ial hastily forward, and at the end of May
the two Legates opened their court in the great hall of the Blackfriars.
King and queen were cited to appear before them when the court again met
on the eighteenth of June. Henry briefly announced his resolve to live no
longer in mortal sin. The queen offered an appeal to Clement, and on the
refusal of the Legates to admit it flung herself at Henry's feet. "Sire,"
said Catharine, "I beseech you to pity me, a woman and a stranger, without
an assured friend and without an indifferent counsellor. I take God to
witness that I have always been to you a true and loyal wife, that I have
made it my constant duty to seek your pleasure, that I have loved all whom
you loved, whether I have reason or not, whether they are friends to me or
foes. I have been your wife for years; I have brought you many children.
God knows that when I came to your bed I was a virgin, and I put it to
your own conscience to say whether it was not so. If there be any offence
which can be alleged against me I consent to depart with infamy; if not,
then I pray you to do me justice." The piteous appeal was wasted on a king
who was already entertaining Anne Boleyn with royal state in his own
palace; the trial proceeded, and on the twenty-third of July the court
assembled to pronounce sentence. Henry's hopes were at their highest when
they were suddenly dashed to the ground. At the opening of the proceedings
Campeggio rose to declare the court adjourned to the following October.

[Sidenote: Henry's wrath]

The adjournment was a mere evasion. The pressure of the Imperialists had
at last forced Clement to summon the cause to his own tribunal at Rome,
and the jurisdiction of the Legates was at an end. "Now see I," cried the
Duke of Suffolk as he dashed his hand on the table, "that the old saw is
true, that there was never Legate or Cardinal that did good to England!"
The Duke only echoed his master's wrath. Through the twenty years of his
reign Henry had known nothing of opposition to his will. His imperious
temper had chafed at the weary negotiations, the subterfuges and perfidies
of the Pope. Though the commission was his own device, his pride must have
been sorely galled by the summons to the Legates' court. The warmest
adherents of the older faith revolted against the degradation of the
crown. "It was the strangest and newest sight and device," says Cavendish,
"that ever we read or heard of in any history or chroni