Dear Heart, How Like You This (16 page)
Trustee estaba el Padre santo
Lleno de angustia y de pena
En Sant’ Angel, su castillo,
De pechos sobre una almena,
La cabeza sin tiara,
De Suder y povo llena
Viendo a la reina del mundo
En poder de gente ujena.
Sad was the Holy Father
Filled with anguished and pain
In Sant’ Angelo, his castle,
High in a turret,
Without the tiara on his head,
Covered with sweat and dust,
Seeing the queen of the world,
In the power of foreigners.
An opening stanza of a Spanish romance,
written in 1527—at the time of the sack of Rome.
“I would fain to know to what she has deserved.”
Time went by, and my life in England was resumed once again—though if the pattern was beginning to change, the substance remained much the same.
Early in January of 1527, I decided to avoid the weather-battered roads that normally took me to Kent by travelling part of the way to my family’s holdings by barge. When I made my way down to the river to hire a craft, I discovered Sir John Russell, an old family friend and neighbour, similarly engaged. So, it soon came about that we were the two main passengers of a barge starting us on our journey home to Kent.
Sir John, a very tall and lanky man, even though beginning to grey and peer at you through very short-sighted eyes, retained some essence of youth and vitality. I have a very good opinion of Sir John, and he of me, thus we soon fell into easy conversation.
“So, Tom, what good fortune has us meet upon the bank back there?” He waved his hand in the direction from whence we had just departed. “Though I have to admit that I had to think hard for a moment to place who you were. Verily, I found myself thinking in astonishment:
Tis young Tom Wyatt!
God’s oath, Tom! The years have flown too fast for me to keep tally!”
He paused for a moment to look closer at me.
“Methinks you look more the part of the man now, Thomas, and less the boy I once knew!” he concluded with a happy laugh, even if his face was full of unspoken strain and tension.
I raised my hand to my new beard, grinning up at him.
“I believe this hair upon my face has something to do with that… But you, Sir John, you seem like you have just swallowed the kitchen cat and find yourself worst for it!” I smiled jokingly at him, knowing he would take the remark in the jesting spirit that it was said, although wondering to myself why he looked so worried.
He gazed again at me, and screwed his face in a grimace of disgust.
“I do not wonder that I look like that… and, by my faith, I have good cause, Tom, yea, very good cause…” he responded in a whisper, looking over his shoulder to make sure we were not being overheard by the barge-men.
“Oh? And what reason is that, Sir John?” I too lowered my voice.
“You understand, of course, that what is said between you and I stays only with you and I, and goes no further?”
“For certes! You have my oath on that, Sir John, my oath as a loyal subject of the Crown,” I said quietly, wondering what was likely to be the cause of all the secrecy.
“Good. I would expect no less from Sir Henry Wyatt’s son. Tom, ’tis like this: our good King Hal has commanded me to go to Italy, to parley with the Holy Father himself. It is a secret mission which the King feels necessary, but I am not too pleased to be the one chosen.” He grunted his annoyance, and shifted his tall body upon the wooden plank that doubled as our seat.
“What a time, Wyatt, to trek to Rome, with thousands of cut-throat Spaniards between here and there, determined to get control of the papacy.”
“I went to Italy myself, Sir John, not so many months ago,” I said, thinking back with fondness to my time abroad.
“Oh? And was it to your taste?” Sir John’s voice returned me to the present moment.
“Yea, very much so, Sir John. Indeed, good Sir, I have yearned to make a return ever since I came back home.”
Sir John looked hard at me, laughed, and slapped his leg.
“That’s very interesting, Thomas Wyatt. Very interesting indeed! Here I was thinking, Tom, that I would like a companion for this journey and there you are, my lad, someone known to me and with recent experience of Italy who expresses a desire to return… I have a question to ask you, young Master Wyatt! Tom, how would you like to come abroad with me and act as my equerry and companion?”
’Twas my turn to look hard at him. So many thoughts passed through my head, but the one demanding my most attention was the sudden desire to assent. At last, I laughed, and held out my hand to him.
“Why not? Why not indeed? And here is my hand on it, Sir John, and also the hand of your journey’s companion.”
“Good man!” he said, as he firmly clasped my hand and smiled broadly. “This has been a very fortunate meeting, Thomas!”
“Aye, it has at that, Sir John. But I need to return to my home to put my affairs in order and to obtain some gold for our travels.”
“That is why I return to Kent also… But try not to be over-long about it, Tom. I leave for Dover at the close of the week.”
Soon after that we came to the place where we would disembark from the barge. After finding some mounts to hire for our short trek home, we arranged a day to meet at a certain inn in Dover where we would begin our trek to Italy. Sir John and I then parted company for a brief time.
So it was, after our farewells, I began the short journey to Allington. In recent years I had not taken much pleasure in my infrequent homecomings, but this time was different. Elizabeth had been taken into service with the Queen and decided to remain at court, no doubt finding quick some man to keep her bed warm while I travelled to Kent. ’Twas the main reason why I had agreed to go with Sir John. I found it easier to avoid the many problems breaking apart our accursed marriage by travelling on frequent court business.
I had ventured down to Kent to ensure that the estate was running smoothly in the absence of my father and myself; but also to spend some time with my son. Tom was now a big lad of near seven, and always in some type of trouble. He was a boy whom any father would be proud to own as his; tall and with a strong look of his grandfather. I had high expectations for young Tom’s future.
Bess was also there to take pleasure in. She was now almost six, a tiny girl, with raven black hair. Even though I felt often inflicted with grave doubts about her parentage, Bess was a very easy child to love. Indeed, she often reminded me of the Anne I remembered from my childhood, being always full of questions and bubbling over with the excitement and ebullience of just being alive. Soothly, it seemed to me that little Bess just wished and needed to share her happiness with everyone.
How uncomplicated, I could not help thinking, are the joys of childhood! Thank God we have that brief time before all the care and grief of adult years descend on us!
I had three days with which I could indulge myself with my children. I almost felt drawn back to my own young days when I rode alongside these two youngsters. Tom and Elizabeth were, so obviously, deep in the midst of their first pleasure and excitement of having their own horse to love and ride.
Nonetheless, those three days passed quickly, and it was soon time to make my way to Dover to meet with Sir John as planned.
’Twas a very cold and early morning when I farewelled my home yet again. Despite the fact that I had told my children the previous evening that there was no need to do so, both Tom and Bess came to the courtyard to bid me a good and safe journey. It wrenched my heart to see them struggling so bravely with the threat of tears. I gathered Tom and Bess up in my arms, kissing and blessing them.
I also made a promise I would return as soon as I could, not knowing that almost a full year would pass before this promise could be kept.
Without further ado, I got onto my horse and rode away, feeling undeserving of the strong affection that Tom and Elizabeth evidently felt for me. Being the children of their mother, I had not looked, nor sought, for their loves. This visit to Allington had served to make me realise that there were two small children who looked to me as I still did my own father. It was enough to humble me, yet make me proud at the same time.
Thus, early in the year 1527 I journeyed with Sir John Russell to Italy, when the King sent him on a secret mission to Pope Clement.
Clement VII, formerly
Giulio de Medici
, was a bastard son of a brother of Lorenzo the Magnificent. An extremely ambitious man, Giulio became Pope late in 1523 despite the stigma of his bastardy. However, these years placed him in a very perilous and difficult situation.
When Clement first became Pope he quickly showed that his loyalty (if one can call his easily swayed support by that word) was completely given over to the side of France. This was despite the support of the Emperor Charles he had received in the past. Support which, indeed, had helped gain him the papacy.
The previous Pope, Leo X, had assured Charles V that he would support any move the Emperor made against France, if the Imperial Emperor would promise to rid him of the troublemaker Martin Luther. However, all was changed when the Pope’s cousin, Giulio, succeeded him.
Two years before, early in the year 1525 when I was still in England trying my hardest to save Anne from herself, France was entirely demoralised by its defeat by the Emperor’s troops at Pavia. Even more demoralising to the French was the fact that this defeat included the capture of their King
François
.
Some people at the English court had compared Pavia to the Scot’s crushing defeat at Flodden field. I personally thought that it did more damage than that. The fragile power balance on the Continent was tilted completely over to the side of the Imperial Emperor, and our uncertain world made more uncertain.
After this defeat at Pavia, Pope Clement desperately tried to change his colours by appearing to bow and scrape before the victor, the Imperial Emperor Charles. However, Emperor Charles no longer had trust for the Pope, thus wished to hold the Pope in the palm of his hand where he could ensure that the Pope danced completely to his will. Part of the result of all this was that now thousands and thousands of unpaid mercenaries, mostly soldiers who had been completely swayed by the Lutheran doctrines, were now scouring the Italian countryside as they made their way to
Roma
. These soldiers, led by the renegade French
Duc de Bourbon
, a man who believed himself wronged by his own king and so had gone into self-imposed exile, were robbing and raping as they moved steadily towards Rome. So, reader, you can understand why Sir John was not at all pleased to be given by our King a mission to the Holy City at this time.
Nonetheless, armed with the usual weapons, a safe conduct, and dressed in plain travelling garb, Sir John and I began making our way to Rome.
