The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [73]
Oh, let him go! Why did I care so very much what he thought and felt?
He was just a man, like all the rest.
WILL:
The book—a great presentation copy bound in gold, with inner leaves of parchment—was dispatched to Leo X. Reportedly the Pope immediately read five pages and said he “would not have thought such a book should have come from the King’s grace, who hath been occupied necessarily in other feats, seeing that other men which hath occupied themselves in study all their lives cannot bring forth the like.”
The Pope, grateful for the unabashed support of a king, conferred on Henry a long-coveted title: Defensor Fidei—Defender of the Faith. Now Henry would no longer feel naked beside his theologically bedecked fellow monarchs.
The little book was an astounding success. Many translations were printed, in Rome, Frankfurt, Cologne, Paris, and Würzburg, among other places, and they sold as quickly as they came from the printing presses. A total of twenty editions was produced before the Continental appetite for it was sated. It was at that point that Luther entered the fray, hurling insults at its royal author. Henry, disdainful of replying, directed More to defend the work.
HENRY VIII:
My theological darts had struck home. I knew that by the vehemence with which the stung Luther responded. The “spiritual” monk unleashed a volley of low-born insults against me in his pamphlet Martin Luther’s Answer in German to King Henry of England’s Book. He called me “by God’s ungrace King of England” and said that sind sadly.
“Scurrilous, Your Majesty,” said Wolsey, glancing at the Answer to Luther on my working desk.
“Indeed. I am somewhat embarrassed to have such a fellow as my defender—whoever he may be.”
Wolsey sniffed his pomander.
“The stench of literary shit is not blocked by cinnamon and cloves,” I said. “Pity.”
“Yes, there is almost as much of that about as the common sort, now that every man has a pen and, it seems, access to a printing press.” He sniffed again. “I am thankful that you presented your work to Pope Leo rather than to the—Dutchman. And that good Pope Leo did not live to see the pamphlet wars and shit-fights.”
I bit my lip to suppress a smile. “You do not care for Pope Adrian?”
The truth was that Wolsey had entertained serious hopes of being elected Pope after Leo’s sudden demise. He had attempted to buy the Emperor’s votes in the Curia. But instead they had elected Adrian, Bishop of Tortosa, Charles’s boyhood tutor. From all reports the man was holy, scholarly, and slow as a “tortosa.”
“I do not know him.”
He had not told me of his bribery in the Conclave. Spying had become an adjunct to our dealings with one another. Did he know that I had commissioned More to write Answer to Luther? I hoped not.
Now to the matter at hand: the Parliament I had been forced to call to raise money for a possible war.
Yes, Francis had broken the Treaty of Universal Peace by invading Navarre, wresting it from the Emperor. Now the Emperor prepared for war and called on all those who had signed the Universal Treaty of Peace in 1518 to punish the aggressor, France, as the treaty stipulated.
“What taxes do you plan to ask?”
“Four shillings to the pound, Your Majesty.”
“That is a twenty-percent tax! They will never agree!”
“The honour of the realm demands it.”
Was he that cut off from what was possible and reasonable? “It is unreasonable. Never ask for something that can be so easily refused. It sets a bad precedent.”
He shook his head. His jowls moved along with it. “They will not refuse,” he intoned, in a voice suitable for the Masses he never said anymore.
Was it then that I began to entertain doubts about the sanctity, the wisdom, of the office of the Pope? If Wolsey could be seriously considered as a candidate—O, it was good that I had written my book when my faith was as yet untroubled.
The business with Parliament went badly. Wolsey presented the case for the tax, and the noble