The Mirror and the Light

When he drags himself to where the king is, papers in hand, he finds Gardiner there first. Gardiner says, ‘You look very ill, Cromwell. There is a rumour flying around that you are dead.’

‘Well,’ he says modestly. ‘As you see, Stephen.’

The king says, ‘I am feeling better myself. Is this inconvenience over, do you suppose?’

The fever, he means: the waves of nausea, the racking aches, the raging headache. ‘Majesty, I have some news from Cleves.’

He waits for the king to dismiss Stephen. But Henry only says, ‘Yes?’

‘I know the Bishop of Winchester has much in hand. Perhaps he would like to continue his day?’

But Henry makes no sign. Stephen seems to puff up, like a toad.

Deliberately he turns away from him, to address the king. ‘Duke Wilhelm would like to be assured of the dower arrangements for his sister and,’ he hesitates, ‘how she would be left, if your Majesty were to pre-decease her.’

‘Why does he think that likely?’ Gardiner asks.

He keeps his eyes averted. ‘Such arrangements are comprehended in any marriage contract. You cannot be so ignorant of the wedded state that you do not know that.’

Stephen says, ‘I imagine the lady would be struck to the heart. She would care more about the loss of the king’s person, than for any worldly advantage.’

He flicks a glance at Henry: he sees he is entranced by the bishop’s words. ‘That is why a bride’s kin make the contract, and in advance. So when she is new-widowed she does not weep herself out of her rights.’

Henry says, ‘I am known for generosity. Duke Wilhelm will find nothing to complain of.’

‘There is another matter,’ he says, reluctant. ‘Our man Wotton is writing to your Majesty. A little over ten years ago, a marriage was proposed between the Lady Anna and the heir of the Duke of Lorraine. Now –’

‘But that business was raised last year,’ Henry says. ‘When the contract was drawn the parties were but ten and twelve years old. No contract holds good until they affirm it, having reached a fit age. Therefore I see no impediment to our union. Why is the matter brought up again? I see the Emperor’s hand in it. He is determined I shall not wed.’

‘All the same, we had better see the paperwork,’ Gardiner says.

‘It seems to me,’ he says, ‘that Cleves would never have offered the Lady Anna if she were not completely free.’

Gardiner is stubborn. ‘I would like to see articles of revocation.’

‘It is my understanding that the marriage contract was written into a larger text, which was not formally revoked because it was part of a treaty of friendship and mutual aid …’ He closes his eyes. ‘I will ask someone to write it all down for you, Gardiner.’

‘And bring it before the whole council. Or it would be unsafe to go any further.’

‘Unsafe?’ Henry stares at him. He seems to be disputing his choice of word.

‘Unwise,’ Gardiner concedes.

‘In any event,’ he says, ‘though the king prefers Lady Anna, as being the elder and of meeter age, if there did prove to be an impediment, there is nothing against the Lady Amelia. And – here is good news – they are able to provide likenesses.’

Gardiner says, ‘I wonder where they found those, all of a sudden. I thought Cranach was ill.’

‘Perhaps he has powers of recovery,’ he says, ‘like me.’

‘How old are they?’

‘The princesses?’

‘The portraits,’ Gardiner says.

‘Recent, I am assured.’

‘But if our envoys have not seen either lady, how shall they swear to the likeness?’

‘They have in fact seen them,’ he says. ‘But they were somewhat cloaked and veiled.’

‘I wonder why?’

Henry says, ‘You see! Would not this delight the Emperor? Division among my councillors? Contention and strife?’

He and Gardiner face each other. The bishop is not there to discuss the king’s marriage. He’s there on God’s business, or so he would claim. The king wishes to make an act of Parliament to abolish diversity in opinion: by which he means, the expression of opinion. Gardiner has come to push him on six articles of faith laid before Convocation: to persuade the king to the Roman line, body and blood.

There is no doubt, his sickness has set back the cause of the gospel – his brothers too afraid and too disunited, without him, to present a firm front. Norfolk has placed a sycophant in the Commons as Mr Speaker. In the Lords, the duke himself crusades, bringing to the table these six articles and wrangling about them with every confidence – though he knows as much theology as a gatepost. Gardiner has whipped in the bishops who stick by ancient doctrine, and they conspire together from breakfast to supper, talking like rank papists and raising their glasses to toast old times. While the Lord Privy Seal is sweating in his sickbed, while he is writing letters all over Europe searching out allies and friends, while he is occupied in finding nearly fifteen hundred pounds a day to pay and victual the mariners who man the ships at Portsmouth – his enemies have stolen past him, and by the end of the Parliament, they will have six articles passed into law.

The king says, ‘My lord Cromwell, if that is all –?’