Anne the Saint Page 10

  I fell gracelessly into the chair behind me, unable to breathe at Cromwell’s answer.

  “No good deeds?” I asked breathlessly. “She was the one who —“ I trailed off. It was useless to look back now, to think about how it had been Anne who had argued for better treatment of commoners and who had been so concerned with the poor. Anne who had enforced strict rules of behavior on her ladies and who read from the Bible daily. Anne who had believed in the goodness of mankind.

  “Were there any others?” I asked after a moment.

  “No, Your Majesty,” Cromwell replied. “We do not believe so. Hastings has confessed so fully and his explanation does follow what was found at the sight.”

  “When will his trial begin?” I asked. I wanted nothing more than this man to suffer as Anne had and to disappear from my life.

  “A trial has not yet been scheduled,” Cromwell answered, looking for the first time slightly nervous. “I wished to make a suggestion to Your Majesty.”

  I waved for him to continue.

  “I have thought of a new act that could be affected into law by Your Majesty. It is called the Act of Attainder. It is a simple document to be used against a traitor that will allow for you to declare them guilty and execute them without a trial. With the Act of Attainder, all of the traitor’s lands and goods will be forfeited to the Crown.”

  It sounded like a good plan. As I had learned with Catherine, trials could become messy, and there was no guarantee of their outcome. I wished for this nasty business to be concluded as swiftly as possible. I was prepared to agree with Cromwell’s plan when another thought came upon me.

  What would Anne have thought? Though she too had been frustrated with Catherine, never once had she asked for me to simply dispose of her trial, which had been all Cromwell’s idea. Indeed, I could remember her speaking with Cranmer on occasion about the benefits of trial by jury, a luxury only given to the nobility. They had argued about the benefits and downfalls of that luxury being given to all classes of society.

  “Take the proposal for the Act of Attainder to Archbishop Cranmer,” I finally said. “Have him read it and tell him I will speak with him in the morning on it. I will answer you after that.”

  Cromwell nodded, but his eyes were wide with the idea that I would now be looking to Cranmer for ideas, something I had never done in the past.

  “If that is all?” I asked. Cromwell nodded and, with a bow, left my chambers.

  I sat in my chair for another moment before calling out to Edward Stafford.

  “Have word sent down to the kitchens that I will be dining in public this evening,” I said. Edward gave me a sad smile and bowed before leaving.

  If it had been up to me I would have remained in my chamber. An ordinary man would take longer to grieve, longer to himself. But I thought back to my conversation with Cranmer and stood up, ready to leave my room. I was no ordinary man.

  The next morning I awoke much later than usual, exhausted by my meal the night before. A larger crowd than usual had turned out to see me take my dinner and the continuous courses seemed endless, each movement of sending plates to favorites or waving away particular dishes seeming more like a chore than ever.

  I had awoken and dressed the next morning; tired, but for the first time since Anne’s death I was filled with a desire to accomplish something that day. My motivation had been lacking for some time now. This morning, however, though my bones ached, I was ready to begin my life after Anne.

  Cranmer came to visit me first. I was pleased to begin the day with his steady mind and personality. Though his convictions ran deep, he had no malice in him, and certainly not the excess of energy that came with Charles Brandon or George Boleyn.

  “The Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer!”

  Even my herald seemed more chipper this morning as he announced the archbishop, who came stumbling through the door with his low bow. I was happy to see that in his arms he held not only Cromwell’s proposition on the Act of Attainder but also plans for the new poor houses.

  “Please sit, archbishop,” I said grandly, gesturing towards my table. I took a seat as well and motioned for Edward to bring us two goblets of wine.

  Cranmer, as usual, dropped his papers across the table, a few that had been rolled escaping his clutches and falling to the floor. Though this sometimes sent me into an uproar at his clumsiness, today I could not find the will to yell. I instead waited with patience for him to begin.

  “Your Majesty,” he started, unrolling the Act of Attainder. “Cromwell had this sent to my rooms yesterday evening. I studied it as well as I could, but there was little time for me to truly consider the matter.”

  I frowned at this. Cromwell had spoken to me in the morning; he should have taken the Act directly to Cranmer as I had ordered. Apparently my willingness to take the archbishop’s advice did not extend to Cromwell.

  “Well, I was more concerned with what you believe Queen Anne would have thought of it,” I said briskly, trying to mask how badly saying her name hurt.

  Cranmer took in a sharp breath. “Oh,” he said, looking back down at his paper.

  “Your Majesty, if I may speak freely?” he asked after a moment of scanning the paper once again.

  “I welcome it,” I said, truly meaning it.

  “I do not believe Queen Anne would have approved.”

  I nodded, conceding that he was right. Anne would have fought against this idea with every fiber of her being, it going sorely against the grain of her belief in fairness.

  “Then it will not be done,” I said simply. Cranmer nodded and I then realized that had been one of the easiest decisions I had ever made. Before, dozens of nobles would speak to me about what they thought, and Anne would whirl into my rooms with a cry of “Henry!” if she disagreed with what I was doing. But here had been Cranmer’s opinion and my own, with a reflection on what Anne would have thought. It had been very simple.

  “Now,” I said, pushing aside the useless Act. “I will have you show me the progress being made on the poor houses.”

  Needless to say, Cromwell was not pleased about the addition of the poor houses. As word of Aughton’s success began to pour into the capital, however, more and more houses were being requested all across England. Cranmer had scarce little time to keep up with the requests and much of his time as archbishop was now used to hear cases and determine locations for the homes.

  “Your Majesty, the money from the monasteries —“ Cromwell had said to me one afternoon after a council meeting.

  “Should be directed to Archbishop Cranmer,” I responded immediately. “He will know how best to direct the funds.”

  “Your Majesty,” Cromwell tried again. “I will need to raise taxes if some funds are not diverted to the keeping of the court.”

  I stopped my walk down the narrow hallway and turned to look at the shorter man.

  “You will need to raise taxes?” I asked. “I did not realize that you had the power to do anything.”

  Cromwell stumbled over his apology, but I paid it no heed, turning back down the corridor to reach my apartments. Winter was coming soon and the narrow stone hallways were cold, a chilled wind always traveling down.

  “Send for Archbishop Cranmer,” I ordered a page as soon as I entered my chambers. I had just barely stopped by my fireplace when my herald stepped in.

  “Sir Francis Weston,” my herald cried and a young man entered my chambers quickly, dropping into a deep bow. His dark hair stuck out from all angles underneath his cap but when I allowed him to raise up his bright eyes met mine with a smile.

  “Your Majesty,” he said in welcome.

  “Sir Francis,” I responded, gesturing for him to join me by the fire. Our mutual discovery of Anne’s dead body had strengthened the bond I felt with this much younger man; his wisdom and quick thinking had perhaps saved my life. And he had tried his hardest to save Anne’s. Though his face often brought back painful memories, I could not bring myself to brush this
man aside.

  “I had hoped to beg an audience with Your Majesty,” Francis began. “On a matter of some importance.”

  “I do not have time for it now,” I said. “Make an appointment with Master Cromwell.”

  “I do not believe that Master Cromwell would be sympathetic to what I have to say,” he answered defiantly.

  I looked at him for a long moment, but knew it would be best to hear him out.

  “The Archbishop of Canterbury is on his way,” I relented. “You may speak until he arrives.”

  I took a seat and gestured for Francis to do the same. As always, Edward Stafford was nearby and ready to serve me. In the past months since Anne’s death I had grown to depend on the boy, and he had become the most dedicated page boy I had ever had. His services comforted me to the point that I allowed his younger brother Geoff, still clumsily learning his post, to remain on.

  “I have heard the creation of the houses in Bath and Clare had been a success,” Francis began. “And that seven more towns have written in with requests.”

  “Nine actually,” I answered, not questioning how he knew what should have been a secret among my council members.

  “I am glad to hear that Queen Anne’s plans are progressing,” he said sincerely, looking down sadly.

  “Yes,” I answered. “I am glad to hear you say it is Queen Anne’s plans. I do not know how to make it known that these were her wishes and her vision for the future of England.”

  Francis nodded but made no move to respond. The trial against Hastings was scheduled for after the Christmas season, Cromwell preparing an unbreakable case against him. Before I would not have considered that a man accused of killing a queen could be released. But since Hastings had begun talking, I had learned that there were many people who had hated Anne; not only nobles who she had scorned, but commoners who saw her as the downfall of my marriage with Catherine and the instigator of my break with the Roman Catholic Church.

  I shook my head to forget these faults; it would do me no good to dwell on them now. After all, the damage had been done.

  “What did you come here to speak of?” I asked Francis.

  “Although I am pleased at the progress of the poor houses,” he began. “I am concerned about a matter that Queen Anne also held dear to her.”

  I squinted at the young man, curious where he was taking this. Surely he would not be using the late queen as a play for a more powerful position.

  “Continue,” I said cautiously.

  “Queen Anne spoke often, and with passion, about furthering education throughout the kingdom,” Sir Francis continued, his words coming out in a rush. He leaned forward in his chair, looking at me intently.

  “The money being taken in from the monasteries can fund poor houses, yes,” he said. “But what good are these poor houses, without education for the future?”

  “I seem to remember Queen Anne putting it better,” I responded, sipping some of the ale that Edward had brought me.

  “I admit Your Majesty,” Francis said, sitting back a bit. “I am not a speaker such as Her Majesty was. Nor do I understand the kingdom and the need for education as she did. But I know it was her passion. And to fulfill only half of her dream is to not fulfill it at all.”

  I was not sure if I agreed with that, but I did understand his plea. He was right; in my rush to fulfill Anne’s vision, I had forgotten what she was truly passionate about and listened only to Cranmer.

  “The Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer!”

  As always, Cranmer entered my chambers and dipped into a low bow. He looked exhausted and even more harassed than he had at the council meeting.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, some of his frenzy slipping through his greeting to me.

  “Archbishop, I believe you are acquainted with Sir Francis Weston,” I said. Sir Francis jumped out of his seat and bowed to the archbishop.

  “It is a pleasure, Your Grace,” he said smoothly and both rose from their bows. “Shall I return at another time?”

  “No,” I said, noticing the crestfallen expression that danced across his face. “Stay, Sir Francis. I believe you will be able to assist the Archbishop a great deal.”

  Both men looked at me startled, but came around to sit with me by the fire, the archbishop taking a second chair and Sir Francis a small stool.

  “Begging Your Majesty’s pardon,” Cranmer began. “But I do not understand.”

  “Sir Francis has brought to my attention a very important point,” I said, smiling at the boy. “We have forgotten one of the Queen’s passions.”

  Cranmer smiled sadly.

  “Education,” he said, with a shake of his head. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was lost in my own desires for the poor houses.”

  “I understand,” I said, cutting him off from any more apologies. “But I must admit, archbishop, that you have been worked too hard over these past months.”

  “I can take care of it Your Majesty,” Cranmer said immediately, a terrified tone in his voice. “There is no need —“

  “Peace, archbishop,” I said to him in a tone he had often used with me. “I am not suggesting that there be no further work with the poor houses. I am merely saying that you will oversee what will be done.”

  Cranmer looked at me a little confused.

  “I believe that a committee must be formed,” I explained. “To oversee the poor houses and the expansion of education throughout the country. This is not work for the council. This should be work for you, archbishop, and those who think like you.”

  I nodded over at Sir Francis and the two young men looked at one another with surprise.

  “A secular committee?” Cranmer asked.

  “I believe so,” I said, leaning back and nodding. I was creating this as I talked, the idea coming to me in a flash as I looked into the tired eyes of the archbishop and the passionate eyes of Sir Francis. Together they would accomplish more than the nobles, tied down in their bureaucracy, or the church, always looking to spread the word of Christ. This committee would need neither of those things.

  “This is not for the church, nor is it for the nobles,” I continued. “This is for the queen and those who thought like her. Those who fought for her —“ I paused for a minute, looking for the correct words.

  “Those looking to her utopian society.”

  Chapter Nine

  September, 1544

  It had been ten years. Ten year since Queen Anne had died. There was not a day that did not pass that I wished for her presence.

  Of course, life had continued. Our son was older now and had come to live with the court — I broke ancient protocol by keeping him with me, but after the death of his mother there was no notion of sending him away. The boy was strong, blessed with my red hair but possessing his mother’s dark eyes. He had already mastered her art of quieting an opponent with a glance.

  Eight years ago, I had finally been pressed upon to marry again. I knew better than anyone that one son was not enough to secure an empire, and had dispatched the court painter over Europe to bring me portraits of the eligible young ladies of the court.

  One portrait had returned more stunning than the others. Christina of Denmark was soon sent for, and though she was younger than my daughter Mary, had proved a suitable, if formidable match. Upon arriving in England, the fifteen-year-old had not traveled to London or to Hampton Court where I was currently residing. Instead, she traveled out into the countryside to the More.

  When Christina arrived at the court and was brought into my presence, I was stunned by her beauty and angered by her disobedience. The pale-faced, dark-haired beauty immediately dropped to her knees and held out a small envelope bearing Catherine’s seal.

  “Your Majesty,” her sweet voice rang out with only a trace of an accent. “I bring you a present.”

  I reached down for it myself and lifted it up to break open the seal. Inside was a handwritten letter by Catherine acknowledging our annulment, as well as noting my son
Charles as in line for the throne above her daughter Mary.

  I stared down at this young girl. In the year since I had banished Catherine, I had done everything I could think of to bring this about. The Spanish ambassador had failed, the Duke of Suffolk had failed, even her own daughter had failed. And here this young girl from Denmark had succeeded.

  Motioning for her to rise, I passed the letter off to Sir George Boleyn, Lord Rochford who now ran my court. His eyes did not betray the contents of the letters and I nodded, knowing that I had an able commander over my affairs.

  Christina came out of her bow gracefully, her light eyes darting up to meet mine in a challenge. Instead I smiled, pleased to have a quick witted woman by me again.

  “Come,” I said, motioning for her to join me on the dais.

  After Catherine turned, it was an easy matter to convince Mary as well. Christina traveled to Mary’s establishment and spoke with her. Like with Catherine, I never knew what was said between the women. I only knew that Christina received results.

  Fortunately, we received results in the bedroom as well. Within a year, Christina gave birth to a healthy baby girl who she named Elizabeth after my mother. Unlike during the birth of my other children, Christina gave me no say in the matter of what they would be named. I was thankful that I never had to bite down on the desire to call the little girl Anne.

  Two years after that a boy followed, this time named Christian after her father. Catherine died on the same day the boy was born, and I felt emotional enough to open up to my wife, telling her why I never wanted a boy named Henry again. After seeing two of Catherine’s sons die with the name, it had started to feel like a curse.

  No more births followed Christian, but for the first time in my life I was content with my family. Christina accepted her place as the first lady of the court and second place in my heart, never questioning me about Anne. Elizabeth and Christian adored their older brother Charles, and after a suitable period, Mary came to join the court as well.