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

by Mike Poulton

  THOMAS. It would, sir.

  KING HENRY. And I shall do something for Jane. She has no guile in her – and she has nothing… She asks nothing… (Wipes away a tear.) I’ve written her this letter. I’ll send a purse with it, for she’ll need money now the Queen has removed her from her chamber. Here.

  THOMAS. Delicately expressed, sir. She’s very innocent.

  KING HENRY. Give it back. I’m still working on it. Coming to watch me joust?

  THOMAS. Alas! The Vatican is threatening to excommunicate you, the Emperor’s fleet is set for Algiers, and the Abbot of Fountains Abbey, who keeps six whores, has been plundering his own treasury – all matters that need my attention –

  Enter SUFFOLK in armour – behaving as usual like KING HENRY’s big brother.

  SUFFOLK. Hurry up, Harry – everybody’s waiting.

  KING HENRY. I know – it’s this new armour. Feels tighter than at the last fitting –

  SUFFOLK. It’s not the armour that’s tighter, Harry, it’s you that’s –

  KING HENRY. Yes, yes! (Starts to go.) Six whores? Did you say six? Jesu! How do you think he manages it?

  The tournament – soundscape. Then an ominous note. RAFE appears, not knowing how to begin.

  THOMAS. Rafe? (Wrapping his fur robe around him – expecting a blow.) Is it Gregory?

  RAFE. Gregory is unhurt.

  WYATT arrives.

  THOMAS. Why the silence?

  WYATT. It’s the King… King Henry is dead.

  GREGORY arrives, with CHRISTOPHE.

  THOMAS. Ah. (Draws the ornamental dagger.)

  Interval.

  Scene Fourteen

  Confusion – panic – shock – noise. Frantic COURTIERS. KING HENRY’s corpse on a makeshift bier. NORRIS kneeling, weeping, and praying to Our Lady. SUFFOLK in despair.

  THOMAS. Where were his surgeons? (Aside to RAFE.) Rafe – all this must be hidden. (Examines KING HENRY.) Still warm. We need to keep our heads –

  NORFOLK arrives. RAFE goes.

  NORFOLK. By God, Cromwell!

  THOMAS (under his breath). Christ Jesus! Norfolk –

  NORFOLK. Laying hands on… Off – off!

  Shoves THOMAS, who just shrugs him off.

  WYATT. My Lord Norfolk – he is beyond help –

  THOMAS. Norfolk – MY LORD NORFOLK! My Lord – who is with the Queen?

  NORFOLK (rambling). I told her – who else should – premier nobleman of England – her uncle? She’s fallen into a fit. God – God! Who governs now for her unborn son?

  WYATT. Anne will be Regent – God help us –

  NORFOLK. Never! No big-bellied woman can rule! It must be me, me, me!

  RAFE brings SUFFOLK – in despair – he’s lost his ‘young brother’.

  THOMAS. We have to get Princess Mary –

  SUFFOLK. Her keepers are the Boleyns. They’ll never yield her. Dear God, Harry! What have you done to us!

  THOMAS. If news gets up country before we do, we’ll never see Mary alive –

  SUFFOLK. The bitch will have her head –

  NORFOLK tries to pull THOMAS away. Reliquaries rattling.

  NORFOLK. Cromwell, take your hands of His Majesty’s sacred person –

  THOMAS bats him away – KING HENRY takes a faint breath – THOMAS puts a hand on KING HENRY’s chest.

  THOMAS. Wait! (Slaps down his other hand on KING HENRY’s chest.)

  NORFOLK. God’s blood and nails!

  SUFFOLK. Now God be thanked – Harry, Harry!

  THOMAS. Fetch Dr Butts – fetch any man with skill. If he dies again they’ll not be blamed – my word on that.

  Air! Let the King have air!

  KING HENRY takes a deep sucking breath that might turn into a death rattle. Then tries to sit up.

  Majesty?

  GREGORY goes to KING HENRY to help him sit up.

  SUFFOLK. Don’t touch him! Lay him down! Let him lie down!

  GREGORY, ignoring them, lifts KING HENRY into a sitting position.

  KING HENRY. Cromwell? Where’s Cromwell?

  THOMAS. Majesty.

  KING HENRY. I hit the earth and smelled it – damp like the grave. I heard voices – very distant. I couldn’t make out the words – I felt myself borne through the air. I did not see God or His angels.

  THOMAS. You must be disappointed to see only Thomas Cromwell.

  KING HENRY. Never was sight more welcome! Clear everybody out of here.

  RAFE, SUFFOLK and GREGORY clear the tent.

  Help me up. I must show myself – let nobody rumour it I am mauled or dead.

  ANNE approaches nervously, frail, supported by JANE ROCHFORD, SIR THOMAS BOLEYN and GEORGE.

  ANNE. My Lord. I pray, all England prays, you’ll never joust again.

  KING HENRY beckons her to come close. He stares into her face.

  KING HENRY. May as well geld me while you’re at it. That’d suit you, would it not?

  Shock. BOLEYNS whisk ANNE away. SUFFOLK and GREGORY help KING HENRY out. Cheers. THOMAS, RAFE and CHRISTOPHE remain.

  THOMAS. My first thought was ‘Thank God it’s not Gregory.’ Then I thought – with Henry gone, I’m a dead man too. If I stay, Anne Boleyn will be Regent and she’ll kill me. If they make Mary Queen, her people will kill me.

  CHRISTOPHE. There’d have been civil war. Oho! Rich pickings!

  SUFFOLK returns.

  THOMAS. This incident never happened, Your Grace.

  SUFFOLK. What incident?

  THOMAS. Or if it did it was of no importance.

  SUFFOLK. I know how to keep my mouth shut, Cromwell – do you think I’m stupid or something? (Exit.)

  THOMAS. The King fell, took a blow on the head, and was senseless for a few minutes. That’s the story. The way I’ll tell it, you’ll think the blow on the head had improved him. That he actually set out to get it. That every monarch needs a blow on the head from time to time.

  Scene Fifteen

  Fateful chord.

  JANE ROCHFORD. Twenty-ninth of January – the day of Queen Katherine’s burial. I was with Anne when she broke off her merriment at the thought of Katherine going under the ground. I was with her when she put down her book – when Mark Smeaton put down his lute. I watched her face turn white – like wax. We swept her to her chamber and bolted the door. It was a boy, Cromwell. She had carried it less than four months, as we judge. Conceived early October then.

  THOMAS. On our summer progress.

  JANE ROCHFORD. Who was she with when her child was conceived? Consult your itinerary. Was she with the King? Or was Harry Norris with her – or some other gentleman? Who was here and who was there –

  THOMAS. Lady Rochford –

  JANE ROCHFORD. Another child lost – another chance missed.

  THOMAS goes in to KING HENRY. THOMAS CRANMER is with him.

  KING HENRY. This is the second boy she’s lost. I am run ragged by the dead. Though who knows how many other of my sons have bled away? Women keep silence until their bellies show. What does God want of me, Cranmer? What more can I do to please Him? I see He’ll never give me male children.

  CRANMER. We much misconstrue our Creator if we blame Him for every accident of fallen nature.

  KING HENRY. Oh? I thought he regarded every sparrow that falls? Why then has he so little regard for England? (Sulks.) Anne blames Norfolk – who burst in on her shouting I was dead. She blames me because she says I am mooning over Seymour’s daughter – because from time to time I send Jane sweetmeats from my table – but I said to her – to Anne my wife – ‘Just be clear on this, madam, if any woman is to blame, it is you. I’ll speak to you when you are better – when you are restored to health – As I fear I shall never be…’ She says she will quickly give me another son now Katherine’s dead – though I can’t see how that will speed the business. If a king cannot have a son, it’s no matter what else he can do. The triumphs, the spoils of victory, the just laws he makes, and the famous courts he holds… all these are as nothing… And my leg
hurts. My fall opened an old wound – the ulcer will not mend. Without an heir, the country will fall into doubt, confusion, faction and conspiracy. When I think what I did for this Queen – how I raised her from gentleman’s daughter… I can’t imagine why I did so. It seems to me… I was somehow dishonestly led into this marriage.

  CRANMER. How dishonestly?

  KING HENRY. I was not in my clear mind. It’s clear enough now.

  CRANMER. Your mind cannot be clear. You’ve suffered a great loss.

  KING HENRY. I believe I was seduced – practised upon by charms and spells – women do use such things. And if it were so the marriage would be unlawful, would it not?

  CRANMER. Sir, sir… Majesty –

  KING HENRY. Oh, peace! Give you goodnight. For I supposed even this day must end.

  THOMAS and CRANMER come out of KING HENRY’s chamber.

  THOMAS. A man in pain will say anything.

  CRANMER. We should not take any notice.

  THOMAS. No.

  CRANMER. No. (Goes.)

  WOLSEY’S GHOST (ambling on). If I were you, I’d take notice… Oho – here they come! Tread carefully, Tom.

  NORFOLK and SUFFOLK, who have been lying in wait, draw THOMAS aside.

  NORFOLK. Cromwell. We want rid of her.

  THOMAS. ‘We’?

  SUFFOLK. Harry wants rid of her – we know you want it too. THOMAS. How much support do you have?

  SUFFOLK. Amost all the nobility of England.

  THOMAS. ‘Almost all’s not enough.

  NORFOLK. I’ll stamp on the waverers. The old Queen’s people are with us – they want Mary next in line – they’ll not stand by and see her insulted –

  SUFFOLK. Nobody outside this realm accepts Anne Boleyn as Queen –

  NORFOLK. Not even the French –

  SUFFOLK. She has her foot on our necks. Yet she’s not done her duty – there’s no son –

  NORFOLK. She’s no wife to him –

  SUFFOLK. The common people say she witched him into it –

  NORFOLK (crossing himself). I can believe it – it’s why God took the child.

  THOMAS. Oh, you know the King – one day they fall out, the next he can’t do enough for her –

  NORFOLK. She’s failed.

  SUFFOLK. Harry hates failure – you should know that.

  WOLSEY’S GHOST. Listen to the Duke, Tom.

  THOMAS (laughs). Interdum stultus bene loquitur.

  NORFOLK. What – what’s that!

  THOMAS. Nothing – just a Latin tag of the Cardinal’s.

  WOLSEY’S GHOST. ‘Sometimes even a fool talks sense.’

  SUFFOLK. What?

  THOMAS. The Boleyns are a force to be reckoned with –

  NORFOLK. Thomas Boleyn? I’ll put him in terror of his life –

  SUFFOLK. And the son’s a wilting violet –

  THOMAS. And what about me? What do I get?

  NORFOLK. You get your treaty with the Emperor – no more threat of his troops burning and raping their way down Cheapside and Whitehall as they did in Rome – think of the money you’ll save.

  THOMAS. That’s what England gets. It’s time I had something out of this too. I need a seat in the Lords.

  NORFOLK. I’ll see you hanged!

  THOMAS. No – Norfolk, I’ll see you hanged first. You think I couldn’t do it?

  NORFOLK. You want to bully the Lords as you bully the Commons –

  THOMAS. Yes – yes! That’s exactly what I want.

  SUFFOLK. Jesus – that’s plain enough.

  NORFOLK. Hmmm. (More of a politician than we thought him.) Nothing higher than a barony.

  THOMAS. That will do for now.

  NORFOLK (grim. Spitting on his hand). Agreed.

  SUFFOLK (not spitting). Baron Putney Boy then.

  Handshakes all round.

  Scene Sixteen

  Whitehall. The Court. Cheerful music. THOMAS and CHAPUYS.

  CHAPUYS. The Emperor wants Anne Boleyn gone, and Mary back in the line of succession. Then you’ll get your treaty, and there’ll be peace in Europe.

  THOMAS. I have influence, but I cannot speak for the King. No man can.

  Moves away – talks to SUFFOLK. JANE SEYMOUR timidly takes THOMAS aside.

  JANE SEYMOUR. Here’s my difficulty… (Pause.) The more the King says, ‘Jane, I am your humble suitor,’ the less humble he seems. I mean – he’s the King, isn’t he? I’m thinking what if he stops talking and I have to say something? I’m like a scalded cat. Have you ever seen a scalded cat, Master Secretary? – I haven’t. But if I’m so frightened of him now… What must it be like to see him every day? You see him most days. Still…

  THOMAS. Not the same.

  JANE SEYMOUR. What does he like to talk about?

  THOMAS. Well… We speak mostly of State affairs… Horses? He likes to know about trades and crafts – simple things. In my youth I shoed horses – he likes to hear about smithing – the right shoe for the job, so he can confound his own smiths with secret knowledge.

  JANE SEYMOUR. ‘The right shoe for the job’? Anything else?

  THOMAS. Dogs – hunting dogs, their breeding and virtues. Fortresses!

  JANE SEYMOUR. Dear God!

  THOMAS. Artillery – iron foundries… We sometimes say we’ll have a day out – ride down to Kent together – to the Weald – to visit the iron masters – discover new ways of casting cannon…

  JANE SEYMOUR. Well, that’s that then. I couldn’t cast a cannon to save my life. He sent me a purse of money.

  THOMAS. What did you do with it?

  JANE SEYMOUR. What you told me. I sent it back.

  THOMAS. You mustn’t give in to him.

  JANE SEYMOUR. Why would I?

  THOMAS. You might be seduced by his honeyed words.

  JANE SEYMOUR. His what!

  She goes to EDWARD. The Court comes forward – KING HENRY takes THOMAS aside.

  KING HENRY. Jane returned my letter and my purse, but with very tender words – I’m told she pressed her lips to my seal. I was wrong to send it. You have spoken to me of her innocence and her virtue – with good reason, it appears. I would do nothing to offend her honour.

  THOMAS. Now that Edward Seymour there is of your Privy Chamber – if he were to bring his wife to Court, Your Majesty could take supper with the family without any affront to Jane’s modesty. Perhaps Edward should have a suite in the palace?

  KING HENRY. He should.

  THOMAS. My rooms at Greenwich communicate with yours. What if I were to move out and let Edward move in?

  KING HENRY (beams). Good man, young Edward – grave and serious. (Smiles at him.) I’m sure you’ll turn him into a useful one.

  THOMAS. Yes, Majesty – I believe I can work with Edward.

  KING HENRY goes to JANE SEYMOUR. THOMAS moves away to EDWARD.

  EDWARD. He talks to her quite openly now.

  THOMAS. But as long as the King stands by Anne, I must too.

  EDWARD. You’ve no interests of your own?

  THOMAS. I represent the King’s interests. It’s what I am for. Don’t raise your hopes, Edward – not yet.

  A commotion.

  KING HENRY. Do not presume to know my mind! Who told you I acknowledge the Emperor’s claim to Milan? King Francis has as good a claim – or better! Do you take me for a fool? Am I his lapdog? ‘Come to Charles! Come to your kind master!’ First he whips me, then he pets me, then it is the whip again. (He shoves aside CHAPUYS with his fist. The effect of his exit is lessened by his limp.) I’m no dog – I am no child!

  Roar of conversation. BOLEYNS smirk. CHAPUYS hurries to THOMAS, others gather.

  CHAPUYS. He attacked me! Says he’ll send soldiers to fight for France – Ha! Where are these troops? Pooh! I have eyes – I see no soldiers – he has no army –

  NORFOLK. Peace, monsieur. Let the King cool down.

  THOMAS. Hold back your dispatches to the Emperor – do not write tonight.

  NORFOLK. In Council tomorrow all will
be put right – is that not so, Master Secretary?

  THOMAS. Oh, I’m sure. Ambassador – here’s an opportunity for you to meet Edward Seymour –

  EDWARD. Ambassador Chapuys –

  KING HENRY. Cromwell! (Charging back.) Make him understand. It’s not for the Emperor to make conditions to me. How dare he threaten me with war!

  CHAPUYS. I? I threaten you? –

  KING HENRY. What were you saying to him? ‘Oh, I’m sure of King Henry – I keep him in my pocket’ – don’t deny it – I heard you, Cromwell! Would you train me up like one of your boys at Austin Friars? Touch my cap when I come down in the morning, walk half a pace behind you with your inkhorn and your seal. And why not a crown, eh, carried behind you in a leather bag? You think yourself the King, and me the blacksmith’s boy!

  THOMAS raises his palms and crosses his wrists. KING HENRY backs off, confused.

  THOMAS. God preserve Your Majesty.

  KING HENRY goes.

  CHAPUYS. Mother of God! I thought you were going to forget yourself and hit him.

  THOMAS (smiles). I never forget myself.

  THOMAS is alone. Out of the darkness, the Council gathers around him – we blend into Scene Seventeen.

  Scene Seventeen

  Council assembles. Next morning. As many as possible – a few BISHOPS. Not STEPHEN.

  BOLEYN. Can we come to order?

  NORFOLK (to THOMAS). All right, lad?

  THOMAS. Was ever the Master of the Rolls addressed so by the Earl Marshall of England? Thank you.

  BOLEYN. My Lords –

  NORFOLK (to THOMAS). It’s what he does, you know? You’re balanced just so, then he blows the pavement from under your feet. Who’s chairing this Council?

  BOLEYN. I am. (Sits in the chair as if it’s the throne, smirking.)