Princes of Ireland - Edward Rutherfurd [355]
Meanwhile, seventy-five of the principal men in Ireland who had acted with Silken Thomas were sentenced to execution. It sent a shudder through the community. And the lesser gentry, like William Walsh, who had gone along with the Fitzgeralds, were told that, depending upon the royal will, they might be able to get a pardon in return for a fine. “Thank God,” Walsh remarked, “that I had witnesses to prove that I took that damned oath under duress. But what the fine will be I don’t yet know, and half the men in Parliament are in a similar position.” Henry was keeping them waiting until they had passed all his legislation. “He has us,” Walsh confessed, “exactly where he wants us.”
Some opposition there was, from gentlemen not under threat. When Henry demanded a harsh new tax on income, these loyal men were able to persuade him to be more lenient. “By the grace of God,” Walsh reported back to his family, “the tax will only be paid by the clergy.” But this was one of the few concessions that Henry made; and so that no one should doubt his determination to be Ireland’s lord and master, his lieutenants continued the forays around the edge of the Pale to subdue the territories and implacably hunted down any remaining members of the Kildare family who could give any trouble.
Even so, it rather surprised Margaret that there was not more protest about Henry’s taking over the Church and his attack on the Pope. “Some of the clerical members have protested,” William told her. “But some of the strongest voices were so involved with Silken Thomas that they’ve either been deprived of their benefices or fled abroad. The fact is,” he added, “that although Henry has put himself in place of the Pope—which is an outrage, of course—there’s little sign that he means to make any changes to the forms and doctrines of the faith.” A new archbishop named Browne appeared in Dublin, who was said to have Protestant leanings, but so far he hadn’t said or done anything offensive. “The real question is what Henry means to do about the monasteries.”
In England, the great process had already begun. Under the guise of a religious reform, the Tudor king, who always spent money faster than he got it, was planning to take all the rich lands and possessions of England’s medieval monasteries into his own hands and to sell them. Would he do the same in Ireland?
“One effect of the business in England,” Walsh told his son Richard at the family meal one day, “is that it’s creating a huge amount of work for lawyers. Every monastery wants to be legally represented and to argue its case.” Working closely with his father, Richard had already made himself well liked by a number of the monastic houses. “For lawyers like ourselves, Richard,” his father continued, “the fees could be lucrative.”
Though she said nothing, Margaret was secretly a little shocked by this attitude. Whatever their faults, surely the ancient monasteries of Ireland merited better treatment than this? When a measure to close just thirteen of the Irish monasteries was set before the Parliament, she was glad to hear that there had finally been some opposition. And when William, who had been away at the debates for several days, returned to the house one afternoon, she questioned him quite eagerly.
“I was sure, in the end, our people wouldn’t stand for it,” she said.
But William only chuckled.
“That isn’t it at all,” he let her know. “The problem is who gets the land. The fear is that it will go to the king’s men and the Butlers. Some of your friends, the Fingal gentry, are going to Henry to demand their share. Doyle and his fellow aldermen