Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
The queen’s fall was swift and terrible. She was arrested; taken by barge to be imprisoned in the Tower, and within a week, was on trial in the great hall of the Tower of London. There, she was found guilty of witchcraft and adultery, and was sentenced to die by burning or beheading, in accordance with the king’s mercy. As with Sir Thomas More’s trial, the outcome was a foregone conclusion; several men had already been found guilty of committing adultery with her. Francis Bryan, and the poet, Tom Wyatt, were found innocent, owing to lack of evidence, but Henry Norris, William Brereton, Francis Weston and the musician, Mark Smeaton, had already been sentenced. Smeaton, being of humble birth, was to be hung at Tyburn, whist the others were to be beheaded on Tower Hill. Most shockingly, George Boleyn, Anne’s own brother, was also found guilty of committing adultery with his sister; he too was to be beheaded.
At the trial, he noted that Smeaton’s eyes were heavily bruised, and various visible parts of his body appeared discoloured; when he asked Cromwell whether Smeaton had been tortured to obtain his confession, Cromwell’s answer was evasive, all but confirming Thomas’ suspicions. The entire situation was deeply unsettling; he could accept that the king would permit his once beloved wife to be found guilty of treason, but to deliver the death penalty? The very thought of it made him recoil in horror. It was impossible for him to accept that the king would condemn her to death unless he was absolutely certain of her treachery. But whilst he frantically desired to believe that the trial had been just, he could not shake off his doubts. Having spent a great deal of time with Anne, he had never observed her being anything more than flirtatious with her admirers… but to have sentenced her to death, the king must certainly think her guilty.
His thoughts in turmoil, he decided to write to the king, in an attempt to ease his troubled mind. ‘Your Majesty, I am most perplexed,’ he wrote. ‘My mind is clean amazed, for I never had a better opinion of a woman than I had of her, which makes me think that she should not be culpable. Then again, I know Your Highness would not have gone so far as to sentence her to death had she not been culpable. I loved her not a little for the love which I judged her to bear towards God and His gospel…’. The letter rambled on for several pages, but Thomas knew that it would make no difference. The queen would die regardless. Feeling pessimistic, he despatched Ralph Morice to Court to deliver the missive to the king.
Soon after Anne’s trial, Thomas was informed that the king had chosen mercy when it came to Anne’s execution. There would be no flames, nor would she have to endure the axe. Instead, a swordsman had been sent for from Calais, to strike off her head with the sharp, swift, blade of a sword. It was a relief to know that Anne would be spared a slow, painful death. Then came a summons from the king, who wished to see him immediately at Hampton Court. Concerned that this summons might have something to do with his confused letter, he travelled swiftly to Court, before his anxiety got the better of him.
He found the king standing alone in an anteroom, subdued in manner, as was to be expected. Bowing, Thomas waited anxiously for him to speak.
“We are sorely saddened by this, my lord Archbishop,” the king said solemnly, his tone heavy as he began pacing around the chamber, still limping as a result of his jousting wound. “She bewitched me, you know. She bewitched everyone, even you.”
Thomas did not believe he had been bewitched by Anne. Certainly, although she had occasionally caused him discomfort by reminding him of Joan; he had admired her for her intelligence, style and wit, but he could not believe that she had bewitched him, or indeed anyone else. It was her personality that had drawn people to her; women had been less fond of her because she had chosen to focus her attention on men. The ladies who had once surrounded her had simply been tolerated. by her. At least, that was his opinion, though he knew it was too late to try and explain his reasoning to the king.
They spoke for a while, shifting between various topics, until the king finally decided to reveal the reason for this visit.
“My lord Archbishop, we wish for you to travel to the Tower tomorrow to visit the queen. We are troubled regarding her relationship with Thomas Percy. You see, if she was promised to him, then she could not have been lawfully married to anyone… let alone her monarch.” The king eyed his companion soulfully, his expression pained and sincere.
Thomas felt his heart give a leap of hope. “I will go gladly, Your Majesty,” he declared. “I wish to see her in any case, to spend some time in prayer with her.”
“Rightly so.” The king pursed his lips. “We have spent much time in prayer these past few weeks.”
The following morning, Thomas travelled from Lambeth Palace to the Tower. For centuries, the Tower of London had been a royal residence, but after various individuals of importance had been imprisoned there and subsequently executed, it had become regarded as a sinister, unsavoury place. Brushing these thoughts aside, he concentrated on his mission, which was to counsel Queen Anne and seek to save her from execution. He was optimistic. How could a mother desire execution, instead of watching her child grow up? Given the circumstances, Anne would now surely admit to pre-contract if she had agreed to marry Harry Percy; and possibly even if she had not agreed to any such betrothal. Such a false admittance was against the word of God; but Thomas reasoned that, since the guilt would lay with her soul and not his, it was not his problem whether she told the truth or not.
His barge docked at the Watergate, and he was greeted by Sir William Kingston, Lieutenant of the Tower, who escorted him to the queen’s rooms.
“My lord Archbishop, you are welcome.”
The lieutenant was a humane man, who was always respectful and polite, and having met him several times, Thomas had found himself warming to him.
Lowering his voice so only the visitor could hear, Kingston whispered, “my lord, I pray you, I don’t know exactly why you are here, perhaps it is merely to soothe Queen Anne’s soul. But if it is possible for you to entreat the king to spare her, I beg you to do so.”
Thomas regarded the man’s earnest face and replied truthfully. “That is the purpose of my visit. Tell me, has the queen said anything to you which might bring about her pardon?” Kingston seemed the kind of man whom Anne – or indeed any prisoner – might confide in.
“She has said nothing.” Kingston was apologetic.
“Then I charge you to pray for me as I speak with her,” he requested, pressing Kingston’s arm gently. “Much depends upon this time I spend with her.”
“I assure you of my prayers,” Kingston replied quietly. “God bless your mission, my lord Archbishop.”
Thomas was promptly shown into the queen’s quarters and found her exactly as he had expected: bright, brittle, full of restless gaiety, and, as was typical of Anne, exuding elegance. She was wearing a gable head dress instead of her usual French hood, and the severity of the style suited her angular features.
“My lord Archbishop,” she greeted him warmly, extending her hand for him to kiss. “I am glad to see you; I am sorely in need of diversion.”
“May I speak with you privately?” he enquired, having bowed and kissed her hand.
“Of course. These ladies watch me constantly, but they can trust me with my husband’s archbishop.” She dismissed the women who hovered around her with an almost contemptuous flick of her hand, and as they retreated, she whispered, “some of them are spies. They report everything I say and do to my lord Cromwell, and, of course, my husband. I can honestly say that, thus far, they have found nothing of interest to report.”
He observed Anne’s attendants, most of whom were clearly reluctant to move out of earshot. They were eyeing him with open curiosity. “I wish to hear the queen’s confession,” he gently informed them. “I beg you to respect the confidentiality of this.”
The women bowed their heads politely and reluctantly retreated further into the background, where they could no longer hear what was being said.
He held back a smile of relief; much though he disagreed with the Catholic ritual of confessing to a priest, on this occasion, it had its uses. “My lady Anne, I am here to save your life.” Seating himself opposite her, he kept his voice low. “It is well reported that, some years ago, you were close to my lord Percy, and it is also said that you entertained a desire to marry him. If you admit to being promised to him, my lady, it will invalidate your marriage to the king, and thus save you from execution. You cannot be accused of adultery against the king if you were already promised to my lord Percy.”
Anne was silent, twisting her hands together anxiously. For a while, he thought she was not going to reply. Eventually, her voice came out in an anguished whisper. “But I am a mother, my lord Cranmer. As a mother, can I permit my child to be a bastard? She shall be considered as such if I admit to being promised to Percy.”
He wondered how to respond to this. To be a bastard child invariably meant a life of ignominy; but when the father was King of England, well, matters were different. “The bastard Duke of Richmond, the king’s son, was well thought of, my lady,” he eventually managed to whisper. “He had his own household and lived in fine style, right up until his untimely death.”
“But he was male. Look at the fallen state of Lady Mary.” Anne’s tone was sharp.
Thomas nodded slowly. Yes, Lady Mary’s lot was hard. But that was chiefly due to Anne’s influence. Fond though he had become of the queen, he had to admit that Anne’s treatment of Mary had not been kind. “Richmond was well looked after by the king, as would Mary have been, had she agreed to sign the Acts of Supremacy and Succession,” he stated tactfully. “Elizabeth will be equally cared for. If you admit you were pre-contracted, not only shall she be well cared for, but she shall also have her mother by her side, to ensure she is looked after according to her status.”
Anne’s gaze was sad and inscrutable. Rising abruptly from her chair, she began to restlessly pace around the room.
Thomas wondered what was going on inside her head, and decided once again to stress the benefits of admitting to being pre-contracted. “My lady, you must realise that it will be impossible to execute you for adultery if you admit to pre-contract. If you have these past years not been lawfully married to the king, you will simply be guilty of the sin of lying with a man who is not your husband.”
There was a glimmer of acknowledgment and hope written upon Anne’s countenance. She seated herself again. “I have not committed adultery; I am innocent of that.” She said this loudly enough for her ladies to hear. “Not with my brother or any of the others who have been condemned to die.”
“And pre-contract?” he whispered hopefully. “I have a document within my sleeve; if you sign it, it will mean you are not lawfully married to the king and have committed no error other than to deceive him. Indeed, you will have actually committed adultery with him, since Lord Percy is, in effect, your rightful husband. You will be sent to a place of safety, of that I am sure,” he urged.
“I would like to retire to a nunnery… with Elizabeth…” A loud, bitter laugh exploded from her lips. “Except that Master Cromwell is going to rip them all down.”
Having already considered this, Thomas gave a slow nod of agreement. “There are other places for you though. Perhaps Hever Castle?”
“No, a convent in France. I shall settle there in obscurity, if Henry permits it,” she declared decisively.
“Does this mean you will sign to say you were pre-contracted to Percy?”
“Yes.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “A while back, when he was asked, he declared that we were never betrothed. But we were in love. Deeply in love. He wanted to marry me, though we never dared to declare it publicly. As a Boleyn, I was not good enough for his family.” Her voice was bitter. “His father and Wolsey forbade it, but I agreed to marry him. We were truly married.” She gave him a meaningful look.
“Your union was consummated?” he clarified.
“Yes,” she sighed, wiping her eyes with her fingers. “We were told never to speak of it. Wolsey and the late Lord Percy said that if we did, it would surely injure Harry’s future career. Wolsey insisted that I should swear to keep silent. So I did, and have, until now. Harry went on to marry an heiress, who brought him more money and lands than I ever could. Bring out your document, my lord Archbishop; I shall sign it. Then, if you will, I request that you give me and my ladies the sacrament.”
“Of course, I shall be most glad to do so.” Smiling broadly, he produced the document for her to sign, and Anne signalled for one of her women to bring a pen and some ink. During that moment of delay, Thomas found himself trembling, lest she should abruptly change her mind. He shielded the document as one of her ladies, avid with curiosity and clearly straining to see what was written, placed both pen and ink on the table.
“My lord Archbishop, as well as saving my life, shall this save the life of my brother?” Anne asked, her face alight with hope. “Of course, you know how vilely his wife has testified against him. She could never bear that he was fond of me and not of her.”
“I cannot say,” he answered apologetically, realising that he had yet to consider the outcome for the men involved in this sorry business. “Though it is logical to assume that they shall be spared,” he surmised hopefully.
Anne heaved a deep sigh. “It is strange to think that it is all over now; that I am no longer Queen of England.” She regarded him with a wry smile. “I was not good enough for my lord Percy’s family, yet the king was wild to marry me… and now this. It makes one wonder how things might have been different, had Harry’s family been more obliging. Ladies…” Anne stood gracefully and clapped her hands. “Please come and receive the sacrament with me.”
As Thomas delivered both the bread and wine, Anne clearly uttered the words ‘I am innocent’, prompting him to smile faintly in approval.
Once his task was completed, and with the precious document hidden within his sleeve, he bowed to Anne and departed, making his way back to the river and the barge, which would take him back to Hampton Court. Leaning back in his seat, he felt a surge of relief. She had signed the document; her life would be spared.
As the barge slowly made its way back to Court, he reflected on the time he had spent praying with Anne. It was not so very long ago that she had requested his counsel on the eve of her wedding; clearly her soul had been troubled, and now he knew the reason. Her conscience had been uneasy. She had been engaged to marry Harry Percy; the verbal contract between them had never been formally annulled. As for today, Anne had sworn innocence whilst taking the sacrament, which meant a gross miscarriage of justice had occurred. Cromwell had definitely applied torture to obtain Smeaton’s confession, especially since none of the other men had admitted having carnal knowledge of the queen. He could only assume that the witnesses who had been brought forward to testify against these men, had been bribed to do so by Cromwell. But it did not matter now. The document was signed; Anne would live, and if justice prevailed, so would all the men who had been wrongly accused.
Later that day, after first of all meeting with several of his bishops to discuss the queen’s admission of pre-contract, he formally declared the marriage between King Henry VIII and Lady Anne Boleyn null and void. Having carried out this duty, he attended an audience with the king and Cromwell.
The king was doleful, still playing the part of the cuckolded husband. When Thomas presented him with Anne’s signed document, he perused it briefly, before promptly placing the paper upon a table. There followed a moment of unbearable silence, as Thomas awaited the king’s verdict. Would he spare the woman whom he had once loved so dearly? His gaze flickered anxiously between the king and Cromwell.
Finally, the king spoke. “Well done, my lord Archbishop.” In recent months, Henry had gained a considerable amount of weight, his injury preventing him from taking vigorous exercise. When seated, this caused his spreading abdomen to become unflatteringly accentuated. “We require you to announce that we have never been lawfully married to Lady Anne Boleyn. This must be publicly acknowledged.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. I have already declared your marriage invalid; when I return to Lambeth, I shall prepare a public announcement. It shall be read aloud in all of the cathedrals in the country, and notices shall be placed in churches, market crosses, and other significant places.”
“I am glad to hear it. The queen shall die in the privacy of Tower Green. The carpenters shall begin erecting the scaffold,” the king announced with finality.
Thomas stared mutely at his monarch, desperately hoping he had misheard. Surely the king would not ignore the opportunity to save the life of a woman who had borne him a child?
Casting a sympathetic glance towards his friend, Cromwell murmured, “Your Majesty has been kind, she shall not suffer. The headsman is marvellously skilled.”
Thomas fought the urge to shout, ‘how would you know? You have never been beheaded!’
It was some hours before he finally returned to Lambeth Palace, and the time seemed to drag as he awaited Anne’s execution the following morning. The men had been beheaded that very afternoon, and Anne’s brother, George, had turned his execution into something of a social event, shaking hands with some of the crowd and even preaching a pro-Reformation sermon. It had taken the headsman several strikes to sever his head, but George had remained stoically silent throughout.
Thomas passed most of the night in his library, pacing the floor, his mind too distressed to read. He dismissed the attentive Ralph Morice, insisting that he needed to spend some time alone. Finally, he wandered outside, breathing in the sweet morning air. The coolness of the dew on the grass calmed his mind, and with rising optimism, he clung to the knowledge that the king loved dramatic gestures; perchance he might deliver a last-minute reprieve? Then, suddenly, he heard it: the sound of cannons firing. It was over. The queen was dead.
At that moment, Ralph Morice anxiously approached him. “My lord Archbishop, may I get anything for you? Some warm mulled ale perhaps?”
Thomas found himself looking into his secretary’s round, kindly face, and promptly burst into tears. “No, Master Secretary. She who has been Queen of England upon Earth will today become Queen in Heaven,” he sobbed, his words barely distinct.
“Indeed so, my lord,” Morice acknowledged gently. “Her soul rests with God, and in His good time, we shall be reunited with her, and all others who have died belonging to the Lord.”
Thomas nodded mutely. She had never been married to the king; she ought to have been spared. She had been beheaded for committing adultery against someone who was not even her husband. It was as Cromwell had so astutely observed: the king had not wanted two divorces within such a short period of time. Yet although he grieved for the queen and the injustice of her execution, he could not bring himself to point a finger of blame towards Henry. He was the king. He ruled according to God’s will.
*****
Soon after Anne’s execution, an Act of Suppression and Dissolution was passed, decreeing that all religious establishments with an income of two hundred pounds or less per annum, were to be suppressed; any with a greater income were to be dealt with later. Not for the first time, Thomas wondered at Cromwell’s brilliance when it came to organisation. For the most part, he approved of the dissolution, though he regretted none of the wealth would be used for education. The king adored pomp and display, but this was expensive, and despite receiving the wealth which had once been sent to Rome, he still had insufficient funds for his needs. Consequently, His Majesty had decided that all money acquired from the dissolution belonged exclusively to the monarch.
Cromwell had promised to provide His Majesty with wealth, and he knew that the sale of monastic lands would provide a hefty boost to the royal coffers. Lead from the rooves was melted down and sold, whilst jewels and plates were placed directly into the waiting royal coffers. The king, who had married Lady Jane Seymour within ten days of Anne’s death, was jubilant; not only was he madly in love, but he was also rich again.
During the immediate weeks following Anne’s death, Thomas found an excuse to take time away from Court. Despite the new queen being Roman Catholic, Catholic bishops were currently unpopular, and some of the Protestant clergy had managed to ensure that the Catholic Bishop of Norwich, Richard Nix, was placed under praemunire, thus prohibiting him from maintaining his papal jurisdiction. It seemed a good idea for him to visit Norwich, to see just what was happening there. Although he was heartened that Protestant clergy were gaining in popularity and numbers, it was wrong for them to misuse their advantage by exaggerating complaints against a Catholic bishop. He preached to them on this subject, but it would take time to know whether or not they had taken note of his words.
From Norwich, Thomas travelled to Canterbury, there to preach to his own clergy, reinforcing the fact that the king was now Head of the Church of England, something many of the clergy still refused to accept. Whilst there, he was also able to confide in the person whom he trusted most: his wife.
“I still consider Cromwell a friend,” he informed her, as they sat in the garden one mild, fragrant summer evening. “But this business with the queen makes me…” He searched for an appropriate word.
Margaret took his hand and rubbed his palm soothingly. “It makes you regard him less favourably than you once did?”
He pondered over this for a while. “Yes, I suppose so,” he finally agreed. “Now that I have seen just how ruthless and manipulative he can be, he has gone down in my estimation. It is frightening how coolly he engineered the downfall of the queen. It makes me uneasy; I find myself wondering whether Cromwell would calmly organise my own downfall, if the king wished for his Archbishop of Canterbury to be arrested.”
“But you have to keep working with him?”
“I have little choice. Besides, I still find myself admiring his energy, his astute mind, and his quick thinking. I cannot keep pace with him.”
“And for that, I praise God,” Margaret retorted sincerely. “I too find myself liking him when we meet. But I would not wish to be his wife.”
“Well, for that, my dear, I too praise God.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “When I return to Lambeth, will you and Marjorie come with me?”
“Our bags are already packed,” she announced, giving him a smug smile.
An hour later, while Thomas was busily going through papers in his library, a servant knocked on the door to inform him that the Prior of the Black Friars was waiting outside, firmly demanding to see the Archbishop of Canterbury. Assuming this was something to do with the dissolution of the monasteries, he bade the servant to permit the man to enter.
The prior was an austere looking man, who soon proceeded to make it clear that he disapproved of the archbishop’s sermons on the subject of the break with Rome, especially when they touched upon the low morals of monastic establishments. Refusing the offer of a seat, he pointed a long bony finger towards his superior. “You have preached uncharitably, I fear,” he accused. “The Pope is the spiritual descendant of Saint Peter. How dare you defile the Roman Church!”
Gently, Thomas began to dispute the prior’s statement. “Does not the Bible show us that the kings of the Old Testament held religious authority?” Observing that the prior was about to interrupt, he hastily added, “Saint Paul himself wrote, in his letter to the Romans, that there is no power but of God, and that the powers that be are ordained of God.”
He had been quick to ask the prior if he was educated, to which the reply had been a haughty ‘yes, I can both read and write’. It was soon evident, however, that the prior was unable to match the knowledge of the archbishop. He was also garrulous, and Thomas knew that he would not leave quickly or quietly. Eventually, he was persuaded to depart, still stubbornly refusing to accept the archbishop’s rationale.
“I fear you have not seen the last of him,” Morice remarked, as the departing figure of the prior was escorted from the room. “You have given him words of truth, my lord Archbishop, but I doubt if they have entered his heart.”
“I pray he accepts them, for the sake of his soul,” Thomas replied fervently.
*****
Less than a week after Thomas had returned to Court, Cromwell took him aside to inform him that a rumour had been spreading, regarding his good self, the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Watching his friend’s cheeks flush crimson with embarrassment, Cromwell smiled slyly. “No, archbishop, the scandal does not concern a certain lady who is currently residing at Lambeth Palace,” he reassured him. “The culprit is from Black Friars. A prior, in fact. He has been speaking against you, saying that you do not know what you are talking about, and he appears to be rapidly gaining support. This cannot be allowed to continue; the king himself knows of it and is furious. I have had the man imprisoned.”
“I saw him at Canterbury not very long ago,” Thomas admitted. “I interviewed him, and he disagreed with my views, refusing to accept any of them. But he is simply misguided, you should not have had him imprisoned.”
“Certes, you mean to say that you just let him go?” Cromwell was incredulous.
“I excused him… I did not think that he would cause any trouble. It is an established fact that the friars do not like me very much. At Cambridge, they were the most badly educated of all the clergy, and I used to insist that they should learn to read, write, and learn the scriptures.”
“Well, he cannot go around discrediting the Archbishop of Canterbury. Are you aware that he is declaring that you are nothing more than an ostler?”
“An ostler? How strange…”
“Is there a reason why he should think you are an ostler?” Cromwell enquired.
“When I was married to my first wife, she worked at an inn… perhaps that is where the rumour stems from?” he mused. “I was never an ostler; I have never even worked at an inn.”
“Regardless, he cannot go on doing this. He must be tried and found guilty, quickly.” Cromwell was brisk. “Tomorrow morning will suffice. I shall have him delivered to Lambeth Palace.”
Thomas frowned. “Delivered to Lambeth… what have you done to him, Cromwell?” For a wild moment, he wondered whether the friar had received similar treatment to Smeaton, the former queen’s unfortunate musician.
“As I have told you, I had him put in prison – the Fleet Prison, to be precise – several days ago. I think that experience will be enough to teach him not to meddle with the Archbishop of Canterbury.” Cromwell’s reply was disarmingly smooth. “Let him cool his heels in that vile place. Meanwhile, I suggest you ask a couple of your bishops to assist you with your examination of him tomorrow, to ensure you are not too lenient with him.”
Thomas reluctantly agreed to Cromwell’s suggestion, deliberately choosing two bishops whom he knew were sympathetic to the Protestant cause: the bishops of Ely and Rochester. The following morning, Cromwell was the first of the interrogators to arrive, entering the archbishop’s Lambeth library to find the prior already seated, looking filthy; his hair and beard matted and greasy. Thomas noticed Cromwell kept a fair distance between himself and the prior, probably because the latter was likely to be verminous. The bishops soon arrived, and at last they were ready to commence. As was usual, Ralph Morice was seated at a table, ready to record the morning’s proceedings.
Having already thought about how to begin this examination, Thomas addressed the prisoner respectfully. Mankind was God’s creation; behaving disrespectfully towards others was an offense against God Himself. “I hear you have been speaking unfavourably of me; that you have been discrediting my knowledge to all and sundry? Perhaps you wish to discuss philosophy, sciences, or else divinity with me, so that we may understand one another better? You may address all of us here in Latin or Greek if you should prefer.”
The prior’s eyes widened with alarm. It sounded mightily impressive to speak against the archbishop in alehouses and such places, but it was another matter to be face to face with him, in the company of other august persons, to boot. “I beseech Your Grace to pardon me. I have no knowledge of Latin or Greek, only English,” he admitted sheepishly. Perhaps it was due to his days and nights in the Fleet, but he was infinitely less belligerent than he had been at Canterbury.
Thomas nodded, having suspected as much. “Well then, if you shall not argue against me, I shall debate with you. Do you read the Bible?”
“Oh yes,” the prior’s expression as one of relief. “Every day.”
Thomas offered a simple question. “Answer me this, then. Who was David’s father?”
“I am not knowledgeable in these genealogies,” the prior confessed, beginning to look distinctly uneasy again.
Thomas, seated at his desk, leaned forward. “Then I can now bear witness to the fact that you, prior – despite slandering my good name with claims that my knowledge is not sufficient to be an archbishop – know nothing. You are simply one of the many in this realm who sit upon their benches, slandering honest men. If you had any common sense in your head, you would have realised that the king, wishing to be divorced from his first wife, would not have summoned an ostler to solve the situation. He would not send an ostler to the Bishop of Rome, the emperor’s council, and other princes, to discuss this matter. I was even sent to the College of Cardinals.”
The prior, still looking sheepish, was wishing he had not been so loose with his tongue. It was unlikely he would be dismissed from this room without receiving some dire punishment.
“I can but apologise, Your Grace. I spoke wrongly. I shall never utter such things again.” Immediately, the prior regretted his words. He had recognised Thomas Cromwell, the king’s vicegerent, a man rumoured to be unafraid of delivering torture when he so wished. He might just have reminded Cromwell that the best way to ensure silence was to cut out his tongue.
Leaning back against his chair, Thomas glanced around at his companions, all of whom were muttering and shaking their heads at the folly of the accused man. He decided not to confer with them, having reached his own conclusion. This man was now terrified and, for that reason, would never again raise his voice against the Archbishop of Canterbury. “God amend you.” Thomas waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Get out of here, and from henceforth, learn to be an honest man, or at least a reasonable man.”
Almost gibbering with gratitude and relief, the prior bowed and scurried from the room, lest anyone should pronounce otherwise.
“Now you see why I insist that all clergy should have some education,” he remarked to his companions, adding, “and this man informed me at Canterbury that he was educated!”
Cromwell shook his head, bemused. “This is the shortest hearing I have ever attended. I would they were all so. I have to say, if he is a typical example of a prior, then I am thankful we are dissolving the monasteries and priories.” Not a man to undertake only one project at a time, Cromwell was currently also reorganising the royal household, extending his organisational skills to the Privy Council, much to the disgust of its aristocratic members. Just a short while ago, there had been eighty members of that council, not that all eighty of them attended every meeting. Now, the number had been reduced to twenty, and the sixty who had been removed were furious at their loss of power. Cromwell could not be anything other than aware of how much he was hated, but he wielded so much authority that it was worth the hatred. He was Vicegerent, Lord Chancellor, and he held the Privy Seal. Like Wolsey, he was a commoner, but unlike Wolsey, he obeyed the king, and carried out his wishes. Taking a piece of fruit from a bowl, he munched steadily for a moment, swallowed, then commented, “I would have had that knave of a priest recanting his slander at St. Paul’s cross.”
“If he did that, the whole world might believe I was an ostler,” Thomas protested.
“Only a blockhead would think that.” Cromwell looked to the bishops for confirmation, but they were shaking their heads in disagreement.
“Too many papists would believe it,” Thomas argued astutely.
The bishops were now nodding agreement.
Thomas continued. “Buying enough food to sustain him during his time in prison probably cost that poor man all the money he has. Would you now put him to open shame? I believe that he is truly sorry. He is not the first man to insult me, and he will certainly not be the last.” Thomas spoke with finality, closing their debate.
Shortly after the bishops and Cromwell had returned to Court, Thomas stood on the landing stage, taking a moment to reflect on their conversation. As he gazed out over the water, he heard footsteps approaching, and turned to see his wife walking across the lawn, which sloped steeply downwards towards the river. He gave an amused smile. She was no doubt eager to discover what had happened during the examination.
“I saw him leave,” she remarked once she had reached her husband. “He looked… erbärmlich.” Though her English was now decidedly excellent, she would still occasionally stumble when trying to find an appropriate word.
Thomas tucked her arm through his own, hoping no one would see, as they began to amble back to the house. After a moment’s thought, he finally identified what she was trying to say. “Ah, erbärmlich is pathetic, if I recall correctly. That would certainly be fitting; there was something rather pathetic about him.”
“Pathetic,” she repeated slowly. “Yes, that is the word.”
As they walked, he recounted the events of the morning, then informed her of some news Cromwell had whispered to him prior to leaving. “I have no idea where Cromwell gets his energy from, but he has just received the king’s permission to reorganise the Star Chamber.” He shook his head in wonderment.
“The Star Chamber? What is that?”
He wracked his brain for a simple explanation. “The Star Chamber oversees the operations of the lower law courts – the courts of the common men and women – and takes on any cases that are referred to it. I often suggest to people that they might appeal directly to the Star Chamber, rather than going to the lower courts first. It saves a great deal of time.”
Margaret was clearly baffled. “Why is it called the Star Chamber?”
“Because it was set up by the previous king, Henry VII, who had the ceiling of the chamber covered in stars. It has an advantage over the lower courts as it is less rigid and does not depend upon juries. However, it does sometimes lack the safeguards of the lower courts. Currently, the Star Chamber is used for prosecuting perjury, slander, crimes of violence, breach of peace… the list goes on. Punishments invariably include whipping, mutilation, fines, pillories and branding, but I have never heard of the death penalty being administered. Anyway, Cromwell is going to give it an overhaul.” He observed her perplexed expression with indulgent amusement.
“I am thinking it needs one,” Margaret frowned. “It sounds not very legal to me.”
Thomas gave a roar of laughter. “It probably isn’t, my love.”
As they were nearing the entrance to their home, Margaret slipped her arm away from his. “I must see to Marjorie; she will be hungry by now. She is always hungry,” she beamed proudly. Their daughter was constantly growing and gaining weight, and Margaret’s most fervent prayer was that she would continue to thrive. So many infants died within their first year. One of the housemaids helped care for the child, a discreet girl with plenty of common sense, plus the decency not to ask questions about the paternity of the infant; though Margaret was sure that most people knew her Thomas was the father. Marjorie was the very image of him, in her fond opinion. “I will go into the house by the rear entrance,” she told him, referring to the servants’ door.
He nodded, frowning. One day, when the reformation of the Church was complete, he would be the first Archbishop of Canterbury to publicly acknowledge a wife. In the meantime, they would have to keep up this ridiculous pretence, and the respectable woman he had married would have to remain, in the eyes of the public, his mistress. The sooner he could publicly present her as his wife, the better.
*****
As the weeks passed, he felt there was very little progress made as far as religious dogma was concerned. He could never have imagined what a slow process it would turn out to be; he had envisaged a quick reformation of the Church once King Henry was no longer subject to the Pope in Rome, but alas, it was not to be. He frequently received letters from Hugh Latimer, such as the one he was reading now, reproaching him for not being more vigorous in achieving a new Protestant Church. It was easy for Latimer to say… he was not working with King Henry.
He had been working late in his library, and was about to retire to bed, when a messenger from the king arrived, summoning him to Court. At the present time, Hampton Court was being sweetened, so the king was staying at Bridewell, a palace which stood on the banks of the Fleet River. It had been King Henry’s main residence in his youth, but he seldom used it these days, for compared with the sumptuous Hampton Court, it was rather drab and outdated. A barge was waiting for him, so hastily wrapping a warm cloak about his person, he hurried down to the river. Stepping into the barge, he found Cromwell already seated there, having also been summoned from his house in Stepney.
“What is this about?” It was reassuring to see that Cromwell appeared no less anxious than himself.
“I have no idea,” came Cromwell’s response. “But it must be serious for the king to call us at this late hour.” He scratched at his chin contemplatively. “We can but wait, though I admit, I am somewhat concerned.”
They talked in a desultory fashion, discussing a commission Cromwell had set up to assess and examine parish clergy, but their discussion was half-hearted; they were both uneasy. Once they had disembarked, they were escorted to a small antechamber. There they found the king pacing back and forth, his face a mask of fury. Nearby stood the new queen, Jane, her hands clasped anxiously together, clearly unable to find the words to soothe her husband.
Thomas had observed how much of a contrast she was to her predecessor, and not just regarding her temperament. Her entire persona was different. Jane lacked her predecessor’s sophistication, wit and lively intelligence. Whilst Anne had flaunted the precious gems Henry had bestowed upon her, the lady who now anxiously stood beside the king wore only a few. Anne had called the king by his name, Henry, whereas Jane always referred to him as ‘Your Grace’ or ‘Your Majesty’, unless in a small informal group, such as tonight, when she would call him ‘sir’. Most noticeably, Queen Jane never contradicted her husband, unlike Anne, who had never been fearful of voicing her point of view, both prior to their marriage and during it.
Cromwell bowed low. “How may we be of assistance to you, Your Majesty. You are clearly troubled.”
“Read this.” The king unceremoniously thrust a document into the archbishop’s hand.
Thomas unrolled the scroll, trying to decipher it in the dim light. There were a few candles in the sconces, and a huge fire roaring in the grate, but it was still very indistinct.
Ever resourceful, Cromwell took hold of a long since snuffed out candle, re-lit it, and brought it over to where his friend was trying to decipher the writing.
Together, the two men read of a parish priest in Lincolnshire, who had given an inflammatory sermon concerning the commissioners who were, at Cromwell’s request, pulling down Louth Abbey and removing what few valuables the small establishment possessed. His sermon had been taken onboard by a monk and shoemaker, named Nicholas Melton, and thanks to Melton’s energetic preaching and vigorous manner, people were flocking to him in droves. Consequently, more than three thousand Lincolnshire men had gathered together and driven out the commissioners. Such a rebellion could not be tolerated.
“What is the solution?” The king’s voice was almost a growl.
Thomas found himself floundering. What was the solution? No wise suggestion sprang to his mind.
Fortunately, Cromwell was quick to produce an idea. “Summon the Duke of Norfolk,” he suggested.
The king’s eyes narrowed slightly. Norfolk’s star had waned since the execution of his niece, Anne Boleyn. However, he was a useful man, and an excellent soldier; vigorous and unsentimental. “Go on, my lord Cromwell. What else have you to say?”
“Send him with a troop of soldiers; put down this uprising, so that the commissioners may proceed with their work. Then, send my lord of Canterbury, or another senior member of the clergy, to preach in some of the Lincolnshire churches. This will ensure that the common folk understand that what is happening is for the greater good.”
“Excellent.” Looking suddenly relieved, the king gave a faint smile of approval. “Let it be so. Send for Norfolk. Tell him I want the leaders to be punished, to set an example to others. Those who do not love and honour their king shall be hung, drawn and quartered.”
“Sir…” The queen’s voice trembled.
“Do not plead for them, madam.” The king’s voice was clipped. “Everyone in the country will begin telling us how to rule this realm if these men are not made an example of. We cannot tolerate such behaviour.”
“Quite so, Your Majesty,” Cromwell purred.
The queen looked tearful but was effectively silenced.
“Cranmer, prepare yourself to travel to Lincolnshire. We trust you more than any other clergyman to preach in the cathedral. We need the rebellion to be quashed, and the people appeased,” the king briskly instructed.
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Thomas bowed. He noticed that the queen had turned away so the king could not see her surreptitiously wiping tears from her eyes. It was not in her temperament to argue or contradict her husband, and he suspected that she had also taken note of what had befallen her spirited and opinionated predecessor. It seemed Queen Jane had sufficient common sense to keep her opinions to herself. The Protestant faction had been worried about the influence of a Catholic queen, but it was becoming increasingly evident that the king would not accept any advice from his new wife, allaying Thomas’ own private fears. Certainly, the king seemed besotted with Queen Jane, but if King Henry refused to reform the Church, it would not be due to her influence.
With the Duke of Norfolk at the helm, the Lincolnshire uprising was soon quashed, and the leaders were subjected to the dreaded traitor’s death. As was common following such executions, the grizzly remains of their bodies were subsequently displayed in various towns, as a message to other potential rebels. Thomas gave a sigh of relief upon hearing the news. It was sad that people had to die, but at least all was calm again. As for the king, once the uprising was quashed, he was able to happily resume his honeymoon with his new queen.