The Boleyn Prince

February 1537

Richmond Palace

Amidst the timid murmurings of his councillors in the close confines of his presence-chamber, Henry VIII felt his grip tightening on the intricately carved wooden chair with increasing frustration.
He knew what the answer of his councillors would be. Just as he also knew their courage would fail them, and him too. They had preambled for too long. Discussing the northern rebellion and its motivations at greater length than anyone on his council.

"And so, Your Majesty," their selected spokesman declared nervously after a protracted speech, "After much careful investigation, we could find no evidence of the complicity of the Lady Mary in the late rebellion and can only conclude that she was oblivious to the wicked designs of the traitors and thus innocent of any crime."

The King made no response, but his frosty expression conveyed all that he felt. He was right back to where he started. At least if they had found cause to doubt Mary's protestations of innocence, he could have moved to imprison her and force her submission that way. As it was, she would have to remain at Hatfield causing disruption and continuing in her intransigence. Showing him up before the whole of Europe.
How could he convince the Emperor, King Francis and the other powerful monarchs of Europe of the justness of his supreme power if he could not get his own daughter to obey and submit to him?
It would be nothing to what Anne would say of course. He shrank back in his chair at the thought of the rage his volatile wife would fly into once she learned Mary had been exonerated. She had been pressuring him for weeks to investigate his eldest daughter, convinced as she was that the rebellion designed to benefit her must have been sanctioned by her.
He resolved to send a messenger to her to inform her of the council's decision. He was not in the mood for one of her tempers.
Henry strived to avoid confrontation where possible, increasingly more so since he had married Anne. She had a temper quicker than his and was far harder to placate when enraged.
"George!" He thought to himself as he limped along his private gallery to his Privy Chamber, "George should be the one to tell her." That man had a tongue so smooth he could diffuse any volatile situation. He was a natural diplomat with his easy charm and skill with words.

He started as he walked through the door. Anne was already there, sitting at the desk in his chamber. Her slender fingers entwined with each other in her lap.
She jumped to her feet the moment he walked over the threshold.

"Well?" she demanded at once.

He did not answer her at once. He proceeded to his bedchamber to remove his hat. Dismissed his groom and attendants.

"What did they say?" she demanded again, throwing herself in front of him.

"They said there was insufficient evidence to charge her," he said at last, not meeting her gaze.

"What?" she raged turning away from him. She was as fiery as the yellow silk of her French gown.

"Be mindful of your tone, madam," he growled.

"How could they not have found any evidence against her? This rebellion was designed to benefit her."

"There are no witnesses, no confessions."

"So, what will you do?" she challenged him finally breaking the silence.

"There is nothing I can do," he flared back. "I cannot arrest her just because it is your wish. The country would revolt and the Emperor declare war."

"The Emperor is just looking for an excuse to declare war. He will never ally with England now that I have given you a son. Your only choice is to ally with France. Secure a French bride for our son and declare war on the Emperor yourself."

"You will not instruct me on how to rule my realm, madam."

"You will have no realm left to rule if you do not heed me," she warned. "Or shall you be content to let the Emperor invade and depose you? Put the Lady Mary on your throne. And what about me and our children? He will not let them live. Will they meet the same fate as those little Princes in the Tower? Lost to the world with not even a trace of their fates know? Our son Henry. Our golden boy strangled in his sleep by Spanish mercenaries."

The idea of his precious son's death after all he had done to secure him and so soon after the loss of Richmond made Henrys blood run cold. "Enough," he roared with more vehemence than he had felt in a long time.

He watched Anne slink out of the room like a wounded cat. She always had this power to arouse a multitude of emotions within him. He had never quarrelled with a woman as he had with her. Katharine had disagreed with him on some matters towards the end of their marriage, but she had never spoken to him in the way that Anne had done. She had been like this when they had first been together. They had argued, as passionate lovers did. But she had never challenged him so.
However, the Anne of today was a very different woman from what she was back then. Deep down he wondered if there was any love left between them. His infatuation for her had long since diminished. Yet she still had this ability to arouse him. Was it convivial love? Was that what they had been reduced to? They who had scandalized Europe with their unwavering passionate desire for each other were now reduced to monotonous relations. He could not tell. No matter what, they were tied to each other until one of them was called to God. Anne would never agree to abdicate the marriage and retire to a nunnery. She had waited too long and made too many enemies in her rise. The court disliked her. His people hated her.
He would never forget the day before her coronation as they had processed into the city to be greeted only by silence. He had shown himself to the people numerous times throughout his reign and each time the cries of the people had been thunderous. Yet there had been no cheers or shouts of "God save the Queen" as he had walked through the streets with Anne by his side. The men had kept their hats upon their heads and the women had not curtsied.
It had been so different from his joint coronation with Katharine. They had been hardly able to hear what the other was saying though they were stood side by side the cheers had been so.

He was still brooding on the matter when Cranmer and Cromwell arrived in his chambers two days later.

"May I ask what troubles Your Majesty at this early hour?" The Archbishop asked kindly.

Henry let out an exasperated sigh. "It is my daughter, Mary. My wife insists that she was complicit in the Northern Rebellion, but the council can find no evidence of it."

"I see."

"The Queen would have me arrest her and send her to the Tower."

"Is that Your Majesty's wish?" Cranmer asked diplomatically.

"It would be her own fault if she did push me to such action," The King grumbled bitterly. "To defy me in the way she has defies all natural duties a daughter owes to her father."

"Indeed, Your Majesty," Cranmer said. "In disobeying Your Majesty's orders, the Lady Mary's behaviour is indeed sinful. However, I cannot be sure that her primary objection stems from impertinent disobedience but rather from the voice of her conscience."

"What does a girl like her know of a troubled conscience," Henry muttered petulantly. "She does not have to concern herself with the burdens of ruling of a kingdom."

"I think His Eminence means that the Lady Mary is struggling to reconcile herself to her new and rightful position," Cromwell interjected.

"Then you also think I should arrest her?"

"I would urge Your Majesty to heed the words of your councillors. It is no small thing to arrest a daughter of a King, and of course, there is no guarantee that should the Lady Mary be placed under arrest, the Emperor not take up military intervention on her behalf."

"It strikes me, Your Majesty, that whilst the Lady Mary remains in the household of Princess Elizabeth, she is seen as something of a wild card," Cromwell said.

"I cannot help but agree," Cranmer said. "Through the ages, many controversial persons posing dangers to the crown have been espoused to those whose alliance is beyond any doubt. Perhaps that might be how to neutralise any threat that Your Majesty may face from the Lady Mary," Cranmer suggested.

"And what man would want her now?" Henry scoffed. "Dull and spiritless bastard that she is."

"I think Your Majesty will find that there would be many bachelors ready to serve Your Majesty in this matter," Cromwell said.

A small smile of amusement found its way to the Kings lips. "And what of you Cromwell? You have been a widower for several years now. Would a King's daughter be a suitable reward for you?

Cromwell's face was full of disbelief. Cranmer's too. What he was proposing was so outlandish it was unfathomable.
"Your Majesty, though I am honoured, I am an old man. Far too old to think of marriage, particularly for such a young bride as the Lady Mary," He said, choosing his words with care."