This had been his plan, and it had been made not for the good of the country, not for the good of the King, but for the salvation of Wolsey.
He had failed in his attempt; yet it was not that failure which disturbed him, but the knowledge that his weak physician may have confessed this secret and that the King might soon be aware of what he had done.
What hope would there be for him then? Banishment to Esher! It would not end there.
The grim shadow of the Tower lay before him; he could see himself walking from his prison with the executioner beside him and the blade of the axe turned towards him.
Now outside York Place and all along the banks of the river the people were assembling; craft of all description crowded the river. It was a holiday for them. They believed they were gathering to watch Wolsey on his way to the Tower.
He would pass out of York Place with all the pomp and ceremony with which he had been wont to make his journey from Hampton to Westminster. There would no longer be the Great Seal to proclaim him Chancellor. But he still had his Cardinal’s hat and his magnificently attired entourage. He would have his fool beside him, his cooks and stewards, his ushers and secretaries, as though the journey from York Place to Esher was no different from many another journey he had taken.
But he felt sick and weary. Thomas Cromwell was with him, and Cromwell’s dejection was clear to see. Was he mourning for the downfall of a friend, or asking himself what effect the loss of an influential benefactor would have? Who could say? And what did it matter now?
So out of York Place he came to take barge for Putney. Soon they would be counting the treasures there, and delightedly laying before the King and the Lady the lists of valuables, the costly booty. York Place was following Hampton Court; and Esher lay before him, an empty house where he would endeavor to keep his state until perhaps he was called to an even less comfortable lodging.
He was making up his mind what he would do. There were two courses open to him. It was no use appealing to Parliament, which was under the influence of Norfolk; but he could take his case to the law courts. There he had a fair chance of winning, because he was still the wiliest statesman in the land. But it would never do to win. The King would never forgive that. There was one object which he must keep in mind; one preoccupation which must be his to the exclusion of all else. He must keep his head upon his shoulders. He knew what he must do. He would admit that he had incurred a præmunire and he would ask the King, in payment for his sins, to take all that he possessed.
He smiled wryly, thinking of those bright blue eyes alight with acquisitiveness. While Henry studied the lists of possessions which would fall into his eager hands he might spare a little kindness for his one-time Chancellor and favorite minister. He might say: “Good Thomas, he always knew what would please me best.”
Disembarking at Putney he continued his journey away from the glories of the past into the frightening unknown future. The people watched him sullenly. This was an occasion for which they had long waited.
“His next journey will be to the Tower!” they cried.
And some raised their voices, because there was now no need to fear: “To the scaffold with the butcher’s cur!”
But as he rode through the muddy streets on his way to Esher he was met by Sir Henry Norris, the young man who had given him a lodging at Grafton.
He was moved by the sight of the young man, and he found that he could be touched more deeply by discovering that there were some in the world who did not hate him than by anything else. He realized that, apart from that little family which he kept shut away from his public life and of whom during the last busy years he had seen very little, he had tender thoughts for no one and had used all who came within his orbit in the manner in which they could serve him best. Therefore a sign of friendship from any of these people seemed a marvellous thing.
Thus with Norris. But it was more than his friendship that Norris had to offer on this day.
“Your Eminence,” he said; “I come from the King. He sent you this as a token of the friendship which he still feels towards you in memory of the past.”
Norris was holding out a ring which Wolsey had seen many times on the King’s finger, and when he recognized it the tears began to fall down the Cardinal’s cheeks. There had been some true friendship between them then. He had been more than a wily minister to his King.
If I could but reach him, thought Wolsey. Oh Lord, give me one half hour alone with him and I will make him listen to me and share my opinions. There was never ill-feeling between us that was not engendered by that black night-crow. Give me a chance to talk to him…
But it was too late. Or was it? Here was the ring…the token of friendship.
He must show his gratitude to this young man, so he dismounted and embraced Norris; then he knelt in the mud to give thanks to God because his King had sent him a token of friendship. He could not remove his hat easily because the ribbon was too tightly tied, so he tore the ribbon and knelt bareheaded while Norris looked on embarrassed, and the crowds watched in bewilderment.
The Cardinal had no thought for them. Henry had sent him a token, and with the token—hope.
He gave Norris an amulet—a gold cross and chain—and, wondering what gift he could send to the King which would convey the depth of his gratitude, he saw his Fool standing by and he called to him.
“Go with Sir Henry Norris to the King,” he said, “and serve him as you have served me.”
The Fool looked at him with mournful eyes and shook his head.
“What means this?” asked Wolsey. “It is better to serve a King than a Cardinal; did you not know that, Fool?”
He was expecting some merry retort, but none came. Instead the man said: “I serve none but my master.”
And as he stood there, his satin robes spattered with the mud of the streets, the ring warm on his finger, the Cardinal was once more astonished to find that he who had cared for nothing but ambition had yet found one or two who would serve him for love.
“You are indeed a fool,” he said.
“The Cardinal’s Fool, not the King’s Fool,” was the answer.
Wolsey signed to him to go, but the Fool knelt and clung to the red satin robes until it was necessary to call six yeomen to drag him protesting away.
The strangeness of that street scene, thought Wolsey, as he rode on to Esher, will remain with me for as long as I live.
IN THE MANOR HOUSE at Esher there were neither beds, cups, cooking utensils nor sheets.
Wolsey entered the hall and stared about him in dismay at the emptiness. His servants gathered round him wonderingly. Thomas Cromwell moved towards an embrasure and looked out of the window, his eyes alert, his traplike mouth tight. What now? he was asking himself. Need the end of Thomas Wolsey be the end of Thomas Cromwell?
The Cardinal asked that all his servants should be brought into the hall, and there he addressed them.
“As you see, we have come to a house which is empty of food and furniture. We must bestir ourselves and borrow for the needs of myself and one or two servants. For the rest of you, I advise you to return to your homes. It may well be that in three or four weeks I shall have cleared myself of the charges which are being brought against me; then I shall return to power and call you back to me. Now you must go for, as you see, you cannot stay here.”
Across that room the eyes of Cromwell met those of Wolsey.