by David Field
Then it was on to Tournai, which yielded up its gates on 23rd September after an eight day siege. As Henry rode proudly through the heavily dented gates of the town in the front line of English knights, dressed more for ceremony than for battle, his eyes lit upon the cluster of Romanesque towers of the Cathedral de Notre-Dame, and he turned to Thomas.
‘We have captured several leading French nobles, whose ransoms will no doubt help to replenish our royal coffers, and there is clearly much within this noble town to pillage and take back with us. But what of you, Thomas? As a man of God, you will not, of course, seek material reward, but how say you that I make you a gift of this magnificent church?’
Thomas smiled in what he hoped was a self-deprecating manner. ‘With the deepest of respect, Your Majesty, the building itself belongs to his Holiness the Pope. While your armies have bravely conquered the remainder of the town, and may now set about removing therefrom anything of value, they cannot carry away the spiritual grace with which this noble edifice has been endowed over the years. Nor can its bishop yield so much as a gold candlestick, since all that lies within belongs to his Holiness.’
‘It has a bishop?’
‘It most certainly must have,’ Thomas replied, gazing upwards in envy, ‘given the richness of the building, which is clearly a cathedral. Every cathedral has a bishop, and there can be no Episcopal see without a cathedral.’
Henry caught the wistful look on the face of his Almoner, and was in a generous mood. ‘And it is the Pope who appoints bishops?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘And will this new Pope be grateful to the King of England for forcing the French to scurry back north, where they were slaughtered in their hundreds?’
Thomas thought for a moment when he realised where the conversation was heading. In February of that year, Pope Julius II had died, and had been replaced by Pious X, who was a totally different pontiff from his predecessor. As Giovanni de’ Medici, he was the head of a wealthy Florentine family much given to excess in the matter of art, and as far distant in Papal policy from the former ‘warrior Pope’ as it was possible to get. But even he looked with fear and apprehension at the gradual conquest of the Italian city states by Louis XII of France, and while he might not maintain the fervour of his predecessor’s Holy League he would nevertheless be breathing a little easier at the recall of French troops necessitated by Henry’s break-out from Calais.
‘Without warriors such as Your Majesty to protect his city state of Rome from marauding armies,’ Thomas assured him, ‘his Holiness would be reduced to the status of a mere parish priest. I can assure you, Majesty, that when news is conveyed to him of your magnificent triumph over Louis, he will be the very soul of gratitude.’
‘He is not the only one to have cause to be grateful, Thomas. Without your most capable management, this army of mine would never even have reached Calais. Whatever it has cost, we will be rich in plunder and ransom ere much longer, but all I can offer you is the Bishopric of this somewhat ancient pile. Would that be sufficient reward?’
Thomas hid his elation behind his best unctuous smirk. ‘Your Majesty does me great honour, and as ever you prove most generous in victory. But, with the greatest respect to your royal person, it will require the sanction of his Holiness, as I have previously explained.’
‘Leave his Holiness to me, Thomas,’ Henry replied. ‘In the meantime I will give out word that the cathedral must not be touched in the general pillage that seems destined to commence within the hour. Leave me now, and see to your reward.’
Thomas dismounted and walked jubilantly through the main doors of the magnificent cathedral, accompanied by two of his clerics, one of whom had been acting as his confessor during their time abroad. He genuflected in the doorway, then walked slowly down the long nave until he came to the transept, where he knelt and muttered a prayer of thanks. After being assisted back to his feet by his companions, he walked through the choir and prostrated himself before the altar. The cool flagstones reminded him that he would soon be clad in richer vestments, and as he gazed up at the golden candlesticks, other thoughts came to him as he recalled his last conversation with Henry.
He turned to his two clerics.
‘Richard, search out the Earl of Northumberland, give him my heartiest congratulations on his victory, and request that half a dozen of his best armed men be stationed outside here to prevent looting, on the authority of the King’s Almoner. Gerald, you must return to our camp and collect six baggage wagons, and sufficient of those ruffians we recruited to our cause in Thames Street ere our departure, and bring them all to me here.’
Less than an hour later, a red-faced and highly indignant Bishop of Tournai glared angrily at Thomas, as teams of rough-looking English peasants set about removing plate, rich tapestries and ecclesiastical ornaments from the main hall of his Palace.
‘What means this outrage?’
Thomas summoned up his best French. ‘It means, my lord Bishop, that you shall shortly be conducting Masses with less wealth as a sign of your office. You will also cease to be the Bishop of Tournai once the Pope gives his blessing to my ordination in your place. But you will not starve, since it is my wish that you continue to perform Holy office within the cathedral a few doors from here. However, you will ensure that all the revenues from your see are transmitted to the King’s Almoner in London. I am he, and unless it is your wish to minister to your flock in a humble village you will ensure that every franc is duly accounted for.’
‘God will punish your treachery to the Holy Mother Church!’
‘God perhaps,’ Thomas replied with a smirk as he turned to leave, ‘but his Holiness the Pope will in due course demonstrate how the best interests of his Church are served. Pax vobiscum.’
He swept from the Bishop’s Palace in order to rejoin Henry for dinner in his marquee in the English camp.
‘What say you, Talbot?’ a beaming Henry enquired as he took another generous swig from his wine goblet, ‘on to the walls of Paris?’
Talbot’s smile disappeared. ‘Your Majesty, the men are anxious to return home with their spoils. We have the Duc de Longueville in our baggage train, in addition to the Lord Clermont, who I am advised is King Louis’s Vice-admiral, and others beside. Woe betide that they contrive to escape before we can secure the rich rewards for their ransom. It will also soon be winter, and then we shall not so easily live off French land as we have thus far.’
Henry’s smile thinned as he turned to Henry Percy. ‘My Lord of Northumberland, do you share Talbot’s careful counsel?’
‘I do, Your Majesty. I may also add that without the skilled bombardiers of the Emperor, we would not have fared so well in sending the French racing back to their lines. But we can ill afford to take them with us to Paris, given their daily wages.’
Henry froze with the goblet halfway to his mouth, and turned angrily to Thomas.
‘We are paying Ferdinand’s men for their services?’
Thomas winced. ‘Thus far, yes, Your Majesty. But, as both your commanders in the field appear to be advising, there will be no further need of those services.’
Henry let fly a string of curses, and those around the board with him looked uncomfortably at anything other than his countenance. Northumberland silently mouthed an apology to Thomas for having revealed his hitherto secret commission to the Imperial forces, and by the time that Henry fell silent, Thomas was able to steer the conversation in another direction.
‘There is also the matter of Scotland, Your Majesty. Now that James is dead, your sister Margaret becomes Queen Regent for her son, the new King James V. This might be a good time to march on Edinburgh and let it be known that we will tolerate no more aggression while our backs are turned.’
‘A pox on Edinburgh!’ Henry raged. ‘I will deal with those upstart cock-suckers when it best suits me. As you point out, my sister Margaret will keep them in their places until she learns my intentions. But your reference to royal children re
minds me that my dear Queen is near her time, and that we should be back at Richmond ere she takes to her lying-in chamber. We shall break camp and make for home as soon as it can be achieved. See to it, Thomas.’
Two months later, there was much rejoicing as Queen Katherine gave birth to another boy, joyously named Henry. Then came the seemingly inevitable, as the royal physicians proved inadequate to the task of keeping the infant alive, and it was an apprehensive Thomas who answered the royal summons a week later. He found Henry in the Privy Lodgings, staring out of the window down at the oily-flowing Thames beyond the outer wall.
‘Thomas, I have need of your wily counsel as how best to insult both the Emperor and my father-in-law of Spain at one and the same time.’
‘Your Majesty?’ Thomas asked, somewhat taken aback by the bluntness of the request.
‘Come, Thomas,’ Henry reassured him as he placed his arm across Thomas’s shoulder, ‘let us not pretend that we have not been belittled by both of our so-called allies in the Holy League of the former Pope. It was left to us to send the French packing, and to oblige them to withdraw from Milan. Maximilian only joined battle because we paid him to do so, and as for the Spaniards, they were presumably still tilling their vines and tupping their goats well to the west while we did the Pope’s bidding. I have been publicly humiliated, Thomas.’
‘Hal, there is not a monarch in Europe who does not fear you after your glorious victory and...’
Henry raised his other hand in a gesture to silence Thomas, and was clearly in no mood to be assuaged. ‘Spare me the honey that drips from your jaws, Thomas, and earn your keep. How stand things between us, Maximilian and Ferdinand?’
Thomas thought for a moment before replying. He had his own spies in the ecclesiastical trains of leading clergymen, and had recently learned, via a friend of Thomas Larke who was in the service of the Archbishop of York and currently in Rome, that Pope Pius was anxious to establish peace with France in order to protect Rome, and his own native Florence, from Louis’s rapid acquisition of Italian city states. This might be an opportune moment — for both England and Thomas — to support the Pope by allying with France and prevailing upon it to retreat from northern Italy. Thomas could also identify a way of slapping their former allies in the face in the process.
‘Hal,’ he suggested gently, ‘you cannot even begin to contemplate any insult to Ferdinand of Spain while you are married to his daughter, and while his grandson Charles is betrothed to your own sister Mary.’
Henry snorted. ‘As for the Queen, you might wish to ask Ferdinand if he has any other daughters who are capable of bearing sons. Joanna may well be mad, as they say, but at least her loins yield up live boys.’
Thomas diplomatically let the point hang in the air, and moved on. ‘But the continued betrothal of the most eligible — and, if I might make so bold, the most beautiful — princess in Europe to the young man who Ferdinand no doubt sees as his successor, is hardly the best way to snub one’s nose at Ferdinand himself. Were the betrothal to be called off, not only would you be cocking a snook at Ferdinand, but you would also be tweaking the beard of Maximilian, who is Charles’s other grandfather.’
‘Excellent, Thomas! However, that then leaves the matter of who to offer Mary’s hand to. There cannot be an unmarried monarch in Europe who would not have her, but as I understand it, there is, unfortunately, no unmarried monarch in Europe at present.’
‘There is Louis himself, Hal,’ Thomas replied quietly.
Henry stared sideways at him for an incredulous moment, then burst out laughing. ‘Thomas, there are times when you border upon genius! Not only do I kick the Emperor and my treacherous old fart of a father-in-law in the sweetbreads, but I also have the alliance of England’s oldest enemy, and the gratitude of the Pope! How can I possibly reward you this time?’
‘Lincoln,’ Thomas replied with a triumphant grin.
‘What about Lincoln?’ Henry enquired.
‘It is with some regret that I have to advise you of the death of Dr. Smith this past week,’ Thomas replied. ‘He had been in ill health for some time, and his passing was a blessing from God, given the bodily pains to which he was subject.’ When Henry still did not seem to have grasped the point, Thomas continued. ‘He was the Bishop of Lincoln, and his see therefore becomes vacant. Since his Holiness the Pope has not yet seen fit to confirm my appointment to Tournai, even despite your good offices, perhaps...’
‘Perhaps nothing, Thomas. Pius shall be left in no doubt that if he seeks my influence as the brother-in-law of the man who even now threatens the Holy See with his warhorses and siege engines, then he must indulge me in my choice of Bishop of Lincoln.’
‘You are most generous, Hal.’
‘And you, Thomas, are most ingenious. I would have you at my elbow whenever a knotty problem besets me, and yet I am told that your journey upriver this morning was delayed by an adverse tide, and the need to skirt much wreckage floating downstream from the recent gales in Oxfordshire.’
‘It is true, I’m afraid. Bridewell seems far from Richmond on days such as this.’
‘Then you must seek to establish yourself closer to me when the Court is here in Richmond. You should also have a country house, away from the unhealthy miasmas of the Fleet.’
‘At one time I had a house in Putney,’ Thomas reminded him, ‘and I must own that my health was much better when I could walk along the river bank without fear of cut-throats seeking my purse.’
Henry pointed out of the window, to his left. ‘Upriver, not five leagues from here, is the old Hospitaller house at Hampton, which for many years was leased by Sir Giles Daubney, my late father’s Chamberlain and a brave knight in many forays into France. He died some years ago, and I am forever receiving petitions from the Knights Hospitaller who seek either a new tenant or an outright purchaser of their estate. I have not seen it, but I am advised that its grounds sweep down to the river, and that from its steps it is but a few minutes’ journey to Richmond by barge. I can, should it convenience you, have a royal barge stationed there at all times for your use.’
‘You are, as ever, most gracious, Hal,’ Thomas mumbled. ‘If there is nothing further...’
‘No, Thomas,’ Henry replied sadly, ‘unless you can double your prayers to God to grant me a male heir.’
VIII
On February 6th 1514, an elated Thomas Wolsey stood at the altar in the chapel of Lambeth Palace facing William Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury. Around Thomas’s neck hung the crux pectoralis, the pectoral cross and the ancient symbol of high office in the Church of Rome, while the ring of office had just been placed on his gloved hand during his consecration as Bishop of Lincoln. On Thomas’s head was the heavily jewelled bishop’s mitre whose weight he would have to learn to endure if others were to witness him in all his splendour.
Thomas turned to face the small but very select audience in the chapel as the Archbishop raised a hand above his head and administered the final blessing.
‘May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.’
A murmur of ‘Amen’ rose up from the body of the congregation, and it was all over. The choir struck up the departing anthem as Thomas was led out by the remaining bishops to the smaller chapel belonging to the Bishop of London, in which certain preliminary ceremonies had earlier been conducted. As Thomas entered, the last in the line, Warham had already been disrobed by an attendant, and stood waiting for him, the ironic smile still on his face.
‘Now that you are one of those under my Episcopal authority, Thomas, I shall expect more respect from you in Council.’
‘You have always had my respect, your Grace,’ Thomas replied with a grin. ‘The more direct question is whether or not you will have my co-operation.’
With some regret, Thomas allowed Thomas Larke to remove his chasuble and all the other clerical garments above his simple alb, over which he slipped his freshly laundered soutane before walking sedately to the Great Hal
l of the Bishop’s Palace in order to host the small repast laid out along several boards down the centre. Henry himself had opted not to attend, so as not to steal the attention from his new bishop, but he had ordered several leading nobles to the ceremony, as a mark of respect. One of these was his personal favourite, and lifelong companion, Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, who sidled up to Thomas as he poured himself a generous measure of Rhenish wine.
‘Thomas, we must speak privily,’ Suffolk urged him.
‘Charles, my dear friend, nothing short of the death of the King could be so urgent on this day of days. Call on me tomorrow at Bridewell, and you shall have my undivided attention, as ever, but for today, please allow me to play the genial host.’
Suffolk withdrew, his face a picture of pain and anguish, and Thomas heard a mocking voice behind him.
‘I trust that, at least for today, you are wearing clean hose.’ Thomas groaned inwardly and turned to face the grinning visage of Thomas Howard, who continued, ‘And before you tell me to cross myself because here comes a bishop, you should know that here comes an earl.’
‘Of this I am already aware, Thomas, and I must congratulate you, not only on your father’s elevation to the highest rank of nobility, but also the bravery of both of you in defeating the Scots while we took on the French.’
‘I assume you took no part in the fighting?’ Howard enquired with a sneer.
‘No indeed,’ Thomas assured him. ‘I did, however, organise the feeding, deployment and spiritual comfort of fifty thousand men, while you presumably accounted for the deaths of a dozen or so.’
‘Is it true that you have arranged for the Princess Mary to be wed to the King of France?’
‘No,’ Thomas replied with a shake of the head, ‘I merely suggested it to His Majesty.’
‘Then we owe you much thanks — our family that is,’ Howard replied. ‘Two of my nieces are to travel with the Lady Mary to the Court of France as her ladies. Mary and Anne Boleyn, my sister’s daughters. She is married to Thomas Boleyn, one of His Majesty’s ambassadors to the Low Countries.’
