I nodded, but didn’t look up at him. In truth, I was angry that he hadn’t managed to save her, but there was nothing to say about this now. I again gestured for him to sit and this time he did.
“I figured you would want to know what had happened —“
“Mary told me.”
Thomas lowered his head at this news, I imagine he was as concerned for my daughter’s wellbeing as I was.
“Did she suffer?” I finally asked.
“Greatly, I’m afraid,” he answered, gazing into the flames of my fireplace like he expected to see Anne still burning.
“There was no mercy for her, no gunpowder bag to speed along the process. It took over twenty minutes for her cries to end.”
I nodded for him to stop. I was not ready to hear it all; this had been enough for today. I tried to get the image of Anne burning out of my mind, furious that Harry had even denied her a gunpowder bag around her neck which would have exploded quickly and broken her neck.
I rose but let Thomas keep his seat. For the first time since I took the throne, he did not think to stand when I did. I moved away from him, over to the window that had been my only view of the outside for the past three days.
The window overlooked the courtyard and from my perch I was able to watch anyone who may come and go from the court. And there was only one family trying to escape now.
Mary Boleyn was laid almost completely across a large mare’s neck as her husband William attempted to climb into the saddle behind her. Mary held onto the horses’ mane with one hand; the other hand was wrapped desperately around her brother George’s hand as the young man was whispering desperately to his older sister. George was young. He could have been so valuable to my court — but I could see now I was going to lose him just as I had lost his sisters.
Anne’s father and mother were already mounted up and were gesturing for their son to do the same — it struck me then that Mary would not be going with her parents and her brother, she would be traveling back to William Carey’s estates. She had lost not only her sister but her parents and brother as well. All from giving into me when I had asked.
“Thomas,” I called over my shoulder, keeping my eyes on the scene below, “William Carey.”
“What about him Harry?”
“Make him an Earl.”
Chapter Seven
December, 1528
The court had been a silent and haunted place since the events of that summer, the summer of 1526. The Boleyns had remained away from court for the past two years, as I had expected. One of their cousins, Madge Shelton, had shared my bed for a few short weeks after leaving Ludlow, but I was afraid of carrying the relationship any further after what had happened with her cousin.
Afraid. It was a word that had not often applied to me in the past — even when leading troops into battle or charging down a field facing an adversary in the joust, I had never felt an overwhelming presence of fear like I did now. Before, fear was something I looked at and conquered. Now, it was something that seemed to rule my life.
Cardinal Wolsey had remained with the court after his quick dash to Ludlow. I had considered him one of my closest advisors and it was true that he had joined me every morning for my regular update of what was being done in the kingdom. But I had heard him more than once speaking to Catherine about some matter about the kingdom; every time I had confronted him about it they had assured me that it was no matter of real importance. I had not argued the matter at the time because a terrible thought had occurred to me — what if I lost?
I knew Cardinal Wolsey’s spy ring — which I had considered to be my spy ring up until the last summer — far surpassed anything I could construct. I had attempted to construct my own grouping, but my efforts had immediately been picked up by Wolsey, who had rushed to assure me that I need not worry about such trivial matters.
Sir Thomas More or Charles Brandon’s efforts had been similarly blocked. Yes, they each had a few men — Thomas almost a hundred — but nothing on the scale that Wolsey had. He had spies not only across England but Europe as well.
This had come in handy when I needed to quiet the rumors about Anne Boleyn. Wolsey’s spies, unlike Thomas More’s, were not mere kitchen maids or a lowly courtier — they were often people who could influence policy and those around them. I knew of no way to rule without this power network, which did not even belong to me.
It did, however, seem to be at Catherine’s disposal. Though she no longer shared my bed, Madge Shelton did remain loyal to me and would tell me everything that happened in Catherine’s chambers. Through her I learned that Wolsey approached Catherine on matters of state more than I had even realized; before Anne’s death, Catherine’s news of the kingdom had come through me. Now, she would be reported to at the same time I would. I had brought the matter up with Wolsey but he brushed it aside, saying that Catherine was getting the news from an aide while I was getting it from him. This didn’t make me feel any safer, but knowing how few allies I now had at court made me afraid.
There seemed to be only one option left to me. Wolsey held the largest spy network and had now become a devoted lapdog of Catherine’s. I needed his brain, but I needed my security even more.
“Cromwell,” I called out into my outer chamber. It was a mere moment before the ever-present clerk appeared with a bow.
“Your Majesty?”
“Send for the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk as well as Sir Thomas More.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And Thomas.”
The young man stopped in the door way without responding.
“Make sure Wolsey does not learn of this.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Thomas nodded confidently to me and turned to go. I watched him go, wondering how in a court that had suddenly become such a dangerous place, he could be so confident in his steps.
“Your Majesty, need I remind you that Cardinal Wolsey is one of the more powerful men in the kingdom?”
I heard the unspoken accusation in Thomas’ voice, that Wolsey was only so powerful because I had raised him up to be that powerful in my youth. I had taken the throne at the age of seventeen and been much more interested in jousting and dancing than I had been in statecraft. When, a few months after my coronation, Wolsey had entered my presence chamber one morning and offered to take care of the current statement from Parliament, it had seemed like the Lord had sent an angel to assist me.
Anything I asked for was taken care of; with the help of Wolsey I had never wanted for a full treasury or had to ask for the war I had wanted desperately with France — I merely made my wish known to Wolsey and what I wanted appeared. This covered everything from the friendship of the Pope to bedding any woman in Catherine’s chamber that my eye had fallen on.
But, like my relationship with Catherine, this too had changed. Charles Brandon had been more than ready to take over when one day last year, I had glanced to Wolsey and said that a certain lady could be taken to my chambers. Instead of his ready nod, he had instead merely mentioned that it was my duty to Catherine to share her bed. I had been so stunned by this lack of compliance that I had merely watched him turn away.
Like with Catherine, Wolsey had begun by making small changes — changing what I had ordered the kitchen to prepare for supper, or not requesting my permission when assigning the noble’s rooms when the court switched palaces. But these small liberties had then grown into Catherine having the power to execute the sister of my lover, or Wolsey replying to King Francis without my approval – nay, without my even seeing the letter.
“I concur,” the Duke of Norfolk said, waking me out of my thoughts. “The good Cardinal has grown too much in power. If we leave him to gain power unchecked, he will soon be untouchable. If we are to bring him down, it must be soon.”
Charles Brandon glanced at the Duke before answering. The two most powerful dukes in my kingdom couldn’t have been more different. Norfolk, sitting as if he was in the saddle, w
as already well past the prime of his life, but showed no signs of obliging his son by dying. His once-dark hair was now liberally gray and his face sagged with wrinkles. Meanwhile, Charles Brandon had never lost the charm of his youth, his lighter hair covering any signs of age.
“My dear Duke, he is not some simple clerk who could be disposed of,” Charles argued with a wave of his hand. “He is the only cardinal of the Holy Roman Church in England. His name had even been considered for Pope.”
Charles was right; Wolsey could not easily be removed. I had been so worried about losing power to Catherine I had not realized I had given away so much of my power years ago — to Wolsey.
“While we know the Cardinal’s actions may not always have been the most moral, there seems to be no evidence we could use to call him to trial to check his power,” Thomas added while pulling at the edges of his dark sleeves.
The two dukes looked over at Thomas, Charles Brandon with an open earnest face and the Duke of Norfolk with a slight scowl. Thomas took note of neither of them, instead concentrating on making his argument to me.
“There would be no way to strip the Cardinal of his power completely, and we merely need to check his power — to show that no matter what he answers to you and not to —“ Thomas paused for a moment, glancing at the two dukes like he had just realized they were in the room. “Well, simply to make sure that he knows who his master is.”
I nodded, and Thomas sat back in his seat. This man had always argued leniency to me in all cases, sometimes to the point that I had worried he would make me look weak. However, he was my favorite tutor and a brilliant man, respected throughout the courts of Europe. Letting Catherine gain hold of my son’s ambitions and allowing Cardinal Wolsey too much power had been my fault. Thomas had warned me of both often enough.
“Check his power?” the Duke of Norfolk asked, his wrinkles purpling with rage. “That may work for now, but what about in another six months? How many reminders will Cardinal Wolsey need that he is not king in this land?”
Charles had opened his mouth to reply when there was a voice over my shoulder.
“Your Majesty?”
I turned around to look at Thomas Cromwell, who had been taking light notes on the meeting. I would review them to make sure if they fell into the wrong hands it would look like nothing more than an argument on theology had occurred.
“Yes Thomas?” More finally said when it seemed I would not answer, too stunned that the young man had actually spoken out. Even Norfolk turned to face the younger man; despite Cromwell’s sharp nose he had a face that was easily forgettable, enabling him to fade into the background here at court.
“I was merely thinking — what about Cardinal Wolsey’s place of Hampton Court?” Cromwell didn’t speak confidently, like a noble, or even like Cardinal Wolsey, his voice trimmed with shyness.
“What about it?” Once again one of my advisors answered for me.
“Well, was Your Majesty aware that he had recently added on another entry hall as well as retained another troop of guards for the palace? And I hear that Cardinal’s own rooms are to be trimmed with gold.”
“What of it?” the Duke of Norfolk said, his gruff voice clearly showing his exasperation by this interruption of someone he considered so low beneath him.
“Well, the statute of 1451.”
I had never heard of this statue but Thomas More took in a sharp breath at its name.
“No, that would be —“
“What is it?” I asked, interrupting More.
“Well, Your Majesty,” Cromwell began, looking down to his notes. “It’s an odd document that covers many different subjects. But the part that would pertain to us is in section 32. It says that any courtier whose obvious wealth surpasses the kingdom has committed an act of treason.”
“Why had no one mentioned this to me earlier?” I demanded, turning to Sir Thomas More.
“Because the penalty for him would be death. Surely that is not our goal,” he responded. “Besides, it is a statute created during the Cousins’ War in a fit of madness. It should be repealed by Parliament.”
I had not meant why had this not been mentioned to me earlier in the meeting; knowing about this law would have helped me years ago when I had ordered the execution of the Duke of Buckingham.
But as I glanced around the table at an outraged Thomas More and shifty set of dukes I realized why this would not have been brought to my attention— any courtier could be said to have more obvious wealth than the kingdom. It was such an ambiguous phrase, it could be construed any way I wanted it to be — not just concentrating on a palace that far surpassed any I owned but it could be bent to be of use in any way I could imagine.
“Your Majesty,” More continued to beg. “It would be a dangerous course of action as well. It is obvious that Cardinal Wolsey has a spy in your services, until we discover who this may be —“
“That’s easy,” Cromwell interrupted. “The spy is me.”
Even Sir Thomas More didn’t have a response for that.
“Guards,” the Duke of Norfolk called out, but I waved them out the moment they entered the room. I waited until we were alone again before I spoke.
“How long?”
Cromwell was taken aback by my first question, he had obviously thought I would ask him why. But I knew how much Wolsey could offer a spy and had in fact suspected that Cromwell could be placed here for that purpose.
“I have been in his personal employment since the summer progress began.”
I nodded and glanced over to More but he still seemed upset by this revelation. I often forgot that out of all my courtiers Thomas More was the most straightforward and honest — it would not occur to him that my own secretary would be a spy.
“So what do you plan on doing now?”
The question had come from Charles Brandon, which surprised me. Since he had become the Duke of Suffolk he had taken his role in the government of England more seriously, but I still did not consider him a leader or someone who could speak for me.
“Well I obviously do not plan to stay in his employment,” Cromwell answered. “I believe I could be more valuable to Your Majesty here, rather than in the Cardinal’s employment.”
“He obviously only changed sides because we are planning the Cardinal’s downfall,” the Duke of Norfolk argued. “He’s saving his own skin. That doesn’t mean we can trust him.”
“Yes but he is the one who brought the statute to His Majesty’s attention,” More responded, seeming recovered and was ready to stand on the side of right as he saw it.
“Further proof of how far he is willing to go to save himself,” Norfolk responded. Throughout their argument Cromwell didn’t flinch even those these two men were talking about him, judging his character in front of his king.
Sir Thomas turned his attention to me, knowing that the final decision would come from me.
“Your Majesty, this is not a road we want to travel. Yes, something must be done about Cardinal Wolsey’s power, but not this.”
“He should not leave the Cardinal’s employment,” Charles’ voice broke out, his clear tone demanding attention.
I turned to look at Charles, even Cromwell seemed alarmed at what he had said.
“What?” Norfolk practically roared, “Here is a spy ready to join our ranks —“
“I didn’t say he should not join us, nor that he should not tell us everything he knows,” Brandon responded, sitting back in his chair, not looking up from his fingers. He only stared at his fidgeting hands when he was nervous though I could not imagine what he was afraid of.
“I propose that he remains in the employment of Cardinal Wolsey while also reporting to us. While he continues to be trusted by the Cardinal, perhaps more information could be gathered, information that would keep us from having to rely on a statute, and prepare for a trial that will probably not turn out like we would desire.”
“If the king expressed his wishes —“
“
How many nobles do you think would allow the statute of 1451 to be placed into effect, even against the Cardinal?” Brandon now turned to look Norfolk in the eyes. “It would be a hard battle and for little gain. Better that we have a spy in his household who we know to be loyal to us, one who can watch the Cardinal and keep us informed. If something comes of this then we will act, but for now I say we wait and let the Cardinal set his own trap.”
There was no response to Suffolk’s speech, but I could see Thomas More nodding. If Norfolk could not think of a response immediately, then it was unlikely he would think of a response at all. I glanced over to the man who had the possibility of being our desperately needed eyes and ears.
“Does that sound acceptable to you, Master Cromwell?” I asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said with a bow. “It would be my honor.”
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