The White Lion of Norfolk

by Lynda M Andrews

  October, 1542, once again saw the Duke in the northern counties and that month he crossed the border, burning and looting. The efficient days of the Cardinal’s organising power were over, however, and the transport and supply train broke down. Sir George Lawson of Cumberland could not supply Norfolk’s troops with the necessary beer and they were forced to drink the brackish water and many became ill. The Duke reluctantly turned back.

  King James, still with the death of his father at Flodden to avenge, crossed the border to the west. Norfolk hastened to meet him although seriously worried by his lack of troops. Yet again fortune smiled upon him for the Scots were led by perhaps the most incompetent leader in their history – Oliver Sinclair.

  Sinclair led them to complete disaster, choosing to force battle with the Duke’s forces at Solway Moss, a peat bog. The Scots foundered helplessly in the sucking peat and Norfolk’s troops cut them down like corn. Thousands were taken prisoner, amongst them many of the most important men in Scotland.

  The Duke was jubilant for this victory was just what he needed to restore him to the King’s favour.

  Henry was delighted for the disgrace killed James and he died leaving his week-old daughter, Mary Stuart, as Queen of Scotland. For the second time in his reign, Henry had reduced the Kingdom of Scotland to the weak position of being governed by its nobles, who were constantly at variance with each other, and Norfolk was once more welcomed to Henry's court.

  Eight

  Upon his return to court he found his Sovereign in a mellow mood for that summer Henry had embarked upon his sixth marriage.

  Catherine Parr was no young, frivolous girl. She was a woman of thirty-one who had been twice widowed, and what she lacked in physical attributes she made up for with patience, tact, intelligence and a reputation that was beyond reproach. A certain amount of reluctance had been displayed by Kate, upon being informed of the King’s desire, for the circumstances surrounding the demise of her predecessors could not be lightly dismissed; also she had given her heart to Thomas Seymour. Seymour, upon seeing the intentions of his master, had prudently left for France.

  Henry was growing old and was now a gross, rotting hulk of his former self. His legs constantly suppurated evil matter and gave him great pain and his temper deteriorated in consequence so that at times it took all Kate’s tact and skill as a nurse to alleviate his pain and choler.

  He greeted his old servant with joy, his leg had been freshly bandaged and now rested upon a stool.

  “Tom. Tom Howard! You old rogue, you are a delight to our eyes!” he cried, feeling a certain comraderie for the good times they had shared in the past, noting contentedly that Norfolk’s once dark hair was now white, for the Duke was seventy-one years old.

  Norfolk smiled, relieved to be forgiven for the sins of his family.

  “Once again I learn that I can safely trust my old servant to teach my nephew of Scotland his filial duty, though the disgrace killed him. Foolish boy!”

  “Your Grace knows well that I have always endeavoured to serve you to the best of my ability and shall continue to do so for as long as I have breath in my body.”

  Henry nodded, “No need to stand on ceremony, Tom, be seated. Give your weary limbs a rest, you Howards are a long-lived breed for was not your father a great age when he died?”

  “Past eighty, Sire, and his father before him.”

  “No doubt you hope also to see your eightieth summer?”

  “If it so pleaseth God.”

  They were getting into dangerous water, the Duke thought, and to change the subject he asked, “I trust that I find Your Grace in excellent health and spirits?”

  “In spirits never better. Kate is a good woman and an excellent nurse, but in health…” he grimaced in pain as he shifted his leg slightly. “That damned fall! You remember, Tom, when you all thought my last hour had come?” he laughed as the Duke thought uneasily of that distant day.

  “His Grace, Prince Edward…” Norfolk continued, “I hear he is a remarkably clever child.”

  Henry’s face lit up at the mention of his son. “He is truly remarkable. He has the best tutors and one day will govern this realm with his rare qualities. Negotiations are under way for his betrothal to the infant Queen of Scots, perhaps one day our two countries will be unified.”

  The Duke had heard of these negotiations but he seriously doubted that they would come to fruition for he was certain that the Scots would never agree to Henry’s terms which would make Scotland a vassal of England.

  They continued their amiable discussion until darkness fell and the King called for lights. The Duke reluctantly rose to his feet. At times he felt the burden of encroaching old age and having taken stock of the position at court and satisfied himself that he was indeed restored to favour, he felt that a brief respite was called for.

  “Your Grace, I would ask of you a favour?”

  “What?”

  “As Your Grace has remarked, I am growing old. I beg leave to retire to Kenninghall for a time, for the rigors of this campaign have taken their toll upon my strength.”

  Henry appeared disgruntled, “’Tis no small favour, Tom. But I understand. Aye, go and take your rest, 'tis well deserved.”

  “Thank you. I knew that Your Grace would understand and I hope that should the need arise, Your Grace will not hesitate to recall me.”

  Henry nodded, gazing gloomily into the fire. It was pleasant to recall old times and he was loath to give up this pleasure but he understood only too well the effect of advancing years.

  * * *

  The Duke returned to Kenninghall which was more comfortable than Framlingham. Kenninghall was an isolated place, north of the upper reaches of the Waveney, a place where he could find solitude and time to regain his strength. The old house had been pulled down and he had built a new one consisting of two main courts built of chequered brick. The rooms were warm and comfortable and his own chamber was especially fine. A crimson and white canopy hung over the bed, the rich hangings were of Imogen and strips of Turkish carpet and not rushes covered the floor – something which even the King could not boast of. The chairs were covered with Bruges satin with white and yellow cushions, and Kenninghall boasted a fine chapel where, above the high altar, hung paintings of Christ’s birth, passion and resurrection. Six chaplains were attached to the chapel and boasted no less than forty copes between them, all of the costliest brocade and velvet.

  Christmas was spent with the usual attendant festivities but the Duke's peace was abruptly curtailed with the arrival of a letter from the King on the second day of February.

  To our right trustie and all beloved

  the Lord Thomas Howard

  Henry R. By the Kinge.

  “Right trustie and wellbeloved we grete you well. And whereas betwene us and the Emperor upon provocation of manyfolde injureys committed by the Ffrenche Kinge against us both pticulerly and for his confederation wt the Turke, against the whole comenwelthe of Christendome it is agreed that eche of us sparte in pson wh his puissant armys in several parties this somer folowinge shal invade the realm of France,” the letter commence. His eyes travelled along the neat, flowing script, “And therefore do require you and also commande you to put yorselfe in a readynes for that prpose wh as many noble men of yr s’vannts and tennts and others wthin your roumes and offices whereof ye have the rule as ye can make mete t attende upon our personne to the uttermost of your power.

  Given under our Signet at our palace of Westminster, the last day of January the XXXVth year of our reign.”

  The emperor had succeeded in enlisting Henry’s aid and once more the Duke was called into action. He duly obeyed the summons and began to gather and equip his followers. His son was to accompany him and finally, with, his forces behind him and his son at his side, he started out for London.

  He was seventy-two but it was without fear or reluctance that he donned his armour. Beside him the standard bearer bore the standard that had been proudly borne at every
major battle for two centuries.

  That Spring a secret treaty between England and Spain was ratified, and on the 22nd June, the French Ambassador was notified that a state of war had been declared.

  Henry himself intended to accompany his army and Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, was instructed to go north to deal with the Scots which he did with thoroughness, sacking both Edinburgh and Leith.

  The English army sailed and took their first offensive by besieging the town of Bologne. Beside the King rode the Duke of Suffolk, like his master ageing, although still a capable general for the town fell on the 14th September.

  Norfolk and his son concentrated on Montreiull where Surrey distinguished himself but was wounded, his life being saved by his squire, Thomas Clere, who himself died of his wounds.

  The Emperor commended Surrey's bravery to Henry, “he has borne good witness in the army as to whose son he is, showing withall so noble a heart and such skill that he has no need to learn anything more!”

  Just as the campaign was going so well for the English, the Emperor made peace with the King of France. Henry was outraged! “He had never trusted the man and now he had proved himself!” he cried. In vain did he demand that Charles keep to the terms of the treaty and in the end Henry returned to England a worried man, for now he was left to face the threat of a French invasion alone.

  When he arrived home it was to find that more bad news awaited him. In February Lord Evers had suffered a defeat at the hands of the Scots at Ancrum Moor, and he not only faced a threat of invasion from France but also from Scotland as well.

  Hastily he replaced the Earl of Surrey as commander in chief in France with the Earl of Hertford, which served to increase Surrey’s hatred of the Seymours. On the 6th February, Hertford made a surprise attack upon the French besieging Bologne and completely routed them. A French fleet actually effected a small invasion, landing at Bembridge, but the English destroyed the Bridge over the Yar and the French were beaten back. The main body of the fleet had decided to attack Portsmouth but being unfamiliar with the currents and sandbanks were driven back by a strong westerly wind. A slight skirmish ensued between the two fleets but the French decided that they had had enough and sailed for home.

  The terms of peace were worked out in June 1546.

  The Duke returned home to Kenninghall to face yet another domestic upheaval, being informed by Bess Holland and his daughter, Mary – who were on the most friendly terms – that Thomas Seymour intended to sue for the hand of Mary.

  He listened with growing approbation for he shared his son’s distrust of the Seymours.

  “I gather that you are not displeased by this proposal,” he said when Bess had finally finished.

  “No, the Seymours are a powerful combination and he is a personable man.”

  “Perhaps it would be well to court the favour of such men for they are rising quickly in the King’s favour,” Bess added.

  He looked warily at her, her association with Mary did not seem to have done her much good.

  “They can be just as quickly cast down,” he replied.

  “I do not think so,” Mary said.

  He remained silent, she might have struck upon a certainty for Henry was growing old and his son was still a child and the Seymours, being uncles to the boy, would hold a great deal of power, unless some means of discrediting them could be found. Perhaps it would be wise to consider this alliance.

  “I will consider the matter.”

  “I do not see that there is much to consider,” Mary said stubbornly.

  Henry Howard entered the room at this juncture, “Obviously there is something of importance being discussed... am I to be enlightened?” he asked.

  “Thomas Seymour has the desire to contract a marriage with your sister,” Bess informed him.

  “And they have decided that the match would be politic and advantageous,” his father finished.

  Surrey’s eyes blazed with anger, “You would marry that... upstart! That nobody!”

  “I would not call him a ‘nobody’ ” Mary replied tartly.

  “I would call him worse! Fawning upon his sister’s advancement and crawling into the King’s good graces upon his belly!”

  Mary was goaded, “It has the desired effect for the Seymours are more powerful than either you or Father!”

  “If it be power you crave, why not seek the King’s affections and become his mistress, then you would have all the power you so earnestly desire?” he cried, his voice bitter with sarcasm.

  She glared at him, “I am not a harlot,” she cried, completely forgetting the fact that Bess Holland owed her exalted position in the household to the fact that she was such.

  “Desist! Both of you,” the Duke interrupted.

  “Do you contemplate becoming father-in-law to a newly sprung mushroom?” Surrey cried, “For if you do, then you are no father of mine!” He turned savagely upon Mary, “I would sooner see you dead than married to that man!”

  “Henry, I have warned you ere this of your pride, take heed lest one day it leads you into dire circumstances. We will let the matter rest,” his father announced firmly.

  Mary glared at her brother, “Come, Bess. I would take consultation with Master Foxe.”

  Norfolk looked at her with disgust, “Go play at being a puritan with Master Foxe. ls not the religion of your father good enough for you, Madam?”

  “The religion of my father is self-advancement! Your life is a lie, father. You bow to whatever forces prevail to save your skin. You claim to be true to the Church of Rome but should the King declare that England be Lutheran you would bow before his command!”

  Her father's cold eyes stared menacingly, “Take care, Marv, for the King does not deal gentlv with heretics and as the King’s servant I cannot be expected to urge clemency for an heretical daughter.”

  “As you could not urge clemency for wayward nieces!” she replied scathingly.

  * * *

  The Duke's consternation grew as the New Learning gained a steady hold upon the country. Archbishop Cranmer had remained in the King’s confidence even though Cromwell was dead. The elder Seymour – the Earl of Hertford – was a confirmed member of that faith and the rest of the council would follow whichever form of religion the King decreed to be the true one. Although the Duke had been guilty of subservience to the King’s wishes in this matter, at heart he was a Catholic and there was a point which even he would not pass.

  Henry had taken steps to reform his Church of England but he would not give way to the more drastic measures advocated by the Reformers. Bibles had been provided in all churches but the King insisted that they were not to be read aloud during Holy Mass or other Devine Services and on no account were his subjects to argue amongst themselves the finer points of doctrine. He ‘set forth a true and perfect doctrine for all his people’ in the King’s Book and for the time being the matter of reform came to a halt.

  The new Queen, too, had definite leanings towards the New Learning and had recently incurred the wrath of her husband for arguing with him upon the subject, coming dangerously close to the block in consequence.

  The only man, beside the Duke, who strongly adhered to the concepts of the old religion was Bishop Gardiner, but with the disgrace of Catherine Howard and the rising power of Hertford, these two viewed their chances of swaying the King back towards more conservative views with little optimism.

  There was another matter to which the Duke had recently been giving a great deal of thought, the King was ill, seriously ill. His ulcerated legs gave him a great deal of pain and he had become so unwieldy and gross that he now had to be moved by means of a special chair. As the pain grew more intense, his temper became more vicious and men walked in fear and trembling lest they inadvertently provoke him by some careless word or deed.

  It was treason to foretell the death of the King but the Duke did not delude himself that the day was not too far in the future and then England would be left in the hands of a boy. A pr
otector would have to be appointed and who was more fitted to the post than himself? He was the first Peer of the Realm and had many years’ experience in statecraft and the devious ways of ambitious men, and his hopes of gaining complete power were high.

  These thoughts occupied his mind as he rode to visit his son. Surrey had built himself a fine house near Norwich and it was to ‘Mount Surrey’ that the Duke journeyed that day.

  The house was built on Mousehold Heath which rose above the river Wensum and commanded a fine view of the town of Norwich and its Gothic cathedral. The day was cold, it being late November, but the air was clear and crisp and as the Duke rode on over the heath he could see the spires of Norwich etched sharply against the pale, bluish-grey of the winter sky.

  ‘Mount Surrey’ was a beautiful house, built in the new style and resembling the letter ‘E’ without the centre block. Its tall, twisted chimneys rose like demi-spires into the sky and its high, arched windows sparkled in the sun. He passed through the gatehouse and into the cobbled courtyard and dismounted stiffly for his joints were becoming increasingly less flexible as his years increased.

  His daughter-in-law, Lady Surrey, came out to meet him. Francis, Countess of Surrey was a lovely girl with an ethereal beauty, at her side was her eldest son, Thomas, a boy of ten.

  “Father Norfolk, you must be cold and weary, come into the house.”

  “As the weather grows colder, so do my old bones grow stiffer,” he replied. “The boy has grown,” he remarked.

  Francis smiled affectionately at her son. “He grows too fast, he is like a young colt – all legs. Thomas, have you no word of greeting for your grandfather?”