Henry VIII (18 page)

The King's “goodly masses” referred to by Edward Hall have sadly been lost. His only sacred work to survive is a three-part motet, “Quam pulchra es.” It was once thought that Henry had written the motet “O Lord the Maker of All Things,” but it was almost certainly composed either by William Mundy, a Gentleman of Queen Elizabeth's Chapel Royal, or by John Shepherd, organist of Magdalen College, Oxford. Nor did Henry write “Greensleeves,” which is probably Elizabethan in origin and is based on an Italian style of composition that did not reach England until after his death.
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From Windsor, Henry moved on to Woking, where “there were kept both jousts and tournaments.”
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Henry VII had acquired the fifteenthcentury Woking Palace from Margaret Beaufort in 1503, and had spent £1,400 (£420,000) converting it into sumptuous royal residence, which would be partially rebuilt and extended by Henry VIII in 1515–1516 and 1532–1534. The house was designed on a courtyard plan. It had a gallery with a cloister beneath, both facing the River Wey, a chapel, a gatehouse, extensive royal apartments with bay windows, and a great hall built in 1508 with windows completed by the King's glazier, Bernard Flower, in 1511. There were privy gardens, orchards, and some fine hunting in the surrounding park. A bowling alley was constructed in 1537.
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“The rest of this progress was spent in hunting, hawking and shooting”;
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it took the King into Hampshire, and to The Vyne, the house of Sir William Sandys, near Basingstoke. Sir William, now forty, was a popular and loyal courtier who had married the niece of Sir Reginald Bray, a staunch supporter of Henry VII before his accession. Sandys was one of the King's favourite companions of the chase as well as being Keeper of the royal hunting lodge at Easthampstead, twelve miles away. Henry obviously liked him because he made two return visits in later years.

From The Vyne, the King moved south to Southampton, and then east, in September, to the twelfth-century Augustinian priory at South-wick, where he made an offering at the shrine of Our Lady. This was the first of several pilgrimages Henry made to religious shrines, such as St. Thomas Becket at Canterbury, the miraculous black cross at Waltham Abbey, Our Lady of Walsingham, St. Edward the Confessor at Westminster Abbey, St. Bridget of Syon, and even the tomb of the uncanonised Henry VI at Windsor. His Book of Payments records huge sums donated in offerings to these and other shrines.
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For more than half his reign, Henry was a faithful son of the Roman Catholic Church. His piety was conventional, his charitable works legion—his annual alms amounted to £156 (£46,800)—and he enjoyed the imagery, ritual, and liturgy of his religion. His rosary, made of box-wood with carved beads, one of which bears his arms, survives at Chatsworth.

Like every sovereign from Edward II to Queen Anne, Henry VIII “touched for the King's Evil”—a healing ritual believed to cure the skin disease scrofula. The divine powers conferred on an anointed King were also called into play every Good Friday, when he would bless “cramp rings” made from the coins he had offered that day in chapel, which were then distributed to those suffering from cramp, epilepsy, palsy, labour pains, or rheumatism, in the belief that the sovereign's benediction would effect a cure. On Good Friday also, “the King's Grace crept to the Cross from the chapel door upwards, and so served the priest to mass, his own person kneeling on His Grace his knees.”
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His attendants would smooth his path by laying down cushions.
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On the day before Good Friday, the King would take part in the Royal Maundy ceremony, which dates from the Dark Ages and is first known to have been performed by King John in 1210. In imitation of Jesus Christ at the Last Supper, Henry, armed with a towel, a basin, and a nosegay to guard against infection, and wearing a voluminous white apron, would kneel to wash, dry, sign with a cross, and kiss the feet of a number of poor persons equal to the years of his age; to ensure that the royal nose would not be offended, the same feet had been previously well scrubbed by the Yeoman of the Laundry. The King would then give their owners gifts of bread, fish, wine, and clothing, and distribute red and white purses of money. Present at the ceremony were the Lord Chamberlain, the Gentlemen of the Chapel Royal, and the Yeomen of the Guard. Cardinal Wolsey often attended. The word “Maundy” derives from the
mandatum
that Christ gave to His disciples, commanding them to love one another. Henry's queens also distributed Maundy charity in their own right.
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Possessing the most sensitive of consciences, and wishing to set a virtuous example, Henry was assiduous about the welfare of his soul. He was “very religious and heard three masses daily when he hunted, and sometimes five on other days,” and he usually joined the Queen for Vespers and Compline.
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These services were conducted by his chaplains in his private closet; the King only took part in services in the chapel royal on Sundays, when he received the Eucharist,
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and feast days; during daily services, which he usually attended, he worked there, secluded in his private pew.
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In an arrangement dating from the time of Henry III, this pew was usually set in a gallery above the body of the chapel, facing the altar, and had a winding staircase at one end or leading from an adjoining “holyday” closet, which Henry could use when he wished to go down and participate in services.
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In the Black Book of the Garter (1534) there is an illumination of the King at prayer in his closet, kneeling before an altar on a cushioned prie-dieu beneath a canopy of blue and gold.
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Henry was strictly orthodox. Always fierce against heresy, he had no qualms about burning those with subversive views. Nevertheless, he loved theological debate and discussion. Erasmus, who dedicated his New Testament in Latin to Henry and Katherine,
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tells us that “whenever he has leisure from his political occupations”—and presumably from hunting—“he reads, or disputes with remarkable courtesy and unruffled temper,” never standing upon his royal dignity.
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Sometimes, however, Henry gave the impression that he thought he knew better than his bishops in matters of doctrine and interpretation of the Scriptures. Indeed, he was more than a match for them, being “the most learned of kings, not only in theology, but also in philosophy.”
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He was well read in the Church Fathers and other pious works, and could cite texts; the extensive marginal notes he made in his books may still be seen in those that survive.

The responsibility for religious observances and services at court belonged to the Chapel Royal, which was not a building but an institution comprising twenty-six chaplains and clerks, twenty Gentlemen, the Clerk of the Closet (who was responsible for preparing for private services in the King's closet),
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the Serjeant of the Vestry, a Gospeller, an Epistoler, two Yeomen of the Chapel, thirteen minstrels, a watchman, and the twelve choristers and their Master.
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It had first been established in the twelfth century as the King's Chapel, or the Household Chapel, its function being to provide for the spiritual welfare of the monarch, and from 1312 it was under the rule of a dean, who answered directly to the Archbishop of Canterbury. The Chapel Royal performed daily services for the royal household in the royal chapels, and when the King travelled on progress or to a lesser house, a small core of its members always went with him. It cost him £2,000 (£6 million) a year to maintain the Chapel Royal.

All services were of course in Latin, and the only permitted version of the Bible was the Latin Vulgate. The calendar was full of saints' days, which were observed with various degrees of solemnity or festivity. The Church recognised seven sacraments: baptism, confirmation, marriage, ordination, penance, the Eucharist, and viaticum (the last rites). Its bishops wore splendid vestments—such as the gem-encrusted mitre shown in Hans Holbein's portrait of Archbishop Warham—and lived in princely style.

To confuse matters, several of the royal chapels were known as the chapel royal, notably those at the Tower, Westminster, Eltham, Greenwich, Hampton Court, Whitehall, and St. James's Palace. Each household chapel was beautifully decorated, with brilliant stained glass windows, wall paintings, statues of the Virgin and saints, and a rood screen bearing a large carving of the crucified Christ; the screen separated the nave from the chancel, which only the clergy were allowed to enter. On the altar, which was draped with an embroidered frontal, stood a crucifix and perhaps sacred relics in bejewelled reliquaries, while above hung a case called the pyx, which contained the Host. Most of the royal chapels had splendid organs, in which the King, who was fascinated by their workings, took an active interest. From 1514, he employed an organ-maker, William Lewes,
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and later set up a workshop for him at Bridewell Palace.
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It was probably Lewes who made the organ for the chapel royal at Hampton Court in 1538.
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15

“The Holy Innocent”

The Queen's second pregnancy progressed well, and in September 1510 preparations were made for “the King's nursery.”
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A Lady Mistress, Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Robert Poyntz, was appointed to take charge of the birth and care for the new baby, and the room assigned her was decorated with new hangings. A purple velvet bearing pane (a strip of cloth) with a long train was made for the infant.
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Following earlier precedents, Margaret Beaufort had laid down strict ordinances to be observed “against the deliverance of a queen,”
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and these were faithfully observed throughout her grandson's reign. “Her Highness's pleasure being understood in what chamber she will be delivered in, the same must be hanged with rich cloth of Arras, sides, roof, windows and all, except one window, which must be hanged so as she may have light when it pleaseth her.” These tapestries were to depict innocuous scenes from romances, so that neither the Queen nor her newborn infant might be “affrighted by figures which gloomily stare.” The floor was to be “laid all over with carpets” before the great bed was brought in. This was made up with a mattress stuffed with wool, a feather bed, a bolster of down, sheets of fine lawn, two long pillows and two square pillows, all filled with fine down, and a counterpoint (embroidered quilt) of scarlet furred with ermine and trimmed with crimson velvet and cloth of gold. The tester and curtains were to be of crimson satin embroidered with golden crowns and the Queen's arms, the tester being edged with a silk fringe of blue, russet, and gold. An altar was to be placed in the chamber, and a cupboard, covered with tapestry, for the birthing equipment. The “rich font of Canterbury” was to be brought in specially for the occasion, in case the child was weak and needed immediate baptism.

About four to six weeks before the delivery, the Queen was to “take to her chamber” and retire into seclusion to await the birth. On that day, she would hear mass in a chapel “well and worshipfully arrayed,” and then host a banquet for all the lords and ladies of the court in her “great chamber,” which was also to be hung with rich tapestries and furnished with “a cloth and chair of estate and cushions,” so that the Queen might “stand or sit at her pleasure.” “Spices and wine” would be served, and then two high-ranking lords would escort the Queen to the door of her inward lodgings, which opened into the antechamber to her bedchamber, where she would take formal leave of the courtiers and her male officers. As she left, her Chamberlain would desire all her people to pray “that God would send her a good hour.” She would not be seen again in public until after the birth.

“Then all the ladies and gentlewomen to go in with her, and none to come in to the great chamber but women; and women to be made all manner of officers, as butlers, panters, sewers, etc.” No man would be allowed in, not even the King, until after the delivery. Everything that was needed would be brought to the door of the great chamber and there given to the temporary female officers.
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As the birth approached, the Queen's chaplains would hold themselves in readiness for an urgent summons, as would the messenger appointed to convey news of the birth to the King.
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Childbirth was a hazardous business, for both mother and child, and around a quarter of newborns were lost. The future of the Tudor dynasty hung upon a happy outcome.

In November, a tournament was held over several days, at which “the King broke more staves than any other.”
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Then the court moved to Richmond, where the Queen took to her chamber. At the end of December she went into labour; no more is heard of the “groaning chair,” and it appears that Katherine gave birth on “a fair pallet bed” placed beside the great bed in her bedchamber,
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and wearing one of the fine Holland smocks and double petticoats that were later found among the “necessaries provided for what time she lay in childbed” at the Wardrobe in Baynard's Castle.
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There was no effective pain relief. In 1512, Katherine sent the Abbot of Westminster to her pregnant sister-in-law, Margaret Tudor, with the Girdle of Our Lady, a holy relic in the possession of Westminster Abbey but loaned out to royal ladies in labour, whose sufferings were said to be relieved by its presence in the birthing chamber.
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Perhaps we may assume that Katherine herself had found it efficacious.

In the early hours of New Year's Day, 1511, the Queen was delivered of a prince, to the great jubilation of the King and the court. A royal salute was fired from the cannon ranged along Tower Wharf, all the church bells pealed out in celebration, Te Deums were sung by the clergy, and there were triumphant processions through London. In order for his subjects to share in his joy at the birth of his son and heir, Henry ordered that bonfires be lit in the streets of London and that the Lord Mayor arrange for the citizens to be served with free wine to drink the Prince's health. He rewarded the midwife with £10 (£150) and Mistress Poyntz with £30 (£450).
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The royal infant must have looked very tiny indeed in his vast painted wooden cradle, which measured approximately five feet by two feet and was trimmed with silver gilt and had buckles either side to secure his swaddling bands. He lay there, wrapped up tight, under a cover-cloth fringed with gold and a scarlet counterpoint furred with ermine.
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Yet when he was displayed to important visitors, he was placed in an even bigger cradle of estate, upholstered in crimson and decorated with gold fringing, with his father's coat of arms above his head.

The Queen had now moved to a bed of estate set up in her presence chamber, where, wrapped in a round mantle of crimson velvet, she would receive guests and well-wishers. She would also write a letter to her Lord Chamberlain and, perhaps other officers and nobles, formally announcing the birth.
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It was customary for queens to lie in for up to thirty or forty days after the delivery, before being purified in a special ceremony known as “churching,” after which they were no longer considered unclean and could return to their normal routine.
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Queens did not breastfeed; a wet nurse was engaged for that, leaving the royal mother free to conceive another heir for the dynasty.

When he was five days old, the Prince was christened at Richmond, and given the name Henry. He was also styled Prince of Wales. His godparents at the font were Archbishop Warham, the Earl of Surrey, and the Earl and Countess of Devon,
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his great-aunt and uncle, while his august sponsors were King Louis XII of France and Margaret of Austria, Duchess of Savoy, daughter of the Emperor Maximilian I, who both sent expensive gifts of gold plate.

Back in his nursery, the Prince was subject to an orderly regimen laid down by his great-grandmother, Margaret Beaufort. Although royal parents visited their children, they did not undertake the daily care of them; that was left to the nursery staff. Prince Henry's Lady Mistress supervised his wet-nurse and dry nurse, who were assisted by four chamberers known as rockers, whose chief duty was to lull their charge to sleep by rocking his cradle. All nursery staff had to swear a special oath of loyalty before the Lord Chamberlain, as did the Grooms, Yeomen, Panters, and Sewers who waited upon the nursery.
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The wet-nurse had to be of excellent moral character, since “the child suckleth the vice of his nurse with the milk of her pap,”
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and all her food was assayed for poison. A physician stood by to supervise every feeding to make sure that the baby was getting enough and was not being slipped any unauthorised foods. Among the “necessaries as belong unto the child” there were “a great pot of leather for water,” “two great basins of water,” and yards of “fine linen and blanket.” The nursery was quite luxurious, with tapestries, eight large carpets, and two cushions of crimson damask, and great formality was observed within it.
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Royal children did not usually live at court, where the risk of infection was unacceptably high, but were assigned separate establishments and households while still quite young. The King immediately appointed no less than forty persons to serve his son, including a Clerk of the Signet, a Serjeant of Arms, three chaplains, a Carver, Yeomen of the Wardrobe and the Beds, a Keeper of the Cellar, and a Baker. Looking further ahead, he also designated a room in the Palace of Westminster as the Prince's council chamber.

That done, the proud father set off on a visit to the Priory of Our Lady of Walsingham in Norfolk to give thanks for the gift of a son and heir.
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Dismounting a mile away, at the Slipper Chapel, the King, like all the other pilgrims, removed his shoes and walked barefoot to the Virgin's shrine, where he lit a candle and offered a costly necklace. He also arranged, at his own expense, for the royal glazier, Bernard Flower, to make stained glass windows for the Lady Chapel.
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His pilgrimage completed, Henry returned to Richmond. Then, “the Queen being churched and purified, the King and she removed to Westminster,”
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the Prince having been left in the healthier air of Richmond.

It was now time to celebrate in style. On 1 February, there was a tournament at which the King, Brandon, Neville, and Sir Edward Howard, all clad in “coats of green satin guarded with crimson velvet,” tilted against Essex, Devon, Dorset, and Surrey's son, Lord Thomas Howard. Henry's councillors were still trying to persuade him to watch rather than take part, “and spake thereof as much as they durst, but his courage was so noble” that they had to give way.
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On 12 and 13 February, perhaps the most lavish tournament of the reign was staged at Westminster in honour of the Queen. The King took the role of Coeur Loyal—Sir Loyal Heart—and appeared in the tiltyard, wearing his wife's colours, with three other challengers on a pageant car drawn by a mock lion and antelope of damask gold and silver. The car was decked out as a forest “with rocks, hills and dales”; in the midst was a golden castle, and outside the castle was “a gentleman making a garland of roses for the Prince.” When the car stopped before the Queen, the “foresters” on it sounded their horns, and out rode the four challengers from the castle: the Earl of Devon was Bon Valoir, Thomas Knyvet Bon Espoir, and Edward Neville Valiant Desire. All presented their shields to Katherine.

The next day, the answerers appeared. Charles Brandon arrived on horseback, attired as a hermit, and received the Queen's permission to accept the challenge. He then threw off his habit “to reveal that he was fully armed.” He was joined by Henry Guildford, then the Marquess of Dorset, and Sir Thomas Boleyn, “dressed like two pilgrims in black velvet tabards with pilgrims' hats over the helmets, and carrying Jacob's staffs in their hands; and their tabards, hats and cloaks were decorated with golden scallop shells,” as if they had come from the shrine of St. James at Compostela. Course after course was run, with the Queen bestowing the prizes; there was great applause when the King won the challenger's prize. Even after the tournament had drawn to a close, Henry insisted upon running another course with Brandon, “for the King's lady's sake.”
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The Great Tournament Roll of Westminster, a manuscript now in the College of Arms, vividly depicts the proceedings at this tournament. One scene shows Henry jousting in front of Katherine of Aragon, who sits under a canopy of estate with her ladies in a pavilion hung with cloth of gold and purple velvet embroidered with H's and K's, pomegranates and roses.

On the second night, there was great revelry in the White Hall, with “an interlude of the Gentlemen of his Chapel before His Grace,” in honour of the Prince, and a pageant,
The Garden of Pleasure,
in which Henry again appeared as Coeur Loyal, wearing a purple satin suit adorned with gold H's and K's. Several people, including the Spanish ambassador, would not believe the letters were real gold, so, during the dancing that followed, the King invited them to pull them off him to prove that they were. Unfortunately, the general public, who had been allowed in to witness the festivities, mistook this as an invitation to divest the King and his courtiers of their finery for largesse, and surged into the throng of merry-makers, grabbing and pulling as they went. Henry was stripped down to his doublet and hose, as were most of his companions, while poor Sir Thomas Knyvet lost all his clothes and, stark naked, had to climb a pillar for safety. Even the ladies who had danced in the pageant, wearing gowns of Tudor green and white, “were spoiled likewise, wherefore the King's guard came suddenly and put the people back.” The King passed the whole thing off as a joke, and “all these hurts were turned to laughing and game.” The evening concluded with a banquet in the presence chamber, with everyone attending in what was left of their finery.
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After this, security was tighter at public events.

Ten days after these rejoicings, terrible news arrived from Richmond. On 23 February,
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the little Prince had died. The Queen was distraught, but the King, concealing his own grief, comforted her. No blame was attached to the nursery staff, and Elizabeth Poyntz was rewarded for her service with an annuity of £20 (£300).

The Keeper of the Wardrobe supplied an elaborate hearse on which the tiny body was conveyed to London. Dozens of wax candles burned around the hearse day and night while a round-the-clock vigil was kept over it by black-clad mourners in Westminster Abbey, where the Prince was afterwards buried late at night in a torch-lit ceremony.
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His soul, wrote an observer, was “now among the holy innocents of God.”
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Henry made no further outward show of grief. That Easter, Pope Julius II bestowed on him a Golden Rose that he himself had blessed, and which symbolised the flowers that preceded the fruits of the Passion of Christ. Not only was this a great comfort, it was also a sign of high apostolic favour, which in 1512 was followed by a Sword and Cap of Maintenance. It was also an inducement for Henry to join the so-called Holy League, an alliance between the Papacy, Spain, and Venice against Louis of France, who had aggressive ambitions in Italy.