Thomas Howard is head of one of the most powerful Houses in Tudor England. An indomitable old man approaching eighty: soldier, courtier, politician, a ‘phoenix’ rising from the ashes. After a calamitous period of disgrace, the Howards, renowned for their good looks and charm, are once more riding high at the court of Henry VIII.
Excerpt:
Thomas Howard, the Earl of Surrey, a veteran soldier and Treasurer of England, is talking to his best friend, Gilbert Talbot, in Calais harbour. The date is September 30th, 1511 and they’re discussing the headstrong young King Henry VIII’s determination to go to war with France.
“The wind suddenly dropped
completely so we could hear each other again. Right on cue, the sun came out,
bathing us in pleasing warmth. Immediately, I felt my mood lift and was even
able to smile back at my friend. We’d both aged, of course, and I could see
that (unlike me, who prided myself on still having the wiry frame of one of my
prize whippets) a love of his wife, Bessie’s, cooking had added flesh to
Gilbert’s bones. The approach of old age hadn’t completely passed me by either.
My knees were beginning to ache and I had more silver threaded through my hair
than before. But to me the streaks were a badge of honour.
<<Evidence of a long life, lived well and to the full>>
Gilbert still had the same ready
smile he’d always had, and his slightly faded blue eyes reflected the same
wisdom and humour I’d long set store by.
‘It’s true,’ I said. ‘That
toad-spotted, bum-bailey of a royal almoner, Snake, couldn’t wait to write to
Richard Fox reporting my disgrace. There was such a red mist in my mind, I
could think of nothing else to do but come to you. I rode like the clappers to
Dover and jumped on the first vessel crossing the Narrow Sea.’
‘And I’m very glad you did. I
take it you tried again to dissuade the King from declaring war on France.’
‘I did. But the Tudor boy is as
stubborn as a mule. He’s determined to risk his royal neck in the lists and has
got his sights set on the spoils of war. The treaty Fox, Ruthal, and I
negotiated last March is as good as dead. All Henry thinks and talks about is
invading France.’
Gilbert laughed. ‘He certainly
lives up to your description of him: “A
Tudor rose with thorns”. I wish to God he and Katherine hadn’t lost the
prince in January. Maybe it would have calmed him down.’
‘But they did lose little Henry. And nothing and no one can turn his head
away from the idea of leading an army over the Narrow Sea.’
‘It doesn’t help that Henry’s
father-in-law—’
‘That wily old fox, Ferdinand.’
‘Yes. It doesn’t help he’s
joined forces with the Pope, declaring the French got more out of the Cambrai
agreement than either of them—’
‘Or that Rome has invited Henry
to join a Holy League against France. He’s acting like a moonstruck maid,
meeting a swain in a meadow.’
‘Speaking of lovesick swains,
Tom, doesn’t Henry realize the Pope is panting after Venice? And Ferdinand
after Naples. Not France.’
‘That flap-mouthed Andrea
Badoer—’
‘The Venetian ambassador?’
‘Yes. He’s stoking the fires of
war, telling the King that old Louis of France wants to be “monarch of the whole world”.’
Gilbert rolled his eyes. ‘We
can only pray the good ambassador falls into the Grand Canal on his next trip
back to Venice.’
* * *
By this time, we’d almost
reached the end of the quay. It felt good to be able to talk like this to an
old friend who understood my predicament, even if he couldn’t help me out of
it. Just offer me food, board and good counsel for a few days. I knew I was
exaggerating a little out of frustration. Young Hal hadn’t actually dismissed
me, merely suggested I might like to spend some time with Agnes who was
expecting another child. A second boy, I was certain of it. There was nothing
wrong with Howard seed: perhaps another thing about me that didn’t sit well
with the royal pup. <<A man of nearly seventy able to produce what a youth
of twenty cannot>>
‘What about your boys, Tom.
Can’t they help out? Try to change the King’s mind.’
I let out a dismissive laugh.
‘The King doesn’t like Thomas. Not that I blame him for that. You know my
eldest is a chilly devil at the best of times; even his dogs don’t care for
him. And Henry has no time at all for Edmund. Nor do I blame him for that
either. Sometimes I think ‘tis both a miracle and a tragedy that one survived
the childbed. Animals seem to know much better than humans how to deal with
those too puny to survive.’
‘He’s a fine jouster.’
‘A loggerhead, for sure.
Instead of showing cunning like Charles Brandon - and all the others - did back
in the lists in February, either tying with the King or letting him win, what
does my idiot of a third son do? Knock the proud young Tudor pup to the ground
so many times he must have been choking on the dust in his mouth.’
‘God’s teeth! Henry will never
forgive him.’
‘He hasn’t. Edmund hasn’t been
invited to a single joust since that day.’
‘You’ve got new boys to
follow.’
‘Yes. William in the cradle and
another in the belly.’
‘What about Edward. He’s still
in favour.’
‘Yes, but for some boil-brained
reason, he spends his time dripping poison about James of Scotland into the
royal ear. When the Venetian ambassador has finished dripping poison about
France into the other one.’
‘Ah, I see your problem. It
must be hard for you. Especially as you struck up such a good rapport with the
Scotsman when you went up for the wedding.’
‘I did. I can honestly say James
deserved every word of any praise I heaped upon him back then. Truly a king
amongst kings. Whereas I swear our own sometimes shows less sense than my
Lizzie’s little George.’
Gilbert pointed straight
ahead. ‘How about a visit to “The Sign of
the Ship” to drown our sorrows? I know for a fact a cargo of the best
Malmsey arrived from Madeira this morning, by way of La Coruna.’
Vivienne Brereton
# # #
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