“And where is she?”
Then Nicholas told his story, his ruddy comely face bright with exultation, for he had no room for pity left. The rumours that had come to Lewes were true. Anne had been arrested suddenly at Greenwich during the sports, and had been sent straight to the Tower. The King was weary of her, though she had borne him a child; and did not scruple to bring the most odious charges against her. She had denied, and denied; but it was useless. She had wept and laughed in prison, and called on God to vindicate her; but the process went on none the less. The marriage had been declared null and void by Dr. Cranmer who had blessed it; and now she was condemned for sinning against it.
“But she is either his wife,” said Chris amazed, “or else she is not guilty of adultery.”
Nicholas chuckled.
“God save us, Chris; do you think Henry can’t manage it?”
Then he grew white with passion, and beat the table and damned the King and Anne and Cranmer to hell together.
Chris glanced up, drumming his fingers softly on the table.
“Nick,” he said, “there is no use in that. When is she to die?”
The knight’s face flushed again with pleasure, and he showed his teeth set together.
“Two days,” he said, “please God, or three at the most. And she will not meet those she has sent before her, or John Fisher whose head she had brought to her—the bloody Herodias!”