Dear Heart, How Like You This (15 page)

Thus, in this spring of 1525, much had reversed against
François
of France, the expected becoming increasingly uncertain. Not only had he given up his supposedly beloved heir
François
, and his second-born son
Henri
, as hostages for his freedom and “good behaviour,” but the first Nobleman of his realm had, only a short time since, deserted from the ranks of loyal Frenchmen. This was Charles II, the
Duc de Bourbon
, who had gone over to the side of the Imperial Emperor. Bourbon had been very much the genius behind the “shaming” of the French King at Pavia. The breakaway of the
Duc de Bourbon
had happened just over a year before. The events that led up to it had caused much scandal and upset in the French court, and grim amusement in ours.

I have also seen many images representing this great
Duc
. If these images were true depictions of Charles,
Duc de Bourbon
, then I could not help thinking him far more handsome than his cousin
François
, King of France. The
Duc
possessed very heavy lidded, large eyes; eyes extremely soulful and expressive. He was also blessed with a very clear complexion, in addition to a well-defined mouth. Though his pictures clearly showed he had not escaped the long nose of his
Valois
ancestry, it could also be seen that this famous
Valois
feature appeared less pronounced in him than in some of his kin—kin such as the King’s beloved sister:
Marguerite Valois
. A sometime moody man, occasionally inflicted with darkness of soul, the
Duc
, nonetheless, greatly loved his wife, the beautiful
Suzanna de Beaujeu
—an heiress of great estates, which added immensely to the wealth of the
Duc
. It was her tragic, early demise that put him upon the road that would lead him to turn traitor to his King. Before her death, the
Duc
was virtually undisputed king of most of central France. Indeed, the power that he wielded in the realm rivalled that of the King himself. After her death, he was not only a grieving widower but also facing a future where he could no longer claim possession to many of his former lands. This was despite the well-known fact that his dying wife and her own mother, the woman to whom these lands had originally belonged, had undoubtedly desired for the lands to stay within his wise and stable rule.

So, a savage struggle began between
Bourbon
and the Crown for the supremacy of these lands. The King’s mother now stepped onto the stage to make matters even more complicated. Even though
François
’
mother was at least fourteen years the elder of
Bourbon
, she had long loved the
Duc
from afar, and now deluded herself that he would return her affections if it meant assuring his lands stayed safe. The King’s mother was completely certain that soon she would achieve her desire of becoming the
Duc’s
new wife, but she had never stopped to consider that the
Duc
would put his heart before his head. The King’s mother sent a friend of the
Duc
with her proposal of immediate marriage.

The
Duc
was horrified, and angrily said to the envoy: “I have loved and lost the best woman in France. It defies all understanding that you, my supposed friend, can actually stand there and offer me marriage to a woman who can only be described as the worst woman in the world.”

So the chessboard was set, and the game began in earnest, but the end of the game far outweighed the imaginings of any of the players.

All of this I discovered in conversation with the French courtiers during the evening banquets. It struck me that many of the court grieved things that had come to such a past, and were torn between the habit of love for their proud
Duc
and the hate that they were now supposed to feel for him.

As well as to offer congratulations, our mission also had a more delicate purpose. France, Venice, Milan, and the Vatican had formed the Holy League of Cognac, attempting—vainly as it turned out—to block the Imperial Emperor’s hold on Italy. We had been also sent abroad to ascertain whether this League would suit the purposes of England, and whether England should support and protect it. It did not take Sir Thomas long to come to his conclusions. Perhaps I even assisted him to come quickly to some firm decisions about the directions that should be taken, because on the first of May I was commanded to his presence.

I found him in the rooms that had been allotted to us for our stay, sitting at a desk and busily engaged in writing letters.

“Tom. Good man! You wasted no time in getting here.”

Sir Thomas arose from where he was sitting, and began to shuffle some of the papers on the table into order.

“Come here, Tom,” he said, gesturing to a seat near his desk. “Come on, lad. Come and sit down, and I will tell you what is ado.”

So I went and sat, and waited for him to speak. This he did while standing, looking at me with one hand behind his back.

“First, Tom, I must say I have been pleased with you. You have the makings of a true and useful diplomat. Not like those other, foolish lads I have been appointed nursemaid to. You, my lad, have not only kept your eyes and ears opened… you have also known when to keep your mouth shut. Your observations have been extremely valuable, and I believe that they would also find value with the Cardinal. So I am sending you home, Tom. I want you to go to the Cardinal and tell him all that you have told me. And give him these messages.” He handed to me some sealed papers.

I felt embarrassed by his praise and attempted to hide my embarrassment by spoken words: “Sir Thomas, I thank you for your good opinion. I feel honoured that you think so well of me, but good Sir, I only thought to do as my father would do.”

“Aye. Indeed, Tom, if that was your intention, then you have fulfilled your purpose with great success. Your father will be proud and pleased, young Wyatt, when I tell him how well you have pleased me.”

I began feeling overcome with all this praise. Indeed, my cheeks felt as if they were becoming as red as the brightest sunset. Finally, I flustered out another reply and question: “Thank you, again, Sir Thomas. When do you want me to go?”

“Today, Tom. I need Wolsey to tell me how now to proceed, so be as quick as you possibly can.”

So, I was sent briefly back home to England with messages for Wolsey. Cardinal Wolsey came quickly to his recommendations and orders regarding what we should do. Indeed, within only days of arriving in England, I was despatched to France again. It was a good thing, indeed, that my stomach had proven to be the stomach of a sailor!

Sir Thomas acted quickly once he received these messages from the Cardinal. Thus, within days of my arrival back at Cognac, our mission’s purpose had been fulfilled—for certes, as much as possible—to everyone’s satisfaction, England agreeing to protect the league. This was as far as our country could go, not only because France, our country’s traditional foe, led the League but also because to do any other put in jeopardy English trade with the subjects of the Imperial Emperor.

Only a short time after the final documents were signed, we were told by Sir Thomas to begin our preparations for return to England.

But… I possessed no desire to return.

I felt still angry with Anne, and, no doubt, she with me. I could see no purpose for my presence in her company at court. For if I returned I knew it would be to court, and Anne was constantly there in the company of the King. I felt so utterly helpless, helpless to prevent her from destroying all of what remained still good in her life. I knew if I returned I would only be opening myself up to further pain. I felt myself neither brave, nor strong enough for that yet.

So I went to Sir Thomas and gained his permission to depart from the company of my fellows, as well as gaining a letter of introduction and good conduct to aid me on my journey. I had told Sir Thomas that I greatly wished to visit Italy and partake, even if only for a short time, of everything that could be offered to me. This was true enough. Since my time at Cambridge, I had been a lover of all to do and could be learnt of Italy. Just as, so many years ago, Father Stephen had once been a lover of all things Greek. I had so longed for the opportunity to see, hear and smell the reality—rather than experience its beauties second hand from books, or from the tales of people fortunate enough to experience the actuality of Italy for themselves.

Even so… there was another reason why I went; the constant ache where my heart lay was indeed the truer one. So I felt a pilgrimage to Rome in order—perhaps, I thought, this and time away from court would help to bring my aching heart to “stiller waters.”

Thus, I gave to Sir Thomas messages for home—a letter for my father and also another one for George to explain this sudden change in my plans. Though it was only a brief explanation saying I wished to make a short visit to Rome since I found myself not many days’ journey away. I then gathered up my belongings, ensured myself of a good horse, and began the journey towards Italy.

There is an old Italian saying,
per pium strade si va a Roma
, which literally means “many roads lead to Rome.” The truth of this ancient saying I found out for myself when I travelled there in 1525. I also discovered how, in this glorious spring, travelling could be an experience open to much pleasure. Indeed, Rome had been the destination of so many, for so much of history, that the inns and roads along the way are inferior to none. Especially to the type of abode I had become accustomed to in my travels in England. I also felt so blessed with wonderful weather: blue skies for much of my journey, sun-filled days, making the going both swift and purposeful.

My duties at home were such that I knew my time would be brief and limited, so I went as quickly as I could to Rome. Sir Thomas had written an introduction to the English officials who made their work there, and they kindly invited me to stay with them during my visit.

During my first days there, I explored my new surroundings. There was so much to see and do that I could not help reflecting that I would be unable to enjoy to the full all that Rome had to offer. However, I did happen to spend a fair amount of my first day in Rome enjoying one building that had withstood the changes that the centuries had brought since its completion. The building of Santa Maria Rotunda had once been called the Pantheon, meaning the Temple of the Gods, and is surviving to this day because in Anno Domini 130 the early Christians had adopted the building to be one of their own. It was a tremendous example of bygone Roman architecture. Frequently I had to remind myself to stop walking around the building like an overly awestruck boy and shut tight my mouth!

The Pantheon had an enormous vaulted roof, achieved through the ancient Roman understanding of how best to use wedged arches to fashion a huge, round and windowless hall. The only natural light came from a circular opening—seeming to me so small and far away—placed in the centre of the dome. This opening allowed just enough light in to bring alive the inside of the building. And the inside of the building, how absolutely glorious! Nay, one cannot help but be completely in awe of the genius of the ancient Romans. Having set out to make a temple to their own gods, they had somehow managed to give the future a building which confirmed the great glory of our Christian God, where all in Christendom could go to worship Him.

There was such a sense of calm and deep tranquillity within the Pantheon that I soon became lost in prayer and quiet communion, thinking over the direction my life now took me.

Though, I need be truthful, and admit that all my time was not spent in holy prayer and reflection.

The English officials that I had joined with would often spend their evenings at the banquets prepared by the papal court. I accepted their invitation to attend also, and met there an Italian courtesan who soon became my bed companion during my stay in Rome. Lucrezia made my stay in Rome memorable for other reasons than what I had originally planned. Indeed, lovely Lucrezia was a woman who it was extremely easy to come to care for; but it soon became time to return to England. Thus, after grateful thanks to my fellow Englishmen who had welcomed me into their company, and a more poignant farewell to Lucrezia, I began my trek back to England.