by Field, David
While Thomas had been rising to academic pre-eminence, the fortunes of his old enemy Thomas Howard had sunk to a new level as the result of his family’s poor choice of who to accompany onto the battlefield. It was now 1488, and there was a new king on the throne, following the defeat of Richard of Gloucester in a short but bloody skirmish in an obscure field in Leicestershire. The Duke of Norfolk had fallen early in the encounter with Henry of Richmond, the Henry Tudor who now ruled England as the seventh Henry of that name, and who had expressed his displeasure at the support given to Richard III by the Duke’s son, the Earl of Surrey, Thomas Howard’s father. The family’s estates had been attainted, and were now in the grasping pocket of a monarch seeking to replenish a bankrupt royal Treasury, while the Earl of Surrey himself, while escaping with his life, was now a guest of the Constable of the Tower, while his son skulked in Ipswich with his cousins.
Thomas Wolsey had no desire to return to his home town, even to witness the fall of the old adversary who would most likely be even more eager to mangle him into pulp just to demonstrate his self-deluding superiority. Nor did he have any developed idea as to where he might venture with his first degree, and he was therefore easily persuaded to spend more of his father’s money in the acquisition of another, this time a Master’s degree in Arts, which he achieved in 1491. He further delayed any decision about where he might go next by accepting appointment as a Fellow of Magdalen College, a teaching position in which he was required to instil elements of Divinity and Moral Philosophy into the minds of the young pupils who attended the College School that served as a preparatory for Magdalen itself. This – plus his almost automatic decision to become an ordained priest in March 1498, at the hand of the Bishop of Salisbury – was to set his feet on the bottom-most rung of a career ladder that would rarely, if ever, be excelled by anyone whose origins lay in a Suffolk meat market.
Among his pupils at Magdalen College were the three sons of the Marquis of Dorset, Thomas Grey. Grey was the son of Queen Dowager Elizabeth Woodville by her first marriage to Sir John Grey, and when she had married Edward of York and become Queen of England, his Courtly status had risen along with the rest of the Woodvilles. When his stepsister Elizabeth also became Queen by virtue of her marriage to the incoming Henry VII he had benefitted from the final uniting of the houses of York and Lancaster, and his rising fortunes had enabled him to have his eldest sons expensively educated.
From them he heard much praise regarding the inspirational teaching of the young priest Thomas Wolsey who was also the Dean of Divinity at the school, and out of curiosity he invited Thomas to spend Christmas with the boys at the family home at Groby, a Leicestershire estate within an hour’s ride of Sutton Cheney, where Richard III had been defeated. In only a few days he was so impressed by Thomas’s learning, agile tongue and gracious manner that he presented him as rector to the vacancy at St Mary’s at Limington in Somerset. Thomas was, as it transpired, urgently in need of a living, since he had been forced out of office as Bursar of Magdalen College as the result of an early indication of his love of pomp and splendour. He had committed sizeable sums of College money to the completion of a magnificent tower, and had done so without the appropriate authority; the College authorities were advised of his appointment to Limington, and enforced an old College ordinance that forbade a Fellow of the College to hold any other gainful office.
In October 1500, the former butcher’s son caught sight of his reflection in the window of the vestry in which he had donned the vestments of a priest of the Church of Rome, ahead of conducting his very first Mass. Underneath everything was the new white ‘alb’ gown, a symbol of the purity of every servant of God, fastened around his waist by the gold cincture. Draped across his shoulders, and lying directly on the alb, was the purple and gold stole that hung down on either side of it. As Thomas raised his arms and intoned the prescribed blessing prayer, his two sturdy assistants lifted the heavy green chasuble over his head and into place on his shoulders; then finally the humeral veil was placed over his shoulders and back. It added considerably to the overall weight of the vestments that he was required to wear, but was essential for the raising of the Blessed Sacrament as the Mass reached its crucial moment.
He smiled his thanks to his assistants, and bid them take their places at the side of the altar inside the church, where he would join them once he heard the choir begin the Veni, Domini. As they left the vestry with solemn faces, Thomas looked back at the overall effect reflected in the window glass.
‘No filthy hose here,’ he muttered with a smile as he heard the opening anthem and walked out to impress the congregation with the richness of his apparel and the sanctity of his office.
*
A year later he was in conflict with the secular authorities, in the person of Sir Amyas Paulet, whose family had effectively ruled most of the area around Yeovil for several generations from their fine seat in Hinton St. George. It began in June, when his lordship, who was also the local sheriff, sent a stern note of reproval to Thomas via his steward, following complaints he had received regarding the regular absence of Thomas himself from Sunday Mass, which was frequently conducted by one of his assistants. It also announced Sir Amyas’s intention of attending Limington church the following Sunday, in order to assess the complaints for himself. Thomas reacted in a manner that gave him great satisfaction; the following Sunday, when Sir Amyas took his customary place at the head of the procession to receive the sacrament, Thomas asked the first six or so to form a line in front of him, and deliberately offered the chalice and wafer first to the man at the opposite end of the line, who was the village blacksmith.
It came to a head during the village fair to celebrate Harvest Festival. As usual, the apple harvest had been garnered some weeks beforehand, and there was a stall set up inside the fair on the village green at which local rough cider could be purchased for a groat. Thomas had many groats at his disposal, and had already developed a liking for the powerful local brew. When the stall opened, he was the first in line, a point not to be overlooked by the lord of the manor he had demoted down the queue for the sacrament weeks earlier. Paulet sent his steward to Thomas’s side with a message.
‘My lord says to remind you, father, that this is his manor, and that he should be ahead of you in the queue.’
Thomas looked down his nose at the timorous steward, then smiled.
‘Remind your master that the apples come from God, and are best sampled first by His representative in this community.’
Later that afternoon, Paulet’s revenge was sweet. It had been a hot day, and Thomas had consumed more cider than was advisable for an overweight man wearing a long black cassock. While wiping his brow for the tenth time that afternoon, he became light-headed and sat unceremoniously on his bottom in the recently scythed grass, to the excited chortles of several villagers. Paulet was attracted by the noise, and saw his chance. He had earlier been plagued by locals to select a suitable target for the traditional fruit-throwing ceremony, in which a local ‘worthy’ was installed in the stocks on the village green in order that others might pitch over-ripe fruit in their direction upon payment of a silver penny for the local Poor Fund. The victim was normally one of Paulet’s senior household, such as his steward, but this was too good to miss. Accompanied by the parish constable and two of his grooms he strode over to where Thomas was sitting on the ground, still grinning childishly.
‘I see we have a suitable candidate for this year’s ripe fruit pitching. Place this man in the stocks, and let the festivities commence.’
Thomas’s grin disappeared instantly, as he glared up at Paulet.
‘God will punish your sin should you allow over-ripe fruit to be hurled at one of His anointed wearing his garment of office.’
Paulet took his sword from its scabbard, lowered the point and gently lifted the hem of Thomas’s cassock, before bending forward to peer up it.
‘This may well be, but He will think little of same should that ma
n be clad only in his shirt and hose.’ He turned to his retainers and grinned.
‘Remove his cassock, and place him in the stocks clad only in his undergarments.’
Five minutes later, as the first of the browning tomatoes splattered down the front of his undershirt, and several of its seeds bounced onto his hose, Thomas asked himself whether he had really progressed all that far in his life. Once again he had filthy hose, but one day the man responsible for that would pay dearly.
There was some irony in the fact that his response to being so mockingly treated proved to be the opening of the next chapter of his career. The obvious course for him to take in order to complain regarding his rude handling was not in the secular court – which contained only local justices who owed their appointment to the Paulet family – but to his own superior, the Bishop of Bath and Wells, within whose diocese his parish lay. Once the Bishop had suppressed his amusement at the mental picture he had formed of the portly and somewhat pompous young priest, clad only in his undergarments, being pelted with ripe fruit to the delight of his parishioners, his Grace bade him take a glass of wine while he put a proposition to him.
‘Rarely have I come across a parish priest so minded to defy the secular power of the landed gentry, who in the main lack both manners and spiritual grace. I should perhaps vouchsafe to you, in confidence of course, that I am much vexed by this man Paulet, who is forever bombarding me with letters of complaint regarding how my clergymen conduct their offices. He has also caused complaint to be sent to the Archbishop of Canterbury, no less, regarding two benefices that remain unfilled within my diocese. They are at Ilchester and Yoevilton, and since it would seem that your duties at Limington do not unduly tax you, since you absent yourself from them, perhaps you might also wish to absent yourself from two more of my parishes.’
Thomas frowned, unsure of what was being proposed.
‘It is your wish that I become a pluralist, your Grace? Surely, and with the deepest respect to your office, that will require the authority of the Primate of All England.’
‘Indeed it will, Thomas, indeed it will, but how better to send a message to Sir Amyas that I will not be dictated to in the affairs of my office? Not only will I have formally answered his demand that the two empty benefices be filled, but I will be leaving him in no doubt that the choice of incumbent is mine, and as an additional rebuke for his insolence I will have done so by installing the one man who can withstand his temporal arrogance and further inflame his wrath by failing to preside over three Masses at the same time.’
‘And you will intercede for me with his Grace of Canterbury?’
‘No, Thomas,’ the bishop smiled. ‘I shall send you in person to argue your case, but shall arm you with a note under my hand that you may present to Archbishop Deane in person, assuring him of your suitability for three benefices and your determination to prevent our Mother Church being run by Philistines armed with swords rather than God’s holy spirit.’
Thomas lost no time in riding to Canterbury on a donkey that he had purchased a year previously at Yeovil Market, and which seemed to him most fitting, given that Our Lord had chosen a similar beast on which to ride into Jerusalem on his final journey to the cross. He spent the night before his audience on his knees in his humble cell in the hospitium of a local monastery, praying to God to honey his tongue in the manner best suited to address the head of the Church of which Thomas was only a humble parish priest.
Archbishop Deane had a promising smile on his face as he put down the letter from the Bishop of Bath and Wells and indicated for Thomas to take a seat after he had kissed the ring on his hand.
‘It seems we at long last have priests of the same stern mettle displayed by my predecessor in office, who shared your Christian name. Thanks to Thomas Becket, the Church has always been afforded its rightful place – until now. The recent wars seem to have robbed men of their love for their fellow men, and as yet we have no way of knowing how far our new king will be guided by Christ in his conduct of affairs of state.’
‘I have heard that he is most pious,’ Thomas offered tactfully.
‘Indeed, he has demonstrated a desire not to interfere with God’s holy ordinance during my meetings with him, although those have been mainly in my capacity as Keeper of the Great Seal. However, closer to hand I am obliged almost daily to engage in disputes with the town authorities regarding the crowds that flock to Becket’s Shrine.’
‘These pilgrims no doubt bring great wealth to the town, as I’m sure your Grace regularly reminds the town bailiffs,’ Thomas replied diplomatically, unsure where the conversation was leading.
‘Indeed, had I the time, I would be constantly reminding them that without the cathedral, there would be no town,’ the Archbishop confirmed. ‘Unfortunately, as Primate of All England, and Keeper of the Seal, I have other matters with which to concern myself than the state of the local streets. Perhaps a man such as you could do battle in my stead?’
Thomas deflected his eyes to the floor in a submissive glance while urging his heart to beat less exaltedly as he took in the implication.
‘You have God’s work for me to do here in Canterbury, your Grace?’
Deane smiled.
‘Bath and Wells advises me that you are ambitious, while adding that you are competent, diligent and most persuasive in argument. I am inviting you to become my chaplain, Thomas.’
Wolsey could hardly draw breath to reply, which Deane took as a sign of uncertainty.
‘Since you already have three benefices to which you give scant regard, by all accounts, you should not look for any great financial reward here at Canterbury. However, the nature of the position I am offering you is one that would appeal to any man of your ambition. It will involve regular attendance upon me wherever I go, which these days is increasingly to the Court. Richard Foxe, the previous Bishop of Bath and Wells, and now the Bishop of Winchester and Lord Privy Seal, is ever seeking clerics who can negotiate matters of state without being overawed by nobility, and it may be that between us we can commend you to his Majesty for diplomatic duties across the Channel. By comparison, hearing the confessions of an old man like me will be of little account.’
‘Your Grace does me great honour, for which I will swear before God to prove worthy,’ Thomas mumbled.
‘See that you do, Thomas, see that you do,’ the Archbishop admonished him. ‘And now your first duty must be to chase me to the bottom of this jug of excellent claret.’
CHAPTER 2
The clerk ascending
Although not yet thirty years of age, Thomas was now, in financial terms, comfortable if not quite wealthy. Given his taste for extravagance, this was perhaps as well, but once Archbishop Deane had formally granted the necessary dispensation for Thomas to enjoy the revenues from three benefices at the same time, while ministering to the prelate in a purely ecclesiastical capacity, Thomas was clearly in need of more than one house, which in turn would require a somewhat flexible and portable household.
He began with a modest four-roomed house in Canterbury itself, in which he installed a steward and a cook, while acquiring several ushers, footmen and servers locally from the town on a ‘live out’ basis. Given his need to occasionally show his face in one or other of his livings in Somerset, in order to justify their stipends while leaving the actual conduct of the services and other holy offices to lesser clergy upon payment of a pittance, he also required a house further north than Canterbury. He chose a comfortable dwelling in Putney, close to the old bridge that would allow him to cross the Thames with speed should he be needed in Westminster when the Archbishop was in attendance on the King, while being only a mile or so down the road from Fulham Palace, the ‘country’ residence of the Bishop of London, regularly served by wherry from Westminster steps.
In this house Thomas installed a cook, a steward, a footman and a groom. He also deemed the time appropriate to appoint his own chaplain, and for this task he selected a young man called Thomas Larke,
a fellow East Anglian a few years younger than Thomas and the son of a Thetford innkeeper. Thomas saw in Thomas Larke a kindred soul who did not possess the wit to rise as quickly as his employer had done; he was therefore no threat to his master’s ambitions, but was perfectly competent to carry out simple clerical duties such as conducting Mass twice daily – an old school observance that had become a habit for Thomas – and being an ordained priest himself he would have no need of accommodation for any family of his own.
The choice of a house just outside London proved to be a wise one, since Henry Deane seemed to be more in the King’s service than he was in the service of God, and was almost permanently resident in one of the lesser suites of rooms in Richmond Palace, the favoured residence of Henry VII and his queen, Elizabeth of York. Here was installed a second royal nursery for the princesses of the union, additional to their official one at Eltham, while the princes Arthur and his younger brother Henry were, as tradition demanded, housed in Westminster, where Arthur in particular might be tutored for the regal role that he would one day occupy. But even as Prince of Wales Arthur had an important meeting with destiny, and it was the preparation for this that brought Thomas face to face once more with his old adversary.
Henry VII was more inclined toward international diplomacy than he was the expenditure of vast sums of money on foreign wars, and he had sought to ally himself with the growing power of Spain by marrying Arthur off to the young Infanta of Aragon, Katherine. She was one of the daughters of the marriage of Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile that had brought ‘Spain’, as it was now called, onto the international stage, and she came with a rich dowry that the money-wise King Henry could not resist, whatever Arthur might think of the somewhat swarthy-skinned, dumpy, solemn young girl who spoke not a word of English, and could only communicate with her fifteen year old bridegroom in Latin.