But now as he basked in the warm glow of the afternoon sun Ned appreciated the theatre of the street. This summer had finally come into its own. Last season had been a bit of a disappointment, with a long lingering winter that seemed reluctant to release it grip upon the land, only grudgingly yielding to the approaching warmth. The winter had seen drama enough with huge chunks of ice choking the river for weeks, blocking the usual river borne bustle between London and Southwark and forcing everyone to struggle across the bridge. The wherry men had been very bitter about their loss of trade and had led processions to the riverside churches, begging for divine intercession. Whether it worked or not Ned was unsure, but all the city officials from the Lord Mayor down, joined in the petitions and organised relief for those who suffered the enforced idleness. After all considering the fracas that had raged in Parliament this winter, no one wanted a large body of angry men wandering the streets of London, disgruntled and eager for mischief. Ned had shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn’t helped solve the grain importing cozenage during the cold, dark and hungry days of February.
The astrologers and other learned men said the heavens were a mirror to the actions below and that such ominous portents could not be ignored, though opinion was divided on what exactly those omens meant. Ned had experience in dealing with dabblers in the future and the only one he’d consider believing was Dr Caerleon. The old man had proven singularly perceptive during the crisis last autumn, though Ned’s regard didn’t extend to trust. The astrologer was adept at subtle manipulation-a talent that had Ned keep a wary distance despite his curious nature.
He took another drink of his ale and idly watched the performance over at the market square pillory. The business of malefactors must be slow for the stocks were empty. Instead a small crowd had gathered to listen to one of the wandering friars who in recent times seemed to infest the city. They received a good hearing especially after a brief snowfall on St George’s Day had the merchants panicked. The price of bread had doubled in the city at the threat to the grain. That and the recent troubles of the mighty had provided a useful field for the market prophets to till. Anyway Londoners appreciated any good bit of free entertainment. Preaching or hanging it was all the same to them.
This friar had set his scene well. He had that wild eyed look that spoke of suffering in the wilderness, along with a staff lantern that fitfully spewed gouts of aromatic smoke to put his audience in the right frame of mind. It also served as a useful prop when waved it in broad sweeping gestures. Like the rest Ned listened in.
“The time of Woe and Lamentation is upon us. We have grievously sinned and for our faults the Lord God and all the saints have turned their backs on us.”
It was a good start, Ned considered, declaimed in a hollow booming voice. A few of the crowd jumped in fright and quickly crossed themselves.
“The sins of the great are many-pride, lust, avarice, impiety and greed! You, the good people of Christ’s Kingdom, will suffer for it. You will be the ones visited by fire and retribution-for you stood aside and allowed the Holy Sacraments to be broken!” The impassioned voice struck a chord and a few in the crowd muttered darkly. Any fool could see the friar was preaching against the faults of the Royal Court. Ever since the Easter celebrations this seemed to be a constant theme.
“You have forsaken the devotions of Mary, the mother of our Lord! The breach of the most holy sacrament of marriage, by the Lord’s anointed, will see this city laid waste by the cleansing flame of retribution. All within these walls will perish! You must petition our noble King to humble himself in forgiveness.”
Ned almost sprayed out his mouthful of ale. By the saints, that call was new and this friar was pretty bold to incite the commoners so! That was dangerous talk and would, in some quarters, be considered treason. The man was lucky he was wearing the remnants of a habit. Usually such calls would be met with a barrage of refuse. The people of London weren’t overly respectful of the monarch, but they openly despised the well-fed clerics who, led by Cardinal Wolsey, frequently paraded their wealth and power through the streets of the city.
But recently the situation had changed. Wolsey had fallen from his exulted position. Last year he’d arrived in all his usual pomp and splendour for the opening of Parliament, and taken his accustomed seat in the Court of Chancery at Westminster. Ned had been next door and word had spread through the Inns of Court that the Cardinal was to be brought low. He’d been part of the jostling audience in the Court who’d watched the Attorney General bring the charge of Praemunire against Lord Chancellor Wolsey. To the informed that was dealing with a foreign power to the detriment of the King’s Majesty, a dangerous charge for any man let alone a prelate who had to deal with the Apostolic See in Rome as part of his daily duties.
The issue of the summons had received resounding cheers and there had been a rush to follow the clerk as he left to present the suddenly former King’s great minister with the charge. Ned had been amongst the first and saw the shock that accompanied its delivery. Wolsey turned pale and withdrew to the hooting calls of the crowd. It may have been undignified but it was very satisfying, especially to Ned who’d almost lost his life when he accidentally became embroiled in one of the Cardinal’s schemes. Within the hour the news had spread though out the city, and thousands had gathered on the river, grabbing anything vaguely water worthy to watch the expected procession of the Cardinal down river, to his anticipated new ‘temporary’ lodgings of the Tower.
Such a spectacle was not to be. His Majesty must have been in a forgiving mood. The Cardinal was instead rowed towards his house at Escher by Putney. The cost of the a reprieve was the loss of his magnificent palace of York Place, and its coffers of gold and silver plate and yards of silk tapestry. Lady Anne Boleyn was said to be very impressed with the prize, claiming it was more worthy of a King than a priest.
That act signalled the mood of the Commons at Parliament. The dismissal had been but a precursor to the raft of anti clerical legislation that the Parliament pushed through during its session, from the removal of multiple benefices to the practice of simony. The members of the Commons were in no mood for compromise. After years of arrogance and abuse, they were out to prune the abuses of the English clergy-with the King’s blessing.
There had, of course, been a bitter backlash from the Church and the bishops, who’d stalled legislation, seeing a real threat to their privileges, but with the loss of Wolsey that had been ineffectual. Most of the prelates had hated the Cardinal for his high handed manner and had exulted at his fall so were caught between celebration for the loss of a rival and dismay at the savage mood of the Commons, while the support of his Majesty for this vengeful baying had them floundering in confusion.
However that had been in winter and the difficulties since had a few muttering that the impious assault on the Church was being met by God’s judgement. No one knew if the King’s latest move in the campaign to put aside his wife, Katherine of Aragon, would see a counter reaction from her nephew, Emperor Charles V. The merchants fretted that the Holy Roman Emperor could easily close the vital Low Countries ports to English ships, thus strangling trade, or more ominously consider it an insult to Hapsburg honour, and commission an avenging fleet from Spain. So the mood of the city was nervous and twitchy, prone to violent argument and sudden outbursts of hysteria.