The King's Commoner: The rise and fall of Cardinal Wolsey (The Tudor Saga Series Book 2)

by David Field

  Thomas was elated at having assisted Henry to get his own way at his very first Council meeting. After a hearty supper, and the best part of a jug of the Beaujolais, he went early to bed.

  He was dozing fitfully when the door to his bedchamber opened, and Joan Larke slid into the room carrying a pile of undergarments intended for Thomas’s clothing chest. She stood for a moment, highlighted by the still flickering nightlights without which Thomas was unable to sleep, then when she realised that his eyes had opened, she explained her business.

  ‘Beggin’ yer pardon, master, but these clothes needs to be put away.’

  Thomas grunted an acknowledgement, and waved his hand for her to get on with it. Undeterred, she approached the bed and stood in full view of Thomas’s head as it lay sideways on his pillow. She unclasped her gown from the back of her neck and let it slip to the floor. She was naked underneath, and Thomas looked for the first time on a pair of full young breasts. He raised his head from his pillow and stared stupidly at the sight before him, as Joan reached down, pulled back the bedcovers and slid in beside him.

  What followed was something that would require a great deal of penance for an ordained priest.

  When he awoke the following morning and found that she had gone, he hoped for a moment that it had all been a dream sent by the Devil to test him. Then he discovered several long auburn hairs on the pillow, and realised that it was no dream, and he was in urgent need of confession. But his confessor was the last man on earth to whom he could admit what had happened, particularly when it happened the following night, and every night for a fortnight.

  Seven weeks since the sinning had begun Thomas had convinced himself that he could hear his own confession. He presented himself daily to Thomas Larke with his usual confessions of pride and gluttony, and received the customary penances in Pater Nosters, which he mumbled under his breath in his private chapel in the rearmost room of the Bridewell house, adding fifty Ave Marias for each blissful night between the sheets with the sister of his confessor.

  This went on for almost three months until one morning, while numbering his ongoing occasions of sin in the form of pride and gluttony, Thomas became aware that his chaplain was looking sideways at him in expectation. As he finished, Thomas Leake coughed and said, ‘Is there nothing further, master?’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘More sins. Lust, perhaps?’

  Thomas was about to deny it indignantly when he caught the suggestion of a knowing smile on the man’s face. ‘Has Joan perhaps spoken with you?’ Thomas asked, red in the face.

  ‘She has indeed.’

  ‘What am I to do?’ Thomas asked despairingly.

  ‘Think you that you are the only one in need of God’s forgiveness in this regard?’

  Wolsey’s eyes opened wide in disbelief. ‘You have also sinned in this manner?’

  ‘Yes. With a female cousin on my late mother’s side. And, more recently, with the girl Amy, in the stillroom behind the kitchen.’

  Thomas thought for a while. ‘As I understand the office of confession, we may hear each other’s, then be absolved. I have been penancing myself with fifty Ave Marias — is that sufficient, think you?’

  ‘It is sufficient for me, although if Joan speaks truly your rosary will be worn through ere next Epiphany.’

  ‘I can soon acquire another rosary, Thomas,’ Wolsey assured him, ‘but another woman like your sister? Never.’

  VII

  In June 1512, the Marquess of Dorset led a twelve thousand strong army, intent on invading Guyenne which, along with Gascony, had once been part of English-ruled Aquitaine until the French had won it back. They disembarked at Fuenterrabía, on the border of Spain with France, and had awaited the arrival of Spanish troops in vain. They then learned, through scouts sent out far and wide, that while the French had detached a sizeable portion of their army to meet the English invasion, the Spanish had used the occasion of the English landing to bluff their way into Navarre, the inland portion of the Basque region on the Franco-Spanish border. They had done so under the pretence of protecting it from the consequences of becoming a battlefield for the two mighty armies of England and France, but when no fighting eventuated the Spanish King Ferdinand coolly claimed Navarre for himself, and the English were left jilted.

  By the end of August, the Marquess had a full scale mutiny on his hands, and was obliged to set sail back to England with what was left of his army. Ferdinand of Spain sought to divert blame for his own selfish actions by publicly denouncing their departure as cowardice, and even Henry realised that he had been betrayed. Henry was now experiencing his first doubts regarding his Spanish family connections, and — as was to become the custom — it was Thomas who rescued him from a downward spiralling depression by diverting him towards an all-out war with France.

  For weeks after the ignominious return of Dorset, no-one dared approach Henry except Thomas. Even he was at considerable risk from the royal temper that had begun to reveal itself from under the party-loving exterior of the young King. Henry not only felt betrayed and humiliated in the eyes of Europe by the dismissive actions of his father-in-law, but he was growing anxious regarding the matter of a male heir to further secure his grip on the English throne. While Katherine seemed to conceive with ease, she seemed less capable of delivering a healthy infant; their first — a daughter — had been born prematurely, while a boy born in January 1511, named Henry after his overjoyed father, and anointed as the Duke of Cornwall, did not survive long. When the royal physician announced in the spring of 1513 that Katherine was yet again with child, it was not only Katherine who spent long hours before the altar in the royal chapel, praying that it might be a boy, and that it might survive longer than the other children that had been delivered of her womb.

  Thomas adroitly judged the royal mood, and added extra layers of honey to his tongue as he continued to assure Henry that God would smile upon his willingness to protect Rome from the French, and would reward the crown of England with a worthy successor to its most devout King. He also avoided the blame for the recent fiasco in Spain by ascribing it to the ageing Marquess of Dorset, the man who had generously given him his first ecclesiastical appointment, but who was no longer central to Thomas’s ambitions. Thomas flatteringly suggested to Henry that since Dorset, as the half-brother of Henry’s own mother Elizabeth of York, belonged to a former age, it was only fitting that the next English army be led by the greatest contemporary warrior in Europe, Henry himself.

  ‘Be that as it may, Thomas,’ Henry replied as they stood staring out of the windows of Richmond Palace, ‘have we the finance, without seeking further taxes from the people?’

  ‘Once we are over in France, Hal,’ Thomas assured him, ‘we may live at the expense of the French whose lands and castles we plunder. If you summon your leading nobles to your banner under their ancient feudal obligations, they must bear the costs of the troops they bring to your cause, and the Treasury may be richly recompensed from the plunder that I will supervise, and have each item either sold back to its former owners or brought back to England for sale to the highest bidder.’

  ‘And can you guarantee that our enterprise will thrive?’

  ‘With you in its vanguard, Hal, it cannot fail. Louis of France fears you more than he does Ferdinand of Spain, or for that matter the Emperor Maximilian. You are the heir to that glorious Henry who made France his own, and you command the same love and awe from your army today as he did when he triumphed at Agincourt.’

  ‘Should I lead my troops in person, say you?’

  ‘How else will you ensure that they are inspired to conquer all before them, and that the banner of St. George flies high on the flagpole of every major castle between here and the Italian border?’

  ‘What hear you of the Scots? Will they not take advantage of my absence to pillage from the north?’

  ‘You forget that King James of Scotland is married to your sister, by whom he has his own heir to the throne. Also, with
Your Majesty at the head of our troops in France, it will be possible to leave Surrey behind with men with whom he may defend our northern borders, perhaps under the overall instruction of your dear Queen, as Regent in your absence?’

  Henry frowned. ‘She is again with child, Thomas, as you know, and I would not wish any cares to be thrust upon her that might imperil a safe birth this time. Perhaps Foxe or Warham should be left in command in my absence?’

  ‘Warham were best left to pray for your safe delivery, and that of your expected child, while ensuring, in his role as Chancellor, that law and order are maintained in your absence. As for Foxe, Your Majesty must have noticed for yourself that he grows frail with his advanced years, and it would be a kindness not to burden him with the management of an entire kingdom when he cannot even maintain control of his own bodily functions.’

  Henry smiled. It was as he had wished all along, and he was too vain to realise that Thomas had simply acted as a deft mirror to his all too obvious desires. ‘Very well, Thomas. See to it. But this time I wish you to accompany me.’

  Thomas had not expected that, and had been planning to dominate the Council in the absence of the monarch, but it was high time that Thomas ingratiated himself with others closer to the Papacy, and he consoled himself with the realisation that the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian was high on that list.

  His natural flair for pomp and display was to prove Thomas’s greatest asset as he stage-managed what followed. Ship after ship was commissioned in the royal dockyard at Portsmouth and hastily filled with food, fresh water and heavy ordinance. At the last moment, heavily armed knights under the battle banners of their lords were embarked and transported to Calais, which rapidly became the most bustling assembly point that English military forces had ever travelled to.

  Finally, Henry himself was disembarked onto the quayside with a fanfare and a flurry, while the vessel behind his was carefully unloaded under the supervision of Thomas, who had brought along over a hundred of his own entourage, some of whom had been hired in the dockside streets at the last moment, in order to swell the number and add to his apparent importance.

  It was hardly to be expected that all this could occur in secret, and Louis of France was advised of Henry’s landing only the day after it occurred. He halted his southern progress and dispatched his steward, the Duc de Longueville, with a sizeable force, to meet the threat at the English held Pale of Calais.

  Once ashore, and with Henry’s leave, Thomas lost no time in riding to Bruges, where he once again found himself bowing before the Emperor Maximilian.

  ‘I am advised that your master King Henry has greatly added to his army at Calais,’ Maximilian announced in a slightly accusing tone. ‘I assume that we are still at peace with England?’

  ‘Indeed you are, my lord, and about to witness the final capitulation of France to the might of the Holy League, of which the Holy Roman Empire is the defining core.’

  ‘Does Henry intend to take on France all by himself, and thereby enjoy the fruits of conquest, not to mention the glory, without any assistance from me?’

  ‘Far from it, my lord, hence my appearance at your Court. King Henry sends his fondest and most loyal regards, and invites you to join in the suppression of your mutual enemy for all time.’

  ‘You are presumably aware that half my army is at present across the Alps, assisting the Swiss to break the siege of Milan?’

  ‘Indeed, my lord, which is why King Henry is seeking to divert the French from their aggression in the Italian city states by obliging them to race back and defend their own lands around Paris.’

  ‘This is not simply a private war between Henry and Louis, in which England seeks to regain those lands it lost generations ago, and which were best left lost?’

  ‘Indeed not, my lord. It is a further indication of my lord King Henry’s commitment to the Holy League, and his determination to prevent the Pope from falling into the hands of the French. As an ordained minister of the Church of Rome myself, I have chosen to accompany my king in order to render what humble assistance I can to his Holiness’s cause.’

  ‘Since I hardly think that the mere sight of your incense and holy water will be sufficient to the task,’ Maximilian replied, ‘I assume that your visit this day is to request that I lend further troops to your banner?’

  ‘With your seasoned fighting men alongside the English king’s battle-ready heavy knights, flanked by his unrivalled archers and supported by his newly-cast ordinance, there can be no doubt of victory, and an end to French pretensions on the borders of your own lands.’

  ‘I am perfectly capable of defending my own lands, Father Wolsey,’ Maximilian responded with the hint of a sniff. ‘Why then should I assist your master in his private squabble with Louis?’

  ‘Forgive me,’ Thomas replied. ‘I was led to believe that we all fought on the side of his Holiness the Pope, and that between us we are seeking to prevent Louis reaching the Holy See itself. While he is defending his back yard from wolves, he can hardly act the fox in his front yard.’

  Maximilian smiled at the eloquent imagery, and waved one of his nobles to his side, before engaging him in a whispered conversation that Thomas was unable to overhear. Then the Emperor looked back at Thomas. ‘I will commit some of my best ordinance to your master’s cause. But I will do so as a hired mercenary bringing in a band of paid coulevriniers, rather than as Holy Roman Emperor. For this service I shall require your master to pay all my men their appropriate dues — not only my men, but myself as well. I personally require one hundred ducats a day to support my table.’

  Thomas looked around the crowded chamber uneasily, and then back at the Emperor. ‘Might we talk more privately, my lord?’

  The chamber was rapidly cleared of all but a few obviously trusted advisers, as Thomas sought to achieve his mission at the minimum cost to the Treasury, employing the same strategy by which Ferdinand of Spain had secured Navarre.

  ‘It shall be as you request, my lord, but I may privily advise that King Henry seeks only a token victory with himself at the head of the army. Perhaps a couple of small but significant towns in Normandy or Flanders, then I may perhaps persuade him to withdraw. The main advantage to yourself will be the distraction afforded to King Louis, whose forces in Northern Italy will be rendered more vulnerable to your southern armies by the need to send half his army back north.’

  ‘Your master does not seek to lay siege to Paris?’

  ‘At present he does, my lord, but I undertake to persuade him otherwise. I advise you of all this privily in order that you may be in no wise prepared for a lengthy diversion from Bruges.’

  ‘It would seem that you know your master’s best interests more than he does, Father Wolsey. Very well, let us seal this bargain with some of our excellent new wine crop.’

  Several days later, Henry rode out proudly at the head of his army. To his side, sombrely dressed for once, and with not the slightest intention of becoming involved in the slaughter to come, was Thomas Wolsey, fresh from his successful negotiations with the Emperor, but tight-lipped regarding how much it was likely to denude the English Treasury. The King wanted his day in the sun of European conquest, and Thomas was determined that he would get it.

  Thomas had, however, taken the elementary precaution of arranging for almost the entire force of light horse under the command of Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, to ride out before daybreak to a position south of Therouanne, which had been under siege for some time by English troops under George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury. The siege had reached the stage at which the townsfolk within were at starvation point, and it was known from reports brought in by English scouts that a considerable force of Frenchmen was somewhere to the south, from which it was expected to attempt to break the siege.

  It would be Northumberland’s task to head them off, allowing King Henry the notional glory of finishing off this insignificant little settlement before moving further east towards the more strategically importa
nt Flemish town of Tournai; in this, Northumberland would be assisted by a battery of bombards and culverins supplied by Maximilian.

  By the time that the French cavalry under the Duc de Longueville became aware that their path to Therouanne was blocked by English knights on coursers rather than the heavier destriers, it was already too late. Suddenly they came under fire from a hail of arrows fired from the side by English bowmen and showers of missiles from Imperial cannon. They first halted, then fled. The English cavalry pursued and overtook many of them, hacking to death those whose livery did not suggest that they would attract a substantial ransom, and roping behind them those whose monarch or families might be persuaded to pay dearly for their return.

  Six days later, a triumphant Henry was accompanied into the captured township by Thomas and George Talbot, and he made a great speech on the steps of the town’s only church in which he graciously made a gift of Therouanne to the Emperor Maximilian, unaware that his Almoner had already arranged the transfer of the first payment for the services of his ‘ally’.

  Before the victorious monarch could finalise his plans to move east and take Tournai, he received other heartening news. His brother-in-law James IV of Scotland had proved as treacherous as had been feared, despite his marriage to Henry’s sister Margaret, and had taken advantage of Henry’s absence across the Channel to attack south of his border, honouring the long-established ‘Auld Alliance’ tradition with France.

  Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, had been waiting for him west of the border at Berwick, and the two armies had met at Branxton, near Flodden Edge, where they clashed for three hours, at the end of which the ten thousand Scots dead included their King, and most of their leading nobility. The English army had been under the notional command of Queen Katherine, who celebrated by having the blood-soaked coat and gauntlets of the fallen king sent across to Henry, with an invitation that he use them as a battle banner in his next encounter with the French.