Roses in the Tempest (22 page)

JULY, 1535

Hampton Court

XXIV

“There can be no better way to beat the King’s authority into the heads

of the rude people of the North than to show them that the King

intends reformation and correction of religion…”

–Thomas Cromwell, 1535-6

With lips straight as a line and shut as tightly as a castle’s keep, I watched my fellow courtier’s comport on the dancing floor. Velvet gowns trimmed in fox fur and ermine spun with each turn, each step. Bejeweled hands grasped other bejeweled hands, their gold and precious stones glittering under flickering fireglow. The air smelled of ginger and mace, late of the cakes and dainties consumed and left in crumbling debris on the long tables in the banqueting hall. We feasted, did England’s nobles…even as Thomas More’s head moldered on a pike on London Bridge.

“You do not dance today, Lord Giffard?”

The voice startled me and I hoped he did not notice, but there was very little that escaped our vicar general and chancellor Thomas Cromwell. When I turned, there was a slight glimmer in his squinted eyes, while a tortured smile lifted one corner of his mouth. The man who prosecuted the late Thomas More. No, he missed nothing. “I took a fall from my horse last week, my lord, and I find my leg still aches me.”

“Then sit, my lord. Sit, and we shall spend our lonely time in conversation.”

He beckoned me to a chair, and though I was loath to sit with him, in truth, my leg did ache and I longed to rest it. I sat beside him and took the wine cup he offered me.

“Now this is better, is it not? I do not myself cavort in dances. His Majesty outshines us all, at any rate.”

“Indeed,” I answered, lifting my cup in salute to the king.

Cromwell held his cup but he did not drink from it. Either this was his way to keep his head clear while others quaffed and loosened their tongues…or he feared it might be poisoned. I drank nonetheless. The room was hot, my leg ached me, and I felt tired of running from that which was inevitable. I was pleased, though, that as I drank, I found the wine to be excellent, without the taint from any vicious liquor.

“You have been at court all your life, have you not, Lord Giffard?”

My gaze steadied on his. He was a commoner, and there were many who made it plain to him that he would always be so in their eyes—though this was done before he rose out of Wolsey’s shadow and grew to be both the king’s lap dog and advisor. I wondered, as I looked into those empty eyes, if I ever treated him ill. It was too late now, at any rate. “Yes, my lord. The Giffards have always been at the English court, to the best of my knowledge.”

“I do not dispute it. A fine house is the house of Giffard. A strong line. With sons?” he queried, an eyebrow disappearing under the dark cap he was fond of wearing.

“Yes, my lord. Two sons at the moment. And a beautiful daughter.”

“Ah, a family. Looking to you to teach them what is right, to love their king and their God.”

“Not necessarily in that order.”

“Ho! You jest with me, Lord Thomas. May I call you so? It seems I have known you a long time, but seldom have we conversed.”

“No, my lord. To my regret.”

“To your regret.” He laughed, raising his cup, yet still he did not drink from it. “You need not use such fawning language with me, Lord Thomas,” he said quietly. “I know I am not liked at court. A commoner who rose in the ranks and who now holds offices even above…say, you…for instance.”

Eyeing the “s” chain of the office of chancellor lying across his chest, I nodded in acknowledgment, all the while trying to keep my face and my tone neutral. I tipped my cup again. The wine had a sour aftertaste. “Then why so anxious to talk with a nobody such as myself?”

He laughed again, and for a horrific moment, I thought he might slap me on the back like fellows in a tavern. I was relieved when he did not. “You are not a ‘nobody’, Lord Thomas. You are a man with many holdings, as is your father. A man who keeps significant holdings in this realm can hardly be termed a nobody.” He snorted and turned again to the dancers, who at last bowed to one another when the music came to an end in its last strains. But a new song was taken up, and His Majesty called for another dance with Queen Ann, who had worn a sour countenance all evening.

“The queen dances tonight,” he said casually, but I was on my guard, aware Cromwell never made a casual utterance.

“Should she not? She and the king always enjoyed such jovial dancing.”

“It is said she is with child again. If I were she, I would take to my bed. But I suppose she fears the king will still dance…with another.”

Impatient, I set the goblet down. “My lord—”

“You took the oath, did you not?”

I swallowed a raw lump, wishing the goblet were full again. Cromwell sensed my discomfort, for it was, after all, by his design, and he picked up the jug to pour me more. His brow rose again, though his squinted pig-eyes grew no larger.

“You know I did, my lord,” I said. “Else I would not be sitting here beside you now.”

“You are a great patron, nonetheless, of abbeys and such religious houses.”

“Is it unlawful to donate to poor houses that do the work of God?”

“But so many do not do the work of God, as you call it. So many abuse what is given them. Ah!” He interrupted himself to welcome another man who made his way through the throng, a man who looked to be as common as Cromwell but decked himself as if he were the noblest of gentlemen. Though if gentleman he were, it was a recent provision. “Lord Thomas, have you met my secretary Thomas Legh?”

He looked familiar to me, as all of Cromwell’s cronies somehow did, with their obsequious demeanors and overzealousness in dress. Legh bowed and sat beside me without a by-your-leave. “We have met, my Lord Cromwell,” he said more to me than to him, though I could not remember such an encounter. He was small and corpulent, the fur on his gown’s collar so thick it reached to his ears. Several gold chains hung over his gown and each of his fingers sported at least two rings. “We met some years ago, and you brushed me off as a dog brushes off a flea.”

For the first time I smiled. “Surely not, Mr. Legh.”

“He smiles,” said Legh, good-naturedly…or mendaciously. It was difficult to tell when he wore his smiles as broad as he wore his gowns. “Perhaps he recollects.”

“No, I do not recollect, but I must abide by your word that it was so. My apologies. My thoughts must have been otherwise occupied.”

“‘Tis true. You did not seem to be half listening to me. At that time, it was also true that I was only a secretary in the late Wolsey’s employ, and now, as you see, I am a king’s commissioner.”

My gaze slid from one man to the other. Merciful God. What had they to do with me? Did not Cromwell just ask if I took the oath? God have mercy.

“But what was I saying?” said Cromwell unnecessarily. “Oh yes. We were speaking of oaths and of abbeys. And patronage.”

“There are so many abuses by these clerics,” said Legh, shaking his head. “If you knew the lasciviousness, the greed I have encountered, Lord Giffard, you would surely withdraw any and all patronage of these despicable houses.”

“I have no doubt that such abuses occur,” I said levelly, “for abuses transpire in all institutions. Greed, for instance, is apt to snare a man who has the best intentions. Even…a king’s commissioner.”

For a moment, Legh merely glared at me, his dark eyes sketching me in his mind. Then, he burst into ignoble laughter, catching the attention of those standing nearby.

Cromwell chuckled. “You are a man of wit, Lord Thomas. I wonder…are you a deeply religious man?”

“That depends. A man can be deeply religious sometimes only when he needs it the most. When he is in peril, for instance.”

“Do you think you are in peril?” he asked in a quiet, unctuous voice. He enjoyed his role too much for my taste. I could not help but cringe in mild disgust.

“Am I?”

He laughed again, and Legh joined him. “My lord, you listen too much to wagging tongues at court. I am a harmless man, a simple man, from simple beginnings. As you see, I find my comfort in humble clothes and modest means.”

“Are you a religious man, Lord Cromwell?” I could not help but ask.

His smile was fixed. “I am God’s humble servant and also that of the king.”

“I see you put it in proper order, Lord Chancellor.” I rose. “And now…if you will excuse me.”

“But my Lord Thomas, I am not done speaking with you.”

I dreaded stopping, but he grabbed me by the sleeve. “Was there something you wanted, then?”

He put his hand to his chest and spoke to me with his head somewhat bowed from long practice with talking to the king. “I only ask about religion, Lord Thomas, because it is heavy on the king’s mind, he being the Supreme Head of the Church in England.”

“Yes, my lord.” I said nothing more than was sufficient. It was becoming increasingly difficult to remain civil to him. Perhaps that was his design all along.

“His worry has been with the monasteries and with the display of relics for profit.”

“Are those his words?”

Cromwell sucked his teeth for a moment. “Not his words precisely, my lord. But the gist of it was this: that he is most interested in discovering which monasteries are guilty of these grave offenses and to…clean them out.”

I raised my voice. I did not wish to be supposed conspiring with the likes of Cromwell. “Clean them out? Ruination, my lord?”

Cromwell moved closer and spoke in lower tones. “Not ruination. Reformation. To rectify abuses and create uniformity of religion. He has appointed me to gather commissioners to examine the monasteries. My men have already begun their tasks.”

“And so? What is it you want of me?”

“I would appoint you a commissioner, Lord Giffard. You would go to the monasteries within your demesnes and take inventory of their goods and property, and give a proper accounting to the king.”

“Why does the king need an accounting of their goods and property?”

“To root out abuses, of course. Abbots have been known to sell off small parcels of the abbey lands for gain, I am afraid, Lord Thomas. And such commerce there is in relics! It would shame you to know.”

“I see.” I could little argue with what he said, for I, too, knew such abuses to be true, but I wondered what deeper thing was intended by these visits. The king wanted an accounting, eh? I dared not postulate what that implied.

“I thank you for your kind consideration of me, Lord Cromwell. Your confidence in my house is not without merit. But I must decline your commission, for I have many duties to attend to on my lands and at court.”

Cromwell did not look surprised, but instead feigned his disappointment. “As I suspected, my lord, you are a busy man. And the king favors you and your kin. It is good to stay in the king’s favor.”

“That, my lord, I have always striven to do. It is good advice. I do not take it lightly.” I bowed, and exited as swiftly as I could.

I met Ursula some time later at the other end of the hall. We watched as the king danced with one of the queen’s ladies, one of the Seymour.

“My dear,” I said to her quietly. “I was approached—cornered, I should say—by Cromwell. He had the gall to ask me to be one of his commissioners to inventory the abbeys in my demesnes.”

“What did you say to him?”

“In all politeness, I refused.”

She clutched my hand. Hers were pale. “Perhaps you should not have done that, husband.”

“I will not be under Cromwell’s thumb,” I hissed. “Mark me. He, too, will fall, just like Wolsey. Though by Christ’s blood, I did not ever think I would miss the days when Wolsey darkened the halls. For at least he loved the Church and would have preserved it. Ursula, I felt such dread when Cromwell spoke of the Church. He is a man with no love of clerics. I do not understand why the king tolerates his like.”

“His Grace goes through clerics like a man consumes a meal,” she said, shaking her head. “When he has his fill, he discards the course to start on another. But now it is the monasteries themselves. Have not all the religious taken the oath?”

We leaned our heads together for to speak as quietly as we could. “Those that did still live. Yet clerics are not half the problem. It is all very well and good to become one’s own Church, to disinherit your daughter and heir, and to get you another wife before the first is dead, but the rest of Europe does not have to abide by it.”

“You speak of the Princess Elizabeth.”

“I do. Yesterday the king’s advisors discussed using her betrothal to secure certain treaties, but the French ambassador already intimated to me and others that she is no bargaining tool for this realm. Not when the rest of the crowned heads consider her the bastard.”

“Keep your voice low, husband.”

“It is the truth.”

“Just men have died for the truth before this. Witness Thomas More.”

“I sicken when I think of that. I sicken to think that my king, the man I have respected and served… It must be the likes of Cromwell to turn his head. He is behind this venture into the monasteries and it holds nothing good. I do not like this turn at all, Ursula.”