* * *

RICHARD FOX, Bishop of Winchester and Lord Privy Seal, was deeply disturbed, and he had asked Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, and William Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, to call upon him.

Fox, some sixty-four years of age, was as much a politician as a man of the church. He had stood staunchly by Henry VII and had worked in cooperation with the King since the victory at Bosworth, receiving from that monarch the offices of Principal Secretary of State and Lord Privy Seal. When he had died Henry VII had recommended his son to place himself under the guidance of Richard Fox, and this young Henry had been prepared to do, particularly when Warham had declared himself against the marriage with Katharine.

Fox, the politician, had supported the marriage because he believed that an alliance with Spain was advantageous. Warham, as a man of the Church, had felt that a more suitable wife than the widow of his brother might have been found for the King. The fact that Fox had supported the marriage had placed him higher in the King’s favor than the Archbishop of Canterbury; but Fox was now becoming disturbed to see that the country’s wealth, which he so carefully had helped Henry VII to amass, was being extravagantly squandered by the young King.

But that was not the matter he intended to discuss with his two colleagues at this time—something of even greater importance had arisen.

William Warham, who was perhaps a year or two younger than Fox, had also served the Tudors well. Henry VII had made him Lord Chancellor and he had held the Great Seal for some nine years. Although he disagreed with Fox on certain matters they both felt deeply the responsibility of guiding a young king who lacked his father’s caution and thrift.

The third member of the party was the choleric Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, who was the eldest of the three by some five years.

His record was not one of loyalty to the Tudors for he and his father had both fought at Bosworth on the side of Richard III. At this battle Surrey had been taken prisoner and his father killed. There had followed imprisonment in the Tower and forfeiture of his estates; but Henry VII had never been a man to allow desire for revenge to color his judgment; he realized the worth of Surrey who believed in upholding the crown and the nobility, no matter who wore the first and whatever the actions of the latter, and it seemed to the crafty King that such a man could be of more use to him free than a prisoner. It cost little to restore his titles—but Henry kept the greater part of his property, and sent him up to Yorkshire to subdue a rebellion against high taxation.

The King proved his wisdom when Surrey turned out to be a first-class general and as ready to work for the Tudor as he had for Richard III. For his services he was made a member of the Privy Council and Lord Treasurer.

When Henry VII had died, Surrey, on account of his age and experience, had become the chief of the new King’s advisers; and recently, to show his appreciation, young Henry had bestowed upon his faithful servant the title of Earl Marshal.

As soon as these three men were together Fox told them of his concern.

“The King contemplates war with France. I confess that the prospect does not please me.”

“The expense would be great,” agreed Warham, “and what hope would there be of recovering that which we laid out?”

They were looking at Surrey, the soldier, who was thoughtful. The prospect of war always thrilled him; but he was becoming too old to take an active part in wars and therefore could consider them, not in terms of adventure and valor, but of profit and loss.

“It would depend on our friends,” he said.

“We should stand with Spain.”

Surrey nodded. “Spain could attack from the South; we from the North. It does not sound a pleasant prospect for the French.”

“The late King,” said Fox, “was against wars. He always said that it was a sure way of losing English blood and gold.”

“Yet, there could be riches from conquest,” mused Surrey.

“Victory,” put in Warham, “is more easily dreamed of than won.”

“The King is enamored of the prospect,” Fox declared.

“Doubtless because the Queen has made it sound so attractive to him,” added Warham. “Can it be that Ferdinand has placed an ambassador nearer to the King than any of his own advisers could hope to be?”

He was looking ironically at Fox, reminding him that he had been in favor of the marriage while he, Warham, had seen many disadvantages—of which this could be one.

“The King is pleased with his Queen as a wife,” put in Fox. “Yet I believe him to be wise enough to look to his ministers for advice as to how matters of state should be conducted.”

“Yet,” Surrey said, “he would seem eager for war.”

“How can we know,” went on Warham, “what has been written in Ferdinand’s secret dispatches to his daughter? How can we know what the Queen whispers to the King in moments of intimacy?”

“It always seemed to me that the young King must tire of his sports and pageants in time,” said Fox. “Now the time has come and he wishes to turn his energies to war. This was bound to happen, and the conquest of France is a natural desire.”

“What course do you suggest we should take in this matter?” Warham asked.

“Why,” Fox told him, “I believe that if we advised His Grace to send a few archers to help his father-in-law in his battles, that would suffice for the time.”

“And you think the King will be satisfied with that?” demanded Surrey. “Young Henry is yearning to place himself at the head of his fighting men. He wishes to earn glory for his country…and himself.”

“His father had turned a bankrupt state into one of some consequence,” Warham reminded them. “He did it through peace, not through war.”

“And,” put in Surrey, remembering the confiscation of his own estates, “by taxes and extortions.”

“I was not speaking of the method,” Fox told him coldly, “but of the result.” He went on: “I have asked the King’s almoner to join us here, for there are certain matters which I feel we should lay before him; and he is such an able fellow that he may help us in our counsels.”

Surrey’s face grew purple. “What!” he cried. “That fellow, Wolsey! I will not have the low-born creature sharing in my counsels.”

Fox looked at the Earl coldly. “He has the King’s confidence, my lord,” he said. “It would be well if you gave him yours.”

“That I never shall,” declared Surrey. “Let the fellow go back to his father’s butcher’s shop.”

“Ah,” said Warham, “he has come a long way from that.”

“I’ll admit he has sharp wits,” conceded Surrey. “And a quick tongue.”

“He also has the King’s ear, which is something we should not forget,” Fox told him. “Come, my lord, do not allow your prejudices to affect your judgment of one of the ablest men in this country. We have need of men such as Thomas Wolsey.”

Surrey’s lips were tightly pressed together and the veins in his temples stood out. He wanted them to know that he was a member of the aristocracy and that he supported his own class. If there were honors to be earned they should be earned by noblemen; to his bigoted mind it was inconceivable that a man of humble origin should share the secrets of the King’s ministers.

Fox watched him ironically. “Then, my lord,” he said, “if you object to the company of Thomas Wolsey, I can only ask you to leave us, for Wolsey will be with us in a very short time.”

Surrey stood undecided. To go would mean cutting himself off from affairs; he was growing old; he believed that Fox and this upstart of his would be delighted to see him pass into obscurity. He could not allow that.

“I’ll stay,” he said. “But, by God, I’ll stand no insolence from a butcher’s cur.”


* * *

THOMAS WOLSEY had taken time from his duties to visit his family. This was one of the pleasures of his life; not only did he enjoy being a husband and father but the fact that he must do so with secrecy gave his pleasure an added fillip.

He was a priest but that had not prevented his being uncanonically married; and when he had fallen in love with his little “lark,” and she with him, it became clear that their relationship was no light matter of a few weeks’ duration and must therefore be set on as respectable a basis as was possible in the circumstances.

So he had gone through a form of marriage with Mr. Lark’s daughter; he had made a home for her which he visited from time to time, leaving his clerical garments behind, and dressed so that he could pass through the streets as an ordinary gentleman returning to his home.

It was a rather splendid little home, for he enjoyed ostentation and could not resist the pleasure of making his family aware that he was rising in the world.

As he entered the house he called: “Who is at home today? Who is ready to receive a visitor?”

A serving maid appeared and gave a little cry of wonder. She was followed by a boy and a girl who, having heard his voice, rushed out to greet him.

Thomas Wolsey laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder and put an arm about the girl. The smile on his face made him look younger than his thirty-seven years. The alertness in the eyes almost disappeared; Thomas Wolsey briefly looked like a man who is contented.

“Why, my son, my little daughter, so you are pleased to see your father, eh?”

“We are always pleased to see our father,” said the boy.

“That is as it should be,” answered Thomas Wolsey. “Now Tom, my boy, where is your mother?”

There was no need to ask. She had started to come down the stairs, and as Thomas looked up she paused and for a few seconds they gazed at each other. The woman, thought Thomas, for whom I was ready to risk a great deal. Not everything, and perhaps what he had risked was not very much—for why should not a priest have a wife as long as he did not prate of it—but the fact that he was ready to risk anything, that he was ready to pause in his journey up the steep and difficult slopes of ambition to spend a little time with this woman and their children, was an indication of the extent of his feelings for her.