Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
The preparation for the English campaign in France took far longer than Henry would have liked, but eventually, all was ready. Against all advice, the king insisted upon accompanying his troops to France, despite being too heavy, and in too much pain, to travel on horseback. Furthermore, as he would be absent for some time, he appointed his wife Regent, to govern in his place, causing considerable muttering amongst the Catholic members of the Privy Council.
In the north, border raids were escalating, and the Scots were becoming increasingly unruly. Also, to King Henry’s anger, the Scots had signed a new treaty, allying Scotland with France. A second army was promptly assembled, to march north and teach the Scots a lesson. This time, Sir Edward Seymour was to lead the campaign, instead of Norfolk, who was to travel to France with the king. As the armies departed, heading in two different directions, Thomas observed the behaviour of the queen. She understandably wept as Henry mounted his horse and bade her farewell, but otherwise, she was poised and calm.
“I am glad she wept. If she had not, His Majesty would have been offended.” Ridley, who was standing next to Thomas, looked mischievous. More seriously, he added, “Could you imagine him leaving the previous queen as Regent?”
“Certainly not,” he replied, watching the queen dab a kerchief to her eyes as the king rode away. He had been standing for over an hour, blessing the king, the armies, and anyone and everything else he could think of to bless, as well as praying for a successful outcome. He was exhausted.
The previous evening, the king had spoken sternly to his Council, warning then to respect the queen and heed the advice of the Archbishop of Canterbury, whom he believed to be wise and cautious. Wryly, Thomas suspected that few people would pay heed to the king’s demands.
“I know I have told you this before, but His Majesty thinks highly of you,” Ridley murmured, as if reading his friend’s mind. “You are simply too modest to believe it.”
“Cromwell fell. No one is secure,” he replied, his voice barely audible over the noise of departing troops.
“That is true; no one is safe. As for our friend, Latimer, I understand that he was arrested again yesterday, though I gather he was released a short while later. I pray to God that he will stay quiet for a while, but somehow, I doubt he will. I fear for him,” Ridley sighed. “Why can he not preach quietly?”
“It defeats the object of his preaching.” Thomas gave a faint smile. “Our friend Latimer does nothing quietly. He gives himself totally to the service of God.”
“As do we all but… some less noisily than others,” Ridley reflected. “If we are too quiet, we fail to spread the word. If we are too loud, we are arrested, and sometimes executed… perhaps people will take more notice if we are executed.”
“I have no desire to be executed,” Thomas protested.
“Me neither,” Ridley agreed calmly. “But we have all observed that, sometimes, the dead speak more loudly than the living.”
*****
Barely had the king set sail for France, when Thomas received news from Canterbury. There had been a fire at the Manor of Ford. Mercifully, no one had been killed or injured – his wife and children were safe – but the house would be uninhabitable for some weeks, if not months. He had no recourse but to bring his family to Lambeth, fervently hoping that they could lodge there discretely without causing undue gossip. Since the king and many of his courtiers were currently absent, the fire had at least happened at a time when he could bring his family to Lambeth. Keeping his two young children from prying eyes would be challenging, he knew that, but if he was honest with himself, he was delighted to have his family with him.
In her capacity as Regent, the queen had decided to improve the circumstances of the king’s daughters, Mary and Elizabeth. She brought both young women to Court, encouraging them to undertake some serious study. Elizabeth, the queen soon discovered, needed no encouragement, but Mary was more stuck in her ways, having only ever read religious books written by Catholic authors. However, over time, under the queen’s gentle influence, Mary began to slowly further her interests, happily discussing her reading with the queen and her ladies, although she still avoided anything that so much as hinted of The New Learning. Catherine herself had embarked upon her own project, a solemn work called The Lamentation of a Sinner, and after reading her first draft, Thomas sincerely informed her that it could have been written by Erasmus himself, much to the delight of the queen.
As the weeks swiftly passed, an uneasy peace between England and France was announced, marking the end of Catherine’s regency and the return of the king. The French campaign had been totally pointless; nothing had been achieved, and His Majesty had been left exhausted. A few days later, once the king had recovered, Thomas placed before him a request that, by Royal Injunction, churches must use the new English litany. A significant number of clergymen had reverted back to the Latin version, much to the exasperation of the archbishop, on the premise that their parishioners enjoyed the familiarity of it. Thomas doubted that this was the case, believing instead that the priests were simply being stubborn, and purposefully rebelling against his changes. After all, why would someone wish to listen to something they did not understand?
The king agreed to his request regarding the litany, but he was less obliging when Thomas suggested that His Majesty should also consider closing the remainder of the chantries, many of which had already been shut down by Cromwell. These were a considerable link with Rome, and people were willing to pay large sums of money for priests to pray for the souls of their departed loved ones. Such prayers were unnecessary, and he had been requesting that they be closed for some time. But though the king had entertained the idea of agreeing to his archbishop’s demands, he ultimately decided that, at present, they were more useful to him open, as they were a valuable means of extracting much needed funding.
The royal coffers were emptier than they had ever been. Henry’s divorce from Anne of Cleves had been costly, for he had given valuable palaces and huge sums of money to her, as well as gold plate, gems, tapestries and furnishings. The wars with France and Scotland, even though the latter had been a huge victory, had further depleted the coffers, once so richly filled with the wealth of the monasteries and religious houses. In response to this crisis, the king decided to pass an Act, enabling him to confiscate funds from the chantries. To Thomas’ surprise, there was little opposition from the Church. He had expected the Catholic bishops to protest. As for Thomas’ suggestion that the money – or at least, a portion of it – should be used to fund educational establishments, the king once again ignored him. As had been the way with the monasteries, Henry fully intended to purloin all the money for his own needs.
At around this time, the Protestant movement began to suffer various setbacks. After months spent encouraging the reading of Protestant literature throughout the realm, Thomas was shocked when the king abruptly declared that writings by Coverdale, Tyndale, Luther, Barnes and all leading reformists were to be m once again banned. The king’s mind seemed to move enigmatically these days; his policies, both foreign and religious, were confusing. One moment, he veered towards orthodoxy, the next, towards reform. In fact, since Henry’s return from France, Thomas had become seriously concerned for His Majesty’s health.
Somehow or other, the king had gained yet more weight during the French campaign, leaving him barely able to walk. As a result, he was now pushed around the palace corridors on a specially made chair, with wheels attached to its legs, or else carried through the streets on a litter. Thomas could vividly remember the splendid man he had met some thirteen years ago; the man who had so expertly wooed Anne Boleyn and charmed the people of England with his majesty and wit. King Henry was no longer that handsome, magnificent man, and were she able to return from beyond the grave, he had no doubt Anne Boleyn would fail to recognise him.
Whilst he once again wrestled with his plans to try and direct the king’s mind towards religious reform, he received criticism from an unexpected quarter: the late Queen Jane’s brother, Admiral Thomas Seymour. Seymour had apparently complained to the king that the Archbishop of Canterbury was a niggardly man, which had amused His Majesty greatly, and he had promptly informed his archbishop to expect a visit from Admiral Seymour, so that he might inspect the splendour of the archbishop’s household, or lack thereof.
Naturally, Thomas was less than pleased by this turn of events. In his opinion, his role did not demand that he should live in splendour. “There is truth in his accusations, Your Majesty. I prefer to live as simply as possible, and I see no reason why I should not,” he admitted, trying to suppress his exasperation.
“All you must do is emulate the Bishop of Winchester for a short ;wile,” the king’s eyes gleamed roguishly. Gardiner lived in fine style.
“No one departs hungry from my table,” Thomas stated defensively. It was a waste of money to live like Gardiner. Besides, unlike himself, Gardiner loved to impress; he was also still receiving large sums of money from the brothels in the vicinity of his London residence. The fact was, the Bishop of Winchester was a far wealthier man than the Archbishop of Canterbury.
“Then ensure the Admiral does not depart hungry,” the king chuckled. The Admiral was one of his favourites; a man of presence and energy, much like he himself had been in his youth. “He will certainly call upon you without prior warning, so we suggest you increase the splendour of your table, archbishop.”
Thomas begrudgingly acted upon this advice, borrowing plate from the Duchess of Suffolk and the Earl of Hertford. Fortuitously, shortly after the plate arrived, so did the Admiral Thomas Seymour. Unfortunately, the day which the latter had inadvertently chosen, coincided with the arrival of a group of seriously minded theologians, all clad in their dark academic gowns. Seated amongst them, Seymour looked like a gorgeous peacock surrounded by drab starlings.
“You dine in good state,” the Admiral observed, impressed with the food and the quality of the plate, but not the conversation. It was earnest and studious, and the company was distinctly lacking in women to flirt with. He had heard a rumour that there was a Mistress Cranmer residing at Lambeth, but to his infinite disappointment, she was nowhere to be seen.
“I try to maintain a certain standard,” Thomas replied. “But I need to have a care, lest people accuse me of being extravagant and a wastrel.” He looked small and dowdy next to his tall, magnificent guest. According to rumour, the Admiral had once hoped to marry the queen, following the death of her second husband, Lord Latimer. However, the king had made his intentions known where Lady Latimer was concerned, and the Admiral had made himself scarce.
Seymour, lacking the perception of his older brother, Edward, failed to realise that the archbishop was staging this display for his benefit. “I must admit, I have eaten well. In fact, it has been some time since I last enjoyed such a meal.” The food had been excellent, far beyond his expectations.
“I am so glad you have enjoyed it.” Thomas managed what he hoped was a sincere smile.
Later, when their guests had all departed, Margaret appeared, wishing to know whether or not the Admiral had been favourably impressed. When informed that he had been well-pleased, she remarked, “well, my husband, let us hope he does not return tomorrow, expecting more of the same.”
“I am informed that the ladies at Court adore him,” he remarked playfully.
Margaret gave what sounded like a snort of disgust. “I don’t. I saw him getting out of his barge and walking across the garden… he adores himself too much!”
*****
A couple of days after the Admiral had dined at Lambeth Palace, Thomas was saddened to hear of the arrest of Mistress Anne Askew. Her imprisonment was hardly surprising; she was so outspoken that her arrest had been inevitable. After all, the equally outspoken Hugh Latimer was regularly imprisoned for his vociferous preaching. But, unlike Hugh Latimer, Anne Askew regularly mixed with the queen’s inner circle, and Thomas knew that the Catholics who had accused her were using her arrest to strike at the queen. Catherine, and many of her ladies, were suspected to have forbidden books in their possession, and Gardiner and Bonner were obviously hoping Anne would implicate Her Majesty during her trial.
The queen, understandably, was uncharacteristically anxious, but there was nothing Thomas could say to ease her mind, other than to remind her that she was never alone; God was always present to support and sustain her, just as He was supporting and sustaining Mistress Askew. There were days when this knowledge was the only thing that kept him going. Every reformist at Court was unable to sleep easily, knowing that, at any time, Anne Askew might reveal their names to her accusers. As for Queen Catherine, she knew she could expect no support from the king should she be implicated. She would be executed; the only mercy she could expect was the axe instead of the flames.
Anne was promptly put through an initial examination, conducted by Bishop Bonner, whose obtuse questioning was no match for Anne’s intelligence and quick-witted nature. She remained calm and composed throughout, revealing nothing to Bonner. Indeed, she made him out to be a dull-witted fool, commenting that his questions were not worthy of an answer. She even earned an outburst laughter from the assembled Londoners, by responding to Bonner’s vocal frustration at her silence with the words, ‘my lord, Solomon says that a woman of few words is a gift from God’. Naturally, the trial was swiftly concluded, and a second trial was arranged for a later date.
Gardiner, meanwhile, was revelling in a veritable heretic hunt, arresting numerous courtiers on charges of heresy, including Ralph Morice’s own father, William. Thomas, naturally, was deeply sympathetic, and was determined to deliver the old man from Gardiner’s clutches.
“Do you know why Gardiner might have chosen him?” he asked Morice, trying to figure out how easy it would be to secure William’s release.
“My lord, I sincerely believe he was only arrested because he owns lands at Chipping Ongar, near to Sir Richard Rich’s estate in Essex,” Morice explained, his frustration and distress evident in his voice. “He has never openly expressed Protestant tendencies.”
Thomas now understood full well the implication of this. Rich, who was working for Gardiner, was eager to extend his estate, and William Morice stood in his path. With this in mind, he requested for Morice to be released, on the grounds that there was insufficient evidence to convict him. After a brief trial, his accusers agreed with his opinion. As for Anne, her trial was forthcoming, and was to be conducted by the quick-witted Gardiner, whom Thomas knew would use every trick in his arsenal to try and fool Anne into revealing more than she intended.
During her time in prison, Anne had become something of a celebrity, so naturally, Londoners flocked eagerly to observe her trial. Thanks to her supporters, she had been gifted a clean dress for the day of the trial, but no item of clothing could hide her physical fragility. Yet though imprisonment had shrivelled her body, it had not broken her spirit, and despite her trial lasting for many hours, she remained assertive throughout, standing proudly upright, determined to fight for her life but unafraid to die. Thomas, who was observing, sincerely hoped his own spirit would remain as strong, should he be placed in the same situation.
When Gardiner asked for her opinion on the sacrament of the altar, she cleverly replied, “I believe that, so often as I, in a Christian congregation, do receive the bread in remembrance of Christ’s death, and with thanksgiving according to His holy instruction, I receive, therewith, also the fruits of His most glorious passion.”
“This is a prevarication,” Gardiner snapped. “Tell me your opinion of transubstantiation. Do you, or do you not, accept it?”
Anne continued to thwart his questions, and time after time, she was accused of prevarication, until Gardiner, exasperated, finally declared, “You are nothing but a parrot!”.
Even Gardiner’s threats proved ineffective against her, and by the end of the hearing, he had failed to extract anything of use. For the remainder of the week, Anne was taken daily before the council, but still nothing could be proved against her. Gardiner even tried to cosily gain her confidence, but she merely informed him that his was the same attitude taken by Judas, when he betrayed Christ.
In the end, it was Anne’s own writing that condemned her.
“What think you of this, archbishop?” Gardiner gloatingly thrust a sheet of papers under the Archbishop of Canterbury’s nose. “Written by Mistress Askew, at Newgate.”
Thomas found himself looking at Anne’s writing, smudged, but legible:
‘They said to me there that I was a heretic, and would be condemned by the law if I were to stand in my opinion. I answered that I was neither a heretic, nor deserved any death by the law of God. But as concerning the faith which I uttered and wrote to the council, I would not, I said, deny it, because I knew it was true. They then asked if I would deny the sacrament to be Christ’s body and blood. I said yes, for the same Son of God, who was born of the Virgin Mary, is now glorious in Heaven, and will come again from there at the latter day, just as He went up. As for that you call your God, it is a piece of bread. For more proof thereof, mark it as you wish, for if it but lies in the box three months, it will become mouldy, whereupon I am persuaded that it cannot be God.’
Thomas longed to tear up the paper and throw it into a fire. But it was Anne who would burn, for this letter, originally destined to be sent to a friend, was all the evidence her enemies needed.
Once the letter had been made public, her final trial was a foregone conclusion. Having been found guilty, Anne refused to recant, and was condemned to death. Her fate decided, Anne was returned to her cell, whilst Thomas made his way to Court to inform the queen that, whilst Anne was now condemned to die, she had boldly protected her Protestant associates. As the queen and her ladies wept with sorrow at the sentence, the sense of relief in the room was palpable. Their names had not been revealed; they were safe. Or so they thought.
Unbeknownst to anyone, other than those working closely with Gardiner, the bishop was not finished with Anne just yet. Gardiner wanted more information from her, and that night, she was smuggled to the Tower, to be further questioned by Richard Rich, Thomas Wriothesley and the king’s professional torturers.
That same evening, Thomas was at Court, discussing the trial with the king and Edward Seymour. The queen was also present, sitting quietly nearby, busying herself with some embroidery. Suddenly, there came a commotion outside, and a dishevelled Sir Anthony Knevett, the latest Lord Lieutenant of the Tower, came rushing in. Without making the usual obeisance’s, he hurried directly to the king and flung himself at his feet. His eyes were streaming with tears.
“My lord King.” Knevett unconsciously drew the cuff of his coat over his streaming nose. “Mistress Anne Askew has been delivered to the Tower; to the chambers below.”
Everyone knew which chambers he was referring to. The king nodded slowly, and Thomas sensed the queen stiffen with tension as she gave a sharp intake of breath.
“The courtiers who accompanied her told me they had your permission for Mistresses Askew to be placed upon the rack, to obtain information. They want the names of people who attended her talks, and those who are interested in The New Learning. I initially believed they would merely place her on the rack, to frighten her. But they instructed my professional torturers to attach her wrists and ankles to the ropes, and to begin pulling on the paddles. I knew this would not be according to your instructions, sire.” Glancing anxiously at the king’s face, he was relieved to see an expression of horrified disgust.
“They’re racking a woman?” Henry’s voice was an outraged whisper.
“Indeed, sire. I trust I acted correctly. I instructed my torturers to cease until I came to you.” Knevett was becoming less breathless and flustered, but he was still almost incoherent.
“Who were the courtiers.” Henry’s eyes narrowed.
“My lords Rich and Wriothesley,” came the prompt reply.
“Rich and Wriothesley!” The king gave one of his famous bellows. “Send for my lord Gardiner,” he shouted to one of his pages. “We care not where he is, just bring him.” Turning again to Knevett, he asked, “did the lady say anything?”
“No,” Knevett shook his head vehemently. “When I departed, my lords Wriothesley and Rich had shed their coats and were themselves vigorously applying the paddles. The lady knew nothing other than her own pain. She had passed out and was being revived in readiness for more racking when I left.”
Thomas heard the queen exhale in relief. This examination of Anne had been aimed at bringing her down. Why could these men not just leave this good lady alone, and allow the king to enjoy her society?
“A woman… racked!” The king bellowed again, incredulously. “Get back to the Tower and send those men here. We wish to speak with them. You have acted well,” he conceded.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I have to say, she is a very brave lady.” Bowing, this time in the prescribed manner, Knevett quit the chamber.
“A frail woman! We must speak with these men!” The outraged King shouted.
Some hours later, the king, from an anteroom some distance away, could be heard bellowing at Gardiner – whom he had correctly assumed was responsible for the ghastly episode – along with Wriothesley and Rich. The three of them quit the king’s presence sweating visibly, whilst looking utterly discomfited. To be face to face with an angry Henry VIII was never a confrontation for the faint hearted. Even seasoned statesmen, such as the Duke of Norfolk, were pale with fear when leaving the presence of an enraged King Henry.
Two days later, Anne, along with three men, who included John Lascelles, were burned at Smithfield. Anne’s limbs were so broken by the racking that she had to be carried in a chair. Out of sympathy, a bag of gunpowder had been hung around her neck, to speed her death. It was a dry day, and the kindling ignited quickly, but until she was able to speak no more, Anne screamed only prayers and encouragement to the three men dying beside her.
At the time of the execution, Thomas and the queen were praying together, asking God to speed the deaths of the four martyrs.
Catherine looked around anxiously. “My lord Archbishop, I wish for you to see this.” She produced a slip of paper from her sleeve. “John Lascelles wrote to Anne from his prison cell; he feared she needed strength and support. This was her response to him, and he asked that it be sent to me, as a keepsake.”
Taking the letter, Thomas was saddened to see that Mistress Askew’s usually neat writing had been replaced by a barely legible scrawl, such was the terrible effect of the rack. ‘Oh friend’, the letter read, ‘most dearly beloved in God. I marvel not a little what should move you to judge me in so slender a faith as to fear death, which is the end of all misery. As for my tormentors, regarding their cruelty, God forgive them’. Thomas looked up at the queen, the glint of a tears in his eyes.
The queen sighed deeply. “Such courage,” she murmured, as Thomas handed the paper back to her. She now faced a dilemma. The letter was her only keepsake from Anne, whom she had loved dearly, and whose dedication to the Protestant cause had never failed to inspire her. But she was afraid to keep it, lest it be used as evidence against her.
Thomas, sensing her quandary, shook his head. “Your Majesty, there is nothing incriminating written there. It is a supremely Christian note. I see nothing heretical in those words.”
“I am fearful of being next to die.” The queen took another deep breath to calm her anxiety.
“Dear lady, God forbid. You have many who love and support you, and you are constantly in my prayers. May God preserve and uphold you.”
“My thanks, my lord Archbishop.” She smiled tremulously. “Today, I received another letter, this time from one of my predecessors, Princess Anne. She too offers prayers for me. She is Protestant; she knows what it is like to be fearful.”
She does indeed, thought Thomas. More than the queen would ever realise.
“I often wish she could be permanently at Court,” Catherine admitted.
“A wife and an ex-wife together would potentially complicate matters for the king.” Thomas smiled, and was rewarded by a tremulous smile in return, brightening the queen’s strained face.
“You speak truly, my lord Archbishop, but I do enjoy the times when she joins us for celebrations.”
Suddenly, they heard the sound of the king approaching. Thanks to his chair on wheels, he could never achieve a quiet entrance, not that he had ever made a habit of quiet entrances. The queen smiled broadly as she rose to curtsey; only Thomas, standing close to her, could sense the tension behind it.
“And what are we discussing now? Where are your ladies?” the king boomed amiably.
“My ladies are dismissed, sire, for the time being.” The queen rose from her curtsey. “I felt a need for some serious spiritual conversation. Since you, my lord, were not available, I asked my lord Archbishop to provide counsel.”
Thomas inwardly applauded the queen’s common sense. The king despised flatterers yet loved flattery; and she had learned to deliver it so subtly, that even the astute monarch accepted it at face value.
“Well, what counsel can we give?” Interested, the king eagerly leaned forward.
Trying to think quickly, and introduce something not too topical or inflammatory, Thomas hastily stated, “John the Baptist, Your Majesty. We were appreciating afresh his role in preparing the world for the Messiah.”
“Ah yes,” the king beamed happily, enjoying being given an opportunity to display his own learning. “A man who did everything that was asked of him, yet paid the ultimate sacrifice.”
“Exactly, sir,” the queen replied. Her smile was still brittle, but it escaped her husband’s notice. “I believe I am taking a woman’s view, but I think his fate was unfair.”
The king continued to smile, patting her hand benignly. “Ah, it is not as simple as that. Come, let us instruct you.”
Later that evening, as he made his way back to Lambeth, Thomas decided that it was time to send Margaret and the children back to Canterbury. Life at Court was becoming increasingly perilous, and he needed to know that the three people he loved most in the world were safe in the countryside. The Manor of Ford was now totally repaired following the blaze, so there was no excuse for them not to return.
A few weeks later, he was grateful for his forward thinking, as things at Court were once again thrown into turmoil. It was openly reported that the king and queen had argued, and the king had been heard complaining that his wife was getting above herself.
“I heard him myself,” Edward Seymour soberly informed the archbishop. “His very words were, ‘it is not much to my comfort in my old age to be lectured at by my wife!’. He was most irate.”
“But, why…?” Thomas was lost for words. Seymour was a cold, serious man; his reports were never exaggerated. His word was to be trusted.
“The king and queen were talking together yesterday when the queen began to oppose accepted doctrines. As chance would have it, Gardiner was nearby at the time, and heard the king becoming increasingly irritated with his wife. Naturally, Gardiner fanned the flames, stating loudly that he thought opposing such doctrines ‘set a bad example, not only in the Court, but also amongst the lower people’. I sincerely wish the king would send that man from Court; his meddling has caused enough grief.” Seymour scratched his beard fretfully. “Since their argument, the king has refused to see the queen, and has been most glacial in his tone whenever she is mentioned.”
“We must pray that nothing more comes of the incident,” Thomas murmured. “We have received nothing but threats recently; I cannot say when I last slept easily. But I believe the king loves his wife, so by God’s grace, we shall hear no more of it.”
“I hope it is so,” Seymour fervently agreed.
The following day, Gardiner presented the king with a warrant for the queen to be arrested and examined by the council, which Henry promptly signed.
Edward Seymour hastily despatched a messenger to Lambeth Palace to inform the Archbishop of Canterbury about what was happening. Having read the brief letter, Thomas hurried to Court, determined to reason with the king, and there found him looking grey and ill. His leg was clearly causing him agony, having not been freshly dressed by the queen for a number of days; the vile smell coming from his person testified to this. His cheeks were heavily threaded with purple veins, and his lips also had a purple tinge. Furthermore, the king, and his courtiers too for that matter, were disturbed by frantic wails and sobs that could be heard coming from Catherine’s chambers. As far as the king and most of the council were concerned, the queen had not been informed of the warrant, so the king reasoned that her distress must be due to some other predicament.
“Perhaps the only person who can determine what ails the queen is your good self,” Thomas ventured, his courage bolstered by the fact that Edward Seymour was standing beside him, nodding agreement.
Magnanimously, the king decided to visit his wife and discover the cause of her anguish, calling for some pages to carry him to her apartment. Whatever happened between the royal couple, the queen used the time alone with her husband wisely, and over an hour later, the king reappeared, looking much more comfortable and smelling considerably sweeter, with his leg newly bathed and dressed by his wife. He promptly took his archbishop aside.
“The queen was distraught; she thought she had offended us,” Henry whispered.
“Ah, she loves you too well to be a deliberate cause of distress,” Thomas earnestly stated.
“She said she opposed us in conversation to divert us from this painful leg.” The king indicated to the offending member. “She thought that if she agreed with us, the discussion would have ended, and we would not have been distracted. She was most distressed by our rage, and by Bishop Gardiner’s interruption. She had expected to gain knowledge from our learned discourse, not to cause offence.” The king gave a satisfied sigh. “She truly is a perfect wife, my lord Archbishop.”
“I perceive she used her womanly wiles to divert her lord and husband from his pain, and to gain knowledge in so doing.” Thomas beamed with relief. “A pleasing situation for both parties concerned. She is a wise and loving wife.”
The king contentedly nodded agreement.
The following day, as the king and queen were walking through the gardens together – the king using his wife’s shoulder and a walking stick for support – Gardiner, Wriothesley, and a group of guards appeared. Gardiner was clutching the warrant in his hand, bent upon arresting the queen. In a fury, the king ripped the document to shreds, berating the astonished courtiers for their temerity, and even hitting Wriothesley on the head with his stick. As one, the courtiers and guards made a hasty retreat.
Nothing more was said of the warrant; sensibly, the queen accepted Henry’s brief explanation that the warrant was ‘a mistake’, despite knowing full well it was not. Unbeknownst to the king and his courtiers, she had been secretly informed of the warrant on the day it was issued, and had exaggerated her cries of distress in the hope of attracting the king’s attention. Fortunately for her, it had worked, else Catherine might have ended up as yet another discarded wife. It would never be known whether the king had really intended to permit her to be examined, or whether he had planned to save her, as he had saved his archbishop. Thomas suspected it might be Edward Seymour who had warned her; Ridley suspected it was the Archbishop of Canterbury. Whoever her saviour had been, the queen kept his, or her, identity to herself.
*****
As the year passed, Thomas heard unwelcome news from Germany. The Emperor Charles had begun his purge, seeking out the German reformists and arresting them, or worse. Anxiously, he awaited news from Andreas Osiander, Martin Bucer, and his other German associates, who were now in grave danger. Margaret, as she always was when times were tense, was philosophical.
“We pray for them constantly; we pray for ourselves constantly. We are in God’s hands, my husband. Stop worrying.”
At least there was the new peace treaty with France to celebrate. The king had finally reconciled with King Francis and was to greet his official representative soon. Much to Henry’s gleeful satisfaction, Francis was currently suffering, as he periodically did, from the pox, and so was unable to attend in person. A grand ceremony was held at Hampton Court, and as was often the case these days, the king had chosen his archbishop to lean on during the welcoming ceremony. Prior to the ceremony, he confided to Thomas that it was his plan to unite with France against the Emperor Charles… if Francis agreed, of course.
During the ceremony, Henry displayed the caprice which so often confused his courtiers. Greeting the French representative with his customary bluff charm, the king suggested that not only should France and England combine their efforts to banish the power of the Pope from France, but that they should also, in both realms, replace Mass with a Protestant Communion Service. The French king’s representative, looking nonplussed, diplomatically replied that he would, of course, take this matter to his master as soon as he returned to France.
Unfortunately, the opportunity to discuss this further never arrived, for less than six months later, King Francis died unexpectedly. The death of the man who for decades had been his sometimes enemy, sometimes friend, plus a constant rival, shocked Henry to the core. His death had been sudden, believed to be the result of poison entering his bloodstream from a lanced abscess. The French Ambassador informed Henry that when they had opened up the body of the late king, his internal organs had been very much diseased. It was a wonder he had lived so long. He was succeeded by his son, Henry II, but without King Francis to compete against, life for King Henry VIII of England would never be the same again. Old friends – and enemies – were irreplaceable.