And what of the weather – that main topic of conversation since time immemorial?
The climate is very healthy … the cold in winter is much less severe than in Italy and the heat proportionately less in summer. This is owing to the rain which falls almost every day during the months of June, July and August. They never have any spring here.
Another foreign diplomat complained that it was always windy ‘and however warm the weather the natives invariably wear furs’.
Men marvelled at the wonders of nature in a world free of pesticides and intensive farming methods. In Calais on Whit Sunday 1508 there was ‘an innumerable swarm of white butterflies [as thick] as flakes of snow [so] that men shooting [outside the walls] could not see the town at four of the afternoon, they flew so high and thick’.
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This, then, was Henry’s England, full of outlandish paradoxes and neuroses. His subjects, although pious Catholics, were pugnacious, aggressive, greedy, beer-swilling and unromantic – happy to accept hard cash in return for their silence if a lecherous Italian seduced their wives. Now he had to rule them. But before the coronation of Henry VIII could be staged, his father had to be buried.
Warrants for funeral expenses were issued on 11 May. These included purchases of black mourning cloth (from fifty-six merchants – the
looms must have been working overtime), the chariot to carry the king’s body and alms and wages to the three hundred and thirty poor people who were to carry torches in the funeral procession. Heading the endorsements indicating approval for payment was the signature ‘Margaret R’ – the king’s grandmother.
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Henry VII’s body had been embalmed and placed in a lead coffin before removal from his bedchamber to ‘his oratory or secret closet’ within Richmond, and then on to the palace chapel, facing the great hall in its middle courtyard. A twenty-four-hour vigil was mounted in shifts for three days by mourners drawn from the nobility, with three Masses being said over the coffin each day by a mitred prelate.
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On 9 May it was reverently hoisted onto the wheeled chariot covered with black cloth. On top was placed a life-sized effigy of the dead king
crowned and richly apparelled in his Parliament robes, bearing in his right hand a sceptre and in his left hand, a ball of gold, over whom there was hanging a rich cloth of gold, pitched upon four staves … set at the corners … of the chariot which was drawn by seven great coursers, trapped in black velvet with the arms of England … on both sides.
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The plaster face of the effigy was a death mask attached to a wooden armature and deliberately painted to ‘represent … the pallor of death’. Its wig was made to resemble the king’s own hair, of ‘bright red human and grey hair’.
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The procession of 1,400 mourners set off along the southern bank of the Thames to St George’s Fields, near Southwark, where it was met by the Mayor of London, most of England’s peerage and the ambassadors of Spain, France, Portugal, Venice and Florence together with representatives of the ‘Esterlings’ – the affluent German merchants of the
Hansa
League. Within this multitude was Katherine of Aragon, equipped with a brand-new saddle, costing £25, and her Spanish household, right down to her ‘laundry wife’ and ‘Hugh and Denis’, her Grooms of the Stable. Elsewhere, listed amongst the king’s many chaplains, was a ‘Mr Wolsey’.
This augmented cortege then straggled across London Bridge and on to St Paul’s Cathedral where, the following day after Mass, John Fisher,
Bishop of Rochester, delivered the funeral sermon. ‘Not for any vain, transitory things will I praise the dead,’ he began, ‘which by the example of him all kings and princes may learn how sliding, how slippery, how failing’ worldly goods were. Although Henry had as much of these
as was possible … for any king to have, his political wisdom in governance … was singular; his wit always quick and ready, his reason pithy and substantial, his memory fresh and holding, his experience notable; his counsels fortunate and taken by wise deliberation; his person goodly and amiable … his mighty power was dreaded everywhere, not only within his realm but without also.
[The king’s] prosperity in battle against his enemies was marvellous; his dealing in time of perils and dangers was cold and sober with great hardness.
If any treason was conspired against him, it came out wonderfully; his treasure and riches incomparable; his buildings most goodly.
But what is this now to him but
fumus
[smoke] and
umbra
[shadow]; nor shall I praise him for it.
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Margaret Beaufort was so impressed by Fisher’s hour-long homily that she asked for it to be printed and widely distributed – which it was, by Wynkyn de Worde, in a unique example of royal funerary publication in sixteenth-century England.
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At about one o’clock, the royal corpse began its last journey to Westminster for burial. Alms totalling £102 were distributed to the poor living between the two great churches in an attempt to persuade them to include the dead king in their prayers that day. More alms were distributed to prisoners in the Clink Prison in Southwark
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and to thirty-nine miscreants freed from Newgate Gaol and other prisons in the City of London. After further requiems, Henry VII’s wax effigy was taken into St Edward’s Shrine and his coffin, with a cross of white satin laid on top, was lowered into the vault, to lie alongside that of his wife, Elizabeth of York. In the customary ritual of closure, the great officers of state snapped their white wands of office in half and threw the fragments down on top of the coffin. Thomas Wriothesley, Garter King of Arms, stepped forwards and shouted in a loud voice:
Le noble Roy,
Henri le Septieme est mort
(‘the noble King Henry VII is dead’) and – after a momentary pause –
Vive le noble Roy Henri le Huitiesme
(‘God send the noble King Henry VIII long life!’). His cry echoed around the great abbey church, amid the clouds of incense.
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The funeral was over and so was Henry VII’s rapacious and turbulent reign. The mourners, now with healthy appetites, ‘departed to [Westminster] Palace where they had a great and sumptuous feast’.
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The king is dead. Long live the king. As usual in this period, this new king did not attend his father’s funeral: the chief mourner was Buckingham. Henry VIII had other matters to occupy his mind – including the organisation of a tournament – and granting rewards to those who had eased his passage into power, as well as to those who enjoyed his special favour.
For example, Richard Weston – the Groom of the Privy Chamber who wore that ‘smiling countenance’ during the charade of normality at Richmond – was appointed Captain ‘for life’ of the Channel Islands of Guernsey, Alderney, Sark and Herm. He was also given the lucrative posts of Keeper of Hanworth Park and Steward of the Lordships of Marlow, Buckinghamshire and Cookham, Stratfield Mortimer and Bray, Berkshire.
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Another Groom of the Chamber, William Tyler, was made Ranger of Groveley Forest in Wiltshire,
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and granted the ‘corrodies’ of the Benedictine Abbey of Hyde, near Winchester, and the Franciscan friars’ house at Chichester, Sussex.
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Less pleasant was the exemption from the general pardon of Thomas Roberts, who had murdered Robert ap Jankin, one of the gentlemen ushers to the late king, and John ap Robert, ‘the king’s servant’ in Usk, Monmouthshire, in the Welsh Marches. Fifteen other ‘murderers’ involved in the same incident were exempted from regal mercy, in a document signed by the king in three places.
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Sir Henry Marney, who had been dubbed a Knight of the Bath with Henry back in 1494, was now made Captain of the Guard and Vice-Chamberlain of the Household on 12 May, in place of Thomas, Lord Darcy.
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Marney was then swiftly appointed Steward of the Duchy of Cornwall and finally Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, the latter post left vacant by the imprisoned Empson. The appointment of the
experienced old soldier Marney, at fifty-two hardly a young thruster, probably came through the influence of Lady Margaret Beaufort, as he was one of her favourites.
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George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, already Lord Steward, was appointed one of the two Chamberlains of the Exchequer on 13 May.
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John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, was made Lord Admiral of England, Ireland and Aquitaine two days later
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and a raft of other preferments given to him earlier by Henry VII were confirmed – including the Keepership of the lions, lionesses and leopards in the royal menagerie within the Tower, at twelve pence a day, plus an allowance of an extra five pence for every beast. The firebrand Sir Edward Howard, a crony of Henry’s, was appointed Royal Standard Bearer of England, with an annual payment of £40.
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On 19 May, Henry granted the royal house and manor of Woking in Surrey to his grandmother, which she had surrendered to his father in 1503 in exchange for an estate at Hunsdon in Hertfordshire. Large-scale improvements had been made to this moated house, attractively surrounded by verdant gardens and orchards, which had been one of Henry VII’s favourite homes. Now the property was returned to its original owner by a dutiful grandson.
There remained the vexed question of Katherine of Aragon.
On 1 May, while Henry stayed within the security of the Tower, the king’s council was closeted at Richmond. On their agenda were progress reports on the arrangements for Henry VII’s funeral and the fulfilment of the provisions of the old king’s lengthy will. The marriage issue was also raised, as the ministers were fully aware not only of the muddle of unfinished business and the importance of an alliance with Spain, but also the overarching need to secure the Tudor dynasty by the procreation of healthy, lusty male heirs.
A decision was taken during those discussions to resurrect the dormant, stultified marriage with the Spanish princess.
Two days later, Richard Fox, Lord Privy Seal, and the king’s secretary, Thomas Ruthal (appointed Bishop of Durham earlier in 1509), summoned Fuensalida to a private meeting. The Spanish ambassador, despite Ferdinand’s urgent instructions to secure the match, had already
advised Katherine that her marriage was over – indeed he had begun to ship her few paltry possessions to Bruges in the Low Countries. He was unquestionably astonished at the counsellors’ news. The Lord Privy Seal told him:
You must remember now that the king is king and not prince. One must speak in a different way than when he was prince … Until now, things were discussed with his father and now one must treat with him who is king.
Fox added that he intended to advise Henry to ‘make up his mind to marry Katherine quickly’, before people began to build obstacles. ‘The king’s council,’ he added, ‘were currently in favour of the marriage.’
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Here was a strong hint that things could change again for the worse as far as Katherine was concerned. Fox was making a veiled allusion to Archbishop William Warham’s strong belief that this would be a legally unsound marriage. The Lord Chancellor had not attended the Richmond Palace council meeting and throughout had opposed the marriage because of serious doubts about the validity of the six-year-old papal Bull of dispensation. He had also publicly disagreed with Fox about the issue.
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Henry, as we have seen, had been given his dying father’s instructions to marry Katherine. Perhaps his grandmother added her formidable weight to the political arguments in favour of the match. We do not know whether his own doubts about marrying his elder brother’s widow had surfaced in discussions with his ministers – or whether he had to be persuaded. In any event, willingly or not, he agreed of his own free will that the wedding should go ahead.
Despite his qualms about the wisdom of the affair, on 8 June Archbishop Warham issued a licence permitting the marriage to be solemnised in any church or chapel. The document, in just nine lines of elegant Latin, scrapped the legal prerequisite for three readings of the marriage banns and required them to be published only once.
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Ferdinand was cock-a-hoop at the news from London. On 18 May he wrote to Katherine expressing his thanks to God that the wedding would now go ahead. He told her he had always loved her more than any of his
five other children and that she had always been ‘a dutiful and obedient daughter … Your marriage is a very grand and [a] very honourable one. Besides, there was no possibility in the whole world of marrying anyone but your husband.’ Like all fathers before and since, great as his joy was, it would be greater when he heard that the ceremony had actually taken place. ‘It would then be known in England what I am capable of doing for your sake and you will be much honoured in England.’
Ferdinand had finally agreed to pay the marriage portion entirely in coin and urged his daughter – who had fallen out with Fuensalida – to treat the ambassador with courtesy until after the wedding, when he would be recalled to Spain and a replacement appointed ‘who will be obedient to her in all things’. Katherine, emboldened by the news of her forthcoming nuptials, must have shown some fiery Spanish spirit, for she was also urged to be polite to the banker Francisco de Grimaldi – ‘as he is to pay her dowry’.
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