The Mysteries of Tudor England: Heretic and the Woes of Marriage

In 1517 or 1518, some Cambridge scholars began meeting at the White Horse Tavern in the city, where like undergraduates before and since, they debated the intellectual issues of the time. The pressing matters of this period, however, were all concerned with religion, which was at the heart of 16th century debate. Some of these scholars, with all the ardor of youth, were attracted to new and potentially subversive doctrines. Reform was in the air. Some wished to return to the simple piety of movements known as the poor Catholics or the Humiliati. They sought to eschew the pomp and ceremony of the medieval church and to cultivate what was called Devotio Moderna or modern devotion. Others wished to return to the words of the scriptures, particularly the New Testament. The published works of Desiderius Erasmus had already infused theological inquiry with a pure spirit. While serving as Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity at Queen's College, Cambridge, he completed a Greek and Latin translation of the New Testament, which seemed destined to supersede the old Vulgate that had been in use for a thousand years. Through an act of historical scholarship, Erasmus revived something of the spirit of early Christian revelation. He believed that the rituals and formal theology of the church were less important than the spiritual reception of the scriptures message. An inward faith was more efficacious than mere conformity to external worship. If you approach the scriptures in all humility, he wrote, you will perceive that you have been breathed upon by the holy will. Through satire, he attacked excessive devotion to relics, the over-reliance on pilgrimages, and the degeneration of monastic orders. He rarely mentioned the sacraments that formed part of the divine machinery of orthodox faith. Though he never advanced into outright heresy, Erasmus was as much a dissolvent of conventional piety as Luther or Wycliffe. Without Erasmus, neither Luther nor Tyndale could have translated the Greek testament. He also entertained the hope that the scriptures would be freely available to everyone. One scholar who attended the White Horse meetings, Thomas Bilney, declared that upon reading Erasmus, at last I heard of Jesus. Bilney was later burned at the stake. Erasmus has conventionally been described as a humanist, although the word in this sense did not appear until the early 19th century. In general, humanism was concerned with the renovation of education and scholarship through the study of newly found or newly translated classical models. It brought with it a profound skepticism toward medieval authority and a scholastic theology that supported it. This new learning opened the windows of the church in search of light and fresh air. The somewhat commonplace anti-clericalism of the Lollids had become outdated in an age of constructive criticism and reform, and it seemed likely that the universal church would be able to renew itself. In the autumn of 1517, Martin Luther spoke out, lending a more fiery and dogmatic charge to the general calls for reform. He was close to Erasmus in many respects, but quickly moved beyond him in asserting justification by faith alone. Faith, he argued, was a gift from God to the individual, independent of rituals and priestly mediation. The church could not, and should not, come between Christ and the aspiring soul. A person saved by the sacrifice of Christ would be granted eternal life. Grace would lift the soul to heaven. For those not saved by faith, the only destination was everlasting fire. In a series of pamphlets, Luther attacked the beliefs and hierarchies of the Orthodox faith. He declared that the Pope in Rome was the Antichrist. He reduced the seven sacraments of the church to only two, baptism and holy communion. Every good Christian man, he insisted, was already a priest. Grace and faith alone were sufficient for salvation. The words of Scripture should stand alone. I will talk no more with this animal, Cardinal Cajetan wrote after conferring for he has deep eyes and wonderful speculations in his head. Luther's ideas had been read and discussed in Cambridge ever since he had nailed his 95 theses to the door of the castle church in Wittenberg. The White Horse Tavern became nicknamed Germany because the Lutheran creed was debated within its walls, and its participants were known as Germans. They were, however, an eclectic group. Among them were Thomas Cramer, William Tyndale, Nicholas Ridley, and Matthew Parker. Two would become archbishops, seven would become bishops, and eight would be burned at the stake. It was an exhilarating yet perilous time. The reading of Luther deepened the convictions of some who debated at the White Horse. The doctrine of justification by faith alone had no parallel in Wycliffe, but many other anti-clerical doctrines have been expressed over the previous two centuries. Never before, however, had they been shaped with such cogency and coherence. The pulpit of the small Cambridge church of St. Edward, King and Martyr, became the platform from which preachers like Thomas Bilney, Robert Barnes, and Hugh Latimer proclaimed the new truths. Faith alone justified. Works did not profit. If one could simply believe that Jesus Christ shed his precious blood and died on the cross for their sins, that belief alone would be sufficient for salvation. There was no need for priests, bishops, or even cardinals. In the spring of 1518, at the king's urgent instigation, Cardinal Wolsey was appointed papal legate, becoming the representative of Rome at a court where he was already chief minister. He embodied everything that the reformers abhorred. He was the whore in Scarlet. Whenever he made a submission as the pope's envoy, he would leave the court and then ceremonially reappear in his fresh role. Yet there was no disguising the fact that both the church and the royal council were now guided by the same hand. The king was acutely aware of this and would later assert his sovereignty over both institutions. Wolsey taught Henry that it was possible to administer and effectively run the church without external interference. The king would later assume the cardinal's role and, in doing so, greatly expanded. As papal legate, Wolsey had additional power to reform the English church. In the spring of 1519, he sent visitors to various monasteries to document the conditions and habits of the monks. Unsurprisingly, they found various levels of disorder and abuse. The abbot brought his hounds into the church, the monks sought solace in the taverns, and the prior had been seen with the miller's wife. Such lapses had long been part of monastic life and were largely tolerated as the way of the world. But Wolsey punished the principal offenders and issued strict regulations to guide future conduct. His severity did not prevent him from amassing great wealth. He held in succession the bishoprics of Bath and Wells, Durham, and Winchester, in addition to the Archbishopric of York. In 1521, he obtained the richest abbey in the land, St. Albans. His tables groaned with gold and silver plate, and his palaces were adorned with the finest tapestries. Wolsey was, without doubt, the richest man in England. He always maintained, however, that his magnificence served to sustain the power of the church. At a slightly later date, he suppressed 29 monastic houses and used their revenues to fund a school in Ipswich and Cardinals College, Oxford. The obscure devotions of a few monks and nuns, he believed, should not hinder a great educational enterprise. He was committed to both good learning and good governance, seeing them as inseparable. Even as the church was being denounced and threatened by the new men, its work continued. By the end of 1520, Luther's doctrines were deemed heretical, and his books were banned. They smelled of the frying pan, resting on the fires of Smithfield and hell itself. In the spring of 1521, Wolsey burned Luther's texts in a grand ceremony at St. Paul's churchyard. It was already too late to staunch the spread of the new doctrines. Luther's books entered England through the ports of the Low Countries and the cities of the Rhineland, smuggled as contraband hidden in sacks of cloth. Yet these tracts did not only reach the disaffected, they also reached the king. On April 21st, 1521, Henry VIII was seen reading Luther's De Captivitate Babylonica Ecclesi on the Babylonian captivity of the church. The following month, he wrote to Pope Leo X, affirming his determination to suppress the heresies contained in that work. Wolsey suggested to the king that he might distinguish himself from other European princes by demonstrating not only his orthodoxy, but also his erudition. With the assistance of royal servants such as Thomas More, Henry composed a reply to Though not a brilliant or captivating work, it served its purpose. The pope professed his delight and conferred upon Henry the title Fidei Defensor. Originally, the title was not meant to be inherited, yet the English monarchy has retained it ever since. Luther, in response, wrote a scathing rebuttal in which he denounced Henry as the king of lies and a damnable and rotten worm. Consequently, Henry never developed any sympathy for Lutheranism and, in most respects, remained a staunch Catholic. Two months after granting Henry his title, Pope Leo X died. Some believed that Wolsey himself might ascend to the papacy, yet an Englishman was never a likely candidate. Besides, Wolsey had pressing matters to attend to in England. His visitations of the monasteries were just one aspect of his broader clerical reform agenda. He drafted new constitutions for the secular clergy and imposed revised statutes on Benedictine and Augustinian monks. He influenced 20 monastic elections to ensure favorable outcomes for his candidates and In the spring of 1523, he dissolved the convocation of senior clergy at Canterbury and summoned them to Westminster, where he imposed a new system of taxation on their wealth. Bishops and archbishops were now required to pay him a tribute before assuming their jurisdictions. He also proposed reforms in the ecclesiastical courts, asserting that all matters concerning wills and inheritances should be under his authority. Not since the reign of Henry II had the church been so tightly administered. His frequent issuance of papal bulls, letters, and charters sanctioned by the Vatican further inflamed English bishops against him. Yet Wolsey remained shielded by the king's favor. He was carrying out Henry's will, and his dominance effectively ensured royal supremacy. At this stage, however, the question of doctrinal reform did not arise. Wolsey's primary concerns were the discipline and efficiency of the church rather than the suppression of heresy. As papal legate, Wolsey had other responsibilities, including efforts to bring peace among the Christian princes of Europe in preparation for a unified crusade against the Turks. A master of diplomacy, he spent much of 1518 negotiating with Maximilian of the Holy Roman Empire, Francis of France, and Charles of Spain. That autumn, their representatives came to London and swore an oath to a universal peace, formalized as the Treaty of London. This diplomatic triumph belonged to Wolsey, and he claimed full credit for it. Though the treaty made a passing reference to the possibility of a crusade, the pope was mentioned only as it comes, associate in negotiations. We can see, one cardinal observed, what the Holy See and the pope have to expect from the English Chancellor. Wolsey was at the height of his power. During his 14 years as Lord Chancellor, he summoned Parliament only once. When a Venetian ambassador first arrived in England, Wolsey would say, his majesty will do so and so. Over time, this changed to we shall do so and so, and finally, I will do so and so. Yet he always understood where true authority lay. He remained in control of affairs only as long as he obeyed the king's will. The Treaty of London, though Wolsey's personal achievement, was also a triumph for Henry. The king's honor was paramount in all foreign policy calculations. Henry himself seemed pleased with the accomplishment. We want all potentates to content themselves with their own territories, he told the Venetian ambassador, and we are satisfied with this island of ours. During this period, he even composed verses reflecting his contentment. The best ensue, the worst eschew, my mind shall be, virtue to use, vice refuse, thus shall I use me. However, Henry's satisfaction was short-lived. In February 1519, the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian died and was succeeded by his grandson, Charles of Spain. At just 19 years old, Charles now ruled over Austria, Poland, Switzerland, Germany, and the Low Countries in addition to Spain. He had become the most powerful ruler in Christendom, and his influence would determine the fate of half of Europe. The three young kings now engaged in elaborate ceremonies of peace that could just as easily be construed as games of war. In the summer of 1520, Henry set sail for France aboard the Great Harry, accompanied by a retinue of 4,000 men, on his way to meet the French king. He traveled in magnificent splendor, and the site of their meeting became known as the Field of Cloth of Gold. The Vale of Ardours, near the English enclave of Calais, had been transformed into a spectacle of grandeur, adorned with pavilions, palaces, towers, gateways, artificial lakes, bridges, statues, and fountains that flowed with beer and wine. Henry was dressed in what was called fine gold and bullion, while Francis, in turn, was said to be too dazzling to look upon. The event combined solemn religious masses with justs, feats of arms, and wrestling matches, all unfolding over 17 days of celebration. It was hailed as the eighth wonder of the world. In such spectacles, the significance of treaties lay not in their written terms, but in the grandeur of their making. They were expressions of dominance rather than genuinity. Yet, behind the lavish displays, secret dealings unfolded. Even before Henry departed for France, Charles of Spain had arrived in Dover, where he was personally welcomed by the English king. Charles was escorted with great ceremony to Canterbury, where he met his aunt, Catherine of Aragon, for the first time. Three days of feasting and dancing were punctuated by hours of negotiation. After his grand meeting with the French king at the Field of Cloth of Gold, Henry proceeded to Calais, where he once again conspired with Charles. All their plans were directed against France. Henry, ever ambitious, still viewed the French crown as his rightful inheritance. While sovereigns slept beneath golden pavilions, the streets of London told a different tale. The city watch patrolled the summer nights in search of suspected persons. Reports from the time detail a tailor and two servants gambling with cards and dice until four in the morning, when their game was forcibly halted and they were brought before the constable. In Southwark and Stepney, authorities scoured the streets for vagabonds and misbehaved persons, uncovering numerous masterless men living in dilapidated tenements. Ten Germans were apprehended in Southwark. Elsewhere, the watch discovered an old drab and a young wench lying on a filthy sheet in a cellar. While upstairs, Hugh Lewis and Alice Ball were taken in bed together, not being man and wife. At the Rose Tavern in Westminster, in Southwick was questioned on suspicion of being a prostitute. Carters were found asleep against the walls of the tavern. Mowers, haymakers, and tile and brickmakers were dutifully recorded as lodging peacefully in the inns of the suburbs. Life in London carried on, and so the summer passed. Rumors of the king's infidelities were ever present. His liaison with and Stafford was followed by others, and in the autumn of 1514, he began a five-year affair with Elizabeth or Bessie Blunt. Their trysting place was a house called Jericho in Essex. His entourage was commanded to maintain strict silence regarding his visits, and the grooms of the privy chamber were explicitly instructed not to hearken or inquire where the king is or goeth. They were forbidden to discuss the king's pastime or his late or early going to The affair bore fruit in 1519 with the birth of a son named Henry Fitzroy or Henry, son of the king. He would later be created Duke of Richmond. Elizabeth Blunt was duly rewarded with a prestigious marriage and remained in Henry's favor. Other young women were undoubtedly installed in Jericho for the king's pleasure, but the next to be named by history was Mary Bullen. Conveniently married to a gentleman of the king's household, she became Henry's mistress in 1520 under the cover of the court, though now best known as the sister of the other Bullen girl. Her relationship with Henry lasted for approximately five years. In 1523, he named one of the new royal ships the Mary Bullen, and two years later, her father was elevated to the peerage as Viscount Rockford. By this time, however, the king had become enamored of the younger Bullen daughter. The precise date of his first encounter with and Bullen remains unknown, but by 1523, she had already drawn the attention of Thomas Wolsey. Her attachment to Henry Percy, heir to the earldom of Northumberland, was deemed unacceptable. Percy was sent back to the north and was expelled from court. Wolsey's usher, George Cavendish, reported that she was so enraged that she smoked. Only after this event, then, is it likely that she caught the king's eye. Soon, he was enthralled by her. Though her complexion was described as rather dark, she had fine eyes and lustrous hair. Her narrow, oval face, high cheekbones, and small breasts would later be inherited by her eminent daughter. Early portraits depict her as pert and vivacious, but in later depictions, there is an evident wariness. So many conflicting accounts exist of her character that forming a true judgment is impossible. However, it is undeniable that she was resourceful and quick-witted. She could not have survived the intrigues of court life otherwise. She loved music and excelled at dancing. It has often been suggested that, through charm and persuasion, she managed to resist Henry's advances until she was certain of becoming his wife. However, it is equally plausible that Henry himself sought to ensure a formal union that would render any offspring legitimate. Catherine of Aragon was well aware of She even requested that Erasmus write a treatise titled De Servando Conjugio. She knew of Henry Fitzroy's existence and was deeply offended when he was brought to court precisely at the time when it had become clear that she could bear no more children. Henry had, in any case, turned away from her. Approaching forty, she had lost the grace of her youth, and the young king of France had cruelly described her as ugly and deformed. Perhaps as a consequence, Henry no longer visited her bed. Most importantly, she had failed in her foremost duty. Certain doubts had already begun to fester in Henry's mind. He had read the passage in Leviticus that forbade a man from marrying his dead brother's widow. Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy brother's wife. It is thy brother's nakedness. The penalty for such a transgression, it's stated, would be barrenness. Henry himself had referenced Leviticus in his treatise against Luther, in which he had also alluded to the severe and inflexible justice of God. What if his marriage had defied divine law? In Leviticus, God warns, I will even appoint over you terror, consumption, and the burning Had God denied him a male heir as punishment for his sin? In matters of succession, Henry could be ruthless. He had already demonstrated that the wrath of the king meant death. Should he himself die without an heir, Edward Stafford, the third duke of Buckingham, was considered the most likely successor. After all, he was a descendant of Thomas Woodstock, a son of Edward III. For this, he was viewed with suspicion. In the spring of 1521, Henry personally interrogated the duke's servants in search of evidence of treason. The principal charge against Buckingham was that he had consulted a monkish necromancer who had foretold that Henry would have no male issue and that he should have all. Buckingham had also purchased inordinate amounts of cloth of gold and cloth of silver, raising further suspicion. One of his servants even alleged that the duke had planned to enter the king's presence, having upon him secretly a knife. As expected, he was found guilty by seventeen of his peers and executed on Tower Green. At the time, it was widely believed that Woolsey had orchestrated Buckingham's downfall. But at the root of it all lay Henry's overwhelming need to secure his dynasty. For now, he may have placed his hopes in his illegitimate son, Henry Fitzroy, but there was no precedent for a bastard inheriting the English throne. There was always Princess Mary, who had already been given her own court. Yet, there had been only one queen regnant in English history, and Matilda had never officially taken the title. Already, Henry was contemplating the possibility of a new bride. In the meantime, Mary could serve other purposes. At the age of two, she had been promised to the son of Francis I. Then, only four years later, she was formally betrothed to Charles V. What could be more fitting than for her to become the wife of the Holy Roman Emperor and Sovereign of Spain? Yet, these were not merely games of betrothal. They were games of war. In the summer of 1521, Henry entered into a treaty with Charles against Francis I and promised to send a great army of 30,000 foot soldiers and 10,000 horsemen into French territory. Yet, the desire for war breeds an appetite for money. That is why Wolsey soon began demanding new revenues from the church. In March 1522, he initiated a great national inquiry to assess the wealth of each individual and the military capacity of every male. The taxes raised were labeled as loans, but in reality, they were never repaid. Two months later, the Earl of Surrey led a large force into northern France, though to no significant effect. Meanwhile, Charles sailed to England and was formally affianced to Princess Mary. On his journey upriver from Gravesend to Greenwich, the Emperor's barges were perfumed with sweet herbs to mask the foul stench of the Thames. In the spring of the following year, Parliament was convened to discuss what Wolsey called the There has been, a contemporary reported, the greatest and sorest dispute in the lower house over the payment of two shillings per pound that has ever been seen, I think, in any Parliament. This matter has been debated and contested for 15 or 16 days together. The land tax was unprecedented. The Speaker of the House, Thomas More, used his powers of persuasion to secure its passage. This was also the Parliamentary session where Thomas Cromwell first gained notice. Already a merchant, scrivener, cloth dyer, and moneylender, his various occupations testified to his skill and acumen in worldly affairs. He would soon enter Gravesend to train as a lawyer. In a speech to his colleagues, he volunteered to utter my poor mind. He urged the King to remain in England rather than risk his life campaigning in France, while also emphasizing the importance of maintaining supply lines or viddling. He concluded with an old maxim, he who intends to win France must first begin with Scotland. Cromwell was not enthusiastic about the Parliamentary debates. He wrote to a friend that for 16 whole weeks we debated war, peace, strife, contention, debate, murmur, grievance, riches, poverty, penury, truth, falsehood, justice, equity, deceit, oppression, magnanimity, activity, and force, only to end where we began. He did admit, however, that the Commons had granted the King a right large subsidy, the like of which had never been granted in this realm before. Thus, in the summer of 1523, the Grand Enterprise was undertaken. Under the command of the Duke of Suffolk, 10,000 men sailed to Calais. In both girth and grandeur, he was a suitable substitute for the King. Initially, he intended to lay siege to Boulogne to gain another port for England. However, Henry and Wolsey urged him to march on Paris, hoping that, with the support of Charles V and other allies, they could strike at the heart of Yet war is fickle. The allies were captured, surrounded, or fled from battle. Rain, mud, and disease ravaged the English forces outside Paris, ultimately forcing them to retreat. In the vortex of war, strange misfortunes and conflicts arose. The city-states of Renaissance Italy, the true cause of the confrontation between Francis and Charles, were put in great peril. Scotland, in alignment with its historic alliance with France, threatened invasion with French assistance. Meanwhile, with the European princes embroiled in conflict, the Turks moved ever closer to their goal of conquering the eastern parts of the continent. No one could see a way forward because, in truth, there was none. It was a wearying tale of battles and sieges, invasions and retreats, leaving all the participants in roughly the same position as before. Yet one more tremor of martial fervor remained. At the beginning of 1525, the Spanish imperial army won a resounding victory at the Battle of Pavia, capturing the French king and decimating much of his nobility. In his excitement, Henry envisioned another grand coalition with Spain, intending, as he put it, to get full satisfaction from France. But Charles V, now the master of Europe, saw little need to share the spoils of victory with Henry. Nonetheless, the English king continued to dream and to scheme. Henry and Wolsey sought to raise funds for another campaign through a forced loan euphemistically termed the Amicable Grant. Yet there was nothing amicable about it. By royal prerogative, a tax of one-sixth was demanded from the laity and one-fourth from the clergy. However, the people of England had grown weary of a war driven solely by the king's desire for honor and glory. War disrupted commerce between European nations and inflated the prices of basic goods like meat and drink, unsettling the economy. Since many English soldiers were drawn from agricultural laborers, their absence also harmed farming productivity. War may have served the king's interests, but it brought no benefit to the country. What was the point, after all, of invading and conquering France? A ballad writer criticized Wolsey. By the out of service many are constrained. In course of merchandise thou hast restrained. Wherefore men sigh and sob. War was bad for business. Much of England's foreign trade flowed through ant work, where the major export was The Flemish used to say, The cloth trade doubled in value during Henry's reign, strengthening the influence of the powerful merchant guild known as the Merchant Adventurers. From this period, we can mark the rise of the English merchant class. Anything that threatened or disrupted trade was widely condemned. So, the resistance to the tax was open and sometimes violent, for thousand men took up arms in Suffolk and tax commissioners were beaten off in Kent. The citizens of London refused to pay on the grounds that the exactions were unlawful. In Cambridge and Lincolnshire, the people were looking out for a stir. When a Duke of Norfolk asked to consult with the captain of the rebels in his own shire, he was told that his name is Poverty, for he and his cousin Necessity have brought us to this doing. The risk of another general revolt, like that of 1381, was too great to be ignored. A similar uprising was already breaking out in Germany, where a hell of violence and anarchy descended upon the land. 300,000 rebels took up arms and 100,000 peasants perished. Faced with this threat, the king retreated. He issued a proclamation denying any prior knowledge of the tax demands, then graciously remitted them and pardoned the rebels. He had learned a lesson in the limitations of regal power. Yet, the cardinal was considered to be the greater culprit. One chronicler wrote that there was no end to the inward grudge and hatred that the commons bore to the cardinal. Henry knew that Wolsey had failed. This was no longer the quiet and joyful country of And the cardinal, well, he was only one man. The false stridency of war policy was further exposed when, in 1525, the cardinal began to explore the possibility of an accord with France against their erstwhile ally, Spain. Charles had become so powerful that he was now a menace. A treaty of perpetual peace with France was signed that summer, just six months after Wolsey had proposed a grand war against her. Charles V demanded to be released from his betrothal to the young princess Mary. All was undone. All had to be done again. Henry was engaged in affairs of the heart as well as those of the battlefield. He had, in his own words, been struck with the dart of love. In 1526, a new ship was commissioned to be named the Entbolen. That spring, the royal goldsmiths fashioned four brooches for him to bestow upon a certain lady, another depicting a lady in a heart, a third showing a man lying in a woman's lap, and the fourth showing the same woman with a crown. It was noted that, during this period, he was more than usually boisterous and energetic. The newfound friendship with France provided the excuse for endless revels, banquets, justs, and pageants. In the summer of 1526, Henry hunted with a ferocity and passion that mirrored his pursuit of Entbolen. He was determined to win the prize. He began writing letters to, and in French, the language of courtly romance. One 18th century historian described them as very ill-writ, the hands scarce legible, and the French faulty. Nevertheless, they served their purpose. The first was presented with the gift of a Buck In another, he thanked her, This was not the conventional letter of a king to his mistress. In a later letter, Henry professed his confusion about her feelings, praying you with all my heart that you will expressly tell me your whole mind concerning the love between us. He then proposed taking her as his only mistress, rejecting from thought and affection all others save yourself, to serve you only. Yet, and had already retreated to her parents' house at Hever and Kent, and refused to return to court, I could do none other than lament me of my ill fortune, he wrote, abating by little and little my so great folly. There is no doubt that he had conceived an overpowering passion for her, and she, in turn, was doing her best to retain his affection without alienating him. It was a delicate balance, likely bringing her close to nervous prostration. In another letter, Henry longed for their meeting, which is on my part the more desired than any earthly thing. For what joy in this world can be greater than to have the company of her who is the most dearly loved? How does one gently refuse a great and powerful king, and sent him a diamond, decorated with an image of a lady in a ship? The lady was tossed about on the waves, but the diamond symbolized an imperishable and steadfast heart. Catherine herself was being cast aside. After the treaty with France, there was no longer a need to appease her nephew, Charles V. When three of her Spanish ladies complained about the dukedom granted to Henry's illegitimate son, Henry Fitzroy, they were dismissed from court. Catherine's letters were being opened and read by Wolsey. The cardinal, or perhaps the king, placed spies among her entourage. Wolsey insisted on being present at any interview between her and Charles' representatives. Yet Henry's displeasure did not extend to the child, who might still become Queen of England. Mary now had her own household of more than 300 servants and could choose from She hawked, hunted, played cards, and gambled with dice. There was, of course, always the possibility of a son. It seems fair to assume that Henry initially wanted Anne as a mistress, but, after the first infatuation, resolved to make her his wife. With Anne Boleyn as the prospective bride, the future of the dynasty might finally be secured. Without a son, Henry later claimed, the kingdom would be overwhelmed by mischief and trouble. His doubts about his marriage to Catherine of Aragon were undoubtedly genuine. He was not driven by lust alone. If he had married Catherine despite the injunction of Leviticus, he might truly have been cursed. Twenty-four years earlier, a papal dispensation had been obtained for the union. It was now his duty to have that original dispensation declared null and void so that he could be properly married for the first time. The pope could not and should not waive divine laws expressed in the Bible itself. The conscience of the king was paramount. The word appears frequently in his letters as a means of justifying himself before heaven. He once declared that conscience is the highest and supreme court for judgment or justice. He knew that he was right. So, in the spring of 1527, Henry made his first attempt to have his marriage to Catherine annulled by Pope Clement VII. He told his wife he was merely exploring questions raised by certain lawyers and theologians. Catherine wept and swore that her union with Prince Arthur had never been consummated. She knew which way the wind was blowing. In May 1527, Wolsey summoned Henry to appear before him and the Archbishop of Canterbury to discuss the marriage's status. It was a piece of stage management, for the king had already decided that the cardinal would declare the marriage null and void. Yet, as papal legate, Wolsey could not decide the matter without referring the case to the pope. He adjourned the proceedings and declared that he would consult more widely. This was the beginning of the troubles that would eventually lead to the break with Rome. Wolsey was unsure of the identity of Henry's intended bride. He assumed it would be a diplomatic marriage, perhaps to a French princess. And Bullen, to him, seemed just another court mistress. Yet Henry now moved behind Wolsey's back. While the cardinal was away on a diplomatic mission in France, Henry sent one of his secretaries to roam with the draft of a papal bull, allowing him to marry another, unnamed woman, with the church's blessing. The king told his secretary that the matter must remain secret for any craft the cardinal or any other can find. This significant remark suggests that Henry's early intimate relations with Wolsey had come to an end. Around this time, Henry also began employing scholars and divines to research legal precedents and press his case in print. At some point in 1527, work began on compiling arguments for the king's divorce, what Henry called Liber Noster, or Our Book. There now ensued a process of endless false starts, vain hopes, obfuscations, and delays that left the king confused and demoralized. Catherine of Aragon managed to alert her nephew, Charles V, to the dangers of her situation. In May 1527, Charles' troops had sacked Rome with every form of barbarity, and the pope had become a virtual prisoner in the Castel Sant'Angelo. If the pontiff was at the mercy of Charles, what hope was there of successfully resolving the marriage of the emperor's aunt? The matter of the divorce was now becoming part of a much larger political struggle. That same month, the young princess married danced before her father at a banquet. The movements of the formal dance were often construed as an allegory, with the final curtsy seen as a gesture of fear, love, and reverence. In the following month, the king formally separated himself from Catherine's bed. The Spanish ambassador, likely informed by Catherine herself, revealed that the king had told her they had been living in mortal sin all the years they had been together. She burst into tears, and Henry attempted to comfort her by assuring her that all would turn out for the best. He also begged her to keep the matter secret, but it was already too late. News of the separation spread rapidly. According to the ambassador, it was as notorious as if it had been proclaimed by the town crier. The people, of course, took the side of the wronged wife and refused to believe that the king would persist in such a wicked project. Yet Catherine maintained her composure at court, continuing to sit beside her husband on public occasions, where she smiled and appeared cheerful. It is wonderful to see her courage, the Duke of Norfolk observed. Nothing seems to frighten her. Meanwhile, the matter of the king's marriage was being endlessly debated in Rome. Pope Clement had pleaded ignorance of canon law to one of Wolsey's ambassadors, only to be reminded that the entirety of canon law was locked in the bosom of His Holiness. It may be so, the pope replied, but alas, God has forgotten to give me the key to open it. By the end of 1527, after much prevarication, the pope agreed that Cardinals Wolsey and Campeggio would examine the case and pass a verdict without the possibility of appeal. Campeggio was chosen because he was the second and lesser papal legate for English affairs. Wolsey immediately wrote to him, urging him to hasten from Rome. I hope, he declared, all things shall be done according to the will of God, the desire of the king, the peace of the kingdom, and to our honour with a good conscience. He then crossed out the last four words. After all, the cardinals of the church always had a good conscience. However, the pope, still under the influence of Charles V, had already commanded Campeggio to weave infinite delays so that no verdict on the king's marriage would ever be reached. The cardinal complied, making plans for a very slow journey to England. At the beginning of 1528, Anne Boleyn wrote to Wolsey to thank him for the great pains and troubles that you have taken for me both day and night. In a second letter, she stated, I am most bound of all creatures, next to the king's grace, to love and serve your grace. It was clear that she and Henry now intended for her to become queen. Yet not all was as it seemed. Three months after his arrival in England, Campeggio wrote to Rome stating that Wolsey is actually not in favor of the affair. He explained that Wolsey dares not admit this openly, nor can he help to prevent it. On the contrary, he has to hide his feelings and pretend to be eagerly pursuing what the king desires. In private conversations with Campeggio, Wolsey simply shrugged. I have to satisfy the king, he told him, whatever the consequences. In time, a remedy will be found. It may have been around this time that Henry began to suspect Wolsey. He started showing his chief minister's letters to other members of his council, including the father of Anne Boleyn. Wolsey was walking into a trap from which he would never escape. In 1528, an incident was recorded in which the king used terrible language toward Wolsey, leaving the cardinal deeply unsettled. When Wolsey named a new abbess for a convent, Henry responded with a bitter letter. Ah, my lord, it is a double offense both to do ill and to color it too. Wherefore, good my lord, use no more that way with me, for there is no man living who more hates it. The words could also be read as a broader warning. In the spring of 1528, the royal family spent time together at Wolsey's house, Tittenhanger, near St. Albans. Princess Mary described it as a happy occasion. Yet, that same year, reports surfaced that Henry and Anne Boleyn's marriage was certain and that preparations for the wedding were already underway. Wolsey wrote at this time that if the pope did not comply with the king's wishes, I see ruin, infamy, and subversion of the whole dignity and estimation of the sea apostolic. In this, at least, he was right.