‘I would be a king in all but name,’ Cromwell whispered. Even in his own office, Cromwell could not dare to utter such words.
Nicòla nodded without a word, and Cromwell rose from his seat. The worry of having to oversee dissolution of the monasteries flooded away, the dream of much power overcoming any fear.
‘My court could oversee all – what preachers are permitted to say, where monies can be given or bestowed, who can petition for divorce, instead of relying on the Church to decide such matters.’
‘You could change the world with the Reformation. You must create a Bill of the Dissolution of the Lesser Monasteries. Leave the larger ones, such as Syon Abbey and the London Charterhouse for now. That will help abate the anger of the people.’
‘I have to be the one to inspect Austin Friars,’ Cromwell said and glanced out his window, the roof to the friary in the distance.
‘You already lease so much land from the friary, but it could be yours if you closed the place. Already you knock down houses around this manor to make this home greater.’
‘Shall we profit from these dissolutions? Is that right?’ Cromwell pondered, still looking out the window.
‘Tis too late to save our souls, Tomassito; all we can do is our best with what we have left. Tis too late to sit back. You are the Queenmaker, Tomassito. You brought down the great Katherine of Aragon.’
‘And I shall forever feel guilty, but I needed Anne.’
‘Yet now, Anne needs you. Take your place at the top.’
‘Will you come to my bed tonight?’
The comment made Nicòla startle. ‘You ask this of me now?’ she frowned, her eyes narrow with suspicion.
‘You have not come for months.’
‘You have been ill.’
‘I have been without my walking staff for weeks.’
‘Why do you ask this of me now?’
‘You stand hither now, prepared to stand beside me in all I do, but no longer in my bedchamber.’
‘I lost another child. A woman needs time.’
‘And that is all I need to know, if that is the problem. I feared it was more. I shall be fifty years old soon. But I am thin now, half the man I was before the illness…’
‘I would destroy the world for you, Tomassito.’
‘That is what I am asking of you, with these dissolutions. And remember you do not grieve for our sons alone, Nicò.’
For the first time in months, Nicòla came into his arms. He knew this would be their only moment of peace before their next grasp at power began.
F
Chapter 28 – November 1535
time turns sume lyes into trouths
Greenwich Palace, outer London
‘Forasmuch as manifest sin, vicious, carnal and abominable living is daily used and committed among the little and small abbeys, priories, and other religious houses of monks, canons, and nuns, where the congregation of such religious persons is under the number of twelve persons, whereby the governors of such religious houses, and their convent, spoil, destroy, consume, and utterly waste, as well their churches, monasteries, priories, principal houses, farms, granges, lands, tenements, and hereditaments, as the ornaments of their churches, and their goods and chattels, to the high displeasure of Almighty God, slander of good religion, and to the great infamy of the King’s highness and the realm.’
Cromwell recited the preamble of the Dissolution of Lesser Monasteries to Sir Nicholas Carew in the Cromwell Chambers dining room as Nicòla closed the door on the discussion. Carew was a conservative, so to see him with Cromwell seemed strange, but everyone wanted Cromwell’s favour. Nicòla returned to her desk to read a letter which lay waiting.
Per il nostro carissimo amico, il signor Frescobaldi
After our very hearty recommendations we, with good consideration, need you to signify unto us by private letter a matter of much urgency.
As in earlier correspondence, the discussions for the possible annulment of my marriage to one Nicòletta Frescobaldi, Duchess of Florence, needs due consideration. After much discussion with His Majesty the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, now is the time to commission His Holiness Pope Paul on the issue. His Holiness holds the highest office in the Catholic faith, and the right man to talk of such marital dissolution.
As it is known, the Duchess of Florence lives in solemn contemplation at a country estate and needs a man to speak for her. The only living relative known to the Duchess is her brother, Nicòla Frescobaldi, servant to one Master Secretary Thomas Cromwell, Vicegerent of England. Tis now we humbly call upon the Frescobaldi household to commit to a hearing on the issue of annulment, submitted on the grounds of non-consummation and lack of free consent.
Let us speak plain of such issues. We know His Majesty King Henry the Eighth of England is much removed from the Pope and the Catholic Church. This is due to the workings of Master Secretary Thomas Cromwell. Both His Holiness Pope Paul and His Majesty Emperor Charles are much humbly sympathetic to England and wish to see the realm return to the bosom of Rome. An alliance between Rome and England would be necessary if such threats of war were to appear from France or the Ottoman Empire. His Majesty Emperor Charles also wishes to seek redress and comfortable living for his aunt Queen Katherine.
We presuppose that Master Secretary Cromwell would have much influence over any such alliance. As the only living relative of the Duchess of Florence is in the service of one Thomas Cromwell, the Pope asks if an alliance between himself, the Emperor and King Henry may be part of a deal to smooth the way for a marriage annulment, so I, Duke of Florence, can be married to the Emperor’s charmless daughter, Margarete of Austria. Tis a marriage to secure Italian alliances and strengthen our relations in times of threats of war.
At the earliest time, I humbly ask that Signor Frescobaldi understands this letter and its meaning, write to discuss such possible alliances, and help create the annulment. Much progress on this matter would well strengthen relations between good Catholic nations, and indeed, in the bosom of God.
Thus, indebted to you for your pains taken for me, I bid you farewell.
Florence, this fifteenth day of Settembre
Your friend,
Alessandro de’Medici, Duke of Florence and Pisa
Nicòla took in the patient and polite words from her husband, who had not written in some time now. The Pope would give an annulment! Alessandro was far better suited to the bastard daughter of the Emperor, and her dowry would be as large as the one he garnered from Nicòla’s father. Alessandro wanted an annulment as Nicòla did, as he went to great pains to be mannerly, and did not address her as a woman, the letter written to, il signor Frescobaldi, not a woman. He alluded to there being a living male and a quiet duchess. He wanted this marriage over, and to keep the shame of being abandoned by a wife who lived as a man hidden for all times. Marrying Margarete of Austria would give Alessandro greater wealth and power over Florence.
But to accept, as part of the annulment, to help broker a deal between London and Rome? Alessandro, and the Pope, far overvalued Nicòla’s position in court. Could she speak to the King? Yes. Could she influence Cromwell into making an alliance? Yes. But was that right after so much work to break England away from the Catholic faith and into the light of the Reformation? After all Cromwell had fought for? After all those people who had died? Sir Thomas More’s head had only been taken off London Bridge four months ago. Why would Henry even want an alliance?
Nicòla still sat stiffly in her chair, the letter woven between her fingers, her gaze out the window at the threatening winter. Indeed, she did not even hear Cromwell come into the room, his long black overgown sweeping the Turkish carpets.
‘I have been with Sir Nicholas, and I learned plenty,’ Cromwell said as he closed the doors to the office. His voice snapped Nicòla from her dreams.
‘Be it of any great advantage?’ Nicòla said, and blinked a few times, to bring herself back to the present, rather than thoughts of a home far away.
‘Carew wishes to be a Knight of the Order of the Garter,’ Cromwell said as he leaned back in his chair. ‘Henry promised King Francis that Carew would receive this honour, and now, Carew wishes to take full advantage.’
‘But Carew hates Queen Anne; he knows his hatred makes him unpopular at court. Indeed, Carew is unpopular with you, and close friends with the pompous Duke of Suffolk.’
‘Still, as much as I hate Suffolk, to have him as an enemy does me no good. To be friends with Carew would gain me access to stable terms with Suffolk. It shall do us good to have fewer enemies, for we have few friends,’ Cromwell mused as he rubbed his chin in thought.
‘It never stops.’
‘What never stops?’
‘The plotting, the scheming, the alliances, the public words which are all lies, while truth and bribes change hands in secret.’
‘Do you wish to flee to the country?’ Cromwell asked with a smile.
‘What good is power if you cannot have peace?’ Nicòla shrugged. ‘You rule this country, you are changing the lives of everyone in England with closing these smaller monasteries. All it does is make enemies.’
‘We can hardly stop now, Nicò!’ Cromwell scoffed. ‘Henry is impatient for a son; we are all impatient for Anne to bear a son. Henry spent his whole summer progress at his wife’s side, instead of in a mistress’ bed, pounding away at Anne in search of a son. The man is spent now. Carew reports that Henry is tired of Anne after summer progress. His eye is ready to wonder and we need to choose a mistress for him.’
‘What fun,’ Nicòla mumbled. ‘Take Lady Worcester’s offer to lie with Henry. Or Carew’s wife, who has serviced the King for decades.’
‘I know, it soothes no hearts to say such things, but we must keep the King on our side.’
‘Tomassito, Carew hates the Queen. You are the Queenmaker. Why trust such a man? He is one of the few who has not lost their love for Katherine.’
‘Carew is married to the sister of Sir Francis Bryan, one of Henry’s closest friends. He has much gossip, which is always helpful to us. Carew hates Anne’s complaints and power over the King.’
‘We flourish under the rule of Anne Boleyn, let us not forget that,’ Nicòla warned.
‘I know, but I must make alliances where I can.’
Nicòla glanced at her letter. ‘What of an alliance with Henry and Rome?’
Cromwell laughed. ‘What could Rome offer us? For we are free of Rome.’
‘Peaceful terms,’ Nicòla replied. ‘A peace treaty with the Emperor and a pope who will not excommunicate Henry from the Church.’
‘You want me at the treaty table with Eustace Chapuys?’ Cromwell laughed as he looked at the fire. ‘Why would such a thing happen?’
‘That is what the Emperor wants. That is what the Pope wants.’
‘What is that to me? We need none of their guidance, we are a reformed nation.’
‘We are not; we aspire to be a reformed nation. Henry’s only care around reformation is around the subject of divorce. Mass for Henry is as Catholic as ever, in every palace and cathedral in England!’
‘Not forever,’ Cromwell said as he looked back to Nicòla. ‘How do you know the desires of Rome?’
‘Alessandro wrote me,’ Nicòla offered him the letter. ‘Rome will give us a divorce. But in return, they want the influence in the English court to help set up an alliance…’
‘A heavy price for an annulment,’ Cromwell frowned as he read Alessandro’s careful words. The moment he finished the fine Italian writing, he looked up again. ‘If I need Henry to look kindly upon the Church and Rome again, then I shall. But not at the expense of the Reformation.’
‘I am not asking for such favours.’
‘But our own marriage could be law, could be official. Secret as it may be, it would be real for us, for our daughter.’ Cromwell folded the note carefully, and Nicòla could see he was already thinking of such an arrangement. ‘To broker a marriage with you, I must ask the King to look kindly on Rome again, at least for a while. Anne is the only obstacle, and Anne is not in Henry’s favour at present. Now would be a good time to strike such a bargain.’
‘No, Tomassito!’ Nicòla rose to her feet. ‘We do not alter foreign relations to suit our whims! What foolery! That would make us no better than Henry and Anne. Their love, their lust, has almost destroyed this country.’
‘An alliance with the Pope and the Emperor will not anger the people. We could continue the Reformation and closing of the monasteries once we are in Rome’s favour again. Once the annulment is ready and Alessandro marries the Emperor’s bastard, we can do as we please.’
‘They are powerful yet petty men. They will expose my secrets, a woman pretending to be a man, holding a high office at a royal court, and once the whore of a pope. I will be in the Tower and your reputation will be in tatters. I like this not.’
‘They could destroy us with that news if we do not accept their terms!’ Cromwell jumped to his feet. ‘It is time we enjoyed all our works on the King’s behalf.’
‘The money, the power, the bribes are not enough?’ Nicòla sighed.
‘Just think; be free of your marriage, annulled by the Pope. That is God’s blessing to be free. Could we ask for more?’
‘Would I be free in the eyes of God, or has money and power been traded for God’s favour?’
‘You know how the Church operates. They can buy all freedoms, dispensations and reversals. We have a country to barter with, Nicò. Let us take it slow, and perchance next year, 1536, will be one of true greatness for us both.’
C
Chapter 29 – December 1535
Lyes can seduce better than trouth
Greenwich Palace, outer London
Cromwell had been reading a letter sent from Stephen Gardiner in France. Gardiner lamented on the many rumours he had heard, eager to discuss with his sometimes-enemy Cromwell, as he and Cromwell wrote to one another almost daily, despite being angry whenever facing each other. But a letter which had come by messenger to Nicòla changed the simple evening in the palace. From the hand of the young Catherine Willoughby, Duchess of Suffolk, the child wife of the pompous old Suffolk himself, spoke of dreadful news, with a message begging and pleading for mercy. Mercy was the one thing Cromwell was in constant short supply.
Walking the halls of the palace alone, one of Henry’s privy chamber gentlemen let Cromwell through into Henry’s private rooms, the only man allowed to break Henry’s quiet evening. Not looking like the man Henry wished to display to the world, he instead looked weak and tired, sunk into a chair by the fire, his feet up on a stool close to the warmth. In his hand swirled a glass of wine, a book dropped on the floor. Henry was ageing, and Cromwell admitted to feeling the same. While Henry had laughed about Cromwell’s new age of fifty years at the lavish party held only a few weeks ago, Henry himself had reached four and forty years. Quiet evenings by the fire with books did often tempt Cromwell now, not that his work allowed it.
Henry shook himself awake at the sound of someone close by and turned in his seat to see Cromwell there. ‘Oh, Thomas, by the grace of God, it is only you.’ He gestured to the other chair close to the fire.
Cromwell groaned as he sat down, the chair taking the pain of the day from his feet, sore in tight new calf-leather shoes. ‘Did you fear another might enter your chamber?’
‘I feared Anne.’
Cromwell could not stop a gentle laugh escaping his lips.
Henry smiled in return and turned in his seat. With a dismissive wave, he ordered out the gentleman-ushers and guards, who stood idly in various corners about the room. With the close of the final door, Henry sighed. ‘Do you ever f
ight with your creature, Thomas? Does your Waif not cause you grief?’
‘We have fought many times, Your Majesty. She is intelligent, and her temper can use that knowledge. But Frescobaldi is my master secretary while I am her master. The power imbalance means I shall always come out on top.’
‘You lucky man.’
‘More than anything, I feel guilty when I use that power to my benefit. I wish never to hurt Frescobaldi.’
‘Such a strange creature, though. Is it not odd to undress a man instead of a woman?’
Cromwell cleared his throat, for Henry had often been open in many matters, but never about Cromwell’s life.
‘Think not of a courteous answer, Thomas. I envy you, that is I why I ask.’
‘Envy me, Your Majesty? How so?’
‘I find myself in the most difficult position on this evening. We are ready for the epiphany and yet I feel no such cheer.’
Cromwell closed his hands over the letter between his fingers. ‘May I bear your burden, Your Majesty?’
‘If only someone could, Thomas.’ Henry sipped his mulled wine. ‘I have received word tonight that Anne is with child once more.’
Cromwell almost slipped from his seat as he sat up quickly. ‘Your Majesty, this is the most profound news! Your son, your precious heir at last!’ Suddenly, all of Cromwell’s worries faded as he imagined how invincible he would be with Henry out of the way, distracted by the son he longed for.
Henry did nothing but glance to Cromwell from the corner of his eye. ‘Forgive me if I do not leap with excitement, for this is the tenth time a wife has told me of a child, and there have been several women I have not married who have said the same.’
‘Tis a sign, Your Majesty, that God believes in your marriage. Yes, there has been difficulty, but people will understand once there is a son in the cradle.’ Oh, how many times had Cromwell suffered this conversation with the King? Nicòla had lost Cromwell’s own son, not a year past, all kept secret. His time to have another son had surely passed, for Nicòla deserved not to endure the heartache a third time.
Shaking the Throne Page 24