approached Norfolk’s chair to whisper into his ear. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” he said, breathlessly, “but Mistress Howard seems to have gone missing.”
The next morning, not in the mood to be seen by anyone but his closest advisers, Henry sat slumped at a long table in his privy chamber back at Whitehall. Sitting with him arrayed around the table were the men who advised him in running the kingdom. Norfolk was there, along with both his rival Thomas Cromwell, and his ally Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester. Nearby sat Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, who had been Henry’s boon companion since childhood as well as his dear departed sister Mary’s second husband. They were also joined by Dorset, who was married to Henry’s niece; Thomas Wriothesley, one of the king’s principal secretaries; and Jane Seymour’s brothers, Edward and Thomas. It was not the public presence chamber beyond the double doors where he usually met with his privy counsel, yet this chamber was far from intimate. It was massive in size, and the walls were covered with tapestries, wood panels and tooled plasterwork. In the center was a grand alabaster fountain.
“So how do you advise me now, Cromwell? Do you still recommend the queen, even after four months’ time? The King of France does not seem any more likely to side with us and against his new friend the emperor on this political issue. He’s going to stand with
those who stand by the queen. Are you willing to stake your life on her?”
As his question hung ominously in the air, Henry leaned back in his chair, steepled his stubby, freckled fingers, and watched the furtive, worried glances of his counselors. Each was happy, he was sure, not to be the one to whom the sovereign had directed his anger. Like a great wave on a turbulent sea, all eyes in the room shifted to the big man with the small, deep green eyes and the mouth that was turned down somberly at the corners.
The silence was deafening.
Henry waited. Norfolk watched.
A heartbeat later, Cromwell cleared his throat and leaned forward. “A way has opened up that could change the course of things, if Your Majesty desires to pursue the path.”
The king arched a brow. His face was mottled red with frustration.
“I desired it the moment I laid my eyes upon my wife! And I ask you, my Lord Chancellor Cromwell, by pointing out this path, do you admit that the course you initially set for me and for England was not a wise one?”
“I act for my country and my king first before all things,” Cromwell carefully replied.
“A pity you do not reverse the order,” commented Charles Brandon, who sat beside the chancellor.
“They are one and the same, I assure you, Your Majesty.”
“Then find me a plausible way out of this sham!” Henry bellowed.
“Can it be done legally?” Stephen Gardiner wondered aloud, hoping to divert any new threat Cromwell was conjuring up to thwart his and Norfolk’s plan to depose of the queen.
“Legally, yes, the marriage can be annulled. There is little doubt
the queen was betrothed to the Duke of Lorraine before she came here,” Norfolk replied, as if he and Stephen were the only ones in the room, but loudly enough for the king to hear. “Can it be done safely is another matter, now that France and the emperor are so closely aligned.”
Henry slammed his fist hard onto the table, snorting like a bull as his great jowls flapped beneath his copper beard. “What in God’s heaven ever allowed me to trust your vision of beauty, Cromwell? The woman is horrendous; she smells sourly of ale, snores in her sleep, and grunts like a wild boar when she makes those fainthearted attempts to communicate in anything close to the language of English!” Henry bolted from his chair. “Ready my horse! And summon Culpeper. I cannot stand the sight of any of you!”
No one dared make a sound until the king had left the privy chamber in a hobbling gait, the great double doors closing behind him with
The next morning, not in the mood to be seen by anyone but his closest advisers, Henry sat slumped at a long table in his privy chamber back at Whitehall. Sitting with him arrayed around the table were the men who advised him in running the kingdom. Norfolk was there, along with both his rival Thomas Cromwell, and his ally Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester. Nearby sat Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, who had been Henry’s boon companion since childhood as well as his dear departed sister Mary’s second husband. They were also joined by Dorset, who was married to Henry’s niece; Thomas Wriothesley, one of the king’s principal secretaries; and Jane Seymour’s brothers, Edward and Thomas. It was not the public presence chamber beyond the double doors where he usually met with his privy counsel, yet this chamber was far from intimate. It was massive in size, and the walls were covered with tapestries, wood panels and tooled plasterwork. In the center was a grand alabaster fountain.
“So how do you advise me now, Cromwell? Do you still recommend the queen, even after four months’ time? The King of France does not seem any more likely to side with us and against his new friend the emperor on this political issue. He’s going to stand with
those who stand by the queen. Are you willing to stake your life on her?”
As his question hung ominously in the air, Henry leaned back in his chair, steepled his stubby, freckled fingers, and watched the furtive, worried glances of his counselors. Each was happy, he was sure, not to be the one to whom the sovereign had directed his anger. Like a great wave on a turbulent sea, all eyes in the room shifted to the big man with the small, deep green eyes and the mouth that was turned down somberly at the corners.
The silence was deafening.
Henry waited. Norfolk watched.
A heartbeat later, Cromwell cleared his throat and leaned forward. “A way has opened up that could change the course of things, if Your Majesty desires to pursue the path.”
The king arched a brow. His face was mottled red with frustration.
“I desired it the moment I laid my eyes upon my wife! And I ask you, my Lord Chancellor Cromwell, by pointing out this path, do you admit that the course you initially set for me and for England was not a wise one?”
“I act for my country and my king first before all things,” Cromwell carefully replied.
“A pity you do not reverse the order,” commented Charles Brandon, who sat beside the chancellor.
“They are one and the same, I assure you, Your Majesty.”
“Then find me a plausible way out of this sham!” Henry bellowed.
“Can it be done legally?” Stephen Gardiner wondered aloud, hoping to divert any new threat Cromwell was conjuring up to thwart his and Norfolk’s plan to depose of the queen.
“Legally, yes, the marriage can be annulled. There is little doubt
the queen was betrothed to the Duke of Lorraine before she came here,” Norfolk replied, as if he and Stephen were the only ones in the room, but loudly enough for the king to hear. “Can it be done safely is another matter, now that France and the emperor are so closely aligned.”
Henry slammed his fist hard onto the table, snorting like a bull as his great jowls flapped beneath his copper beard. “What in God’s heaven ever allowed me to trust your vision of beauty, Cromwell? The woman is horrendous; she smells sourly of ale, snores in her sleep, and grunts like a wild boar when she makes those fainthearted attempts to communicate in anything close to the language of English!” Henry bolted from his chair. “Ready my horse! And summon Culpeper. I cannot stand the sight of any of you!”
No one dared make a sound until the king had left the privy chamber in a hobbling gait, the great double doors closing behind him with
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