The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn (35 page)

16 May 1536

Diary,

My friend the Archbishop Cranmer has visited me. I thought, fleetingly, that he had come with my pardon from the King — banishment perhaps to a distant convent. But the only leniency which Cranmer brought this day was painless death. I am not to be burnt, for that was not the Kings pleasure. Poor Cranmer — thin as a sword, his nose a great beak and his eyes dull with agony. He smelt of incense as tho he had knelt for hours in a smoky chapel. But his voice was strong and never wavered as he greeted me warmly and managed a smile. But he had little time, and so presently informed me of the mission on which he’d been sent by Secretary Cromwell.

“The King and Cromwell were well apprised of my disposition,” he said, “for I had written to Henry after your arrest that I never had a better opinion of a woman than I had in you, and that next to His Majesty I was bound to you, of all creatures living.”

“You wrote that to Henry?”

“Of course I did, for it was true.”

“It was very brave of you, Thomas.”

He cleared his throat. “The King is determined to have this new marriage, Anne, and wants no impediment. Moreover he demands that Elizabeth … be named a bastard.”

I reeled from these terrible words, as tho struck by a great hand. All my good works on my child’s behalf had been in vain.

“So my death is not enough?”

“Just days before your trial he tried once again to bully Henry Percy into signing a statement affirming your precontract of marriage with him. Percy was very weak and ill, but refused. Now the King requires you to furnish proof that your marriage to him self was null and void.”

“
I
furnish proof?”

“Yes. You may either contradict Lord Northumberland and claim you did have a precontract with him, or you may inform the King of his affair with your sister, which will place you in too close an affinity for a legal marriage.”

“So the King must be informed by
me
that he fornicated with Mary

“Do not ask me to make sense of Henry’s mind. You know that is impossible.”

But my own mind was suddenly awash with new possibilities. “If we were never married, Cranmer, then does it not follow that I was never Queen?”

“Yes.”

“And adultery in other than a queen is never treason.”

“I see the path of your logic, Madame, but it is sadly” — he stumbled on the words — “not the Kings desire that you live. He wishes only that Elizabeth be proclaimed illegitimate.”

“Tell me, was this Cromwell’s plan?”

“Quite so. I have traced it back to the meetings with Ambassador Chapuys on the Imperial Alliance. You remember that when those negotiations broke down Cromwell took to his bed for five days claiming indisposition? I think he must have lain abed planning this scheme, for he emerged from his cocoon like some malevolent butterfly with deadly wings outstretched to enfold his prey. That prey was you, Madame. He gathered your enemies, all the spies in your house, to give evidence against you. He had Mark Smeaton brought to his house on Throgsneck Street on the pretense that the poor boy should play for him. They tortured a confession out of him.”

“I thought as much. But why? Why did Cromwell do it? Did he not twist and overwork the law and man’s reasoning beyond imagining to make my marriage to Henry possible?”

“You forget he is a butterfly taken up by which ever wind is the strongest.”

“Yes, and there is only one wind in England,” said I bitterly. “Its name is Henry.”

“Remember that Cromwell once spoke fervently for the Imperial Alliance, but when the King came out against it, the Secretary knew he had chosen sides wrongly. There was only one thing left he could give Henry to please him. A new marriage to Jane Seymour. A marriage with no impediments.”

“But does Henry honestly wish to see me dead? He loved me once, Cranmer. With his heart and soul he loved me. You know as well as I what he did in order to have me.”

“And you know that with a man like Henry the pendulum of passion swings as far to one side as the other. Madame, I fear …” He paused as tho the words were too thick in his mouth to fall from it. “I fear if you do not give him what he wants, it will not go well for Elizabeth.”

The blood ceased to flow within my veins and I shuddered.

“Would he kill her too?”

“King Henry is capable of great evil, and murdering his own daughter, if it satisfied his need, is conceivable to him. He or his incubus Cromwell could find some reasoning, the same as he found for murdering you. You are a witch, therefore your child is one too. Or perhaps being a bastard will make her marriage prospects dim and the girl becomes expendable, even a liability. Anything is possible. For the King is mad.”

“You speak treason, Archbishop.”

“If the truth is treason, then I am justly accused.”

“I was condemned on a lie.”

“As we all know, Madame.” He could not bear to look at me for his shame, and stared out the window to Tower Green. But when his eyes lingered and fixed outside and his jaw hardened into a grimace, I looked to see what he regarded so intently. Pairs of workmen carried many raw wooden boards to the center of the lawn and piled them there next to the scaffold where Thomas More had died.

“You asked if the King had no love left for you. I think perhaps one flicker remains in that torch which once burnt so fiercely. He has sent to Calais for the finest headsman on the Continent, so that your execution … so that it should be cleanly done.”

His words sent a wave of fear thro my body, but when it passed I was calm and could afford a small irony. “Ah, I hear the headsmen from Calais are very good. And I have a little neck. It should be an elegant occasion.”

“O Your Majesty!” Cranmer fell to his knees before me, took up my hands and kissed them, weeping bitterly.

“Come my friend, don’t cry for me. I think that this ending which seems so cruel and unjust is part of God’s plan which may not be well understood by our selves, but perfect in his eyes.”

I said this to ease his mind, tho ‘twas not the truth in my heart. But it did ease him. Before long he wiped the wetness from his cheeks and I helped him to his feet.

“I am ashamed that you speak the comforting words that should be mine to you.”

“Never mind. Bring me quill and parchment and I will write the document that Henry wishes to have.” When Cranmer had provided these things I sat and wrote in a confession that I had in deed been precontracted to Henry Percy, and that I was closely related to the King by degrees of affinity with my sister, and also how I had bewitched him and that he was no longer bound by these false ties to me in marriage. I granted that our daughter was illegitimate and then I signed “Anne, Marquess de Pembroke” to the paper. As I blotted the ink most carefully, for there could be no doubt and no mistake on this statement, I asked Cranmer what would become of him.

“I am safe, I suppose. Certain members of the Privy Council called me to the Star Chamber and they made me full aware of my duty to appear as believing your guilt. Lord Sussex made sure to remind me of our favorite prophecy, Then will be burned two or three Bishops and a Queen.’”

“As tho you needed reminding you could fall with me.”

Cranmer closed his eyes and threw back his head, his lips pressed grimly together. “I deserted you, Your Majesty. But please believe me, it was not of cowardice. You were already lost and my support at such a point was of no account. I must survive to continue the work of the New Church.”

“I know, Cranmer, you did well. I shall pray with my last breath that you succeed and that England never fall beneath the yoke of Rome again.” He looked unspeakably sad. “Will you ever see your Dutch wife again?” I asked.

“I think not. ‘Twas a foolish act, that marriage.”

“But you married for love, Cranmer. That is very rare, but never foolish. Mayhaps when Henry tires of your services you might travel again to Holland and see her.”

He chuckled at the thought and smiled.

“Yes, mayhaps. Thank you, Your Majesty, for thinking of me at so difficult a moment for your self. I swear I know no one kinder than you.”

Then the good priest heard my last confession and gave me gentle penance for my sins. It was time for him to take his leave. As he rolled the damning document and placed it in a pouch he said he would not tell me to be brave, for I was more brave than he could ever hope to be. Then he bid me adieu and said that he would pray with all his heart for my soul. I kissed him then and let him go.

I felt a strange happiness enwrap me, as tho a thick shawl had been thrown upon my shoulders, for the man’s presence had been a fine gift to me from Henry, and I knew that I had done all I could do to protect my sweet and innocent child.

Yours faithfully,

Anne