by G Lawrence
The passage chosen for the sermon was from the Gospel of John; part of the story of Christ’s time on the Mount of Olives, when the Lord of Heaven had taught some of his last lessons to his disciples. The verse ran “Which of you can rebuke me of sin? If I say the truth, why do you not believe me? He that is of God heareth God’s words. Ye therefore hear them not, for you are not of God.”
It was a condemnation of Cromwell, and a strike at Henry, for failing to heed the godly over the greedy. No one missed the allusion as Skip began to speak.
In the sermon, the congregation was identified as the ‘you’ in the verse, and in particular, those who would counsel Henry to destroy the Church. Skip accused them of sycophancy, and of pushing Henry to do anything that would line their pockets, even to the disgrace of God. The ‘me’ of John’s verse was the Church, and all who supported moderate, rather than radical, reform.
Skip bellowed that the attack on the clergy had gone too far, and the people who would sway the King to believe this was necessary were working for greed, avarice and lust for gold. Skip declared that whilst the Church had strayed into sin, and should be punished, to attack the clergy as a whole was unjustified and hypocritical.
“I would that men would use more temperance, and first amend their own lives before they taxed other men to do the same,” Skip blasted, staring at Cromwell, then at Henry with brimstone in his eyes. “Nowadays, many attack the clergy for sin, but they look not to their own, and only seek to do so as they would have from the clergy their possessions.”
Skip also took a moment, not at my urging, to criticise Henry’s liaison with Jane Seymour. I was surprised, but not at all displeased. Skip used the example of King Solomon, a historical character Henry had already been much compared to. Therefore, everyone knew my chaplain was speaking of the King.
“In the latter end of his reign, he became very un-noble and defamed himself sore by sensual and carnal appetites in the taking of many wives and concubines,” Skip said. “And also by avaricious mind in laying too great or sore burdens and yokes upon his subjects, pressing them too sore thereby.”
Henry shifted awkwardly, his great, round face red and angry. Cromwell was trying to act as though he was untouched by these accusations, but I saw him pass a hand over his brow and wipe it on his handkerchief. Is the chapel too warm, Master Cromwell? I thought. Or do your many sins keep your blood hot?
Skip went on to ensure that everyone knew where I stood, saying that the King should “be well wary what he does after the counsel of his councillors for some time for the malice they bear towards many men or towards one man, as of a multitude, they would have the whole multitude destroyed.”
Skip used the example of Esther, the Jewish wife of the Persian King Ahasuerus. Ahasuerus was deceived by his advisor, Haman, into agreeing to massacre his Jewish subjects. “But,” Skip roared. “There was one good woman, which this gentle King, Ahasuerus loved well and put his trust in, for he knew she was ever his friend, and she gave unto the King contrary counsel.”
The story of Esther was famous, and popular, especially amongst women. The Bible more often told of wicked, fallen women, so any agent of goodness was welcomed by our sex. No one misunderstood. Henry was Ahasuerus, led astray by Cromwell, his Haman. I was Esther, and the clergy were the Jews about to be slaughtered.
I would give good counsel to the King. I would save his people. I would defend the Church.
Skip finished by urging for good and godly reform. He said that funds seized by the Crown should be put to good use, such as supporting the decaying universities of the realm. “How necessary the maintenance of them is for the continuance of Christ’s faith and His religion!” he exclaimed.
Skip’s sermon was a call to arms, led by me. It challenged men not to consider worldly rewards they would gain here and now, but to think on their eternal souls. It called on Henry to reject the enticement of personal gain and work for his people, and it, too, named Cromwell and all who supported him, as enemies to the faith.
To drive home his point, Skip altered part of the story of Esther. According to the Bible, Haman offered to pay the King to cover the cost of the archers who would slaughter his people, but Skip reversed this, saying that Haman had promised to raise ten thousand talents for the Crown from the deaths of these people, adding that the King had told Haman he might take that money for himself when the massacre was done.
Haman, of course, failed, due to Esther’s intervention, and was hanged on a high gallows… a warning of what might come to Cromwell.
As the sermon ended, the congregation were almost in a state of riot. Everyone was talking, and several of Henry’s leading counsellors, Montague and Courtenay included, looked ready to make war. Cromwell excused himself, his face grey.
Straight after, Skip was hauled before the Council, accused of spreading malice, slander, presumption, lack of charity, sedition, treason, disobedience to the Gospel, and inciting anarchy.
“I want my almoner released,” I said to Henry when I heard Skip was being attacked.
“The man spoke wild!” he roared. “He all but accused me of ungodly, avaricious behaviour!”
“He accused you of nothing more than having poor counsellors,” I said calmly. “The offence, as my almoner readily pointed out, is not yours, my lord. Sin lies on those who would pilfer England for their own gain.” I stared at Henry. “The Dissolution Bill is passed, but it awaits your royal consent, my lord. Will you dissolve all religious houses in England, for the glory of your coffers, or will you look to the welfare of your people, and only disband some, leaving others to be reformed for the glory of God?”
“You, who have supported reform so long and viciously, now place yourself as a knight of the Church?” he asked in an incredulous tone.
“You know well enough that I have long said this wave of destruction is not to my liking,” I said. “And you, yourself, admitted it was not to yours either.”
I gazed at him. “I know you, my husband. Your conscience vexes you. I see it in your eyes. You know that outright dissolution of all the houses of God is not what the Almighty wishes. Your soul is so close to the spirit of God that you feel this, do you not? Skip spoke on my authority, Henry. It is my role, my duty, and my right as Queen to advise you where others cannot. Who else would dare to stand against Cromwell and others who, like pirates, would steal all that is good or might be made good from the Church? You say I have long supported reform, nothing has changed. I support reform, I support the dissolution of some houses, but I will not sanction acts that would impoverish the poor still further, and steal from England the next generation of learned souls who would lead her in the light of God.”
I could see I was winning. “When I sued for Cambridge University to be exempt from the tax levied upon them, you understood me,” I went on, speaking of a petition I had put to him the month before.
The University had been required to pay the First Fruits and Tenths, a tax on clergy taking up an ecclesiastical position in England. It was a portion of income, annates, and a tenth of their revenue thereafter. Universities were required to pay too, but if the charge had been levied, it would have diminished the number of scholars in each and every college. Understanding me, Henry had exempted them.
“There are men telling you that the only good that can come is to make the rich richer,” I said. “It is not so. We have a duty of care to England, my lord. A duty many of your Council have forgotten, for their convenience.”
“I will have your man released,” he said. “And I will think on all you say. Perhaps in their zeal, Cromwell’s men have been too fanatical.”
“When sheep stray, my lord, it is for you to bring them back to the herd.”
Henry suddenly smiled. “I thought some of my men might succumb to apoplexy,” he said. “Upon hearing Skip speak.”
Henry could be merry now, now that I had absolved him of blame and placed it upon Cromwell.
I chuckled. “I am glad that you have he
ard me,” I said, putting my hands about his thick neck. It was like hanging from a tree.
“I am glad I have a Queen who is so devoted to my people that she will risk my wrath by speaking out for them.”
“I cannot ever be anything less than honest.”
“How well do I know that,” Henry laughed. “And if, at times, I seem not to appreciate that quality in you, know that somewhere, deep down at times, I always do.”
“So you will release my man, and hear what my chaplains have to say about houses that deserve your protection?”
He kissed me. “I will.”
Skip was released from the Council that hour, much to their horror. They had thought he would spend time in the Tower for his impudence, but Henry ordered him back to my household. And if my foes thought I was about to rest there, they were gravely mistaken. That afternoon I called for my chaplains, and spoke to them about preaching in support of moderate, controlled reform.
“Make earnest petition for the salvation of deserving houses,” I said to them.
“Do they deserve such protection, Majesty?” asked Latimer.
“Did Christ abandon the fallen?” I asked. “Did he turn his face from the tax collector, or refuse to speak to lost women? If Christ could offer grace to those who slipped into sin, so can we. Help me to do God’s work. Do not be carried away by the lies of those who would profit from destruction. We take not the road that is easy and quick, but the path of what is right. And what is right and just takes work, gentlemen. It is all too easy to destroy. I ask you now to aid me in rebuilding the Church. This will be our sacred task.”
They promised to speak for moderate reform. Hugh Latimer, Henry’s favourite preacher, was apparently so convinced that in his next sermon he spoke of not dissolving any monasteries, but of putting them all to educational use. Latimer used Luke’s parable of the vineyard, saying that the vineyard confiscated from bad tenants had not been burned down, but handed to better owners. Monasteries should be used as places for good men to study and serve England, he said. Education should be the use their wealth was put to.
Cromwell left that service pale as a ghost.
My chaplains and preachers trooped out, as my army for God. But there was another I needed if I was truly to succeed. Cromwell controlled the Commons, the Lords, and held sway over the Council, but the Church would become my ally.
And if I was to stand with the Church of England, I required its leader to understand my will.
I sent for Cranmer.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Greenwich Palace
April 1536
The battle lines were drawn. Once, I had destroyed an impediment to my marriage, now I sought to remove one who stood in the way of the true faith.
Skip’s sermon, and the advance of my preachers into the streets, had brought hope to the Church. In the days that followed, archbishops, bishops and abbots all came, begging for my protection. But, even if I was working to shelter them, I was not about to let them get away with their past sins.
I lectured one delegation on the numerous abuses which had brought this fate on the Church, and chastised them for continuing to look to Rome.
“When all know that His Majesty the King is your true and just leader,” I said fixing a glittering eye upon them. “You have failed in many ways, gentlemen, and failed not only the people of England, who should have been your first and primary worldly responsibility, but also failed God, who put His trust in you.”
Some looked abashed and others did not. No doubt they had heard Skip’s sermon, which had been shared and published throughout England, leading to unbounded amazement in some quarters about my support for the Church. On the basis of this, they had expected me to welcome them with open arms. It was not so. No more would England’s clergy gain respect simply for their titles. I wanted to see them working for God, for the people and for Henry.
“My opinion is that the dissolution of your houses falls upon you for your just demerits as a deserved plague from the Almighty God,” I said. “Who, abhorring your lewdness, derideth your blind ignorance.”
There was muttering at the back. “But,” I said. “Until such a time as you shall cleanse and purify your corrupt life and doctrine, God will not cease to send His plagues upon you to your utter subversion.” I looked at each of them in turn. “Hear the whisper of God in your hearts,” I said, “and show the King that you will work towards goodness.”
That night, I was sent a message. All the abbots present at that meeting had offered substantial sums to add to my trusts for the support of poor scholars and preachers.
“They also offer you the right to the best livings in their gift,” Latimer said, “for they understand you will treat them more kindly than Cromwell.”
“It is a start,” I said, sitting back and stretching my arms. I was tired. It would have been a gross understatement to say that the past few days had been busy. My body screamed out for rest, but my soul was energised. “I leave it to you, Latimer, to appoint men to oversee this wealth they promise. Ensure it is put to good use. Let us put this into the fund for scholars, as they ask, and other funds we will use for the poor.”
“As you wish, Majesty,” he said.
“And appoint someone with impeccable bookkeeping and morals to oversee these affairs,” I said. “My enemies will seek any way to trip me after this. I want every penny accounted for. No one will assault me for lack of morals if I come to be inspected.”
“I will appoint a good man and a second to oversee his work,” said Latimer. “Nothing will be allowed to go astray.”
“What will you do next?” asked my brother as Latimer left.
“Persuade Henry to allow a great deal of exemptions on the merit of education,” I said. “The Church is our ally now, brother. They understand what they must do to keep our protection. We will have our reformation, and it will be magnificent. Generations will look back on this time and note how ill it might have gone. They will know all that was done to save England from the assault of corruption and tyranny.”
George was smiling. “What is it?” I asked.
“You have never been more a queen than you are now, in this moment,” said my brother. “I am awed by you, Your Majesty.”
As I stared at him, astonished, my brother swept into a deep, respectful bow.
*
“They cannot all be saved,” Henry said, his face growing red. “I have already told Cromwell as much when he came to tell me that perhaps more should be preserved than we had thought.”
So, you switch colours on the field of battle, do you Cromwell? I thought, vastly pleased that he had been sufficiently scared to run to Henry with a pacification deal in mind. Woman I might be, but I had a unique hold over Henry. Cromwell was afraid I might not only persuade our changeable King to salvage many religious houses, but I might too convince Henry to arrest him, much as I had with Wolsey.
But Henry was on the side of dissolution. He might say he would hear my pleas, but I knew I would not be able to save as many houses as I might like. Henry wanted their money. He lusted for it as he did for Jane Seymour. His father had set him up well, but over decades of reckless spending the royal coffers had dwindled. Henry wanted money to defend his lands, but he also wanted it so he might continue living in glory and riches. It was the right, if not the duty of every king to do so, but this, to me, was not the way.
“I do not speak for all the houses,” I said. “But there must be further and more impartial investigation of some.” I took out a letter and handed it to him. “I offer the sum of two thousand marks from my own purse to reprieve the closure of the convent at Catesby,” I said. “And I wish to secure the continuation of the convent of Nun Monkton too. Other houses will I speak for, if I am assured of their dedication to you, as Head of the Church, and to their vows. Any that must be disbanded, I will ask to be put to educational use.”
Henry looked displeased. “Is it not my right as your Queen to speak for your peopl
e?” I asked.
“It is,” he replied shortly. He did not like that I was pilfering his plunder.
“Then I shall continue to do so,” I said.
I should have seen his greedy slip of mind, his lust for gold. I thought Cromwell was leading him astray, but that was not wholly true. Henry had a mind, he had a will, and when it was set on something, nothing, not even love, would stand in his way.
*
“I bear ill tidings,” said my father, handing his travelling cloak to Elizabeth Browne. “Your mother is most unwell.”
I glanced up from the reams of parchment on my desk; more petitions for houses that wished to be protected, as well as a thank-you note from Cambridge University and a request from Lord Stafford, who wanted me to support his quest to attain the manor of Ranton Priory in Staffordshire. I was in demand, and many people recognised my influence, but my petition for Catesby Convent had not gone as planned. The nuns had written to Cromwell as well as to me, and he had told Henry that they could not support themselves. Henry turned down my request to save the convent. Although this was perfectly reasonable, I resented that Cromwell had intervened. But as my father spoke, every other worry in the world left me.