The Shadow of the Pomegranate (12 page)

‘I crossed the water. I rode hot foot to Flanders; I saw the Emperor, delivered the King’s message and received his reply; then back to the coast and home. It had been three days since I left England. I presented myself to the King, who frowned in anger when he saw me. He said: “I had thought you received orders to take a message to Flanders. I expected you would have left by now. I like not dilatory service.” Then my heart leaped in exultation and I waited a few seconds for the King’s anger to grow, for the greater it grew the more surprised he must be when he heard the truth. “Your Grace,” I told him, “I left for Flanders within an hour of receiving your instructions to do so. I have now returned and bring you the Emperor’s reply.” The King was astonished. Never had he been served
with such speed. He grasped my hand and said: “You are a good servant”.’

‘And that was all, Father?’ demanded young Thomas. ‘It seems a small reward to shake your hand and tell you you were a good servant.’

‘He did not forget me,’ said Thomas.

No, indeed he had not. Thomas Wolsey had become Dean of Lincoln and, had Henry VII lived longer, doubtless more honours would have come his way. But the old King had died; yet that was not a matter for mourning, because the new King was as interested in his servant Wolsey as the old one had been.

From this young King Thomas Wolsey hoped for much. He understood the eighth Henry. Here was a young man, lusty, sensual, far less interested in matters of state than in pleasure. He was the sort of King who is always beloved of ambitious ministers. Henry VII had conducted all state business himself; he had indeed been head of the state. But the joust, tennis, dancing, possible fornication and adultery gave no pleasure to his rheumaticky body. How different was his young and lusty son! This King would wish to place at the helm of the ship of state a man with capable hands; there was every opportunity for ambitious minsters to rule England under such a King.

The King’s almoner saw great possibilities ahead.

He smiled at the eager faces about the table – flushed with good food and drink. This was his oasis of pleasure, of humanity; here it was possible to stray from the road of heated ambition to dally in a cool green meadow.

He saw Mistress Wynter through a veil of gratitude and desire, and she seemed fairer to him than any Court lady.

He said to the children: ‘You will leave your mother with me for a while. We have matters to speak of. I shall see you again before I leave.’

The children left their parents together, and Thomas took Mistress Wynter in his arms and caressed her body.

They went through to her sleeping chamber and there made love.

As she lay in his arms she thought: It is like a pattern, always the same. Will it remain so? What when he is the first minister at the King’s Court? This he would be, for in a moment of confidence he had told her so.

If it were not so, she thought, if he lost his place at Court, he might come home to us.

It was a wicked thought. He must not lose his place. It meant more to him than anything . . . more than this, his home, more than her and their children.

When he had dressed in the precise manner of his, he said: ‘I will see the children before I go.’

He noticed that she looked a little sad but he did not mention this. He knew that she was wishing they lived a normal married life, that they did not have to go to bed in the middle of the day because it was the only time they had. She was picturing him, being there every day – a merchant, a lawyer, a goldsmith . . . a man of some profession such as those of her neighbours. She thought of cosy conversations over the table, of discussions as to what should be planted in the garden, about the education of the children; she pictured them retiring to bed each night by the light of candles, the embrace that had become almost a habit, the slipping into sleep afterwards. It was normality she craved.

Poor little Mistress Wynter, he thought, she can only share
one very small portion of my life and she wants to share the whole.

It was unfortunate for her that she loved not a man of ordinary ability, but one who had risen from a humble Ipswich butcher’s shop to his present position and was determined to go to the very heights of ambition.

He said: ‘Let us go to the children. I have little time left to me.’

He kissed her once more, but this time he did not see the sadness in her eyes. He saw only Wolsey, going higher and higher. He saw the Cardinal’s hat, but that of course was not the end. There was still the Papal Crown; and since even he must realise that he could never be the King of England, his ultimate ambition was that he should be head of the Church.

He went to his children, smiling happily, for his ambition did not seem an impossible one to achieve. Thomas Wolsey, who had learned so many lessons from life, believed that all that which he desired would eventually be his.

As soon as he returned to Court a messenger informed him that the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Winchester with the Earl of Surrey requested his presence.

He donned his clerical garments and washed his hands before making his way to their presence, for this was one of those occasions when time should be used to create an impression of his own power and importance.

They were waiting rather impatiently when he arrived.

‘My lords,’ he said, ‘you requested my presence.’

Surrey looked with distaste at Thomas Wolsey. He reeks of vulgarity, thought Surrey. That coarse skin, that over-red
complexion – they proclaim him the vulgarian he is.

Surrey was scarcely pale himself, nor was his skin extra fine, but he was determined to find fault with Wolsey and looked for opportunities to remind him that he was not of noble blood and was only admitted to their counsels as a special privilege for which he should be perpetually grateful.

Fox welcomed him with a smile of pleasure. Fox had believed in his exceptional powers from the first and was determined to be proved right.

‘We have been discussing the possibility of war with France,’ Warham told him.

Wolsey nodded gravely.

‘You, Mr Almoner, should know how much we could put into the field,’ Surrey pointed out, implying by his tone that it was as a lower servant of the King’s that Wolsey had been invited and that his opinion must be confined only to questions of goods and gold.

‘Ah,’ said Wolsey ignoring Surrey and turning to Fox and Warham, ‘it would depend on what scale the war was to be carried on. If the King should put himself at the head of his men that could be costly. If we sent a small force under the command of some noble gentleman . . .’ Wolsey glanced at Surrey . . . ‘that would be well within our means.’

‘I see you are of our opinion,’ Fox put in. ‘At the moment any action should be kept on a small scale.’

‘And,’ continued Wolsey, ‘I dare swear we would not move until we had an assurance from the King of Spain that he also would take action.’

‘Any alliance with the King of Spain,’ Surrey interrupted hotly, ‘should surely be no concern of Mr Almoner.’

‘My lord is mistaken,’ Wolsey said coolly. ‘That the alliance
should be made and adhered to is of the utmost importance to every subject in this land, including the King’s Almoner.’

The veins seemed to knot in Surrey’s temples. ‘I cannot see that matters of state policy are the concern of every
Tom
, Dick or Harry.’

‘Might it be that there is much that the noble lord fails to see?’ retorted Wolsey. ‘But since he is now aware of his blindness he may seek a cure for it.’

Surrey lifted his fist and brought it down on the table.

‘This is insolence!’ he shouted. He glared at Fox and Warham. ‘Did I not tell you that I had no wish to consort with . . . tradesmen!’

Wolsey looked round the apartment in astonishment.

‘Tradesmen?’ he said, but the hot resentment was rising within him. ‘I see no tradesmen present.’ He was fighting his anger because his very love of ostentation grew out of his desire to live as the nobility lived – and a little more richly – that he might leave behind him the memory of the butcher’s shop.

‘No,’ sneered Surrey, ‘how could you? There is no mirror in this room.’

‘My lord,’ said Wolsey almost gently, ‘I am not a tradesman. I graduated at Oxford and was elected Fellow of Magdalen College. Teaching was my profession before I took Holy Orders.’

‘I pray you spare us an account of your achievements,’ sneered Surrey, ‘which I admit are remarkable for one who began in a butcher’s shop.’

‘How fortunate,’ retorted Thomas, ‘that you, my lord, did not begin in such an establishment. I fear that if you had you would still be there.’

Warham lifted a hand. ‘I pray you, gentlemen, let us return to the point of discussion.’

‘I prefer not to continue with it,’ Surrey shouted. ‘There is scarce room for myself and Master Wolsey in this council.’

He waited for Warham and Fox to request Wolsey to retire. Wolsey stood still, pale, but smiling; and both Fox and Warham looked beyond the now purple-faced Earl. Surrey! Fox was thinking. With his inflated ideas of his own nobility he was scarcely likely to continue in favour with the King. Wolsey, with his quick and clever mind, his ability to smooth out difficulties, and make easy the King’s way to pleasure, was by far the better ally. Moreover, Fox had always looked upon the almoner as one of his protégés. Let Surrey stomp out of the apartment. They could well do without him.

As for Warham, he also recognised the almoner’s brilliance; he had no love for Surrey either. Surrey belonged to the old school; the days of his youth had been lived in that period when valour in battle brought glory; but Henry VII had taught his people that the way to make a country great was by crafty statesmanship rather than through battles, even if they should be victorious.

With an exclamation of disgust, Surrey flung out of the room.

Wolsey smiled in triumph. ‘The atmosphere, gentlemen, is now more conducive to thoughtful reasoning,’ he said.

Fox returned his smile in a manner implying that they were well rid of Surrey.

‘And your opinion?’

Wolsey was ready. He was not going to say that he was against sending an army to France, because it might well be that the King wished to send one; it was almost certain that the
Queen did, because that was the desire of her father, and the Queen was naturally working for her father’s interests. If a decision was made which was contrary to the King’s wishes, let Fox and Warham make it.

‘As my lord of Surrey pointed out,’ he said almost demurely, ‘matters of state are scarcely the concern of the King’s Almoner. Should His Grace decide to go into battle I will see that all available armaments are made ready for him; but it is only reasonable to suppose that the mustering of arms to equip a small force, say under some nobleman, would be a simpler matter and one which would give us practice in this field before embarking on the great campaign.’

‘I see,’ said Fox, ‘that you are of our opinion.’

They discussed the matter in detail, and, although he seemed outwardly calm, inwardly Thomas Wolsey felt his pride to be deeply bruised. He could not forget the scorn in Surrey’s eyes when he had referred to the butcher’s shop. Would he ever escape such slights?

They could not be forgotten; therefore they could not be forgiven. Surrey’s name was on that list he kept in his mind of those who must one day pay for the indignity they had made Thomas Wolsey suffer.

Chapter IV