The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [50]
I changed the subject. “There is danger from the Scots. They obey no laws of honour or chivalry. They are like to attack whilst we are occupied in France.”
“They are French allies. The ‘auld alliance,’ they call it. Although two more unlikely partners I am hard put to imagine!” The brawling Scots with the mincing French. Laughable. “Leave an able soldier behind to contain them.”
“Howard,” I said. “Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey. He is from the North, he knows it well.”
Just then, two dancing shadows came into the building.
“Father! Father!” they called.
How sweet. The little lads had an affectionate relationship with the visiting priest.
“Mother does not feel well,” they whined.
“I am busy.” Wolsey’s voice was hard.
“She was sick lastre false?Hight="2em" align="left">
HENRY VIII:
I had even overcome the timidity and lack of firm plans from my “committed allies.” Ferdinand had yet to meet me, and Maximilian had only just shown up, without troops, offering to serve as a soldier under my command whilst we besieged Tournai.
The Holy Roman Emperor was an odd little man, with reddish gold hair and a chin sticking out like a shelf. He appeared so affable that one never questioned his thoughts or his motives. Yet this man controlled the Netherlands, Germany, Austria, and bits and pieces scattered about Italy and France! Now he trotted about in my wake as I inspected cannon and their positions, helped load and fire the bombards (our sulphur from Italy was certainly superior, thanks to the Pope, and gave a nice explosion), and at night he dined with me in my collapsible timber house (which boasted all the amenities of my Privy Chamber at home, including my great bed.) He also relieved himself in my private stool-closet, discreetly attached to the house. After dinner, candles flickering on our massive formal dining table, we spread out maps and discussed strategy.
“Tournai will look pretty, razed to the ground like Thérouanne,” chuckled Maximilian. I had besieged Thérouanne for twenty-three days, and when at last it had surrendered, I ordered everyone out and destroyed it.
“I will never raze it,” I said. “I plan to incorporate it into the Pale of Calais, make it English. Why”—I thought of this on the spot—“we’ll send representatives to Parliament!”
“Your Grace!” laughed Wolsey. “That would mean you would have to garrison them. They’d never go to Parliament otherwise—they’re French!”
“Well, parliament is a French word,” said Brandon, attempting to be jolly. “It means ‘let’s talk.’ And that’s all Parliament does—talk, talk, talk!”
“Aye, aye!” The rest of the company laughed, just to be a part of the merriment.
“Thomas More speaks of a silent Parliament,” Wolsey said. “He plans to lead one.”
“More speaks of many things, most of them preposterous,” chimed in Edward Neville. Sir Edward Neville: I had knighted him just four hours past for his bravery on the field.
There had been much bravery on this campaign. I was astonished at how very brave an ordinary man can be when confronted with the enemy. The first night we marched, it was pouring rain, and we were bogged down in a sea of mud. I rode round the camp at three in the morning, in my armour, to hearten and encourage my men. “Well, comrades, now that we have suffered in the beginning, fortune promises us better things, God willing.”
Suddenly there was a knock at my door. A Scots herald stood outside, come to declare war on England! He concluded, “My King summons Your Grace to be at home in your realm, on the defence.” He was wearing his clan badge and hat, and seemed oblivious to the fact that his King, James IV, was acting in a base manner in choosing this time to attack.
“You have come a far way to deliver your cowardly summons,” I said at length. “It ill becomes a Scot to summon a King of England. Tell him that never shall a Scot cause us to return! We see your master for what he is. For we Z `d.
“Scotland, and its King, have perished,” I said, to inform the waiting men-at-arms around me, companions, my fealty-sworn soldiers: Brandon, Neville,