London - Edward Rutherfurd [304]
No monarch had done more to build a navy than Henry VIII of England. There were several ships, including the great six-hundred-ton Mary Rose; but the pride of his fleet was the Henry, Grâce à Dieu, the mightiest English warship yet to float. This vessel, detaching itself from the cluster of masts by the Deptford wharfs, had just glided into the river.
As the four-masted ship moved out towards midstream, Susan found herself watching spellbound. It was certainly huge. The Great Harry, the sailors affectionately called the mighty vessel. “Weighs over a thousand tons,” Thomas murmured in a voice of awe. The ship seemed to dominate the whole river.
Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, the Great Harry unfurled not its everyday, but its ceremonial sails, which were painted gold. And at the same moment, as if in response, a cluster of the sun’s rays burst out through a gap in the western cloud, catching the ship and its sails magically in a pool of red gold light on the darkening river, so that it floated there like a fairy ship, gleaming, unreal, and so lovely that Susan caught her breath. For over a minute this vision lasted, until the sun was covered again.
This was the magical vision Susan would have carried away with her if the master had not decided on one more manoeuvre. Just as the sun withdrew, along the whole length of the ship’s side two lines of traps abruptly burst open and from these dark cavities ran out the muzzles of a score of cannon, so that in an instant the great ship was transformed from a golden phantom to a grim, brutal engine of war.
“Those cannon could reduce the palace to rubble,” Thomas remarked admiringly.
“Magnificent,” Rowland agreed.
But the warship filled Susan with dread. It reminded her of the other transformation that she had witnessed in a garden the summer before. It was as if the golden ship and the dour vessel with its dull, threatening cannon were two faces of the king himself. And while the men remained contentedly watching as the Great Harry moved slowly downstream, she felt a strange uneasiness, and a little shudder passed through her that, she told herself, was only caused by the breeze which now felt cold, coming from the east.
They were standing in a hallway, whose dark wooden panelling was glowing softly in the candlelight when the young man came up to Thomas.
“Secretary Cromwell will need you first thing in the morning,” he murmured. And then with a smile: “It’s been decided. We’re to draft the new Act of Parliament at once.”
Wondering what this might be, she had glanced at Rowland; but he evidently did not know. Then she noticed, even in the shadow, that Thomas was blushing. “What Act of Parliament?” she quickly enquired.
The young man looked uncertain for a moment, but then grinned. “It won’t be a secret after tonight anyway,” he said, “so I can tell you. It’s to be called the Act of Supremacy.”
“What’s to be in it?” she asked.
“Well,” he replied cheerfully, “Thomas knows better than I, but the main provisions are these.” He began to explain.
At first, as she listened, Susan was not sure what the purpose of this new Act was. It seemed to recapitulate all the things, in his dispute with the Pope, that Henry had already done – the appropriation of Rome’s revenues, the succession provisions, and much else besides. But gradually, as he continued, her eyes grew wide with astonishment.
Rowland finally spoke. “No king in history