Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Thomasin woke early. There was soft light outside the window, and birdsong, but the day had not yet begun.
It had been her turn, along with Ellen, to lie on the pallet beds in the queen’s chamber, but for once Catherine had passed a peaceful night and was still breathing softly inside the closed curtains of the great bed.
Had it been cold, Thomasin would have got up and started building a fire, but the summer morning was pleasant enough.
She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, with its carved wooden roses.
So many questions flooded into her mind, mixing with the promise of the day ahead.
She thought of the court, Cromwell and her father, the king and queen, Rafe’s behaviour, and strangely enough, she thought of Giles, too.
He appeared in her mind unbidden, with his gentle ways and short bursts of laughter as they had danced the other day.
How differently that evening might have ended, had Rafe not come up to court from Durham Place.
She might simply have enjoyed the dance, come away bright-cheeked and pleasantly tired, and slept soundly.
Mary’s comments from yesterday returned to her, that as women, their fates were tied to the men who chose them. But what about a woman’s choice, thought Thomasin? What about shaping your own path, instead of simply following?
As she dressed, swallowing down bread and cheese to stave off her hunger, Thomasin felt her nerves rising in her chest. Today was an important day for the court; leading figures were to give evidence in opposition to the king’s desire to annul his marriage.
Legally, they might be correct, but as Ellen had reminded her recently, they were merely delaying the inevitable.
Henry would get his way, no matter what; it was just a question of how he would justify it.
Sir Richard was waiting at the stable door, just as he had promised. His face was full of concern, but this lifted when he saw Thomasin approach, her hood pulled over her headdress to avoid detection.
“Good morning, daughter, I hope!”
Thomasin met his greeting with a certainty she was determined to cling to. “It will prove a good morning, I am sure. How fare things at Monk’s Place?”
“I have only left there under duress this morning. It was as much as I could do to escape the wails and complaints of your mother and sister, even after I had explained to them the summons of the court! But Cecilia is well enough, although she will not leave off crying and calling for me to fight a duel with Sir Hugh. A duel? Me? Can you imagine it?”
“What happened?”
“Apparently Hugh arrived back at Raycroft and there were cruel words between them. As far as I understand, she left of her own accord before he could insist upon it, but he threatened her with divorce or a nunnery, which has quite sent her into a state. It is not good for her health at this point. I left your mother calming her as best she could.”
Thomasin thought of the elegant Lady Elizabeth tending to her distressed daughter.
“The whole matter is absurd, of course,” her father continued.
“Cecilia’s bad behaviour means she is being held to account, and justly so, but it is the severity of the accounting that concerns me.
I have counselled her to remain with us, and I hope she will be wise enough to do so for the sake of the child.
She must rest and be quiet for her final few months. ”
“There will be time enough to worry about them later,” said Thomasin. “At least Cecilia is safe for now. We must turn our thoughts to the court today.”
“Indeed, you are right, although I had been doing my best not to do so.”
“People are assembling at the far doors, so we should take our place to be present in time for Wolsey’s arrival.”
“You do not think Wolsey is privy to Cromwell’s plan?”
“Certainly not. He is answerable to the Pope only, not some common upstart.”
“Quite. And you have your speech ready?”
“I have been working on it for weeks, unbeknownst to Cromwell, of course, but I dared not commit it to paper, for fear that he would see it.”
“That is wise.”
“Last night, I examined my conscience and prayed to God. I was here, at court, in 1509, at the time of the wedding. I well recall the concerns raised by Archbishop Warham back then about the validity of the match, but these were well answered by the dispensation issued by Julius the Second. Once a Pope has ruled in favour of a marriage, it cannot be undone, no matter what the king wishes.”
“Then it sounds like a strong case.”
“The original dispensation was in the hands of the queen’s parents, Ferdinand and Isabella, God rest their souls.
Imagine how they would react to this situation, were they here to see it!
But a copy of it was sent to England, and the original was seen by our ambassador.
There is no doubt about its legitimacy.”
“The king will not like it.”
“Then the king does not like facts.”
Thomasin nodded. “Come, let us head for the passage. It will soon be time for the court to open and we must be inside first.”
She led her father in through the servants’ wing that ran alongside the departments of the kitchen. Sounds of chopping and fires roaring reached them, with the heat flaring through the open hatches. Thomasin caught sight of the activity within as bodies moved back and forth.
Partway along the corridor, a door led them into a waiting room, where trestles and benches were stored, and from which led the passageway.
“It is not long, but it is narrow,” Thomasin warned. “I looked at it earlier this morning, but there should be no one around now, as the service hour is still a good way off.”
“It will serve its purpose,” said her father. “I will follow you.”
Heading towards the opening, Thomasin pressed her finger to her lips.
There was already a slight hum from behind the curtain, where the officials were setting things up.
Very carefully, she parted the two panes with her fingers, so she could see through a narrow gap into the chamber.
They were right behind the dais. The table stood before them, but neither cardinal was present yet.
Papers were being carried in, ink and quills were being supplied and the benches straightened and swept down.
“Any moment now,” Thomasin whispered.
There was an air of expectation in the chamber. It was strange to see the place so empty. For a moment, the future hung before them, tremulous and unwritten. Dust motes swirled in the air as a ray of sunshine shone down through the windows and hit the stone floor.
Presently the cardinals would take their places; the benches would fill up with bishops and statesmen, legal experts and witnesses.
People would be called to swear the oath to speak the truth, and their experiences and opinions would be given to the court.
Thomasin could see the place where she usually sat, towards the back on the left.
The opposite doors opened, admitting Cardinals Wolsey and Campeggio draped in their red cloaks.
Behind them, a sea of heads showed those outside in the courtyard, waiting to be admitted.
Thomasin wondered if More and Fisher had had the opportunity to speak with Wolsey yesterday about his French aspirations, and whether they had been able to convince him of the king’s true intentions.
Hopefully she would have the opportunity to ask them later.
“Now,” Thomasin whispered, “we must sneak in quietly and take our places.”
They pushed through the curtain and round the side of the table, close to the wall.
Sir Richard squeezed Thomasin’s hand, then headed to the row of witnesses, just as Gardiner was approaching the same spot.
Thomasin kept going, merging with the arrivals, towards the seats at the back.
Soon so many people had entered the hall, that their strange isolation was no longer regarded.
As More passed her, with a good morning, and Fisher took his seat, Thomasin breathed a sigh of relief.
She had not yet seen Thomas Cromwell enter, but after a moment, the bulk of his grey cloak passed her, causing her to shiver.
He did not look down at her but proceeded through the chamber to the place where her father sat, two guards following in his wake.
From her seat, Thomasin could not hear what was being said, but after a moment, one of the guards laid a hand on Sir Richard’s arm and caused him to rise.
Her father looked confused, then angry, before Cromwell spoke with him again.
Then, suddenly, both guards seized him and started to walk him out of the chamber.
Sir Richard looked round wildly, seeking support.
Thomasin was on her feet at once. “What is this? What is happening?” She moved to block their way.
Wolsey, at the front, had also noticed, and raised his hand to halt their departure. More had already reached them.
“What is this disruption?” asked the cardinal.
Cromwell turned and approached the bench, speaking quietly to Wolsey, who frowned but nodded his head.
“I am being arrested,” stammered Sir Richard, still held by the guards, “for failing to follow orders. Fear not, this is all a misunderstanding. Tell your mother!”
“What is this nonsense?” asked More, appealing to Wolsey. “Stop this; it cannot be right. By whose authority is this happening?”
“By the king’s,” snarled Cromwell, who had drawn level with them again. “Take your arguments to him.”
“By God’s blood, I shall!” More replied. “Arresting an innocent man obeying a summons! Do you think yourself above the law, Master Cromwell?”
“No,” he replied, with a glint in his eye, “I am the law.” Then he motioned for Sir Richard to be led away.
Thomasin felt the rise and fall in her chest but could not seem to be able to catch her breath.
“Do not fear,” More urged. “This is more for show than serious intent. It is Cromwell’s way of making an example of the king’s opposition. I am surprised that Wolsey allows it, as it is his court. Wait here; I will speak with him.”
He hastened forward and leaned over the raised table. Both cardinals listened but neither spoke. Eventually Wolsey shrugged his shoulders and More looked defeated.
“It is as I feared,” he said to Thomasin on his return. “The court may be governed by the Pope’s law, but the palace is run for the king’s benefit. They have no say over matters of security.”
“Security? How has my father offended?”
John Dudley had reached them through the crowd. “This is terrible,” he said. “What on earth is the reason given?”
“Failure to follow orders, apparently,” said Thomasin.
“What orders?”
She was torn between confessing about the letter and maintaining the fiction that her father must now rely upon. Yet she had no wish to lie to friends.
“It all happened so quickly. It’s one of Cromwell’s methods to remove the queen’s support. He tried to prevent me from entering yesterday.”
“We should go after them and appeal to the king.”
“The authority is that of the king.”
“But surely Cromwell did not state plainly how it was to be carried out? Henry cannot have agreed to the arrest of your father?”
They became aware that the rest of the chamber had now fallen silent.
Wolsey rose to his feet. “Please leave or else resume your seats.”
Thomasin felt a sweat break out on her forehead. “I cannot stay.”
“Come,” said More, taking her arm. “I will go with you.”
“But the queen…”
“I will remain,” promised John, “and report back to her what transpires.”
Once outside, Thomasin gulped in the fresh air.
“This cannot be. I must be dreaming.”
More led her aside to a spot sheltered by bushes. “I must ask you, Thomasin: does this have anything to do with your strange entrance from the back of the chamber? I could not help noticing.”
“It does. I was not going to say, but it is all part of the same. Yesterday, Cromwell sent father a letter, recalling him at once to Suffolk on some legal pretext.”
“Designed to prevent him from giving his evidence in court?”
“Exactly as we interpreted it. As it was only a matter of hours, we decided to pretend we did not have the letter, which is now partly true, as it is being kept by Lady Essex. But we did read the contents first. Father was preparing to leave for Suffolk as soon as the court was concluded.”
“But not soon enough for Cromwell. The point for him is about his authority. He will say you have ignored his direct order. Or rather, the king’s.”
“And that is why we came in from the back. We thought the court would offer us some protection.”
“He is utterly ruthless. I wonder where he has taken your father.”
“To the king, perhaps, or to his own lodgings?”
More looked about. A servant was passing, carrying a pannier of bread. “You, lad, did you see Lord Cromwell pass this way?”
The boy nodded and pointed. “He was getting into a barge on the riverfront.”
Thomasin went cold. She knew what this might mean.
“Now, do not panic,” said More, sensing her alarm. “It could be Cromwell’s own place in the Austin Friars. It does not have to mean the Tower.”
She found she could not reply.
“Right, this is what I suggest. Go to the queen and explain. Do not forget to tell her that John Dudley is now her eyes and ears in the courtroom. Then go to your mother at Monk’s Place, and calm her for as long as is needed.
I am going to the king, and hopefully this matter will be resolved before the day is out. ”
Thomasin nodded, her limbs numb.
“Take Ellen with you, if the queen permits. You are in shock.”
She nodded again, but did not move.
“Go, Thomasin, go now. Do not delay. You will hear from me presently. I shall call at Monk’s Place as soon as I can.”
More gave her a little push, which seemed to bring her limbs to life at last. Surely this could not be.
It must be some mistake. More would solve it; the king would support his old friend Richard Marwood over the upstart snake Cromwell.
The air rushed into her lungs again and her legs sped into action.