Having waited long enough to see Harry safe in his servant's care, Denoriel directed Miralys to take him back to the Gate, back to his apartment in Logres. Elves did not sleep, but Denoriel felt sorely in need of that human restorative. He was not sick with draining of his power; that seemed, as Mwynwen had promised, to be restored as fast as it was used—and he had used virtually no magic anyhow.
It was the responsibility of caring for Harry, he decided, as he dismounted by the steps of Llachar Lle, the tension of watching for danger and being constantly ready to protect the child. But it had been wonderful too. All of Underhill was new to his eyes, bright and beautiful, funny and terrifying.
He thanked Miralys, and the elvensteed nuzzled him before trotting away. Lady Aeron was already gone. She had disappeared as soon as Harry was locked in the hut. Denoriel smiled, thinking of how that pair had bonded. When this was over, Denoriel promised himself, when the red-haired babe was safe on the throne, he would bring Harry back Underhill to ride Lady Aeron and explore its wonders with him. In such company, Denoriel knew he could never suffer the ennui that brought too many Sidhe to Dreaming.
At the door of his apartment, he suddenly wondered what had happened to the kitsune, and he chuckled as he entered. Clever as that little devil was and absentminded as Treowth seemed to be, he did not think Matka Toimisto would get the magus to invest him with the powers of an elvensteed—if even Treowth could do that.
He was allowed about three steps into the antechamber, still grinning and wondering what the kitsune wanted to do in the mortal world that would require the ability to escape to Underhill without a Gate, when his amusement was wiped away by his sister's voice calling his name. Frowning—not because he didn't wish to see Aleneil but because he knew this was more trouble—he entered the living room.
"What happened?" Aleneil asked, jumping to her feet.
"When?" Denoriel asked, feeling stupid; but so much had happened and he was too tired to want to recount everything.
"The boy! Did the Unseleighe seize him?"
He snorted; sometimes Aleneil could be so—
Well, she was his sister, and he loved her, but there were times when she just gave way to fear and even hysteria, and forgot to think. "Would I be here, strolling into my apartment if Harry was in Unseleighe hands?"
Aleneil put a hand to her head, and the tension simply ran out of her. "No, of course not. I know you care far too much for the boy to accept his loss so calmly, but I was frightened."
Denoriel sighed and sat down, waving at Aleneil to do so too. "You were right to be frightened. George Boleyn had invited me to watch a race with him . . . Oh, heaven, I'll have to Gate back to London—"
"Never mind that. It will be hard on you, but you can Gate back in time if you need to. Nothing will happen at the race that will cause any paradox. Your presence or absence won't matter." She looked up at him with question in her eyes. "Why was I right to be frightened?"
"Because I almost didn't go to accompany Harry's party from Pontefract to Sheriff Hutton. They'd ridden that distance so often without the smallest threat . . ." He shook his head. "Thank Mother Dannae that I do love Harry. It was more the urge to see him than any fear for him that made me Gate north." Then Denoriel frowned. "What do you mean you were frightened? Did you FarSee the attempt to take him?"
"I learned about it, but too late. I was in the mortal world, visiting Lady Lee—she is Thomas Wyatt's sister, and about the only female friend Anne Boleyn has. It was Eirianell. She suddenly saw a vision of monsters attacking FitzRoy's cortege. The Vision was so strong—she wasn't even at the Mirror."
Denoriel winced. "It was probably happening just as she Saw it."
Aleneil nodded. "But Eirianell couldn't ignore it. She sent a messenger to warn you, but it couldn't find you. Then she sent for me, but she thought I was Underhill. By the time the air spirit reached me in the mortal world it was probably too late. Still I sent messengers to you everywhere I could think, and none could find you. What happened?"
"I was just barely in time to save Harry. Someone, Rhoslyn probably, had put a glamour on the boy groom to look like Harry and all the guards, even our own people, were clustered around him ready to fight off the monsters. Meanwhile Harry's horse had been driven into the woods and Pasgen had called out the Wild Hunt to take him."
"You fought the Wild Hunt?" Aleneil's voice scaled up in disbelief.
"I? Never." He laughed, wanly. "I simply seized Harry, pulled him off his horse and then ran like a rabbit . . . only the rabbit hole was no safe haven. Pasgen had meddled with my Gate and instead of bringing me to Logres, it destroyed itself and threw me and Harry out into Wormegay Hold."
"That was probably just when the air spirit was looking for you," she said, nodding. "They won't go into Wormegay. But later? Or did you decide to hide there?"
"Not there!" Denoriel's shoulders tightened and drew in as he remembered the horrors in that place. "There was another place we could have stayed—" he described the shepherd's paradise and Aleneil smiled "—but my first purpose was to get Harry back before anyone noticed he was gone." He sighed. "If I could have done that—"
"It wouldn't have explained away the monsters anyway," she pointed out
"Just as well." Denoriel smiled. "Vidal Dhu is about to discover that he has overstepped this time, and Harry is safe from the Unseleighe for good."
"The cross?" she asked, wonderingly.
He smiled, recalling Oberon's expression. The High King was not happy with Vidal Dhu. "King Oberon."
Aleneil gasped, and echoed the king's name, and Denoriel told her about his summons to the throne room of Llachar Lle.
"Titania was there too?" Aleneil breathed. "How was it between them?"
"Better than usual, I think, but I suspect that Titania is growing restless." He raised an eyebrow, and Aleneil nodded, knowingly. "She was looking at me, but that passed when I described my less-than-heroic rescue. And Harry, thank Dannae, is the most ordinary boy. Nothing beautiful or lissom about him, and the Tudor court dress made the poor child look like a small ale keg with a head and skinny arms and legs."
Aleneil giggled at the description, but sobered quickly. "Do you think Oberon wants to see the red-haired child rule Logres? Sometimes I think he leans more to the Unseleighe way than to ours. He has a temper—and he can sometimes be so very cruel."
He had to shrug. "I don't know. To read him is impossible—at least for me. But one thing is sure. Oberon is utterly determined to keep Underhill a secret from mortals. He marked Harry to protect him, saying the Unseleighe had tried three times and twice come close to exposing our existence, so they were forbidden to try again to take the child. But he also made it impossible for Harry to speak of Underhill."
"Well, if Oberon marked him, the Unseleighe will leave FitzRoy alone, so he is safe," she concluded. "And I cannot see the harm if the child cannot speak of Underhill. Who can truly trust a child to hold his tongue at all times? I think it a small price to pay for his safety."
"But he is only safe from a threat from Underhill," Denoriel reminded her. "Unfortunately there are mortals who wish to be rid of a continuing threat to Princess Mary's accession to the throne, and I suspect that after this attempt on him, his councilors may advise the king that Harry would be safer in court, under Henry's own eye." He sighed. "I don't think Harry will be safer, but Sir Edward and the others were all terrified of what would happen if they lost him. They want the responsibility back where it belongs, with his father."
She pursed her lips in thought. "And Henry is not so careful of his son as he should be. . . . However, that may not matter." She fixed him with a look that told him that she wanted him to pay attention to what she was about to tell him. "I have been doing my best listening-in-corners. It is now quite clear that the failure of the divorce trial to produce the result the king wanted has not diminished his determination to have Anne. I believe even the Imperial ambassador realizes that as long as King Henry is young enough and healthy enough to breed a legitimate son, he will not name FitzRoy his heir."
"I hope so." He looked away from her for a moment, at the illusory fire in the fireplace. "In spite of what Treowth said, Gating makes me anxious now, and with Harry in the north, I was Gating constantly. If he is with the court, I can just stay in the mortal world."
"We may both be living most of the time in the mortal world," Aleneil said. "The reason I was waiting for you is that Eirianell has been consulting a student of mortal history, and she wishes to talk to both of us."
Eirianell met them at the Place of Learning. She could not invite them into her house; she apologized gracefully to Denoriel, explaining that the auras of others lingered and disturbed her with undesired Visions of their lives and doings. Aleneil had known, of course, and had arranged for one of the gardens near the Place of Learning to be kept free for them, and she led them there to a bower under thornless roses.
There was a small ivory table painted with a long blue lake surrounded by mountains. Sandalwood chairs inlaid with ivory, added their scent to that of the roses, keeping it from being overpoweringly sweet. Eirianell seated herself in the deepest, most shadowed, part of the arbor, gathering her long train around her feet. Her silk gown's pastel colors flowed and blended with each movement of her body to which the gown clung, and the embroidery seemed to move and change on her trailing sleeves.
"There have been ill portents since last we spoke Lord Denoriel," the eldest of the teachers began. "It finally occurred to Rhonwen and myself that having Aleneil with us when we tried to FarSee Logres was totally disruptive. She knows—or thinks she knows—what is happening. She is too much involved with the people. Her 'knowledge' and hopes and fears were all tangled with our Vision. So we did not summon her . . . and we learned."
"I am very sorry," Aleneil whispered.
Eirianell stretched a long arm and delicate hand and touched Aleneil's cheek. "Child, how could you know if we did not? The fault is ours, mine and Rhonwen's and Morwen's. And Rhonwen and I excluded Morwen also. She is much taken with the ways of the mortals, even if she has not been living with them."
"If Harry is in danger, I will bring him Underhill—" Denoriel began.
"No! He has a role to play and to remove him will condemn us all." She saw the mulish, rebellious expression on Denoriel's face and sighed. "The danger is not immediate. It will not touch him until he is a man, so you will have time to consider."
"Denoriel," Aleneil murmured. "Remember how angry you were when the charge of FitzRoy was first laid on you? Now listen before you leap to conclusions."
"Let me tell you the worst first," Eirianell said. "We have seen that the fires will come. There is no avoiding them, but if the red-haired babe is born and is in the succession for the throne, that period of torture will be short. If there is no successor, worse will befall England, not only a search for heretics but the full Inquisition."
"Then what we are doing is useless?" Aleneil asked, faintly.
"By no means," her teacher said decisively. "The boy must be protected into his manhood for in some way that is not clear, his life stands between the red-haired child and destruction. And the child must be born legitimately and recognized as King Henry's get, or it will not come to the throne and the priests of the Inquisition will whip the mortals into a frenzy that will destroy Elfhame Logres. It will be as dead and empty as Alhambra and Eldorado."
"If my life can protect Harry's, I will lay it down," Denoriel swore.
"Only do not throw it away. Think before you act," Eirianell cautioned. "Fortunately I have some practical suggestions. Aleneil, you must keep Mistress Boleyn out of the king's bed."
"She has shown no signs of yielding to Henry's importunities," his sister replied—but there was a hint, just a hint, of doubt.
"Not yet, but now that the easy path to her body has been blocked, the king will try to buy her. He will make her father a double earl, her brother a viscount and give her material gifts. When there is enough to make life good even if he does abandon her, she might yield—she will in the long run, but not yet. Not for four long years."
"Four years!" Aleneil exclaimed in tones of despair. "I do not think even Anne's wit and her perfect purity can hold a man for four years."
"Perhaps not, but there is something else that will fix him to the idea of marriage to her." The FarSeer had a certain look of satisfaction about her. "I told you I had consulted with Ieuan Hywyn. He says there is something at the back of the king's mind that possibly he does not remember is there. He must be reminded. Almost fifteen years ago Henry's attention was drawn to an affair in which an anti-clerical reformer named Richard Hunne was said to have committed suicide when a prisoner."
Aleneil looked puzzled at the statement. Well, so was Denoriel! "What in the world has this to do with—"
The teacher chuckled. "So young. So impatient. Listen. Our joy, perhaps our lives depend on this small thing. This Richard Hunne read the Bible, which the clergy forbids; he annoyed the clergy when his child died by refusing to pay the customary fee for the winding-sheet. He held on to the winding sheet and was imprisoned and tortured by the clergy. The common folk and burgesses were angry when Hunne was arrested. When his suicide was announced they became infuriated and refused to believe he had killed himself. They accused the bishop of London of condoning Hunne's murder."
"Likely enough," Aleneil sighed. "Most will condone anything for a gold coin or two."
"The bishop was enraged, and Hunne's body was tried for heresy and burned, if you can imagine it. The citizens were even more outraged. They pursued the matter by raising in Parliament the question of whether the murderers in Hunne's prison had been protected by a clerk's right to be tried even for civil offenses by his own clerical tribunal. And this is where the king came into the affair. This is what must be recalled to Henry's mind."
"What?" Denoriel was totally confused.
"That at the time of the Hunne affair, King Henry recognized clearly that the Church was the greatest rival to his own domestic power." She nodded when she saw the dawning understanding in both their expressions. "Ieuan Hywyn says that although King Henry enjoys being called Defender of the Faith and fulminating against heresy abroad . . . he will brook no rivals to his absolute power within his own realm. The king summoned all the parties to Blackfriars—"
"Where the divorce trial was held," Aleneil said.
"Yes, but in the Hunne case the king won." The FarSeer steepled her fingers together in her lap. "He surrounded himself with his own lay judges, and the Lord Chief Justice, well aware of Henry's resentment of any man of the cloth being able to escape the king's justice, of the feeling of the nobility, the burgesses, even the common folk, ruled that indeed a clerk could be summoned before a lay tribunal for a lay crime. His soul could be judged by the Church, but his body must answer to the courts of the land. Thus, the Chief Justice ruled, the clergy in the case of Richard Hunne had been guilty of praemunire—of asserting papal jurisdiction in England against the king's right—and were guilty of a crime."
"Oh!" Aleneil exclaimed. "Oh, my!"
"A bit more than 'oh my,' I think," said Denoriel, who was, at this point far more educated in the ways of mortal politics than he would ever have dreamed of being four years ago. "I do not believe that any king has so asserted himself against the Church since the murder of Thomas a Becket."
"The entire Church, including Wolsey, went down on their knees and assured Henry they had no intention of doing anything prejudicial to the Crown and Henry replied—I have his exact words from Ieuan Hywyn." Eirianell closed her eyes to recall the memorized statement. "He said, 'The kings of England have never had any superior but God alone. Know well, therefore, that we will ever maintain the right of our crown and of our temporal jurisdiction.' Which means that for cases tried in England, Henry did not recognize the right of the Church, which means the pope, to decide a legal case."
"But how can we . . . I don't think I even know a priest," Denoriel protested. He had avoided the clergy as much as possible, being fearful that a Talented priest might "smell" his magic.
"Anne," Aleneil said. "Anne has become very interested in theology, and particularly in any theology that challenges the power of the pope." She cocked her head at Denoriel. "And you can work through George. Hungarians are bound to have a different view of the pope in Rome . . . what with the Moslem heathens breathing down their necks all these years. You might sound puzzled about why the king is so subservient to the pope—and perhaps, why the pope seems unable to respond to the needs of his flock. Not suggesting the king not be subservient, just asking why."
Eirianell nodded. "Once King Henry gets the bit of the Church interfering with his right to rule between his teeth, the marriage to Anne will be as much of an excuse as it will be a matter of passion. But the girl must stay out of his bed until he has committed himself to her so publicly that he cannot back away without looking an ultimate fool."
Although it was now true that Seleighe and Unseleighe were united in desiring the birth of the red-haired babe, opinions on how to get the child started differed widely. Aurilia nic Morrigan believed it would be easiest to steal the child if it were a bastard. Pasgen and Rhoslyn agreed with her, but Rhoslyn, tied to Queen Catherine and Princess Mary was in no position to approach Anne—and would not even if she could.
Even Vidal Dhu would not challenge King Oberon's direct prohibition against harming anyone close to the king. So while Anne remained the center of King Henry's attention she was safe from any direct interference. Plans were being made for a very indirect means of influencing Anne in the future, but those were not yet ripe. At present, the best Pasgen could do was to prevent the divorce from taking place and find devices that would convince Anne that it was time to yield her body to the king. Possibly Henry could buy her with favors to her family.
Pasgen's credit as the magician and fortune teller Fagildo Otstargi had been substantially increased by the accuracy of his predictions of the fall of Cardinal Wolsey. Just as Otstargi had foreseen, on the ninth of October when Cardinal Wolsey went to Westminster Hall, the king's servants who usually preceded him were absent and he found that a bill of indictment had been preferred against him. On the tenth the dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk arrived at York House to informed him that the king had dismissed him from his position as chancellor.
They asked for his seal of office; Wolsey refused and demanded either to be told in person by the king that he was dismissed or to receive an order in the king's own hand demanding his seal of office. Wolsey had counted on Henry's known aversion to writing anything and hoped for a personal interview. It was a forlorn hope, Cromwell told Master Otstargi. On October nineteenth the written demand had arrived and Wolsey had handed over his seal of office to the outwardly concerned but inwardly triumphing dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk.
Partly by his own wit and partly because he had accepted Pasgen's prediction that Wolsey was ruined, Cromwell had survived the fall of his master; however he had not taken Pasgen's advice to abandon Wolsey. In fact, when the Parliament met in November, he had pleaded Wolsey's case so well in the House of Commons that the bill against him was dropped.
Cromwell had impressed the whole court by his loyalty and care of Wolsey's affairs while obeying every royal order to the letter. And by the most unlikely avenue of opening himself to attack by one of Henry's courtiers, Cromwell had brought himself to the notice of King Henry. As yet he had no royal appointment, but his influence was growing. Still, Pasgen knew that whatever his outward demeanor, Cromwell hated Anne Boleyn . . . which, as if Pasgen's thought had drawn it forth, Cromwell promptly confirmed.
"That witch-bitch Boleyn poisoned the king's mind against the cardinal," Cromwell spat. "I heard she warned the king not to allow any meeting with the cardinal lest he fall under Wolsey's spell again."
"The cardinal has great persuasive powers," Pasgen said mildly.
"Spell!" Cromwell snarled softly. "She's the one who casts spells. She's got every mark of a witch—that extra finger on her left hand and a black mark like a star on her breast, and—"
"Master Cromwell," Pasgen said soothingly, "I don't believe Mistress Anne is a witch. I have detected no magic on or about her . . ."
That, of course, was not true; Pasgen knew of Anne's Talent and knew how she used it unconsciously. He also knew it was totally untrained and unguarded. That was the basis of Aurilia's plan for Anne's destruction and he did not want Cromwell, whom he hoped to guide into considerable power—which would, of course, be directed by his personal magician—to think of Anne as a witch.
At least—not yet.
"Besides," Pasgen continued, "it is not safe to . . . to speak ill of her. She . . . the picture is not so clear to me as that of the poor cardinal's downfall—there are still some uncertainties—but I believe unless Mistress Anne Boleyn soon yields her body to the king, she will be queen. Of course, the longer the divorce can be delayed, the more likely she will yield. But some hope must be held out to the king or he might take matters—and by this I mean in terms of the divorce—into his own hands."
Cromwell hissed between his teeth, then seemed to conquer whatever emotion had gripped him. For a moment his face was blank, then it relaxed into a kind of interested thoughtfulness. "To keep the king hoping but move no further forward toward the divorce . . . ah, yes. There is a cleric, one Dr. Cranmer, a fellow of Jesus College in Cambridge, who mentioned to the king's secretary, Dr. Gardiner, that what should be done was to take the opinions of the divines at the great universities in Europe as to whether or not King Henry's marriage is valid."
Pasgen smiled. "If I know the habits of divines at universities, it might take a year or more to gather those opinions."
"Giving Mistress Anne more time to hang herself." Cromwell nodded. "But what if she does not? Are you sure she has not ensorcelled Henry? He seems positively to relish her scolding."
"It is a novelty," Pasgen pointed out. "Queen Catherine was nearly always agreeable or submissive. Every other leman that the king has desired has flung herself into his bed almost before he could ask—why, even Mistress Anne's own sister! It is forbidden fruit; what he is denied, he must needs want. How long the novelty will last, I cannot read, but nothing in the near future shows change. The best way to be sure the king will rid himself of Mistress Anne is for her to grant his desire." Pasgen bit his lip. "Do you not think it time for the king to try to buy her?"
"Unless he turns a county over to her," Cromwell said dryly, "I do not see how he can give her more. He has showered her with jewels and money."
"No, no, I meant something more permanent." He inclined his head toward Cromwell. "Her father has always yearned for the earldom of Ormonde. Why should he not have it? And that would make the son . . . George, isn't it? . . . Viscount Rochford. Mistress Anne is very fond of her brother, I understand. When she has their nobility to support her, perhaps she will care less for being the cast-off mistress of the king. She took fright at her sister's banishment to the country, but with her with father an earl, she would still have a place at court."
Cromwell shook his head and then laughed. "Yes, she could come to court, but everyone there would snicker behind their hands. Still, her father, Lord Rochford, has only known me as an enemy. If I suggest this expedient to the king . . ."
By the eighth of December, Boleyn had his earldom . . . earldoms in fact, for he was not only named earl of Ormonde, to which title he had some family claim, but earl of Wiltshire as well. Pasgen laughed to himself when that news came to him. It seemed that Master Cromwell was eager to impress his tame magician. Boleyn's elevation was too quick, too pat, for it to have been a result of Cromwell's urging. Doubtless he had learned of it at court and pretended to be an instigator of the idea to increase Pasgen's belief in his power with the king.
Well, let the clever little clerk work to impress Pasgen. That would only make Pasgen's work easier.
However, to Aleneil's relief, Anne's father's and brother's elevation had little influence on her. She was at best a self-centered creature, and, though mildly pleased that she now had a right to be called Lady Anne rather than Mistress Anne, she had her hopes firmly fixed on a far more exalted title. Earl and viscount had no direct advantage for her; she was still precariously balanced on the knife edge of simultaneously tempting and refusing the king.
Nor did Anne have much support, Aleneil thought. Oh, her mother and father and brother all petted and praised her, but now, having their desires fulfilled and fearing that too much resistance might sour the king's affection and make him turn on those he had only recently given so much, none urged virtue as strongly. There were even hints that perhaps King Henry should be rewarded for what he had done.
In Anne's opinion, however, Henry had done nothing for her. Her dreams were not fulfilled. Aleneil sighed. She had heard a great deal of Anne's opinion recently, for what support Anne did have came from Lady Margaret Lee, Thomas Wyatt's sister, and Anne's only female friend. Lady Margaret had come to know Anne before her marriage when Wyatt had been courting her at the same time that Anne had first aroused Henry's interest. Although Lady Margaret's intention had been to warn Anne off her brother, who was already married, she had been fascinated by Anne's wit and grace.
Admiration was always a path to Anne's regard, which was why her relationships were nearly always with men, but this time it fixed her attention on Lady Margaret. The least clever of the Wyatt family, Margaret was only barely pretty in a pallid way, which also made her acceptable to dark and vivid Anne. And, as Margaret was disposed to continue to admire, to listen and agree with Anne's opinions, she soon became necessary to Anne.
In like manner, Aleneil, under the guise of Lady Alana FitzWilliam, distant kinswoman of Sir William FitzWilliam, treasurer of Henry's household, became the attached friend and companion of Lady Margaret. Lady Alana was even plainer than her mistress. Although her features were neat and pleasant, she had a sallow complexion and muddy eyes and hair.
There was simply nothing about Lady Alana that attracted notice; one could look away from her for just a moment and forget her face. However, no one ever forgot Lady Alana's clothing. Her sense of fashion and instinctive knowledge of what color and ornament and what styles would best become her friends soon made her indispensable to both Margaret and Anne. Just at this time, dress was desperately necessary to Anne, who had to balance her somewhat limited purse, her status as the king's acknowledged favorite, and the necessity of looking at one and the same time interesting, magnificent, and never tawdry.
Thus Aleneil was admitted to an inner, inner circle free of any influence except Anne's will and pleasure. She said little for some time, confining her conversation and advice to the color and fit of Anne's gowns. However, after Cranmer and others left to obtain opinions on the king's marriage at various universities, Aleneil managed to introduce, somewhere between the placement of silver lace and the cloth-of-gold stomacher, a book by William Tyndale—who had been exiled for his translation of the New Testament into English. The book was called The Obedience of the Christian Man and How Christian Rulers Ought to Govern.
Anne only glanced at the book cursorily until she realized from what Lady Alana was saying in her soft, apologetic voice, that The Obedience of Christian Man set out to prove that a king governed by divine right; thus, the ruler was answerable only to God. The pope had no power over a monarch and there could be no distinction between the clergy and the laity. Church affairs and temporal affairs were all under the sole control of the king.
When Aleneil left to accompany Lady Margaret home, she no longer had the book. When and where it came into Henry's hands Aleneil never asked, but by the late summer of 1530 he had thoroughly absorbed the ideas. These theoretical notions found a more solid basis in the Collectanea satis copiosa, put together from the opinions Cranmer had garnered in Europe. The collection of scriptural, patristic, and historical arguments justified Henry taking into his own hands his matrimonial affairs. What the Collectanea offered Henry was the demonstration that he was already head of the Church, all he had to do was behave as such. The question that remained was how.
Aleneil devised Anne's New Year gown for the beginning of 1531, a magnificent affair of crimson-colored velvet embroidered in gold and trimmed in sable. Her hair, loose and flowing to her hips, was a glistening shadow against the vivid gown, moving as if it had a life of its own. Aleneil felt there could be no doubt from the king's reaction that he was still and even more enslaved, but Anne's wit rang brittle and Henry's laughter was overloud.
In private after the feast, Lady Margaret burst into tears, fearing that her idol had fallen at last. Aleneil comforted her; she did not believe that anything was wrong between the lovers. In fact, she assured Margaret, the way they touched and watched each other implied that they were planning together something important . . . and uncertain.
What that was soon became apparent. Parliament and a Convocation of the Church were summoned for the second and third weeks in January. The entire court knew that Henry planned to extort a substantial sum from the Church to relieve his ever-present financial need. There was no surprise about the demand and no doubt about the response. To avoid various prosecutions for their involvement in Wolsey's schemes, the Convocation quickly offered a hundred thousand pounds.
To the relief of the prelates, the amount was accepted. The pardon that was offered, however, was a shock. It was not a pardon for involvement in Wolsey's crimes; it was a general pardon for the illegal exercise of the Church's spiritual authority in the past, and it described Henry as "protector and highest head" of the Church and clergy. Aleneil now understood Anne's and the king's tension—and it was not without cause.
However, the king had the bit well within his teeth and was determined to bolt from the old, well-trodden paths of the relationship between Church and ruler. When the Convocation did not immediately accept this pardon and made protest, Henry sent them another on February seventh. The king had not backed down an inch. Not only was the pardon again for the crime of exercising the Church's authority illegally, but it went even further in describing King Henry as "sole protector and supreme head of the English Church and clergy." It was clear that resistance would not bring compromise, only drive the king to greater radicalism.
Further argument ensued, but the outcome was a foregone conclusion. As a sop to the Convocation, Cromwell, now officially a royal councilor, suggested that Henry allow "so far as the law of Christ allows" to be added to the phrase "sole protector of the English Church and clergy" . . . and it was done. That Henry and clergy read Christ's law far differently did not matter to him at the moment, the first wedge had been driven.
Anne's joy seemed to mount to seventh heaven. She was sure that the king only needed to recall Parliament and they would pass a bill of divorcement. Henry, knowing the English Parliament better, was not so sanguine. Through Cromwell the king soon learned that his own council had broken into violent factions over his claim to be head of the English Church. Until he could pressure them to speak with one voice he would make no further move. He delayed the recall of Parliament from October to the following January.
That news conveyed from Cromwell to Pasgen to Rhoslyn brought from her a sigh of relief. Rhoslyn had not been idle but her efforts produced few results. Maria de Salinas, the queen's favorite lady in waiting, was always eager to pass to Catherine any idea that might forward her cause. But Catherine was not much of a partisan. She knew she was right. She had been a clean maiden when she and Henry had wed; thus her marriage was legitimate and God would protect her claim.
Her stubbornness was like a great granite cliff. She clung to her position as queen, regardless of the slights offered her or of Anne's presence. Nothing, neither threats nor promises nor strong urgings from the pope that she retire to a convent, thus protecting her daughter's position, would move her. She was Henry's true wife, she always had been, and always would be. Nothing that a man—even a king—could say would make that untrue.
Even after Henry left her in July 1531 she remained immovable with regard to her position. As late as November of that year she attended state occasions, although she was never allowed into the presence of the king. After a few abortive attempts to offer advice, Rhoslyn realized that her place in the queen's court was essentially useless.
There was no way without bespelling the king—and that was specifically forbidden—that Henry's affection could be drawn back to Catherine. Thus, there was really no point in her dull role as a nun in Maria de Salinas's household. Rhoslyn knew that she and the queen were already at one on the point that there should be no marriage between Anne and Henry.
Their reasons differed: Rhoslyn wanted Anne's child to be a bastard so that no one would care what became of it. Catherine wanted her husband as well as the world to acknowledge the legitimacy of her marriage; she wanted her place as queen back and to ensure that there would be no legitimate rival for the throne to her daughter, Princess Mary. Rhoslyn had no fear that Catherine would weaken under any pressure. She told Maria de Salinas that she had been recalled to her convent and left the queen to her own devices.
Her job there was over. It was time to find a new task.