“I am sorry not to see her.”

“She is now the Queen of Navarre.”

“I see that the King of Navarre is of your company.”

“He leaves Marguerite in charge of his kingdom.”

I did not believe that. I knew very well that the ladies had not come because I was not married to Henry. It was hurtful to my pride but understandable to my logic.

“She has a daughter—Jeanne—a bright child.”

“That must give her much pleasure. And her writing?”

“She will always have time for that.”

“I remember the stories of the Heptameron so well. My happiest times in France were with her.”

“I will convey your kind words to her.”

The King had called a halt to the dancing and François conducted me to Henry.

Whether François was genuinely sorry that he had not been able to give us his support and consequently we were still not married, I was not sure. One could never be entirely sure with François. But he seemed to be sincerely eager to do something to help.

Henry and I talked with him alone. He was very attentive to me and treated me with the utmost respect. He had sent me a gift of some magnificent diamonds and, apart from the fact that he had not brought the female members of his Court with him, he had behaved as though I were already Queen of England.

Frankly we discussed the divorce with him. The Pope was on the point of giving his verdict and we knew, in view of the relationship now existing between him and the Emperor, that it must be in Katharine's favor. Once that decision had been given, it would be difficult to act against it. It could only result in excommunication for Henry and myself if we went ahead with the marriage after that.

“I suggest that I send two of our Cardinals to Clement,” said François. “I will tell him that I have seen you in person and that you have agreed that the court shall be held here in France and when the verdict is given you will accept it.”

“But I will not accept it,” cried Henry hotly.

“Ah, but the whole point is the delay this will entail. It will give you time to conclude the measures you need to get the divorce declared in England, and for you to marry in the meantime. Then, whatever the decision of the court here, it will not affect you. You will already have obtained the divorce and married.”

“It seems feasible,” agreed Henry.

“We know Clement. He will seize on anything that will enable him to delay. He trembles because he fears that whatever decision is come to, he will suffer. He is afraid of you…but the Emperor is nearer at hand. He dare not offend Charles—but at the same time he does not want to offend you. You should be thankful that you have such a man to deal with.”

“There could be something in that,” Henry admitted.

We sat for a long time discussing the plan and we were both of the opinion that—for whatever reasons—François wanted to help us.

The following day there were tournaments and wrestling matches, but this time the two Kings did not attempt to wrestle with each other. They were not as agile as they had been thirteen years ago.

On the 30th of the month Henry left Calais with François. He escorted him to that point where the English dominions ended and they dismounted on French soil. They embraced like brothers—Henry told me afterward—and they vowed eternal friendship before they parted, François for Paris, Henry to join me in Calais.

We were not altogether displeased, although we had hoped to be married by now. But there was a good deal in Henry's point that the people would not have liked a marriage which had taken place in Calais. It was not fitting for a King of England to marry there. And this plan which François had put forward seemed feasible. So it had not been a wasted journey.

We now turned our faces toward home but the weather was against us. The gales had started and each day when we expected to sail we were advised not to.

We were nothing loath. We were together and there was plenty to do in Calais. In the evenings we played cards and dice. Henry lost a great deal of money to me, which seemed to amuse him. He liked me to win— and I liked winning, so we were both satisfied.

We played Pope Julius, a game which was now very fashionable at home. It was topical because of the divorce; and the various points in the game were matrimony, intrigue and pope—so it was significant and caused a great deal of amusement.

They were very pleasant days which we spent at Calais waiting for the weather to improve; and although I had not yet the legal right to call myself Queen, I felt I was in every other way.

I had rarely seen Henry so happy.

It was not until 14th of November, about a fortnight after we had said goodbye to François, that we landed at Dover.

Christmas, which had been celebrated with the customary festivities, had passed and January had come. I had made a momentous discovery. I was pregnant.

I could scarcely wait to convey the news to Henry. He was overcome with joy. I sometimes wondered whether his desire for a son surpassed that for me. The two ran very close.

“I knew it must come,” he said. “When, sweetheart? When?”

“In September, I think.”

“It is a long time to wait.”

It was the usual period, I reminded him. “And in those months there is much to be done…unless you wish your son to be born a bastard.”

He was sober at once.

“A pox on Clement,” he said. “This matter would have been settled long ere but for him.”

I agreed.

His brow was furrowed. I understood our predicament as well as he did.

Warham had, most conveniently, died during the previous August, and Cranmer was to take his place, but until he was actually installed as Archbishop of Canterbury he could not declare Henry's marriage to Katharine invalid; and until this was done we could not marry. If the Pope's court decided that Henry was indeed married to Katharine, our marriage would be invalid.

But with the child on the way, something had to be done.

Henry was torn by different emotions. Immense joy at the prospect of the child was uppermost; but he knew what effect excommunication could have and he could visualize the country rising against him—men like Fisher and More who had no fear of consequences.

But the child was on the way.

It was early morning of a day I shall never forget—25 January in the year 1533. I was told I must be in the west turret with Nan Saville in attendance.

The King was there with William Norris and my father and brother.

As soon as I entered, I saw that the King was talking earnestly to one of his chaplains, Dr. Rowland Lee, who, Henry told me afterward, had come in the belief that he was to celebrate Mass. When he was told that he was to perform a marriage ceremony, he was overcome with fear. He had to obey the King but he was in terror of offending the Pope, which he would most certainly do if he officiated at this ceremony.

Henry was exasperated but managed to control his wrath for he needed the man's help, and he was afraid he might be one of those martyrs who were ready to face any consequences rather than go against the Pope.

In order that the ceremony should go on, Henry was forced to tell him that the Pope had declared his marriage to Katharine invalid.

So, with great trepidation, and obvious uneasiness, Dr. Rowland Lee complied.

Henry and I stood hand in hand. Then he solemnly kissed me. I was Queen of England in very truth.

I was exultant. At last I had reached my goal. Once my son was born, I should be secure in my power, but for the time we must act cautiously. The wedding was a secret. Only those present knew of it. Even Cranmer was kept in the dark.

I wish I had been wiser. I wish I had been able to look ahead. I was surrounded by ill-wishers and I snapped my fingers at them. How the Queen and her daughter Mary must hate me! I had usurped Katharine's place, and through me Mary had lost her birthright. What did that proud Princess feel to be branded illegitimate?

But I did not stop to think. I was overwhelmed by the power which was in my hands. I had seen the fall of the great Cardinal—once the most powerful man in the land—and his fall was in part due to me. I had toppled him from power—that “foolish girl” at whom he had sneered.

I saw no obstacles now to my progress. Henry was my slave; and all these important men must bow to my wishes.

At last Cranmer was installed as Archbishop of Canterbury. Before taking office he had made a declaration that the oath which he was about to take in obedience to the Pope, was a matter of form, and could not bind him to act against the King or prevent his reforming anything that was amiss in the Church of England.

The matter was now getting urgent. April had come. I was four months pregnant. We had to move fast, I reminded the King—not that he needed reminding—if our child was to be acknowledged as legitimate.

Cranmer was entirely the King's man. He opened a court and gave sentence; the marriage to Katharine was invalid and the King was, in fact, married to me.

That was the signal. Now I could really come into my own. I arranged my household. I lived in the state of Queen—although to some extent I had done this before. Now all must recognize me as such.

Moreover, it was time for my coronation.

May was a beautiful month—a momentous month for me, as it was to be not so very long afterward.

I was to be crowned at Whitsun. The people loved these ceremonies even though this one was for someone of whom they could scarcely be said to approve. Still, they were determined to have their fun.