“This is a fine beast y’have given me,” he said, pleasure thrilling his limbs.
“I have given it a fine rider!” she cried. He wheeled it near her and stooped right down to kiss her face. He was very sure in his saddle, having learned the trick of the stirrup from old Rowfant, that had taught the King.
“Wife,” he said, “I have bethought me of this: Post equitem sedet⸺’ He faltered—’sedet—Behind the rider sitteth—But for the life of me I know not whether it be atra cura or no.”
And, as he left Paris gates behind him and speeded towards the black hills, bending low to face the cold wind of night, for the life of him he knew not whether black care sat behind him or no. Only, as night came down and he sped forward, he knew that he was speeding for England with the great news that the Duke of Cleves was seeking to make his peace with the Emperor and the Pope through the mediancy of the king of that land and, on the soft road, the hoofs of the horse seemed to beat out the rhythm of the words:
“Crummock is down: Cromwell is down. Crummock is down: Cromwell is down.”
He rode all through the night thinking of these things, for, because he carried letters from the English ambassador to the King of England, the gates of no small town could stay his passing through.
IV
Five men talked in the long gallery overlooking the River Thames. It was in the Lord Cromwell’s house, upon which the April showers fell like handsful of peas, with a sifting sound, between showers of sunshine that fell themselves like rain, so that at times all the long empty gallery was gilded with light and at times it was all saddened and frosty. They were talking all, and all with earnestness and concern, as all the Court and the city were talking now, of Katharine Howard whom the King loved.
The Archbishop leant against one side of a window, close beside him his spy Lascelles; the Archbishop’s face was round but worn, his large eyes bore the trace of sleeplessness, his plump hands were a little tremulous within his lawn sleeves.
“Sir,” he said, “we must bow to the breeze. In time to come we may stand straight enow.” His eyes seemed to plead with Privy Seal, who paced the gallery in short, pursy strides, his plump hands hidden in the furs behind his back. Lascelles, the Archbishop’s spy, nodded his head sagaciously; his yellow hair came from high on his crown and was brushed forward towards his brows. He did not speak, being in such high company, but looking at him, the Archbishop gained confidence from the support of his nod.
“If we needs must go with the Lady Katharine towards Rome,” he pleaded again, “consider that it is but for a short time.” Cromwell passed him in his pacing and, unsure of having caught his ear, Cranmer addressed himself to Throckmorton and Wriothesley, the two men of forty who stood gravely, side by side, fingering their long beards. “For sure,” Cranmer appealed to the three silent men, “what we must avoid is crossing the King’s Highness. For his Highness, crossed, hath a swift and sudden habit of action.” Wriothesley nodded, and: “Very sudden,” Lascelles allowed himself utterance, in a low voice. Throckmorton’s eyes alone danced and span; he neither nodded nor spoke, and, because he was thought to have a great say in the councils of Privy Seal, it was to him that Cranmer once more addressed himself urgently:
“Full-bodied men who are come upon failing years are very prone to women. ’Tis a condition of the body, a humour, a malady that passeth. But, while it lasteth, it must be bowed to.”
Cromwell, with his deaf face, passed once more before them. He addressed himself in brief, sharp tones to Wriothesley:
“You say, in Paris an envoy from Cleves was come a week agone?” and passed on.
“It must be bowed to,” Cranmer continued his speech. “I do maintain it. There is no way but to divorce the Queen.” Again Lascelles nodded; it was Wriothesley this time who spoke.
“It is a lamentable thing!” and there was a heavy sincerity in his utterance, his pose, with his foot weightily upon the ground, being that of an honest man. “But I do think you have the right of it. We, and the new faith with us, are between Scylla and Charybdis. For certain, our two paths do lie between divorcing the Queen and seeing you, great lords, who so well defend us, cast down.”
Coming up behind him, Cromwell placed a hand upon his shoulder.
“Goodly knight,” he said, “let us hear thy thoughts. His Grace’s of Canterbury we do know very well. He is for keeping a whole skin!”
Cranmer threw up his hands, and Lascelles looked at the ground. Throckmorton’s eyes were filled with admiration of this master of his that he was betraying now. He muttered in his long, golden beard.
“Pity we must have thy head.”
Wriothesley cleared his throat, and having considered, spoke earnestly.
“It is before all things expedient and necessary,” he said, “that we do keep you, my Lord Privy Seal, and you, my Lord of Canterbury, at the head of the State.” That was above all necessary. For assuredly this land, though these two had brought it to a great pitch of wealth, clean living, true faith and prosperity, this land needed my Lord Privy Seal before all men to shield it from the treason of the old faith. There were many lands now, bringing wealth and commodity to the republic, that should soon again revert towards and pay all their fruits to Rome; there were many cleaned and whitened churches that should again hear the old nasty songs
