by G Lawrence
The next day, the day before his planned enthronement as Bishop of York, Wolsey left the north. He was taken under guard to Pontefract, and it was said that many people turned out to cheer him, for since his arrival in the north he had made it his mission to win the support of the common people, about whom he had but little cared before. He took five retainers with him, Cavendish amongst them. He feared the destination, for at Pontefract Castle, Richard II had been murdered. Wolsey feared the same was to happen to him. He broke into grateful tears when he was told they were not to lodge at the Castle, but at the Abbey. He wore a hair shirt that night, for penance for his many sins, but still he protested that he was innocent of all he was accused.
From Pontefract he was taken to Doncaster, and then Sheffield Park, where he stayed and was treated well for three weeks, even taken hunting by his host, the Earl of Shrewsbury. Whilst there, however, Wolsey was taken with pains of the stomach, which turned serious. He passed blood and foul stools. He feared to take the potions and powders offered by Shrewsbury’s physicians, as he thought they might be poisoned, but after Cavendish tried them first, Wolsey agreed to take them. But even with such medicine, the Cardinal sickened only more.
Master Kingston, the Constable of the Tower of London, rode out to meet him with many guards. “Master Kingston, Master Kingston,” Wolsey said, mewing piteously, “I am a wretch replete with misery, and hope has left me bereft.” Kingston said Wolsey was grey of face, and seemed like a lost soul wafting through purgatory. Kingston tried to comfort him, but Wolsey dismissed him. “Your words are but a fool’s paradise, Master Kingston,” he whimpered. “I know what awaits me.”
In the night, the bloody flux grew worse. Cavendish later reported that Wolsey passed blood and liquid through his rear over fifty times in but one night and one day. The matter that came pouring from him was black and vile smelling. By dawn, his blood raged with fever. He was white and shaking, unable to even sip at water. Kingston decided that he could not charge Wolsey to mount a horse, or be carried in a litter in such a state. They would wait, he said, until the Cardinal recovered to bring him to the Tower.
After two days, Wolsey seemed to rally, and they brought him by litter to Hardwick Hall, and then to Leicester Abbey, which he reached on the 26th of November. Carried staggering into the Abbey, Wolsey gazed glassily at the face of the horrified Abbot. “Father Abbot,” he whispered, his face pale as death. “I have come hither to leave my bones amongst you.”
Three days later, and the Cardinal still lingered. He took some broth from Cavendish, before recognising the taste of chicken and refusing to take more, as it was a fast day, on which he should only eat fish. But later, he knew that his time had come. He received absolution from his confessor amidst the howling screams of a great storm which swept over the whole country. The tempest raged as Wolsey fought for life. Rain hammered England, winds swept roofs from houses, and cattle in their pens screamed in terror. Later, people would say that this was the coming of the Prince of Darkness himself, to take the soul of his most precious servant from the earth and into hell.
As rain lashed the window panes, and the howling wind shrieked outside the Abbey, Wolsey turned to his men, and the Abbot and spoke calmly. “If I had served God as diligently as I have done the King,” he said calmly. “He would not have given me over in my grey hairs.” He spoke of Henry with affection, saying that he was a gentle and noble prince, but one who would “hazard the loss of one half his realm to have his will done.” He smiled gently and said to Kingston, “I assure you, I have often kneeled before him in the Privy Chamber for the space of an hour or two, to try and persuade him from his will and appetite, but I could never dissuade him when his heart was fixed on some matter.” Wolsey nodded feebly. “When I am dead and gone, Master Kingston, you will remember well my words.”
As the clock struck eight in the night, Thomas Wolsey, Archbishop of York, Cardinal of the Catholic Church, and once-Chancellor of England, died. He was fifty-seven years old.
His last words whispered of his love for the King.
His body was laid out in state as the people of Leicester came to view the corpse dressed in its cardinal’s robes, and lying on a coffin of boards. Wolsey was carried to the Lady Chapel where he lay for some days as people came to see him. Throughout the day and the night, wax tapers burned around him, gently covering the old man’s face with dappled light. Some days later, he was taken to his final rest, and put into the ground not far from the grave that held the bones of Richard II.
Some came to grieve at his graveside, but others, including myself, called that place “the tyrant’s sepulchre.”
Chapter Seventy-Five
Greenwich Palace
Autumn 1530
Henry was told of Wolsey’s death by George Cavendish whilst he was at archery practise in the grounds of Greenwich Palace. The King said little when he heard of the death of his oldest friend, but gave Cavendish a coin and thanked him quietly for caring for the Cardinal in his last hours. Then he put his bow down and went to walk alone in the gardens, telling his men he wanted to be alone.
George came to tell me the news and I went to find Henry. He turned as he heard my step upon the path, and looked down at the floor, waiting for me to come to him. I put my hand to his purple sleeve and he glanced up. Grief was all I saw in his face.
“I know that you loved him, Henry,” I said gently. “And despite all that happened, I know he loved you, too.” He stared out at the horizon, tears gathering in his eyes. I knew he saw nothing there but the Cardinal’s face. “Perhaps it is better this way,” I consoled. “In dying before he had to face trial, Wolsey does not go to the grave with the stain of treason on his name. Now, you can remember the Cardinal as wish to, as a friend whom you loved, not as a traitor to the crown.”
Henry’s eyes were haunted, hollow as they met mine. “He has done me a final service there,” he whispered.
“The Cardinal was not a young man, Henry,” I continued, tucking my arm through his. “His death was bound to come and it was not done by your hand. You were ever a gentle master, and forgave him more than he deserved. I hear that he spoke on you with affection at his end, and called you a generous and merciful prince. Such things, when spoken at the end of a life, hold truth within them.”
Henry nodded, accepting all I said, absolutely. “I was. It is true, sweetheart, sometimes the love I bear to others means I am overly gentle in my kingship.”
“All of which speaks only of your greatness, Henry,” I assured him. “You are the most gentle and Christian of princes, qualities that I should learn to emulate more.”
Henry laughed shortly. “Nay, sweetheart… you are perfect as you are. Your passion for me is what causes you to rush to my defence, I know this well enough.” He smiled indulgently, a flicker of his old humour returning. “You are, after all, of your sex, and apt to be ruled by your heart. I would not have you any other way.”
I tried very hard not to show how vexing I found that comment. “Remember Wolsey as he was once to you, Henry,” I urged, leading him along the little path and through the chilly knot gardens. A sparkle of frost was still upon the branches in the shade, and they glittered at us; diamonds in the shadows. Jackdaws and rooks cawed and croaked in the trees above us and bright-chested robins flittered through the skies. “Remember him as a friend, and as a man dear to your heart. There is no cause now to discredit his memory. Let him lie as he is, and remember him with love.” Henry hung on to my hand, tears in his eyes. He tried to shake them away, but more only came to surface in their place.
“Come, my lord,” I said. “We shall talk no more, unless you wish, but know that my heart grieves with you to see your once-friend gone from this life. I shall be with you always, now and forever, to take your sorrows as my own, and to comfort you.”
The King of England’s hand wrapped itself about mine as we walked through the gardens in silence that day, together.
Chapter Seventy-Six
&
nbsp; York Place
Autumn 1530
Two days later, as the winds of the winter began to nip at the heels of autumn, Cranmer came to visit. I called for him to come in as I finished reading a letter Cromwell had sent me.
“I end,” he wrote, “by thanking you most graciously for the advice you offered me freely these months just passed. I believe that I had already decided on the choice I was to make, that is to give all my attention and love to the King, but it was your counsel that helped me to take that final step to this path I now walk. I know that you had no need to advise me with such honesty and goodness, my lady, and yet you did. Be assured therefore that I am, and always will be,
Your servant and good friend,
Thomas Cromwell.”
I smiled to read such. With Wolsey gone, for good this time, Cromwell knew where his best chance for the future lay. Henry, it seemed, could not do without him, and spoke of his great skill and wisdom with earnest admiration. I was glad Wolsey was now gone for good, not only because my enemy had been removed, but because this also removed the barrier that had until then remained between Cromwell and me. We could become close allies now, now that Wolsey was no longer between us. I folded the note and placed it in the little bag I wore on my hip, thinking well of the path I had taken with Cromwell. With such a man at my side, working for Henry’s cause, I believed there was a time of new hope coming to us. And the man approaching my chambers, too, offered me even more hope.
“How goes your work, Master Cranmer?” I asked after offering him wine and bringing him to the fire to warm up. I had Kate take his cloak, for he was soaking after riding through London in the pouring rain.
That charming, shy smile broke across his face like the gentle dawn on the horizon. “I struggle with it daily, madam,” he admitted softly. “Although I will confide this to you alone, if I may, and not to my master the King! I do not wish to disappoint his Majesty, but with you, I feel I have to be honest in all matters.” His cheeks turned pink. “You tease such truths out of me, my lady,” he confessed.
I laughed. “I will take that as a sign of the good friendship between us, Master Cranmer, and not as one of fear.”
“I do not fear you, my lady,” he said warmly. “Although I admit that before I met you, I did.”
“I am sure many people feel the same when they hear what is said of me. The way I am spoken of about England is not the way I am truly, Cranmer,” I said sadly. “I hope one day to show the people of England that I am better than they believe me to be.”
He looked concerned, thinking he had hurt my feelings. “Do not despair, my lady,” he consoled. “For as soon as I met you I saw in you a true and godly soul, and a brave one, fighting only for the salvation of the people… In time, the English people will see this, and they will adore you for it.”
I thought my heart might burst for the swelling of affection therein. Cranmer was so open, so honest, so very good. He saw good qualities in everyone and everything because they were so generously strewn in his heart. “With all that is within my heart and soul, I hope that is indeed true, Master Cranmer… Now, please do tell me of your work.”
“I try to make it the best I have written, and to make it engaging even if the subject matter is scholarly.” He held his hands out to the blazing fire and frowned. “I admit there are times when I sit with my head in my hands for sorrow at my poor sentences, and other times I sit back and stare at what I have written and wonder who it was who wrote something so well and so prettily.” He exhaled noisily. “I suffer the sin of pride and fall to the blankness of disbelief in myself over and over.”
“I have felt that way often in the trials of the Great Matter, my friend,” I admitted, pulling my chair closer to the fire. “Oftentimes I have lost my faith, and then found it once more that same day. I have struggled through fire and torment, and the King and I have been ever-tested in our virtue… And yet there is much to sustain me in my struggles. The King’s love, the words of God… the friendships I have made with remarkable men and women.”
I gazed up at him, the warmth from the fire reflecting on my face. “And all the while I think that there was a purpose in all this… When first the King admitted his love for me and his desire to be separated from Katherine, he told me that it was the will of God that I was brought into his life, that it was the will of God that I refuse him, for pride in my maidenly virtue… That it was the will of God that we be together. At the time, I wondered, for even though my beloved is the King, it seemed like arrogance to believe that one knows the will and wishes of God with such ease. And yet, after all I have been shown in these years since, I believe now that Henry is the chosen of God, placed here to rule over us, answerable to God alone. So perhaps, even then, he heard the voice of God sound within him, calling him to take this matter into his hands, and act upon it.”
Cranmer returned my steady gaze. “I believe that is the case, my lady,” he agreed. “I know that this has not been easy for you.” The red glowing light of the fire danced against the shadows on his face. His expression was gentle, and affectionate. I felt so at peace when I was with Cranmer; he calmed me and brought clarity to my thoughts. I knew that he thought highly of me for my reformist ideas and the information I had brought to Henry. Cranmer and I had very similar beliefs and were fast becoming close friends.
“But sometimes,” the good man continued, “it happens that what will, in the end, bring the most good takes the most work. The delays and the trials you have suffered… resent them not, my lady, for they only make you stronger. Our Lord Jesus suffered death for the salvation of the whole world, but we ask you only to suffer in life a while longer, so that this country and her people may be turned from the darkness of ignorance and into the light of truth. Keep in mind that you suffer, not only for yourself and for the King, but for the people of this realm. They will benefit more than we can imagine, when Katherine is finally replaced, and you are made Queen. Then they shall have not only a gracious and goodly woman of true virtue ruling over them, but a King set free from the slavery of the tyranny of Rome. It will take time; all things that bring goodness do… There are barriers to break and hearts to win, but in time, my lady, right will prevail, and God will look on you with a kind eye and a warm heart… I promise you.”
“The people do not see me as such now, Master Cranmer,” I said with sorrow. “They revile my name and call me things that cause me grief. They love Katherine, and they see me as a usurper.”
“Our Lord Jesus was also hated, if you remember, my lady?” he said. “The saints, the apostles, many of them died for their faith at the hands of those who understood not their goodness. You will not have to die for your matter… But keep in mind their strength and their courage as you battle through your own trials. And when you are Queen, the people will see the charity and bounty that I know live in your heart. It may not seem humble to do so, but I would suggest that you make known the support you offer to scholars, and the largesse you distribute to the poor and the Church… Such things are not done by you, I know, to win hearts, but the people should see that you do just as much, if not more, for them, than Katherine.”
I blushed. “I am no saint, Master Cranmer… but if any man could make me into one, I believe it would be you.”
He leaned forward and pressed his hand into mine. “Be of good cheer, madam,” he said. “We are, all of us, not as perfect as we would like, but in you I see great strength, courage and true faith. Those are the virtues that mark out the true children of God, and I am honoured to serve you.”
“You flatter me too much,” I protested. “There are many times when I fall into sin… spite, fury, rage… I promise you, I am not as good as you think me.”
Cranmer grinned. “Those who can see their faults and put them to mending, are those who are blessed before God, my lady. Do not be so hard on yourself. These years would have tried the patience of any… Keep faith, in God, in yourself, in the King and in your friends, and you will have al
l you need.”
I sighed, but it was a happy sigh. There was something so honest and good in Cranmer that I felt as though I had come home after a long time away whenever he was near. “You give me the strength to hope, my friend,” I said, looking into the flames. “And I hope that soon there will be a resolution to our Matter.” I paused. “I have asked the King again to pardon Master Tyndale and bring him to England. Although our King is most displeased with the scholar, I believe Tyndale may aid us, if he can be persuaded to abandon his arguments for the Queen.”
“A bold request, madam, and one that once again demonstrates your strength of character… Has the King said he will consider it?”
“He has,” I said. “He is ready to listen to much, now.” I glanced up at Cranmer. “I hope, I hope so much, my friend, that all of this struggle will lead on to greater good. Henry is becoming open to new ideas and thoughts. It is as though he has awoken from a deep sleep, and begins to see the world anew.”
“Let us hope that is indeed the case, my lady.”