Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
“A Lutheran delegation is enroute to England as I speak,” Thomas eagerly informed his companion. He was sitting in the library at Lambeth Palace, enjoying some time with his old friend, Hugh Latimer. Unfortunately, they rarely had a chance to speak these days – they were both busy people – but despite the rarity of being able to meet, there was no one Thomas trusted as deeply as he trusted Latimer, except of course Nicholas Ridley, the current Bishop of Rochester. Even Cromwell, whom he held in high regard, was less trustworthy than his old Cambridge companions. But, he supposed, this was because Latimer and Ridley were both of the same mindset as himself; unlike Cromwell, they did not seek wealth and power, merely truth and righteousness.
“About time. I long to see England become a Protestant country.” Latimer’s eyes glowed with excitement. “Change is in the air; I can feel it.” Having resigned from his bishopric, he now occupied himself with preaching sermons anywhere he could find an audience, often at St. Paul’s Cross. His friends feared for him, expecting to hear of his arrest at any given time, but thus far no one had laid a hand upon him.
“You are too optimistic. The Act of Six Articles is a step in the wrong direction.” There was a note of bitterness in Thomas’ voice. “Besides, it is only a small delegation.”
Fond though Thomas was of Latimer, his forceful and impatient temperament was exhausting. Ever since he had been consecrated archbishop, he had received a steady stream of letters from Latimer, nearly all demanding to know why the Protestant faith had not been established in England yet. He had tried to explain that the political situation was incredibly delicate and complex, but his words had fallen on deaf ears. Latimer would have nothing to do with political situations. If turning England into a Protestant country caused the French and the Spanish to invade, so be it, was Latimer’s forthright opinion.
“The Vice Chancellor of Saxony, Francis Burckhardt, leads the delegation,” Thomas continued. “I had hoped for a Danish representative to travel here, but King Christian of Denmark is currently refusing to send ambassadors to England. Apparently, he has no wish to ally with us because we are not sufficiently Protestant. But there are a couple of ambassadors coming from the Bremen and the Low Countries.”
Latimer was thoughtful. “The king’s new marriage is being negotiated; it will bring more eminent reformists into the country to support us. But until King Henry accepts the Augsburg Confession, no one will consider England to be a truly Protestant Country.”
“What exactly is the Augsburg Confession?” a new voice enquired. It came from Ralph Morice, who was sitting quietly at his desk.
Latimer tried to prepare a quick and succinct reply. He had huge respect for Morice; the man had studied at Cambridge, so was on a similar intellectual level to himself and Cranmer, not to mention that he was Protestant, and clearly devoted to the archbishop, who, in Latimer’s opinion, needed all the friends he could get. “In short, Master Secretary, the Augsburg Confession is a series of twenty-eight articles, prepared by Philip Melanchthon, Martin Luther, the Lutheran German Princes, and others. It was introduced at the Diet of Augsburg, then presented to the Emperor Charles. The articles were drawn up in an attempt to defend Lutherans against misinterpretation of the Protestant faith. Catholics are twisting it and… well… misinterpreting it, unfortunately. The Augsburg Confession is designed as a bid to make the Protestant faith acceptable to Catholics, but I doubt it shall be successful. Catholics and Protestants will, I fear, never mix together.”
“It was rejected by the emperor,” Thomas interjected. “But the articles are the basis of our faith. As of yet, I have no copies of it, but once the delegation arrives, I shall be able to read them, as will you. I know the contents of the bulk of the articles though; they were signed by Denmark, Sweden and all the German Protestant princes.”
“But until England also signs, the Protestant princes will not consider England as being Protestant,” Latimer added.
Morice nodded slowly. “Because we are not seriously Protestant,” he sighed. “Not yet.” He rubbed the side of his nose thoughtfully, then asked, “What is this Diet of Augsburg you speak of?”
“Diet is a German term for a meeting,” Thomas enlightened, adding solemnly, “until the king signs the Augsburg document, no Protestant country will trust him. But maybe the Lutheran delegation will impress His Majesty. After all, he is negotiating a marriage with the House of Cleves, so he may be inclined to listen to them.”
Unfortunately, Thomas’ optimism proved to be misplaced. When the delegates arrived and stood before the king, the monarch was in some discomfort, due to his ulcerated leg, and apart from his physical state, he was disinclined to spend time with the delegation, as relations between himself and the Emperor Charles were at present relatively peaceful. Consequently, he was unnecessarily rude to the delegates, brusquely dismissing Burckhardt and his colleagues.
Much to the dismay of Thomas, Gardiner was growing increasingly close to the king, and whenever His Majesty felt in a mood to grumble, Gardiner’s smooth, flattering, tongue, acted as a balm, soothing his irritation. Gardiner felt that the spread of heresy had gone too far, thanks to the king’s good-natured clemency, and that it needed checking before it spiralled out of control. The king was inclined to agree with him, especially since it coincided with his own wish, which was to keep Charles and Francis appeased. He might be negotiating to marry a Protestant bride, but he saw no reason to upset the Catholic monarchs. Politically, he needed balance. The Act of Six Articles, Henry decided, must be firmly adhered to; anyone not doing so would be punished severely. Gardiner was just the man to ensure the king’s wishes were carried out.
This was a huge blow to Thomas. Since the recent passing of the Act, he had known it was possible Margaret would need to return to the protection of Osiander in Germany for a while, if it could even be called protection, given Charles’ determination to persecute the German Protestants. It was a matter of weighing up which country would be safest for her: England or Germany. At present, she had returned to the Manor of Ford, and was living there quietly. But now, with Gardiner watching his every move, there could be no delay in her departure, painful though it was.
Most people regarded Margaret as a concubine, which, as always, grieved him, for she was a virtuous woman, and his lawful wife. But the passing of the Act forcefully announced that clergy must live virtuously, which meant no mistresses, no concubines, and certainly no wives. Riding to Canterbury to bid farewell to his wife, he wondered, as he often did, if the rumours of Gardiner keeping mistresses at Winchester Palace were to be believed? On his occasional visits to Winchester Palace, he had seen no evidence of a female presence there. But then if there was a mistress, Gardiner was cunning enough to ensure she was be kept hidden.
As soon as he reached the Manor of Ford, he flung his arms around his wife, his heart aching in the knowledge that this would be his last chance to hold her for who knew how long. Attempting to keep her voice steady, Margaret predicted that she and little Marjorie would return to England within the next six months, but Thomas realised this was too much to hope for. Had this occurred prior to the birth of their daughter, he knew that Margaret would have insisted upon remaining in England, but Marjorie had totally changed the situation. Neither Thomas nor Margaret would endanger their daughter.
When the time finally came for Margaret and Marjorie to leave, Thomas watched their departure with anguished eyes; the agony of not knowing when, or if, he would see them again was acutely painful. However, as was often the way with these things, he quickly had to set aside his personal problems, for shortly after his return to Lambeth Palace, he was informed that some visitors had arrived from Court to see him. His immediate thought was that he was to be arrested; heart pounding, he instructed they should be shown into his library.
Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, husband to the king’s sister, was first to enter the library, followed by Cromwell and the Duke of Norfolk. Knowing Cromwell as well as he did, he saw only compassion on his friends’ face, all but confirming his suspicions that he was about to be arrested. Suffolk, however, placed a beefy hand upon his shoulder, and spoke reassuringly.
“My lord Archbishop, the king has sent us to you to offer comfort. He has declared you to be learned, discrete and wise, and he knows you have endured much travail lately.” Suffolk was eyeing the archbishop with wonderment. It had astonished him to hear the quiet little man speaking out so loudly against the Act of Six Articles. In fact, Suffolk had been heard to utter that Cranmer had, on occasion, nearly swayed him towards the Protestant faith. “He says we must tell you not to be discouraged.” The duke had been the king’s boon companion since they were youths together, and he was curious to know why the king valued this studious little man so highly.
Inviting his companions to be seated, Thomas realised that he must say something. Cromwell, with the familiarity of a frequent visitor, had summoned a servant, and was pouring ale. Ralph Morice peered curiously through the doorway, and Thomas quickly invited him to join them.
“My lords…” His voice was husky, so he tried again. “My lords…” This time his voice was stronger. “I heartily thank His Majesty for his singularly good affection towards me, and I thank you all for your pains in visiting me. I hope, hereafter, that all of my actions shall be undertaken for the good of this realm, and for the glory of God.”
Cromwell replied with wry humour. “Do or say what you will, the king will always take it well from you. If any charge is laid against you, he will never believe it. If anyone else from the Privy Council is complained of, His Grace will seriously chide that person. But he will never believe anything amiss from you. Therefore…” A warning note crept into his voice. “Therefore, you shall be most happy if you can keep yourself in this state.”
Still marvelling at the king’s kindness in sending these men to sit with him and offer comfort, he suddenly wondered how the king had known that he had just bade farewell to his wife? But, of course, the answer was simple. Spies. Either Cromwell’s spies, or those employed by the king.
The Duke of Norfolk spoke up. “Marry, what solemn dullards we are. Is only ale served in this establishment? What about Malmsey wine?”
Hastily, Ralph Morice departed to attend to the wishes of the duke and the other visitors.
While waiting for Morice to return, Norfolk, who had never visited Lambeth before, gazed around in wonderment. “My lord Archbishop, have you read any of these books?” he enquired.
“All of them,” Thomas replied, surprised by the question, but not by the brusque manner in which it had been asked; he was all too familiar with the duke’s bluntness. His stomach suddenly sank as he realised how many of his books were forbidden. He simply had to hope that Norfolk would not wish to peer too closely at the contents of his bookshelves.
Fortunately for him, the duke was disinclined to waste time reading; he remained slouched in his chair until Morice returned with one of the servants, the two of them carrying a flagon of Malmsey wine, a jug of ale and a platter of food between them. Cromwell kept the conversation rolling, introducing the topic of the king’s proposed wedding to Anne of Cleves, his mischievous intention being to antagonise Norfolk, whom he knew was strongly opposed to the union.
Eventually, the three visitors departed, without any altercation taking place between Cromwell and Norfolk, leaving the archbishop and Ralph Morice shaking their heads in astonishment. Thomas found it remarkable that the king had behaved so considerately towards one of his servants; if Morice had not been there to witness it, he would have believed it had been a figment of his imagination.
*****
The king was now eager to wed the beauteous Princess Anne. To his satisfaction, he had heard a report that she was far superior to the lovely Duchess of Milan, who had refused to marry him. However, the following day, a letter arrived from Cleves, informing the king that there had been a complication, for it transpired that Anne had been previously pre-contracted to the Duke of Loraine.
The king was, understandably, outraged by this sudden discovery, as was Cromwell. It had taken the latter a great deal of time to persuade the Duke of Cleves, who was not overly interested in forming an alliance with England, to agree to the marriage in the first place, and he was not about to allow his hard work to go to waste. Immediately, Cromwell suggested that perhaps the king should consider marrying the younger sister, Amelia. However, Anne’s portrait was the more beauteous of the two, and King Henry was not a man who would settle for second best, not even to achieve an alliance with Cleves. Weeks of negotiation followed, which also included a proposal for Lady Mary to perhaps marry Anne’s brother. The duke declined the proposition, on the premise that Mary’s royal status was uncertain. Unfortunately, Henry, who had been considering this proposition with interest, was powerless to do anything about Mary’s status.
“The king is in a quandary,” Thomas informed Ralph Morice, as the latter was busy preparing a series of letters to be despatched. “The duke will only permit his son to marry Lady Mary if she is legitimised and becomes Protestant too. But if the king legitimises her, that will mean that he was lawfully married to Princess Catherine of Spain.”
“It seems to me the king himself has become an eager bridegroom,” Morice quietly observed. “Has my lord Cromwell made any progress with the Duke of Cleves?”
“I believe so.” Thomas gave a wry smile. “The lawyers have announced that Anne’s previous betrothal to the Duke of Loraine has been legally dealt with. So, if the Duke of Cleves is satisfied, and His Majesty likewise, then I suspect the marriage will go ahead.”
Morice’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “The duke’s dedication to his daughter’s future security is quite remarkable. It is clear that he desires for her to be securely crowned Queen of England, and for there to be no impediment which might be used to usurp her in the future.”
Thomas longed to add that he could not blame him, but out of respect to the king, he remained discretely silent. Instead, he changed the subject to one which filled him with pleasure. Nicholas Ridley had just been appointed the king’s chaplain, which meant they would be able to meet with each other often.
“He is so well learned,” Morice enthused.
“Yes,” Thomas happily concurred. “I have spent many enjoyable hours conversing with him. I have learned much from his store of knowledge.”
“I look forward to learning from him also, just as I continue to learn from you, my lord,” Morice declared sincerely.
At last, as the end of the year drew near, the Duke of Cleves was satisfied that Anne would not be returned in disgrace to Cleves if she failed to impress King Henry. Cromwell gleefully hastened to Lambeth, to tell his friend the joyful news. All was legally signed, and the lady was soon to set sail for England, to become their new queen.
Thomas, however, having spent a couple of weeks at Canterbury, was more inclined to voice his own problems. “I caught them being fully disobedient to my wishes,” he declared, outraged. “I arrived there, unannounced, to find them worshipping idols, and do you know what else I discovered? My own brother, Edmund, whom I recently made Archdeacon of Canterbury, was the one responsible for countenancing this behaviour. They were worshipping statues of saints!” His voice rang with indignation.
Thomas and Edmund did share brotherly affection, but Edmund had a far more boisterous disposition, and the two had not been especially close during their youth; even when they had both been studying at Cambridge, they had moved in different circles. Thomas had made his brother Archdeacon of Canterbury on the grounds that Edmund’s credentials were good. He was well-educated, though not as academic as himself, and had studied the scriptures.
“As soon as I turn my back, they do exactly as they please,” Thomas grumbled. “I expected more from my brother.”
“No doubt your brother now understands that you expect him to carry out your wishes,” Cromwell grinned, knowing how conscientious his friend could be. “I thought your brother was Protestant?”
“He is!” Thomas exclaimed indignantly. “But he is lazy. No doubt he permitted the worship of statues because it was easier than arguing with the clergy. But I forget my manners. You seem like a man who has news to impart. Could it be that the royal marriage has finally been finalised?” he speculated.
“Yes, indeed. The bride will soon be on her way to England. Such a relief,” Cromwell sighed, seating himself heavily in the nearest chair. “You know, I have found it a cause for concern that England is such an isolated country. I know the king is troubled by it also, but now, thanks to this marriage, we have a genuine link to the Schmalkaldic League. Whether they like it or not, the German princes have to accept us.” He gave a hearty laugh. “Without the marriage, that Act of Six Articles would have totally turned them against us.”
“The Act has certainly not helped to clarify anything as far as the ordinary people are concerned,” Thomas mused.
“No, but the king mistakenly thinks it has. What is all this?” Cromwell indicated to a sheaf of papers lying on what was usually Morice’s desk.
“Oh, it is a treatise by Joachim Vadianus, from Switzerland. Currently, he is working in conjunction with Zwingli. They are both extremists; they sent me this, called Aphorisms on the Consideration of the Eucharist, to obtain my opinion.
“Which is…?” Cromwell prompted.
“I wish he could have employed his study to better advantage,” Thomas admitted. “Some reformists desire to be extreme, and these two are very much in that camp. I am preparing to write to them, because it seems to me that the Protestant faith is going to end up being divided in all directions, with moderates on one side and extremists on the other. How can the Protestant faith be strong if it is divided?” This deeply worried him, and he knew Ridley and Latimer felt very much the same. The Protestant faith should be one, strong, doctrine. Instead, the fledging faith was already being argued over and divided by people producing varying doctrines.
“You are too much of an idealist sometimes, my friend,” Cromwell mused. “Men will always think their view is correct, and desire that others should bow to it. Just like some believe there should be an alliance for England with the Protestant princes, others think otherwise.” His eyes gleamed with sly humour. “Oh, incidentally, the king wishes you to visit him at Greenwich Palace later this afternoon. He desires that you should examine a man called John Lambert in the near future. He is outspoken and Protestant.”
“I know him, although only vaguely, from Cambridge,” Thomas quickly interposed. “He has publicly denied the Sacrament of the Altar. He is not an Anabaptist, but he is an extreme Protestant. I hope he is not to burn like the Anabaptists last week.”
There were many negative aspects of being Archbishop of Canterbury, and this was one of them. The king had instructed him to set up a commission to seek out Anabaptists, who were people who believed that baptism was only valid when a candidate verbally stated acommitment to Christ. Although he favoured infant baptism, he was able to see their point of view as far as this was concerned. However, they also believed in polygamy, that all property should be shared, and that Christ would come to Earth again, and reign for one thousand years. Their theology was not according to the New Testament and the teachings of Christ, so he felt they were worthy of imprisonment and needed some education regarding their dogma.
Unfortunately, in the case of the Anabaptists, the king had demanded that the leaders should be burned at the stake at Smithfield, as a warning to other would-be Anabaptists. This was not the only burning Thomas had recently been involved with. A certain Friar Forrest, whose views were heretical, had been examined by himself at Lambeth. In spite of his suggestion that the man should be imprisoned, the king had once again insisted upon the death penalty being applied. Being Archbishop of Canterbury left a bitter taste in his mouth, and often disturbed his sleep, especially now that Margaret was not there to offer words of comfort.
When he arrived at Greenwich, he found the king in good spirits. His new bride, whom Holbein had portrayed as a vision of loveliness, was expected to land at Deal within the next two weeks, weather permitting. Delighted by the king’s obvious happiness, he was optimistic that the examination of John Lambert would be quick, and result in the man being dismissed with nothing more than a warning to observe his faith according to the instructions of the king, who was, after all, Head of the Church in England.
Once greetings were dispensed with however, the king’s good humour dissipated. Frowning, his expression solemn, he commented, “those Anabaptists who were burned last week… are you aware they are now being regarded as martyrs?”
“I am, Your Majesty,” he replied. It had been inevitable, in his view. When people died for their faith, whatever that faith might be, there was always someone who regarded them as a martyr; indeed, such people were often more powerful dead than alive, which was a subtle argument to be used against killing them.
“We do not like it,” the king declared. “But your commission must continue; no doubt more people will feel the heat of the flames around their ankles.”
Thomas was silent for a moment, noticing that the king was rubbing his injured leg. Changing the subject, he commented kindly, “your leg pains you. Shall I send for Doctor Butts to tend to it? Perhaps the dressing needs changing.” There was certainly an unpleasant odour coming from the wound.
“No, no,” the king shook his head. “The ulcer had to be cauterised yesterday. There is nothing Butts can do today. He placed a poultice of goose fat on it to draw out the humours.” Dismissing the subject, the king returned to the task at hand. “Tomorrow, John Lambert is to be examined; we wish to speak with him personally, accompanied by yourself and Gardiner.”
Thomas’ heart sank. There was little chance of Lambert being spared execution if Gardiner had anything to do with it.
His prognostication proved accurate. Although he carefully explained the Act of Six Articles to Lambert, the man refused to change his views. It was sickening to see the excitement on Gardiner’s face as Lambert, again and again, refuted the arguments explained to him by the king, archbishop, and bishop. Lambert was a zealous Protestant, who had recently lived in Switzerland, and Thomas had no doubt that he had been much swayed influenced by Zwingli. However, Lambert was not in Switzerland now, and it was not long before both the king and Gardiner agreed that Lambert should be condemned to death by burning.
Thomas had expected this sentence, but it still came as a blow. Lambert did not deserve to die. He was fanatical, certainly, and his views were extreme, but it was such a waste of a life. He was about to suggest to the king that burning Lambert would only highlight the Protestant faith, when Gardiner jumped in ahead of him, insisting that Lambert’s death would show the people that the king must be obeyed. Unsurprisingly, the king agreed with Gardiner, and Lambeth was sentenced to be burned the following day.
*****
Perhaps his infatuation with his soon-to-be bride had softened King Henry’s judgement, but as they awaited news of the arrival of the Princess of Cleves, Thomas was delighted when the king finally acknowledged his archbishop’s pleas for an English Bible to be chained to the pulpit of every church in the country. The version selected was the Miles Coverdale translation; any mistakes had been corrected, and Thomas was satisfied with the revised translation. Yes, it was not perfect, but no one would be misguided by it. The most important thing was for the English Bible to be widely accessible, so that the uneducated masses could hear and understand God’s word in their own language. After the tribulation of recent months, it gave him a huge surge of joy to have finally succeeded in this.
Triumphant, he wrote an uncharacteristically positive letter to his wife. Her letters to him were always full of affection, and tales of how little Marjorie was progressing; Margaret even sent him a drawing she had made of the child, which had brought tears to his eyes. In contrast, his letters were often cheerless and depressing – he was less skilled than his wife at hiding his misery – so he was pleased to finally have something joyous to write about.
In the January of 1540, the Princess of Cleves arrived at last at Deal, her journey having been delayed by inclement weather. Thomas, who had spent Christmas at Lambeth, was appointed to meet her on the outskirts of Canterbury, along with Cromwell and several bishops, and then to escort her to her lodgings, where she would spend the night. They would then accompany the princess and her entourage to London.
Cromwell was jubilant. “This is surely the highlight of my career, to have arranged such a marriage.”
Thomas could not help but smile, despite the bitterly cold, biting wind, making him feel chilled to the bone. Cromwell had achieved so many things; it was difficult to gauge which of them was the greatest. “If you say so. Certainly, you have put much time and energy into convincing the Duke of Cleves to agree to the marriage. However, in my somewhat biased opinion, I think your greatest achievement has been assisting me in persuading the king to licence the English Bible.”
“Come, Cranmer, you did most of the work for that.” Cromwell grinned. “You were like a dog with its favourite bone.”
“Translating the Bible into English has always been one of my dreams; it is certainly my greatest achievement - and yours! I am grateful for your support. ” His face split into a broad smile at the very thought of the joy this new Bible would bring to so many people. The word of God would be freely available; no longer would the people depend upon the often inaccurate translation of a priest. The truth was now written on the page, for all to see.
Frowning, Cromwell looked into the distance, then announced, with some excitement, “my eyes are watering with the cold and the wind, but I do believe I see signs of an entourage approaching!” At last, he would meet the beauty who was to be the next Queen of England.
“Your eyesight is far superior to mine.” Thomas squinted. “Although I do believe you are right. We shall soon see our new queen.”
Clutching their cloaks about themselves, the entire entourage eagerly observed the approaching procession. In spite of the wind and sleet, a large crowd of people had gathered to greet her, though much to their disappointment, no one could see her face, for her entire body was swathed in protective furs. Nevertheless, she waved amiably to the crowd, receiving plenty of loud cheers in return. Men were doffing their hats, women were waving kerchiefs, and children were jumping up and down in excitement. It was a merry crowd who braved the cold weather to welcome the bride from Cleves.
Arriving at the inn, Thomas finally saw the princess divested of her furs. He had to force himself not to rudely stare. She was not at all like the woman Holbein had painted, and to make matters worse, she also spoke no English. Having spent some time in foreign Courts as King Henry’s envoy, he had discovered that many of the aristocratic ladies were fluent in several languages. Princess Anne, however, needed an interpreter, who explained to him that the Duke of Cleves disapproved of educated women. He had therefore refused to have his daughters tutored in music, art, languages and literacy. The interpreter assured Thomas that Anne’s embroidery was exquisite, she was capable of running a large household, plus she could also cook. But Thomas knew that such skills were unlikely to impress King Henry.
Conversing with her via the interpreter, he found Anne to be very agreeable woman, but with a sinking heart, he wondered what the king would think of her appearance? His Majesty was fastidious where women were concerned; he expected them to be beautiful and able to entertain him. Catherine of Aragon, apparently, had been quite lovely in her younger days, and she had been well-equipped to entertain him with her knowledge and appreciation of music. Anne Boleyn had been attractive and sophisticated – her intelligence and wit comparable with the king’s own – and even Jane Seymour had possessed a pale, gentle beauty and sweet temperament. How could this lady expect to follow suit?
As he conversed with her, he tried to find good qualities in her countenance. Her nose was unattractively globular, her mouth was far too wide when she smiled, but her eyes were undeniably lovely. Indeed, the more time Thomas spent with her, the more pleasing her appearance became. Certainly, she was no great beauty, but there was a kindness about her, and since King Henry was ageing, and often in pain with his ulcerated leg, he reasoned that he would find a kindly wife of more use than a vivacious beauty.
“What do you think of her?” Crowell asked anxiously.
“She does not look like the portrait, but I think she looks well enough. She is… dignified. She has a regal countenance.”
“What about her figure?”
“I can see nothing of that, her gown obscures all.” The princess was wearing a curious, high-necked garment, unfeminine, but extremely modest. It revealed nothing of her body shape, but he could tell that unlike Anne and Jane, she was not slightly built.
The next day, the princess was escorted to Sittingbourne, and by the following evening, the party had reached Rochester, where they were to spend the night before progressing the next day to Blackheath, there to meet with the king. From there, the princess would proceed to Greenwich by barge, where a huge banquet would be held in her honour, and on the morning that followed, she would be formally married in the chapel.
Having now spent much time with her, Thomas found he liked her enormously. She was eager to please, and keen to learn English; if the king would only take the time to get to know her, he was certain Henry would soon become fond of her. He said as much to Cromwell, who had been visibly uneasy throughout the journey.
“But what if he doesn’t take the time to get to know her?” Cromwell countered.
“He has no choice. She is his wife,” Thomas swiftly retorted.
Cromwell sighed. It was early evening, and they were relaxing in their quarters at the Rochester hostelry. Their rooms were simple, but at least they were warm. A roaring fire gave their room an air of cheer. “I think I shall summon the interpreter; tell him to suggest she takes a bath before meeting the king tomorrow. His Majesty likes his women to smell sweet… she does have an odour about her.” In truth, he was dreading the meeting between bride and bridegroom. The last thing he had expected was for the Princess of Cleves to look nothing like her portrait.
As Cromwell opened the door to summon the interpreter, a commotion came from the courtyard outside, and the two men rushed to the window to see what was going on. A loud clatter of hooves heralded the arrival of ten men on horseback, all of whom were talking loudly. Wiping the condensation from the window, Thomas saw one of the horses was loaded with what looked like bundles of fur, and all the men were warmly and expensively clad. A huge man was being assisted from his horse, and a familiar voice boomed, ‘we will woo her with gifts of furs and jewels!’ Thomas and Cromwell turned to each other in horror. The king had arrived. One of the other men was also instantly recognisable: the king’s friend, the Duke of Suffolk.
Sweeping through the inn, Henry demanded see his soon-to-be bride, and Thomas quickly called for the interpreter to inform the princess that her husband was eager to meet her. The word ‘interpreter’ confused the king, who like Cranmer and Cromwell, had never anticipated that his bride might be unable to speak English. Nonplussed, he looked at Thomas with a quizzical expression.
The princess had already retired to her bed, but she eventually appeared, having dressed herself hastily to meet her bridegroom. Smiling nervously, she entered the room, then gave an ungainly courtesy. The king’s jaw dropped in astonishment, as did the Duke of Suffolk’s. One of the king’s favourite pages, a handsome youth whom Thomas knew to be called Thomas Culpepper, looked as if he was struggling not to laugh aloud. Finally regaining sufficient composure to speak, the king spoke a few clipped words of welcome via the interpreter, and offered his hand for Anne to kiss, before promptly turning on his heel and exiting the room. The romantic visit was very brief.
“We like her not,” the king snarled. He was standing outside of the room, nearly nose to nose with a cringing Cromwell.
“I think she has a regal countenance,” Cromwell protested, quoting the remark made by his friend earlier.
“We came here to nourish love, and what do we find? A Flanders mare!” the king bellowed dramatically, turning and sweeping from the inn, quickly followed by Suffolk. and his companions. With a clatter of hooves, they exited the courtyard, taking the bride’s gifts with them, unseen and unopened.
The following morning, Anne, whom Thomas now deeply pitied, looked anxious and miserable. It had not taken him long to discern that she was an intelligent woman, so she could hardly have failed to realise that the king was unimpressed with her. Shortly before they set out for Blackheath, he noticed her eyes were red with weeping, which, since they were her best feature, did her no favours. He instructed the interpreter to tell her ladies to bathe her eyes to alleviate the redness, but this did little to ease her swollen eyelids.
At Blackheath, the king’s behaviour was more gracious than it had been the previous evening. He could always be relied upon to behave in a circumspect manner when crowds of people were watching. On this occasion, the crowd included peers, courtiers, ambassadors, aldermen, merchants from the Hanseatic shipyards and a mass of commoners.
Later that evening, shortly before the banquet commenced, Cromwell and Thomas were unsurprised to be summoned privately into the king’s presence. When they arrived, his fury was ice cold, a stark contrast to his usual, flaming rage. Somehow, it made them more fearful.
“What remedy?” he hissed, as soon as the two men entered the room.
It was the first time Thomas had ever beheld Cromwell looking fearful. “There is no remedy, Your Majesty.” Cromwell’s voice was a whisper.
“She was pre-contracted,” the king retorted.
“All has been legally dealt with.” Cromwell’s tone was one of utter weariness. He had been awake all night, trying to find a means of releasing the king from his marriage. There was none.
“The marriage is supposed to take place tomorrow, Sunday. Defer it until Tuesday. By then, you shall have found a means of releasing us.” The king’s voice was louder now. “We will not marry her.”
Sweating profusely, Cromwell remained silent.
Thomas felt chilled by the king’s wrath, and simultaneously relieved that he had not been involved in the marriage negotiations.
“We have been dealt a pig in a poke,” The king’s voice suddenly rose to its usual volume. “We like it not. Foxnose Francis will cry with laughter if I marry that woman.”
“I do believe she has a regal manner; she shall look especially so when her ladies attire her in the English style of clothing.” Cromwell’s tone was desperately persuasive.
“It is not you who must wed and bed her!” the king snapped. “She should be shipped back to Cleves immediately. If she is a beauty by their standards, it is painful to consider the plight of their plain women.”
“It will offend the League of German and Protestant princes if she is returned unwed.” Cromwell’s voice sank to a whisper.
The king’s rage grew cold again. “Examine the contract between the Duke of Loraine and the Princess of Cleves. Find a legality which makes this marriage impossible. Go!”
The two friends swiftly quit the king’s chamber, with Cromwell shaking uncontrollably as they made their way back to their chambers.
Thomas laid a sympathetic hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Can anything be done,” he asked gently.
“No.” Cromwell’s voice was hoarse. “I spoke truthfully when I said that everything has been legally dealt with. It will only be a matter of time before I am banished from Court.”
Thomas could not see that happening. Cromwell was too valuable a servant. “If you are banished, you will soon be recalled,” he soothingly predicted.
The king’s behaviour at the banquet was exemplary, though those who knew him best soon detected that his behaviour towards his bride was far from that of an admiring lover. As for Anne, she smiled so much that her face was aching by the end of the night. The only person who endeavoured to speak with her, via the interpreter of course, was the kindly Archbishop of Canterbury.
Despite the king’s request to be released from his contract, there was nothing that could be done, and the following Tuesday, the king and Princess Anne stood before the Archbishop of Canterbury, taking their vows. Thomas noticed that the king did not so much as glance at his bride during the ceremony, and when the time came for him to place a ring on her plump finger, he did so with unnecessary venom. He desperately hoped His Majesty would come to see Anne for the person she really was: a sweet woman who would be a cheerful, kindly wife… providing he gave her the opportunity.
As they left the chapel, Gardiner sidled up to Thomas and pressed a sheaf of papers into his hand. “Here is a list of words from the Vulgate Bible. I find they are superior to the new English version, so perhaps you should have the relevant English words expunged and use these instead.”
Glancing briefly at the list, which covered several sheets of paper, Thomas stared at Gardiner in amazement. “But these words are in Latin. How do you expect Latin and English to be mingled? No one will understand it at all.”
Gardiner was unruffled. “My lord Archbishop, educated people will know what it means.”
“But what about the uneducated?” he demanded sharply.
Gardiner did not deign to supply him with an answer; he simply shrugged and walked away. Tucking the sheaf of paper into his sleeve, Thomas resolved to burn it at the earliest opportunity.
The wedding ceremony dispensed with, he set out for Canterbury, to ensure that his clergy – including his brother – were acting and worshipping according to the king’s instructions, instead of their own preferences. Though he did not enjoy berating his fellow clergymen, it was a relief to leave Court and return to his beautiful country manor. Having the opportunity to worship in Canterbury Cathedral was an added bonus, for it was a spectacular structure. Sometimes it troubled him that he enjoyed gazing at the stonework and carvings, and he often had to reassure himself that he was truly worshipping God, and not the artistry of man. After all, he could hardly remonstrate with his priests for worshipping false idols if he was doing likewise.