He added:
There are many young men who excel in this kind of warfare, but the most conspicuous amongst them all, the most assiduous, and the most interested in the combats is the king himself, who never omits being present at them.
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There were other entertainments. May Day was a red-letter occasion in the court calendar. On 1 May 1510, Henry, ‘being young and willing not to be idle, rose in the morning very early to fetch May or green boughs’. He had dressed himself ‘all fresh and richly apparelled’ and clothed his Privy Chamber officials in white satin and his guard in white sarsenet (a lightweight silk) especially for the occasion.
And so went every man with his bow and arrow, shooting [in] the wood and so repaired again to the court, every man with a bough [twig] in his cap.
At [Henry’s] returning, many hearing of his going ‘a-Maying’ were desirous to see him shoot, for at that time his grace shot as strong and as great a length as any of his guard.
Along came an archer boasting of his prowess and shot an arrow – ‘a very good shot and well towards his mark, whereof not only his grace but all other persons greatly marvelled’.
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Henry had won back his happiness and marital bliss. Katherine swiftly became pregnant again and their progress along the Thames Valley that summer, beginning at Windsor, was unmarred by strife within the royal household.
The king exercised daily ‘in shooting, singing, dancing [and] wrestling’. He also satisfied his love of music – playing the recorder, flute and virginals, and in writing songs and ballads. Being a pious man, he also composed two ‘goodly Masses, every one of them in five parts, which were sung oftentimes in his chapel and afterwards in diverse other places’. The household stayed at the manor of Woking where there were more jousts and tournaments before they returned to Greenwich in October.
The king, not minded to see young gentlemen inexpert in martial feats, caused a place to be prepared within the park of Greenwich for the queen and [her] ladies to stand and see the fight with battle-axes that should be done there.
And the king himself armed fought with one Gyot, a gentleman of [Germany], a tall man and a good man [with] arms.
[Afterwards] Gyot fought with Sir Edward Howard, which Gyot was by him stricken to the ground.
The next day, the royal party moved on to the Tower and fearing there had been bad blood between the combatants of the previous day, Henry donated two hundred marks (£123) for a cheerful banquet for them at the Fishmongers’ Hall in London’s Thames Street.
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While all this merriment was going on, the question remained of the fate of Henry VII’s disgraced councillors, Edmund Dudley and Sir Richard Empson, imprisoned at the end of April the year before. Dudley
was unaware of Parliament’s failure to pass the bill of attainder against him in January and made an unsuccessful attempt to escape from the Tower.
Dudley was accused of attempting to seize Henry and his council by force and of calling on knights, gentlemen and other friends to come to London ‘in warlike guise’. In his will, he complained of standing ‘attainted of high treason by an untrue verdict lately passed against me in the Guildhall’ on 18 July 1509.
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In a petition to his late ministerial colleague Bishop Fox, he described himself as ‘the most wretched and sorrowful creature, being a dead man by the king’s laws’ and appended a veritable litany of his extortion during the later years of Henry VII’s reign. For example, there was the case of Robert Hawkins, a London haberdasher, who paid one hundred marks (£67) in January 1505 for a pardon for the death of a man ‘upon [the] surmise of a lewd fellow’. Then there was Sir Henry Vernon, ‘who was sore dealt with’ – being fined £100 and £800 in recognisances for involvement in his son’s abduction of a widow, Margaret Kebell, and his marriage to her against her will in July 1507.
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Dudley was beheaded on Tower Hill on 17 August 1510 and buried in the Church of the Blackfriars. His wealth at his death was estimated at £333 in cash and goods worth £5,000.
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In November 1511 his widow Elizabeth married Arthur Plantagenet, the bastard son of Edward IV, who was created Viscount Lisle in 1523.
Empson was taken from the Tower to Northampton Castle
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and, a lawyer to the last, he defended himself before a special court on 1 October 1509, accused of treason. Although the charge was probably false, he should have realised he was wasting his breath. He was beheaded at Tower Hill with Dudley and left only lands worth £200 – £300 and goods worth £100.
Henry VIII had promised his subjects instant justice. Two scapegoats had been slaughtered to appease public opinion. It was time to redress their legal wrongs. In July 1509, commissions of
oyer et terminer
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were set up to inquire into the injustices perpetrated by Empson and Dudley. During the first year of the new reign, at least forty-five of these councillors’ recognisances were cancelled and a further one hundred and
thirty nullified over the following five years. Fifty-one of them specifically stated that the recognisances had been ‘unjustly extorted’.
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Beyond the final bloody resolution of these domestic issues and Henry’s constant jousting and revelry, there were grimmer signs that the king was preparing for war to further his burgeoning appetite for military glory. In October 1509, he authorised a warrant to pay £1,000 for metal to be used for ‘making certain of our artillery and ordnance’
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and that December, Venetian merchants in London reported ruefully that the price of Cornish tin had rocketed because Henry had bought ‘a great quantity to make one hundred pieces of artillery’. Furthermore, the king ‘wished to launch and arm four ships which he has been building in [South]ampton’.
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Early in the New Year, 1510, Thomas Spinelly, Henry’s agent in the Low Countries, signed a covenant with the famous Flemish gunmaker Hans Poppenruyter of Malines to deliver forty-eight canon to fire lead or iron shot weighing between thirty-five and forty pounds (16 – 18 kg).
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These were delivered between December that year and June 1512, each one marked with a name redolent of patriotism or heraldry: ‘Rose’, ‘Portcullis’, ‘York’, ‘Elephant’, ‘Dragon’, Lizard’, ‘Scorpion’ or the more descriptive ‘Smite’.
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Margaret, Duchess of Savoy and Regent of the Netherlands, pledged that the artillery would be made ‘as cheap for the King of England as for the Prince of Castile’ and had helpfully seized a consignment of artillery already completed for King James IV of Scotland. Spinelly asked that 8,000 or 10,000 tons of tin should be sent to him to make the gun metal, ‘as the tin of England is better and cheaper than foreign tin’.
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During the following May, Henry made the first of several part-payments, totalling £400, to the London bowyers for their manufacture of 10,000 longbows and the following month paid £15 for Spanish gunpowder and saltpetre, the latter an ingredient in making that explosive. In November, the fletcher Walter Hyndy was paid £67 for arrowheads and bowstrings and £13 for checking 15,000 sheaves of arrows at the Tower.
Katherine’s time was now approaching and at one-thirty on the morning of New Year’s Day 1511, she gave birth to a healthy boy at Richmond.
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Celebratory bonfires burnt brightly that night in the London
streets, free wine was distributed to toast the prince’s health and on the Tower’s ramparts, cannon boomed out deafening salutes, the gunners enthusiastically firing a total of 207 pounds (94 kg) of gunpowder.
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Four days later, the child was christened in the Friar Observants’ church adjoining the palace. Those attending – including the papal, French, Spanish and Venetian ambassadors – walked along a path from the palace’s hall, twenty-four feet (7.32 m) wide, which had been strewn with rushes (it must have been wet weather) after being newly gravelled. Bishop Fox acted as deputy for one of the child’s godfathers, King Louis XII of France (the other was Archbishop Warham), and the Countess of Surrey represented the godmother, Margaret, Duchess of Savoy. Louis was generous in his gifts to the infant: a salt weighing fifty-one ounces (1.45 kg) and a cup of just over forty-eight ounces (1.37 kg), both of fine gold, together with a chain valued at £30 given to the Lady Mistress of the Nursery and £10 in cash to the queen’s nurse.
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The child was baptised Henry as he was dipped three times in the same silver font,
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brought from Canterbury, as his father had been almost two decades before.
The king was beside himself with joy at the arrival of a son and heir. On 11 January he went on a pilgrimage to the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham in Norfolk and after offering up his profound thanks to God, made the remarkably modest offering of £1 13s 4d.
In contrast, a celebratory joust was organised at Westminster on 12/13 February which cost more than £4,000 (Plate 13). It was based on an obscure allegory, a challenge by a queen called ‘Noble Renown’, the ruler of a land called ‘Noble Heart’, who had heard of Prince Henry’s birth, ‘which [was] the most joy and comfort that might be to her and to the most renowned realm of England’. This fictitious queen, well aware of the value, virtues and noble expertise of Henry VIII, had sent four of her stalwart knights, ‘Loyal Heart’, ‘Valiant Desire’, ‘Good Valour’ and ‘Joyous Learner’, to England to demonstrate their skill at fighting. In reality, of course, these stranger knights were Henry himself, Sir Thomas Knyvet, Sir William Courtenay and Edward Neville respectively.
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Katherine and her ladies watched from a tiled gallery or grandstand as, on the opening day, an astonishing pageant on wheels, drawn by a
mechanical golden lion and silver antelope, unfolded before their eyes. A forest, with ‘trees and artificial boughs of hawthorn, oak, maples, hazel, birches [and] fern with beasts and birds’ lay before them, complete with two foresters dressed in green satin, each carrying a bow and a hunting horn. A castle, made of gold paper, was amid this forest, containing a ‘fair maiden’ who occupied herself making a garland of silk roses to present to Queen Katherine.
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Within the forest rode the king and his fellow challengers.
Henry excelled in the subsequent first day’s jousting. He was clad in silver armour and rode a dark grey horse with gold stirrups, and trappings inscribed with the letter ‘K’ for ‘Katherine’ and the word ‘Loyal’ in golden letters. The king ran six courses, breaking four lances
as well and as valiantly as any man of arms might break them and such as were broken on him, he received them as though he felt no dint of any stroke.
There was many a fearful and timorous of heart for him, considering his excellency and his tenderness of age …
After they had seen the courses run and his manful charging … he rejoiced the people’s hearts … Then such as were in most fear, saw by his martial feats that by the aid of God, he was in no danger.
Henry then ran more courses and broke many lances and ‘every man marvelled of his wonderful feats for none there was challenger, or defender, might attain to half the prowess he accomplished that day’.
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At the end of that day’s jousting, the king could not resist a display of bravado. He decided to demonstrate his peerless horsemanship.
No man could do better, nor sit more close nor faster, nor yet kept his stirrups more surely, for notwithstanding that the horse was very courageous and excellent in leaping, turning and exceeding flinging he moved no more upon him than he had held a soft and plain trot.
Henry rode up in front of the queen and ‘leapt and coursed the horse up and down in wonderful manner’. Dramatically, he turned the horse and caused its back hooves to kick sharply against the wooden dividing wall of the tiltyard – the rap ‘resound[ing] about the place as it had been
[a] shot of [a] gun’. The king then moved back in front of the queen’s stand and gallantly made ‘a lowly [bow]’. Soon afterwards, he was seen in Katherine’s tent, ‘kissing and hugging her in a most loving manner’.
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Despite all this praise for his prowess, Henry did not win the prize for the first day’s contest – that prize went to Thomas Knyvet. The king was determined to do better on the second and last day.
This was opened by a fanciful entrance by Charles Brandon, the leader of the defenders. He rode into the lists enclosed in a tower, preceded by a jailer holding a huge key in his hand. His entrance was made in complete silence ‘without [a] drum or noise of minstrelry’. After the tower was pushed in front of the queen, the jailer unlocked the gate and Brandon rode out, dressed as a ‘recluse or religious person’ wearing a pilgrim’s hat and carrying a forked or notched pilgrim’s staff that bore a letter for Katherine. This was a chivalrous request for permission to proceed with the tilt, which naturally the queen gave. Amongst his fellow contestants was Sir Thomas Boleyn, dressed as a pilgrim of St James of Compostella over his armour.