by J P Ceark
‘It’s a concern, though, that Spanish people challenge your rule, Your Majesty,’ retorted Thomas, returning to his grievance.
‘The rebels were arrested but have now been pardoned, clemency is a great means for leadership. Is it not?’ He smiled with hidden motive that was neither lost on Thomas nor on Sampson.
‘The King rejoiced on hearing your prudence in pardoning your disobedient subjects,’ began Sampson with haste so as to pass by Thomas’s blundering. ‘The Cardinal sends his fondest salutations to you and remarked upon his great generosity towards you by your means that you will observe all promises made to England. Our mission in your realm is to firmly impress the perfect confidence that shall exist between our two realms and that His Majesty King Henry of England is ready and committed to the endeavour against France by the time agreed.’
Chancellor Gattinara now also stood; he praised God for sending the Imperial Empire loyal allies. ‘The English admiral is to land at Calais?’ he queried after his theatrical praise.
‘Aye, Chancellor,’ Thomas answered. ‘We are informed that the French King has been finding affairs in Milan difficult and intends to bring his chief power against the Low Countries and Calais. I must stress that His Majesty King Henry must give consent before any concessions of peace are considered by the Emperor. This enterprise is to gain land, not to lose it.’ His voice was stern but the Emperor seemed unaffected.
The Italian Chancellor’s facial expression blossomed with pleasure. ‘This venture shall be the most gainful of all wars and for both our realms!’
‘And the enterprise will take place this year against our common enemy?’ the Emperor pushed to be reassured.
‘Aye, Imperial Emperor,’ both Sampson and Boleyn echoed. ‘Our employment here is to discuss terms, eventualities and intentions of a successful campaign,’ continued Sampson. ‘As we understand it, the King of Denmark is going to Scotland and the French King is preparing a great army by sea. For instance, Spanish ships will be needed to dock at Portsmouth and soldiers will have to be retained there. The King is assured there shall be no objection, considering how small coinage your Imperial Emperor is providing compared to His Majesty King Henry.’
The Emperor held his hands aloft, as though a sudden indifference had come upon him. ‘All in good time, gentlemen, let’s first celebrate our union of endeavour!’
April 1523
Greenwich Palace
Mary observed her sister with a lack of sympathy; she wanted both her mother and sister to be gone from court. She feared the King would happen upon them. Anne in distress would inflict great emotion upon him, and she couldn’t bear his kindness being distributed to her.
Yet for Anne the wound was too great. Every moment was a thought of Percy, every gesture a memory. No amount of conscious admonition could withstand the action of wishful thinking. The dream-world would come, again and again, truth, far from acknowledgement. She had experienced it once before, when her brother had died: she compelled her mind to repeat the truth, but her mind would retreat to the fantasy. Why did her mind betray her so? Why keep envisioning a future that could never be? She then began to sob, forcing herself to imagine the truth, the painful truth. Love had been conquered.
‘Anne, I think some time away from the court will aid your recovery. To be here is to live with the memory,’ suggested Mary.
‘The Cardinal won’t surrender him to me,’ Anne said aloud, though with disbelief.
Elizabeth regarded her daughter with great tenderness. ‘He is sworn to another.’
‘I pray God would release me of this pain but it grows every day. Every day I must acknowledge to myself such a grief, that few could tolerate.’
‘You feel too deeply, my dear.’ Elizabeth cradled Anne’s head. ‘All my children feel too deeply. Harden your heart to love, it is a deceptive, distorting drug that deranges the mind as well as the soul.’
‘Father will be disappointed with me?’
‘His mind is full of concern for the King’s business.’
‘The Cardinal’s business, you mean — that low-born butcher’s bastard.’
‘Anne, calm your violence. To speak against the Cardinal is death. The King dare not speak against him, what hope of your father?’ Elizabeth paused as more tears fell from Anne’s eyes. ‘Go home, Anne, recover your heart, and put aside those ambitions you held. A lesser marriage will still bring success.’
‘Mama, he has twisted my devotion for foolishness, warped my passion for ambition and misrepresented my hope for arrogance and all before the court.’ She sobbed once more. ‘He has humbled me before everyone.’
‘Love is always humbling,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Mary is right, a stay at Hever will bring you back to your senses.’
‘Only the Cardinal will take satisfaction from you staying at court and that is only to mock you ever more,’ ventured Mary.
‘Aye, I know your wisdom is correct but this only saddens me more. For I know my love for Percy will fade and I will no longer feel as I do now, but will I ever feel this way about another …’ She wept with more violence. ‘… I think not.’
‘Love brings more conflict than it does peace. I wish you girls to flee from love. It’s the most self-destructive emotion to our psyche.’ Elizabeth continued to comfort Anne but looked towards Mary. ‘I pity anyone under the accursed passion of love. It numbs sense and always disappoints in the end.’
May 1523
Valladolid, Spain
Moving time was hurriedly losing to the day, but the light was still good. Thomas burned a single candle while marking the accounts for his reimbursements of the Spanish diplomatic venture.
Robson moved about his antechamber in his usual discreet manner but Thomas could sense his servant’s hesitation to speak. He waited for Robson to bring the meat and ale to his table before addressing his thoughts.
‘Is Sampson to join me?’ he asked finally and turned in his chair to observe Robson place a pewter plate in front of his chair.
‘As I understand it,’ Robson replied.
Thomas nodded and returned to his accounts.
‘My Lord,’ spoke Robson again. Thomas slowly turned back to him. ‘Are we to go on pilgrimage before our voyage home?’
‘For what purpose?’ He was weary and resented the enquiry.
‘For the purpose of travel sundries, My Lord. I need to know the quantity of what we shall need, for how long we shall be travelling.’
Thomas placed his quill in the ink pot and lightly scattered sand upon the paper. He rolled it up and tied it with a silk thread. ‘Our prayers at Walsingham came to nothing. If we should face the same voyage home as we did coming here, I’ll forever tread in pious reverence.’
Robson crossed himself causing Thomas to snort. ‘See those Bishops and Cardinals that surround the Emperor … I see all too clearly, God’s image is their distortion …’ He would had elaborated but Sampson entered with his servants, suspending Thomas’s complaint.
There was a silence about the room as Sampson looked from face to face. ‘Is all well with you, Boleyn?’
‘Aye, what have you there?’ replied Thomas while viewing the rolled-up documents Sampson was holding.
‘Ah, from Wolsey’s office. The King called for parliament last month to discuss this ongoing war. I’ve arranged these documents in order of importance to be taken with you when you return home and given to the King and Wolsey.’
Thomas nodded. ‘And what of parliament? Is this debacle to come to an end?’
Sampson shifted as if uncomfortable. ‘The nobles are expected to finance the continued war.’
‘God’s blood! Is Wolsey to hang us by our ankles and take what falls out?’
‘Parliament requested to give less than needed but the Cardinal protested that loyalty to the King is of more value than mere gold.’ He shook his head before Thomas could speak again. ‘What is the Cardinal to do? I ask you to consider!’ he pleaded with Thomas. ‘Those around the King build fanta
sies in his mind. Queen Katherine, the Duke of Suffolk, even your brother- in-law. They all play the King, Wolsey must do the same. The King wants war — he wants glory.’
‘The Emperor has not repaid a single ducat, his army is close to mutiny and every endeavour to invade has been botched. What possible glory can be found now? England is broke. Wolsey needs to sue for peace.’
‘You say so, for you fear the Cardinal raiding your coffers!’ Sampson slammed.
‘You’ve considered the Cardinal’s position, now let us consider England’s,’ ventured Thomas. ‘Even if the army marches into Paris, think of the surrounding provinces! Our army could be cut off if those provinces are not protected. The main army will have to be divided to hold those provinces and to do so would mean hiring more soldiers. That means more wages to pay, more victuals and other sundries that the treasury cannot afford. The realm of England will be more vulnerable than ever to enemy attack.’
‘Thomas More did speak these points in parliament.’
‘And?’
‘And they still want to continue with the war.’
‘This is true folly! Will no one speak reason to the King?’
March 1539
The Dover road
Mary knew Amy had been observing her, though she remained quiet, nervous to speak. They had trundled along the road for some hours and were approaching the track that could lead them away from the Dover road and towards Hever. Amy held her breath so not to speak, not to suggest they divert on foot into Maidstone and across.
Eventually Mary relented and allowed Amy to petition once more, but once heard, Mary shook her head against it.
‘I’m afraid to confront him again after all these years. If he should die before I see him, I won’t regret it. I’ve always found him to be cold. I often wondered how his thinking worked, not that he would confide in anyone. There was a vengeance within him, an anger he exhibited.’
‘Your father wouldn’t have gifted you his money if he had no concern for you. There must be some bond between you that remains despite the distance.’
Mary looked upon her kind servant but still felt the heat of resentment. ‘Why didn’t he write to me when Anne and George were condemned? Why didn’t he explain their tragedies? Why didn’t he speak for them?’
Amy bowed her head, shamed to defend a man considered a coward.
‘When we reach Maidstone, we carry on towards Gravesend. I’m determined to do so.’
Amy nodded.
November 1523
Windsor Castle
‘Avare!’ Mary yelled, the wind distorting her voice.
‘What say you?’ Thomas questioned as Mary approached closer.
‘Father, I said.’ She had a slight curved lip that indicated to Thomas she was lying. He had heard correctly. Avare — French for miser. Henry too now smirked, causing a brutal wave of resentment to hit Thomas.
‘Your travels went well, Sir?’ enquired Henry, strolling slowly through the landscape beside the river.
‘Your Majesty,’ Thomas bowed while attempting to collect his composure.
‘Come speak on such matter. Am I to march on French soil?’
‘His Holy Roman Emperor is not for dissuading you, Sire.’
‘Aye! I see,’ he said while knitting his brow together. ‘Give me your council, Boleyn, what is to be done? I suppose a poll tax?’
‘Most unpopular, Sire, but take it to the Privy Council. Let all the nobles give council; I am a man of diplomacy, not of war.’
‘Well said, Sir,’ Henry patted Thomas, impressed with his controlled ambition. ‘We will take this matter to the Cardinal. He never denies me my want. I know it can be done, Boleyn. I’ll not consider peace until there is a pike through my guts!’
Thomas rubbed the back of his neck, attempting to control his frustrations. He thought Wolsey must either choose to govern the state or govern the King. His efforts at both were failing. Though Thomas thought quickly, no words could be conceived to alternate the King’s aspiration for war with France, though it would be without any possible profit.
Mary had walked behind them, distancing herself from the business of state. Thomas turned to speak to her. His disapproving eye lingered on her suspiciously.
‘Daughter, you look pale?’
‘I’m well, Father,’ she reassured him.
* * *
As night descended, Anne could smell something acrid in the air. She placed her pomander close to her nose and proceeded into the small chamber. Mary was heaving. Anne hurried to the window to ease her own nausea. ‘Ate the poussin?’ she asked. ‘Made others sick too last week.’
She stuck her head right outside the window, unable to bear the smell or sound.
‘I’m with child,’ Mary admitted.
‘Is it the King’s?’
Mary was silenced by another wave of nausea. ‘Aye,’ she eventually answered.
‘Perhaps you should leave court without comment. It would torment the Queen that another had given Henry a child; it’s a reminder that she cannot—’
‘I must go to William … he has to be informed before anyone else.’
‘Should I tell the King of your pregnancy?’
‘If you could offer your hand?’
‘To dance before the court with them all still mocking me? I’ve only just returned to court; their memories of my defeat are still fresh.’
‘You’ll be dancing with the King. Play at being happy. It’ll frustrate them more than it’ll hurt you.’
* * *
Anne walked through the Great Hall, passing throngs of people clustered together. She knew them to be whispering about her. Mary could sense a foreboding presence of mockery and disdain for Anne’s unapologetic nature.
‘Madam Carey! Mistress Anne!’ Henry shouted above the noise as people moved from his path to her. ‘A vision of …’ He thought of a word to describe their appearance but was at a loss to what appealed to him so ardently. ‘… Allure!’ He smiled ruefully and blushed. ‘Do I have you both for company tonight?’
‘If His Majesty wishes it,’ Anne promised without regard for Mary.
‘The Queen is unwell this evening, I do seek diversion,’ he suggested.
‘As is my sister, Sire. What diversion is there to be had?’ Anne teased while placing a comforting hand on her arm.
‘Aye! Nothing serious, I hope?’ he asked Mary, taken with concern.
‘Not at all,’ Mary hastened to answer. ‘I’m with child.’
‘Oh,’ he said, revealing little of his thoughts.
‘Surprising she has avoided motherhood for so long since her love of carnal intrigue and Mother’s own successful fruitfulness,’ Anne laughed, causing Henry to do so, his cheeks telling the heat of the amusement. ‘Perhaps time in France brought her additional knowledge,’ she suggested.
‘What knowledge would the French know that we don’t?’ he asked with some earnest.
‘I will have to show you one evening, Sire,’ Anne teased again.
Mary witnessed the repartee as if she were invisible.
‘I’m without a queen and a mistress tonight,’ he whispered to Anne.
‘Ah, a queen is for duty, a mistress for pleasure, but a friend is for loyal companionship. You’ll always have my friendship, Sire.’
‘And therefore your company, Mistress Anne?’
‘An honour, Sire,’ she replied.
‘I would think myself most fortunate …’
‘Aye, Sire. As well you should.’
March 1539
Hever Castle
The fever had not receded. Cool water was placed on Thomas’s brow and he slept for many more hours, late into the afternoon. When he did wake, Robson sat with Dr Butts, both of whom looked towards him.
‘Richard, a wonderous sight to see a familiar face,’ Thomas spoke weakly and through a fog of confusion.
‘As it is to see you,’ he said, then smiled an apologetic, pitying smile. ‘I examined you while asleep. The
re is little to be done, friend.’
‘Good! I like to be proved right,’ he joked, though no one laughed.
‘I can prescribe certain medicines to ease sleep at night, to bring down that fever and …’
Thomas held up his hand to stop him. ‘I wish not to prolong my life for any more than God intends. Sorry, Richard, your journey is wasted.’
‘Not at all, it is pleasing to see you.’
‘I know you’re much occupied treating the King. How does he fair?’
‘Aye, his health doesn’t improve, though he protests differently. He is thinking of marrying again. After the demise of Queen Jane I hadn’t reckoned he would consider remarrying ...’
‘I was glad Jane suffered. She deserved to die.’
‘Thomas,’ began the doctor, sickened by his friend’s inhumane satisfaction at another’s pain. ‘There has been enough grief.’
Thomas nodded, but in his befuddled mind he knew nothing of the offence he had spoken.
‘Is your estate in order?’ Once the words were said he regretted it. Thomas noticed the doctor move himself physically as if to retract his question.
‘Aye, Cranmer is seeing to it … Have I long, Richard? Each time I close my eyes I wonder if it is the last. I pray God shows lenience upon my soul.’
He had turned his dark eyes onto the doctor, his full face able to be surveyed properly by him. ‘I know not … cancer of the prostate is common and I’ve borne witness to some deaths of it. Time is given by the grace of God, though I can see the cancer has probably spread to your liver. There is a yellowing beneath your greying beard which is a distinctive feature. Once it has spread to the main organs, time is limited.’
‘Days?’
‘If very fortunate.’
‘Robson,’ Thomas looked over to his servant, his eyes bloodshot and weak. ‘Write to Cranmer, tell Mary I must speak with her … or if it is not to be, tell her there is a leather purse … No, I must speak to her, I must explain …’
