The Mirror and the Light

‘But everything else was ready, and so Ferdinand’s people stepped aside and created what was required … papal seals and all.’

So what are you advising? they say.

‘I would not presume to advise. But do what you must, to satisfy the king. Search your baggage. Look between the pages of your Bibles.’

We need time to confer, they say.

‘Be quick,’ William Fitzwilliam says, coming in.

Oh, we will, they say. We cannot brook delay. The rumours would be running everywhere, imagine what the French would say, imagine the lies the Emperor’s people would spread. They would be saying he does not like her. Or that she finds him too old and stout and is protesting she will not do it.

‘You gentlemen must come to the council after dinner,’ he says, ‘and spell out to them the danger of such rumours. The king will join us when he and the queen come from Mass.’

He walks to the council chamber with Fitz. Fitz tugs his arm. ‘Is there no help for it? Henry is seething inside, I know him.’

True, he thinks, you know him. He threw you out of the council, stripped of your chain of office: till he changed his mind, or I changed it for him.

‘The papers are an excuse,’ Fitzwilliam says. ‘He dislikes her or he is frightened of her, I know not what it is. But mark this, Cromwell – I will not be stuck with the blame, just because it was I who met her in Calais.’

‘No one seeks to blame you. It is his own fault, if fault there is. For rushing about the countryside like a love-lorn youth.’

The councillors are already assembled. Cranmer is seated, as if his strength has given out; he makes to rise, then sinks down again. The Bishop of Durham inclines his head: ‘My lord Privy Seal.’ His tone suggests he is consecrating something; or handling fragile remains, ready to disintegrate.

He nods. ‘Your Grace.’ Tunstall knows the Lord Privy Seal has been examining his affairs for months: enquiring what he does up in Durham, and what he truly believes. So these days he takes his seat charily, like a man who thinks he might have it kicked from under him.

Thomas Howard bustles in. He looks bright-eyed, as if there were something to celebrate. ‘So, Cromwell. He wants to get out of it, I hear.’

He sits down, not waiting for the duke to sit. ‘The King of France and the Emperor are seeing in the new year together. They have not been so close in our lifetime. They are like planets, gentlemen, and their conjunction draws sea and land after them, and makes our fates. They have a fleet and funds to come against us. Our forts are still building. Ireland is against us. Scotland is against us. If we are not to be overrun this spring we need the princes of Germany on our side, either to send men to our aid or to engage our enemy till we can defeat him or force a truce. The king needs to make this marriage. England needs it.’

Charles Brandon looks mournful. ‘He agreed to it. He signed up. He cannot jib now.’

Norfolk says, ‘What happened at Rochester?’

‘I can’t say. I wasn’t there.’

Norfolk’s nose is twitching. ‘Something passed between them. Something mislikes him.’

Lord Audley says, ‘I agree with my lord Suffolk. The king has gone too far in the matter, he would need a very sound reason to withdraw now. He was convinced before that she was free to marry. And she seems a good enough woman to me.’

‘Perhaps you do not understand a prince’s requirements,’ Norfolk says.

‘No?’ Audley gives him a glance that would peel an egg. ‘If she does not come up to them, your Grace, I for one am not to blame.’

‘Cromwell thinks the king should blame himself,’ Fitz says. ‘For going with haste to Rochester.’

‘Blame himself?’ Tunstall says. ‘The king? When has that happened? You would think Cromwell had never met him.’

He says heavily, ‘I suppose I might institute a delay.’

‘What good would that do?’ Fitz asks.

He thinks, time might soften the memory of the moment they met. Henry might forget the look in her eye. But he does not know if Fitz witnessed it. So he says nothing.

Cranmer, good Christian that he is, refrains from saying, I told you so. Instead he says, ‘I accede to all your reasoning, my lords. And yet I am afraid the king’s conscience will be troubled, till he sees papers that will satisfy him. He has been deceived before. He should not enter into matrimony unless he gives his hearty consent, body and soul.’

Cranmer is too good to live. He forgets his own troubles and considers only Henry’s. He speaks across Norfolk to the archbishop: ‘The Cleves ambassadors have come to me just now with an offer. Two of them will stay here as sureties, till the papers are sent.’

Norfolk says, ‘Stable them till Easter? By the Mass, no!’

‘It seems unnecessary,’ Cranmer says. ‘We do not doubt the people in Cleves have made diligent search. I do not even doubt the lady is free. But it is the king’s doubts we have to reckon with.’

The door opens. They kneel. ‘Well,’ Henry says, ‘what have you devised for my relief?’

‘Nothing, sir,’ Cranmer says.