Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Later that same year, there was another uprising, one that affected Thomas more personally. Apparently, the mob desired to be rid of both himself and Cromwell, in response to their involvement in both the dismantling of religious houses and the aftermath of the Lincolnshire uprising. Such was their rage that nine thousand insurgents had marched on York, demanding justice.
“Why has this happened, does anyone know?” the king demanded of Cromwell, Edward Seymour, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Duke of Norfolk, all of whom he had summoned.
“The leader is a man called Robert Aske.” Naturally, Cromwell was fully aware of the facts. “He is a lawyer, from a wealthy family. People from as far afield as Northumberland and Durham are among those marching, not just Yorkshire folk,” he explained smoothly.
“I have heard that people from Cumberland are also amongst the rebels,” Norfolk added, eager to show that Cromwell was not the only person in possession of information.
Cromwell, as usual, was unperturbed. “They are calling this the Pilgrimage of Grace, and they march under a banner showing the five wounds of Christ.”
“I understand monks, nuns, and friars, are being told to return to their religious houses,” Thomas revealed, having received information on the subject that same morning. However, since many religious houses were now lacking both rooves and windows, it would be impossible for the monks and nuns to actually live there. “Also, taxes in the north are high, and this year promises a poor harvest, which will have made the people uneasy.”
“But what is the purpose of the uprising?” Henry bellowed.
“It would appear that they are happy for you to remain Head of the Church of England, Your Majesty,” Cromwell explained, managing not to flinch as the king hurled an empty drinking vessel at the wall. “But they want to keep to the old faith, and keep the monastic establishments, so that they may look after the sick and distribute alms to the poor as they have always done. The people want saints to be worshipped and images to be venerated again, and they wish for you to get rid of certain minsters and advisors, namely myself, my lord of Canterbury, and the bishops of Ely, Rochester and Worcester.”
Thomas experienced a spasm of nausea upon hearing his name included. A century and a half ago, the then Archbishop of Canterbury, Simon of Sudbury, had been brutally beheaded by an angry mob during the Peasant’s Revolt. What if this were to happen to him? Furthermore, if the requests of the mob were granted, the small amount of progress he had managed to make regarding the Reformation, would be totally lost.
“We will not be dictated to by a mob,” growled the king. “Cromwell, what of the larger northern monastic houses? Are they destroyed yet?” he demanded.
“Not totally dismantled, but in the process,” Cromwell assured him. “The wealth – as in the plate and jewels – has been removed and brought to London.” This, he knew, was the king’s chief concern. “Many of these religious houses no longer own a roof because the lead has been taken to be melted down. The statues and images likewise have been taken away. I am informed,” he continued, “that people wish to be reassured that their village churches are not to be pulled down. Apparently, wild rumours state that this is to happen.”
“Cranmer, you must preach otherwise; tell them the village churches are not to be closed; send word to your clergy to do the same. We desire for our people to serve and worship God, as we do. We would never tear down their churches,” he announced piously. “Norfolk, get yourself to York with an army. The people must be appeased, and Aske must be executed. But placate him first, if you understand our meaning.” The king’s eyes narrowed as he looked sharply at his most senior duke.
“I understand, Your Majesty.” Norfolk managed what could only be described as a grim smile. “They shall be dealt with.”
“What about the southern monasteries?” the king demanded of Cromwell. “Hailes and Glastonbury… are they destroyed yet?”
“They are next on the list, Your Majesty,” Cromwell assured him. “The monks have been expelled, and as for the lead rooves, they are due to be removed shortly.”
“Norfolk!” the king roared, as the duke began to leave his presence. “Be sure to bring this man, Aske, to our presence. We wish to speak with him; to converse with him before he is punished.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Norfolk bowed.
As the king had anticipated, Norfolk did his work well. He rode north with his troops, promised Aske an audience with the king, plus safe passage to and from London, and delivered the traitor to His Majesty, where he proceeded to celebrate the Christmas season. The rebel leader clearly felt that the king was in agreement with him, speaking to him at length about Cromwell’s excessive authority, and about his belief that that the Archbishop of Canterbury, along with some of his clergy, were heretics. The king listened intently, revealing nothing. When Aske was departing from Court in the company of the Duke of Norfolk, Henry compounded his feeling of satisfaction by presenting him with a crimson silk coat, as a mark of favour.
There was much tension in the Court over the following days, as everyone wondered what was going to happen next. Thomas constantly felt a twinge of anxiety gnawing in his stomach. Might the king agree to Aske’s demands? If he did, what would befall himself and Cromwell, as well as the other reformists? The objectionable vision of Simon of Sudbury being mutilated was never far from his mind.
As the duke headed north again with Aske, fighting broke out as the rebels rose against the king’s troops. They were no match for Norfolk’s seasoned men and were easily cut down. Those who were not killed during the battle we captured and promptly hung, drawn and quartered. Unlike his followers, Aske was offered a free pardon, on the condition that he return to London with Norfolk. Naturally, he agreed, riding back to London with his head held high, thinking he had escaped an untimely death. As the king had intended all along, Aske was imprisoned in the Tower upon his arrival in London, then was formally tried at Westminster shortly afterwards. Unsurprisingly, he was found guilty of treason, and sentenced to be hung, drawn and quartered, just like his followers. As a warning to other would-be rebel leaders in the north, Aske was executed at Clifford’s Tower in York, on a specially erected scaffold. The protest was well and truly over; all that remained were a selection of mutilated body parts, rotting in towns and villages throughout the realm: an example of what would happen to those who angered King Henry VIII.
“This has been a terrible time,” Thomas admitted to Latimer one evening. Now the Bishop of Worcester, Hugh Latimer was often seen at the archbishop’s side, and Thomas could not have been more grateful for it. Latimer was outspoken and fearless; even where the Archbishop of Canterbury was concerned, he said nothing in public that he would not say in private. He was entirely honest, extremely hardworking, and a reliable friend.
“The New Learning will not happen without offending those who adhere to orthodoxy,” Latimer reminded him. “I expected some sort of protest.”
“Protest?” Thomas almost shouted the word. “It was more than a mere protest, my friend. Even His Majesty was fearful, such was the size of the mob. We could all have been ripped apart.” His friend’s blasé attitude astounded him, and he could not help but envy Latimer’s cool courage.
“At least it shows they fear the spread of the Protestant faith. We must be making some impression, otherwise they would not demand to return to the old ways,” Latimer retorted in his standard, logical manner.
Thomas was about to mention that he had hardly slept for the duration of the uprising, then thought better of it. There was no point; Latimer would only look surprised, then confess to sleeping like an infant throughout the whole episode. Instead, he clasped his friend’s hand. “I am glad that you are now one of my bishops.”
“May you always feel that way,” Latimer grinned, his eyes sparkling fiendishly.
*****
“You are exhausted,” Margaret chided, placing a plate of food and some warmed ale in front of her husband, who had just returned home from another intense day at Court.
That morning, Thomas had travelled to Hampton Court, fully determined to obtain an audience with the king and speak out boldly regarding a matter which was dear to his heart. A dangerous matter. But though Margaret was eager to hear what had transpired, she was currently more concerned for her husband’s wellbeing.
He sank into his chair, the peace of Lambeth Palace soothing his weary soul. Just a couple of yards away, little Marjorie lay sleeping in her new cradle - they had already had to replace her original one, in order to accommodate her growing limbs. She was thriving, he noted fondly. Opposite him, Margaret sat, busying her hands with some embroidery. Seeing the anxiety written on her face, he leaned forward and grasped her hand, almost stabbing himself on her industrious needle in the process. “The king has agreed to see Lady Mary,” he informed her, his tone one of satisfaction.
Margaret gave a sigh of relief, the burden of fear she had carried all day suddenly evaporating. There were two reasons for her relief. First of all, she believed a father should agree to see his daughter, even if the father was the King of England. Secondly, her husband had placed himself in a dangerous situation. The king had once threatened Lady Mary with death, such was his determination that his daughter should sign the Acts of Succession and Supremacy. Given that refusing to sign the Acts constituted treason, a crime punishable by death, Henry had reasoned that his daughter should be dealt with no differently to anyone else.
“I reminded him of the love he bore for her when she was a little girl, and of the love she has for him. He listened, then called her disobedient, but I kept telling him that she still loved him, and that she had simply been ill-advised regarding her faith. The king has agreed to send someone, probably Cromwell, to visit her tomorrow and ask her to sign the Acts. Thanks to our meeting, if she refuses, her life shall at least be spared. If she agrees to sign, she shall be brought to Court at last, thanks to the new queen also importuning on her behalf.” Despite her religious leanings, Thomas had developed a healthy esteem for the new queen over the past few months. Though she wisely remained silent regarding matters of state, she was willing to speak up about the fate of a motherless young woman. He respected her for that.
“I shall pray for her to be brought to Court no matter what her decision. After all, she is the king’s daughter,” Margaret declared stoutly. “She should be with her father.”
“But if she doesn’t agree to sign the Acts, she will be a focus for Catholics, hence Henry’s decision to ban her from Court,” Thomas explained, glancing at his own daughter. How could any father ban his daughter from his presence? “But her life will be spared. I am thankful that the queen has a kind heart; she has herself been begging for Mary’s presence at Court.”
“Pity she is Catholic,” Margaret murmured, echoing his own thoughts.
“Her brother, Lord Hertford, is secretly Protestant. Perhaps he can direct her away from her misguided views?” Thomas was optimistic; if Hertford could move away from Catholicism, his sister could do likewise.
“Perhaps Lady Mary will realise that you have been instrumental in helping her, and think kindly of you?” Margaret was thoughtful. Her husband had been kind to Lady Mary; he had permitted her to keep her Catholic confessor at her home in Hertfordshire, and he had also reluctantly permitted her to hear Mass, after she explained to him that it gave her much needed comfort.
“I doubt it.” His smile was apologetic. He was the man who had announced that her parent’s marriage was invalid, and that she, once a royal princess, was in fact a bastard. He doubted very much that Mary would ever feel anything but dislike towards him. “I believe that she has been hurt too deeply to see me as anything other than the man who ruined her life.”
“I don’t like to think that the king’s daughter dislikes you. After all, she is in a position to… I don’t know… perhaps cause harm.” Margaret frowned anxiously.
“Do not worry, my love.” He patted her hand reassuringly, only just avoiding her embroidery needle. “She is the king’s bastard daughter. She will never have any real power.”
The following day, Cromwell rode to Hertfordshire and obtained Lady’s Mary’s signature on both the Act of Succession and the Act of Supremacy. On his return journey home, he visited Lambeth Palace to triumphantly tell his friend the news.
“I hope you treated her gently.” Thomas’ tone was one of rebuke. “I have heard you can be somewhat bullying in manner when speaking with her.”
“She needs a bullying manner,” Cromwell protested. “She is so stubborn; she needs to be dealt with firmly. The Duke of Norfolk agrees,” he added truculently. “He believes that her head should be beaten against the wall until it resembles a baked apple, so be thankful that it was I who visited her, not Norfolk. I finally persuaded her to sign the Acts, and to agree to be referred to as Lady Mary. As you know, she has always insisted upon being addressed as Princess Mary. I can understand why, of course. It is a huge difference in status.” He shrugged. “She shall just have to make the best of it. Plenty of young women throughout the land would love be in her position.”
“Princess Elizabeth is now Lady Elizabeth, so both sisters are the same.” As soon as Thomas had declared that the king had not been married to Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth had been declared a bastard too. “I have some good news to share with you also, which I am finally at liberty to speak of openly. The queen is with child, although no doubt you are already aware of this.” His companion’s smirk revealed that this was indeed the case. “His Majesty is thrilled and keeps lavishing jewels upon her. As always, he insists she is carrying a male heir.” He was silent for a moment, reflecting upon this. The queen must surely feel under considerable pressure, being required to not only bear a healthy living child, but also a male.
Less than a week later, Lady Mary was presented at Court to the new queen, an event which the king insisted his Archbishop of Canterbury must attend. He arrived to find the audience chamber packed with senior members of the Court; as ever, he gravitated towards Cromwell, who was standing beside the queen’s brother, the Earl of Hertford. Barely had he greeted them when the doors opened, and a herald announced the arrival of Lady Mary.
Turning to watch her entrance, Thomas felt a twinge of pity. The poor girl looked as if she had been weeping, and she had clearly not slept for some time. Her face was pale, and her thin body trembled as she approached her royal father. Dipping three perfect curtseys as she approached the thrones at the far end of the chamber, she finally knelt in front of King Henry and his latest queen.
The king, feeling a sudden rush of paternal affection, placed his forefinger underneath her chin, raised her from her position, then bellowed, “some of you suggested we should put this jewel to death!” He glared accusingly at the persons assembled. No one dared state that it was the king himself who had most desired this act to be performed.
Queen Jane, not yet visibly pregnant, rushed to take the girl’s hands. “That would have been a great pity, Your Grace, to have lost your greatest jewel,” she declared, beaming goodwill upon the new arrival. “You are so very welcome, my dear.”
Suddenly realising the enormous danger of her situation, Mary promptly fainted.
Later that afternoon, Thomas was surprised when the queen requested to speak with him in private. Gardiner, being Catholic, was the person whom she had always been most likely to seek out when she desired spiritual counsel. However, he was not one to shirk his responsibilities, and duly went to her.
“Please sit with me for a while, my lord Archbishop.” Jane looked strained and anxious, quite unlike the radiant woman who had welcomed Lady Mary to Court just a short while ago.
“Of course.” Obediently he seated himself. “Is there something amiss, Your Majesty?” Thus far, he had rarely been aware of, or involved in, the queen’s affairs. They had always been polite to one another, but owing to their theological differences, they had never gravitated towards each other. As he waited for her to speak, he was yet again forcibly reminded of the differences between Jane and her predecessor. Even their mottos were utterly different. Anne’s had been ‘The Most Happy’ – the motto of someone who was always at the centre of her own world. In contrast, Jane’s was ‘Bound to Obey and Serve’. Again, this was appropriate. She would always place her husband’s interests above her own.
Eventually, the queen murmured, “My lord, I shall speak plainly. I have been informed that you were well acquainted with my predecessor.” Her voice cracked with anxiety.
“Indeed, I was,” he confirmed. “I was her chaplain.”
“Do you think she was innocent?”
Momentarily, he was taken aback by the forthrightness of the question. Then it hit him. Of course. She had realised that, had Anne given birth to a son, she would still be alive. If the king could rid himself of two queens for not bearing sons, he could easily rid himself of a third. Thomas managed to gather his thoughts together. “Queen Anne was found guilty by a jury of her peers and was sentenced accordingly.” He had no intention of admitting that he had absolutely no doubt whatsoever that she had been innocent. “The king was kind and sent for a swordsman to take off her head cleanly.”
“I find no solace in that, my lord.” Jane looked queasy. “I am so fearful that I might give birth to a girl and find myself cast aside also. The monasteries are fast disappearing; even the bigger establishments are being dissolved. Where shall I go if I fail in my duty?” She was fighting to keep her composure, and her eyes were rapidly filling with tears. “His Majesty has even chosen a name for my baby.”
“Your Highness, the king loves you. You are his wife; he has no grounds to cast you aside. Leave your fears at the foot of the cross. Give them to the Lord, your Heavenly Lord, whom even the King of England shall one day face in judgement,” he replied gently.
At that moment, the door was flung open, and the king himself entered the room, looking hearty and cheerful. Walking over to his queen, he lay a huge hand upon her shoulder. “Please, please, remain seated, both of you. I see you are seeking prayer and counsel with my lord Archbishop, my love. But why the tears?” With a gallant, sweeping gesture, Henry pulled a kerchief from his sleeve and handed it to his wife.
“Her Highness feels moved by God’s goodness, and desires His help to fulfil her responsibilities,” Thomas explained. It was partially true, in a way. “Perhaps Your Majesty will join us for a while?”
“Certainly, certainly,” the king agreed wholeheartedly. “You have no idea of how blessed we feel, being wed to such a devout and obedient woman.”
Thomas nodded solemnly. “It pleases me to see Your Majesty so content,” he stated truthfully. It seemed the king was set to enjoy a peaceful and contented phase in his life, and it was clear that he could always depend upon this lady for kindness and support.
*****
Early one October evening, a messenger wearing the king’s livery arrived at Lambeth Palace. The queen’s labour had begun, and Thomas was summoned to Court, to be with the king.
The queen had been confined to her chamber since early September, in preparation for the birth, as was customary for wellborn ladies. She had not seen the sunlight for weeks, the windows having been covered and sealed to prevent noxious air from entering the room, and only the queen’s ladies had been permitted to enter the chamber. Such confinement would surely have driven his own wife to insanity, Thomas brooded, as the barge took him to Hampton Court.
The cool, damp air had formed into a thick fog, sitting just above the surface of the river, and he was glad of his fur-lined cloak, hugging it tightly about himself. When the barge finally reached the landing stage at Hampton Court, he followed a torch-bearing lackey up the steps and into the palace, where he found the king pacing back and forth in agitation and anticipation. The queen’s cries of suffering could be heard echoing through the corridors, despite the thick oak doors separating them from her lying in chamber, and he could not help but wince every time he heard her scream, his memory of Joan’s labour was reignited.
Periodically, the midwife would send a message to the king, and after several hours had passed, she asked for Dr William Butts, the king’s senior physician. Butts, who had been waiting in an anteroom since the queen’s pains began, hastened to give advice. But still the labour continued. Finally, after nearly thirty hours of labour, at two o’clock in the morning, the queen was delivered of a son. Not only that, but he was a healthy, lusty babe, and thus considered likely to survive long into adulthood. The queen, according to Dr Butts, was exhausted and much in need of rest, as was to be expected, but she was in good spirits and was doing very well indeed.
Thomas, himself exhausted, felt a huge surge of relief on behalf of the queen. Her position was secure; she had given her husband a son to rule after him. The king, understandably, was ecstatic, and despite not having slept for over twenty-four hours, had practically danced with joy at the news of his son’s birth. Once Dr Butts had confirmed that all was well, Thomas was dismissed by the king, who thanked him sincerely for his company and counsel. Having made his way down to the river, he collapsed onto a barge seat and promptly fell asleep.
The following day he began to make plans for the babe’s royal baptism, which was to take place in a few days’ time. Unlike Elizabeth’s baptism, this was to be a large, lavish evening celebration, requiring a great deal of organisation. The queen, being only recently delivered of her infant, would be unable to sit for long periods in a chair, so her doting husband had demanded that a litter be brought into the chapel for her to lie on. Further requests, regarding the decoration and other features of the ceremony, were also made by the king over the coming days, but eventually, everything was set.
Watched by ambassadors and the aristocracy, Thomas entered the chapel of Hampton Court as part of a long, torch-lit procession. The babe himself was accompanied by a nurse, a midwife, and six gentlemen attendants, who held a decorative canopy over him. As Thomas performed the ceremony of baptism, he felt a surge of optimism. The prince’s male attendants were mostly Protestant, and his tutor, who had already been selected, was also Protestant. Now that the king was settled in his private life, he was certain that the country would soon be guided into a new age of religious reform.
Devastatingly, his sanguine optimism was soon shattered. A few evenings later, on the twenty-third of October, Thomas was summoned once again to Hampton Court. The queen was believed to be suffering from childbirth fever, and Dr Butts had warned the king to prepare for the worst. Hastening to the king’s side, Thomas sat with him, offering silent comfort and companionship as the king wept. Some hours later, the queen died. Twelve days ago, the king had been overjoyed; now, he was wracked with grief, his marital bliss tragically terminated.
The queen’s funeral was to be held at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor, and Thomas led the procession from Hampton Court, which slowly made its way through the streets of London, eventually arriving in Windsor a few days later. During the journey, crowds came out to bow their heads in respect, calling out prayers, blessings, and condolences, to their king and his infant son. As for Jane herself, she had been queen for less than two years; the people had not had time to develop any deep fondness for her. Whilst there was sympathy for the king, no one gave much thought to the dead queen, for she had been nothing more than a pale, shadowy figure as far as they were concerned. She had not even had a coronation. The only good thing to come of her death was a rekindled affection for the king. After Anne’s execution, there had been a certain degree of animosity towards the king from his subjects, but now, he was grieving, and they now loved him for his humanity.
*****
To divert his attention from his grief, Henry had turned to examining The Institution of the Christian Man, the book written by Thomas and his bishops to accompany the Act of Ten Articles. The book was designed to outline the reformed faith in a simple manner, understandable to the common man, and the king had spent the past few weeks eagerly discussing its contents with Thomas and Cromwell. It was during one such meeting that Cromwell, to the horror of Thomas, suggested to the king that he ought to consider taking another wife. The king, who was undeniably furious, looked ready to throttle his minister, but resisted. Instead, Henry verbally berated Cromwell, informing him, in no uncertain terms, that he was never to suggest such a thing again.
Cromwell, fearless as ever, continued, as if unaware of the king’s flushed, angry face. “For the sake of your realm, Your Majesty.”
“We are grieving, and you suggest we should replace our dearest Queen Jane!” The king swept from the room.
“How could you say such a thing?” Thomas gasped, as the door slammed. He had not seen that suggestion coming, and clearly, neither had the king. They had been cosily discussing what the king described as ‘an end to the diversity of opinion and disunion within the Church’, when Cromwell had suddenly made his outrageous suggestion.
Having anticipated the king’s explosion of wrath, Cromwell closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “He wants to remarry,” he replied softly. “He just wants it to seem as if he is sacrificing himself for the sake of his realm.” His expression became mischievous. “He will remarry… he will just do so with a long-suffering countenance, and he will tell us all that he is simply doing it for the wellbeing of the realm.”
“Let us keep our minds focused upon reform for the time being,” Thomas muttered quickly, desperate to change the subject. After all, there was a great deal to do. The king had asked himself and his clerics to produce an official statement, designed to reconcile people to the dissolution of the monasteries, and also to end the confusion caused by the Act of Ten Articles and The Institution of the Christian Man. However, try though he might, the clerics could not be persuaded to agree. Their first official meeting at Lambeth had been reduced to little less than a brawl. Stokesley, the Catholic Bishop of London, was particularly vociferous that the Act of Ten Articles missed out four of the sacraments, whilst Latimer, equally vocal, fiercely opposed him. Eventually, Thomas had been given no choice but to intervene, accusing them of babbling and brawling about bare words.
At another meeting, Cromwell brought with him the Scottish theologian Alexander Allesius, whom Thomas knew, but only vaguely. Allesius was even more extreme than Zwingli, the Swiss reformist, whom he regarded as being excessively radical. Allesius was such an enthusiastic speaker that it was difficult to silence him - he spent the meeting arguing violently with Stokesley. At one point, it seemed that the two were about to come to blows. Naturally, Allesius was not invited to any further meetings, whilst Cromwell, who was seldom embarrassed, was uncharacteristically apologetic about bringing him in the first place.
It was a relief to Thomas when the king decided to take over, but his relief at no longer being in charge of such argumentative clerics was short lived. The king soon declared that six topics, selected by himself, should be placed before Parliament, to be debated and voted upon. Still fearful of invasion from France and Spain, His Majesty’s aim was to produce a document which would prove that, at heart, he was still orthodox. So, to prove his orthodoxy, Henry publicly sanctioned the reintroduction of the ceremony of Creeping to the Cross on Easter Sunday, much to Thomas’ dismay, for this was one of the top items on the reformists’ list of ‘ceremonies to be permanently dismissed’.
Eventually, the Act of Ten Articles was replaced by an Act of Six Articles, nicknamed by reformists as ‘The Whip with Six Strings’. It was a step backwards for the reformists, and Thomas was vocal in his opposition, much to the surprise of his Catholic peers, who believed him too meek to protest so vehemently. His outrage was matched by his Protestant bishops, and both Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Shaxton resigned from their positions in protest. Initially, Thomas considered doing likewise, but was persuaded to remain archbishop by Nicholas Ridley, who reminded him that a Catholic bishop – probably Gardiner – would be his successor.
The Act, designed to end diversity in religion, clearly stated that transubstantiation would remain, and that the bread and wine would truly become the body and blood of the Lord. Priests could not marry; vows of chastity or widowhood were to be observed and respected; private Masses were to continue, along with auricular confession. Any person who did not adhere to these rules would be judged a felon; his property would be forfeited, and he would be executed.
Hugh Latimer reported to Thomas that the Act was causing more confusion, not less. Some churches, he wrote, were continuing to worship the saints, whilst others were not; it all depended upon the priest’s degree of orthodoxy. It was a total shambles. Optimistically, Thomas responded with the news that the king was now concentrating upon The Institution of the Christian Man, stressing that this might have a more favourable outcome for the reformists. Whilst the Act was a bow to the Holy Roman Emperor and the King of France, the review of The Institution of Christian Man was expected to meet the needs of the English clergy.
In total, the king offered two hundred and forty-six alterations to the book, of which Thomas nervously objected to eighty-six.
Visiting Lambeth Palace, a smirking Cromwell declared, “I observe you are well capable of putting your foot down when necessary.”
“The king says I will only permit him to make grammatical suggestions, but that is not strictly true. I cannot prevent the amendments His Majesty chooses to make,” he murmured. “To be honest, I know not whether the king inclines towards Protestantism or Catholicism; it is hard to read his mind.” The king, who took much comfort from talking with his archbishop, would often produce some of Queen Jane’s theories, all of them orthodox and none of which Henry had ever accepted during her lifetime. It seemed to Thomas that the king had placed a posthumous halo over his late wife.
*****
Disappointed by the Act of Six Articles, Thomas turned his attention to the possibility of producing an English Bible. Over the years, he had attempted to make his own translation of the Bible into English, but it was incomplete, and he did not have sufficient time these days to work on it. Recently, he had considered giving portions of the scriptures to the bishops and asking them to each translate their section into English. He had informed Cromwell of this idea and was gratified when he agreed.
Some weeks later, curious as to how the new Bible was taking shape, Cromwell enquired hopefully, “How are the bishop’s translations coming along?”
“It was not a good idea to give a portion of The Book of Acts to Stokesley.” Thomas shook his head in wry amusement. “He sent it back to me with a note saying he refused to translate it, as he did not wish to be blamed for taking simple people into error by giving them an English translation.”
Cromwell smirked. “Well, the apostles were simple men; it is hardly surprising that Stokesley refuses to have anything to do with them. He thinks he is far too grand for such things.” Suddenly becoming solemn, Cromwell suggested, “Have you never thought of using Will Tyndale’s translation?”
“Yes, I have,” Thomas admitted. “But the king dislikes Tyndale’s work. I have also looked at Miles Coverdale’s translation, but it is inaccurate in parts.”
“Inaccuracies can be remedied. The man was once Bishop of Exeter; he is a person of learning, and Protestant to boot. Perhaps he can be prevailed upon to adjust his work,” Cromwell mused.
“Much of Coverdale’s work originates from Tyndale’s anyway,” Thomas reflected.
“Well, let us look at the possibilities. There is the translation by Thomas Matthews…” Cromwell scratched his chin thoughtfully. After the death of Tyndale, his great friend, John Rogers, had completed the pieces missing from his translation, and had published it under the name of Thomas Matthews, despite nearly all of it being Tynedale’s work. This version was already available and circulating in Germany, and although it was forbidden, it was also sold in England to those who could afford it. Cromwell and Cranmer both secretly owned copies.
“Tyndale’s is an excellent work, pure and accurate,” Thomas stated. “But since the king is opposed to Tyndale, His Majesty is more likely to look favourably upon the work of Coverdale… providing the inaccuracies are expunged.”
“Then we must work to expunge them then convince the king to permit the publication of the English Bible, and we must have copies placed in the churches. Speaking of the king, I am quite certain that he will soon declare himself ready to marry again, purely for the sake of the realm, of course.” Cromwell’s tone was ironic.
“Have a care, Cromwell. He dearly loved Queen Jane,” Thomas warned.
Some days later, whilst at Court, Thomas was summoned by the king to confer with the Duke of Norfolk, Cromwell – who had recently been made Earl of Essex, much to the disgust of the aristocratic lords – and Sir Edward Seymour, the Earl of Hertford.
Cromwell had been correct; the king was indeed looking for another wife.
“We must do what is best for our people,” Henry sighed. “We can never replace our late wife, your dear sister.” He patted Hertford’s arm. “But we cannot simply do what our heart desires; we must seek an alliance for the sake of our realm. Cromwell here, my lord of Essex…” The king’s expression was suddenly mischievous, knowing full well how deeply Norfolk hated the ennobling of a blacksmith’s son. “He recommends a treaty with the league of Protestant princes.” Henry was further amused by the fact that this was something else the Catholic Duke of Norfolk would be opposed to.
Cromwell gave a brief bow. “Indeed yes, Your Majesty, a treaty will be beneficial to England. A marriage… well, it is the most binding of treaties.”
“My lord of Norfolk,” Henry enquired. “What do you think?’
Predictably, Norfolk proposed a Catholic marriage. “Marie de Guise of Milan is marriageable. She is said to be tall, attractive and well built.”
“We are a big man, in need of a big wife,” Henry mused aloud. “Let us send a proposal immediately to this Marie de Guise of Milan.” Seeming to have forgotten about the German princes, his tone became brisk and eager. “If she is unsuitable, there are several French princesses who are marriageable, perhaps they may be brought to Calais, so we may travel there and inspect them.”
Thomas tried not to look shocked – for two reasons. Firstly, it seemed as if the king was selecting a horse, not a wife. He could feel Cromwell’s amused gaze resting upon him, but he refused to meet his eye. Secondly, Henry seemed happy to consider a Catholic bride.
Norfolk, who regarded marriage purely as a means of gaining wealth, status and noble sons, saw nothing wrong with this at all. “I am willing to accompany an envoy to visit the King of France immediately,” he informed the king. A Catholic marriage would be a blow to that upstart Cromwell. “I shall negotiate the marriage personally.”
“Do so, my lord of Norfolk.” The king turned to Cromwell. “My lord of Essex, you must write a letter to this Marie de Guise.”
In due course, a reply arrived from Marie de Guise. She tartly declared that she would have been willing to marry the King of England, had she possessed two heads; however, since she had only been blessed with one, she would have to decline his generous offer. Outraged, the king tore up her letter. Shortly afterwards, he learned that she had agreed to marry his nephew, James V of Scotland, which further fuelled his fury. King Henry’s marital record was not good; it was evident that the only person who did not realise this was the king himself.
To make matters worse, Henry was no longer the handsome man who had married Anne Boleyn. Since the death of Jane, he had become corpulent, and his still injured leg had begun to ulcerate, making him incapable of partaking in any strenuous exercise. It was some months since he had last gone out hunting. His eyes were rimmed with pouches of flesh, and his small mouth was almost invisible, lodged between his sagging cheeks. Furthermore, his hair was thinning, and it was no longer the striking shade of red it had once been. Seemingly unaware of this, Henry still considered himself to be the handsome king who had once wooed the sophisticated Lady Anne.
As for the king’s suggestion that some princesses should be brought to Calais for him to look at, King Francis, outraged at the crudeness of the idea, refused to permit any of the French princesses to be made available for inspection. This left Cromwell free to pursue an alliance with a princess linked to the Schmalkaldic League. During the past few years, Henry had blown hot and cold towards the league, balancing his desire for an allegiance with them, against his fear of overly antagonising King Francis and the Emperor Charles. However, since both Marie de Guise and the King of France had rejected him as a potential suitor, Henry was willing to cast aside his fears and embrace an allegiance with Germany and Holland.
Cromwell had discovered that the Duke of Cleves, one of the Schmalkaldic princes, had three daughters. The eldest was already married, but the two younger girls were both available, and said to be fair of face and figure.
“All princesses are fair of face and figure,” Henry astutely reminded him. “Especially when they are looking for a husband.”
“They are called Anne and Amelia,” Cromwell continued.
“We do not desire another wife named Anne,” Henry barked.
“She is most virtuous,” Cromwell offered. “But Amelia is also well spoken of,” he hastily added, seeing the king’s expression darken.
“If my sweet Jane had lived, we would be spared this dilemma,” the king plaintively addressed his archbishop, knowing sympathy would come from his direction.
“She rests with the King of Heaven and Earth now,” Thomas intoned gently. “Doing your duty for the sake of your realm must be your consolation at this time.”
The king, enjoying the concept that he was sacrificing himself for his kingdom, graciously inclined his head. “Care of our realm is always uppermost in our thoughts,” he declared primly. “Summon the painter, Hans Holbein. He is not as good – in our opinion – as his father was, but he is very good. We wish to see portraits of the sisters. Once we have seen them, we shall decide which shall be our queen.”
“I have heard the Duke of Cleves is very stern in how his household is governed; it is likely that the sisters will be very regal and well-educated young ladies,” Thomas commented, relieved that the two young women would be spared the journey to Calais to be inspected. Being judged from one’s portrait was far more humane – although the princess who was rejected might think otherwise.
“Quite so,” Cromwell agreed amiably. Coming from such a household, whichever sister was chosen by the king would be gracious, gentle, and demure. “Do you wish to personally negotiate marriage terms with the Duke of Cleves?” Cromwell eagerly asked the king.
“When we have seen the portraits, my lord Earl,” the king declared. “We shall make no decision until we have seen their portraits.”
Cromwell exchanged a brief, delighted smile with the archbishop.
“And Cromwell,” the king barked authoritatively. “I hear that Cardinal Reginald Pole, who has been stirring matters with the Emperor Charles on behalf of the Pope, has two brothers. I want them both imprisoned in the Tower. And his mother too.” Pole was a troublemaker, and one who could not be silenced because he lived abroad. However, his family all lived conveniently close to London; if Pole himself could not be imprisoned, then, the king reasoned, his family should be.
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Cromwell bowed, smooth and urbane as always. Then, with Thomas following behind him, Cromwell departed from the king’s presence.
“It seems a pity to imprison Pole’s mother,” Thomas whispered, once they were well out of earshot of the king. He had been at Court long enough to know that the Poles were of the Plantagenet line; they were as royal as the Tudors, if not more so. Indeed, Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, was the niece of King Richard III. The king had always covertly watched this family, lest they should rise up against him.
“If the king wishes for the old lady to be imprisoned, then imprisoned she shall be. Believe me, she is just as capable of plotting to overthrow King Henry as her son, the cardinal,” Cromwell declared breezily, as his friend continued to worry over the old lady being inconvenienced. “Don’t fret, my friend. I shall ensure she is given comfortable rooms.” Cromwell sensed she would not be there for very long. The king had been looking for an excuse to get rid of the Plantagenet’s for years.
Cromwell’s senses proved accurate. Cardinal Pole’s brothers were beheaded on Tower Hill a few months later; as for Lady Margaret, she was beheaded on Tower Green, with a private execution being deemed necessary in case her age caused a public outcry. The old lady protested against her sentence, stating loudly that she had committed no crime. In front of a select but shocked crowd, she ran around the scaffold, pursued by the executioner. Eventually, she was pinned down, and the shaken executioner totally missed her neck, cutting her shoulder instead. Managing to jump up and escape her captors again, she ran around the scaffold as the executioner hacked at her with the axe. It took ten blows to sever her head.
*****
Some three months later, the king found himself gazing upon the faces of the two Protestant princesses, Anne and Amelia. One struck him immediately, her gentle beauty radiating sweetly from the miniature Holbein had painted. She was a vision of modesty and loveliness, so much so that King Henry was ready to forgive her for being called Anne. To Cromwell’s satisfaction, he was given permission to send an envoy to negotiate marriage with Anne, and a treaty with the Duke of Cleves. This union would end the isolation of England, and the country would at last have an ally to stand against France and Spain.