Shaking the Throne

by Caroline Angus Baker

  A knock on the office door heralded Ralph, who sported a white feather in his soft black cap. He had picked up the habit from Wriothesley. ‘Master, it is time to enter the main hall, for the King is almost ready to begin.’

  ‘Any news on the French ambassador? Shall he attend tonight’s festivities?’ Cromwell asked as he fetched his cap from his desk.

  ‘Indeed no, Ambassador de Castelnau has become ill with much haste. He sends his secretary, Bishop de Carle in his place this night,’ Ralph said, knowing none of the day’s events in the French apartments.

  Cromwell shot a stern look to Nicòla. ‘That is our major adversary gone from the night. God willing, I shall achieve one of my greatest laws yet, an alliance with the Holy Roman Emperor.’

  ‘They are the words I long to hear,’ came the voice of Chapuys, and Cromwell turned to find the ambassador behind him. ‘How fortunate our French counterpart could not make it tonight.’

  ‘No one shall miss Castlenau,’ Cromwell said, and dismissed Nicòla with a click of his fingers. She and Ralph quickly retreated towards the party.

  ~~~

  ‘Is it true, Secretary Cromwell, that the French ambassador once called upon you at Austin Friars, only to be turned away, even though you were in the garden playing bowls?’ Chapuys asked.

  ‘Well indeed.’ Cromwell sipped his wine as he stood among his party in the great hall. ‘Such is my confidence that I can deny any person I please, and my servants are endlessly faithful.’

  ‘You are a king yourself in England.’

  ‘Treason, Eustace,’ Cromwell laughed. ‘Say no such things in my company, nay any person’s company.’

  From the far corner of the room, Cromwell noticed the hand of Thomas Audley wave to him. ‘Come, Eustace, we are to dine with the King, the Lord Chancellor and Lord Rochford in the presence chamber, away from this festivity.’

  ‘Be there any way to say no?’ Chapuys replied.

  ‘None, for tonight we shall seal our legacy.’ Cromwell thought of the papers on his desk, letters from the Roman Emperor himself, written to Cromwell. The Emperor wrote to him, such a man of low birth. Cromwell would not confess it openly, but he had kissed the letters in reverence to the moment he became powerful enough to converse with the King of Spain and Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire.

  In the presence chamber, a dining table had been laid out, enough to seat some thirty men, yet only the King and George Boleyn sat there as Cromwell, Audley and Chapuys were shown to their seats by a gentleman-usher, who was waved away in a moment, along with the servants laying food before Henry. The King sat crooked in his chair at the end of the table, one elbow balanced on the wooden arm of the seat. All three bowed to Henry, who barely acknowledged them as they sat down to dine.

  ‘There be much talk at the party tonight,’ Henry said, a smile growing upon his face. ‘Indeed, it is a fine night to enjoy the company of so many at court.’

  ‘I so agree, Your Majesty,’ Cromwell said and folded his hands together upon the white tablecloth. He would make this one of the greatest nights at court in some time.

  ‘First,’ Henry replied, and ran a hand over his lips, ‘tell me of talk which has been reported. That men in the German States and the Low Countries are talking of a potential alliance between England and Rome.’

  Cromwell watched Audley shift awkwardly in his seat. Audley of course knew much of the plans; he and Cromwell had spent many a night talking of the benefits and law changes needed to create an alliance.

  ‘It appears my own envoys have been moving on England’s behalf to consider an Imperial alliance,’ Henry continued, and Boleyn nodded with the King’s words.

  ‘I would be ready to forfeit my head if anything was said in those countries that went to His Majesty’s prejudice,’ Cromwell said.

  ‘We wish for an alliance, Your Majesty,’ Chapuys announced with great confidence. ‘As Secretary Cromwell has your government in hand, he and I have spoken at great length about a potential alliance, and the terms needed to make the nations stronger together. Indeed, much work has been done on your behalf, Your Majesty. Emperor Charles is ready to make overtures to His Majesty at once, with terms between your countries settled.’

  Chapuys grinned to Cromwell and he grinned in reply; they had worked endlessly on such an alliance and were confident. For all their previous dealings, now they could create a legacy of peace.

  ‘George,’ Henry said, and glanced to Boleyn beside him at the table. ‘Please excuse us.’ Cromwell noticed Henry’s blue eyes follow Boleyn, who slunk from the room in silence.

  Henry burst from his chair, enough to throw the heavy seat crashing to the floor. ‘How dare you!’ Henry seethed, his face reddening as Chapuys turned white with worry. ‘How dare you come in and tell me you have sorted an alliance without me, without my express command!’

  ‘Your Majesty,’ Chapuys said as he, Cromwell and Audley all stood from their seats, ‘we dared not put down anything in writing.’

  ‘Without my express command!’ Henry repeated slowly as he stepped towards Chapuys. Henry stopped just inches from the ambassador, who looked down in submission.

  Cromwell could not believe Henry’s sudden anger. Surely an alliance would be nothing but helpful, even if just to end the Empire as a threat after years of panic. ‘Your Majesty…’

  Henry silenced Cromwell with a single hand raised in his direction. Yet the King’s eyes stayed firmly upon Chapuys. ‘They speak of an alliance throughout Europe, so that means for months there have been letters sent, opinions sought, papers given and received. Without my express command, you have sought your master’s mind yet not told me?’

  ‘Your Majesty,’ Chapuys said, still looking to his feet. ‘The Emperor gives you good terms for such an alliance. The Emperor can ensure you are not excommunicated from the Catholic Church. The Pope is ready to halt all his plans to excommunicate His Majesty and England. The Emperor wants peace with you, and peace between you and the Pope. The Emperor shall recognise Queen Anne as your lawful wife.’

  Cromwell noticed Henry flinch. Those words either excited Henry or made him foul of mood. ‘Why?’ Henry asked, his voice deep and tempered.

  ‘The Emperor believes such an alliance…’

  ‘No,’ Henry cut off the ambassador. ‘Why accept Anne as queen? Why not want a Catholic bride on the throne?’

  ‘You have married Queen Anne…’

  ‘And yet the Empire never acknowledged my marriage,’ Henry said as he steadied his feet wide apart. ‘But now they shall keep my name in the Catholic faith and accept my marriage to Anne. What do they want from me?’

  ‘They wish for your support against the French in Milan, and they want Lady Mary restored in the line of succession.’

  ‘I have just spent a year ensuring everyone acknowledges my Elizabeth as successor!’ Henry yelled with enough power to make Chapuys lose his footing, and he fell against the dining table, knocking over several glasses of wine. The entire party outside would have heard the words. ‘I am married to Anne, according to the religious law of England!’ Henry screamed. ‘The succession is clear! Katherine was never my true wife!’

  Audley shot a quick look to Cromwell – something had gone horribly wrong. Perchance it was pride, perchance Henry wished for no alliance other than one he sought himself. Perchance either his wife, or his new love Jane, had hurt the King’s mood. For all the planning and preparation, Henry’s feelings were about to swiftly bring the whole plan into the dust.

  ‘If,’ Henry said slowly, finally bringing down his voice, ‘I order an audience with Charles, whose Empire would not be as large as it is without my help, it shall be based on alliances and plans written in the past. Plans written expressly between myself and the Emperor. Only I forge laws in this country, Chapuys. I am the King, and without my permission to create an alliance, you would all have your heads on spikes.’

  ‘I seek not to meddle with your authority, Your Majesty. We would not harm you, not for
all the gold in England! We seek good terms as honest men.’

  ‘You seek to claim my authority over my realm!’ Henry spat and stumbled back a few steps from Chapuys, as if repelled by his very notion. ‘You seek to make decisions over me, the anointed King of England, the Defender of the Faith, the Supreme Leader of the Church of England! You dared to ask your master if he shall accept Anne as my wife? I need no such acceptance! You seek to tell me who shall be my successor, as if you are willing my death? You expect me to fight the French in Milan, as your master needs? The only treaty that shall ever be made shall be discussed by myself and the Emperor, and no mere mortal shall ever expect to be part of discussions! We are anointed kings! You have gone against the men that God has placed at the head of great realms. You seek to go against God!’

  Henry’s spittle landed firmly in Chapuys’ face with every outburst. The ambassador had shrunk, cowering before the great King, his face reddened with his anger. Cromwell could not be sure who would stumble first; Henry from rage or Chapuys from fear.

  The room fell silent for a moment and Henry’s eyes swung at Audley. ‘Lord Chancellor, how much have you planned in this treason?’

  ‘Your Ma…Ma… Majesty,’ Audley stuttered in panic, ‘there is nothing in writing, so my official capacity has been nonesuch.’

  ‘Lord Chancellor, please escort the ambassador back to the party, as I wish for all to see his much-diminished status at this moment,’ Henry said through gritted teeth.

  At once both Chapuys and Audley bowed in reverence and fled from the room. All fell silent again, the sounds of voices in the distant party to be heard through the open door. No doubt hundreds had heard the screaming just now; the entire court would know of the feud within minutes.

  The doors to the presence chamber closed and Henry took a deep breath. But as Cromwell dared to relax his stance, Henry’s angry gaze turned on his most faithful servant.

  ‘I must make a confession,’ Henry quietly began, his eyes firmly upon Cromwell. ‘Never have I looked upon a man who has committed treason against me. Always, the men are captured far from my chambers, be them a noble, a peasant or a clergyman, and never have I looked them in the eye. Those moments when I find out who disgraced themselves and their family, their honour, I have someone else arrest them, question them, destroy them. You know this, naturally, Cromwell, as sometimes it is you who sees out my plans, my arrests, my executions. And yet, this night, I am forced to look upon a man who wished to take my place as the ruler of this nation.’

  Cromwell fell to his knees in a moment. Not once he had considered this result. Countless times he brought laws and changes, proposals and policies to the King’s ear, always listened to, his words considered or reformed, or simply just agreed to in good faith. All Cromwell wanted was a treaty signed, bringing benefits to the King, to England and to Cromwell himself. There was to be no one harmed in such an endeavour.

  ‘Your most gracious Majesty…’ he begged.

  ‘You dare to interrupt my words?’ Henry spat over Cromwell’s tone. ‘Are your words worth more than mine?’

  Pain swirled within Cromwell’s stomach. So much wine had been consumed that day. First over anger at the fight in the French ambassador’s rooms, then in nerves over the evening’s proposals. All now appeared determined to return to his mouth. The dizzy humours not felt since Cromwell’s illness suddenly returned to his mind, now swimming in its own fear.

  Henry’s chest swelled with rage and Cromwell did his best to steady himself upon his knees for the tirade about to bear down like a winter storm. ‘If you were but a candle, I would order you blown out!’ Henry screamed. He kicked Cromwell, finding him firmly in his swirling stomach, but Cromwell did not dare to move. ‘You, Cromwell, were the one man at court to challenge me in wit, and yet now you are an enemy! You are but a groundling, swimming in the mud of the Thames! You are the fool, hated and jeered by all at court! You are a snake, unfeeling and greedy, you are a rake fire, outstaying your welcome in my court! Admit it! Admit you acted alone without my authority!’

  Cromwell let Henry catch his breath before he dared utter response. ‘Your Majesty,’ he whispered, ‘I acted alone without authority, to impress you with my reach on the matter.’

  ‘Why?’ Henry threw his hands in the air. ‘We seek no treaty with Rome! You have defied me!’

  Hot prickling tears balanced in Cromwell’s golden eyes. A man of some fifty years, reduced to tears. But even when on his knees, weak, threatened and humiliated, the chance to escape appeared from the echo of a cheap comment made by Nicòla months past. ‘Your Majesty, you said I could accept incentives and bribes, provided I gave the crown ten percent.’

  Henry shook his head in confusion, his fists clenched so hard his skin looked pale around each golden ring. ‘Are you quite out of your senses? Are you to say you were bribed by the Holy Roman Emperor? You are but a peasant, a commoner!’

  ‘The Emperor wants to marry his daughter to the Duke of Florence. My secretary is married to the Duke. I wanted Frescobaldi to receive an annulment.’

  ‘You could not receive an annulment for me!’ Henry shoved Cromwell and he fell hard to the floor, flat on his back. ‘I had to destroy the entire Church because YOU failed to get me an annulment! Yet you tell me that you have defied me for your own creature’s annulment?’

  ‘I was offered a swift annulment in return for an alliance. I did not seek the annulment, it was offered as payment. The Emperor needs you. I thought that would give you comfort, pride even. The Pope will has offered lack of excommunication. You would be the proudest, most powerful king in Europe, safe from Rome and welcome in both the Catholic faith and within the Reformation sweeping the people. No one would have power like you, Your Majesty. If the Emperor needs you, wants you, and accepts Queen Anne, all kings would surely follow. Charles is the Emperor and the King of Spain, the leader of your biggest enemies. France across the sea would be no threat ever again, surrounded by this treaty.’

  ‘If your plan was so prosperous, why not bring it straight to me?’

  ‘Because I was desperate and wanted all done swiftly. I wanted the bribe, and the Emperor’s acceptance of Anne, and to make you a favourite of Charles and the Pope.’

  ‘Greed is a sin. As is lust and pride, all sins committed by you.’

  Cromwell nodded as Henry stood over him, but he felt his heart blacken, not for his sins, but because Henry dared to say such, when the destiny of the kingdom depended on Henry’s lust and pride and greed.

  ‘Why would I need you to convince kings to bow to me? I am the King of England! You suggest I am not all powerful? You break your own treason laws! Not only do I desire to take your head, but my most beloved queen shall also wish to see your head on London Bridge!’

  Cromwell knew not to move as Henry forced his heavy foot hard into his stomach. He had to endure Henry’s wrath, for to fight back would be treason, more added to his torture. Henry kicked him several times as he cowered on the floor.

  Henry gave up his angry domination and stood back, as if to admire his work. ‘Be gone from my chamber, and you would do well to be gone from my sight, lest you not live long enough to see the annulment of your Waif. With one utterance, I could expose the both of you and have your heads!’

  Cromwell rolled and pulled himself upright using a chair, eager to appear beaten. It was no lie, for the pain kept him doubled over. As Cromwell opened the presence chambers doors, through the pain he stood upright and smoothed his hair and adjusted his cap, for no man or woman at court could witness his destruction.

  The party stood in total silence, the screaming heard by all. Cromwell felt the eyes of court upon him as he walked slow and steady through the crowd, seeing Chapuys in a far corner, whispering in Edward Seymour’s young ear. He continued walking through to the far end of the room, where gentleman-ushers pulled open the doors to the hallways back to Cromwell’s offices. No doubt Nicòla and Ralph would soon follow, but they needed to give it time; not j
ust to look less suspicious in their quick departure, but also to give Cromwell a moment to cry in private. He was beaten for the first time. The King was no longer Cromwell’s closest friend and ally, and without Henry, he had nothing. Already Anne had turned against him, meaning the entire Boleyn clan and allies would be the same. All the nobles despised him, and even Cranmer, one of his dearest friends and colleagues, was confused over the dissolution of the monasteries. Everything was ending. Nothing could stop Cromwell’s tears as he limped into his small bedroom, which truly belonged to Nicòla, and only an important shift in politics would save his head.

  F

  Chapter 39 – April 1536

  lyes are like fyres, they could warm you or burn you

  Austin Friars, London

  Nicòla sat on a wooden bench in the back garden, her eyes on the short grass by her feet. Jane played nearby, chasing one of her mother’s beloved peacocks, but Nicòla paid little attention. A trance stung at her, rendering her body lifeless, as if a strange paralysis set about her. She took gentle, shallow breaths under her heavy fur coat, but her stillness conveyed none of her mood. Nicòla was angry, afraid, disillusioned for the first time in so long. She felt this way in the days after her father’s murder outside Florence, and in the early days after marrying Alessandro. But never like this in England, the land of her freedom.

  The attack in the French ambassador’s chambers hurt her more than expected. Nicòla knew men like Castelnau, a powerful man who would paw at her in such a manner; though her dress usually allowed Nicòla to escape such behaviour. The King’s rejection of the carefully planned alliance with the Emperor hurt less; it was Cromwell who desired Nicòla’s annulment. What also hurt was Cromwell’s behaviour since fleeing the King’s court. Three days passed and still he had not risen from his bed. Yes, Nicòla went to him in the night when the house slept, but in the day, he refused to rise. Such weakness had never instilled itself in Cromwell and now he slept in bed when he needed to plan his next great conspiracy, lest he be the court’s next victim.