Chapter 6
SIX
The last day of May dawned bright and fresh. When Thomasin woke to the usual sound of palace bustle, Catherine was standing by the window in her nightgown.
“My lady, are you well?”
Thomasin rubbed her eyes as the queen turned slowly towards her. Maria was still sleeping soundly, her blanket pulled up to cover her ears.
“Well enough,” Catherine said wistfully, pulling a shawl about her shoulders. “The court convenes today. My fate is in its hands.”
“Might I bring you anything? Do you wish to dress yet?”
“No, it is too early. I was waiting to hear the hour of Prime but I must have missed it, because the sun is quite up now.” She traced a finger across the pane of glass before her. “I had hoped to spare my daughter this.”
“Is Lady Mary now at Hatfield?”
“Yes, but I was thinking of moving her to Eltham, as it is a greater distance away. There she is less likely to hear…” The queen paused. “Reports.”
“I am sure the Countess of Salisbury is vigilant in protecting her from idle gossip.”
The princess’s governess was a formidable woman, but Thomasin had every faith in her desire to protect her vulnerable young charge.
The unravelling of her parents’ marriage had opened Mary’s eyes to suffering for the first time, and now, at the age of thirteen, she experienced low moods and severe toothache that Thomasin was sure were not helped by her sense of loss.
Catherine turned back to face Thomasin. “Your father is at court, is he not?”
“Yes, my lady. He was summoned by Cromwell, quite against his wishes.”
“And what is his position on this matter?”
“He has always been a devoted friend to your good self, and will speak according to the dictates of his conscience.”
“He was always beloved at my court.” Catherine turned with a smile. “I remember him as a young man, with such energy and a warm smile. Did you know he used to play the lute and sing in my chambers? I did miss his smile when he retired to the country.”
Thomasin wondered whether the queen knew the real reason for Sir Richard’s withdrawal from court, all those years ago.
She herself had only recently discovered the brief liaison that had occurred between her mother and the king.
At one point she had even feared that Henry might be her own father, but the similarities between her and Sir Richard were too great to overlook.
“I can trust you, can’t I, Thomasin?”
“Yes, my lady, with every fibre of my being.”
Catherine smiled at her enthusiasm. “Yes, I believe so, despite the best efforts of others to convince me differently. Did you hear that Lady Norfolk has left court?”
“I had not, my lady.” Thomasin recalled the Duke of Norfolk’s quarrelsome wife, who had tried to turn the queen against Thomasin not so long ago.
“You will not miss her, I think.”
“No, my lady.”
“I need someone to attend the Papal Court for me, Thomasin. To sit at the back and listen, when I am not there. I will only attend at the time I am summoned, but I wish to know how proceedings fare. I think you would be a good choice, with your sharp wits and good memory, and your father is there too. Will you be my eyes and ears in that place?”
The immensity of this rushed over Thomasin in a wave. “Of course, my lady, if it will assist you.”
“You do not need to speak. Just attend and report back at the end of the day.”
“Is there anything in particular you wish to hear, or not hear?”
“You are most tactful, as ever. Your general impressions, I think: the mood of the court, and the law, evidence, precedents, but only when they are significant in determining my case. Also the main line of those called as witnesses. Do you think you can manage that?”
“I will do my very best for you, my lady.”
“The court convenes shortly, so you must dress and break your fast quickly.”
Thomasin started to fold her linen at once.
“Never mind that. Maria will do it.” Catherine crossed the room and stood up on tiptoes to plant a kiss on Thomasin’s forehead. “May God go with you, Thomasin Marwood.”
The sun was climbing higher in the sky as Thomasin hurried across the Fleet Bridge and entered Blackfriars Priory.
The building had the gloomy majesty of a religious site, but it was also used as a royal venue, and there were signs of the wealth and presence of the king everywhere.
Scented braziers burned against the morning chill; rich tapestries and curtains hung against the stone walls.
Crowds were milling about in the cloister, waiting to enter the Parliament chamber, where the hearing was to be held.
Through the dark robes of dukes and earls, Thomasin glimpsed the flash of the cardinals’ scarlet.
Her heart was beating faster as she approached. It was indeed a great honour to be asked to attend on behalf of the queen, but also a great responsibility. She did not look forward to the inevitable digging into the royal marriage, which she must bear witness to.
“Thomasin Marwood?”
She turned to see her good friend and scholar Thomas More, dressed in grey robes and wearing the most sombre of expressions.
Over the past year, his intelligent conversation and kindness had saved her on many occasions, so he had come to represent something of an alternative father figure to her, especially when Sir Richard was absent.
He had been speaking with Bishop Fisher, who was dressed in his black and white robes and tricorn hat, but now came over to greet her.
“Master More!”
“It does my heart good to see you, Thomasin. Are you quite well?”
“Well enough, I thank you.”
“Why are you here, at the court? Surely you are not summoned already?”
“No, I am not summoned.” She looked round to check they were not overheard, but lowered her voice anyway. “I am here on behalf of the queen, to be her eyes and ears while she is not present.”
“Ah, I see.” Concern flickered in his eyes. “And you are happy to do this?”
“Happy to serve my lady in any way I can.”
“The queen is wise in her choices. In you, she has the best eyes and ears she might have, perhaps better than her own.” He looked back at the crowd waiting to enter the chamber.
“Do not be put off by all this. It will be mostly procedure today; there will not be much to interest you, I fear, and little to report before the important matter begins.”
“It is of no matter. I think just having someone there to represent her will reassure the queen. I know she has you, and the Bishop, but I am to be an independent pair of eyes.”
“Women’s eyes,” added More, “which see things differently to those of all the men here. We will find you a quiet spot, where you can follow the proceedings.”
“May I not sit with you, or my father when he arrives?”
“There will be strict arrangements about who is to sit where. It will all be very formal.” He turned to look at the doors to the chamber. “They should commence soon.”
“And Margaret, is she well?” Thomasin had grown particularly close to More’s daughter, Margaret Roper, with her combination of sharp wit and gentleness.
“Margaret is, yes, thanks be to God, but her little daughter has been unwell, so she is much occupied with her. It will turn out well, I think, but the child is delicate.”
“Oh, I am sorry to hear that.” Thomasin made a mental note to ask Catherine’s permission to send the Ropers a gift of wine and fruit.
Then, the heavy doors behind them started to scrape open, and the attention of the crowd was turned in their direction. A figure stood in the doorway in bishop’s robes, surveying those outside.
“That is John Longland, Bishop of Lincoln,” explained More. “It is he who will open proceedings, as it was to him that the king first expressed his concerns.”
Thomasin looked at the face of Henry’s confessor, hoping to find some suggestion of empathy and mercy, but she could discern nothing behind his stony eyes.
“Make way!” called a voice from behind. They stepped aside to allow the two cardinals to enter, Campeggio drawing out every agonising step and clutching a cross in his hands, and Wolsey following behind, his chin lifted as if he might somehow rise above it all.
A train of bishops and archdeacons followed, with Fisher among them, after which came the other court officials.
Thomasin saw Cromwell at the end, with her father walking reluctantly at his side.
Sir Richard raised his brows in surprise as he saw his daughter waiting to enter, but there was no time for explanations.
Another figure, tall, austere and hollow-cheeked came after him, not looking around, but keeping his eyes forward.
“That’s Gardiner,” whispered someone in the crowd. “He’s come back to court to help Wolsey.”
Once all the men had entered the chamber, Thomasin followed More and slipped into a seat at the back.
The setting was dark and old, filled with heavy wood and a sense of history.
She could imagine Parliament meeting here in times past, to discuss dangers and pass laws.
Looking about, she saw that there were no other women present.
Several of the officials looked at her askance, but she was known as one of the queen’s women, so they must have guessed at her purpose.
Thomasin sat up straight and looked ahead: she had every right to be there and would defend her presence if need be.