Dear Heart, How Like You This

by Wendy J. Dunn

  Thus, in this spring of 1525, much had reversed against François of France, the expected becoming increasingly uncertain. Not only had he given up his supposedly beloved heir François, and his second-born son Henri, as hostages for his freedom and “good behaviour,” but the first Nobleman of his realm had, only a short time since, deserted from the ranks of loyal Frenchmen. This was Charles II, the Duc de Bourbon, who had gone over to the side of the Imperial Emperor. Bourbon had been very much the genius behind the “shaming” of the French King at Pavia. The breakaway of the Duc de Bourbon had happened just over a year before. The events that led up to it had caused much scandal and upset in the French court, and grim amusement in ours.

  I have also seen many images representing this great Duc. If these images were true depictions of Charles, Duc de Bourbon, then I could not help thinking him far more handsome than his cousin François, King of France. The Duc possessed very heavy lidded, large eyes; eyes extremely soulful and expressive. He was also blessed with a very clear complexion, in addition to a well-defined mouth. Though his pictures clearly showed he had not escaped the long nose of his Valois ancestry, it could also be seen that this famous Valois feature appeared less pronounced in him than in some of his kin—kin such as the King’s beloved sister: Marguerite Valois. A sometime moody man, occasionally inflicted with darkness of soul, the Duc, nonetheless, greatly loved his wife, the beautiful Suzanna de Beaujeu—an heiress of great estates, which added immensely to the wealth of the Duc. It was her tragic, early demise that put him upon the road that would lead him to turn traitor to his King. Before her death, the Duc was virtually undisputed king of most of central France. Indeed, the power that he wielded in the realm rivalled that of the King himself. After her death, he was not only a grieving widower but also facing a future where he could no longer claim possession to many of his former lands. This was despite the well-known fact that his dying wife and her own mother, the woman to whom these lands had originally belonged, had undoubtedly desired for the lands to stay within his wise and stable rule.

  So, a savage struggle began between Bourbon and the Crown for the supremacy of these lands. The King’s mother now stepped onto the stage to make matters even more complicated. Even though François’ mother was at least fourteen years the elder of Bourbon, she had long loved the Duc from afar, and now deluded herself that he would return her affections if it meant assuring his lands stayed safe. The King’s mother was completely certain that soon she would achieve her desire of becoming the Duc’s new wife, but she had never stopped to consider that the Duc would put his heart before his head. The King’s mother sent a friend of the Duc with her proposal of immediate marriage.

  The Duc was horrified, and angrily said to the envoy: “I have loved and lost the best woman in France. It defies all understanding that you, my supposed friend, can actually stand there and offer me marriage to a woman who can only be described as the worst woman in the world.”

  So the chessboard was set, and the game began in earnest, but the end of the game far outweighed the imaginings of any of the players.

  All of this I discovered in conversation with the French courtiers during the evening banquets. It struck me that many of the court grieved things that had come to such a past, and were torn between the habit of love for their proud Duc and the hate that they were now supposed to feel for him.

  As well as to offer congratulations, our mission also had a more delicate purpose. France, Venice, Milan, and the Vatican had formed the Holy League of Cognac, attempting—vainly as it turned out—to block the Imperial Emperor’s hold on Italy. We had been also sent abroad to ascertain whether this League would suit the purposes of England, and whether England should support and protect it. It did not take Sir Thomas long to come to his conclusions. Perhaps I even assisted him to come quickly to some firm decisions about the directions that should be taken, because on the first of May I was commanded to his presence.

  I found him in the rooms that had been allotted to us for our stay, sitting at a desk and busily engaged in writing letters.

  “Tom. Good man! You wasted no time in getting here.”

  Sir Thomas arose from where he was sitting, and began to shuffle some of the papers on the table into order.

  “Come here, Tom,” he said, gesturing to a seat near his desk. “Come on, lad. Come and sit down, and I will tell you what is ado.”

  So I went and sat, and waited for him to speak. This he did while standing, looking at me with one hand behind his back.

  “First, Tom, I must say I have been pleased with you. You have the makings of a true and useful diplomat. Not like those other, foolish lads I have been appointed nursemaid to. You, my lad, have not only kept your eyes and ears opened… you have also known when to keep your mouth shut. Your observations have been extremely valuable, and I believe that they would also find value with the Cardinal. So I am sending you home, Tom. I want you to go to the Cardinal and tell him all that you have told me. And give him these messages.” He handed to me some sealed papers.

  I felt embarrassed by his praise and attempted to hide my embarrassment by spoken words: “Sir Thomas, I thank you for your good opinion. I feel honoured that you think so well of me, but good Sir, I only thought to do as my father would do.”

  “Aye. Indeed, Tom, if that was your intention, then you have fulfilled your purpose with great success. Your father will be proud and pleased, young Wyatt, when I tell him how well you have pleased me.”

  I began feeling overcome with all this praise. Indeed, my cheeks felt as if they were becoming as red as the brightest sunset. Finally, I flustered out another reply and question: “Thank you, again, Sir Thomas. When do you want me to go?”

  “Today, Tom. I need Wolsey to tell me how now to proceed, so be as quick as you possibly can.”

  So, I was sent briefly back home to England with messages for Wolsey. Cardinal Wolsey came quickly to his recommendations and orders regarding what we should do. Indeed, within only days of arriving in England, I was despatched to France again. It was a good thing, indeed, that my stomach had proven to be the stomach of a sailor!

  Sir Thomas acted quickly once he received these messages from the Cardinal. Thus, within days of my arrival back at Cognac, our mission’s purpose had been fulfilled—for certes, as much as possible—to everyone’s satisfaction, England agreeing to protect the league. This was as far as our country could go, not only because France, our country’s traditional foe, led the League but also because to do any other put in jeopardy English trade with the subjects of the Imperial Emperor.

  Only a short time after the final documents were signed, we were told by Sir Thomas to begin our preparations for return to England.

  But… I possessed no desire to return.

  I felt still angry with Anne, and, no doubt, she with me. I could see no purpose for my presence in her company at court. For if I returned I knew it would be to court, and Anne was constantly there in the company of the King. I felt so utterly helpless, helpless to prevent her from destroying all of what remained still good in her life. I knew if I returned I would only be opening myself up to further pain. I felt myself neither brave, nor strong enough for that yet.

  So I went to Sir Thomas and gained his permission to depart from the company of my fellows, as well as gaining a letter of introduction and good conduct to aid me on my journey. I had told Sir Thomas that I greatly wished to visit Italy and partake, even if only for a short time, of everything that could be offered to me. This was true enough. Since my time at Cambridge, I had been a lover of all to do and could be learnt of Italy. Just as, so many years ago, Father Stephen had once been a lover of all things Greek. I had so longed for the opportunity to see, hear and smell the reality—rather than experience its beauties second hand from books, or from the tales of people fortunate enough to experience the actuality of Italy for themselves.

  Even so… there was another reason why I went; the constant ache where my heart lay was indee
d the truer one. So I felt a pilgrimage to Rome in order—perhaps, I thought, this and time away from court would help to bring my aching heart to “stiller waters.”

  Thus, I gave to Sir Thomas messages for home—a letter for my father and also another one for George to explain this sudden change in my plans. Though it was only a brief explanation saying I wished to make a short visit to Rome since I found myself not many days’ journey away. I then gathered up my belongings, ensured myself of a good horse, and began the journey towards Italy.

  There is an old Italian saying, per pium strade si va a Roma, which literally means “many roads lead to Rome.” The truth of this ancient saying I found out for myself when I travelled there in 1525. I also discovered how, in this glorious spring, travelling could be an experience open to much pleasure. Indeed, Rome had been the destination of so many, for so much of history, that the inns and roads along the way are inferior to none. Especially to the type of abode I had become accustomed to in my travels in England. I also felt so blessed with wonderful weather: blue skies for much of my journey, sun-filled days, making the going both swift and purposeful.

  My duties at home were such that I knew my time would be brief and limited, so I went as quickly as I could to Rome. Sir Thomas had written an introduction to the English officials who made their work there, and they kindly invited me to stay with them during my visit.

  During my first days there, I explored my new surroundings. There was so much to see and do that I could not help reflecting that I would be unable to enjoy to the full all that Rome had to offer. However, I did happen to spend a fair amount of my first day in Rome enjoying one building that had withstood the changes that the centuries had brought since its completion. The building of Santa Maria Rotunda had once been called the Pantheon, meaning the Temple of the Gods, and is surviving to this day because in Anno Domini 130 the early Christians had adopted the building to be one of their own. It was a tremendous example of bygone Roman architecture. Frequently I had to remind myself to stop walking around the building like an overly awestruck boy and shut tight my mouth!

  The Pantheon had an enormous vaulted roof, achieved through the ancient Roman understanding of how best to use wedged arches to fashion a huge, round and windowless hall. The only natural light came from a circular opening—seeming to me so small and far away—placed in the centre of the dome. This opening allowed just enough light in to bring alive the inside of the building. And the inside of the building, how absolutely glorious! Nay, one cannot help but be completely in awe of the genius of the ancient Romans. Having set out to make a temple to their own gods, they had somehow managed to give the future a building which confirmed the great glory of our Christian God, where all in Christendom could go to worship Him.

  There was such a sense of calm and deep tranquillity within the Pantheon that I soon became lost in prayer and quiet communion, thinking over the direction my life now took me.

  Though, I need be truthful, and admit that all my time was not spent in holy prayer and reflection.

  The English officials that I had joined with would often spend their evenings at the banquets prepared by the papal court. I accepted their invitation to attend also, and met there an Italian courtesan who soon became my bed companion during my stay in Rome. Lucrezia made my stay in Rome memorable for other reasons than what I had originally planned. Indeed, lovely Lucrezia was a woman who it was extremely easy to come to care for; but it soon became time to return to England. Thus, after grateful thanks to my fellow Englishmen who had welcomed me into their company, and a more poignant farewell to Lucrezia, I began my trek back to England.

  Book Three

  Trustee estaba el Padre santo

  Lleno de angustia y de pena

  En Sant’ Angel, su castillo,

  De pechos sobre una almena,

  La cabeza sin tiara,

  De Suder y povo llena

  Viendo a la reina del mundo

  En poder de gente ujena.

  Sad was the Holy Father

  Filled with anguished and pain

  In Sant’ Angelo, his castle,

  High in a turret,

  Without the tiara on his head,

  Covered with sweat and dust,

  Seeing the queen of the world,

  In the power of foreigners.

  An opening stanza of a Spanish romance,

  written in 1527—at the time of the sack of Rome.

  CONTENTS

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  “I would fain to know to what she has deserved.”

  Time went by, and my life in England was resumed once again—though if the pattern was beginning to change, the substance remained much the same.

  Early in January of 1527, I decided to avoid the weather-battered roads that normally took me to Kent by travelling part of the way to my family’s holdings by barge. When I made my way down to the river to hire a craft, I discovered Sir John Russell, an old family friend and neighbour, similarly engaged. So, it soon came about that we were the two main passengers of a barge starting us on our journey home to Kent.

  Sir John, a very tall and lanky man, even though beginning to grey and peer at you through very short-sighted eyes, retained some essence of youth and vitality. I have a very good opinion of Sir John, and he of me, thus we soon fell into easy conversation.

  “So, Tom, what good fortune has us meet upon the bank back there?” He waved his hand in the direction from whence we had just departed. “Though I have to admit that I had to think hard for a moment to place who you were. Verily, I found myself thinking in astonishment: Tis young Tom Wyatt! God’s oath, Tom! The years have flown too fast for me to keep tally!”

  He paused for a moment to look closer at me.

  “Methinks you look more the part of the man now, Thomas, and less the boy I once knew!” he concluded with a happy laugh, even if his face was full of unspoken strain and tension.

  I raised my hand to my new beard, grinning up at him.

  “I believe this hair upon my face has something to do with that… But you, Sir John, you seem like you have just swallowed the kitchen cat and find yourself worst for it!” I smiled jokingly at him, knowing he would take the remark in the jesting spirit that it was said, although wondering to myself why he looked so worried.

  He gazed again at me, and screwed his face in a grimace of disgust.

  “I do not wonder that I look like that… and, by my faith, I have good cause, Tom, yea, very good cause…” he responded in a whisper, looking over his shoulder to make sure we were not being overheard by the barge-men.

  “Oh? And what reason is that, Sir John?” I too lowered my voice.

  “You understand, of course, that what is said between you and I stays only with you and I, and goes no further?”

  “For certes! You have my oath on that, Sir John, my oath as a loyal subject of the Crown,” I said quietly, wondering what was likely to be the cause of all the secrecy.

  “Good. I would expect no less from Sir Henry Wyatt’s son. Tom, ’tis like this: our good King Hal has commanded me to go to Italy, to parley with the Holy Father himself. It is a secret mission which the King feels necessary, but I am not too pleased to be the one chosen.” He grunted his annoyance, and shifted his tall body upon the wooden plank that doubled as our seat.

  “What a time, Wyatt, to trek to Rome, with thousands of cut-throat Spaniards between here and there, determined to get control of the papacy.”

  “I went to Italy myself, Sir John, not so many months ago,” I said, thinking back with fondness to my time abroad.

  “Oh? And was it to your taste?” Sir John’s voice returned me to the present moment.

  “Yea, very much so, Sir John. Indeed, good Sir, I have yearned to make a return ever since I came back home.”

  Sir John looked hard at me, laughed, and slapped his leg.

  “That’s very interesting, Thomas Wyatt. Very interesting indeed! Here I was thinking, Tom, that I would li
ke a companion for this journey and there you are, my lad, someone known to me and with recent experience of Italy who expresses a desire to return… I have a question to ask you, young Master Wyatt! Tom, how would you like to come abroad with me and act as my equerry and companion?”

  ’Twas my turn to look hard at him. So many thoughts passed through my head, but the one demanding my most attention was the sudden desire to assent. At last, I laughed, and held out my hand to him.

  “Why not? Why not indeed? And here is my hand on it, Sir John, and also the hand of your journey’s companion.”

  “Good man!” he said, as he firmly clasped my hand and smiled broadly. “This has been a very fortunate meeting, Thomas!”

  “Aye, it has at that, Sir John. But I need to return to my home to put my affairs in order and to obtain some gold for our travels.”

  “That is why I return to Kent also… But try not to be over-long about it, Tom. I leave for Dover at the close of the week.”

  Soon after that we came to the place where we would disembark from the barge. After finding some mounts to hire for our short trek home, we arranged a day to meet at a certain inn in Dover where we would begin our trek to Italy. Sir John and I then parted company for a brief time.

  So it was, after our farewells, I began the short journey to Allington. In recent years I had not taken much pleasure in my infrequent homecomings, but this time was different. Elizabeth had been taken into service with the Queen and decided to remain at court, no doubt finding quick some man to keep her bed warm while I travelled to Kent. ’Twas the main reason why I had agreed to go with Sir John. I found it easier to avoid the many problems breaking apart our accursed marriage by travelling on frequent court business.