A more cynical man may have expected the Cardinal to spend his immense wealth transforming this place, before a further re-allocation of estates. However during his latest tenure, he had belatedly expressed an interest in matters divine, and had supposedly spent a great deal of time with the monks in residence at the chapel. The courtiers who had gathered around my lord Suffolk had made some caustic remarks about Wolsey and his newly found frequenting of pious poverty.
Suggestions of that ilk must have percolated through to His Majesty, since this palace was once more in royal hands. In fact the Cardinal had still been in residence here until a few months ago, when it had firmly been hinted that it was about time the Archbishop of York took up residence in his ‘own’ diocese far to the north. Most of the court factions had received that information with wry amusement. In all the period of His Grace’s tenure, the Cardinal had only visited his Episcopal seat once, and that was in passing on an embassy to Scotland.
Since the King was now spending most of his time at Hampton Court and York Palace in the company of Lady Anne, Richmond now served another use, the official residence of Katherine of Aragon, the Queen of England. Well she was that until Henry found a way to put her aside. That had in part been the reason for the disgrace of Wolsey. His papal commission with Cardinal Campeggio had crashed under the combined evasiveness of Pope Clement and the intransigence of Katherine, whose nephew fortuitously was his Imperial Highness, Charles V, overlord of the extensive Hapsburg dominions.
So here he was in Richmond Palace as directed by his good lord, Councillor Cromwell, to do…what? That part of the instruction was vague-look into some sort of irregularity or problem? That in itself was a difficulty since there were any number of areas to investigate, and how was he expected to do that within a day or so and try and solve the other two insurmountable problems that also overwhelmed him. Whatever his task was, it wasn’t going to happen in the buttery. Ned ducked outside, evading the eye of the undercook and dodged behind another wall by the edge of the central court. It was a very attractive spot complete with a small fountain spraying water in short jets. He had to find some space to think. Unconsciously he found himself pacing the courtyard tracing the intricate pattern of tiles.
What sort of problems in the Queen’s household would concern a man like Cromwell? Well money could be one. It must be expensive to have to run a separate Royal household and the gouging here would be pretty fierce, from the myriad of officials and servants. But despite the allure Ned didn’t think that was it. Cromwell could have sent a bevy of clerks under Ralph Sadleyer if that was the case.
No, it had to be something more immediate, more imperative and, ahem, not to be too self deprecating, something even he’d be able to spot. That came down to only a couple of options. The first was intriguing but unlikely. The Queen’s maids of honour used to have a very poor reputation. They had been acting well, not very maidenly, and that had also been linked with a scandal regarding the Queen’s former confessor, Friar Diego Fernandez. It had been widely bruited about that he dealt with the maids much more personally than just at the confessional. It was said that cleansing one’s soul was very much a ‘hand on’ experience when it involved the Friar. The result was he was banished years ago, but still the whiff of scandal had perpetuated. That reputation had not been aided by the King almost openly taking up with another of the Queen’s former maids, the Lady Anne.
But despite all that, Ned didn’t think Cromwell wanted him to check on the maidenly virtues at Richmond, as interesting assignment as that may appear, so that depressingly left one last option-the King’s Great Matter, the driver of every political action in the kingdom for the past two years, the separation from Katherine, or as it was more correctly termed the nullity of the marriage. Last year’s failure had already cost Wolsey his dominance in the kingdom. So the man who could succeed was in an enviable position. The rewards of a grateful King were unimaginable-power, position and wealth were but some. However there was a simple flaw in all this that one of the brighter fellows at the Inns of Court had correctly perceived.
Katherine was Queen of England and she liked being Queen very much. Whether the later marriage to Henry as his older brother’s widow was canonically legal or not was pretty irrelevant, since all such matters were solely within the purview of the Church. Now when it came to royal marriages, the granting of dispensations was directly in the hands of the Pope.
At that point of confluence lay the greatest problem, for Pope Clement had a reputation for indecision and evasion that was legendary. It was said that he could agree with several different views on the same subject between one sip of wine and the next. However on one matter he was adamant, keeping Charles V as far away and as happy as possible, especially since the Imperial army had sacked Rome a few years ago and now sat a few days march away, a constant source of hovering coercion. Its presence and the fact that Pope Clement had crowned Charles, Holy Roman Emperor a few months ago also gave an indication as to which way the Papal mood was currently tracking.
So as a consequence, Queen Katherine was here in theoretical exile, separated from the Royal Court, where she was supposed to be isolated from any potential supporters or sympathizers. However with only a couple of Royal guards dozing by the old moat gatehouse and the Imperial ambassador in London, a two hour row away, that barrier was extremely permeable. And Katherine, since she had arrived in the Kingdom some decades ago, had built up a reasonable number of ‘friends’ and ‘clients’, ranging from Bishop Fischer who had spoken in her defence to some of the more prominent old nobility. When viewed like that, the problems multiplied like Satan’s imps.
Ned’s growing despondency was cut short by an abrupt shout. “You, varlet-come here!”
Damn, he had forgotten where he was. Instinct turned him towards the caller and his shoulder daemon suggested that he adopt the vacant expression of someone whose parents had been entirely too closely related. It was a priest, grey haired and whippet thin, who stood at the entrance to the Privy Lodgings beckoning imperiously. Ned acquired a shuffling gait borrowed from his uncle’s more practiced servitors.
The priest seemed very impatient and frowned at the tardy approach then barked out a snarled phrase in Latin, imploring the Lord’s aid in dealing with the slow witted. As part of his charade, Ned gave an idiotic smile and crossed himself, thanking the Holy Father for the kind blessing. That got a weary shake of the head as a hand grabbed the scruff of his smock, pulling him into the south wing of the palace.
“You know where the Privy kitchens and buttery are?”
Ned gave a humble, snivelling reply pleading ignorance of the great house. The fellow gave a despairing brush at the dirt smeared badge of a pomegranate on Ned’s doublet and ‘tsked’ at the slovenliness of his new minion and his unworthiness to wear her Majesty’s livery. Then with a rough push, he propelled Ned unsteadily along, making a further muttered plea to the Almighty for patience and cursed the chamberlain for retaining so many errant naves and fools in the Queen’s household. Finally unsatisfied with the progress, the priest’s firm hand locked on the ragged collar and he dragged Ned off into the corridors of the house. From what Ned could see in a snatched glimpse or two between stumbles, His Majesty hadn’t stinted in the decorations, with extensive wood panelling and floor to ceiling tapestries. Eventually the traverse ended when the priest thrust him into a stone-arched, fortified room, similar to the one in the Livery kitchen. This one however was very different, packed with all sort of luxuries, casks of fine sack wine, racks of moulded sugar, boxes redolent of spices and several tall wicker baskets full to the brim of oranges. If only Meg could see this-it contained the stock of the apothecary but several dozen times over.