Looking back over that year, I had to admit I had my triumphs—the chief of which had been the downfall of Wolsey. Campeggio had left, but before he went he had been submitted to the indignity of having his luggage searched, which upset him greatly, though nothing was found in his bags which should not lawfully be there. He complained bitterly to the King that this was a violation of his privilege as an ambassador. The King retorted sharply that there was no breach of etiquette on our part. The Cardinal had ceased to be a legate when he had revoked the case. However, he did think it wise to send an apology, which placated Campeggio.

Another uneasy year had started.

In January my father was created Lord Privy Seal. The King said to me: “I think it would be a good idea to send your father to the Emperor. None knows the case better than he, and he has been a very successful ambassador on other occasions.”

I agreed. We must have been foolish to have acted in such a way. My father was the last person we should have sent. Perhaps we were getting so frantic that we did not pay enough attention to our actions.

However, we soon learned our mistake.

Sly Chapuys came to see the King. I was present, as I often was, for I saw no reason why I should leave the King when something so vital to me was being discussed.

Chapuys said he had had a special message from the Emperor. Very soon the Earl of Wiltshire would be returning. The Emperor was surprised that His Grace had sent one to plead a cause of which he was an interested party.

“It is my master's view that the matter should be tried in Rome, without delay.”

Henry was furious; he dismissed Chapuys, who went away with a secret, smug smile on his face which I loathed.

My father returned. He said that, before he had time to deliver his prepared speech, the Emperor had cut him short and declined to listen to “one who had a personal interest in the outcome.”

“So I heard from that snake Chapuys,” cried Henry. “The Emperor is determined to flout me. He wants the case tried in Rome, and we all know what that means.”

The next day there was a communication from the Pope. When Henry read it his face was scarlet, and his eyes blazed with wrath.

“Look at this, I… I am summoned to appear before the Rota in Rome. How dare they! Do they forget who I am?”

“He does it to degrade you,” I said.

Henry read on, his eyes narrowing.

“A pox take the fellow! Do you see what he hints here? I must return to Katharine or run the risk of excommunication.”

I do not think my spirits had ever been so low as they were on that occasion. I saw the fear in Henry's face. He was still sufficiently under the influence of Rome to dread that threat.

“He would not dare,” I said.

“He has the Emperor behind him.”

“He has always had the Emperor behind him. That is the reason why we are as we are.”

“Excommunication,” murmured Henry. I knew what he was thinking. There had been one occasion when a King of England had suffered this at the hands of a Pope. It had plunged the country into tumult; indeed, it had been one of the most disastrous periods of King John's disastrous reign. Although the new religion which had been started by men like Martin Luther and William Tyndale was being discussed with interest throughout the country, there were still many who regarded the Pope as the Vicar of Christ and who might well turn against the King if that dreaded sentence were carried out.

I feared that even for me the King would not lay himself open to a threat of excommunication.

I said boldly: “So the Pope is still your master.”

He clenched his fist. “Marry, God forbid it,” he said. “I'll not endure this. There must be a way out, Anne. I swear I'll find it.”

I put my arms about his neck and held him closely to me.

“Yes,” I said, “we'll find a way. You'll ignore this threat?”

He nodded. “They must come up with an answer soon.”

Would they? I wondered. Was there an answer? My uneasiness was increasing hourly.

For a time no more was said of the possibility of excommunication. It may have been that the Pope's agents, who were everywhere and would have a good idea of the state of affairs throughout Europe, realized that, if the King were cut off from Rome through excommunication, he might turn to Lutherism. These ideas were spreading with a speed which must have seemed alarming. Books might be banned but that did not prevent their being smuggled into various countries. Although the King had always supported the religion of Rome—was he not Defender of the Faith?— he was adamant about this matter of the divorce, and excommunication in the circumstances could be a double-edged weapon.

As an act of defiance he took me everywhere with him. Sometimes I rode beside him, my horse caparisoned in royal fashion; I even rode pillion with him.

I shall always remember riding through the sullen crowds as we came into London. The people did not cheer him, because I was with him. A man shouted an insult to me and the King ordered his arrest.

He had always enjoyed the people's acclaim and never lost sight of its importance; he had always gone to great lengths to seek popularity; but at the same time they must know who was master; and if he wanted to ride into his capital with me sharing his horse he would do so.

But he did not like it; nor did I… perhaps less than he did. It struck fear into my heart. He might wake up to the fact that it was I who was turning his people's love away from him. The years were passing. I was getting older. How long? I continually asked myself. How long?

Wolsey was still a source of anxiety. I could quite well imagine his returning to power. If the King were to repudiate me… then everything would be as it had been before… friendship with the Pope and the Emperor. And the divorce—for Henry was bent on that? As well as his obsession with me was that of getting a male child, which he believed he could never do with Katharine. Then Wolsey would negotiate marriage with some foreign princess, and Anne Boleyn could fend for herself. That was a continual nightmare, even though the King showed no sign of swerving from his devotion to me; but it was there, a niggling thought at the back of my mind even when I was riding in pomp beside him.

I knew that Henry thought of Wolsey often, and he was well aware how I hated and distrusted the Cardinal; but Sir Henry Norris, who was my very good friend, told me that, when Norfolk and Suffolk had taken the Great Seal from Wolsey and found much pleasure in doing so, Wolsey had been ordered to Esher.

He took his barge to Putney, from where he would go by mule to Esher; and thinking of him, the King was overcome with pity, for he knew that Wolsey's enemies would be assembled to jeer at him on his way.

So the King called Norris to him and gave him a ring which contained a rich ruby. Wolsey would know the ring well, for he had seen it on the King's finger. Norris was to give the ring to Wolsey and tell him to be of good cheer, and wear it for love of the King.

Norris, telling me, said: “It was a most affecting scene. Wolsey was like a man reprieved from the scaffold. I shall never forget his face when he saw the King's ring. I do believe he thought that his troubles were over. He believed that, if only he could get to the King, talk to him, explain so much to him, tell him that all his wealth had been accumulated that he might leave it to the King, all would be well.”

Norris went on: “He took a chain and cross from his neck and gave it to me. ‘Take this from my hand, good Norris,’ he said. I was deeply touched,as any man must be to see this once-great man now brought low, and hope come flowing back because of the kindness of the King. The King truly loved Wolsey. So did Comus, Wolsey's Fool. Comus was one of the best of Fools. One could be sure Wolsey would have the best of everything. He said to me then, ‘Take my Fool and give him into the King's care. Tell him I loved the man and mayhap that will endear him to the Fool.’ Then he said to Comus, ‘Come here, Fool. You are to have a place at Court.’ And do you know, the man begged Wolsey not to send him. He wanted to stay with his master. He wanted no other … not even the King.”

“You speak most affectingly of him, Sir Henry,” I said.

“It was a scene never to be forgotten. The Fool would not go and Wolsey called several yeomen to drag him away. I felt I was taking away a man in chains. And I said farewell to Wolsey and he went on to Esher.”

“Where I believe he found no warm welcome waiting for him.”

“A cold house without furniture…or plate or goblets. Poor Wolsey! How are the mighty fallen!”

And, I thought, so must he remain.

That Christmas the Cardinal was very ill.

I remember the news being brought to Henry when I was with him. Norris told him and I saw the concern in the King's face. Perhaps he felt a twinge of that conscience which was ever ready to be aroused—though usually at his bidding. However, this was a genuine twinge.

“How sick is he, Norris?” he asked.

“They say sick unto death.”

“I will send Dr. Butts to him without delay.”

This he did, and when Dr. Butts returned, he summoned him and wanted to know how the Cardinal fared.

“Tell me,” he said, “have you seen yonder man?”

“I have, Your Grace.”

“And how do you like him?”

“Your Grace, if you will have him dead, I warrant you that he will be dead in four days if he does not receive comfort from you.”

“Marry, God forbid that he should die,” cried Henry. “I would not lose him for £20,000.”