Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (198 page)

‘Good wench,’ Cromwell said, ‘you are indifferent honest; but never while I am the King’s man shall the Bishop of Rome take toll again in the King’s land.’

She threw up her hands.

‘Alack!’ she said, ‘shall not God and His Son our Saviour have their part of the King’s glory?’

‘God is above us all,’ he answered. ‘But there is no room for two heads of a State, and in a State is room but for one army. I will have my King so strong that ne Pope ne priest ne noble ne people shall here have speech or power. So it is now; I have so made it, the King helping me. Before I came this was a distracted State; the King’s writ ran not in the east, not in the west, not in the north, and hardly in the south parts. Now no lord nor no bishop nor no Pope raises head against him here. And, God willing, in all the world no prince shall stand but by grace of this King’s Highness. This land shall have the wealth of all the world; this King shall guide this land. There shall be rich husbandmen paying no toll to priests, but to the King alone; there shall be wealthy merchants paying no tax to any prince nor emperor, but only to this King. The King’s court shall redress all wrongs; the King’s voice shall be omnipotent in the council of the princes.’

‘Ye speak no word of God,’ she said pitifully.

‘God is very far away,’ he answered.

‘Sir, my lord,’ she cried, and brushed again the tress from her forehead. ‘Ye have made this King rich with gear of the Church: if ye will be friends with me ye shall make this King a pauper to repay; ye have made this King stiffen his neck against God’s Vicegerent: if you and I shall work together ye shall make him re-humble himself. Christ the King of all the world was a pauper; Christ the Saviour of all mankind humbled Himself before God that was His Saviour.’

Cromwell said ‘Amen.’

‘Sir,’ she said again; ‘ye have made this King rich, but I will give to him again his power to sleep at night; ye have made this realm subject to this King, but, by the help of God, I will make it subject again to God. You have set up here a great State, but oh, the children of God do weep since ye came. Where is a town where lamentation is not heard? Where is a town where no orphan or widow bewails the day that saw your birth?’ She had sobs in her voice and she wrung her hands. ‘Sir,’ she cried, ‘I say you are as a dead man already — your day of pride is past, whether ye aid us or no. Set yourself then to redress as heartily as ye have set yourself in the past to make sad. That land is blest whose people are happy; that State is aggrandised whence there arise songs praising God for His blessings. You have built up a great city of groans; set yourself now to build a kingdom where “Praise God” shall be sung. It is a contented people that makes a State great; it is the love of God that maketh a people rich.’

Cromwell laughed mirthlessly:

‘There are forty thousand men like Wriothesley in England,’ he said. ‘God help you if you come against them; there are forty times forty thousand and forty times that that pray you not again to set disorder loose in this land. I have broken all stiff necks in this realm. See you that you come not against some yet.’ He stopped, and added: ‘Your greatest foes should be your own friends if I be a dead man as you say.’ And he smiled at her bewilderment when he had added: ‘I am your bulwark and your safeguard.’

... ‘For, listen to me,’ he took up again his parable. ‘Whilst I be here I bear the rancour of your friends’ hatred. When I am gone you shall inherit it.’

‘Sir,’ she said, ‘I am not here to hear riddles, but here I am to pray you seek the right.’

‘Wench,’ he said pleasantly, ‘there are in this world many rights — you have yours; I mine. But mine can never be yours nor yours mine. I am not yet so dead as ye say; but if I be dead, I wish you so well that I will send you a phial of poison ere I send to take you to the stake. For it is certain that if you have not my head I shall have yours.’

She looked at him seriously, though the tears ran down her cheeks.

‘Sir,’ she uttered, ‘I do take you to be a man of your word. Swear to me, then, that if upon the fatal hill I do save you your life and your estates, you will nowise work the undoing of the Church in time to come.’

‘Madam Queen that shall be,’ he said, ‘an ye gave me my life this day, to-morrow I would work as I worked yesterday. If ye have faith of your cause I have the like of mine.’

She hung her head, and said at last:

‘Sir, an ye have a little door here at the gallery end I will go out by it’; for she would not again face the men who made the little knot before the window. He moved the hangings aside and stood before the aperture smiling.

‘Ye came to ask a boon of me,’ he said. ‘Is it your will still that I grant it?’

‘Sir,’ she answered, ‘I asked a boon of you that I thought you would not grant, so that I might go to the King and shew him your evil dealings with his lieges.’

‘I knew it well,’ he said. ‘But the King will not cast me down till the King hath had full use of me.’

‘You have a very great sight into men’s minds,’ she uttered, and he laughed noiselessly once again.

‘I am as God made me,’ he said. Then he spoke once more. ‘I will read your mind if you will. Ye came to me in this crisis, thinking with yourself:
Liars go unto the King saying, “This Cromwell is a traitor; cast him down, for he seeks your ill.” I will go unto the King saying, “This Cromwell grindeth the faces of the poor and beareth false witness. Cast him down, though he serve you well, since he maketh your name to stink to heaven.”
So I read my fellow-men.’

‘Sir,’ she said, ‘it is very true that I will not be linked with liars. And it is very true that men do so speak of you to the King’s Highness.’

‘Why,’ he answered her debonairly, ‘the King shall listen neither to them nor to you till the day be come. Then he will act in his own good way — upon the pretext that I be a traitor, or upon the pretext that I have borne false witness, or upon no pretext at all.’

‘Nevertheless will I speak for the truth that shall prevail,’ she answered.

‘Why, God help you!’ was his rejoinder.

Going back to his friends in the window Cromwell meditated that it was possible to imagine a woman that thought so simply; yet it was impossible to imagine one that should be able to act with so great a simplicity. On the one hand, if she stayed about the King she should be his safeguard, for it was very certain that she should not tell the King that he was a traitor. And that above all was what Cromwell had to fear. He had, for his own purposes, so filled the King with the belief that treachery overran his land, that the King saw treachery in every man. And Cromwell was aware, well enough, that such of his adherents as were Protestant — such men as Wriothesley — had indeed boasted that they were twenty thousand swords ready to fall upon even the King if he set against the re-forming religion in England. This was the greatest danger that he had — that an enemy of his should tell the King that Privy Seal had behind his back twenty thousand swords. For that side of the matter Katharine Howard was even a safeguard, since with her love of truth she would assuredly combat these liars with the King.

But, on the other hand, the King had his superstitious fears; only that night, pale, red-eyed and heavy, and being unable to sleep, he had sent to rouse Cromwell and had furiously rated him, calling him knave and shaking him by the shoulder, telling him for the twentieth time to find a way to make a peace with the Bishop of Rome. These were only night-fears — but, if Cleves should desert Henry and Protestantism, if all Europe should stand solid for the Pope, Henry’s night-fears might eat up his day as well. Then indeed Katharine would be dangerous. So that she was indeed half foe, half friend.

It hinged all upon Cleves; for if Cleves stood friend to Protestantism the King would fear no treason; if Cleves sued for pardon to the Emperor and Rome, Henry must swing towards Katharine. Therefore, if Cleves stood firm to Protestantism and defied the Emperor, it would be safe to work at destroying Katharine; if not, he must leave her by the King to defend his very loyalty.

The Archbishop challenged him with uplifted questioning eyebrows, and he answered his gaze with:

‘God help ye, goodman Bishop; it were easier for thee to deal with this maid than for me. She would take thee to her friend if thou wouldst curry with Rome.’

‘Aye,’ Cranmer answered. ‘But would Rome have truck with me?’ and he shook his head bitterly. He had been made Archbishop with no sanction from Rome.

Cromwell turned upon Wriothesley; the debonair smile was gone from his face; the friendly contempt that he had for the Archbishop was gone too; his eyes were hard, cruel and red, his lips hardened.

‘Ye have done me a very evil turn,’ he said. ‘Ye spoke stiff-necked folly to this lady. Ye shall learn, Protestants that ye are, that if I be the flail of the monks I may be a hail, a lightning, a bolt from heaven upon Lutherans that cross the King.’

The hard malice of his glance made Wriothesley quail and flush heavily.

‘I thought ye had been our friend,’ he said.

‘Wriothesley,’ Cromwell answered, ‘I tell thee, silly knave, that I be friend only to them that love the order and peace I have made, under the King’s Highness, in this realm. If it be the King’s will to stablish again the old faith, a hammer of iron will I be upon such as do raise their heads against it. It were better ye had never been born, it were better ye were dead and asleep, than that ye raised your heads against me.’ He turned, then he swung back with the sharpness of a viper’s spring.

‘What help have I had of thee and thy friends? I have bolstered up Cleves and his Lutherans for ye. What have he and ye done for me and my King? Your friend the Duke of Cleves has an envoy in Paris. Have ye found for why he comes there? Ye could not. Ye have botched your errand to Paris; ye have spoken naughtily in my house to a friend of the King’s that came friendlily to me.’ He shook a fat finger an inch from Wriothesley’s eyes. ‘Have a care! I did send my visitors to smell out treason among the convents and abbeys. Wait ye till I send them to your conventicles! Ye shall not scape. Body of God! ye shall not scape.’

He placed a heavy hand upon Throckmorton’s shoulder.

‘I would I had sent thee to Paris,’ he said. ‘No envoy had come there whose papers ye had not seen. I warrant thou wouldst have ferreted them through.’

Throckmorton’s eyes never moved; his mouth opened and he spoke with neither triumph nor malice:

‘In very truth, Privy Seal,’ he said, ‘I have ferreted through enow of them to know why the envoy came to Paris.’

Cromwell kept his hands still firm upon his spy’s shoulder whilst the swift thoughts ran through his mind. He scowled still upon Wriothesley.

‘Sir,’ he said, ‘ye see how I be served. What ye could not find in Paris my man found for me in London town.’ He moved his face round towards the great golden beard of his spy. ‘Ye shall have the farms ye asked me for in Suffolk,’ he said. ‘Tell me now wherefore came the Cleves envoy to France. Will Cleves stay our ally, or will he send like a coward to his Emperor?’

‘Privy Seal,’ Throckmorton answered expressionlessly — he fingered his beard for a moment and felt at the medal depending upon his chest—’Cleves will stay your friend and the King’s ally.’

A great sigh went up from his three hearers at Throckmorton’s lie; and impassive as he was, Throckmorton sighed too, imperceptibly beneath the mantle of his beard. He had burned his boats. But for the others the sigh was of a great contentment. With Cleves to lead the German Protestant confederation, the King felt himself strong enough to make headway against the Pope, the Emperor and France. So long as the Duke of Cleves remained a rebel against his lord the Emperor, the King would hold over Protestantism the mantle of his protection.

Cromwell broke in upon their thoughts with his swift speech.

‘Sirs,’ he uttered, ‘then what ye will shall come to pass. Wriothesley, I pardon thee; get thee back to Paris to thy mission. Archbishop, I trow thou shalt have the head of that wench. Her cousin shall be brought here again from France.’

Lascelles, the Archbishop’s spy, who kept his gaze upon Throckmorton’s, saw the large man’s eyes shift suddenly from one board of the floor to another.