The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [92]
“Sire,” she began, looking up at me and trying to lock our eyes in an embrace, “I beg you, for all the love that has been between us, let me ha8220;Iuspended.
As his quavering voice read this pronouncement, there was a silence, then a stirring, in the room. Clearly the case was closed, without judgment, and given back to Rome.
Then Brandon rose and banged his great hand on the table. “It has never been merry in England since Cardinals came amongst us!” he yelled. The entire gathering broke into discord. I was livid with fury.
XL
WILL:
The poor, indecisive Pope had sent many instructions to England along with Campeggio, but the most important one was: do nothing. Delay the trial as long as possible. Then advoke the case to Rome. Campeggio had merely followed advice, in this case all the more compelling because just the month before, Francis had been soundly defeated in his last desperate attempt to retake northern Italy. The Emperor had decimated his forces at Landriano, and now that all the dust had settled, the Pope and the Emperor had come to terms in the Treaty of Barcelona. The Emperor’s troops released Rome, and set the Pope free. The Curia and its Cardinals came flocking back to Rome, and soon the advocation of Katherine’s case (always Katherine’s, never Henry’s) to Rome had been decided in the Signatura and a few days later by the full Consistory. Campeggio had had no choice.
But Wolsey was stunned. This undercut all his power. The Pope, his spiritual master, had betrayed him. His other master, the King, felt betrayed. Between them both, he would be ground as fine as grain in a mill.
HENRY VIII:
So they thought they had won. They—Katherine, the Emperor, Pope Clement—thought they could chuckle and dismiss the problem of King Henry VIII and his conscience—never a weighty one for them. They were wrong. All wrong. But what to do?
I was finished with the Pope. He had failed me—nay, betrayed me. Never would I consult his court at Rome.
I was finished with Wolsey as well. Wolsey had failed me. Wolsey must have known of all this long ago—after all, he had seen the commissions!
Wolsey—he who was master of all facts, from the herbal remedy used to treat the Papal piles, to who was the Cardinal with the most family connections in the Curia—had proved worthless in this, my greatest concern. He had been nothing but a glorified administrator and procurer after all, not a man of vision or ideas or even insight. He had been meet enough to serve me only in my own green days.
I had outgrown him. I could do better myself.
And I would do better myself. I would rid myself of Wolsey and then proceed ... to wherever the road would take me.
Campeggio was to leave England, and sought permission to take leave of me. At that time I was staying at Grafton, a manor house in the country, and only with great difficulty could I provide lodging for Campeggio. Wolsey accompanied him and was dismayed to find no room for himself. I did not wish to speak with him at this time, but I was compellayed. Betroken an ancient law against asserting Papal jurisdiction in England without prior royal consent. The real reason was that they hated him.
In meeting me, Wolsey was deferential and shaken—a different Wolsey than I had ever seen. He lapped about my hand as a puppy, scampering about, wagging his tail to please. It sickened me and made me sad. I had no wish to witness this degradation.
“Your Majesty ... His Holiness ... I did not know ... I can undo it all....” No, such phrases I did not wish to hear from Wolsey. Not from proud Wolsey.
I gave him permission to retire. Strange it is to think that I never saw him again. When Anne and I returned from our hunt the following day, both he and Campeggio had departed. I knew in what direction Wolsey was bound, so I sent Henry Norris on horseback to overtake him and present him with a ring as token of our continuing friendship.
Evidently the scene was embarrassing. Proud Wolsey leapt off his mule and flung himself upon his knees in the mud, grasping the ring (and