The King's Commoner: The rise and fall of Cardinal Wolsey (The Tudor Saga Series Book 2)

by David Field

  ‘This played strongly upon my mind, and then I took to reflecting on the fact that I might have incurred God’s wrath by taking Katherine to wife, as evidenced by the fact that He has not sent me any male issue that have survived. And such a curse upon me must also be a curse upon England, which is the dearest consideration to my heart. I therefore thought it meet that I convene this hearing, for the sake of the realm of which I am the head and the protector, in order to test the law that governs the situation in which I find myself. I did not do so out of any carnal desire for another, or for any dislike of the noble lady whose impassioned plea you heard just now, who I would be fair content to remain wedded to for life. I first sought the learned counsel of each of the bishops and other holy men present here today, including you, my Lord of Canterbury. Is that not so?’

  Archbishop Warham rose wearily onto his aged feet and nodded, before proclaiming

  ‘That is truth, if it so please your Highness. And we have all placed our seals upon our consent to have this matter tried here today.’

  ‘Not I,’ came a voice from the front row of prelates. In the ominous silence that followed, the Bishop of Rochester rose to briefly announce that

  ‘You have not my consent to these proceedings.’

  A terse argument then ensued regarding whether one of the many seals on the foot of the Convocation document was that of the Bishop of Rochester, and the faces of many of the other assembled clergymen suggested that they too wished that they had the courage to retract what Thomas had bullied them into. Henry brought it to an end by reminding the recalcitrant Bishop that he was only one among many, and that the absence of his seal did not invalidate the proceedings that were underfoot.

  There was then a heated debate regarding whether or not those proceedings might continue in the absence of one of the parties. Thomas looked sideways at Campeggio, and saw the sweat rolling down from under his cardinal’s cap; realising that he himself was in danger of heaving his meagre breakfast back up if he did not find some relief from the intense and suffocating atmosphere of an overcrowded courtroom on a hot summer’s day, he suggested that proceedings be adjourned for the day, to which Campeggio readily agreed.

  The following day the courtroom was closed to all but those directly involved. Queen Katherine had sent word that she did not intend to be present to dignify the proceedings with the appearance of a fair trial, and so Campeggio invited the advocates on both sides to outline their arguments. Henry’s main theme was the one he had already foreshadowed, namely that his marriage to Katherine was invalid, and should be annulled, because of her prior marriage to Arthur. There was some delicate enquiry as to whether or not Katherine had been correct in her assertion before God that she had been a virgin on her wedding night to Henry, and everyone on Henry’s side of the argument insisted that since this was a matter that could not be established one way or the other, it must be assumed that she was not. This meant that it must be assumed that the marriage to Arthur had been consummated, in the absence of any proof of the truth of Katherine’s assertion to the contrary. At this point the Bishop of Rochester, as if he feared no retribution from Henry, rose and repeated his conviction that

  ‘The only truth we need consider is the truth that the King and Queen were married in the sight of God, and as the Good Book says, “Whomsoever has been joined together in the sight of God, let no man put asunder.” We blaspheme against God’s holy ordinance by even considering this matter. If a marriage before God, conducted by one of His ordained ministers, can be declared invalid, then what value the ceremonies of marriage conducted in every church in the realm on every day of the week? We make adulterers of our fellow countrymen, and bastards of their children.’

  ‘A pretty argument,’ Thomas countered, ‘but it does not fit the case. How can the marriage of Henry and Katherine have been condoned by God, if it broke His holy commandment as found in the Book of Leviticus? You cannot render holy what is unholy simply by waving a ringed hand across the heads of the sinners.’

  ‘I was under the impression that my Lord Cardinal was one of the judges, and not the appointed proctor of the King,’ Rochester reposted sourly, and Campeggio placed a restraining arm on Thomas’s sleeve, muttering ‘He has a point, my friend’, whereupon Thomas fell silent.

  The ecclesiastical arguments for and against droned on for several more days, and to the impartial observer, if one could have been found, the merits seemed equally balanced. At the end of the second week, Campeggio suggested to Thomas that they might adjourn the proceedings for several days, to allow the parties to prepare their closing addresses, and Thomas was more than happy to concur, although his inner sense was that matters were not progressing towards a clear ruling in Henry’s favour.

  As he was leaving the Blackfriars building and descending the steps towards the river, intent on going home to York Palace, he heard his name being called. He turned, and there stood Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, with an armed retinue.

  ‘Have you come to push me into another puddle?’ Thomas enquired wearily.

  Norfolk grinned back viciously. ‘Not this time, but if the matter goes against the King, my sympathy for my niece will be somewhat eased by my delight in seeing the massive puddle into which you will have pushed yourself. Good day to you, Thomas.’

  Thomas was awoken from a fitful slumber by George Cavendish shaking him gently by the shoulder.

  ‘Master, Sir Thomas Boleyn seeks to speak with you urgently.’

  ‘What hour is it?’ Thomas asked sleepily.

  ‘It wants five of the morning, master, but Sir Thomas insists that, regardless of the hour, he must speak with you, since he brings instructions from the King that cannot be delayed.’

  ‘Very well, George. Allow me to acquire more garments, and to visit my closed stool, then have him admitted.’

  Ten minutes later, an agitated Thomas Boleyn sat on the edge of Thomas’s bed, watching George assisting him into his boots, and listening to the gentle cursing of a senior man of God.

  ‘It is not I who wishes this, but His Majesty, you understand?’

  ‘Whichever,’ Thomas replied grumpily, ‘it is no more likely to meet with success than our venture in the court.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it is the King’s command, and I have played my part by bringing you his instruction. I must now depart for Hever.’

  ‘Pray give my regards to she who is at the root of all this upheaval,’ Thomas muttered sarcastically.

  Boleyn smiled thinly. ‘She is currently at Richmond, although daily she expects to be dismissed from the Queen’s service. She sends her best wishes that your enterprise may thrive.’

  ‘No doubt she does, my Lord, but I will pray daily that she does not meet the same fate as the tragic lady upon whom I shall be calling within the hour. But the blame for this lies not just with her, for she is the hand puppet of others such as yourself and Norfolk. Between you, you have caused the greatest disorder in the nation, for which you will be held accountable one day. Depend upon it, you will reap little reward, either in this world or in Heaven, for the mischief which you have wrought upon the realm. Should I fall from the King’s favour through all this, mark my words that the next spent corpse to land upon me in the same hole will be yours.’

  ‘I have delivered my message, my Lord Archbishop, as this worthy gentleman here can testify, and so now I take my leave,’ Boleyn replied coldly as he bowed and left.

  Thomas travelled uneasily to Bath Place shortly after Boleyn’s departure, having declined all attempts by Gorge Cavendish to get him to eat or drink something. Thomas was aware that anything he consumed would come straight back up, and the renewed burning just below his breastbone, which had kept him awake intermittently through the night, warned him that anything that progressed beyond his throat would not be welcome.

  At Bath Place he collected Campeggio, and assured him that he was neither sleepwalking nor deranged, but that if Thomas Boleyn was to be believed, it was the King’s comman
d that they travel to the Bridewell in an attempt to persuade Queen Katherine to abandon her cause and concede that her marriage to Henry had been a sin before God. They were shown into the presence chamber at her lodgings, and a protesting Lady Norreys went gently into the bedchamber to awake her royal mistress. Katherine emerged in her nightgown, with a robe demurely wrapped around it, wiping the sleep from her eyes and attempting to straighten her tousled hair.

  ‘What is so urgent, my lords? I have not yet heard Mass.’

  ‘Neither have I,’ Thomas replied ruefully, ‘and I would venture a wager that neither has Campeggio here. But we come on the King’s urging.’

  ‘With an apology for the wicked way in which he has humiliated me before all the nobles of the realm? Since you come not with a company of armed men, I perceive that I am not to be conveyed forthwith to the Tower for my treason in defending my honour against vile slanders. Nor do I intend to end my own life by falling on a bodkin — so what is it that His Majesty requires of me this time?’

  Campeggio glanced sideways at Thomas, who cleared his throat in embarrassment, and explained.

  ‘It is Henry’s wish that you declare your defence in the matter, that it may proceed to judgment; we may also give you, privately, our opinion regarding the justice of your cause.’

  Katherine’s face set obstinately as she looked from one to the other.

  ‘I think that, insofar as I am capable, I made my case very plain, my Lords. It is simply this, that since I went to my marriage bed a maid, untouched in particular by the late Prince Arthur, there can be no question of any sin before God. I lost my maidenhead to His Majesty, and to none other, and my body has thereafter remained solely for his ease and comfort, and — if I may say so without causing a blush on the countenances of two men of God — for my pleasure, out of which have been born several children. It is not for me to fathom the will of God, as to why all but one of those infants was taken from us. But it owed naught to the Book of Leviticus, of that I can assure you.’

  ‘But madam,’ Thomas pointed out, ‘if your defence be based on such ground, wherein lies the proof?’

  Katherine glared at him angrily.

  ‘Other than the oath of one who fears God? Or should I have kept the bloodstained sheets?’

  ‘We are bound to advise you,’ Campeggio ventured, ‘that absent such proof, and should His Majesty swear to the contrary, your case lies uneasily.’

  ‘But not my conscience, my Lord Cardinal,’ Katherine replied starchily. ‘And should His Majesty choose to peril his soul by swearing falsely, then likely we shall not be reunited in Heaven.’

  ‘But you must see our dilemma,’ Campeggio argued. Katherine pierced him with a stony stare before replying.

  ‘Do not waste your breath, and delay my hearing of Mass, by attempting to explain to me that it will be your decision to give Henry what he wants. To that I am resigned, and I would ask only that I be allowed to withdraw from the public gaze, both to hide my embarrassment and to further commend my soul to God.’

  ‘You would accept banishment to a nunnery perhaps?’ Thomas enquired optimistically, provoking a torrent of obscenities in Spanish that even caused the multi-lingual Campeggio to blush. Then Katherine waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, and both men bowed, as if to leave the presence.

  ‘Not you, Tomaz,’ Katherine ordered him. ‘But your fellow conspirator may withdraw, as may all my ladies except Mary Norreys. Now!’

  As the remainder bowed gratefully from the royal displeasure, Thomas remained uncomfortably in the centre of the presence chamber, swallowing down yet another instalment of bile. Katherine saw his obvious discomfort, and waved him into a chair as she took the one next to his, and indicated that Lady Norreys might also be seated behind her. Then she looked more kindly across at Thomas.

  ‘I asked that Lady Norreys remain in order that there might be a witness to what I have to say — also that it might not be misreported, sad to relate. My Lord Archbishop, wearing your Lord Chancellor’s hat, and not that ridiculous red bonnet that makes you look like a self-satisfied rooster, what think you privately of what I had to say in your court?’

  ‘Katherine,’ Thomas replied softly, ‘it was in truth one of the most moving defences I have ever listened to. Had I not been one of your judges, it would have caused my eyes to water.’

  ‘But would that water have fertilised your conscience, my old friend?’ Katherine asked with all the sympathy she could muster, ‘or is it the case that you will pursue Henry’s will to your own downfall?’

  ‘Meaning?’

  Katherine reached out and touched his hot hand with her own cool fingers as she looked him firmly in the eye, with an expression that reminded him of that of his physician warning him off rich foods.

  ‘When I was a child in Lisbon, the sailors on the wharves had a saying. It was “Kill the rat and starve the flea”. Do you comprehend its meaning?’

  ‘I believe so,’ Thomas replied sadly, ‘and I fear that it is apt to my situation.’

  ‘You understand that I speak only by way of analogy? I do not compare my dear husband to a rat — it is the evil course on which he has been directed by others that is the rat in my imagery. But you, Tomaz, are the flea that feeds off that rat. Henry is determined to be rid of me, that he may marry his latest harlot, and should he fail in that his rage will be terrible. Those who failed him will surely feel that wrath, and when you can no longer supply him with what he needs, your cause will also be lost. You are aware, no doubt, that you have enemies at Court?’

  ‘Only too well,’ Thomas replied ruefully. ‘But methinks that they also are feeding off the same cause.’

  ‘Indeed they are, Tomaz, but they are the cause, and they will prevail. I retain no doubt that Henry will put me aside, one way or the other, and that he will bed the Boleyn girl — the second of them, that is. She may well become the Queen of England in her turn, but all my desire and energy is now directed to the fate of my beloved daughter, the Princess Mary. I would sooner cut off my right hand than have her declared illegitimate, and it is for her, and her alone, that I maintain what to you must seem like a futile and stubborn resistance to Henry’s desires. For myself, I would gladly become a holy sister, but I must — as ever I have done — think of others. Yourself included.’

  ‘Katherine?’

  ‘You must do what you must to ensure that Henry gets his wish, else you will be ruined, Tomaz. I wished to speak with you thus, in private, to assure you in advance of my forgiveness for what you are about to do, without abandoning my defence in other ears. You once loved me, Tomaz, and I still have a fond memory in my heart of the kindness that you showed me when first I became Queen. And so I warn you of what will happen if your efforts do not bear fruit for Henry, and to assure you that I bear you no ill will if they do. Now you may leave me to hear my Mass.’

  Thomas rejoined Campeggio in the front entrance, and explained away the redness around his eyes as a lifelong affliction.

  Just over a week later, Thomas and Campeggio announced that they had reached a decision. The courtroom was crowded to overflowing as Henry took his place in a special gallery that had been hastily constructed to one side, where he might clearly hear the judgment being handed down without the need to join the sweaty and eager crowd beneath him. There was considerable frustration when Campeggio insisted on reading out the judgment in Latin, a tongue unfamiliar to some of those assembled, and capable of misinterpretation even by those who professed skill in the language. After he had finished, there were anguished calls for a translation, and when Campeggio nodded his consent, Thomas cleared his throat and began.

  ‘The Cardinal Legate Campeggio declares that he is unable to give a ruling in the cause without first seeking the guidance of his Holiness the Pope.’

  He was almost drowned out by howls of protest and disappointment. He waited until the worst of it had subsided, then raised his voice to be heard further.

  ‘He adds that the eyes of
the world are upon the outcome of this matter, given the exalted status of the parties and the conflict in evidence. We have both sat here for several weeks as emissaries of his Holiness, and it is to him that we must refer this most difficult of matters. We are not here to please either party, regardless of how mighty they might be in the estimation of others. We are here, rather, to see the will of God upheld, and we would not perjure our souls this close to death by making any false judgment in the matter. This court therefore stands adjourned for the time being, until we receive the counsel of he who granted us our commission in the matter.’

  ‘Shame!’ ‘A waste of time and money!’ ‘Back to where we began!’ came voices of protest, as Henry was seen to depart swiftly from his gallery. He was out of both sight and earshot when one voice louder, and more angry, than the rest, cut through the hubbub of confusion and frustration.

  ‘It was never merry in England whilst we had Cardinals among us!’

  It suddenly fell silent, and the crowd parted to reveal the irate, red face of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. Campeggio opened his mouth to speak, but Thomas placed a restraining hand on his arm and spoke for both of them.

  ‘My lord of Suffolk,’ he reminded him, ‘you above all have cause to be grateful to at least one Cardinal. Upon your return from France with your new bride, without the intercession of this Cardinal, lowly though he may be in your estimation, your head would no longer rest upon your shoulders. Without a head, you would have possessed no tongue with which to slander us in public in this wise, when we have done no more than perform the will of his Holiness the Pope, at the request of Henry the King. The same King who spared your head from the block. Tell me, my lord, if you were sent as an emissary of King Henry to some foreign court, and were there placed in a quandary as to where lay His Majesty’s best interests, would you not deem it fit to refer the matter back to him for his final judgment? Why, then, do you defame us, who only perform our duty to the one who has appointed us on this mission? Fie, my lord — speak you more peacefully to those who seek only to pursue a cause first raised by he to whom you owe your head.’