Chapter 6 #2
As silence fell, Bishop Longland stood at the front, surveying the assembly with the most solemn of airs.
He began by presenting the papal commission issued to Campeggio and Wolsey, who sat on either side behind him, the two flashes of colour amid a sea of black and grey.
The newcomer, Gardiner, had pride of place at his side, opening and arranging his folder of documents.
Wolsey’s clerk, a young Italian-looking man, read the instructions aloud to the court, with their complicated legal language, although even Thomasin could grasp their import.
The validity of the marriage between the king and queen was to be tested, and as soon as possible, it was to be declared either as legitimate, or null and void.
Both Henry and Catherine were summoned to attend, in person, on the eighteenth of June, in order to speak their minds.
Thomasin drew in her breath. Was the end of this terrible drama almost in sight?
The legal matters proceeded. First Wolsey, then Campeggio, shaky on his feet, rose to swear their oaths in Latin.
Thomasin recalled the occasion when she had called for strong hands to help him to bed, as he had been suffering terribly from the gout.
Where had that been, Greenwich, or Hampton Court?
The remaining proceedings were more of the Pope’s legal tangles, the validity of the court and role of the two cardinals.
There was nothing else of use to Catherine yet.
Looking around, Thomasin noted that there were no Boleyns present in the chamber, not even Sir Thomas, or Anne’s uncle Norfolk had attended on the first day.
Probably, Thomasin thought, it was because they knew that the real proceedings would not get underway for a while yet. It also meant there was no Rafe.
She stifled a yawn and sat back in her seat as Bishop Longland resumed his speech.
The daylight was bright outside when the session concluded.
In the end, they had been inside for little more than an hour, but the court had been convened and its wheels set in motion.
Thomasin came out, blinking, feeling herself no wiser than when she had gone in, except now there was a formal date on which Catherine would be summoned to speak.
She stood to the side of the door and watched as the others poured out, the cardinals and bishops having already led the way.
“Well,” said More, dusting off his sleeves, “there was very little edifying in that. And more of it to come, I think.”
“What happens next?” asked Thomasin.
“Again, very little.” More pulled a face. “The court will examine the evidence and wait to hear from the king and queen.”
“And both their views are well known.”
“Indeed. I would not be a cardinal in England for anything at the moment.”
Sir Richard had finally escaped the hall, and the clutches of Cromwell. “Ah, there you are. Sent by Catherine?”
“Yes, to watch and listen in her place.”
“That is an honour, surely.”
“A dubious honour, I fear,” added More.
Sir Richard turned to his daughter. “I suppose you have not heard from your mother? She was set to write to you, but I think she has not yet.”
“No, nothing.”
“She has again taken to her bed over this Cecilia business and is bewailing her misfortune. I am to seek out some cloves for her, as it has all set off her toothache, but apparently there are none to be had anywhere in London!”
“I will send some. I am sure the queen has plenty and will not mind sparing a few.”
“Ah, you see, now you have the queen’s ear, or rather you are her ears, you might ask her for special favours.”
“I do not really wish to be doing that, Father.”
“No, I jest, but I have been plagued by your mother’s complaints all night, so am grumpier than ever. All she speaks of is Cecilia and the baby, wanting her to come to London.”
“Do you think Hugh will send her back to us?”
“He might; it is your mother’s wish. I am to suggest that she could raise the child in Suffolk, while he divorces her quietly, without a scandal, if he is set on it, but then Cecilia is never one to do anything quietly. This is a terrible mess, is it not? I do wish we had no part in it.”
“I will write to Mother with the cloves and try to comfort her.”
“You are a good girl, Thomasin, thank the Lord. Now I will go at once to seek out Sir Hugh in his London lodgings, and I pray that I find him of a calm and sober mind.”
“Good luck with that, Father. May God go with you.”
“Family trouble?” asked More as they watched him walk away.
“My sister. Again.”
More offered Thomasin his arm. “Shall we walk?”
“I must get back to the queen, who will be keen to hear everything, although she does not yet know there is so little to hear.”
“Just across the bridge and through the gardens then, back to her lodgings,” More said with a smile.
They passed over the Fleet, grey and fast as it collided with the Thames, and set foot on the further side. At once, the shaded paths and walkways inside the walled garden put Thomasin at ease.
“The thing about families,” said More, “is that they are both our harbours and our storms. Sometimes both at the same time, and we can do little but try and keep our heads as we weather them.”
Thomasin sighed. “I know that is true.”
“But it is very difficult,” he continued, “when the careful sailors are constantly working with another who knows or cares little for times and tides. It is a frustrating task to shoulder another’s burdens, and we cannot avoid them becoming our own.”
“You speak so kindly, so gently, but in truth, Cecilia is little more than a tempest. I fear what will become of her.”
“All you can do is to gently guide her, and do not let her sink your ship. Your father’s plan sounds like a solid one. She may do best retreating to the country, where she can at least reflect on her ways.”
“And the child can enter the nursery, with my young sisters and brother. It will only be four or five years their junior.”
“Will she consent to go?”
“That is quite another matter. As a married woman, she has certain rights now, although none so strong as her husband’s. I fear it all depends upon Sir Hugh.”
“I know the man only a little. Is he reasonable?”
“I used to think so; he once seemed one of the most reasonable and placid gentlemen. But we never know how we will react when a storm hits.”
“Indeed. We are all angels until we are put to the test.”
They had reached the staircase leading up to Catherine’s apartments.
Thomasin turned to her companion, noticing the fine lines on his papery skin that the daylight revealed. “Will you walk up and see the queen?”
“Another time. She may not be in the mood for visitors, but please give her my kind regards. And this.” He paused and removed a silver cross on a chain that he had worn about his neck. “Give her this with my deepest love. Dear Catherine.”
Thomasin took the chain in her hand. If only every man at court was as good, kind and wise as Sir Thomas More.