Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Less than an hour after the queen had been executed, Thomas was preparing to travel to Oxford, with his chaplain, Dr Barber.
“You need not go to Oxford in person,” Barber reasoned, as they mounted their horses.
“I need to go,” he replied grimly. “I need to get away from London; visiting Oxford is the perfect excuse.” He laid heavy stress upon the word need. Unable to see his own face, he was unaware of how grey and weary he looked, hence Barber’s caution. “I hear there is much scandalous behaviour going on amongst the clergy there. From Oxford, I shall travel to Canterbury, to complete my final draft of the new English litany, so that I may present it – once again – to the king.”
It was February, and the watery morning sun was giving forth very little light, and no heat at all. Vapour flew from the mouths of riders and horses as they galloped across the countryside. As they journeyed, Thomas could not stop thinking about the young Catherine Howard. The poor girl had been led astray by the promise of jewels, fine clothes and power. It was a mercy she had not given birth to a child; if she had, his or her parentage would have been severely in doubt, and the situation would have been even more tragic than it was already.
During the past few months, there had been no progress with regards to a Protestant Reformation, mostly because, since Cromwell’s death, Thomas had carefully avoided calling attention to himself. Many Protestants – his good friend Latimer included – thought him wrong for holding back and being cautious, but Thomas knew that this reformation could not be rushed.
Oxford, unlike Cambridge, had always leaned towards Catholicism, and was consequently not a city wherein he felt comfortable. He expected to achieve very little, unpopular as he was in the staunchly Catholic city, but after spending over a week there, debating, teaching, advising and arguing with the clergy, he departed with an optimistic feeling. There was something about academia that made people more willing to accept alternative points of view. Perhaps I have planted a few seeds of change, he mused.
From Oxford, he travelled to Canterbury, where he found his wife fit and well, but very obviously pregnant.
“I am very much bigger with this child.” She patted her abdomen fondly. “I am almost certain that this babe is a boy, but God works in mysterious ways; if it is a girl, she will be equally treasured.”
“We shall just have to wait and see what God has created.” Thomas eyed her anxiously. Whenever he bade her to be careful, she would simply shrug and remind him of a woman she had known in Germany, who had given birth fifteen times and lived to a ripe old age.
“I cannot go through this fifteen times,” he had informed her on one of these occasions.
“You cannot?” She had burst out laughing. “My husband, you are not the one who must carry each babe for nine months and push them out at the end!” She smiled tenderly. “But I would not have it any other way. Children are a blessing from God, and I shall gladly accept the good things He gives, and trust in His goodness.”
Fortunately for Thomas, he had a vast quantity of work to distract him from his wife’s pregnancy. Not only was the English litany to be presented to the king, but so was a revision of The Institution of the Christian Man, to be renamed The Erudition of the Christian Man. When this book had initially been presented to the king, Henry had been deeply in love with Jane Seymour and had not wished for his mind to be diverted by theology. But now, the grieving Henry wanted a diversion, and had provided Thomas with an annotated version of the original book, within which he had personally written detailed comments and suggestions. To the wonderment and delight of Thomas, the corrections showed a steady drift towards reform.
‘Confirmation’, the king had written, ‘should be relegated to the form of sacrament, in effect restoring the sacraments which the recipient has already received, such as Baptism and Penance. It is a restoration and new illumination of the graces, given by other sacraments, and a new restitution and restoration for graces granted by Christ to the sacraments instituted by Him’. However, later in the book, regarding the anointing of the sick or dying, the king had stressed his belief in the Extreme Unction: the anointing of a dying person with oil. He had written that it ought to be a sacrament. The Protestant view was that this was not a sacrament, although if it was requested and gave comfort to a dying person, it should certainly be administered.
Carefully, Thomas read through the book, reading the annotations made by the king and making his own notes regarding those comments. The king was an able theologian; whilst some of His Majesty’s remarks were undeniably orthodox, a number of them inclined towards Protestantism, whilst others came straight from the mind of King Henry VIII. After weeks of study, Thomas had at last completed his own corrections, and was ready to take them to the king at Hampton Court.
When he arrived, he found the king in severe pain. His leg had been, His Majesty explained, cauterised again that very morning, by Dr Butts. The very thought of such a procedure made Thomas feel nauseated. Some months ago, he had entered a room sometime after Butts had performed a cauterisation, and the smell of burned flesh had still lingered in the air. It must be an agonising procedure, yet the king endured it time and again without complaint.
It took several stimulating meetings between king and archbishop for the two men to reach a compromise on the contents of the new book, but they finally reached an agreement, and the book was sent to be printed and circulated amongst the people. Thomas suspected that the orthodox faction would say it was too Protestant, and that the Protestants would say it was too orthodox; it was exasperating, but he had long since learned that he could not please everyone.
“It shall be known as The King’s Book,” Thomas assured Henry.
The king looked pleased. His features were still marked by the grief of Catherine’s perfidy, but he was now beginning to move on. “No, archbishop. It is, and always has been, The Bishop’s Book,” he responded graciously.
“Your Majesty has put much of himself into this, therefore I predict that, whilst it may be printed as The Bishop’s Book, everyone shall refer to it as The King’s Book.”
Henry’s lips twitched. “We see your own hand in much of this.” He ran a fat forefinger down one of the book’s pages, then read aloud, “the principle means whereby all sinners shall attain their justification is only by Jesus Christ, by whom our access is to the Father.” The king grinned at Thomas, revealing yellow stained teeth. “I read this and heard your voice saying those words.”
Several hours later, Thomas returned to Lambeth, having enjoyed his time in the king’s company. Due to his wealth of learning, Henry could be very entertaining when he felt so inclined, and they had engaged in various rousing theological debates. Unfortunately for him, though he did not know it, this peaceful evening was to be the last peace he would know for some months.
*****
When he had been consecrated Archbishop of Canterbury, he had reorganised the Canterbury Cathedral staff, and had abolished the granting of a prebendary: an honorary position which merited a stipend, usually drawn from the income of the cathedral’s estates. Naturally, this had caused much muttering and unrest amongst the cathedral staff. In spite of this, he now intended to extend this abolition, and apply it to all other cathedrals throughout the realm.
Since the execution of Catherine Howard, Stephen Gardiner, the Bishop of Winchester, had felt that he was being pushed aside by the king, who seemed to prefer the society of the Protestant Archbishop of Canterbury. Consequently, Gardiner had been searching for a means to discredit his rival, and so it was with great pleasure that he learned of the archbishop’s unpopularity amongst the Catholic clergy of Canterbury.
The archbishop’s unpopularity was first brought to Gardiner’s attention when two former Canterbury prebendaries, both Catholic, named Serles and Shether, were committed to prison for attacking the English translation of the Bible. Whilst in prison, they managed to contact Gardiner, informing him that they did not wish to be subjected to the judgment of Archbishop Cranmer, but would rather Gardiner himself tried them. However, Thomas had been commanded by the king to conduct the trial personally, which he duly did, resulting in an outcry of discontent from prebendaries throughout the realm. Many squires also objected to the archbishop, suspecting him of spreading Lutheran teaching – which, of course, was true – and fearing that the introduction of the new English litany was a sign that he had all manner of modernising changes up his sleeve.
Serles, once released from prison, was determined to lodge a formal complaint against the archbishop. To assist him with this, a notorious heretic hunter, Dr London, was employed to collect signatures of complaint against The Archbishop of Canterbury. These accusations were duly given to Gardiner, who looked down the long list of complainants gleefully. A commission of enquiry would surely be made against the archbishop, and once Cranmer had been removed, and most likely burned at the stake, who else but Stephen Gardiner would be consecrated as Archbishop of Canterbury?
Naturally, news of the complaints soon reached Thomas, who was deeply perturbed by such evidence of unpopularity. Late in the evening, having seen for himself a copy of the lists, he dolefully walked through the gardens of Lambeth Palace alone. It was discomforting to be so deeply unpopular. Margaret had been delivered safely of a baby boy by this time, named Thomas. This burden of unpopularity forced him to contemplate sending her and the children back to Germany again. So engrossed was he in his own thoughts, he failed to hear the noise of a barge docking at the water step, until a familiar voice boomed out across the gardens.
“Archbishop! Are you ignoring us?”
Startled, he wondered if he was dreaming. The king himself was waving at him, gesturing for him to join him on his barge. The royal barge, no less. Amazed, he did as instructed. Was this a bad omen? Was the king coming in person to tell him he was a heretic and must be imprisoned? No, he could answer this irrational query himself. He had been at Court long enough to know that the king never dealt with heretics personally. But this did little to quell his feeing of panic.
Once he was seated, the king jovially declared, “well, my chaplain, I have news for you. I now know who is the greatest heretic in all of Kent.”
Trying to hide the sudden shaking of his hands, he stared at the face of the king, who looked as if he was enjoying a good jest. “Sire…” he stammered. “Sire… I… I would request a commission of enquiry into these accusations.”
Henry thumped his sound leg. “Marry, we will do so.”
Feeling queasy, Thomas mutely nodded agreement.
“We have such confidence in your honesty and fidelity that we will commit the examination wholly to you, and those whom you choose to appoint.” The king eyed his companion keenly, assessing his reaction.
“But I shall not be an impartial judge,” he protested, as it slowly dawned on him that none other than the King of England was saving his life. If Stephen Gardiner was placed in charge of the enquiry, there was no doubt he would uncover enough evidence to prove that the Archbishop of Canterbury was a heretic. King Henry, he noted, was smiling benignly.
“It shall be conducted in no way otherwise. We believe that you will tell us the truth, even of yourself, if you have offended. Now, make no further ado. Let a commission be made out of yourself and any other you shall name, so that we can understand how this confederacy came about.”
As it sank in that he was saved, he began, almost incoherently, to thank the king.
His thanks were regally brushed aside. “Enough of that. Now, tell us, whom do you have in mind to assist your good self?”
His thoughts muddled, he hastily attempted to draw up a list of suitable persons, but to little avail. Eventually he murmured, “Dr Simon Haynes, the Dean of Exeter, he shall be one of them. The others… I shall decide by tomorrow.” Haynes, he knew, was one of his staunch supporters.
Signalling to the oarsman to turn around and return to Lambeth, the king abruptly asked, “And what of your lady wife’s health? We trust she is well?” The king laughed heartily at his companion’s terrified expression. He looked like a frightened rabbit. “Come man, we know you are married.”
“I… she… she is well, Your Majesty,” he managed to mutter, too shocked to form a coherent response. But though he was surprised, it was a relief to speak of his wife to the king.
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the rhythmic sound of the oars dipping into the water. “A wife is a comfort,” Henry remarked at last. “You are blessed to have such a good and loyal woman.”
Thomas longed for some wise words to come into his mind. None came. “A wife is, indeed, a blessing,” he murmured ineffectually.
“A blessing we expect to enjoy again… in time.” The king gave a sentimental sigh, his small mouth becoming characteristically pious. “We must remarry for the good of the realm. A king needs more than one son, and we are young enough yet provide another heir. A king’s first duty is always to his people.”
Thomas agreed. A king could not think only of himself; he had to consider the wellbeing of his realm. “Your Majesty has always put the realm first. Your life has never been your own to do as you please,” he sympathised. “Power brings responsibility.”
“We wish more people would realise this,” the king sighed. “A ploughman has more freedom than a king.”
Thomas nodded. That was very true… though no doubt many a ploughman would gladly change places with a king.
*****
Soon after his unexpected meeting with the king, Thomas travelled to Faversham, where the commission of inquiry was to be held. Travelling with him was Nicholas Ridley, who, naturally, was a member of the commission. For the first few miles, Ridley kept chuckling and shaking his head.
“It is a merry jest,” Ridley kept repeating. “The Catholics wanted a commission to be set up against you, the king gave permission, but then placed you at the head of it. You must now see what I have been telling you all along. His Majesty thinks very highly of you, and he values your goodness and sincerity.”
“Whatever his reason, I am glad of it,” he uttered with feeling. “My life was in danger.”
Standing face to face with those who wished him dead was less difficult than he had imagined, for when he stood amongst them, it was easier to remember that they were merely men; they were no different to anyone else. He proceeded to examine and to deal out punishment to those who had complained against him, but later was censured by the king for the lightness with which he had punished them. Most of the offenders, Dr London included, were easily dealt with, and were promptly despatched to a pillory. Stephen Gardiner, on the other hand, whom he knew had been directly involved in this plot, was impossible to prosecute, for he had acted with such subtle cunning that there was no evidence to use against him. According to Gardiner, a string of complaints had been handed to him regarding the Archbishop of Canterbury, implying that the man was a heretic. His face a mask of piety, he declared that, as a good servant of the king, he had deemed such accusations worthy of investigating.
Thomas knew full well that Gardiner would strike again as soon as possible, but all he could pray for was that King Henry would continue to favour and support him.
His plot having failed miserably, Gardiner consoled himself by identifying inaccuracies in the English translation of the Bible. He then successfully managed to persuade the king to have it withdrawn until a better translation was available. Copies of the Great Bible were immediately removed from the churches; they were to be revised by the universities, an action which distressed Thomas greatly, for he knew this could take years. At least, he reasoned, the new Bishop’s Book was in place, so people could still access the word of God, albeit in less detail.
The year was passing swiftly, and it seemed to Thomas that, as he grew older, the years flew by more quickly. As another season of Christmas festivities approached, a rumour began to circulate that the king was considering remarrying Anne of Cleves. Certainly, the two of them seemed to get along very well, and over Christmas, when they were together, there was much laughter and hilarity. They shared a similar sense of humour, and both roared with laughter over the antics of the king’s jester, Will Somers, whose tricks had not always endeared him to the king’s wives. Thomas found himself respecting Somers, for the man was a good and loyal servant, and utterly devoted to the king. But as far as humour was concerned, personally he found his jests foolish, and failed to appreciate them. After the festive season had passed, Anne returned to one of her houses, without an announcement of marriage being made.
Early in the New Year, a lady of mature years, named Catherine Latimer, formerly Catherine Parr, came to Court. She was a tall, very attractive woman, and had already been twice widowed, despite only being in her early thirties. Her first husband, Lord Edward Burgh, had died when Catherine was only sixteen, and her family had quickly arranged for her to marry Lord Latimer, who possessed daughters older than she. Lord Latimer had been one of the leaders of the Pilgrimage of Grace, but had escaped the retribution that followed, and had even managed to keep his wealth and estates intact. Upon Lord Latimer’s death, Catherine had become a very rich woman, which made her more attractive still. Inevitably, she very quickly accumulated her fair share of admirers at Court, chief among them being Admiral Thomas Seymour. However, her modesty and discrete behaviour soon attracted another admirer: King Henry himself.
When the king informed his Archbishop of Canterbury that he was to marry Lady Latimer, Thomas was warmly sincere in his congratulations. Lady Latimer was not only a sensible woman, she was also a secret Protestant, and he was certain that proposing to this lady was the wisest choice the king had ever made. She was both intelligent and compassionate, and she was certainly capable of acting as Henry’s nurse as well as his wife. No one could have imagined little Catherine Howard changing the king’s bandages, but everyone could see that Lady Latimer would be perfectly comfortable with such a task. The marriage took place in the chapel at Hampton Court, but this time, Thomas did not officiate, having already made plans to return to Canterbury to enjoy some semblance of peace.
As ever, it was a relief to be away from Court, and to have the freedom to lower guard a little. Despite having been saved by the king, other plots had since been hatched against him. A few months ago, a man named John Gostwick, the Member of Parliament for Bedfordshire, had lodged a complaint against him in the House of Commons. It was generally thought that Gostwick had been acting on the behalf of others, in exchange for bribes. Certainly, he was judged to be inclined towards Protestantism, probably because he had eagerly benefitted from the dissolution of the monasteries. Whether Protestant or not, Gostwick had clearly not seriously listened to any of the archbishop’s sermons. When invited to repeat any preaching which had specifically offended him, he could not think of a single sentence.
Once again, the king had stepped in, shouting, “Tell that varlet Gostwick, that if he does not acknowledge his fault to my lord of Canterbury, we will make him a poor Gostwick, and punish him as an example to others.”
Perhaps it was due to the influence of the secretly Protestant new queen, but as soon as Thomas returned to Court, the king requested that he form a committee, to devise a Rationale of Rites and Ceremonies.
He duly did so, but unfortunately, the committee recommended that existing rites should continue to be used. He energetically argued against this, but it made no difference. As for the litany, although now in English, it was still very Catholic in its text. He dreamed of producing a new Protestant litany, but he knew that was not going to happen any time soon. However, he persistently continued to try and sway the committee to put aside the old rites, until he eventually achieved a minor success. With the king’s permission, he was able to decree that all books should be expunged of any mention of the Pope, or the Vicar of Rome as he was now known. Oddly enough, until this moment, orders of service had still deferred to him and not the king. It was only a minor victory, but even a minor victory gave him a sense of achievement.
Gardiner continued to strike at heretics, and having realised that, for the time being, it was unwise to attack the Archbishop of Canterbury personally, he began to seek out courtiers who had Protestant leanings. Sir Philip and Lady Hoby were questioned, as was Lord Herbert, the queen’s own brother, along with his wife, Lady Anne, but they were all released due to lack of evidence. As for the queen, she was in high favour, so Gardiner merely observed her from a distance, biding his time. The king was still in a honeymoon mood; his queen could do no wrong.
“I dislike it intensely whenever I find my lord of Winchester looking at me,” Ridley confided in Thomas one evening. “I find myself wondering if he is seeking to strike.”
Thomas hardly knew what to say. It had always been dangerous to be inclined towards Protestantism, and with Gardiner currently watching everyone who was rumoured to have an interest, it was all the more dangerous. It would ever be this way, until the king openly declared that he himself was Protestant. He realised that His Majesty’s fear of causing a revolt prevented him from making an outward declaration; little Prince Edward was being raised a Protestant, and his tutors were certainly committed to the cause of Reformation. Lady Elizabeth, likewise, was inclined that way. Only Lady Mary stubbornly clung to her Catholic beliefs.
With the assistance of Wriothesley, who was now Lord Chancellor, the persistent Gardiner turned his attention to Sir George Blage, arresting him on charges of heresy. This was an unwise choice, for Blage happened to be a great favourite of the king; indeed, the king affectionately referred to him as his ‘pig’.
As he had done for Thomas, the king energetically intervened; using a series of oaths, he publicly berated Gardiner and Wriothesley, ‘for coming so near to us, even to our Pricy Chamber’. Consequently, Blage was immediately pardoned and released.
A couple of days later, when Blage was in the king’s audience chamber, Henry asked, “My pig, are you well?”
“Why yes, sire,” Blage cheerfully replied. “If Your Majesty had not been better than your bishops, your pig might have been roasted by now.”
After the incident with Blage, Thomas hoped that Gardiner and his followers might cease threatening the Protestant members of Court, but alas, he was gravely mistaken. Gardiner was unrelenting and had no sense of gauging when he was going too far. His desire to dispose of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and his ambition to step into that same position, clouded his judgement. Late one evening, Thomas received a visit from one of the king’s messengers, Sir Anthony Denny, who informed him that the king wished to see him immediately.
“Do you know why?” he enquired anxiously, wondering if the king might be ill. It was the first time since the king’s latest marriage that he had been summoned to Court so late at night.
“No,” Denny shook his head. “His Majesty sent for me and told me to bring you to him as soon as possible. Perhaps it is another instance of him requiring your opinion regarding some treatise or other?”
“Possibly.” Thomas nodded, though he was inwardly dubious. “Well, I shall find out soon enough what he wishes to ask of me.” Pausing to pick up a mantle – the river was invariably chilly at night – he followed Denny to the waiting barge.
Having been escorted to the king’s presence, he found Henry seething with suppressed anger. He was soon made aware that certain members of the Privy Council had, that very day, approached His Majesty, requesting permission to arrest the Archbishop of Canterbury and examine him on a charge of heresy. Feeling the familiar chill of fear travelling down his spine, he unconsciously hugged his mantle closer to his body.
“Some members of our Privy Council have requested to arrest you tomorrow, during the meeting of the council.” The king’s low, outraged growl, was always more alarming than his usual angry roar.
Common sense told him that the king had some remedy in mind, hence the fact he had taken the trouble to send Denny to collect him and bring him to Westminster. The feeling of cold fear was difficult to supress though.
“We have begrudgingly granted their request,” Henry admitted, regarding his companion with pouched, watchful eyes.
“I thank Your Grace for this forewarning, and gladly subject myself to royal justice,” Thomas managed to murmur, as the fear crept more deeply into his bones. His mouth was dry; his pulse quickened, and his palms were damp.
“Oh Lord God!” The king was seated on a chair, with his ulcerated leg placed, as usual, on a stool. In one hand, he held a goblet of wine, which he vehemently brought down onto a nearby table. “What fond simplicity you have,” he exclaimed. “To let yourself be imprisoned so that every enemy you have may take advantage against you.”
Blinking in surprise, Thomas began to pick at the fur of his mantle, wondering how to respond to this. He immediately realised he was not required to say anything.
“Are you aware that, once they have you in prison, three or four false knaves will soon be procured to witness against you? Persons who, if you were at liberty, would never dare open their lips to say anything against you?”
Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but his companion required no response.
“It shall not be so, my lord Archbishop. We have better regard for you than to permit your enemies to overthrow you.”
Still blinking, Thomas again opened his mouth to speak, but the king was not yet finished.
“We will have you come to the council tomorrow,” the king continued, his eyes lighting up with an impish gleam. “And when they break this matter to you, ask them to have your accusers brought before you. If they will, under no circumstances, consent to your request, and are determined to send you to the Tower, then appeal from them to our person, and give them this, our ring, by which they will understand that we have taken your cause into our hands and away from them.” With some difficultly, and much manoeuvring, the king managed to remove a large ring from a plump forefinger, passing it to his archbishop.
Thomas had seen this ring many times before, mostly upon the king’s finger, for he wore it frequently. He was, however, aware that Henry, who was fond of such grand gestures, had been known to temporarily offer the ring as a mark of preference to a favoured courtier.
Following his archbishop’s thoughts, the king added, “As we have said, they will know this ring, and that we use it for no other purpose but to take matters from the council into our own hands.”
Clutching the ring tightly in his hand, he remained with the king for a while longer, truthfully complimenting the king upon his current good health, among other things. As he had suspected, the new queen was not averse to attending to His Majesty’s dressings.
“She changes our bandages regularly,” the king beamed amiably. “No matter what the hour of night, she insists upon attending to our needs personally, without calling for a page. She tells us she is glad to do so, for she cannot bear to see our discomfort.”
“She combines beauty with kindness. The two do not always come together.” He was overjoyed to see his beloved master looking content again. Admittedly, he still ate far too much, but somehow, the queen had coaxed him into moderating the size of his meals. As a result, he had lost a little of the weight he had gained following the execution of Catherine Howard. His features looked less bloated, and his once purple cheeks were a healthy pink.
“She knows how to use herbs to soothe inflammation. Even Dr Butts has confidence in her potions.” The king gave a contented smile. “Before long, we might even be able to dismiss Butts.”
Nearly an hour later, the bemused archbishop followed a torchbearer to the darkened quayside and was rowed back to Lambeth. Not surprisingly, for the remainder of the night, sleep eluded him.
The following day, he travelled to the Council Chamber at Westminster, and was provoked to find the door locked against him. This was a slight indeed, especially since he was kept waiting for an hour in an anteroom, in the company of tradesmen and commoners, who had petitions to place before the council members. Finally, Stephen Gardner, looking undeniably self-satisfied, opened the door and permitted him to enter; even then, he was required to remain standing, as there was no seat available for him. It had gleefully occurred to Gardiner to arrest him under the Act of Attainder, meaning the archbishop would not even be required to be present when his case was tried, as had happened to Cromwell.
Thomas quietly listened as Gardiner, his voice clipped and business-like, read aloud the mandate for his arrest. Glancing around, he could see a large number of people were uncomfortable, including Edward Seymour and Sir John Russell. At last, Gardiner finished speaking, and in accordance with king’s instructions, he requested to be allowed to speak face to face with his accusers, so he could reply to their charges.
Smirking, Gardiner shook his head.
“Then I am sorry, my lord, that you drive me to this exigency. I now appeal to you from His Majesty the King, who has taken this matter into his own hands.” Carefully, his hand shaking, he laid the ring upon the council table.
Sir John Russell stood up sharply, pushing his chair back with such force it fell over. He then proceeded to deliver a voluble series of oaths, which could easily have come from the king himself, before shouting, “did I not tell you, my lord Bishop, what would come of this matter? I knew the king would never permit my lord of Canterbury to be imprisoned unless it was for high treason.” He struck his fist upon the table, then rushed from the room, vowing to appeal to the clemency of the king. He was soon joined by Edward Seymour; suddenly, a steady stream of council members jostled to get out of the room, each wanting to be first to stand before the king. Soon, there was only himself and Stephen Gardiner left in the Council Chamber.
It was disquieting to be face to face with a man who was capable of such hatred. Uneasily, he wondered what to say. Finally, he suggested, “maybe you should seek the king? His Majesty values you and will not censure you unduly for this.”
Gardiner stood motionless for a few seconds. Then, his breast heaving with outrage, he abruptly strode from the room, having not uttered a single syllable since the Archbishop of Canterbury had displayed the king’s ring to him.
Long before he reached the doorway of the king’s Audience Chamber, Thomas could hear the king’s voice bellowing down the corridor.
“Ah, my lords, we thought that we had a discrete and wise Council. But now we perceive we were deceived. How have you handled my lord of Canterbury? What do you make of him? A slave? Shutting him out of the Council Chamber amongst serving men.”
He arrived at the doorway of the Audience Chamber, in time to see the king glare accusingly at Gardiner. His Majesty then proceeded to shout at some length, before ordering all the Council members to shake the archbishop’s hand, then proclaiming that each should individually invite him to dinner, to cement a good relationship. This latter gesture was a mixed blessing as far as Thomas was concerned. There were members of the council whom he had always been glad to dine with; some were Catholic, but this had been no hindrance to friendship. It was the minority who caused trouble, but since the king had commanded it, he would have to endure dining with the likes of Gardiner, Bonner, Rich, and Wriothesley. No doubt it would be as irksome for them as it would be for him.
During his recent troubles, Thomas had found out exactly who his friends were. Morice, Ridley and Latimer had been unfailingly supportive for as long as he had known them, and he had always been aware he could count on them. But there were many others, including the king’s physician, Dr Butts, who had openly befriended him during this difficult time. Whilst it made him uneasy to consider those who were vigorously opposed to him, it was a comfort to know there were also many people were supportive.
Gardiner was, of course, his most powerful enemy, but unfortunately, the king found him useful, and had no intention of dismissing him. He suspected the king was only forgiving towards Gardiner because he had lost Cromwell, and was aware that the king privately regretted sentencing one of his most able and energetic servants to death. As a result, he was consequently reluctant to dismiss another long-serving courtier without good reason.
During the weeks and months following the incident with the council, the Protestant faction gained ascendancy at Court. Gardiner was lying low, whilst Latimer and Shaxton, both of whom had been absent from London for some time, returned, and were once more to be found preaching at St. Paul’s Cross. The pair of them were also invited to dine with members of the queen’s circle, making it apparent to everyone that the queen leaned towards the Protestant faith.
Urged on by Gardiner – who was trying to maintain a low profile – Bishop Bonner ordered a burning of heretical literature, but this only served to publicise The New Learning. From his pulpit at St. Mary’s, Dr Edward Crome was attracting gatherings of fashionable listeners, who listened to him preaching with much the same vigour and energy as Hugh Latimer. Groups of people met privately to discuss the Bible, whilst those who could read – a few people had managed to keep forbidden copies of the English Bible – taught the scriptures to those who could not. The gentry were teaching the word of God to their servants. Lawyers, merchants, and nobles, began to discuss the word of God as zealously as any theologian. John Lascelles, reporter of the infidelity of Catherine Howard, was now the leader of a prominent Bible reading group.
This was an exciting time for the Protestants, but Thomas constantly reminded them to be cautious. Yes, they all had a responsibility to spread the word of God, but they needed to be watchful too.
Frequently, he would visit the queen’s chambers, where he would inevitably find her surrounded by her ladies. Queen Catherine loved fine clothes and jewels, but this was the only similarity between herself and her predecessor. The circle surrounding the queen would spend hours embroidering clothes, not for themselves, but to be distributed among the poor, and were more likely to be found listening to an erudite reading – or else engaging in a serious discussion related to an erudite reading – than they were to be found dancing.
His relationship with the queen had quickly become one of mutual admiration and respect, and he was often invited to speak, his task being to lead her and her ladies towards a deeper understanding of God’s word. The king was often also present, and he too was invited to preach. Catherine was no light, frivolous queen; she was an intelligent woman, whom Thomas was confident would be able to keep the king’s mind diverted on those occasions when he required a distraction from the pain of his leg.
One day, he arrived at the queen’s chambers to find a young woman talking to the queen and her ladies. He had never seen her before, but he recognised her name. Anne Askew had once been married, but her husband, terrified of the trouble her ferociously Protestant beliefs were likely to cause, had ultimately ordered her to leave their marital home. Listening to her speak, Thomas realised her knowledge of the Bible was impressively extensive.
Once Anne Askew had departed, the king himself arrived, his face beaming with pleasure as the queen’s ladies, after curtseying, eagerly begged him to read to them, or play one of his musical compositions. Radiating good humour, the king picked up a lute and began to play.
Quietly listening, Thomas felt a brief moment of peace. If only the Catholic faction would leave the queen and her Protestant friends alone, the king could be left to continue enjoying the company of this gentle, devout queen, and her retinue of wise and intelligent ladies.
*****
It was only a matter of time before the Catholic faction began to reassert themselves, and unsurprisingly, Gardiner – who was not inclined to lurk in the background for very long – was the first to make a move, deciding to try and push an Anti-Heresy Bill through Parliament. It was accepted by the Lords but rejected by the Commons. Unfortunately, this did not prevent action from being taken. Dr Edward Crome was promptly arrested at St. Paul’s Cross, and made to publicly recant, whilst the notorious Dr London turned his attention to three musicians from the Chapel Royal at Windsor: Robert Testwood, John Marbeck and Henry Filmer. Testwood and Filmer were burned at Smithfield, but Marbeck was pardoned, and Thomas soon learned that it was the queen herself who had saved him. Apparently, she had asked the king to pardon all three of them, but she had only been successful with Marbeck.
When alone with Thomas, the queen had wept over this terrible tragedy, heartbroken that she had not been able to save them all. He had solemnly reminded her that she had saved one man, and that Marbeck would no doubt go on to save numerous souls during his lifetime. She must be content and give thanks to God for that. But whilst he supported and honoured her commitment, he also feared for her. She, as much as he, was a target for the Catholics.
In the midst of this, the king was considering war on two fronts. The north of England had succumbed to Henry’s charm during his Progress of the northern parts with his late queen. The Scots had not. During the course of the Progress, Henry had arranged to meet with James V of Scotland at York, but James had failed to arrive. His excuse had been the tragic death of his infant son, but it had been no more than that: an excuse. In reality, he had feared that the English would kidnap him should he set foot on English soil. After this failed meeting came a series of violent border raids by the Scots, so King Henry decided to send the disgraced Duke of Norfolk, who had memorably been victorious at Flodden, to bring them to heel. Eager to return to favour, and equally eager to repeat his former victory, Norfolk was ready and willing to lead an army into battle.
The Scots had no desire for war, but faced with the prospect of doing battle with Norfolk King , James appealed to Rome for aid. Unfortunately for him, he did not live to see the result, suffering a crushing defeat at the hands of the Duke of Norfolk at Solway Moss. He subsequently died of what was rumoured to be a broken heart. His only living heir was a one-week-old baby girl, named Mary, and King Henry immediately angled for Princess Mary to be brought to England, to be betrothed to his son, Prince Edward. The child’s mother, Marie de Guise – who had notably once refused to marry Henry – was a force to be reckoned with, and staunchly refused, sending the infant to France instead.
At the same time, the king was preparing to lead an army into France. He had been negotiating an alliance with Francis, whilst simultaneously trying to ally himself with Charles. The French negotiations had failed to bear fruit, despite the king offering his daughter, Mary, as a bride for Francis’ son. Consequently, Chapuys, the Spanish Ambassador, was instructed to suggest to his master, the Emperor Charles, that the English and Spanish armies should join forces and march on France together.
As the king entertained himself with the prospect of battle, Thomas returned to Canterbury, also bent on warfare, but of a different nature. As ever, his clergy were troublesome, and were preaching according to whatever they believed. Supporters of Zwingli were very much in evidence now at Canterbury, and clashed violently with the Catholic faction, sometimes even coming to blows. The pro-papists also concocted inflammatory literature about pro-reformists, and vice versa; even Edmund Cranmer joined in with the violence. He deliberately broke off the arms and legs of a statue in Canterbury Cathedral, as a statement against statues in churches.
The irritated archbishop gathered all his clergy together and delivered a lengthy lecture, informing them that they were to worship according to the king’s instructions, since His Majesty was Head of the English Church. No one was given any favouritism, not even Edmund, who later complained bitterly of this to an unsympathetic Margaret. For once, Thomas was glad when the king summoned him to return to Court.
His Majesty demanded that he should reason with some of the aristocratic prisoners whom Norfolk had taken at the Battle of Solway Moss. They were being kept under mild restraint at the residences of various courtiers, including Thomas’ own residence, Lambeth Palace. He was currently hosting the Earl of Cassilis, who was known to be a devout Catholic. The archbishop’s task, the king informed him, was to convince the Earl of Cassilis of his erroneous orthodoxy, and persuade him that his deference to the Pope as the Head of the Church was erroneous.
Thomas patiently spent many hours talking with Cassilis, and in due course, Cassilis developed a grudging respect for the archbishop. Persuading him to change his ways was a slow task, but an enjoyable one, for Thomas delighted in talking and reasoning with educated men, and the earl was certainly well educated. Eventually, Cassilis was converted, and agreed to accept the Protestant faith as truth. His task completed, Thomas was granted the deep satisfaction of seeing the earl returned to his native Scotland, now determined to ensure that a reformation would soon take place there.