The Mirror and the Light

The council meets. No messages have come from the queen. Her own people, both ladies and gentlemen, have visited her and come away looking unperturbed. It is clear that we are living in a dual reality, such as experienced courtiers can maintain. For many years now, more years than we can count, the King of England has been a fair youth. So often, he has been married, and then unmarried; and the dead have been in Purgatory, and plaster saints have moved their eyes. Now the councillors shoulder their double burden: their knowledge of the king’s failure, and their pretence that he has never in all his days met with anything but success.

‘We should not be discouraged,’ the Bishop of Durham suggests. ‘Allow a little time. Nature will take its course.’

Norfolk looks puzzled; surely Tunstall is no friend to Germans? Tunstall says, ‘I find no fault with the lady. Whatever her brother may be, she is not herself a Lutheran. And perhaps it is time, for England’s sake, to reconcile our differences, through her person.’

Norfolk says, ‘If Henry could take some air in the day it might go better at night. Skulking by the fire with a book will not help him.’

Fitzwilliam says, ‘Unless a book of bawdy. That might.’

Edward Seymour says, ‘He never had trouble in my sister’s day.’

‘Not that you know of,’ Norfolk says.

‘But he loved her,’ Cranmer says, his voice low.

Norfolk snorts. Seymour says, ‘True. That match was for love, this for policy. But I agree with Bishop Tunstall. I see nothing wrong with her.’

Riche says, ‘There is nothing. Except his dislike.’

Bishop Sampson says, ‘The king being as he is, you took a gamble, Lord Cromwell.’

He says coldly, ‘I acted for good and sufficient reason. If I promoted the match, it was with his full permission and encouragement.’

Cranmer says, ‘It may be … and it is only my own opinion …’

‘Do not make us drag it from you,’ Fitzwilliam says.

‘… there are those who believe every act of copulation a sin –’

‘I did not think the king was among them,’ Tunstall says pleasantly.

‘– though a sin that, of necessity, God will forgive – yet one must come to the act, not only with intent to engender –’

‘Which the king surely does,’ Lord Audley says.

‘– but also with the object of a pure merging of heart and soul, arising from a free consent –’

‘You’ve lost me,’ Suffolk says.

‘So if he, or she, were to have any reservation, in mind or in heart – then to the scrupulous, an impediment might appear –’

Audley cuts him off. ‘What impediment? You mean the pre-contract?’

Cranmer whispers, ‘The king has read a great deal in the Church Fathers.’

‘And later commentators,’ Bishop Sampson says. ‘Who are not always helpful, tending to dispute how men sin and in which way, when they are abed. But sin they do.’

‘Even with their wives?’ Suffolk looks stricken.

Sampson says, with dry malice, ‘That is possible.’

‘Bollocks,’ Norfolk says. ‘Cromwell, is that in the scriptures?’

‘Why doesn’t your lordship try reading them?’

Audley clears his throat. All the councillors turn in his direction. ‘Just be clear. His incapacity –’

‘Or unwillingness –’ Cranmer adds.

‘– or unwillingness – is it anything to do with the papers from Cleves, or not?’

Cranmer will not commit. ‘Scruples are of various sorts.’

‘So will it be helped by getting the papers?’ Riche asks.

‘It couldn’t hurt, could it?’ Bishop Sampson says. ‘Of course by then it will be Lent. And he will not sleep with her in Lent.’

‘We shouldn’t be talking like this.’ Suffolk looks stern. ‘We are men, not gossiping housewives. We lack respect for our sovereign lord.’

Fitzwilliam slaps the table. ‘You know it is me he blames? He says I should have stopped her at Calais. I wrote to him she was like a princess, and she is. Nothing else was in question. Is it for me to feel her duckies and write home my opinion, and send it by post horse and boat?’

The door opens. It is Call-Me. He looks as if he is walking on hot pebbles. ‘Get out!’ Norfolk bellows. ‘Interrupting the council!’

Call-Me says, ‘The king. He is coming this way.’

They stand, with a scraping of stools. Henry’s eyes pass over them. ‘Squabbling?’

‘Yes,’ Brandon says sadly.

He cuts in: ‘Your Majesty values concord, and rightly. But I cannot and never will come into concord with those who give wrong advice.’

Charles Brandon says, ‘But it is very good of you to join us, sir. We did not look for you. We hardly expected you. We rejoice to see you. We –’

‘Yes, enough, Charles,’ Henry says. ‘It is time we talked about the Duke of Bavaria, his suit to my lady daughter.’

‘Bless him,’ Charles Brandon says: as if the young duke were sick.

‘My lord Privy Seal,’ the king says, ‘you and Bavaria went up to see the Lady Mary, did you not? And then of course, she was fetched to Baynard’s Castle, and she and the duke were permitted some discourse. That would have been about Christmas Eve?’