London - Edward Rutherfurd [299]
“Consider,” Thomas cut in. “This oath is not a matter of faith: it concerns only the succession. Now, does the Pope name the heir to the English Crown?”
“Of course not.”
“Very well then. Consider further: where does this oath come from – the king alone? No. It was enacted by Parliament.” He smiled. “Do you set yourself up against Parliament?” This, Thomas knew very well, was the key to the business – the key that his master Cromwell had so carefully used.
The Parliament of England was still essentially medieval. But for a strong king like Henry, it had one particular use. It could confirm the royal will, in a manner that could not be gainsaid. For who could deny that when the House of Lords, which included the bishops and abbots too, and the Commons spoke together, it was with the united voice, temporal and spiritual, of the whole realm?
“Let me put you a case,” Thomas drove his advantage home. “If the king and Parliament enacted that I, Thomas Meredith, should be the next king, could you or the Pope deny it?” Rowland shook his head. “Well then.”
“But it’s the preamble,” Rowland still objected. “Doesn’t it deny the Pope’s authority over the sacrament of marriage?”
“It’s arguable,” Thomas at once conceded. Indeed, the wording had been an elaborate compromise between Cromwell and the bishops, and the exact sense was deliberately unclear. “But the bishops accept it. And even,” he urged, “if the bishops are wrong, we all know the thing is necessary because of the impossible position the king and the Pope find themselves in.”
It was a strong argument, and seeing her husband hesitate, Susan now struck. “You must take the oath,” she said firmly. “You cannot destroy your career and family. Not for this. It isn’t enough.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He nodded, then smiled. “I know I can trust your judgement,” he said.
Did she, Susan wondered, truly believe she was right? Or did instinct tell her that Fisher and More had correctly seen to the heart of the matter? She remembered the Henry she had seen in the garden, then swiftly put the vision out of her mind, and thought of her children instead. She could not see them hurt.
All that evening, after Thomas had gone, though Rowland seemed outwardly calm enough, she knew from his pallor that his conscience was troubling him. Once or twice he remarked to her with a sad smile: “I wish Peter were here.” And she wished she could think of something she could say to put his mind at rest.
She was glad, early the following morning, when looking out from their chamber she saw a barge emerge out of the mist on the river, and a few moments later welcomed her brother at the door. He was grinning.
“I just thought I’d tell you,” he announced. “I went to the Charterhouse last night. They are all taking the oath.” In fact the strict Carthusians had only agreed with the gravest reservations, but he saw no need to go into that. “So,” he said cheerfully, “if the Charterhouse, where Peter is going, can do it, so can you.”
And now she saw Rowland’s face relax at last. Thank God, she thought, for Thomas.
When Dan Dogget reported for duty one bright morning in May, he was in a cheerful mood. He was certainly a handsome sight. A scarlet jacket laced with gold, white hose, gleaming black shoes with silver buckles and, on his head a smart peaked cap of black velvet: the summer livery of the king’s watermen suited his splendid figure very well.
The months since he had joined the royal barge had been happy indeed. The pay was everything he had hoped for; and on ceremonial occasions the bonuses could be huge. Only one matter had given him any difficulty. He had never had to submit to discipline before. When the barge-master curtly told him what to do, he sometimes