“Then that is not sufficient,” said Wolsey, “for the Great Seal of England was delivered me by the King’s own person, to enjoy during my life. I have the King’s letters to show it.”
The Dukes were angered by this reply, but seeing the King’s letters, all they could do was return to Henry.
Wolsey knew he but put off the evil day. The Great Seal, the symbol of his greatness, remained in his hands for but one more day; on the morrow the Dukes returned from Windsor with letters from the King, and there was nothing more that Wolsey could do but deliver up the seal.
The ex-chancellor was filled with deep foreboding and set his servants to make inventories of all the rich possessions in his house; these goods he would give to the King, for if his master could not be touched by affection it might well be that he could by rich gifts; many times had Wolsey noted that the little eyes glinted with envy when they rested on these things. When a man is in danger of drowning, thought Wolsey, he throws off all his fine apparel that he may swim more easily. What are possessions, compared with life itself!
He took his barge at his privy stairs, having ordered horses to be awaiting him at Putney; and the river, he saw, was crowded with craft, for news had traveled quickly and there were those who find the spectacle of a fallen man pleasurable indeed. He saw their grins; he heard their jeers; he sensed the speculation, the disappointment that he was not going straightway to the Tower.
Riding through Putney town, he saw Norris coming towards him, and his heart was lightened, since he had come to look upon Norris as a friend. And so it proved, for the King’s peace of mind had been profoundly disturbed by the story which Norfolk and Suffolk had told him of the giving up of the seal. The King could not forget that he had once loved Wolsey; he was haunted by a pale, sick face under a cardinal’s hat; and he remembered how this man had been his friend and counsellor; and though he knew that he had done with Wolsey, he wanted to reassure his conscience that it was not he who had destroyed his old friend, but others. Therefore, to appease that conscience, he sent Norris to Putney with a gold ring which Wolsey would recognize by the rich stone it contained, as they had previously used this ring for a token. He was to be of good cheer, Norris told him, for he stood as high as ever in the King’s favor.
Wolsey’s spirits soared; his body gained strength; the old fighting spirit came back to him. He was not defeated. He embraced Norris, feeling great affection for this young man, and took a little chain of gold from his neck to give to him; on this chain there hung a tiny cross. “I desire you to take this small reward from my hand,” he said, and Norris was deeply moved.
Then did the Cardinal look about his retinue; and saw one who had been close to him, and in whom he delighted, for the man’s wit and humor were of the subtlest, and many times had he brought mirth into the Cardinal’s heaviest hours.
“Take my Fool, Norris,” he said. “Take him to my lord the King, for well I know His Majesty will like well the gift. Fool!” he called. “Here, Fool!”
The man came, his eyes wide with fear and with love for his master; and seeing this, the Cardinal leaned forward and said almost tenderly: “Thou shalt have a place at court, Fool.”
But the Fool knelt down in the mire and wept bitterly. Wolsey was much moved that his servant should show such love, since to be Fool to the King, instead of to a man who is sinking in disgrace, was surely a great step forward.
“Thou art indeed a fool!” said Wolsey. “Dost not know what I am offering thee?”
All foolery was gone from those droll features; only tears were in the humorous eyes now.
“I will not leave you, master.”
“Didst not hear I have given thee to His Majesty?”
“I will not serve His Majesty. My lord, I have but one master.”
With tears in his eyes the Cardinal called six yeomen to remove the man; and struggling, full of rage and sorrow, went the Fool. Then on rode Wolsey, and when he reached his destination to find himself in that barren house in which there were not even beds nor dishes, plates nor cups, his heart was warmed that in this world there were those to love a man who is fallen from his greatness.
Lady Anne Rochford sat in her apartment, turning the leaves of a book. She had found this book in her chamber, and even as she picked it up she knew that someone had put it there that she might find it. As she looked at this book, the color rose from her neck to her forehead, and she was filled with anger. She sat for a long time, staring at the open page, wondering who had put it there, how many of her attendants had seen it.
The book was a book of prophecies; there were many in the country, she knew, who would regard such prophecies as miraculous; it was alarming therefore to find herself appearing very prominently in them.
She called Anne Saville to her, adopting a haughty mien, which was never difficult with her.
“Nan!” she called. “Come here! Come here at once!”
Anne Saville came and, seeing the book in her mistress’s hand, grew immediately pale.
“You have seen this book?” asked Anne.
“I should have removed it ere your ladyship set eyes on it.”
Anne laughed.
“You should have done no such thing, for this book makes me laugh so much that it cannot fail to give me pleasure.”
She turned the pages, smiling, her fingers steady.
“Look, Nan! This figure represents me . . . and here is the King. And here is Katharine. This must be so, since our initials are on them. Nan, tell me, I do not look like that! Look, Nan, do not turn away. Here I am with my head cut off!”
Anne Saville was seized with violent trembling.
“If I thought that true, I would not have him were he an emperor!” she said.
Anne snapped her fingers scornfully, “I am resolved to have him, Nan.”
