Of course in the current balance of power Charles V had to be considered. Wolsey had been promised the Emperor’s support at the very next Papal candidacy, not that the guarantee had held firm during the last Convocation of Cardinals. This time he’d make sure he had more leverage, like perhaps easing the vexations of Katherine of Aragon and bringing low her rival. But first, Pope Clement VII had to receive his heavenly reward for services rendered.
Wolsey made his decision in an instant. His high position had been attained solely by interpreting the Royal will and fearlessly acting on inspiration. He turned to Cavendish and snapped out a command. “Summon Master Smeaton at once!”
Then seized by the moment, he strode over to his table and began to draft a new series of letters. The first was to the English agent in Rome, Master Casale. The fellow had frequently mentioned that Clement had more enemies than a dog had fleas. The most useful among these would surely be Cardinal Colonna. He was a man with a finely honed sense of revenge. Reports had it that twice he’d tried to kill Clement. If not Colonna then Francesco dellaRovere, the Duke of Urbino, would welcome a chance to dispatch the former Medici cardinal. That Italian nobleman made it a point of honour to have no living enemies. Wolsey reflected on the long list of papal foes. One of these should be able to fulfil the deed if given enough incentive. As Chancellor, the wealth of the Kingdom was available at his discretion, but this required a more subtle touch. Several thousand gold angels withheld from the King’s recent devaluing were still at hand and were innocuously secreted for just such an emergency. A quiet chuckle and crooked smile broke upon Wolsey’s face at the aptness of this image. Yes, gold greased the wheels of state, and made men amenable to suggestion. Thus chests of golden angels could wing Clement to his eternal rest. Ahh choke on that Giuliano Medici. A Cardinal’s angels will bring you down! This, however, was only two sides of the triangle, a plan and a means to implement that plan. Still missing was a cat’s paw. Now who could be employed in this manner? The smile returned to his lips-ahh, of course, Campeggio.
Despite his wavering, Campeggio could be very useful. The Italian had frequently expressed his reluctant compliance with the instructions from Rome and had discretely conveyed his willingness to repay his good friend, the English Cardinal, for his generosity. The Italian was a martyr to two main afflictions, the first being gout. Always anxious to try any new remedy available, Wolsey’s own physician, Dr Augustino, was frequently called to attend him, and thus accordingly was privy to many complaints and “confessions” from a man in pain and suffering. So Wolsey now knew of the second and greater cross carried by Cardinal Campeggio-his insatiable pack of children and assorted relatives, all begging constantly for preferment or position.
His own patron angel must be guiding his thoughts. It was so easy to see a path wrought by solicitude and inducements to bring the errant Cardinal onside. One member of Campeggio’s staff in particular had proved amenable as a conduit for influence, the Italian’s son and personal secretary, Rudolpho. For a “consideration” and “evidence of friendship” via the sweet reason of those tinkling “angels”, young Rudolpho could easily sway the old Cardinal to see the benefits of an ‘English’ point of view and the advantages of a Clementless future.
As for the King, this was perfect. It gave Henry a chance for public pomp and mourning at the sad demise of our Holy Father, and would additionally keep him distracted for a month or more. Largess and ceremony always played well with the grumbling Commons as well. Conveniently it opened up a need to summon his faithful Chancellor as diplomat and potential papal contender. Good, very good. However before that could happen, he needed certainty and leverage, both here and abroad. He had to break his enemies and ruin the pretensions of that cursed woman.
Like any man of sense and prudence, he had his spies spread through all the great households, usefully ferreting out secrets and treachery. One recently discovered gem of knowledge could solve this annulment impasse and bring Lord Rochford and his daughter around to a more submissively obedient frame of mind. He had to move fast-his pursuivants had warned of other stalkers in the household. Even better, it could be made to look as if he was aiding Katherine and thus, gain Hapsburg support. Then with those two knocked out, his hold on power would be firm enough to dangle a protégée before the King.
If only he had another sign. The sight of ‘golden angels’ wetted men’s appetites as evidence of an earthly reward, but to be more certain of success, he needed something more divinely sanctified than the coiner’s stamp, perhaps even metaphysical. Where could he gain that guarantee? Wolsey pondered this problem, idly twisting a ruby ring. Dare he risk it? It was said that there were more diviners of the future in the Holy City than clerics. Clement wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t set foot outside his door until the heavens had been scrutinised for portents. So how to use that penchant?
Once more his own angel whispered inspiration. The fates were rallying to his aid. Didn’t he have his own bonded diviner, a scryer of the heavens, a fellow famed for his accuracy? Yes he did! But now was a dangerous time to utilise the fellow’s arcane services. Norfolk’s spies had sniffed too close before now.
And again his angelic inspiration revealed a path. The good doctor’s charts and books had proved vital in removing that annoying Buckingham with a charge of treason. Once more he could play on his knowledge of His Majesty’s “concerns”. Utilising those cunning implements, he’d have those twice damned Boleyns muzzled and brought to heel by fear. Yes! His growing certainty flashed firm resolution through his soul. Not even the quivering warnings of his daemon could halt it now. Wolsey shook his head to silence the seditious whispers.
With a new confidence, he returned to his pile of correspondence and pulled out the latest letter from his secretary, Thomas Cromwell. This was the second time today he had considered its import. The warnings were clear. Norfolk was snapping at his heels. Thomas Howard, the slippery as a snake Duke of Norfolk, had his clients spread throughout the court eroding Wolsey’s standing with every scurrilous whisper. Now with the Blackfriars debacle, Queen Katherine had raised her banner of war and when a Castilian swore dire revenge, it was best to believe it. His enemies were gathering, and not even his own household was safe. Cromwell wrote of treacherous rumours and advised swift action. Wolsey held the letter as if weighing its import on the scales of decision. Yes, his angel cried. Now was the time! Now for the tool!
Cromwell would have been perfect. He’d proven an astute and loyal retainer, though at this juncture, his many talents were better employed watching over the skulking rats at Court. Fortunately there was another servant, steadfast and true, a man also used to the darker side of statecraft, a sharp blade to match the alluring whisper of his Cardinal’s angels and, moreover, one who had experience in setting the traps of treason.
“Your eminence?”
Wolsey put down his quill and smiled at his kneeling servant. That familiar shock of grey, just like the coat of a badger, brought back an older memory. His eyes sparkled with a gloating satisfaction-yes it was the glowing hand of an angel guiding him.
“Ahh John. I have a task of some discretion for you. Tis time to return to London. Dr Agryppa has a new commission to fulfil. As well, there is another affair, an acquisition touching close to the King’s honour that requires your certain skills.”