It was a parade of their new friendship. Six months ago their trains could not have mingled without bloodshed.
At last there stood before him Thomas Cromwell, un-bonneted, smiling, humorous, supple and confident for himself and for his master’s cause, a man whom his Prince might trust. And the long melancholy and sinister figure of the Duke of Norfolk stalked stiffly down among the yew trees powdered with frost. The furs from round his neck fluttered about his knees like the wings of a crow, and he dug his Earl Marshal’s golden staff viciously into the ground. He waved his jewelled cap and stood still at a little distance. Cromwell regarded him with a sinister and watchful amusement; he looked back at Privy Seal with a black malignancy that hardened his yellow features, his hooked nose and pursed lips into the likeness of a mask representing hatred.
This Norfolk was that Earl of Surrey who had won Flodden Field. They all then esteemed him the greatest captain of his day—in the field a commander sleepless, cunning, cautious, and, in striking, a Hotspur.
A dour and silent man, he was the head of all the Catholics, of all the reaction of that day. But, in the long duel between himself and Cromwell he had seemed fated to be driven from post to post, never daring to proclaim himself openly the foe of the man he dreaded and hated. Cranmer, with his tolerant spirit, he despised. Here was an archbishop who might rack and burn for discipline’s sake, and he did nothing. … And all these New Learning men with their powers of language, these dark bearded men with twinkling and sagacious eyes, he detested. He went clean shaved, lean and yellow-faced, with a hooked nose that seemed about to dig into his chin. It was he who said first: “It was merry in England before this New Learning came in.”
The night before, the King had sworn that he would have Privy Seal’s head because Anne of Cleves resembled a pig stuck with cloves. And, shaking and shivering with cold that penetrated his very inwards, with a black pain on his brow and sparks dancing before his jaundiced eyes, the Duke cursed himself for not having urged then the immediate arrest of the Privy Seal. For here stood Cromwell, arrogantly by the King’s side with the King graciously commanding him to cover his head because it was very cold and Cromwell was known to suffer with the earache.
“You are Earl Marshal,” the King’s voice drowned Norfolk’s morning greeting. He veered upon the Duke with such violence that his enormous red bulk seemed about to totter over upon the tall and bent figure. A searing pain had shot up his side, and, as he gripped it, he appeared to be furiously plucking at his dagger. He had imagined Chapuys and Marillac, the Ambassadors, coming upon guards with broken heads and sending to Paris letters over which Francis and his nephew should snigger and chuckle.
“You are Earl Marshal. You have the ordering of these ceremonies, and you let rebels and knaves break heads within my very park for all the world to see!”
In his rage Norfolk blurted out:
“Privy Seal hath his friends, too—these Lutherans. What man could have foreseen how insolent they be grown, for joy at welcoming a Queen of their faith,” he repeated hotly. “No man could have foreseen. My bands are curtailed.”
Cromwell said:
“Aye, men are needed to keep down the Papists of your North parts.”
The two men faced each other. It had been part of the Duke’s plan—and Cromwell knew it very well—that the City men should meet with the Lutherans there in the King’s own park. It would show the insolence of the heretics upon whom the Privy Seal relied, and it might prove, too, the strength of the Old Faith in the stronghold of the City.
Henry rated violently. It put him to shame, he repeated many times. “Brawling beneath my face, cries in my ears, and the smell of bloodshed in my nose.”
Norfolk repeated dully that the Protestants were wondrous insolent. But Cromwell pointed out with a genial amusement: “My Lord Duke should have housed the City men within the palace. Cat will fight with dog the world over if you set them together.”
The Duke answered malignantly:
“It was fitting the citizens should wait to enter. I would not cumber his Highness’ courtyards. We know not yet that this Lady cometh to be welcomed Queen.”
“Body of God,” the King said with a new violence: “do ye prate of these matters?” His heavy jaws threatened like a dog’s. “Hast thou set lousy knaves debating of these?”
Norfolk answered darkly that it had been treated of in the Council last night.
“My Council! My Council!” The King seemed to bay out the words. “There shall some mothers’ sons rue this!”
Norfolk muttered that he had spoken of it with no man not a Councillor. The King’s Highness’ self had moved first in this.
Henry suddenly waved both hands at the sky.
“Take you good order,” he said heavily into the lean and yellow face of the Duke. “Marshal these ceremonies fitly from henceforth. Let nothing lack. Get you gone.” An end must be made of talk and gossip. The rumour of last night’s Council must appear an idle tale, a falsehood of despairing Papists. “The Queen cometh,” he said.
With the droop of the Duke’s long arms his hat seemed to brush the stones, his head fell on his chest. It was finished.
He had seen so many things go that he loved. And now this old woman with
