The Scarlet Peacock

by Field, David

  Thomas rejoined Campeggio in the front entrance, and explained away the redness around his eyes as a lifelong affliction.

  Just over a week later, Thomas and Campeggio announced that they had reached a decision. The courtroom was crowded to overflowing as Henry took his place in a special gallery that had been hastily constructed to one side, where he might clearly hear the judgment being handed down without the need to join the sweaty and eager crowd beneath him. There was considerable frustration when Campeggio insisted on reading out the judgment in Latin, a tongue unfamiliar to some of those assembled, and capable of misinterpretation even by those who professed skill in the language. After he had finished, there were anguished calls for a translation, and when Campeggio nodded his consent, Thomas cleared his throat and began.

  ‘The Cardinal Legate Campeggio declares that he is unable to give a ruling in the cause without first seeking the guidance of his Holiness the Pope.’

  He was almost drowned out by howls of protest and disappointment. He waited until the worst of it had subsided, then raised his voice to be heard further.

  ‘He adds that the eyes of the world are upon the outcome of this matter, given the exalted status of the parties and the conflict in evidence. We have both sat here for several weeks as emissaries of his Holiness, and it is to him that we must refer this most difficult of matters. We are not here to please either party, regardless of how mighty they might be in the estimation of others. We are here, rather, to see the will of God upheld, and we would not perjure our souls this close to death by making any false judgment in the matter. This court therefore stands adjourned for the time being, until we receive the counsel of he who granted us our commission in the matter.’

  ‘Shame!’ ‘A waste of time and money!’ ‘Back to where we began!’ came voices of protest, as Henry was seen to depart swiftly from his gallery. He was out of both sight and earshot when one voice louder, and more angry, than the rest, cut through the hubbub of confusion and frustration.

  ‘It was never merry in England whilst we had Cardinals among us!’

  It suddenly fell silent, and the crowd parted to reveal the irate, red face of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. Campeggio opened his mouth to speak, but Thomas placed a restraining hand on his arm and spoke for both of them.

  ‘My lord of Suffolk,’ he reminded him, ‘you above all have cause to be grateful to at least one Cardinal. Upon your return from France with your new bride, without the intercession of this Cardinal, lowly though he may be in your estimation, your head would no longer rest upon your shoulders. Without a head, you would have possessed no tongue with which to slander us in public in this wise, when we have done no more than perform the will of his Holiness the Pope, at the request of Henry the King. The same king who spared your head from the block. Tell me, my lord, if you were sent as an emissary of King Henry to some foreign court, and were there placed in a quandary as to where lay his Majesty’s best interests, would you not deem it fit to refer the matter back to him for his final judgment? Why, then, do you defame us, who only perform our duty to the one who has appointed us on this mission? Fie, my lord – speak you more peacefully to those who seek only to pursue a cause first raised by he to whom you owe your head.’

  Suffolk opened his mouth, as if framing a retort, but instead closed it again and hastened out of court with his head down.

  Matters were even further delayed when the Pope let it be known that he would postpone any final decision until his own courts were in session, which was months away. Henry opted to send his secretary, Dr Stephens, to Rome with a polite request to get on with it, and then stunned everyone by demanding that Queen Katherine remove herself from Court. She did so, and spent several months in various convents in and around London, separated from her daughter Mary, but not before she had formally dismissed Anne Boleyn from her service so that she had no legitimate reason to remain at Court. Henry responded by commencing a royal progress with the Lady Anne in tow, and by early October they were resident at Grafton Manor, in Northamptonshire, which Henry had purchased only three years previously.

  It was to this somewhat inadequate residence that Thomas and Campeggio were summoned, after Dr Stephens had returned with the depressing news that his Holiness intended to take such time as such a grave matter merited, and Campeggio was seeking leave to depart England in order to return to Rome. Thomas had no doubt that he would do so with further instructions from Henry, and that the Papal Legate would be graciously received and royally entertained at Grafton. This belief was confirmed when Campeggio and he were welcomed in the courtyard of the ancient pile with all due ceremony, and Campeggio was escorted to the chambers that Henry had ordered to be prepared for him. However, Thomas was considerably taken aback when the Groom of the Stool, Harry Norreys, explained to him with a red face that such was the cramped accommodation within the somewhat crumbling edifice that Henry was in the process of restoring that no rooms had been allocated to Thomas. However, Harry Norreys graciously offered Thomas his own, and Thomas accepted, not wishing to be publically excluded from whatever inner circle was foregathered there.

  He was even more put out when he entered the great hall for supper, and noted that both the other Thomases, Boleyn and Howard, were already there ahead of him, and were no doubt accommodated in better chambers that his. Boleyn smiled like a serpent about to strike as he welcomed Thomas over to the board and gestured for him to take a seat. Norfolk looked up from a leg of pork that he was hacking lumps off, and growled, ‘I am surprised that you dared show your face in here.’

  ‘We were summoned by the King,’ Thomas assured him. ‘Campeggio will no doubt join us shortly, but is apparently being shown around the grounds ere sunset. He seeks leave to return to Rome, and not before time, since it would seem that Dr Stephens was sent packing by his Holiness.’

  ‘He may not be the only servant of God sent packing,’ Norfolk sneered as he swigged from a goblet to wash down the meat, then nodded towards the remains of the roast suckling.

  ‘Help yourself, Thomas. As your experienced eyes will tell you, it is an excellent side. Perhaps you will be allowed to go back to your true trade, now that it would seem that you prosper not as a purveyor of his Majesty’s will. We have been taking wagers on whether or not you will be allowed to retain your head.’

  ‘If you wagered with your heart rather than your head, I need hardly ask where your money has been hazarded,’ Thomas responded, just as Henry entered with Campeggio. Everyone began to rise, but he gestured them back into their seats with a smile.

  ‘I have but lately taken supper in my chambers with the Lady Anne, but I will take some of that wine, if you have left any.’

  A page hastened to fill a goblet and hand it to the King, who raised it in the air.

  ‘A toast to the Cardinal Legate Campeggio, who laboured long and hard to find a legal solution where one cannot apparently be found. But it is no matter, since it would seem that Queen Katherine has deigned to raise her ample arse from the throne. So where do you intend to go, Wolsey, to hide from my displeasure?’

  Thomas quickly surmised that Henry was very drunk, and would need very tactful handling.

  ‘To wherever your Majesty deems it appropriate, as ever. I thought perhaps my benefice of Winchester.’

  ‘Why not York, where you have never yet set foot?’ Norfolk suggested. ‘Winchester may not be far enough away, I suspect.’

  Henry laughed loudly, and Thomas wanted the carpet to open up beneath him. Henry belched and swayed slightly, as he grimaced back at Thomas.

  ‘It will certainly not be Rome, at any hazard,’ he joked, and everyone around him laughed politely. Then he turned to Campeggio.

  ‘My apologies, my lord Cardinal, but as you will have gathered, we are not well pleased with our Archbishop of York here. However, our displeasure does not extend to you, even though it was not possible for you to arrive alone at a judgment that would have pleased us beyond measure. We shall hope that you ha
ve better fortune upon your return to Rome. When do you plan to leave us?’

  ‘I had perhaps thought the day following tomorrow,’ Campeggio replied in his slightly strained English. ‘Thomas has very kindly offered for me to lodge one night at his house at The More as I journey south.’

  ‘You might be well advised to take up that offer while he still has those premises at his disposal,’ Henry replied with a sidelong glare at Thomas. ‘However, I must not keep the Lady Anne waiting any longer. I came down merely in order to ensure that you make our honoured guest welcome, gentlemen. As for our dishonoured guest, you may make of him what you will.’

  With that he turned slightly unsteadily on his heel and lurched out, leaving Norfolk with a huge grin across his gloating countenance, Boleyn with a worried frown, and Thomas with an intense desire to vomit out of sheer terror, even though he had not eaten for two days. He spent a further two hours sitting uncomfortably at board while others around him gorged on roasts, nibbling on small pieces of fish and praying that they would stay down. Then he excused himself on the ground of his tiredness after his journey, and fell to his knees before the portable cross in his chamber, praying for deliverance from an evil that was not of his making or design.

  The next morning he was taking the air in the ornamental garden to the rear of the house when he heard a footfall behind him, and turned to see Henry approaching. He bowed deeply, and mentally prepared himself for more of the royal sarcasm. Instead, Henry took his arm and raised him upright with a smile of contrition.

  ‘Forgive me, my dear friend, but I was very drunk. I was under the influence of a fine Burgundy, a beautiful lady and her vengeful uncle.’

  ‘It is I who must apologise, Hal,’ Thomas admitted, ‘for my failure to deliver what you most wanted.’

  ‘What I most want is lodged upstairs, Thomas, as you are well aware. It bears hard upon me, to have her so close, yet not close enough. But it was not your fault that the matter was left to his Holiness, as I keep explaining to those who prevail upon me to blame it all on you.’

  ‘Norfolk was ever ill disposed towards me,’ Thomas grinned, ‘ever since I bested him at school. You are fortunate indeed that Norfolk fights your battles on the field, while I fight them in chambers. Were it the other way around, you would be most badly served.’

  ‘Yet it is no longer simply Norfolk,’ Henry explained. ‘For some reason, the Lady Anne loves you not, and whatever she wants, her doting father will obtain for her.’

  ‘That is easily explained, Hal,’ Thomas smiled. ‘You may recall that I had occasion to banish Harry Percy from my service, and request that his father remove him north, safely away from his infatuation with the lady. She, it would seem, in her girlish innocence, took badly against me for that, yet if she did but realise it I thereby left her free for a far better prospect.’

  ‘Was she really enamoured of Percy, Thomas?’

  ‘As a man of God, I cannot judge maidenly infatuation, Hal, but I have since heard that she cursed me up hill and down dale. There is little wonder now that she seeks to revenge herself upon me, when I am so vulnerable. And of course Norfolk is her uncle, and I fear that he plays upon her mind in order to best me at every turn.’

  ‘I must speak frankly with you, Thomas, since I owe you so much in my life thus far. I am urged by Anne, and by Norfolk, to have you impeached for treason. They say you are in league with England’s enemies.’

  Thomas laughed out loud, then froze when he saw Henry draw a parchment from his doublet, and he recognised his broken seal on it. Henry handed it across with the hurt expression of someone who has been betrayed.

  ‘This was found in Campeggio’s bag when it was being searched on his arrival. By now he is no doubt noting its loss, but please tell me true, Thomas – is this your hand?’

  Thomas could not look him in the face, try though he might, and despite the fact that his life might depend on convincing Henry that he meant no treason by it.

  ‘Yes, Hal. It is my hand.’

  ‘You were seeking audience with Charles of Spain, our sworn enemy, and the Queen’s nephew, at a time when we so dearly need the friendship of France and a lack of impediment to an annulment? Please explain why that could not be seen as treason?’

  ‘Only by someone who wishes me ill, and has not the faith in me that I hope I have earned from you over the years.’

  ‘Then pray tell me, what were you about?’

  ‘I sought to prevail upon him to influence the Pope, so as to speed the process of the annulment, hopefully in its favour.’

  ‘Truly, Thomas?’

  ‘Truly, on my immortal soul. Why else would I seek audience with a man who has twice humiliated me in the face of Christendom?’

  ‘That is why I ask the question, Thomas. You once sought to be Pope, did you not?’

  ‘That was several years ago now,’ Thomas protested. ‘It was while we were still negotiating with him against Francis. And it was he who offered to influence the election, if I could sway you to his will.’

  ‘So you were prepared to be bribed in the execution of your duties toward me?’

  ‘No, Hal! It was offered to me only after the agreement had been brokered. This I swear!’

  Henry looked disappointed, and turned to walk back to the house. Then on a whim he turned to address Thomas again.

  ‘Have a care, my old friend. Inside yon house are those who would encompass your downfall, and by your past actions you have exposed yourself to accusations. It is only because of our long-standing friendship, and because I owe you so much from those days in which I was uncertain of my new role, that I am prepared to accept your word on this occasion. But please do not stretch that friendship any further, Thomas – it makes it very difficult to resist the urgings of those I now hold dear that you should be stripped of your offices, and perhaps worse.’

  ‘The Lady Anne?’

  ‘She certainly, but only on the urgings of Norfolk and her father, I suspect. But regardless of who may lie behind it, Thomas – have a care.’

  ‘I will, Hal – and thank you.’

  The following day Thomas accompanied Campeggio on the return trip to The More, where Campeggio was to spend one more night before continuing to the south coast in order to take ship for the Continent on his much delayed return to Rome. As they rode side by side, with several of Thomas’s retainers a discreet distance behind them, Campeggio felt urged to make a confession.

  ‘I think I may have lost that paper you wished me to pass to the Spanish Court.’

  Thomas smiled across at him reassuringly.

  ‘Do not worry, my good friend – you did not lose it. Rather, it was stolen from your bag.’

  ‘They would do that? Then why did I lose none of the coins I also had in there?’

  ‘Because those who stole it do not need more money. They have more than sufficient of their own.’

  ‘Rather like you, Thomas, to judge by this fine house,’ Campeggio smiled back as they looked down at The More from the lane approaching it from the north. ‘This document that was stolen – was it important?’ he enquired. Thomas shrugged.

  ‘Its discovery was probably more important – to some, at least.’

  Back at Westminster, Thomas resumed work on the backlog of cases awaiting him in the Chancery Court, unaware that down the road in the Treasury Thomas Boleyn was making mischief for him under the guise of conducting a lengthy audit of accounts in his capacity as Treasurer. After two days, he gleefully sought audience with Norfolk in his London townhouse on the banks of the Fleet River.

  ‘I have found these!’ he shouted triumphantly before he had even taken a seat.

  ‘And what precisely are they, pray?’ Norfolk enquired eagerly.

  ‘From our time in Calais, at the meeting of Henry and Francis. There are payments authorised out of the Treasury, under Wolsey’s hand, both direct to the French Court and to Wolsey’s own direct charge, for the maintenance of Hampton!’

  ‘No do
ubt the slimy rat will have some pretty excuses for them,’ Norfolk muttered as he swigged greedily from his goblet.

  ‘That will rather depend upon whether or not we give him the opportunity, and upon who conveys the awful tidings, surely?’

  ‘Well considered, Thomas. May we, as usual, rely upon the object of Henry’s lust to ensure that he is given the information without the excuses?’

  Two days later, as Henry and Anne were taking a late supper on their return from a day’s ride out to Windsor, Anne deemed the time to be appropriate.

  ‘Is there any news from Rome, dearest?’

  Henry shook his head morosely.

  ‘I fear not. As usual, we may conclude that Charles has the Pope firmly in his grip.’

  ‘A pity that my uncle could not be financed to fulfil his dearest wish to take Charles by the throat, and shake from him the dispensation that would bring us such bliss. But my father tells me that the Treasury was much depleted by your adventures in Europe – and certain ventures closer to home.’

  ‘To what ventures do you refer, my sweet?’

  ‘Only those to which I made reference when we were hidden away in Westminster, before Katherine took her departure. Wolsey’s meddling and avarice, but you deemed that of no importance.’

  ‘It will only become important if someone has proof that he was lining his own pockets at the nation’s expense.’

  ‘Not just his own pockets? Those of a foreign power?’

  ‘Spain?’ Henry enquired darkly.

  ‘No France – see here,’ she added, drawing several scrolls from the folds of her over-gown.

  Henry frowned.

  ‘You do your innocence no favours by seeking to disgrace Wolsey in these matters, dearest. Hand them over, and I am sure that there will be some simple explanation for the entries.’