by Jean Plaidy
“We should be very poor.”
“We should be rich in happiness. You would not have to go away from England or be absent at Court. We should have you with us always.”
“What a happy day it will be when I come home and tell you I have given up my honors!”
“The happiest day we have ever known. And will it be soon?”
“As I said, events move fast. The King will let me go. He knows my views. He has not urged me to change them. He hints that he respects them. I think that must mean, Meg, that when I ask leave to retire from Court, he will readily grant it.”
“I long for that day.”
“It is a sad affair, Meg, to watch the rapid descent of those who have climbed to great heights. I think of the Cardinal.”
“How fares it with him, Father?”
“Badly. Meg, it is a sorry sight; it is a sorry thought.”
“The King has no more need of him?”
“The Cardinal has set up false idols, Margaret. He has worshipped pomp instead of honor; he has mistaken riches for the glory which comes with righteous work. Poor Wolsey! He has too many enemies; the King is his only friend…a fickle friend. The Cardinal has offended the Lady Anne. He broke the marriage she desired with Percy; he insulted a relative when he attempted to deprive Eleanor Carey of the post of Abbess of Wilton; but worst of all she knows that he has urged the King to marry one of the French Princesses. They are false steps in his slippery career. He felt so sure of his power. Who is this Anne Boleyn? he asked himself. She is another such as her sister Mary! There he finds his mistake, and the King’s mistress is his enemy. He could not have a greater, for she it is who commands the King. Moreover, Norfolk and Suffolk wait for the King to turn his back on the man he once loved; then they will rush in to attack him. He is a sad, sick man, Meg. Poor Wolsey!”
“He has been no real friend to you, Father.”
“He is no true friend to anyone or anything but his own ambition; and now, poor soul, he sees the falseness of that friend. Fame! What is fame? Men congratulate themselves if they attain to fame, empty though it is; and because they are light-minded they are lifted to the stars by the fickleness of opinion. What does fame do to a man? Though he be praised by all the world, if he has an aching joint, what does fame do for him? And Wolsey has many an aching joint, Meg…and an aching heart. His policy abroad, so successful at one time, has turned sour. He has aroused the hatred of the Emperor without gaining the love of the King of France. Our King cares only for one thing, for he is a single-minded man, and he thinks of little else day and night but ridding himself of Queen Katharine and marrying Anne Boleyn. Wolsey has one hope now—the successful outcome of the case which he and Campeggio are about to try here in London. If Wolsey can arrange the divorce, I doubt not that he will ere long win back the King’s favor. If he does not…then the King will turn his back on him; and if His Grace continues to look the other way, the wolves will descend on my lord Cardinal, and they will have no mercy, Meg. There are too many slights to be avenged, too many resentments festering.”
“And then, Father?”
“Then, Meg, that will be farewell to his glory, farewell to his pomp and his riches. We shall no longer see our Cardinal ride in state through our streets. Pray God we do not see him riding to the Tower.”
“And you?”
“Here is the way out, Meg. Depend upon it, the King has little use for me. He knows my mind. He will accept my resignation. It will save him the unpleasant task of dismissing me as, Meg, all will be dismissed who do not pander to his wishes.”
“Father, I long for the day of your resignation.”
“’Twill not be long now, Meg. I assure you of that.”
THE CARDINAL’S glory was dimmed. None knew it more than he himself. His fate was clear when Campeggio, whom all were expecting to give a verdict in favor of the divorce, with characteristic vacillation rose and adjourned the Court, suggesting that it should be recalled and continued in Rome.
Then the Duke of Suffolk, who, all knew, spoke with the authority of the King, rose in hot anger and, glaring not at Campeggio, but at Wolsey, cried: “It was never merry in England since we had Cardinals among us.” That was the signal, recognized by all; the King had thrown Wolsey to his enemies.
Events followed rapidly.
The Cardinal returned to his house in Westminster surrounded by his servants, who trembled with him, for he had been a kindly, gracious master. And there they waited for the coming of Norfolk and Suffolk.
They did not have to wait long.
They came in the name of the King and demanded that he deliver the Great Seal of England into their hands.
THE KING sent for Sir Thomas More.
Margaret went down to the barge with him.
“Depend upon it Meg: this will mean one thing. When your father returns he will be stripped of his honors. I shall receive my marching orders with the stricken Cardinal.”
“And, dearest Father, how different from Wolsey’s will be your feelings. You will rejoice. You will come home to your family, a happier man.”
And she stood at the top of the privy stairs, waving to him and smiling.
She had never felt so happy to see him depart.
THE KING received Thomas gravely.
“We have a matter of great importance to discuss with you,” he said. “You have worked in close company with Thomas Wolsey, have you not?”
“I have, Your Grace.”
The King grunted. He glared at his minister. He could not, even at this moment, resist a little acting. He wished to alarm Thomas More; and then speak what was in his mind.
There was, it seemed, only one man worthy to succeed to the office just vacated by Wolsey. The office of Chancellor was the highest in the land, and could only be given to a man capable of filling it. His Councillors had discussed this with the King. A knowledge of the intricacies of the law was a necessity, Norfolk had said. The new Chancellor must be an honest, upright man to whom the country could look with confidence and trust. The Councillors agreed that there was only one man in the country who could satisfactorily fill the office. This decision of his Councillors had set the King pondering. The Church had been reasonable over this matter of unlawful marriage with Katharine—all except one Bishop, that fool Fisher. He had hummed and ha-ed and maddened the King. But why should a King upset himself over the intransigence of a Bishop? That man should be adequately dealt with when the time came.
Henry did not forget that Sir Thomas More was not in favor of the divorce, that he had supported the Queen; yet he knew, as well as did his Councillors, that Thomas More was the man most fitted to step into Wolsey’s shoes. It must be so. Henry was sure of this; so were Norfolk, Suffolk and every member of the Council. Wolsey himself had said, when he knew he was to fall, that there was only one man capable of following him, and that that man was Sir Thomas More.
This man More had a strange effect on all men, it seemed. Even when his opinions differed from theirs, they respected him to such an extent that they must continue to love him.
The King ceased to frown. His smile was turned on Thomas.
“We have good news for you. We have always had a fondness for you. Did we not say so when you first came to us? You remember that affair of the Pope’s ship?” The King’s smile was now benign. “Now, we have a task for you. We said we would make your fortune, did we not? It is made, Thomas More. We like your goodness, your honesty, that respect the whole world has for you. We look for one on whom to bestow the Great Seal, and we say to ourselves: ‘Ah, Thomas More! He is the man for us. He shall be our Lord Chancellor.’”
“Lord Chancellor, Your Grace!”
“Now, Thomas, you are overwhelmed. I know. I know. ’Tis a mighty honor. Yet we have given this matter much thought, and we are assured that there is no man in the kingdom who deserves the honor more than you do. Your country needs you, Thomas. Your King commands you to serve your country. Your work with Wolsey, your knowledge of
affairs, your love of learning, your erudition, your knowledge of the law…You see, do you not? You see that if I did not love you as I do, did I not respect you as a learned and an honorable man, I still must make you my Chancellor.”
Thomas looked with concern at the dazzling figure before him. “Your Grace,” he said, “I must speak to you frankly. I am unsuited to the task.”
“Nonsense! There is not a man in this realm whom the task becomes more. We command you to it, Thomas. We will have no other. It is your bounden duty to your King and your country to accept. We will take no refusal.”
“My lord, Your Highness, your most gracious Majesty, I must speak as my conscience commands me. I cannot give my support to the divorce.”
The King’s eyes seemed to disappear in his fleshy face. He flushed and drew back. He was silent for a few moments, as though he were considering which of his roles to play. He might roar: “Send this traitor to the Tower.” On the other hand, he might continue to play the part of benign monarch who respects an honest man.
He needed this man. He was the only man in the realm fitted for the task. All agreed on that. The learning and integrity of Sir Thomas More, the respect he had inspired on the continent of Europe, were necessary to England.
The King decided.
“Thomas,” he said, “you have your conscience, and I have mine. By God’s Body, I have been worried enough in my thoughts by my most sinful and incestuous marriage. I know the pain of a nagging conscience. And on this matter, Thomas More, you and I are not of one mind. I regret it. Thomas, I regret it mightily. But as a man of conscience, I respect a man of conscience…mistaken though I know him to be. For, Thomas, you are a learned man. I doubt it not. You are a good man, and we are proud to have you as a subject. You have been favored by God. I know of that family at Chelsea, and one day, Thomas, I am going to visit Chelsea. I am going to see it for myself. I am going to give the kiss of friendship to those merry daughters of yours, to that jolly wife. Yea, that I will. You have been favored in your family….” His voice sank almost to a whisper. “You do not understand how lonely a man can be—even though he be a King—who lacks that which God has given you with lavish hands. Thomas More, there are a few matters which you do not understand as worldly men understand them. And this is one of them. But I am a man of wide views. I understand you…even though you understand me not. And, Thomas, I will have you for my Chancellor and no other. And this matter which plagues me day and night shall put no barriers between us two. Dismiss it, Thomas. It is no affair of yours. Come, Chancellor More. Take the Great Seal of England, and your King will put the seal of friendship on your brow.”
Henry leaned forward and kissed Thomas’s forehead.
It was not for the Lord Chancellor to meddle in this matter of the divorce, thought the King. That was the task of the clergy. He had two new friends in mind from whom he hoped much: Thomas Cranmer and Thomas Cromwell.
It would seem that I have fancy for these Thomases, thought Henry; and he smiled pleasantly as he looked into the face of his new Lord Chancellor.
6
MARGARET WOULD NEVER FORGET RUSHING TO GREET him when he returned in his barge. She would never forget the jaunty smile on his face; but while he might deceive others, he could never deceive her.
“Father?”
“Well, Meg, see you not the change? The Under-Treasurer left you earlier this day. The Chancellor is now arrived.”
“Chancellor, Father…you!”
“A worthy Chancellor, though a humble one, as says my lord of Norfolk.”
“But…the King’s divorce?”
“I have told him that I can have no hand in it; and it seems he accepts my refusal to do so, as Norfolk accepts my humble birth. And, Meg, with so many ready to accept so much that is unpalatable to them, I was perforce obliged to accept that which I would fain refuse.”
“It is not a good thing, Father. It is not a matter for jokes.”
“It is not good, Meg, and therefore is it meet that we should joke, for by doing so we can make light of what we cannot refuse to undertake.”
“Could you not have refused?”
“I tried, Meg.”
“But…surely you have a free choice?”
“I am the King’s subject and as such must obey the King’s command. Come, let us to the house. I’ll warrant you’ll smile to see the family’s reception of this news.”
Slowly they walked toward the house, and Margaret’s heart was full of misgiving.
LORD CHANCELLOR!
The family received the news with wonder.
Alice was mockingly proud. “So, Master More, you have made a great man of yourself in spite of all.”
“Rather say, wife, that they have made a great man of me in spite of myself.”
Alice looked at him with beaming pride. “To think that a husband of mine should be the Lord Chancellor!”
“Why, Alice, you have grown two inches taller, I’ll swear.”
Alice was in no mood for raillery. “This means we shall need more servants. Why, who knows whom we shall have visiting us now. Mayhap the King himself!” Alice grew a shade paler at the thought. “Now, Thomas, should His Grace honor us, I shall need to know a day or more ahead.”
“Shall my first duties as Chancellor be to warn the King that if he should visit Lady More he must give her good warning?”
“Have done with your nonsense! ’Twould not be unknown, I trow, for the King to visit his Chancellor. Why, he was so much in and out of the houses of the last Chancellor that people did not know whether they were at the King’s or the Cardinal’s Court.”
“And now the Cardinal’s Courts are the King’s Courts. Has it occurred to you that all the last Chancellor’s possessions are now the property of the King? Do you not tremble for your own, Alice? For remember, they are the property of the new Lord Chancellor, and why should the new one fare better than the old?”
“Have done with such foolish talk.”
“Well, Alice, here is something you will like better. There is to be a visitor this night for supper.”
“A visitor. Who is this?”
“His Grace of Norfolk.”
“Tilly valley! And it already three of the clock! Tilly valley! What shall I do? I should have been given notice.”
“But, Alice, since you need twenty-four hours’ warning of a King’s visit, is not three hours enough for a Duke? Commoners call five minutes before a meal, and may have a seat at our table.”
“My Lord Norfolk!” cried Alice, growing red and white at the thought.
“His Grace will honor us, Alice. He made a delightful speech when I took the Seal. He stressed my virtues which, he said, were so great that they made him indifferent to my humble birth.”
Alice bristled, but she was still thinking: His Grace of Norfolk! The first nobleman in the land…and here to supper. Next it will be His Grace the King. I know it.
“And, Alice, my dear, do not fret,” said Thomas, “for such a second-rate compliment is only worthy of a second-rate supper. Let us be natural with this noble Duke. Let us treat him as we would a passerby who looks in to join us at supper. After all, he will expect no more of us—because we are such humble folk.”
But Alice was not listening. She must to the kitchen at once. She must see that the beef received the necessary basting. Had she known they were to be so honored she would have got one of the new turkeys. She was going to make her new sauce, adding the chopped roots of the wild succory and water arrowhead. She would set her cook making further pies. And her latest pickle should be set upon the table. She would show my lord of Norfolk!
“Now, Master More, do not hinder me. If you will ask great noblemen to supper, then you must give me time to attend to them.”
And she was off, bustling down to the kitchens, sniffing the savory smells; excited and a little fearful.
“Come, come, you wenches. There’s work to be done. My Lord Chancellor has a guest for supper tonight. I’ll dou
bt any of you have ever served a noble Duke before, eh, eh?”
“No, my lady.”
“Well, then, now you will learn to do so, for it would not surprise me if we shall one day have at our table a guest who is far greater than His Grace of Norfolk. Do you know whom I mean? Do you, wench?”
Alice gave one of the girls a slap with a wooden ladle. It was more an affectionate pat than a blow.
Alice allowed herself one minute to dream that at her table sat a great, glittering man who shouted to her that he had never tasted a better meal than that eaten at the table of his Lord Chancellor.
“Tilly valley!” she cried. “This is not the way to prepare supper for His Grace of Norfolk!”
THE OLD Judge stood before his son; his hands were trembling and there were tears in his eyes.
“Thomas, my son…my dearest son…. Thomas, Lord Chancellor of England. So you have the Great Seal, my son. You…my son, Thomas.”
Thomas embraced his father. “Your son first, Father; Chancellor second.”
“And to think that I scolded you for not working at the law!”
“Ah, Father, there are many routes to fame.”
“And you found a quick one, my son.”
“I took a byway. I confess I am a little startled still to find where it has led me.”
“Oh, Thomas, would that your mother could have lived to see this day. And my father…and my grandfather. They would have been proud…proud indeed. Why, your grandfather was only a butler of the inn; he was, it was true, at the head of the servants and kept the accounts. Would that he could have lived to this day to see his grandson Lord Chancellor of England. Oh, Thomas, my son! Oh, proud and happy day!”
Later Thomas said to Margaret: “You see, daughter, how there is much good in all things. I am glad to have pleased your grandfather, for he is feeble, and I fear he may not be long for this life. I believe his delight in me is almost as great at this moment as mine has always been in you. And, Margaret, it is a happy child who make a fond father a proud one, think you not?”
“If I were less fond,” she said, “I think I should find greater enjoyment in my pride.”
