Shaking the Throne

by Caroline Angus Baker

  Queen Katherine had done no wrong. Cromwell, even at the height of his prosperity, which came during Katherine’s downfall, could not speak ill of her or her daughter, Lady Mary. Cromwell suspected Nicòla’s constant unhappiness of late stemmed from meeting Katherine again.

  ‘I shall continue to do my duty, Your Majesty,’ Cromwell said, breathing heavily after the sudden fall. ‘The Pope is now the Bishop of Rome. A bishop with no rights over your soul or your country. Any person speaking of this news, or even daring to call Clement “the Pope” may be arrested.’

  ‘Even your Waif?’

  ‘Even Frescobaldi must not utter the word “Pope” to any person.’

  ‘Everyone must sign the Oath of Supremacy, and the Succession immediately.’

  ‘Within weeks, Your Majesty, I swear before God. A God not corrupted by the Catholics any longer.’

  Henry nodded and took a few deep breaths. ‘We make changes, starting tomorrow, Cromwell. Be in my chamber right after Mass.’

  Henry swept from the room as Cromwell bowed, and he folded the letter into his hand, the parchment tight. It was time to take down his many enemies.

  F

  Chapter 9 – April 1534

  sumtymes you must lye to find the trouth

  Whitehall Palace, London

  ‘Be it true?’

  Queen Anne stood at the window at the end of the long room and placed one hand on her growing belly. Her lavish golden gown gently floated over the baby inside her, her dry hands catching on the fabric slightly as she rubbed her stomach.

  ‘Is what true, Your Majesty?’ Nicòla asked and clasped her own hands together before her.

  ‘Is it true that Mr. Cremwell feeds the poor from his kitchen at Austin Friars every day? I heard he provides hot food and drinks to the poor of London every morning.’

  ‘I heard rather than lining up for food outside the friary on Broad Street, the poor now line up at the back door of Mr. Cromwell’s home,’ Lady Margaret Douglas said. She stood close to the Queen, her rich red hair flowing freely about her slender shoulders.

  ‘Austin Friars provides food for 200 people every morning and then again in the evening,’ Nicòla told the room. ‘The same people can return and new people are welcome. Master Cromwella tries to feed as many children as he can with supplies in the house.’

  ‘Quite the noble cause,’ Lady Jane Boleyn said on the other side of the room, where she sat with embroidery in her hands. ‘With Mr. Cromwell rising so high at court, I feel surprised he has not taken a wife.’

  ‘It is not my place to question my master’s private dealings,’ Nicòla replied and moved her feet a little wider apart. She was the only “man” in the Queen’s chambers today. Cromwell had sent her to pay favour to the Queen, as the King liked spies watching his wife.

  ‘Lady Margery,’ Anne turned and looked for the maid she spoke of, who sat by Lady Jane. ‘I quite believe you like Mr. Cremwell in a way which would be becoming. Or you, Lady Jane?’

  Jane Seymour, who sat on cushions on the floor as she patted Anne’s little dog, looked up in shock. ‘I shall only marry as my father bids.’

  Nicòla regarded the Queen’s rooms as a nest of vipers. Each one of these women reported the idle talk of people at court; Anne was not safe, not treated with enough respect. No one trusted any other. As she gazed around, Nicòla noticed Margaret Shelton, Queen Anne’s cousin, was missing from the ladies, though perchance it was not of worry, as ladies left the household constantly, always ready to be replaced by someone eager to be at court. However, Lady Margaret’s absence was not new, though she was regularly wandering at court. Henry Norris seemed to speak with her at length, but the suggestions of a relationship between the pair seemed unlikely.

  Across the long room of Queen Anne’s private chamber, the chamberlain opened the door and revealed one of Cromwell’s gentleman-ushers. He bowed low and scurried like a timid mouse in Nicòla’s direction.

  ‘Tell us not that work shall spirit you away from us,’ Queen Anne called to Nicòla. ‘We have barely even sported with you today.’

  Nicòla smiled at Anne but already felt relief at the chance to leave the Queen’s rooms. The young black-clad usher gave Nicòla a smile of familiarity and whispered in her ear.

  ‘Master Cromwell urges you to come at once. A boat is made ready for you. You are to leave for Lambeth Palace with Master Cromwell at once to meet with Archbishop Cranmer.’

  Nicòla frowned at the young boy. ‘That is the whole message?’

  ‘Yes, Master Frescobaldi. Master Cromwell said you are to bring nothing with you but your wits. I am to lead you to the boat and leave with haste, as we are against the tide.’

  Cromwell hid nothing from Nicòla; if they were leaving now without warning, it surely was in aid of an enormous upheaval.

  ‘Rush off to your Cremwell, Waif,’ Anne said before Nicòla could excuse herself. ‘For we know you are but Cremwell’s shadow and he can barely act without your company.’ The Queen smirked, the only woman in the room who knew of Nicòla’s great secret.

  The moment Nicòla stepped upon the boat, guards pushed them from the dock outside Whitehall and she sat beside Cromwell, pleased by the gentle warmth in the afternoon air. Cromwell sat with his hands balled up on his lap, his eyes firmly on his secretary.

  ‘What is this?’ Nicòla asked the moment she was seated comfortably in the centre of the boat. The boatmen had them at great speed in no time, a feat against the tide of the Thames. Indeed, Nicòla had never moved along the river at such speed. ‘Is there something wrong with Cranmer?’

  ‘No, all is well,’ Cromwell replied and then leaned forward in his seat closer to Nicòla. ‘I have a grand plan, but all must come together with such haste. Indeed, only today I came up with this plan, after speaking with His Majesty.’

  ‘I do so love a plan. Shall this be entertaining?’

  ‘I fear there shall be little enjoyment today,’ Cromwell said, his face not moving from the stern brow he presented to Nicòla. ‘We are to receive two guests, who shall arrive at the same time as us. We shall be presented to Archbishop Cranmer in his main hall. Sir Thomas More has been summoned from Chelsea and Bishop Fisher has also been summoned.’

  ‘Will they swear the Oath today?’ Nicòla whispered.

  Cromwell nodded just once. Today, both More and Fisher would be faced with the Oath of Supremacy, and no doubt Cromwell already had plans in place if the two men would not sign. For weeks, people had been lining up, waiting to take their turn swearing the Oath. Both Cromwell and Nicòla had sworn it on the first day it was ready, sworn before both the King and Queen and Archbishop Cranmer. Everyone at Austin Friars had already done so. Cromwell’s men across England were rounding up people, forcing them to swear. Today, Cromwell would catch two of his biggest adversaries.

  ~~~

  Archbishop Cranmer stood with a slim face, his eyes dark in contrast to his vibrant purple robes. They stood in the lavish main hall of his palace, a long narrow table laid out in the centre, where light flooded from an immense stained-glass window high in the ceiling. Among the colours rested the Act of Supremacy and Act of Succession. There rested the words Cromwell crafted, the words every English person had to recite, swear their alliance to, sign their name to, all ready for the occasion. Cromwell stood with Cranmer, his own expression dark as his black coat, while Bishop Gardiner stood in white, on the opposite side of Cranmer, as if to keep his person as far from Cromwell as possible.

  Nicòla felt cold in the room, alone in the corner while the three powerful men awaited their company. As the main doors opened on the opposite side of the hall, the doors echoed an eerie creak through the wide space. Only two people came forward, followed by four royal guards who blocked the doorway.

  Bishop Fisher ambled to meet the Archbishop and his attendants, his old feet carrying him with caution. He wore robes of white, a black cap perched on his bald head. After being arrested and fined for misprision, Fisher looked wo
rn, gaunter than usual, a man of already four and sixty years. Alongside him walked Sir Thomas More, the burner of Protestants. The men had been pardoned for supporting Elizabeth Barton, but Cromwell would pardon neither today if they did not swear the Oath. More, like Cromwell, also wore black, though the mighty Collar of Esses, shining in its gold finery, now swayed over Cromwell’s shoulders, instead of More’s. Younger than Fisher by almost ten years, More walked with far more confidence, yet the result for each man today remained equally desperate.

  Cromwell and Gardiner both stood with their hands clasped behind their backs, equal height, equal posture. They both moved their feet every so often to control their powerful stance. They probably never noticed they appeared so similar. Cranmer did all the talking; all the minor greetings and plain respects needed in the presence of the two men who were ready to take their lives into their hands.

  ‘You know what is to be done,’ Cranmer explained to the two men opposite him at the table. ‘You are to take the Oath, and you need, by law, to sign the document which contains the preambles of the Acts of Supremacy and Succession. You both must swear that King Henry is the leader of the Church and that Queen Anne and her children are lawful and legitimate.’

  ‘I will not swear anything to Cromwell’s queen,’ Fisher said and threw an evil look in Cromwell’s direction, one angry enough to make Nicòla shiver in the corner.

  ‘I shall be happy to take the Oath of Succession,’ More said, much to Cranmer’s surprise.

  ‘Please. Do read the Oath aloud at once, Sir Thomas, so that our ears may hear your words in praise of our king.’

  ‘I can easily swear to our King and swear Queen Anne is His Majesty’s only lawful wife, and that Princess Elizabeth is the rightful heir to the throne. I cannot swear that the King is the Supreme Ruler in all matters spiritual and ecclesiastical. I can never claim the King is above papal authority.’

  ‘I cannot even swear that much,’ Fisher added. ‘I shall never swear that Anne Boleyn is queen over Queen Katherine.’

  Cromwell turned slightly to Cranmer. ‘If Fisher and More swear to the Succession but not the preamble containing the Supremacy, that will suggest both men believe in papal authority and not the King. If they believe in the Bishop of Rome, and not the King’s authority, then they believe the true Queen is Katherine, not Anne. If these men can pick which lines to swear to, then every man in the country will think he can pick.’

  ‘Quite true,’ Cranmer mused and looked to More and Fisher again. ‘You must swear the entire Oath and cannot pick which parts to believe.’

  ‘I am hither today, as the King’s representative, to hear you swear the entire Oath,’ Gardiner told the pair.

  ‘Have you sworn the Oath, Bishop Gardiner?’ More asked and eyed him across the table.

  ‘I have not,’ Gardiner replied.

  ‘I have arrested four Carthusian monks from St Abbey in Middlesex,’ Cromwell said. ‘They are on their way to London in chains, to be placed in the Tower. If you like, Bishop Fisher, Sir Thomas, you can today join them in the Tower. I have the King’s authority to arrest you today for high treason for failure to take the Oath.’

  ‘Arrest me,’ Fisher spat in Cromwell’s direction. ‘I shall swear none of the Oath.’

  ‘I wish to swear to part of the Oath,’ More struggled and ran his hands along the parchment on the table, to find the words he believed. ‘I, Sir Thomas More, do utterly dedicate in my conscience….’

  ‘No more,’ Cromwell replied, and swiped the Oath from the table, its glorious handwritten words thrown onto the stone floor. ‘Guards, arrest these two men.’

  The four guards, which Cranmer had so readily arranged for this occasion, stepped forward, two men each on the side of the far older and superior men. Neither fought being grabbed by the shoulders.

  ‘Sir Thomas More, I arrested thee in the name of King Henry, for failure to take the Oath of Succession and for high treason,’ Cromwell said, his voice now cold and steady. ‘Bishop Fisher, I arrest thee in the name of King Henry, for failure to take the Oath of Succession and for high treason.’

  But then Cromwell turned to Cranmer and Gardiner. ‘Stephen, you too have not taken the Oath and you shall be arrested also.’

  ‘I am the King’s Chief Secretary,’ Gardiner scoffed. ‘And you have no permission from the King to do so. You may bully me, humiliate me before the court, but cannot arrest me.’

  ‘Yet.’ Cromwell stared at his foe as More and Fisher were pulled from the main hall without another word. ‘Yet.’

  C

  Chapter 10 – April 1534

  the cruelest lyes are sayd in sylence

  Whitehall Palace, London

  Cromwell walked through the crowds as if he no longer saw them. With each confident stride, the guards either side of him did the same, parting the crowds in the palace hallways. All knew better than to hand him a letter or petition today. Nicòla walked a step behind him, as he expected, though a few times she nipped the fur edge of his long coat with her shoes. People still tried to hand items to Nicòla, and several times the guards fell back to push people from her. Cromwell made it clear; in case of a crisis, the guards were to fall back to Nicòla before him.

  Death threats came in waves now; for Cromwell arrested Sir Thomas More and Bishop John Fisher. Any person in the land who defied the Reformation, or the new queen, now had a strong cause to hate Cromwell and his dealings. Enemies had reason to attack; allies had reason to shy away, and everyone’s alliances seemed hard to trust. Cromwell was no longer a commoner who created a queen, he was also a man who would gladly destroy men far above him in rank. Had it honestly taken this long for the fools of the court to understand how strong Cromwell had become? He stood daily at the King’s side, he had webs which stretched across England into Wales, Scotland and beyond. He almost ran Ireland thanks to his plan to replace the Dublin Council members with friends, and ran the King’s finances, and had eyes on every single petition that crossed the King’s desk. Queen Anne was a queen because Cromwell said she could be a queen, and the people of England could no longer be Catholic because Cromwell told them that Protestant reform was better for their souls. Rising so high while being quiet proved a most valuable decision.

  Guards parted all those standing in the King’s antechamber, and Cromwell entered the presence chamber without any need for an announcement. His guards stood at the door with Nicòla, and Cromwell found the room devoid of any person but the King himself, Bishop Gardiner, Thomas Boleyn and Thomas Audley.

  ‘Your Majesty, Lord Privy Seal, Lord Chancellor, Bishop Gardiner,’ Cromwell said with a bow, almost choking on the final title. Never had things been so bitter between the pair. To think once they were friends under the watchful eye of Cardinal Wolsey.

  At once the King began to turn pink in the face and Cromwell held his breath. Was Henry to rage once more? Was he to turn violent again, which had crept into their daily meetings? But no, rather tears began to prick at Henry’s blue eyes, one feeling Henry constantly refused to reveal to the world.

  ‘Cromwell, now you have arrived, there can at last be justice,’ Henry said and turned away from everyone, wandering in the direction of the window. He pulled his soft red sleeve to his face, and everyone pretended not to see the King wipe his tears.

  ‘I am ready to assist Your Majesty, but I must say Lord Chancellor Audley can administer justice on your behalf at any time.’ Cromwell glanced at Audley, who made a gesture which suggested total confusion over the King’s dilemma.

  ‘More and Fisher are in the Tower,’ Henry said, still not turning back to the group.

  ‘Of course, Your Majesty,’ Cromwell said and stood tall, his hands clasped before him. ‘More in the Bell Tower, next to the rooms of the Lieutenant. Fisher has been put one floor below him. Each is still able to send and receive mail and have books and personal items in their rooms. They are comfortable, but not too comfortable, I promise you. I have been to their rooms personally.’
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br />   ‘And the others who have refused to take the Oath?’

  ‘I have monks in the Tower, but there has been little resistance to the swearing to the Oath. People are lining up to swear without question, Your Majesty.’ In truth, the Oath had only been made official three weeks ago and not many people had the chance to sign at all.

  Now Henry turned back to the group. Cromwell stood to the left of Henry, with Nicòla behind him against the wall, and the other three stood to the right of the King, all slightly hunched in stature, all lost over the point Henry wanted to make.

  ‘What do I do if a man in my court refuses to take the Oath?’ Henry asked.

  ‘With thanks to the new treason Acts passed last month, Your Majesty, any person can be arrested for failure to take the Oath,’ Audley explained.

  ‘It is at your discretion to decide if someone’s behaviour is treasonous, Your Majesty,’ Boleyn added.

  ‘By not signing the Oath, Your Majesty, any man shall be arrested without delay,’ Cromwell told the King.

  Henry leaned a little to look around Cromwell. ‘Waif-creature, step forward.’

  Cromwell’s heart began to pound at once, so fast it felt ready to rise from his throat and appear on his tongue. The King spoke of treason and wanted his Nicòla?

  ‘You are a creature of Rome, the creature of the Pope,’ Henry began and wandered forward to Nicòla, who had stepped forward and bowed to the King. ‘The hands of the Pope himself must have been on you since you were born.’

  ‘Tis true that the Pope and I have been known to one another for some time, Your Majesty,’ Nicòla replied, her eyes cast down, her voice plain but even.

  ‘And the Oath, which Cromwell has taken so much time to create?’

  ‘I have sworn the Oath, Your Majesty. I signed before you, with many other courtiers when the papers were first ready.’

  ‘You are a favourite of the Pope, you are an Italian by birth. You are a strong Catholic from one of the most piously controlled countries in Christendom. Yet you swore the Oath.’