In the Shadow of Lions: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (Chronicles of the Scribe #1)(41)

She began the ascent up the stairs, the air growing thicker and warmer. Her Yeoman had motioned for her to step aside and let him lead her, but she had declined. He followed as she sneaked into a private box. She kept her back to the wall so no one would see her, but it afforded her a good view. There was a semicircle of chairs at the end of the church, and all pews had been moved along the sides to provide seating for the court members. Henry’s great throne sat at the top of the arch in the semicircle. It was the sun that all else radiated from, nestled just below the crucifix.

Anne saw that the court members were jostling for seats and there was much hushed conversation as the judges took their seats around Henry’s throne. Campeggio, the cardinal Rome had sent, looked uneasy. Wolsey was there, his red cardinal’s robes capped with fur, his face already red from the morning sun that found its way in through the stained glass. He would sweat himself to death by the end of the morning. She felt hot just looking at him and decided to remove her robe with the hood. No one would see her up here. The summer sun, the full court, and the lack of air promised to make this a difficult morning.

There was a stillness that began to grow as everyone waited for the king to appear. Anne studied the Christ resting over them all. His face looked so peaceful, and this gave Anne encouragement. Everything here was under His arms.

But blood ran hot here, a marked contrast to the men she had known in France. Every young man in England stood ready to defend the realm and destroy her enemies, grinding them into a fine dust that history herself would disdain and sweep away. The only enemy the English couldn’t conquer was death. Christ, save us, she prayed. Save us from ourselves.

A trumpet startled her, making her heart leap as Henry entered the church in golden robes, layered over with a chain of stones as big as her fist set in thick claws of gold. The morning light came in from behind him, and he indeed looked like the sun. All bowed in reverence as he walked past to take his seat. As he did, he commanded them to rise and allow the proceedings to begin.

The queen entered, looking unwell, as if the weight of her robes was too much for her emaciated frame. She approached Henry’s throne with small, weak steps, finally throwing herself down before him, her arms outstretched as if he would catch her. He didn’t. Anne saw her back rise and fall, as if she was weeping, but no noise carried.

At last Catherine stood, and Anne saw no one bow. Catherine must have realized it, too, for she smiled sadly at the men circled around her. “You have no authority to read that book and make judgment on me. Death be on Hutchins’ home! As for you, husband, I was a true maid. The marriage is lawful under God’s eyes and the Pope’s.”

Henry called a witness.

“Aye, my king, on your brother Arthur’s wedding night, when he had taken this Spanish princess as his bride, I was his attendant. Arthur emerged from his chamber in the early morning hours looking pale and tired. He said he had been traveling in Spain and it was hot work.”

The court erupted into laughter, which most men corrected into fits of coughing.

Catherine glared at the witness. “This is not true! My marriage to Arthur was never consummated, as God is my witness. I put this to your conscience, Henry. The law of Leviticus does not apply to my marriage.”

“If I have no authority to read and make judgment by it, how can you?” he replied.

Something about his gaze troubled Anne … the absence of emotion, though his wife of twenty years fought for her life before him.

Catherine pulled herself up to stand board straight and looked around the court. “I do not recognize your right to try me. As Queen, I am subject only to the Pope’s laws, not yours. I have sent word to the Pope that he must try this case and render a just verdict. It is in his hands, God be praised.”

As she turned to leave, Anne saw Henry grip Wolsey with an intensity as if to break his arm. Wolsey was trying to wrench free, keeping his back to the court so no one would see his dishonour. He whispered something to the king, and Henry smiled and released him, looking at the doors Catherine had just exited, followed by Wolsey. It took several minutes of deep, shuddering breaths before Henry was able to sit and formally adjourn the court. Anne fled down the back steps, her Yeoman once again behind her, unable to protect her should she meet an enemy suddenly. Anne’s mind was racing—the Pope was no friend to Henry. The Pope catered to the Spanish for his own good reasons, to protect his own realm, and Catherine was unyieldingly Spanish. That she forced Henry to confront the Pope on this issue was a sign that she put more faith in Spanish power than in English law. Unless, of course, Catherine really believed the marriage was lawful in God’s eyes and was fighting for faith, which Anne doubted. Anne had heard too many rumours about Catherine to think anything good of her.

Lost in her swirling thoughts, Anne took no caution as she fled and ran full into Wolsey just as her Yeoman’s hand reached out and caught her. It was too late. Wolsey spun around, the cold smile of surprise on his face telling Anne that he had some reason to be glad she was here. It could not be a good one.

“Anne,” he said.

She did not like her name on his lips.

“What’s this I hear about you setting out a Hutchins book in your chambers for all to see? And you’ve been riddling Henry’s mind about it, tempting him to create these grievous errors? Did the French send us a devil to cause mischief in the English court?”

The humiliation made her face red, though she already had a blush from the heat.