The Scarlet Peacock

by Field, David

  Thomas soon had another opportunity to demonstrate his growing influence, this time wearing his ecclesiastical garments to maximum effect. He had retained the services of the brothers Wakely to carry the cross of York high in the air before him wherever he walked in religious procession, and it was the taller of the two, Roger, who was performing this duty as Thomas, in his regalia of York, walked slowly and solemnly down Broad Sanctuary towards the main entrance to Westminster Abbey, in order to assist in the High Mass to celebrate Easter Sunday 1515. Behind Thomas came an army of attendant priests summoned from their benefices within his diocese, fully arrayed in their finest vestments, and selected entirely on the basis of their height.

  As his procession wound its way towards the stone archway entrance, it passed through the waiting assembly of the Archbishop of Canterbury, which by tradition would enter the Abbey last, in order that William Warham might preside over the service, assisted by York, Winchester, London and Durham. Thomas smiled to himself at the open mouths and aghast stares of the Canterbury company as Roger Wakely walked past the cross bearer of Canterbury with the cross of York held high in the air, and winked cheekily sideways at him.

  After the service, wine and wafers had been laid out in the vestry, and Henry and Katherine were distracted from their polite conversations with Norfolk, Suffolk and their respective wives by a heated argument between Thomas and Archbishop Warham.

  ‘It has ever been the tradition,’ Warham was almost shouting, red-faced, at Thomas, who was responding with an arrogant grin, ‘that the York cross should not be raised in the presence of Canterbury.’

  ‘They are both crosses of God, my lord Archbishop,’ Thomas replied calmly, thoroughly enjoying the prospect that Warham might have a seizure and drop down dead before him, both proving Thomas’s point and yielding him the highest ecclesiastical office in the land.

  Henry walked over, leaving the rest of his company behind. He raised an eyebrow towards Warham.

  ‘Tell me, Canterbury, what displeases you so much regarding the actions of York?’

  ‘He raises his cross in the presence of mine,’ Warham replied petulantly, like a schoolboy complaining to a schoolmaster of the behaviour of a fellow people. Henry smiled.

  ‘On this day of all days, is it not fitting that as many crosses of our Lord as possible be raised towards the sky?’

  ‘But York comes second to Canterbury,’ Warham objected, ‘and it diminishes the office of the Primus totius Angliae to have York’s cross raised in its presence.’

  ‘It also diminishes the office of Canterbury,’ the king replied softly, ‘for its holder to be brawling in the vestry of London’s finest cathedral with another clergyman whose only offence was to display his pride in his office. No more of this, by my command.’

  Warham strode off, muttering darkly, and Henry turned to Thomas.

  ‘Was he correct, Thomas? Did you insult his office?’

  ‘Not his office, Hal. Perhaps his dignity.’

  ‘Is it true that Canterbury outranks York in such matters?’

  ‘Strictly speaking, yes.’

  ‘And is there any office below that of Pope that is higher than Canterbury?’

  ‘Only that of a Papal Cardinal.’

  ‘And they are appointed by the Pope, on the advice of the Holy Roman Emperor, are they not?’ Henry enquired.

  ‘Certainly the Emperor can be most influential in such matters.’

  ‘Then it is perhaps meet that we shall shortly be entertaining the next one with such splendour, is it not?’

  Thomas smiled.

  ‘You would intervene for me in this matter with Charles of Spain?’

  ‘With the Pope himself if necessary, Thomas. A red hat would match your countenance on a hot day like today. But when at last you wear it, never forget who helped to place it on your head.’

  CHAPTER 8

  Feathering the peacock

  Not everything went immediately to plan for Thomas. For one thing, his suggestion to invite Charles of Spain to London, where he might be feted and sounded out as a possible ally of England against Francis of France, was opposed in Council, and for more than one reason. Some argued that since Charles was not yet infeft of all those crowns that would make him the most powerful monarch in Europe, it would be displaying England’s hand too early to side with him against Francis in what was likely to become a drawn out war of attrition between two monarchs who heartily detested each other.

  Charles had not even acquired Spain without a struggle. He was the son of Philip of Castile and his mad wife, Joanna, and through the latter he was the grandson of Ferdinand of Spain, who had ruled Aragon in his own right, and Castile as Regent following the death of Philip and because of the uncertainty that surrounded the sanity of Joanna. It had taken a factional war within the country to establish Charles’s claim to rule alone, and to overrule the terms of Ferdinand’s will that had left Castile’s governance in the joint hands of Joanna and the Cardinal Archbishop of Toledo. Charles emerged as King of Aragon and Castile (in effect, Spain) only in 1516, and he would have to wait for others to die before he acquired any more territories or titles.

  He would have to await, in particular, the death of his other grandfather, Maximilian, in order to become Charles V of Germany, and although the monarch of that country was customarily regarded as Emperor-elect of the Holy Roman Empire, there could be no guarantees, since the choice of Emperor was at the final election of the remaining European monarchs, one of whom was of course Francis of France, who was expected to tilt for the title himself.

  As matters stood, Charles was the weaker of the two, and there were powerful voices in Council urging Henry to stay his hand, rather than plunge in and declare support for Charles. For at least one of those influential in Council – The Duke of Norfolk – there were more personal reasons for deferring any early alliance with Charles. For one thing, his son-in-law Thomas Boleyn was still in Paris as England’s Ambassador, and still resident with him, and dependent upon his protection, were Norfolk’s two granddaughters, Mary and Anne Boleyn, for whom positions at the English Court had still not been promised.

  Secondly, he was reluctant to allow Thomas Wolsey, the low-born cleric who had such influence over Henry, another opportunity to display his wealth and position by throwing open his massive residence at York Place, with great ostentation, as the only Palace in London currently capable of hosting a visit by a foreign monarch.

  Archbishop Warham sided with Norfolk, at least on the matter of delaying the invitation to Charles. He already had more than one score to settle with his arrogant Archbishop of York, and he was opposed to any policy that might provoke further war with France. Charles could chance his arm, and his crowns, in such a venture if he wished, but Warham still had enough of the cleric about him in his declining years to be against any policy that might drag English forces once more beyond the Pale of Calais to their deaths. Also, as Chancellor of All England, he was mindful of the cost of such a venture.

  For once Thomas could not purport to represent Henry’s views, since the King himself made a point of attending the Council at which the invitation to Charles to visit England was being argued. To Thomas’s chagrin, the gleeful response he had received from Henry to his initial proposal for the royal visit had been replaced by a churlish obstinacy that seemed, to Thomas at least, to be the product of a cooling between Henry and his Queen. Whereas in previous years Katherine could bring considerable influence to bear on Henry’s policies, and was known to be eager to welcome her nephew to the land of her marriage, it seemed that she had lost some of her influence with her husband.

  Thomas was well aware of the tittle-tattle around the Court that Henry had taken up with Bessie Blount, and was reminded of the lady’s absence from the Queen’s side at their last meeting. If Henry now had a mistress hand-picked by him from the Queen’s Ladies, it was hardly surprising that matters matrimonial had cooled in consequence. At all events Thomas was outvoted, but was in
structed to send word to Thomas Boleyn that the time was perhaps appropriate to remove himself and his daughters from the French Court.

  However, if Thomas could not play host at York Place, he could do so at Hampton Court, which was finally ready for occupation in time for the Midsummer Ball that he had promised himself he would host for the King. The new building outshone anything else easily accessible from London in terms of its size and its opulence. Those arriving from the south side, by river, would wind their way on foot through magnificent gardens that were overlooked by a long gallery containing so many windows that those approaching it on a sunny evening would be all but blinded by the reflection of the sun’s dying rays.

  Those approaching it by horse along the dusty roadway out of London would be required to pass through a most impressive red brick archway that opened out into a massive courtyard, around and above which were guest suites for forty families, each with two rooms and a garderobe. There were private suites of rooms for Thomas himself, and the new Palace had been constructed with royalty in mind, with the King and Queen each having a suite of rooms for themselves, and adjoining suites for the Queen’s Ladies and / or a royal prince or princess. The complex had the largest banqueting hall anywhere in the country, and a private chapel that was the size of an average parish church. Every room was hung with lavish tapestries imported from the Continent, and changed every week.

  Thomas winced as he read the guest list supplied by the King’s Chamberlain. The Queen would not be attending, a further sign of the cooling of marital relations, and her place as official hostess would be taken, as had become customary, by the Princess Mary, Duchess of Suffolk, along with her husband Charles Brandon. But the absence of the Queen also meant the absence of her Ladies – all, that is, except one. Thomas was instructed by Henry to allocate to Bessie Blount the sole occupation of the suite adjoining the Queen’s nominal suite of rooms, which would be empty on this occasion. Since this adjourned the King’s chambers on the other side, this meant that there would be only two internal doors between Henry’s bedchamber and that occupied by Bessie Blount, and they would have a choice of three beds in which to conduct their brazen affair. What Henry did was entirely a matter for his own conscience, of course, but Thomas would have to feign ignorance if he wished to retain favour with Katherine. On the other hand, it might no longer be in his best interests to do so, given the Queen’s waning prestige with Henry.

  The other matter of concern to Thomas lay in the invitations extended to a group of young courtiers who were rapidly gaining the King’s favour. Henry was no longer in the first flush of youth, and was rapidly acquiring an unhealthy paunch, but was seeking to bolster his boyish image by surrounding himself with a group of mindless sycophants barely out of their teens who occupied positions close to Henry personally. They were officially entitled ‘The Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber’, but they were better known colloquially as ‘the minions’, and they were a serious threat to Thomas’s position as the only voice in Henry’s ear. And some of them were equally jealous of the power and influence of the lowly-born Archbishop of York.

  They were led by the wild, debauched and thoroughly disreputable ‘Vicar of Hell’, Francis Bryan, a cousin of the Boleyn faction, and highly influential with Henry because of his wayward temperament, and his willingness to take the blame for every disgraceful escapade in which they took part, Henry heavily disguised for the occasion. Bryan was the brother in law of another of the minions, Nicholas Carew, a lifelong friend of Henry’s, and another, like Charles Brandon, who had shared the royal nursery. Sir Nicholas was also another Boleyn cousin who could be relied upon to support Norfolk’s interests, and he and Bryan were clearly a potential obstacle to Thomas, who was already scheming in his mind to have them sent on diplomatic missions that would remove them, periodically, from the royal presence. Other acolytes within this little clique who surrounded Henry during his waking hours were Sir Henry Norreys and William Carey, cousin to the powerful Percys of Northumberland. At least Thomas could count on some support there, since Thomas was a great friend of William’s uncle Henry Percy, whose son – named after him – was currently a page in Thomas’s rapidly growing entourage, and Thomas had his wardship.

  Then there was the wiper of the royal arse, or ‘Groom of the Stool’, Sir William Compton, whose duties, far from being menial and degrading, were regarded as a great honour, given the intimacy that those duties involved, and the opportunity to be literally ‘privy’ to the King’s most confidential thoughts. It was also part of the Groom’s duties to supply whores for the royal bedchamber on those occasions when they were required, and Henry’s reliance upon him could not have contrasted more sharply with those matters on which he sought Thomas’s counsel. William had begun his royal service as a page to the young Prince Hal, and the two were close friends.

  The guests began arriving in the late afternoon, either walking in wonder through the gardens as they stepped off the wherry at the river steps, or handing their sweating mounts to the grooms who led them by their bridles to the copious stables inside the entrance court. From there it was up a grand flight of stairs, and through the Great Hall, to the chambers allocated to them. Thomas was duly advised when Mistress Blount arrived, and he despatched Gilbert Talboys to partner her in the festivities to follow. Gilbert owed Thomas much, since he also had been allocated a position in York’s household after his father George had begun to display signs of insanity, and had been charitably hidden away in a monastery in Hertfordshire under Thomas’s notional protection.

  Thomas walked proudly down the centre of the Great Hall as the mummers and musicians took their places in the galleries and the wide space between the long trestle tables. In the very centre of the high table there was an ominous gap, and as Thomas bowed respectfully to the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, the Princess Mary leaned across the board and whispered to him hoarsely, a look of alarm on her face.

  ‘Where is my brother, the King? Has aught happened to delay him?’

  ‘He will be along in due course, my lady,’ Thomas replied with a sly wink at Charles Brandon who was privy to the plan, ‘but he has asked that you formally welcome the guests, in order that the banquet may begin.’

  Mary duly obliged, and on cue a fanfare announced the entry of the first courses, thirty-seven of them served in fine silverware that had once graced the Bishop’s Palace in Tournai. They were followed by an equal number of main dishes of every meat and fish known to high-born society, the whole washed down with seemingly limitless quantities of assorted wines imported for the occasion, and served from yet more silverware that had once seen ecclesiastical service in Flanders. The guests were well into the sweet courses of spun sugar fashioned into the likenesses of castles, cathedrals, swans and boars when from outside could be heard the distinctive sound of cannon fire, and it suddenly fell silent.

  Thomas, who had at this point not occupied any seat, called towards the high table, at which were seated the Earl of Worcester, the King’s Chamberlain, and Sir Edward Poynings, Comptroller of the Royal Household.

  ‘Gentlemen, pray discover who seeks to disturb our revelries with such warlike noises.’

  The two men walked the length of the hall and climbed onto window seats in order to peer out of the mullioned windows towards the river, where many torches could be seen blazing as they were held above the heads of a dozen richly dressed men who had just disembarked from a vessel that lay moored in the Thames.

  ‘From their dress, my lord, they appear to be envoys of some princely power, and they would seem to be approaching through the gardens.’

  ‘Pray go down and meet with them, my Lord of Worcester, and report back regarding their business with us this night of all nights.’

  The Chamberlain did as requested, and reappeared after a suspiciously short absence with a dozen men loitering in the doorway, as if awaiting a summons to enter. Worcester bustled in ahead of them, and announced

  ‘They are indeed from foreign parts
my lord, and whilst in the city did hear much regarding the great festivities here this night. They ask simply that they might be allowed to enter and engage the ladies in games of mumchance, after which perhaps they might be graciously afforded the opportunity to dance with them, since they express themselves as never having seen so rare a bevy of fair dames.’

  ‘Let them enter,’ Thomas announced, and into the Great Hall pranced as bizarre a sight as could ever be imagined at an English banquet. There were perhaps a dozen men of above average height, each dressed in rich garments in the Turkish fashion, with baggy trousers and surcoats of rich silk in every imaginable colour, topped off with turbans in matching hues. Each of them was bearded, but on closer inspection the beards appeared to be more of silk thread than human hair, and by the time that several games of dice had been won and lost, and each of the visitors seemed to have secured the undivided attention of a lady, it was being murmured through the company that the entire business was a mummery of some sort.

  Sensing that the moment had come, Thomas gave a hand signal to Lord Chamberlain Worcester, who called loudly for attention, and announced that

  ‘Our guests have advised me that there is one among their number who, were he divested of his beard, would be esteemed worthy to relieve the Princess Mary of the duties of hosting this Midsummer feast. He requests that my Lord Archbishop make worthy effort to divine which of their company he be.’

  Thomas smiled and walked down the hall towards the recent entrants, who now stood in line like soldiers being inspected in camp. Eventually he pointed to a tall man dressed all in green and sporting a black beard.