He proposed to make two calls on his way to Dover. One should be at Rochester and the other at Canterbury, that he might confer with the Archbishops, Fisher and Warham. The King had commanded him to do this for Henry was unsure of those two. It was Warham who had wanted time to consider the findings of the court. If this had not been so, it might have been declared, before the news of the Sack of Rome reached London, that the marriage was invalid. As for Fisher, since he was the Queen’s confessor, Henry suspected him of being the Queen’s friend.

So the Cardinal halted at Rochester and there was received in the Bishop’s palace.

When they were alone together Wolsey said tentatively that he believed the Bishop was not fully informed of the King’s Secret Matter and that the King was eager that this should be remedied. He then went over the old ground to stress the suggestion made by the Bishop of Tarbes and the King’s consequent misgivings.

Fisher listened gravely, and his compassion for the Queen was intensified by all he heard.

“I fear,” said Wolsey, “that when His Grace broached the matter to the Queen she became hysterical, much to the King’s displeasure.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” answered Fisher.

“As her confessor,” Wolsey replied, “you might bring her to a mood of submission. His Grace feels that you have much influence with her and that you might remind her of the comfort to be found in a life of seclusion.”

The Bishop nodded and, when the Cardinal had left him, he was on his knees for a long time praying for the Queen.

Then on to Canterbury to see Warham and to hint to him that Henry would expect no opposition to the divorce; and, sure that he was bringing Warham to the right state of mind, he continued on his way.

And so to France, there to pass through the countryside, to be gaped at and watched in silence as he proceeded along the road to Paris.

There was nothing lacking in the welcome given him by François and Louise. Pageants and balls were arranged for his pleasure; plays were enacted before him; and all of a greater wit and subtlety than those he was accustomed to witness at the Court of England. François insisted on showing him some of the fine building he was carrying out; building was one of the French King’s passions and almost as important to him as the pursuit of women. Wolsey was enchanted by the superb architecture he saw in France, and dreamed of rebuilding some of his own residences in England. This made him think of Hampton Court which was no longer his and, because when he had been obliged to throw that mansion to the King it had been a gesture which marked the change in their relationship, he was depressed; and it occurred to him then that he would never be able to plan new additions to his palaces.

But his skill was still with him. He completed the treaty with France and gave a pledge that Mary should marry the Duc d’Orléans. As yet he could do little but hint of the King’s marriage with the Princess Renée, because it was scarcely diplomatic to discuss the proposed marriage of a man who was not yet recognized as a bachelor in the eyes of the world. But François could understand a hint better than most; and naturally he was fully aware of the King’s Secret Matter, and he gave hint for hint; he would welcome a marriage between the Princess Renée and the King of England, once the latter was free to take a wife.

Wolsey was resting at Compiègne when Dr. Knight caught up with him. The Cardinal was surprised to see his fellow countryman and received him warmly, eager to know on what business he had come to France.

Dr. Knight had received no instructions not to inform Wolsey of his mission; he believed that the Cardinal was perfecting the more difficult negotiations with François while he, Knight, had the simpler task—for it would be simple once he could reach the Pope—of requesting the required dispensation and asking permission for Wolsey to conduct the enquiry into the divorce.

When the two men were alone together, Knight explained: “The King decided, soon after you had left, that he would send me to Rome. I am now on my way there.”

Wolsey was startled and depressed. If the King was not keeping him informed of all the measures he was taking, it was a bad sign.

“What is your mission in Rome?” he asked, hoping to sound casual.

“In the first place to get the permission of His Holiness for you to try the case.”

Wolsey gave a great sigh of relief. It was reasonable that such a request should not come from him personally, and he immediately saw the point of the King’s engaging Knight for this commission.

“And in the second place?” he asked.

“Oh…a simple matter. The King’s conscience worries him regarding a previous connection with Mary Boleyn.”

“With Mary Boleyn!”

“It seems the girl was his mistress at one time.”

“And his conscience worries him…”

“I confess I was a little surprised. It is true that family has been giving itself airs of late but I did not know the King was infatuated so much as to consider marriage.”

“Please explain,” said Wolsey calmly.

“Since the King proposes to marry Anne Boleyn he requires a dispensation on account of his sexual conduct with her sister.”

Wolsey was speechless for a few seconds. Somewhere close by a bell began to toll, and it seemed to him that the bell tolled for Cardinal Wolsey.

He soon recovered his poise. He was eager that Knight should not guess how deep the rift was between him and the King.

“The King’s conscience is ever active,” he said lightly.

“He is cautious now—eager that when he marries again it shall be a true marriage and that he runs no risk of offending the Deity and thus be deprived of a male heir.”

Wolsey nodded, eager to be alone with his thoughts.

When Knight had left him he sat for a long time staring before him. He had come to France, and one of his missions was to hint at a French marriage for the King. The King knew this. And yet…all the time they had discussed this matter together he had been contemplating marriage with Anne Boleyn.

“That black-eyed witch!” muttered Wolsey; and suddenly so much was clear to him. He knew why the King had slowly but certainly turned his back on him. Mistress Anne had commanded him to do so. Mistress Anne hated the Cardinal who had upbraided her as though she were a humble serving wench at the time when Percy had tried to marry her. Vengeance had blazed from those proud eyes and he had laughed, because he could not believe that he—the great Cardinal—had anything to fear from a foolish girl.

Now this girl was constantly at the King’s side; she had bewitched him so completely that, unsuitable as the marriage was (and to think he had declared her not good enough for Percy!) he was determined to marry her. It was desire for this black-eyed girl, not his miserable conscience, that had set this matter in motion. And the most powerful person at Court was now Anne Boleyn, the declared enemy of the Cardinal.

It had happened under his very eyes and he had not seen it. He had been blind—he who had come so far because he had always seen a move ahead of all others. But he was old and tired now and he was afraid.

What now? he asked himself; and once more he heard the tolling of the bell.

He wanted to pray then, for help, for guidance.

I shall overcome this, as I have all other obstacles. I shall make this woman sorry that she proclaimed herself my enemy.

He seemed to hear mocking laughter, and he thought it sounded like Buckingham’s laughter. Buckingham had lost his head; it had not been difficult to teach him a lesson, and he was one of the foremost noblemen in the land. Should he fear a woman—and one whose claims to nobility were slight?

No, he was not afraid.

Yet he wanted to pray and suddenly realized that he could not do so. All he could do was sink to his knees and talk of his fear, ask for the power to triumph over his enemies. But that did not seem like a prayer.

He rose. He would return to England and there he would see the King; and now there would be no secrets between them. He was no longer deceived by the King’s attitude to the Lady which he had believed to be similar to that which he had felt towards many another.

This was different. This was something the King had never felt before, and it explained the change in their relationship.

Wolsey must tread very warily. Always before he had triumphed; why should he not triumph again?

Tomorrow he would leave for England, his mission completed. He would retire and after a good night’s rest he would be refreshed.

He went to the window to look out on the peaceful scene below, and as he stood there he saw that someone had drawn a sketch on the woodwork with a piece of charcoal.

It was not pretty. There was a gallows and there was something lifelike about the figure which hung from it. The Cardinal’s robes had been roughly but effectively sketched.

Who had done that? Someone in his suite? Someone who hated him and took a vicious delight in making such a sketch where, more likely than not, his eyes would alight on it.

The Cardinal took his kerchief and was about to rub it away. Then he hesitated. No. It would be a sign of weakness. Let it remain; let others see it. He was accustomed to abuse. It had always been his from the start of the climb, yet it had had little effect on his success. If it had not then, why should it now?

So he went to bed; but he slept ill that night. He dreamed of a black-eyed woman who, for the King’s delight, was drawing charcoal sketches of a Cardinal swinging on the gallows.