomorrow, and in the meantime it is His Grace's wish that you should have no communication with the Queen. You must carry with you, apart from this one, no letters from the Queen to the Emperor. To do this would incur the King's displeasure and, as you know, you could then be accused of high treason.'

Thomas Abell said he understood, and withdrew in order to
make his preparations for the journey, while Wolsey summoned Montoya that the importance of his journey might be impressed upon him.

When he left the King and the Cardinal, Thomas Abell was thoughtful. He was to carry a letter from the Queen to the Emperor, and this letter was to be given him by the Cardinal. He was not to take any other message from the Queen to her nephew. It therefore seemed to him that the letter which he carried, although in the Queen's hand-writing and purporting to express her wishes, had no doubt been written under duress.

Thomas Abell was a deeply religious man. His position at Court had by no means increased his ambitions, which were not for worldly gain. He was a man who cared passionately for causes; and it seemed to him that the Queen's cause was more worthy than the King's.

There had been a moment, as he confronted the King and Cardinal, when he had almost refused to obey their orders. No, he wanted to say, I refuse to work against the Queen in this matter of the divorce.

That would doubtless have been construed as high treason and he might have been hustled to the Tower. Such a possibility would not have deterred him in the least. Indeed, he had a secret longing for a martyr's crown. But it had occurred to him that by accepting this commission he might serve the Queen's cause more effectively than by refusing it.

He obeyed the instructions and did not see the Queen before he left, her letter safely in his scrip; the voluble Montoya riding beside him.

They travelled across France and the journey was tedious; but there was much to talk of as they went, for Montoya was well versed in what was known throughout the Court as the
Secret Matter; he filled in gaps for Abell; so that long before they came into Spain, the chaplain knew that the Queen had been forced to write the letter he carried, that she knew that, once the brief left the Emperor's safe keeping, her case was lost, that she had tried to reach him by means of Franciso Felipez who had been set upon and all but killed by the Cardinal's men.

So Abell made up his mind; and when he reached Spain and was taken into the Emperor's presence, with Montoya to translate, he told the Emperor that the Queen had been forced to write the letter asking for the brief, and that unless the Emperor kept the original in his hands the Queen would have no redress; he had, moreover, worked out a plan that a notorially attested copy, which would be valid in any court, should be made and the original kept in safety in Spain.

The Emperor listened gravely and thanked the chaplain, who he saw was his aunt's very good friend. He assured Abell that the copy should be made and he himself would ensure that the original brief would be kept in the royal archives at Madrid.

Abell was delighted with the success of his mission and, while he waited for the copy of the brief to be made, he started to write a book in which he set out the Queen's case; and the more he worked, the clearer it became to him that the King based his desire for a divorce on false premises.

Abell now had a cause for which he was ready to give his life.

He was eager to return to England, there to hand the copy of the brief to Wolsey, and complete his book which he would eventually publish, no matter what the consequences should be.

Chapter IX

H
enry 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 favour 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 endeavoured 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 rumours 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 fulfil.'

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.