by Field, David
By the time that the French cavalry under the Duc de Longueville became aware that their path to Therouanne was blocked by lightly armoured 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 who knew their business, and showers of missiles from Imperial cannon. They first halted, then fled, urging their horses so hard in retreat that the encounter would be recorded for history as ‘The Battle of the Spurs’. 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.
The rout only ceased once the fleetest of the escaping French reached the safety of their own infantry lines, and the day belonged to the English. 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 and clattered head on 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.
Then it was on to Tournai, which yielded up its gates on 23rd September after an eight day siege. As Henry rode proudly through the heavily dented gates of the town in the front line of English knights, dressed more for ceremony than for battle, his eyes lit upon the cluster of Romanesque towers of the Cathedral de Notre-Dame, and he turned to Thomas.
‘We have captured several leading French nobles, whose ransoms will no doubt help to replenish our royal coffers, and there is clearly much within this noble town to pillage and take back with us. But what of you, Thomas? As a man of God, you will not, of course, seek material reward, but how say you that I make you a gift of this magnificent church?’
Thomas smiled in what he hoped was a self-deprecating manner.
‘With the deepest of respect, sire, the building itself belongs to his Holiness the Pope. While your armies have bravely conquered the remainder of the town, and may now set about removing therefrom anything of value, they cannot carry away the spiritual grace with which this noble edifice has been endowed over the years. Nor can its bishop yield so much as a gold candlestick, since all that lies within belongs to his Holiness.’
‘It has a bishop?’ Henry enquired with a smile.
‘It most certainly must have,’ Thomas replied, gazing upwards in envy, ‘given the richness of the building, which is clearly a cathedral. Every cathedral has a bishop, and there can be no Episcopal see without a cathedral.’
Henry caught the wistful look on the face of his Almoner, and was in a generous mood.
‘And it is the Pope who appoints bishops?’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘And will this new Pope be grateful to the King of England for forcing the French to scurry back north, where they were slaughtered in their hundreds?’
Thomas thought for a moment when he realised where the conversation was heading. In February of that year, Pope Julius II had died, and had been replaced by Pious X, who was a totally different pontiff from his predecessor. As Giovanni de’ Medici, he was the head of a wealthy Florentine family much given to excess in the matter of art, and as far distant in Papal policy from the former ‘warrior Pope’ as it was possible to get. But even he looked with fear and apprehension at the gradual conquest of the Italian city states by Louis of France, and while he might not maintain the fervour of his predecessor’s Holy League he would nevertheless be breathing a little easier at the recall of French troops necessitated by Henry’s break-out from Calais. More significantly, he could not afford to annoy or insult any of the remaining monarchs of Europe who had their own reasons for suppressing the French, and he might well be favourably responsive to any approach by Henry regarding the governance of a Flemish see.
‘Without warriors such as your Highness to protect his city state of Rome from marauding armies, his Holiness would be reduced to the status of a mere parish priest. I can assure you, sire, that when news is conveyed to him of your magnificent triumph over Louis, he will be the very soul of gratitude.’
‘He is not the only one to have cause to be grateful, Thomas. Without your most capable management, this army of mine would never even have reached Calais. Whatever it has cost, we will be rich in plunder and ransom ere much longer, but all I can offer you is the Bishopric of this somewhat ancient pile. Would that be sufficient reward?’
Thomas hid his elation behind his best unctuous smirk.
‘Your Highness does me great honour, and as ever you prove most generous in victory. But, with the greatest respect to your royal person, it will require the sanction of his Holiness, as I have previously explained.’
‘Leave his Holiness to me, Thomas,’ Henry grinned back. ‘In the meantime I will give out word that the cathedral must not be touched in the general pillage that seems destined to commence within the hour. Leave me now, and see to your reward.’
Thomas dismounted and walked jubilantly through the main doors of the magnificent cathedral, accompanied by two of his clerics, one of whom had been acting as his confessor during their time abroad. He genuflected in the doorway, then walked slowly down the long nave until he came to the transept, where he knelt and muttered a prayer of thanks. After being assisted back to his feet by his companions, he walked through the choir and prostrated himself before the altar. The cool flagstones reminded him that he would soon be clad in richer vestments, and as he gazed up at the golden candlesticks, other thoughts came to him as he recalled his last conversation with Henry.
He turned to his two clerics.
‘Henry, do you enquire as to the location of the Bishop’s Palace, which I suspect cannot be far distant, then search out the Earl of Northumberland, give him my best regards and heartiest congratulations on his victory, and request that half a dozen of his best armed men be stationed outside it to prevent looting, on the authority of the King’s Almoner. Gerald, you must return to our camp and collect six baggage wagons, and sufficient of those ruffians we recruited to our cause in Thames Street ere our departure, and bring them all to me here.’
Less than an hour later, a red-faced and highly indignant Bishop of Tournai glared angrily at Thomas, as teams of rough-looking English peasants set about removing plate, rich tapestries and ecclesiastical ornaments from the main hall of his Palace.
‘What means this outrage?’
Thomas smiled unpleasantly, and summoned up his best French.
‘It means, my lord Bishop, that you shall shortly be conducting Masses with less wealth as a sign of your office. You will also cease to be the Bishop of Tournai once the Pope gives his blessing to my ordination in your place. But you will not starve, since it is my wish that you continue to perform Holy office within the cathedral a few doors from here. However, you will ensure that all the revenues from your see are transmitted to the King’s Almoner in London. I am he, and unless it is your wish to minister to your flock in a humble village you will ensure t
hat every franc is duly accounted for.’
‘God will punish your treachery to the Holy mother Church!’
‘God perhaps,’ Thomas replied with a smirk as he turned to leave, ‘but his Holiness the Pope will in due course demonstrate how the best interests of his Church are served. Pax vobiscum.’
He swept from the Bishop’s Palace with a broad smile in order to rejoin Henry for dinner in his marquee in the English camp.
‘What say you, Talbot?’ a beaming Henry enquired as he took another generous swig from his wine goblet, ‘on to the walls of Paris?’
Talbot’s smile disappeared as he contemplated the bad news he had to impart.
‘Sire, the men are anxious to return home with their spoils. We have the Duc de Longueville in our baggage train, in addition to the Lord Clermont, who I am advised is King Louis’ vice-admiral, and others beside. Woe betide that they contrive to escape before we can secure the rich rewards for their ransom. It will also soon be winter, and then we shall not so easily live off French land as we have thus far.’
Henry’s smile thinned as he turned to Henry Percy.
‘My lord of Northumberland, do you share Talbot’s careful counsel?’
‘I do, sire. I may also add that without the skilled bombardiers of the Emperor, we would not have fared so well in sending the French racing back to their lines. But we can ill afford to take them with us to Paris, given their daily wages.’
Henry froze with the goblet halfway to his mouth, and turned angrily to Thomas.
‘We are paying Ferdinand’s men for their services?’
Thomas winced, then contrived a reassuring smile.
‘Thus far, yes, sire. But, as both your commanders in the field appear to be advising, there will be no further need of those services.’
Henry let fly a string of curses, and those around the board with him looked uncomfortably at anything other than his countenance. Northumberland silently mouthed an apology to Thomas for having revealed his hitherto secret commission to the Imperial forces, and by the time that Henry fell silent, Thomas was able to steer the conversation in another direction.
‘There is also the matter of Scotland, sire. Now that James is dead, your sister Margaret becomes Queen Regent for her son, the new King James V. This might be a good time to march on Edinburgh and let it be known that we will tolerate no more aggression while our backs are turned.’
‘A pox on Edinburgh!’ Henry raged. ‘I will deal with those upstart cock-suckers when it best suits me. As you point out, my sister Margaret will keep them in their places until she learns my intentions. But your reference to royal children reminds me that my dear Queen is near her time, and that we should be back at Richmond ere she takes to her lying-in chamber. We shall break camp and make for home as soon as it can be achieved. See to it, Thomas.’
Two months later, there was much rejoicing as Queen Katherine gave birth to another boy, joyously named Henry. Then came the seemingly inevitable, as the royal physicians proved inadequate to the task of keeping the infant alive, and it was an apprehensive Thomas who answered the royal summons a week later. He found Henry in the Privy Lodgings, staring out of the window down at the oily-flowing Thames beyond the outer wall.
‘Thomas, I have need of your wily counsel as how best to insult both the Emperor and my father in law of Spain at one and the same time.’
‘Sire?’ Thomas asked, somewhat taken aback by the bluntness of the request, but relieved that he had not been summoned to explain, yet again, his commitment of Henry’s finances to secure the entry of Maximilian into the fray in Flanders.
‘Come, Thomas,’ Henry reassured him as he placed his arm across Thomas’s shoulder, ‘let us not pretend that we have not been belittled by both of our so-called allies in the Holy League of the former Pope. It was left to us to send the French packing, and to oblige them to withdraw from Milan. Maximilian only joined battle because we paid him to do so, and as for the Spaniards, they were presumably still tilling their vines and tupping their goats well to the west while we did the Pope’s bidding. I have been publically humiliated, Thomas.’
‘Hal, there is not a monarch in Europe who does not fear you after your glorious victory in the Battle of the Spurs, and …’
Henry raised his other hand in a gesture to silence Thomas, and was clearly in no mood to be assuaged.
‘Spare me the honey that drips from your jaws, Thomas, and earn your keep. How stand things between us, Maximilian and Ferdinand?’
Thomas thought for a moment before replying. He had his own spies in the ecclesiastical trains of leading clergymen, and had recently learned, via a friend of Thomas Larke who was in the service of the Archbishop of York and currently in Rome, that Pope Pius was anxious to establish peace with France in order to protect Rome, and his own native Florence, from Louis’ rapid acquisition of Italian city states. This might be an opportune moment – for both England and Thomas – to support the Pope by allying with France and prevailing upon it to retreat from northern Italy. Thomas could also identify a way of slapping their former allies in the face in the process.
‘Hal,’ he suggested gently, ‘you cannot even begin to contemplate any insult to Ferdinand of Spain while you are married to his daughter, and while his grandson Charles is betrothed to your own sister Mary.’ Henry snorted.
‘As for the Queen, you might wish to ask Ferdinand if he has any other daughters who are capable of bearing sons, as did Katherine’s sister when she gave birth to Charles. Joanna may well be mad, as they say, but at least her loins yield up live boys.’
Thomas diplomatically let the point hang in the air, and moved on.
‘But the continued betrothal of the most eligible – and, if I might make so bold, the most beautiful – princess in Europe to the young man who Ferdinand no doubt sees as his successor, is hardly the best way to snub one’s nose at Ferdinand himself. Were the betrothal to be called off, not only would you be cocking a snook at Ferdinand, but you would also be tweaking the beard of Maximilian, who is Charles’s other grandfather.’
A broad smile crossed Henry’s face, before it faded again.
‘Excellent, Thomas! However, that then leaves the matter of who to offer Mary’s hand to. There cannot be an unmarried monarch in Europe who would not have her, but as I understand it, there is, unfortunately, no unmarried monarch in Europe at present.’
‘There is Louis himself, Hal,’ Thomas replied quietly, his fingers crossed behind his back. Henry stared sideways at him for an incredulous moment, then burst out laughing.
‘Thomas, there are times when you border upon genius! Not only do I kick the Emperor and my treacherous old fart of a father in law in the sweetbreads, but I also have the alliance of England’s oldest enemy, and the gratitude of the Pope! How can I possibly reward you this time?’
‘Lincoln,’ Thomas replied with a triumphant grin.
‘What about Lincoln?’ Henry enquired. Thomas adopted the best condoling look he could manage in the circumstances, before replying.
‘It is with some regret that I have to advise you of the death of Dr. Smith this past week. He had been in ill health for some time, and his passing was a blessing from God, given the bodily pains to which he was subject.’
When Henry still did not seem to have grasped the point, Thomas continued.
‘He was the Bishop of Lincoln, and his see therefore becomes vacant. Since his Holiness the Pope has not yet seen fit to confirm my appointment to Tournai, even despite your good offices, perhaps …’
‘Perhaps nothing, Thomas. Pius shall be left in no doubt that if he seeks my influence as the brother-in-law of the man who even now threatens the Holy See with his warhorses and siege engines, then he must indulge me in my choice of Bishop of Lincoln.’
‘You are most generous, Hal.’
‘And you, Thomas, are most ingenious. I would have you at my elbow whenever a knotty problem besets me, and yet I am told that your journey upriver this morning was del
ayed by an adverse tide, and the need to skirt much wreckage floating downstream from the recent winter gales in Oxfordshire.’
‘It is true, I’m afraid. Bridewell seems far from Richmond on days such as this.’
‘Then you must seek to establish yourself closer to me when the Court is here in Richmond. You should also have a country house, away from the unhealthy miasmas of the Fleet.’
‘At one time I had a house in Putney,’ Thomas reminded him, ‘and I must own that my health was much better when I could walk along the river bank without fear of cut-throats seeking my purse.’
Henry pointed out of the window, to his left.
‘Upriver, not five leagues from here, is the old Hospitaller house at Hampton, which for many years was leased by Sir Giles Daubney, my late father’s Chamberlain and a brave knight in many forays into France. He died some years ago, and I am forever receiving petitions from the Knights Hospitaller who seek either a new tenant or an outright purchaser of their estate. I have not seen it, but I am advised that its grounds sweep down to the river, and that from its steps it is but a few minutes’ journey to Richmond by barge. I can, should it convenience you, have a royal barge stationed there at all times for your use.’
‘You are, as ever, most gracious, Hal,’ Thomas mumbled. ‘If there is nothing further …’