The Scarlet Peacock

by Field, David

  ‘I believe him to be the man of whom you spoke.’

  There was a familiar bellow of raucous mirth as a man two persons away from him, dressed all in orange, pulled down his beard to reveal himself as King Henry. Almost everyone in the Great Hall fell to their knees while cheering and laughing, and Sir Edward Neville, a man of precisely the same build and general bearing as Henry, and dressed all in green, pulled down his black beard with a broad grin of triumph.

  Thomas had of course been in on the secret from the very beginning, and with one arm extended towards the high table he bowed and gestured grandly for Henry to take his vacant seat at the head of the table. As the other gentlemen who had taken part in the charade strolled to the places that had lain vacant for them, Henry shouted down the hall that ‘we must needs change our apparel as befits English nobles, and that before we eat or drink.’

  Henry was escorted to his apartment, where a suitable change of garments had been laid out on his bed, and a fire lit three hours previously. During his absence the tables were completely stripped and recovered with perfumed cloths, and a second banquet was loaded onto the boards. The dawn was breaking over the distant city before the last of them either slid under the board, or was assisted to their chambers, and at around noon the following day, Henry appeared groggily in Thomas’s chambers to advise him that the entire enterprise had been a great success, and that for a man of God he appeared to know a great deal about the pleasures of life.

  Barely a month later, they were met to discuss darker matters. King Francis had finally wrested the strategic city of Milan from the Confederacy of Swiss States that had held it for some time. He had done so in a massive show of armed aggression at a place called Marignano, and the balance of power in Europe had shifted dramatically. Milan was strategically important from the perspective of those who lived both north and south of it; to the Swiss it was a southern bastion against access to their Alpine passes, while to any conquering army from the north it was the gateway to the more southerly Italian city states, including Rome. The Pope was now under serious threat, and Charles of Spain and Henry of England were the only two monarchs who could come to his aid. The Swiss Confederacy would never take the field of battle again, but declared themselves strictly neutral after their massive defeat. Almost immediately afterwards, news came that Charles was facing a revolt against his rule in Spain by a conglomeration of Castilian cities known as the comuneros.

  Still the King’s Council stood firm against any official alliance with Charles, and Henry was watching this sudden rise of France with jealousy and apprehension. He was also frustrated by the apparent pacifism of Warham and Norfolk, and a little unnerved that for once Thomas could not sway the meeting. Late one afternoon he summoned Thomas from York Place down to Westminster to discuss what they might do to promote their desire to ally with Charles of Spain without needing to consult the Council.

  Thomas had been thinking deeply about several issues that he knew were worrying the King, and the failure to obtain Council support for a treaty with Charles was one of them. If he could find a way through the impasse, he would not only confirm his primary status as the voice in Henry’s ear, but he would also be well regarded by Queen Katherine, who was known to be well aware of Henry’s dalliance with Bessie Blount, had dismissed her from her service in a fit of pique, and was quietly seeking revenge against those who had provided the facilities for the two of them to meet in secret. Thomas knew that he was vulnerable in this regard, and that it would best serve his interests to be able to reunite the angry Queen with her nephew. As a result, he had thought particularly deeply regarding this issue, and had a possible solution to hand when he accepted the cup of wine and sat with Henry in the Presence Chamber at Westminster.

  ‘What are we to do, Thomas?’ asked the perplexed Henry. Thomas smiled his unctuous smile of reassurance.

  ‘I have in mind going on a pilgrimage, Hal.’ Henry frowned.

  ‘You cannot desert me at this time, when there are so many urgent affairs of state that require your agile mind and your filed tongue.’ It was Thomas’s turn to smile.

  ‘I have not yet said where my feet will take me.’

  ‘Rome?’

  ‘No, somewhere far more important to England at this time.’

  When Henry looked blankly back at him, Thomas’s smile widened.

  ‘Santiago de Compostela, there to pay homage to the reputed bones of St James the Apostle.’

  Henry was still at a loss.

  ‘How will praying to a pile of old bones help England at this time?’

  ‘Because, Hal, if I choose to travel overland, I will need to pass through Castile.’

  Suddenly Henry understood, and with a shout of joy he clapped Thomas on the shoulder, almost spilling his wine in the process.

  ‘An excellent ruse, Thomas! No doubt on your journey through Castile you will be in a position to carry with you warmest greetings from a royal aunt?’

  ‘That was my intention, Hal. And what message would you like me to bear from you?’

  ‘Tell him that we wish him long life and good health, and that we would wish to be allied with him against the arrogant Valois boy who has the audacity to pretend to be a king, and who only succeeded in conquering Milan because there were no real soldiers there to prevent him.’

  ‘And how soon shall this alliance be announced to the world?’

  ‘As soon as the boneheads in Council can be made to see that it is in England’s best interests to enter an early alliance with the man who will, in the fullness of time, also be King of Germany and Holy Roman Emperor.’

  ‘They know this already, Hal, yet they remain hesitant.’

  ‘They will not hesitate when you return with news of Charles’s enthusiasm for such an alliance, and the Queen makes it known that such a possibility has gladdened her heart. Norfolk is still seeking positions at Court for his granddaughters, is he not?’

  ‘He is indeed.’

  ‘Then perhaps we might prevail upon the Queen to grant his wish in return for giving support to her nephew.’

  Thomas nodded and smiled in agreement, mentally noting two things. The first was that Hal had referred to Katherine as ‘the Queen’, rather than ‘Katherine’ or ‘my dear wife’. This suggested a cooling of relations between them that seemed to be confirmed by the fact that Hal saw the need to ‘prevail upon her’ to obtain his objective, whereas in the past she would lovingly have granted his every wish. It also signified that Thomas was now called upon to ingratiate himself with two separate people, whereas in the past the consent of one had brought with it the automatic consent of the other.

  *

  Two weeks later, Thomas was bowing the knee to the young King Charles of Spain. He was only a boy of fifteen, and his grasp of even those territories to which he had succeeded at such a young age was tenuous. He had inherited his father’s Burgundian throne at the age of six, and was still ruling under the regency of his aunt, Margaret of Austria. The Low Countries that came with the crown, and were Charles’s traditional home, had just suffered a revolt by Fresian peasants which had yet to be suppressed, and they were also important to England for trade purposes. Finally, here in Castile, Charles was still seeking to put down the comuneros uprising, and even though wearing his Archbishop’s robes and mitre Thomas had been obliged to accept an armed escort into Granada, where he was in attendance on the young Charles in a Palace surrounded by loyal troops wearing the livery of Burgundy. If ever a monarch with a shaky hand on several thrones at once needed a powerful ally, it was Charles.

  ‘My grandfather Maximilian speaks very highly of your diplomatic skills,’ Charles advised Thomas in his heavily accented English as he signalled for him to rise. ‘He also says you would be Pope.’

  Thomas gave him the unctuous smile that seemed to reside permanently on his face these days as he rose somewhat heavily from his knees and took the chair indicated to the left of, and lower than, the royal dais.

  ‘You
r Majesty speaks excellent English, if I may make so bold.’

  Charles smiled. ‘I speak Spanish to God, Italian to women, French to men and German to my horse.’

  Thomas assumed that he was expected to chuckle, so he did, before continuing in what he hoped was a suitably humble vein. ‘And English?’

  ‘I speak English to men of God who come to me with heartening news that my beloved aunt has persuaded her all-powerful husband to support me against the Valois threat to my various lands.’

  ‘I certainly bring that hope, your Highness. But you must be advised that there are those in the King’s Council who oppose such an alliance. My visit here is intended to reassure you that it is Henry’s dearest wish that in the fullness of time our nations will be united, and that your dear aunt will be welcoming your presence in the country of her marriage.’

  ‘And what of you, my lord Archbishop? What is your dearest wish?’

  ‘To see his Holiness the Pope no longer threatened by the heathen French who have granted sanctuary to those who preach heresies against our dear mother Church.’

  ‘Are those views shared by others in high positions within your Church?’

  It was the perfect opening, and Thomas thanked God for this unique opportunity.

  ‘There is only one above me in the English Church, and that is the Archbishop of Canterbury, who to my considerable regret and consternation still advises King Henry against armed intervention in Italy, where of course you have lands in Naples, Sicily and Sardinia that also require protection.’

  ‘Is there some way in which I could assist you to rise above this man of Canterbury, in order to have a louder voice in the King’s Council?’

  It was like taking bread from a blind beggar, and Thomas used his other favourite facial expression – the ‘veil of humility’ as he called it – in order to suppress his rising exaltation at the way in which the conversation was heading.

  ‘The only person who could override Canterbury would be a Papal Cardinal, but at present there are none such in England.’

  Charles smiled triumphantly. ‘I believe we understand each other at last, my lord Archbishop. In return for bringing Henry and his soldiers to my side, you wish his Holiness to make you a Cardinal, yes? My grandfather was not mistaken about your ambition. Do you also wish to be the next Pope, perhaps?’

  Thomas suppressed the strong urge to burst out laughing, and kept his eyes on the floor. ‘You understand that my wish to wear the Cardinal’s hat is solely in order to further my king’s ambition to assist you? You are, after all, his nephew by marriage.’

  ‘Leave it with me, Archbishop Wolsey. The Pope sees me as his main hope of surviving the gradual encroachment of Francis of Valois into Italy, and eventually his capture of Rome. A word from me, and the gift of a red hat will be a small price to pay, particularly if I can advise his Holiness that alongside my armies will be the full military might of the greatest warrior king in Europe.’

  ‘His Majesty will be both gratified and flattered to hear you speak of him in those terms. To watch his face light up with joy when I relay your kind words back to him will make the gift of a red hat a very minor matter indeed.’

  It was Charles’s turn to suppress his laughter. ‘You speak Spanish, my lord Archbishop?’

  ‘Some, your Highness.’

  ‘Do you know what mierda means in English?’

  ‘Indeed I do,’ Thomas replied with a smirk, happy to have been caught out, since he had left the young king in no doubt regarding the price of his intervention with King Henry.

  ‘You should, since you speak it so fluently,’ Charles replied with a chortle. ‘Now, some wine, perhaps?’

  Thomas lost no time in returning to Henry with the good news, and was more than happy to keep the outcome of his ‘pilgrimage’ secret from others, as Henry requested. It was reassuring to be the only man in the realm entrusted with such a vital initiative, and tempting though it was to let Queen Katherine know that he had established cordial contact with the ‘beloved’ nephew she had never met, he kept his own counsel on the matter, not that Katherine seemed any longer to desire his company. She and her Ladies were permanently at Richmond, regardless of where the Court might be convened, whereas Henry seemed to prefer to live his life travelling between his own suite of rooms in Westminster and a special wing of York Place set aside for him, to which he could travel unchallenged for clandestine meetings with Bessie Blount.

  However, any thoughts that Thomas might have entertained along the lines that Henry and Katherine were estranged were hastily suppressed by the news that the Queen was again with child, and would be likely to deliver in February of the following year. Given her history of miscarriages, stillbirths and infant mortality, there were few at Court, amid the customary congratulations and expressions of joy, who expected a live outcome, and the news was also to a certain extent diluted by tidings of another birth anticipated at the same time, to the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk. At least there would be another Tudor birth of some sort in the early months of 1516.

  *

  Early in September, Thomas’s endeavours in Spain bore their first fruit. Word came that Thomas had been appointed as Cardinal of St. Cecilia, and that his red hat of office was on its way from Rome to Dover, along with various Papal Bulls confirming his authority. Thomas sent Roger Wakely, along with two grooms, to meet the Pope’s messenger, but less than two weeks later one of the grooms thundered back into the courtyard of York Place, sweating and breathless. When ushered quickly into Thomas’s presence he blurted out that the all important items were in the travelling bag of ‘a scurvy varlet who looks more like a fishmonger than an emissary of his Holiness.’ Thomas enquired as to the man’s approximate size, then sent the groom back with a fine suit of clothes befitting such an important person, and instructions that the party from Dover would be met on Blackheath Common by the other Wakely brother, Giles, and a suitable entourage.

  Every priest in his household was ordered to accompany Giles Wakely, and when the two brothers were reunited the Papal messenger took the red hat that had spent the journey from Rome in a plain looking bag, to protect it from thieves, and handed it to Roger Wakely, who placed it on the velvet gold cushion that his brother had brought from York Place. They then formed a solemn procession through the lanes of South London and onto London Bridge, with fanfares blowing, and the York Cross held high in the air by one Wakely, while the Cardinal’s hat was conveyed, head high, on the gold cushion by the other brother. Startled travellers on London Bridge stepped to one side and crossed themselves as the procession wound past them, the various clerics rendering a Te Deum in a somewhat shaky register as it passed across Thames Street and wound its way through the busy thoroughfares on its solemn way west to York Place, where Thomas was waiting in his full Archbishop’s regalia to receive it.

  On 18th November, the skull-like features of Archbishop Warham shrank into a rictus grimace as he placed the red hat of Thomas’s dreams officially on his head for the first time. Its feel upon his head was by then a familiar one, since he had spent many an hour before the glass in his private chambers, admiring himself from every angle. Thomas smiled graciously as the Blessing was pronounced above his head, then turned to join the procession that led him out of Westminster Abbey to be hailed by the crowd that had gathered outside to watch. Thomas pronounced a blessing of his own on the assembled multitude, and said a silent prayer of thanks to the God who had raised him so far in His service.

  He was also shortly to rise in the service of another important power, this time the earthly one that he served. Warham was so disgusted with Thomas’s rise within the Church that he advised Henry that he no longer wished to serve on a Council that had among its number ‘the son of a butcher of animals who has become a shepherd of God’s flock by his deviousness, his oily tongue and his slippery conscience.’ Henry took the man at his word, and relieved him of the burden of the office of Chancellor that he had been administering of late with lacklus
tre and a growing inattention to detail.

  *

  On the afternoon of Christmas Eve 1515, Thomas sought audience with Henry in order to discuss some minor matters of protocol regarding the seating in the Royal Chapel for the Midnight Mass that evening. Henry did not, as usual, offer him a seat, and Thomas remembered enough Courtly protocol to stop himself from simply taking his customary seat in the window alcove of the Presence Chamber without invitation. Henry smiled across at him as he filled two wine goblets and handed one to Thomas.

  ‘I have not invited you to be seated, since the adjoining seat is reserved for the Chancellor of England.’

  Thomas bowed his head in deference. ‘I do not expect his Grace of Canterbury to join us for this meeting.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Henry smiled even more broadly, ‘since he is no longer the Chancellor of England. I am now able to keep a long unfulfilled promise to you, Thomas. You may be seated only if you will accept the office.’

  CHAPTER 9

  ‘To the King’s Court – or to Hampton Court?’

  Thomas wasted no time in making full use of the new power that had been granted to him over those who still sneered behind his back at his humble origins. As Lord Chancellor of England and Keeper of the Great Seal, Archbishop of York, and Cardinal of the Church of Rome, he now had a power that all but rivalled the King himself, and the mutterings of the Howard faction grew both more audible and more bitter. A butcher’s son now ruled their lives both spiritual and temporal, and the son of Robert Wulcy was not the sort who either forgot or forgave old slights.

  To all outward appearances, however, the new Chancellor of England was the fount of all justice, the righter of legal wrongs, the champion of the truth above the machinations and corruption of the wealthy. He presided four days a week over the already infamous Court of Star Chamber, as part of his more formal duties in the Court of Chancery, the ‘court of conscience’ that had been established to administer royal justice when the old common law proved inadequate. Out of this grew something called the ‘Court of Requests’, with which Thomas’s name would always be associated as a man of God who was always ready to hear the petitions of all men, rich or poor, for justice in their cause.