London - Edward Rutherfurd [305]
By his new title of Supreme Head of the Church, Henry now intended not just to take all revenues, appoint bishops and even abbots – these things had been tried before by powerful and greedy medieval kings. He also meant, personally, to decide all doctrine, all theology, all spiritual matters as well. It had never even crossed the mind of any medieval king to do that. He intended, effectively, to be king, Pope and church council all rolled into one. It was outrageous. And almost like a final insult, giving him the title of Vicegerent, he had put Cromwell in charge of the entire body of the Church – priests, abbots, and bishops, they were all to answer for everything they did to the king’s hard-faced secretary.
“Henry’s making himself the equal of God!” Rowland protested. “This,” he said quietly, “would be the end of the Church as we know it.”
“Henry is a good Catholic,” Thomas replied defensively. “He will protect the Church against heresy.” Susan said nothing.
“But what,” Rowland pointed out, “if the king changes his mind? What if Henry decides to abolish relics? What if he decides to alter the form of the Mass? What if he suddenly becomes a Lutheran?”
Nobody said anything.
“There’s to be another Act, you know,” the young man went on. “A Treason Act. Anyone who even argues against anything in the Supremacy Act will be guilty of treason. That’ll mean death,” he added unnecessarily.
Susan began trembling, and she looked at Rowland. “We are not traitors,” she said, her voice as steady as she could make it. “We shall obey the Act if it is passed.”
But Rowland was staring at the floor.
As the weeks went by and the Supremacy Bill began to make its way through Parliament, she knew how Rowland was feeling. She felt the same way too, but she knew she must not show it. Indeed, she even found herself in the strange position of defending the king, of siding with her brother, who she suspected was a heretic, to deflect her husband’s criticisms.
“In practical terms it changes nothing,” Thomas repeatedly assured him. “Not only is Henry a staunch Catholic, but even the most modest reforms would have to get past the bishops and Parliament. The faith is safe.”
There was less opposition in Parliament than Susan might have expected. Partly, she realized, this was because of an attitude expressed to her by the wife of a neighbour one day. “Better to have our own Harry of England in charge of the Church than some Italian in Rome who knows nothing about us,” she had remarked. Others, Susan suspected, even amongst the bishops like Cranmer, might be covert reformers who thought their cause might stand a better chance in a separate English Church than under the Pope. But above all, as she watched ruthless Secretary Cromwell in action, she understood all too well the fundamental reason why Parliament was submitting to the will of the king. It was fear. And remembering that vision of the Great Harry, that golden ship with its concealed banks of murderous cannon, she knew in her heart that the grim ship of state meant to sail on.
“We must obey the law,” she would say quietly.
There was only one small consolation. Unlike the succession legislation of the spring, there was no talk of forcing everyone to take any new oath. If any of Henry’s subjects wished to defy the new Act publicly, it would be treason; but if they disagreed, they could at least suffer in silence.
And that, Susan realized, was exactly what her dear husband was doing. He went about his work mechanically; though, after a period of looking deathly ill, he regained some of his usual colour, the spring went out of his step. As autumn turned to winter, he seemed to sink into a sad and silent gloom, and even alone in their bedroom, while the affection remained, the joy was all gone. As for her, trying to conceal the fact that she knew he was right, and knowing that she must do whatever was necessary to preserve her family, she would gaze at her children, and endure.
If only, she thought as the year drew towards its close, if only Peter were here.