The Boleyn Prince

Chapter 22

"The King has quarrelled with the Queen again," Thomas Cromwell observed as he passed another parchment onto his master's desk for his royal signature.
It was the aggressiveness of the quills flow over the paper that betrayed the King's mood. The scratching of the nib so forcefully pressed down against the rough paper that Cromwell was sure it would tear.
Only one person had the ability to rile the King so. His wife!
Usually, Henry was amenable when dealing with affairs of state. Chatty, joking. For all his faults, he was a personable king who still possessed the incredible magnetism and charisma that had made him so irresistible in his younger years. Until Anne. She had taught him intolerance, impetuousness, and viciousness.

Young Francis Weston suddenly appeared from the Kings outer chamber.
"Your Majesty, the imperial ambassador has come insisting on an audience. He says it is of the utmost urgency."

"He's heard about Mary," Cromwell thought to himself, suddenly wishing he were anywhere else.
The King had realized the same as his posture suddenly stiffened in his chair.
Despite his changeable nature, Henry hated confrontation, particularly with intelligent men who could skilfully refute his arguments, like Chapys.
For a moment, Cromwell wondered whether he would even see him. The King was certainly in no mood for diplomacy. After a moment of pondering, he begrudgingly waved his heavily ringed hand and the ambassador was duly admitted to the room, flushed and out of breath.

"Ambassador Chapys, what can I do for you?'

"Please forgive my disturbing your majesty, but an alarming rumour concerning your daughter Mary is circulating in court, a rumour that as soon as I heard it felt must be addressed immediately."

"And what are these rumours?"

"That the Lady Mary is to be married to George Boleyn, and that his recent elevation to the Dukedom of Gloucester is in respect of that.

'Then the rumours are only half right," Henry said resting his back against the chair and folding his hands in his lap. "Lady Mary was married to the Duke of Gloucester two days past. His Grace's elevation is in recognition of the great service he has given and liu of a dowery. Since Mary is not my lawful born daughter it would not be prudent to use crown finances to secure her a husband."

Chapys stood open-mouthed stunned into silence at the King's insult to Mary. Cromwell could sense there would be repercussions for this, and his shoulders sagged at another task he would have to undertake on behalf of the King to ensure peace. War with the Spanish was not in England's interest.
The dissolution of the monasteries was filling the Kings' coffers but not to the extent that it would be able to support an army considerable enough to defeat the Emperor's vast forces.

"Your Majesty...."

"I will not hear another word on the matter," Henry insisted, raising his hand to silence Chapys. "I have permitted your interference in this matter out of my respect for the Emperor, but I shall not be instructed on who is or is not a suitable match for Mary. It is done and so it shall remain."

Henry returned his gaze to the parchments on his desk and Chapys knew the interview was over. The poor man looked crushed. Cromwell felt a stir of pity for him. He had served Katharine with such ferocious loyalty and was as devoted to Mary as surely as if he was her own father.
The Emperor would retaliate for this, Cromwell feared. He would need to pull off some skilled diplomacy this time around if he was to avoid catastrophe.

"Ask the Imperial Ambassador to dine with me tomorrow, would you?" he instructed his protégé, Ralf Sadler when they were back within the safe confines of his own chambers.

Ralf was, in truth, overqualified to be the bearer of a simple invitation, but he possessed the rare skill in diplomacy of being liked and respected by everyone he came into contact with. Chapys knew him and trusted him. Even the King had noticed his talent and had employed him to deal with his sister, the Dowager Queen of Scotland, in her grievances against her third husband.

"Ralf will go far," Cromwell thought to himself proudly. He had certainly done well already. From a ward of his household to a gentleman of the king's privy chamber and now an MP and diplomat. He could not have been prouder if Ralph were his son.

When Chapys arrived at his room the following evening, frosty-faced and pensive, Cromwell knew the challenge before him was monumental.
The imperial ambassador could never be described as gay or even jolly in his demeanour. Yet the last days' news had given him an even more sombre air than usual.
At least he could serve him a good dinner. Cromwell thought with some satisfaction. The late Cardinal Wolsey had always kept a fine table in the evenings for any unexpected guests. Cromwell did the same. Information, even gossip was the lifeblood of life at court. Anyone was welcome to call on the King's minister or his associates with information in exchange for a good meal and call they did. Cromwell rarely ate alone or undisturbed when at Austin Friars.
Chapys was a good eater despite his small frame. Partial especially to Pheasant or Boar baked in honey and rosemary leaves. Yet he barely touched a morsel on his plate.

"How could this have happened Thomas? How could you have let this happen?" He remonstrated bitterly.

Cromwell laid his knife down on the smooth wooden table. "There was no other way," he explained evenly. "I wrote to her myself when the Prince was born to tell her there was no way back to her old life. But that if she showed herself conformable to the King's will, she could be sure of her liberty and fairly treated."

"Fairly treated," the ambassador scoffed. "When to every god-fearing nation she is England's only true heir? What an insult it would be to her to accept any title other than that of Princess."

"I had hoped she would see reason. She cannot stand against the King indefinitely. After the north rebelled, the Queen was determined to attach the blame on her."

"The princess knew nothing of those traitors!" Chapys protested with more vehemence than Cromwell had ever heard uttered from his lips.

He let the Ambassadors use of Mary's forbidden title slide. "I know that and so does the King deep down. But the Queen is convinced she is an enemy and whilst she remains at liberty, she will be a figurehead that rebels will continue to rise behind, whether she joins with them or not and one day I will not be able to save her."

"Save her!" Chapys exclaimed. "You have placed her in the very hands of those who have sought to do her harm all these years."

"No harm will come to her, Eustace. I can promise you that."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I have tied her interests to theirs. The Boleyn's value their power above almost everything else. They know that anything other than Lady Mary living a long life will certainly bring the Emperors forces to England in their droves. War would be certain. Their destruction inevitable. I have made that abundantly clear."

"And you have such faith in them," Chapys replied tartly.

"Whatever else you may think of the Boleyn's, your excellency, they are not unintelligent."

Chapys reached for his goblet. "Then we must pray that the lady and her family continue to be governed by their own self interests," he remarked. His voice tinged with the meanest hint of bitterness.