Justice for the Cardinal Read online

  ‘Justice is best enjoyed as a cold dish, so they say,’ he gloated, then returned to his fifth attempt at the wording of the succession document that Henry had commanded, and which required the most minute care in drafting. Cromwell was due at his first royal audience of the year the following day and given the delicacy of the matter there could be no mistake, particularly since Henry had chosen to proceed in these matters by Act of Parliament.

  The first of these, four years previously, had bastardised the Lady Mary and excluded her from any prospect of succeeding Henry to the throne of England. This had followed the annulment of Henry’s marriage to Katherine, and a second Act two years later, and almost identically worded, had disentitled the little Elizabeth following the execution of her mother Anne. It had done so by confirming the illegitimate status of both royal princesses, and clearing the way for any child born to Jane Seymour following her marriage to Henry. It was now a matter of adding Prince Edward, the three-month-old Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Chester, to the succession, with a proviso that should he die without issue, the crown of England would devolve first upon Mary and her heirs, and then upon Elizabeth and her heirs.

  The sticking point was whether or not, and if so under what circumstances, Henry might nominate another successor entirely under his will. This point was not merely academic, even at this point in Henry’s life, since there were some who were championing the cause of children of Henry’s two sisters, Margaret and Mary. Margaret had married King James IV of Scotland, and that marriage had produced the reigning monarch of that country James V. Much though he was regarded as unsuitable, and however bitter the ongoing border squabbles between the two nations, James of Scotland could raise a legitimate claim to the English crown, no doubt asserted by armed invasion, if the succession were not organised in such a way as to exclude him completely.

  Less horrifying to English minds was the possibility of the royal line descending through the second of Henry’s sisters, Mary, the late wife of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. Mary had died some years previously, and Suffolk had since remarried, but their daughter Frances was now wed to Henry Grey, Marquess of Dorset, and could be regarded as having a legitimate claim to succeed her Uncle Henry. Failing her, there was now another Dorset claimant in the recently born Lady Jane Grey.

  This was not a good time for Cromwell to be pushing through more Church reforms, as Henry was becoming increasingly convinced that he had invoked more of God’s curse by installing himself as the head of the English Church.

  At Bradgate, Jane was nearing the time of her confinement behind a ring of armed defences that gave any outside observer the distinct impression that the tranquil park, with its well-appointed brick manor house, was preparing for a lengthy siege. Some of those who had been sent north by Suffolk were allocated personal bodyguard duties on the several occasions upon which Richard had made the half-day journey south in order to review progress at Knighton.

  The original house had been carefully restored to a watertight condition by the seemingly inexhaustible former Sister Catherine, who had dutifully reverted to her birth name of Catherine Beddingworth, while her senior colleague Sister Maria Magdelena was now simply Mary Calthorpe. She stood proudly alongside Richard during his latest tour of inspection.

  ‘You have all done very well,’ Richard told her, ‘but our return must now wait upon the birth of our child, which is due at any time.’

  ‘The mistress is well cared for in Bradgate?’ she asked.

  Richard nodded. ‘As far as a mere man such as I can tell. A mere man, what is more, who has neither knowledge nor experience of such matters.’

  ‘She has a midwife in attendance?’

  ‘Not as yet, but I am assured by our host that such will be summoned when needed.’

  There was a slight pause before Mary came to the point. ‘I would deem it a further great honour and favour were you to take me back with you, to attend day and night on the mistress to whom we owe so much. I have both experience and skill in such matters, and she should be attended well before the birth itself, to ensure that no infection or bad humours are allowed into her chamber. Also, since I assume that you are no longer attending her at night, she might welcome a companion ahead of that joyous moment when her waters break.’

  Richard grimaced. ‘I have no knowledge of what you refer to, but I would concede that a friendly and skilled lady in attendance at such a time — particularly one so imbued with God’s grace — would be most welcome. Prepare yourself for the ride north — perhaps on one of these donkeys, since we have no spare horse.’

  Mary smiled. ‘Since our Lord Jesus Christ entered Jerusalem on a donkey, there would be no disgrace in that — only honour to be following his example.’

  Two weeks later, in the third week of May, Richard’s distraught pacing up and down the main hall as he heard the shrieks and pleas for mercy from the upper chamber was brought to an end by a final scream, followed by a brief silence, the sound of a protesting infant squawk, and the voice of Mary Calthorpe calling out praises to God.

  Richard was on his fifth mug of wine when Mary brought down the infant wrapped in a shawl.

  ‘The mistress is sleeping, and all the afterbirth is out, so there is no risk of infection. You have a daughter, and I am advised by its mother that she is to be called Grace. It is a most fitting name for someone so blessed by God to be given life through the loins of a woman so advanced in her years. There should perhaps be no more, since her time was difficult, but that is a matter for the two of you. In the meantime, hold your daughter in your arms and give thanks to God.’

  XXVII

  ‘Your subjects would expect it, Sire,’ Cromwell urged upon Henry as he worked his way through yet another tedious daily audience dominated by Henry’s obsession with God’s curse upon him, and his image among the crowned heads of Europe.

  ‘A fourth wife, and so soon after the death of my dear Jane?’ Henry quibbled.

  Cromwell sighed inaudibly and tried again. ‘It’s been almost a year now, Sire, and now that Spain and France are at peace, you would be well served seeking a foreign bride in one of the Low Countries, or perhaps Germany.’

  ‘I already have an heir,’ Henry argued petulantly, ‘so what need have we of another one, even assuming that my increasingly weary frame could be prevailed upon to Sire such? And you forget that we are now even further from God’s grace, since this latest angry gesture from the Bishop of Rome.’

  Cromwell winced inwardly when reminded that his success in persuading Council to allow the destruction of the saintly memorial at Canterbury had finally provoked the Pope into excommunicating Henry, and tried to divert the conversation. ‘It was indeed fortunate for England that when your brother Arthur died, your father had bequeathed you to the nation as his worthy successor, so would it not be a matter of caution to ensure that there is another royal prince available should ought befall Prince Edward?’

  ‘He is in robust health, or so I am constantly advised by Lady Troy, who currently has responsibility for his welfare. He is tall for his age, as was I at that time in my life, and even now, despite my widening gut. Who are you proposing I should marry?’

  ‘It is a matter both of religion and diplomacy, Sire,’ Cromwell assured him. ‘France and Spain being still unrepentantly under the thumb of Rome, any alliance by marriage with either of those nations would be bound to lead to more pressure from Pope Paul. The Low Countries, by comparison, are ruled by princes whose religious policies accord more closely with yours, and they are no friends of either Spain or France. A marriage alliance with one of those would strengthen us against any joint incursion from across the Channel by either Charles or Francis, alone or in league with each other. There is also the matter of our many trading links with the likes of Antwerp and Bruges.’

  ‘And are there any available princesses who you might have in mind, Thomas?’

  ‘None as yet, Sire. There are known to be several, but I would not wish to lead you astray
regarding their comeliness and suitability to grace your bed. I must first journey over there and assess them for myself.’

  Henry’s face set in sour distaste. ‘You make yourself sound like some breeder of horseflesh seeking out a suitable mare, Thomas. Find me one who is not so repulsive that my cock will shrink at the task being assigned to it, and she will suffice. Take Master Holbein with you, and should you find one who you think will be suitable, have him paint her portrait and bring it back to me, that I may decide for myself.’

  ‘It shall be as you wish, Sire,’ Cromwell mumbled as he bowed his way out.

  Earlier that week, Cromwell’s patience had been rewarded with the acquisition of correspondence from Cardinal Reginald Pole in Padua, to the Spanish Ambassador in London, Eustache Chapuys, seeking his good offices with the Emperor for the implementation of a trade embargo on England. Also enclosed was a separate despatch under seal to his brother Geoffrey, urging him to have his army mustered and held in readiness for the uprising in London that any diminution in trade would provoke. There was no direct reference to Norfolk, although it was hinted that ‘others in our enterprise’ were in regular contact with the French Ambassador, and that French troops were slowly and circumspectly being assembled on the outskirts of the Pale of Calais, the traditional extent of English holdings in Northern France, ready for a full scale attack.

  This was as good an opportunity as any, if Cromwell was to nip this treachery in the bud, and expose the entire plot. The ultimate prize would of course be the implication of Norfolk in all this, but experience had taught Cromwell that in order to catch mackerels it was necessary to begin with the sprats, and he ordered the arrest of Geoffrey Pole, and his transfer to the Tower, on suspicion of treason.

  The Constable was instructed that the timid Geoffrey was first to be shown the various instruments of torture, in the hope that the mere sight of them would loosen his tongue, failing which Cromwell would leave it to the discretion of those more skilled in such matters in what order the practical functioning of those devices was to be demonstrated. Above all, Geoffrey Pole was to be kept alive — perhaps blinded by the knotted rope twisted into his eyeballs, but alive anyway. Then Cromwell turned his mind to his planned trip to the Low Countries.

  Back in Bradgate, two little girls were getting to know each other. Jane Grey was now over a year old, tottering around on wobbly legs and learning her first words. Mary Calthorpe, following the birth of Richard and Jane’s child Grace, had been invited to remain as the nurse for both girls.

  As for Richard and Jane, they occupied their time in either watching with pride as their daughter began to learn her first essential lessons in life, or journeying under armed escort to their more humble estate at Knighton.

  Richard and Cromwell continued to communicate by regular exchanges of letters, and from these Richard learned that Cromwell was on a diplomatic mission to secure another bride for the King. Richard experienced frequent pangs of guilt regarding his absence from his duties clerking for Cromwell, but it had been agreed that it was not safe for him to reappear so soon in London, and Cromwell assured him that it would be sufficient for Richard to continue to guard and tend Wolsey’s grave in the grounds of Leicester Abbey while Cromwell sought out the evidence he required of the plot against the throne in order to bring Norfolk down.

  XXVIII

  Cromwell, in company with Hans Holbein, arrived in the Duchy of Cleves, which sat in wealthy splendour with Holland on its northern border, in February of 1539, as the winter snows were beginning to recede, making the roads just passable with care. They made their way to the ancient castle of Schloss-Berg in Solingen. Cromwell had sent letters ahead of their arrival, advising the ducal court that Henry of England was in search of a bride.

  A royal match with a lady of Cleves was perfect for Cromwell’s plans for England. There were three sisters, two of whom remained unmarried, while their brother William, the recently installed Duke, following the death of their father, was a staunch Lutheran, despite his mother’s Catholic loyalties. The oldest of the three sisters, Sybille, was married to the Elector John-Frederick of Saxony, and he was regarded as the driving force behind the Church Reform movement in Europe.

  The entire family had been engaged for some years in a dispute with Emperor Charles of Spain over suzerainty of the neighbouring Gelderland, and this kept Charles focused to his east, while at the same time holding down his captured territories in Italy, and while he was thus engaged on two fronts, his alliance with Francis of France could not blossom into a joint campaign against England. England would gain much, in Cromwell’s estimation, by being linked by marriage to Cleves, but it all depended upon whether or not one of the unmarried ladies of the ducal court could be rendered acceptable to Henry.

  The two men were afforded a warm welcome, and Holbein lost no time in discharging his two commissions. His first sitting subject was the younger of the two remaining ladies, Amalia, and he and Cromwell argued long and loudly over Holbein’s preferred practice of painting what he saw, rather than what his sitters wanted him to imagine. Although Holbein always took the trouble to include the good features, nothing would persuade him to omit the less favourable ones, and his completed portrait of Amalia, although it captured to perfection her delicate oval face, left her looking somewhat nun-like, despite the fashionable bonnet she wore for the preliminary sketches, and hardly someone who would appeal as a bed-mate for the sated appetite of an ageing monarch who had formerly taken his pick of the painted Palace whores.

  Amalia’s older sister Anna was, if anything, even plainer, since she had a decidedly masculine set to her face, which was in no way softened by the French hood that Cromwell forced onto her head for the occasion. Holbein agreed to incorporate her generous bosom into his final portrait, and tried to reflect, in her face, something of the docility and quiet virtue that Henry had admired in Jane Seymour. But Cromwell was still concerned that there was nothing in the appearance of either girl that would appeal to Henry’s tastes, insofar as he understood them.

  Then towards the end of their second week in Schloss-Berg, the oldest sister Sybille arrived on a family visit, and Cromwell was taken immediately with her long, free-flowing golden red hair, her almond-shaped eyes, her doe-like peaceful countenance and her inviting mouth. He ordered Holbein to paint her portrait also, and when he had done so to create a copy. The original was presented to Sybille and her husband with many expressions of goodwill and hopes for a stronger and more formal alliance between the Houses of Tudor and Cleves, while the copy made the journey back across the Channel in Cromwell’s saddlebag.

  Back at Austin Friars, Cromwell ordered the framing of all three, with those of Amalia and Anna in a plain setting, while Sybille’s was surrounded by gilt. Two days after his return he sought an audience with Henry, and pulled off the covers that had been protecting the paintings during their journey upriver.

  Henry stood staring at them briefly, then asked, ‘They are sisters, say you? I find one to be much more comely than the other.’

  ‘Which pleases you more, Sire?’

  ‘It must be obvious, Thomas, even to a man such as yourself who, rumour has it, has not ventured between a woman’s thighs since the death of your late wife. Which is the one with the flowing red hair?’

  ‘That is Anna, Sire,’ Cromwell lied, ‘while the other is her sister Amalia.’

  ‘And they are both unmarried, with no prior understandings?’

  ‘So I am advised, Sire.’

  Henry gave a low chuckle. ‘If you assure me that the nation so expects it, Thomas, then I would have the more comely of the two. “Anna”, is that her name?’

  ‘Yes, Sire, but perhaps “Anne”, if she is to become Queen of England.’

  ‘That is perhaps too close to the former witch who betrayed me, but if you insist. Proceed with the negotiations, before she is snapped up elsewhere.’

  Cromwell lost no time in returning to Cleves with the proposal, and spent most of th
e remainder of that year on horseback, carrying one draft of the marriage agreement after another until its final terms were hammered out, and arrangements were being made for the reception onto English shores of ‘Anne of Cleves’, as she was to be known prior to the nuptials.

  In the meantime, the incarceration of Geoffrey Pole had produced results with only minimal need for the royal torturers to demonstrate their skills. Word was relayed to Cromwell that Geoffrey had implicated not only his mother Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, but also his brothers Henry, Baron Montagu, and Reginald, Cardinal of Rome. Reginald was regarded as untouchable for reasons other than pure geography, but Margaret and Henry were arrested on Cromwell’s order and conveyed to the Tower, along with Henry Courtenay, Marquess of Exeter, a cousin of the Pole family who was alleged to have pledged troops to the cause. None of them was subjected to torture, but none of them had, at that stage, breathed so much as a word against Norfolk, and Cromwell was becoming more frustrated by the week. He therefore gave word that Geoffrey Pole was to be given closer attention.

  XXIX

  Shortly before the Christmas celebrations of 1539, Cromwell turned up unannounced at Bradgate, ostensibly on a pilgrimage of sorts to the tomb of Wolsey. But he was fooling neither Richard nor Jane, and as they sat on a viewing bench surveying the ornamental garden to the rear of the house, Richard tackled him regarding the true reason for his journey north.