The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [98]
Now it would end. Now I would begin, at long last, to be my own man. Down with that persecuting trio of nay-sayers. I arose determined to do battle with the only surviving member of the three.
XLIII
I called Convocation to convene immediately. This was important to my plan, as I wanted to take the churchmen by surprise, with no warning of what awaited them. When all the high-ranking churchmen (Convocation was a body representing the Church as a whole) were assembled, they were stunned to hear themselves charged with the treason of praemunire, or bringing Papal bulls into England without prior royal permission. Only the payment of a fine of a hundred thousand pounds could win them a pardon ... the fine and an innocent document bewailing and acknowledging their evil transgression, signed by them all, and addressed to the King, incidentally titled Supreme Head of the Church in England. Such a simple thing, was it not? So much simpler than the endless plots and ploys of Wolsey’s, devised to wring Clement’s arm. All those envoys, all those courts, meant nothing compared to that piece of parchment with those seven devastating words.
Convocation balked; it pleaded; it tried to excuse itself. But in the end it capitulated, paid the money, and signed the document. The highest ecclesiastical body in the land had just proclaimed its King to be its head.
I waited for Pope Clement’s reaction with curiosity. Surely this would galvanize the stubborn yet weak-willed creature, and let him know I meant to proceed along the course of freeing myself and my country entirely from Rome. It would be so simple for him to sign a parchment freeing me from Katherine, thereby preserving England and its sweet income for the Church—almost as simple as Convocation signing its document.
But no. The recalcitrant goat refused. He issued warnings telling me to cease my actions upon pain of excommunication. He forbade anyone to speak in favour of the annulment until the case had been “decided”—in Rome, presumably. Did the fool not understand that there would be no decision from Rome that would bind me? And if he truly wished things to be impartial, as he made believe, he would have put a ban of silence on any discussion of the case, not just on those in favour of the annulment.
“If the Pope issues ten thousand excommunications, I wouldn’t care a straw for them!” I bellowed when told of his latest threat.
Cromwell and Anne were present then. Anne looked gleeful; of late she had been questioning my steadfastness to the cause. She ch Palace. Usually there was a thought-provoking sermon from the pulpit, as well as the ever awe-inspiring Mass. When we came to Mass one blustery February day, however, I was attacked even from there.
It was cold and damp inside the chapel; the braziers failed to keep the chill from sinking in. I saw Anne shiver a bit from time to time. She was so thin that even the furs she constantly wore did little to alleviate her constant shivers and shakes. She had been ill several times since Christmas.
The friar began to speak. But instead of offering an interesting theological premise, he began to shout.
“Do you remember the story of King Ahab?” he screamed. “King Ahab was King of Israel. But he abandoned God and turned to false gods. Yes, a King of Israel worshipped Baal! Evil as he was, there was one by his side still more evil: his wife, Jezebel. She urged him on to even greater abominations.
“Elijah the Prophet tried to warn him. But Ahab was a creature of Jezebel, not the Lord! At length he coveted a vineyard near his palace. It was owned by a man named Naboth. He proposed to buy it from Naboth, but Naboth refused.
“King Ahab was not used to being refused. He was crossed in nothing. So he went home and sulked. Jezebel asked what was troubling him, and when he told her, that wicked woman smiled and said, ‘Come, eat and take heart; I will make you a gift of the vineyard of Naboth.