The King’s plump white hands were greasy with sucking pig; he called for music, and the minstrels began to play one of his songs, which could not fail to increase his good humour.
How easy to handle! thought Wolsey, and his eyes met those of Buckingham who gave him a haughty stare.
Buckingham turned towards Norfolk who was sitting beside him and made a comment which Wolsey knew was derogatory to himself. But Buckingham was a fool. He had spoken during the playing of the King’s music.
“You do not like the song?” demanded Henry, his eyes suddenly narrowed.
“Your Grace,” answered Buckingham suavely, “I was but commenting on its charm.”
“It spoils the pleasure of others when you drown the music with your chatter,” grumbled the King.
“Then,” answered Buckingham, “would Your Grace allow the musicians to play it again that all may hear it in silence?”
Henry waved a hand and the tune was repeated.
Fool Buckingham! thought Wolsey. He was heading straight for trouble.
The Cardinal excelled at collecting information about those he wished to destroy. His spy ring was notorious throughout the Court. Did Buckingham think that because he was a noble duke—as royal as the King, as he loved to stress—he was immune from it?
The music over, the King rose from the banqueting table. On such an occasion it was the duty of one of his gentlemen to bring a silver ewer in which he might wash his hands. The duty was performed by noblemen of the highest rank, and on this occasion the task fell to the Duke of Buckingham.
The ewer was handed to Buckingham by one of his ushers; he took it and bowed before Henry who washed his hands as was the custom.
When the King had finished, the Cardinal, who had been standing beside Henry, put his hands into the bowl and proceeded to wash them.
For a few seconds Buckingham was too astonished to do anything but stand still holding the bowl. Then a slow flush spread from his neck to his forehead. He, the great Duke of Buckingham, who believed himself more royal than Henry Tudor, to hold the ewer for a man who had been born in a butcher’s shop!
In an access of rage he threw the greasy water over the Cardinal’s shoes, drenching his red satin robe as he did so.
There was silence. Even the King looked on astonished.
The Cardinal was the first to recover. He turned to Henry and murmured: “A display of temper, Your Grace, by one who thinks himself privileged to show such in your presence.”
Henry had walked away and the Cardinal followed him.
Buckingham stood staring after them.
“’Tis a sad day for England,” he muttered, “when a noble duke is expected to hold the ewer for a butcher’s cur.”
IN THE KING’S PRIVATE CHAMBER, Henry was laughing.
“’Twas a merry sight, Thomas, to see you there with the water drenching your robes.”
“I am delighted to have provided Your Grace with some amusement,” murmured Wolsey.
“I have rarely seen you so astonished. As for Buckingham, he was in a rage.”
“And in your presence!”
Henry clapped a hand on Wolsey’s shoulder. “I know Buckingham. He was never one to hold in his temper. And when you…Thomas Wolsey…not a member of the nobility, dipped your hands into the bowl…”
“As Your Grace’s Chancellor…”
“Buckingham pays more respects to a man’s family tree than to his attainments, Thomas.”
“Well I know it, for the man’s a fool, and I thank the saints nightly that this realm has been blessed with a ruler who is of such wisdom.”
The King smiled almost roguishly. “As for me, Thomas, I care not whether men come from butchers’ shops or country mansions. I am the King, and all my subjects are born beneath me. I look down on one and all.”
“Even on Buckingham!”
“Why do you say that, Thomas?”
“Because the Duke has strange notions about his birth. He fancies himself to be as royal as Your Grace.”
The roguishness disappeared and a look of cruelty played about the tight little mouth. “You said Buckingham was a fool, Thomas. We are once again in agreement.”
Now it was Thomas’s turn to smile.
He believed the time had come to make an end of his enemy.
THE CARDINAL allowed a few weeks to pass; then one day he came to the King in pretended consternation.
“What ails you, Thomas?” asked Henry.
“I have made discoveries, Your Grace, which I hesitate to lay before you, of such a shocking nature are they.”
“Come, come,” said the King testily; he was in a white silk shirt and purple satin breeches, puffed and slashed, ready for a game of tennis.
“They concern my Lord Buckingham. I must regretfully advise your Grace that I believe him to be guilty of treason.”
“Treason!”
“Of a most heinous nature.”
“How so?”
“He lays claim to the throne and declares he will have it one day.”
“What!” roared the King, tennis forgotten. There was one subject which filled him, as a Tudor, with alarm. That was the suggestion that anyone in the realm had a greater right to the throne than he had. His father had had to fight for the crown; he had won it and brought prosperity to England, uniting the houses of York and Lancaster by his marriage; but the hideous Wars of the Roses were not so far behind that they could be forgotten; and the very mention of a pretender to the throne was enough to rouse Henry to fury.
“I have long suspected him,” the Cardinal soothed. “Hence his hatred of me and the enmity between us. This I should feel towards any who sought to harm Your Grace. I have made it my duty to test his servants, and I now have the results of these labors to lay before Your Grace.”
“What are these results?”
“In the first place Buckingham feels himself to be as royal as your Grace.”
“The rogue!” cried Henry.
“He has said that there is no bar sinister on his escutcheon.”
Wolsey had the pleasure of seeing the red color flame into the plump cheeks. “He has told his confessor, Delacourt, that if you were to die and the Princess Mary were to die, he would have the throne.”
“By God!” cried the King. “He shall lose his head—for it is his just deserts.”
“That is not all,” went on the Cardinal. “I have learned that he consults a soothsayer, and that he has been told that one day he will mount the throne.”
“And how can he do this? Tell me that. Does he think to go to war…with me!”
“He’s a fool, Your Grace, but not such a fool as that. He knows the people love you and that you have your friends. Soothsayers often practice another trade. I have heard they are often well versed in the art of poison.”
Henry was speechless for a few seconds. Then he burst out: “We’ll have him in the Tower. We’ll have him on the rack. We’ll have the truth from him. By God, his head shall be forfeit for what he has done.”
“Your Grace,” murmured the Cardinal, “we must build up a case against him. This I believe we can do.”
“You mean we can send him to the scaffold?”
“Why should we not, if we can prove him guilty of treason?”
“He would have to be tried before his peers. Forget not, Thomas, that this is Buckingham; ’tis true that there is royal blood in his veins. You think his peers would judge him worthy of the traitors’ death?”
“If the case were strong enough against him.”
“Norfolk would be one of his judges. You know the bonds between them. He and his fellows would be loth to condemn one of such nobility. Had he raised an army against the Crown, that would be another matter. But it would seem that he has done nothing but prate.”