Wolf Hall & Bring Up the Bodies - the RSC Stage Adaptation

by Mike Poulton

  CHRISTOPHE (with half a loaf in his mouth). Hun… mung… un… ungligent –

  RAFE (to CHRISTOPHE). What!

  THOMAS. Well, you and I are intelligent men. Christ said, ‘I come not to bring peace but a sword.’

  RAFE. Give me some of that. You’re a pig, Christophe –

  CHRISTOPHE. Oink! Oink!

  MORE shambles on, unnoticed, with a couple of HEAVIES – untidy, unkempt – buttons undone. He carries books and papers.

  THOMAS. Thomas More’s living in an old, old world – he should have been born in the reign of Harry the Fifth or Sixth –

  RAFE. Or Edward the Confessor.

  THOMAS. He believes you can stop men thinking by burning their books. Now, God has given us the printing press. The word is turning and More’s left standing –

  RAFE. He thinks the Cardinal’s soft on heretics.

  THOMAS. Wolsey hates the stink of burning flesh. But More says he’s corrupt.

  RAFE. Well, he is!

  THOMAS (laughs). Come on, let’s not keep the Cardinal waiting.

  RAFE. Let’s pray Thomas More is never raised to high office. Or we’ll all –

  MORE. Cromwell! Just the man I need!

  THOMAS. Master More. I hear you came looking for me at my house. (Takes the satchel from RAFE.)

  MORE. You were not at home. (Good-naturedly.) Neither were the heretic books you bring in from Germany. Where’ve you hidden them? At Gray’s Inn?

  THOMAS. You’ll find nothing heretical on my shelves.

  MORE. Well… your conscience is your own concern. You could be very useful to me, you know? You’ve lived in Antwerp? You know the heretic Tyndale.

  THOMAS. I know of him. They say he’s translating the Gospels into English –

  MORE. False translations. Wicked, misleading deceptions.

  RAFE. Why don’t you translate the Gospels yourself, sir?

  THOMAS. He distrusts the English language. If his native tongue had a neck, Master More would wring it.

  MORE. It would help me greatly if you’d cross over and speak to Tyndale –

  THOMAS. I serve the Cardinal –

  MORE. I ask myself why? It’s well known you’re no friend to priests, yet you make yourself a willing drudge for the most corrupt priest in Christendom. Work with me. Persuade Tyndale to come home. For… an exchange of views – to end any misunderstanding between us.

  THOMAS. In your torture chamber?

  MORE. Oh, come! That’s a slander. What need have I of a torture chamber?

  THOMAS. Men go into your house hale and hearty – they come out half-dead.

  MORE (thinks – looks as if he’s going to say something profound. But:). Must be my wife’s cooking. (Nasty laugh.) Come to Chelsea. Bring young Sadler with you. The food may not be of the quality, and I may say quantity, you’re used to at the Cardinal’s table, but the talk is excellent.

  THOMAS. I’ll think it over.

  MORE. If Wolsey comes down, his dog will need a new master. Come to my whistle, boy – we should be friends. And let Tyndale know that if he won’t come home I’ll fetch him.

  THOMAS. None of my business.

  MORE. So you say – so you have asserted…

  CHRISTOPHE. Ting-a-ling-a-ling! (Priestly drone.) Hoc est corpus meum – (Elevates bread with both hands. Takes a bite. Offers some to MORE.) Want some?

  MORE (controlling his rage). In your place, Cromwell, I’d not keep blasphemers in my house. You’re sailing close to the wind as it is.

  MORE ambles away, shedding papers. His HEAVIES pick them up and follow.

  CHRISTOPHE. Does he really have a torture chamber? I should very much like to see it.

  RAFE. Yes – I think you’ve said enough to get you in.

  THOMAS. What’s wrong with that man, Rafe? Or is it me? Everything he was brought up to believe, he believes it still. What I grew up believing is chipped away – every month a little bit lost, and then a little bit more. I search my Bible – I can’t find where it says monks. Or nuns – or purgatory, or fasting – or relics, or priests who can change bread into the body of Christ –

  RAFE. It doesn’t say pope either, does it?

  THOMAS. No – I’ve never found where it says pope. And nor has Thomas More – that’s why he wants to stop us looking.

  CHRISTOPHE. Hoc est corpus – Hocus Pocus –

  THOMAS. Christophe!

  Scene Five

  York Place.

  STEPHEN. Late again. Why do you keep us waiting?

  THOMAS. I’ve been in Westminster Abbey – watching a couple of whores fighting over a young monk. Must have lost track of the time.

  STEPHEN. Nothing you do would surprise me, Cromwell. The Cardinal tells me your father kept a low alehouse. In Putney.

  THOMAS. He was a blacksmith too. Thirsty work.

  STEPHEN (looking him over). You hide your origins well. Most of the time.

  THOMAS. At least I know who my father was.

  STEPHEN (rising above the insult). Can you shoe a horse?

  THOMAS. I can make a knife.

  Grabbing STEPHEN, he suddenly pulls an imaginary estoc and pretends to knife STEPHEN, who freezes in horror.

  CHRISTOPHE. Oho! Not quick enough!

  STEPHEN. God bless you, Master Sadler. (Going.)

  THOMAS goes in to WOLSEY.

  WOLSEY. What do you know of this Boleyn girl – not the King’s mistress, the other one – the flat-chested one?

  THOMAS. Anne Boleyn? Not much. Father married up – old Norfolk’s sister – he’s as cunning as a fox.

  WOLSEY. I know he is – I open all his letters. The girl Anne was brought up in France – now she’s in London – setting her cap at the Earl of Northumberland’s son – Harry Percy – silly boy!

  THOMAS. She’s wasting her time. The King’s going to marry Harry Percy to Old Talbot’s daughter.

  WOLSEY. Which is why His Majesty has ordered me to put a stop to their nonsense. (Cod French.) ‘Oh, ’Arry Percy, ’Arry Percy – ’ow I lurv you!’ (Cod Geordie.) ‘’An I shall marry you, my pet, and you shall ’ave ’Arry’s ’art, an’ ’is ’awks an’ ’is ’ounds, an’ ’is ’ole hearldom.’ It’s no laughing matter.

  THOMAS (laughing). It is though.

  WOLSEY. Over there – take notes. I want this on the record. (Suddenly bellowing.) Thomas Boleyn! Come in here.

  Enter SIR THOMAS BOLEYN, suave, middle-aged diplomat.

  BOLEYN. Your Grace.

  WOLSEY (grim as Hell). Sit.

  BOLEYN. I –

  WOLSEY. Did you put her up to it – wagging her tail at that young fool Harry Percy? The King won’t have it. I’ll not have it!

  BOLEYN. Surely Your Grace cannot think –

  WOLSEY. You’d be surprised what I can think –

  BOLEYN. Oh, come! Young people today –

  WOLSEY. You Boleyns can’t manage your women, can you?

  Enter STEPHEN.

  STEPHEN. Forgive me, Your Grace. Sir Thomas, your son George is here – (Horrified.) he’s brought a woman.

  WOLSEY. Dear God – they’ll be leading in bears next!

  BOLEYN. My daughter-in-law, in fact –

  Enter GEORGE BOLEYN and JANE BOLEYN, LADY ROCHFORD.

  GEORGE. Your Grace.

  WOLSEY. George, why have you brought your wife here? (Baleful but polite.) Sit, madam – pray sit.

  GEORGE. She knows my sister Anne’s secrets –

  WOLSEY. Anne confides in her?

  GEORGE. No, Your Grace. My wife listens at doors.

  WOLSEY. Well, Jane… I knew your father – in gentler times than these. Are you happy with this popinjay he’s married you to?

  JANE ROCHFORD keeps her eyes down.

  Thought not. So… what have you to tell me? What do Anne Boleyn and Harry Percy get up to behind closed doors?

  Nothing.

  Come on – squawk up!

  BOLEYN. Well, the fact is… we may find… that is to say –

  WOLSEY (bellows
). Shut your foolish mouth!

  GEORGE. It won’t be easy to part them –

  JANE ROCHFORD. Anne says they’re married.

  WOLSEY gasps.

  They have taken their vows –

  WOLSEY. Witnesses? Answer! Before witnesses? That’s everything – tell me!

  JANE ROCHFORD. I don’t know.

  WOLSEY. Has he had her?

  JANE ROCHFORD. Oh, Your Grace…

  WOLSEY. ‘Oh Your Grace’, what? (Explodes – ugly.) Come on, you gawking wet girl – what? What! I need to know how far this had gone –

  BOLEYN. Your Grace – please moderate –

  WOLSEY (to BOLEYN). What’s the stupid lad been doing with his cock? Though I doubt a dunce like Harry Percy knew he had a cock until your slut of a daughter started helping him look for it –

  GEORGE. Oh!

  WOLSEY. Has he had her!

  JANE ROCHFORD. I don’t know.

  WOLSEY. Good! Good. You don’t know. Or you won’t say. And we’re going to keep it like that.

  JANE ROCHFORD. I –

  WOLSEY. Do you understand me?

  BOLEYN. The facts remain. If a promise of marriage was made before witnesses, it holds good in law – especially –

  WOLSEY. Especially if he’s shoved it up her. Listen to me, Boleyn. You’ll take your girl Anne down to Kent and keep her there. You pimped her sister Mary to the King in the hopes of rich rewards – now you think you’ll pimp the other one to Harry Percy and get your hands on his earldom. If Anne’s a whore you’ll need to keep it quiet – or you’ll have her on your hands costing you bed and board till she’s an old crone.

  GEORGE. But if there were witnesses –

  WOLSEY. Let them show their faces – I’ll deal with them. Are there letters?

  BOLEYN. I have a few –

  WOLSEY. Burn them.

  GEORGE. Harry Percy may not accept –

  WOLSEY. You leave that foolish boy to me.

  GEORGE. You don’t know my sister Anne.

  WOLSEY. No, but I’m sure I could if I paid cash down.

  GEORGE. She always gets what she wants.

  WOLSEY. George – I always get what I want. Get out – the whole pack of you.

  BOLEYN (under his breath). Butcher’s boy! (As he passes THOMAS.) Butcher’s dog!

  BOLEYNS leave: BOLEYN trying to keep his composure and his smile, GEORGE furious. JANE ROCHFORD trails behind and takes a long look at THOMAS. He rises to bow her out. A backward glance.

  WOLSEY (laughing). Here, boy! (Whistles.) Come out, dog!

  THOMAS. Is it good policy to make the King’s friends angry?

  WOLSEY. What a family! They say Boleyn’s wife was the first woman Henry bedded? Or rather – as I heard it – she bedded him. Curious.

  THOMAS. I never knew Your Grace could be so terrifying.

  WOLSEY. Oh, it was an act! I’m an excellent actor – you should see me play Herod of Jewry. Boo!

  WOLSEY laughs and roars, throwing up his hand. Strange moment. A shadow of the arm falls on the wall. THOMAS leaps away – reaching for an imaginary dagger – on guard. Shock.

  Tom? What did you think I was going to do?

  THOMAS. When you’ve lived in Italy as I… have…

  WOLSEY. I suppose the Vatican must be very like Putney. Did you kill him? (Studies THOMAS’s face. Concerned.) Have you made a good confession?

  MARK comes in, unnoticed.

  THOMAS. It was a long time ago. I was a soldier, Your Grace.

  WOLSEY. Even soldiers have hopes of Heaven. I could hear your confession here and now – absolve you.

  Silence.

  THOMAS. There’s a little knife – an estoc. If someone comes at you – out of the shadows… He’s just a body – he doesn’t have a name.

  WOLSEY. Do you no longer believe in the sacrament? I’ve never asked what you believe –

  THOMAS (harsh). No – don’t.

  MARK. Lord Percy is here, Your Grace.

  WOLSEY and THOMAS adjust their faces.

  WOLSEY. Very well, Mark.

  MARK. Do you wish me to stay and play for him?

  WOLSEY and THOMAS burst out laughing.

  WOLSEY. No – thank you, Mark.

  MARK – not seeing the joke – is hurt. Exits. STEPHEN brings in HARRY PERCY, nervous.

  STEPHEN. Henry Percy, My Lord.

  HARRY PERCY. Your Grace.

  WOLSEY. God’s life, Harry, I’m told you’re as good as married to a common trull!

  HARRY PERCY. I am betrothed to Anne Boleyn, sir. And I resent the –

  WOLSEY. Hold your tongue!

  HARRY PERCY. I will not! Why shouldn’t I have her? I know she’s only a simple maid –

  WOLSEY. Simple? That’s you, Harry – you’re the simpleton. As for a maid? That’s surely not her.

  HARRY PERCY. I love her.

  WOLSEY. Courts are no place for love, Harry. So it’s time to move on. You’ll forget this Anne Boleyn, and you’ll marry Mary Talbot as the King commands.

  HARRY PERCY. I won’t though. I’d be miserable.

  WOLSEY. You can wake up miserable as dawn on Ash Wednesday every day of your life, but you’ll do your duty to your noble house, and to your country.

  HARRY PERCY (with a mighty effort at clarity). If you take Anne from me, I’ll die.

  WOLSEY (bursts out laughing). Nobody ever died of love, Harry. You’ll die in battle, defending England from the Scots. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll die in a ditch covered in glory, and leave behind you many sons and a marble tomb. That’s your destiny. That’s what your family is for – it’s what it does best. It’s all it does. And if you’re not man enough, I’ll take away your earldom and give Northumberland to one of your horrible young brothers.

  HARRY PERCY. You can’t do that, Wolsey.

  THOMAS. You’ll find he can.

  HARRY PERCY. I don’t know you, do I? You speak to a lord only when you are spoken to.

  WOLSEY. Oh, I’ve done with you, sir – take him away, Stephen. It must be dinner time.

  STEPHEN. I often ask myself if I’m Your Grace’s secretary or doorkeeper at the madhouse. Come, My Lord.

  HARRY PERCY. Your Grace! I am married! Words were spoken! Vows were made.

  WOLSEY (gently). Consider them broken.

  STEPHEN ushers HARRY PERCY out.

  And that’s the last we’ll hear of Anne Boleyn.

  Scene Six

  The dance takes shape around ANNE. Bright lights. Arthurian masque at Court – mounted KNIGHTS (Vices) attack the Castle of Perseverance, defended by LADIES (Virtues). WOLSEY arrives in his Chancellor’s chain looking magnificent – takes centre stage – THOMAS and RAFE stand apart. KING HENRY, as Love’s Champion, dances with MARY BOLEYN. GEORGE dances with ANNE. GEORGE and KING HENRY change partners. Exit KATHERINE, angry with MARY BOLEYN.

  RAFE. Is that Anne Boleyn?

  THOMAS. Dancing with the King? Yes. See the emerald on her finger?

  RAFE. It’s the size of a sparrow’s egg.

  THOMAS. Worked it out?

  RAFE. What? You mean…? Oh, so that’s why the King wouldn’t let Harry Percy have her! (Looks at WOLSEY enjoying himself.) Wolsey doesn’t know, does he?

  THOMAS. Not yet. You’re going to go and tell him.

  RAFE. Me? What now?

  THOMAS. Now.

  RAFE whispers in WOLSEY’s ear. Shock. WOLSEY stares at RAFE – rises to leave. A point is reached in the dance where ANNE blocks his exit. Hand in hand with KING HENRY, she speaks.

  ANNE. I am Perseverance.

  WOLSEY bows to KING HENRY.

  WOLSEY. Lady, forgive me… I fear I have been…

  WOLSEY blunders off. RAFE follows. ANNE stands in THOMAS’s path, looks him up and down.

  ANNE (flat – stating the fact). Thomas Cremuel.

  THOMAS bows – hurries after WOLSEY.

  ACT TWO

  Scene Seven

  York Place, KATHERINE with EUSTACHE CHAPUYS. Carts loaded down wit
h papers, their wheels very squeaky, dragged into the court by LAWYERS.

  KING HENRY. We must submit ourselves to God’s will. It’s the good of my soul I’m thinking of, Katherine. (He believes this.)

  KATHERINE (passionate but cool and self-assured). My soul is in the hands of God and my confessor. I shall submit myself to God’s will. But not to the will of the Cardinal – who calls me concubine and your sister – not your wife.

  KING HENRY. This is not Wolsey’s doing. I have consulted my own conscience – and the sacred texts. Were there no impediment – I’d choose you for my wife above all ladies. I need a son –

  KATHERINE. I have given you sons.

  KING HENRY. They died!

  KATHERINE. For shame! Every day I pray for their little souls. Do you pray, Henry?

  KING HENRY. I’d live with you as my wife still if I could be easy in my conscience. But God’s will be done! Katherine, don’t you see – it’s why He has not blessed us with male children? My crown cannot pass to one born of a sinful union.

  KATHERINE. ‘Sinful union’? What then is your union with the Boleyns? A pure one? First the mother – well, you were only a boy then – unmarried –

  KING HENRY. Katherine –

  KATHERINE. And then Mary – he got a bastard boy on her –

  CHAPUYS. Did he?

  KATHERINE. And now it’s to be the other sister – Anne –

  KING HENRY. That is not the truth… I believe we should separate until the Cardinal’s Court delivers its ruling on our marriage. Ambassador Chapuys, will you –

  KATHERINE. God made you King of England, and He made me England’s Queen. I know my duty. I shall remain at your side. (Tears.)

  CHAPUYS. Madame – come –

  KING HENRY. I cannot bear to see you cry. Oh, Katherine… (Bows.) My Lady.

  KATHERINE. I am your Lady… Never forget it. You do this out of hatred, Wolsey – you tear apart our marriage. You fear my country Spain – you favour France – you take the French King’s gold –

  KING HENRY. Oh, everybody takes money from King Francis, Katherine –