The Boleyn Prince

Chapter 15

Thomas Cromwell's beady eyes peeped over the top of the lengthy parchment as he observed his manservant John clear away his plate and mug from his working lunch.

John had been a part of his household since his early court days when still in Wolsey's employ. He was loyal as the day was long, but his infirmities were starting to show. He could no longer bend to lift the mug and cup from the little table without a wince of pain. He moved slower than he had ever done. Cromwell knew that sooner or later he would need to pension him off.

"At least I can afford to do that for him," he thought to himself resuming his perusal of the document in his hand. Servants of the nobility and gentry were very little valued. A fact he had discovered upon his swift rise. Cromwell had promised to be different. He had been a servant after all, clearing up after his master had eaten, standing around for hours waiting for some kind of task that could demonstrate his abilities, something that gained notice and advancement. He prided himself on running a household loyal to their master since he was loyal to them. After all, he might even have fallen back amongst them after Wolsey's fall, if it had not been for Anne Boleyn.

He laid down his document as the meddling Queen troubled his thoughts. She had always been ruthless. She could not have risen as high as she had without such strength. Yet he could not help but wonder if her plan to marry off Lady Mary came more from malice than political expediency.

She had always loathed the Kings eldest daughter, that much was certain. Mary's continued refusal to acknowledge Anne as Queen had stirred up a bitter rivalry. She had tried every trick in the book to sway her, even trying to befriend the girl twice, all overtures that Mary rejected.
She had even sent him riding after the King one day when he announced he was going to visit Hatfield where both his daughters were residing.
"Do not let him see that bastard girl," she had hissed at him.
He had failed in the task, albeit indirectly. He had visited her himself, encouraging her to sign the oaths for her own sake. Yet Mary had stubbornly refused and left the room. As the company were leaving, a shriek of panic turned them back to the house to the sight of the girl upon the palace roof. Her hands clasped as if prayer.
The King had bowed to her, offering her respect, as did the others in his company. The Queen had been furious when she had learned of what had happened and had promised to bring down Marys high Spanish blood. Even now she was scheming for Mary's destruction. Insisting that the rebellion in the North had obviously been orchestrated with her full knowledge since she was the chief beneficiary of its demands.

He was convinced that Mary had no knowledge of the rebellion. She was kept under the closest watch by women who had no cause to support her. Still, Mary did have this irritating habit of inspiring loyalty, even from the unlikeliest of people.
When she had fallen ill two years ago at Eltham Palace, she had supposedly been so close to death that even the King was concerned enough to send his own doctors to her and remove her from Princess Elizabeth's household to recuperate at Greenwich for her comfort. On the day she left to return to Eltham a number of women had gathered to cheer her. Including Lord Rochford's late wife, Jane.

"Good morrow, old friend," he said with a smile as he met Thomas Cranmer, also on his way to the King's chambers. How fortunate for George Boleyn that he was now rid of the wife he had loathed.

"Good Master secretary," the cleric responded with a jovial bow.

Despite the elevation in their stations, Cromwell still found himself slipping into old familiarity with the kindly cleric, for whom he had a genuine affection.

They were shown into the Kings Privy Chamber. Henry was seated at his large desk, which was littered with various parchments. His hat and jacket casually tossed to one side of the room.