The Scandal of Christendom

by G Lawrence

  “Unto the oath that is here offered to me, I cannot swear without the jeopardy of my soul to perpetual damnation,” More announced.

  Audley said all those gathered were sorrowed to hear him say that, and warned More it would make Henry suspicious of him. They showed him a list of all the nobles who had already sworn, and More replied, “I myself cannot swear, but I do not blame any man that has.”

  More was taken into custody by the Abbot of Westminster, and three days later, he was taken to the Tower. The charge was concealment of treason, from his dealings with Barton, as well as failure to swear the oath. Sir Richard Southwell, who accompanied More, told him he should send home his chain of gold. More smiled. “No, sir,” he said. “That I will not, for if I were taken in the field with my enemies, as I am a knight, I wish they would fare somewhat the better for me.”

  Lodged in one of the apartments in the Bell Tower reserved for prisoners of consequence, and granted his servant to care for his needs, More awaited Henry’s wrath. Thomas More, who had sent so many to the flames, now faced the fate of traitors; to be hung, drawn and quartered.

  Henry wanted More to submit, but I believe, even then, he was prepared to take his life. Henry would have no opposition. Once, More’s promise to never speak openly against Henry had satisfied, but this was no longer true. Henry wanted… demanded, absolute obedience. Cromwell had appeared even less pleased than Henry, swearing he would rather his only son should lose his head than More should have refused the oath. Cromwell worried Henry would suspect that he had engineered the arrest of the Holy Nun as a pre-emptive strike against More. Cromwell laced rumours through court that this was not so, even though many of us knew it was.

  And, naturally, Henry was not held accountable for the arrest of his friend. I was.

  “You will threaten Fisher with the punishment that may befall all traitors,” Henry went on. “But he will be given another chance to cease this impertinence. Tell him I can strip him of his powers as Bishop, and a more unjust prince would have already taken his head. But I, a clement and tolerant prince, will give him a chance to make amends and return to the bosom of our love.”

  Cromwell went to leave and Henry stopped him. “He may have gifts of food, if they are searched, from family or friends,” he shouted after Cromwell. “But he may not have a priest.” Henry grinned at me. “Let us see how the Bishop enjoys having no man to confess to. That will loosen his tongue.”

  I must have looked shocked as Henry took my hand with a worried face. “I should not have said that in front of you,” he said quickly. “It was wrong to surprise you, my love. Do you feel well? Is the babe hale?”

  “I am fine,” I said. “It is just… to deny Fisher the solace of confession? Henry, are you sure? That is a cruel punishment.”

  He narrowed his eyes, obviously considering informing me that he would be instructed by no woman, then thought better of it. “You are so gentle, my good Queen. Even when men prove themselves enemies, you think of their eternal souls.” He lifted my hand and kissed it. “But it is up to me to do what others cannot, or will not do. Fisher will give in, and when he does, the first thing I shall do is return his confessor.”

  “That pleases me,” I said. “I would not have even an enemy left bereft without the hope and light of God.”

  “Of course you would not,” Henry said, his eyes soft and indulgent. “That is why you are the best of women.”

  If I am the best of women, why tarry with others? I thought. But I said nothing.

  As I left his quarters, heading to my own with my women, I was lost in thought. As we rounded a corner, I saw a flash of a crimson gown as a woman darted out of sight. I almost called out. For a moment, I thought it was Bridget. Hurrying my ladies along the corridor, we reached the end, but as I looked up and down the hallway, I saw nothing.

  “What is it, Majesty?” Margaret asked, her pretty nose wrinkled in confusion.

  “I thought I saw…” I said, my eyes darting back and forth. Seeing all of them watching me, I stopped. “It is nothing,” I said.

  But whether it was nothing, I knew not. Perhaps it was but a hope that I would see my friend again, or perhaps there was another ghost, besides still-living Katherine, haunting my steps.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Hampton Court

  Spring 1534

  On the 24th of April, Elizabeth Barton died.

  She did not die well or clean.

  Strapped to a hurdle and hauled behind a horse over the bumpy, muddy streets between the Tower and Tyburn, she was dragged to her death. In a public spectacle, she was hanged and then beheaded. Her head was placed on a spike atop London Bridge to goggle at passers-by as ravens picked her skull clean. Elizabeth Barton, the Holy Nun of Kent, had the dubious honour of being the first woman this grim horror had ever been done to. Her followers died with her, suffering the same method of death as their prophet. Their heads were mounted on gates about London; ghastly warnings that any who spoke against Henry would die.

  Barton’s crimes had been proclaimed to the people at a public sermon at St Paul’s a week before her death. “Under this manner, by false visions and revelations of the Nun, hath grown the great sticking, staying and delaying of this the King’s grace’s marriage,” our preacher declared. Cromwell’s words came from his mouth.

  The judiciary had been reluctant to condemn Barton, but it made no matter. Cromwell side-stepped them. Barton was found guilty of setting the Pope against her King, prophesying I would be devoured by dogs, and that Henry would lose his crown. She was forced to confess that she had fabricated her revelations. Condemned by Act of Attainder, Barton did not get a trial. She was twenty-seven years old when she went to her death.

  The official punishment for female traitors was burning at the stake, but her sentence was reduced.

  “I am the cause not only of my own death, which most justly I have richly deserved,” she cried as she stood before the silent, watching crowds. “But of the deaths of all those persons who are going to suffer with me. Alas! I was a poor wench without learning, but the praises of the priests about me turned my brain, and I thought I might say anything that came into my head. I, being puffed up with their praises, fell into a certain pride and foolish fantasy… Now I cry to God and implore the King’s pardon!”

  Everyone knew those words had been written for her.

  Barton’s gruesome end convinced many to swear, but even the death of this young prophet could not make others capitulate. More and Fisher continued to refused the oath. Cranmer wrote to Cromwell and me, saying a possible way out of this was to have them swear the oath, but not its preamble. Cromwell refused to countenance this idea.

  “If oaths are sworn differently by different men,” he explained. “What is to stop men refusing the whole oath, or picking out what they will and will not swear? This would cause nothing but confusion and allow foes to flourish in the resulting chaos.”

  “Cranmer has a gentle soul,” I said, stroking Purkoy who snored gently on my lap. “He wishes to spare More and Fisher. Perhaps he wishes, too, to spare the King, for he knows Henry loves More.”

  “If they swear only part of the oath,” Cromwell pressed. “It will enforce the authority of the Bishop of Rome, and may call into question your marriage, Majesty.”

  I inclined my head. “I know, and I agree,” I said. “I was but explaining what our good friend was trying to do.”

  “Mr More,” sneered Cromwell, “and the Bishop of Rochester are examples to the people. If they can defy His Majesty, why cannot others? The King must be made to see the necessity of them swearing the full oath. I will write to Cranmer and tell him to desist. His notions do none of us any good. Cranmer is too keen to avoid conflict.”

  “He is, as I said, a gentle soul.”

  “Too gentle.” Cromwell smoothed his tunic. “This is the hour for strength, not sweetness.”

  I was coming to realise Cromwell was more ruthless than I had thought. Even hardened
men of politics and war were struck by his talent for brutality. The Attorney-General, Cromwell’s friend, Christopher Hales, had pleaded for Barton’s followers and had been rebuffed. Think not that Cromwell was a naturally callous man. Cromwell was a pragmatist. He saw the growing danger presented by Barton, More and Fisher, and moved to pluck it before it flowered. He was aware that if he failed to get all men to swear the oath, after promising Henry he would have it done, was to risk much. Cromwell had seen what happened to men who failed their King. It was as much for self-preservation, as for Henry, that Cromwell took the path of violence. In times of danger we flee, fawn or fight. Cromwell chose the latter.

  That was the way of court. Where could men flee to? Where could they hide? The gaze of enemies is long and remorseless. Weaker men fawned upon their foes. Strong men waged war.

  It was not only Fisher and More who declined to swear. Katherine and her daughter steadfastly declared they never would. Katherine had prepared herself for martyrdom, but I wondered about Mary. Was a young girl, who had known so little of life, prepared to give up everything? It seemed Katherine expected her daughter to do so. Rumours that Katherine was mad and suffering from dropsy were circulating court. Other whispers followed the tail of that gossip, claiming I and my kin were poisoning Katherine.

  Such tales of my wickedness I was used to. They were not original, nor were they imaginative. Familiarity did not lessen their sting, but I was becoming as used to them as a crumbling dotard may become to gout. I woke with pain every morning, and had to carry on regardless. But I was uneasy about Barton. Long had I thought her just a foolish peasant girl, an enemy of the true faith, to be sure, but I would never have ordered her execution were I in charge of England. Henry’s people blamed me for her death, even though I had never asked for it.

  Many sins did I have at that time. I am thankful that this one, this death of a strange-minded, unhinged woman, does not lie upon my soul.

  With Fisher and More in the Tower, and Barton’s death on all lips, everyone knew what would happen if they failed to swear. At times, I wondered if Cromwell had sent the summons to More purposefully at the beginning of all this, to provide a fearful example of what would happen to those who refused. Yet he visited both men in the Tower, and tried to get them to swear. He told me he went on his own stead, but I was positive Henry had asked him. Even Henry, angry though he was, would hesitate before executing a bishop, as well as a man with More’s formidable international reputation, who was also his friend.

  Cromwell organised commissioners to ride to every county, and secure the oaths of all men. All new bishops were to formally acknowledge the royal supremacy, and take the oath. Ecclesiastical bodies and religious houses were ordered to swear oaths on behalf of their orders, and individual clergymen were to submit signed declarations that the Pope had no authority over them.

  When Cromwell’s laws came into effect, anyone who dared speak publicly, or was suspected of private thoughts against the monarchy would be arrested and condemned to death. The oath was vital to my children and me, but the thought of dictating not only what men said, but thought, gnawed at my conscience.

  Once before, I had worried I had shown Henry the path to tyranny. But if I opened the way, Cromwell broke Henry’s path. Henry was to become all-powerful and any who resisted would find Death awaiting them. Henry was no longer simply the master of his people. He dictated their thoughts, and controlled their minds.

  Is this not tyranny?

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Greenwich Palace

  Spring 1534

  As a reward for good service, Henry officially made Cromwell his principal secretary and chief advisor in late April. Cromwell ousted Gardiner from that post, as he had recently refused to support the oath, and had been banished from court. Henry was considering whether to arrest Gardiner as well as More and Fisher, but Norfolk interceded, asking Henry to allow time for Gardiner to come to his senses. Cromwell and his allies rejoiced for his new position, but others were not so happy.

  “Master Blacksmith is too busy and important to see me now,” my father moaned, arriving from a missed meeting with Cromwell with a cloak of malcontent rustling about his shoulders.

  “Be kind, Father,” I said, rolling my eyes to see a flash of the ceiling decorated with gilded bullions on a web of white panels. “Cromwell has been ill and is busy in the service of the King. Despite his bodily trials, he never abandons his work, and he has done more good for my family and for England than any other man I know.”

  My father was none too pleased at this slight, but his court mask did not slip. “How goes the pregnancy, Majesty?” he asked. “At last the boy can be seen.”

  Despite the panels in my dress which hid some of my increasing girth, the swelling of my boy was becoming obvious. “Hard, this time,” I admitted. “I have pain in my back and my belly. All I seem to want to eat is cheese and meat. Everything else makes me sick.”

  “You should rest more,” he said. “George tells me of the entertainments in your chambers. That is not good for the baby.”

  I sighed inwardly. I was so very sick of everyone telling me what was best for my baby, especially the men in my life. They all seemed to think themselves authorities on anything and everything. “I do not dance, and I rarely play,” I said. “I sit, I talk with my ladies and I gamble. Sometimes I take a turn on the virginals. I am careful, Father. Fear not.”

  “You should show off your condition,” he said. “Not hide it.”

  “So you said before,” I said, thinking of his lecture when I was carrying Elizabeth. “But I want to remain attractive to my husband.”

  “Because of the other women?”

  Women? Was there more than one, then? I turned my face away. Was knowledge of Henry’s betrayal so commonplace that my father thought nothing of saying it openly? Obviously so. I held up a hand before he could push agony farther into my breast. “I am tired, Father. I should rest.”

  “Of course.” He kissed my hand. “Take care of my grandson, Majesty. That boy is our hope for the future.”

  “That boy is my child, first and foremost,” I said. “Whatever else he is to the world, he is my son and Henry’s, and will be loved for that reason.”

  I left the chamber. I could not stand to look upon my father’s face and know he did not love my child for merely being his grandson. He loved him for the opportunities he could open, once this tiny, vulnerable bump on my front, became a king.

  *

  Thomas More was in trouble.

  More assured his inquisitors that he had only had spare and few dealings with Barton. “We spoke no word of the King’s grace,” he said. “Nor of any other noble person.” More was a lawyer, and a good one. He saw Cromwell’s traps before they were laid, but little would that avail him. He only had one chance for life. That chance he would not take.

  Reformers were at a zenith of power. A new law was passed, making it no longer illegal to speak ill of the Pope and people made good use of it. Cranmer secured a ban on contentious preaching for a year, allowing Henry’s supporters free rein, as his detractors were prevented from giving sermons whilst his men were granted licence to speak. The royal supremacy was upheld and Rome was defamed. Henry’s men were instructed not to preach about purgatory, pilgrimages, the marriage of priests or anything else Henry did not hold with, but they were granted freedom to abuse Clement, Rome and all who stood against the King.

  The old faith was wounded. Henry’s hand held the knife.

  More knew he was in grave danger, and admitted he was afraid. “My flesh shrinks from pain and from death much more than me thought it the part of a faithful Christian man,” he said. But he remained resolved.

  “More will give in, in time,” Henry said as we sat at a table piled with roasted capon, venison in sage butter and piles of roasted garlic, fresh fish and sweet custards. “He has been led astray. In time he will see where he has erred.” Norris carved the venison into delicate slices, and Henry
stacked them on his platter. I wondered, at times, if Henry thought every meal might be his last. He ate like a condemned man desperate to strip every last pleasure from life.

  “I marvel at your patience,” I said, dropping a little venison to Purkoy, curled in a ball at my feet. “You have shown More such liberty, and even now when he resists swearing the oath that will protect your children, still you show mercy.” I put my hand over his. “This is what makes you a great King.”

  In truth, I did not think More would ever surrender. Henry wanted to believe he would. It was a fool’s hope. Part of me despised Henry for it.

  Henry smiled. He patted my hand and started to spoon vast portions of frumenty onto his plate. If a plate could speak, Henry’s platter would have groaned. “It is the place of good princes to show mercy,” he said. “But it is also their duty to show their subjects the error of their ways. We lead by example; taking those who have strayed back into virtue.”