House Of Treason: The Rise And Fall Of A Tudor Dynasty Read online

  Norfolk may have been merry, but Henry was ‘dejected’ and, according to Richard Cromwell, in ‘great fear’ of the rebellion.34 The duke, even though he was sixty-three, was his ablest general, but his half-brother remained imprisoned in the Tower for treason, and doubts about his general’s true allegiance loomed large in Henry’s mind. The king summoned Norfolk to Windsor Castle for a private discussion about religion and he boldly offered up Surrey as a hostage ‘to be pledge for my truth, which by my dealing may give occasion to be suspected, shall never be deserved’.35 The offer was refused.

  Here was a unique opportunity for Norfolk to regain his monarch’s favour. He bustled off back to East Anglia, pausing only to ask John Kite, the Bishop of Carlisle, and an anonymous rich merchant to buy a huge quantity of woollen cloth in London to provide work for those who might otherwise be unemployed and tempted to join the rebel forces. Norfolk firmly believed that the Devil found work for idle hands. As a piece of lateral thinking, it leaves something to be desired, but at least the duke felt he was being seen doing something to protect the king’s realm. What is more, it was not his money. The bishop promised to lend five or six thousand crowns - about £500,000 at current values - to buy up the surplus bolts of cloth. At the same time, a large number of criminals and debtors who had sought sanctuary in churches and the larger monasteries were rounded up and imprisoned, for fear that they, too, could go over to the insurgents.

  Initially, Norfolk scornfully dismissed the Lincolnshire insurrection as a trifling local difficulty and one easily put down by a police action.36 This failure to appreciate the gravity of the situation, or lingering doubts over his loyalty (perhaps inspired by Thomas Cromwell), lay behind a message from Windsor Castle which overtook him when he was halfway home, at Kelvedon, in Essex. His son Surrey was ordered to take a handful of cavalry north but he was to stay behind in his own region to maintain law and order. His hopes of military glory cruelly and unexpectedly dashed, the duke immediately penned a grumpy reply to the king:Alas sir, shall every nobleman save I only either come to your person or else go towards your enemies? Shall I now sit still like a man of law? Alas, sir, My heart is near dead, as would to God it were.

  His course was now clear: he would disobey his orders and march immediately towards Lincolnshire, rather than be shamed by sitting impotently at home. But after hearing reports of unrest among the East Anglian cloth workers, he had a change of heart and promised the Privy Council that he ‘dared not leave these parts without the king’s command’.37

  By 9 October, Norfolk had paid for 600 troops and was equipped with five of his own ‘falcon’ cannon,38 but had no gunners. He also possessed twenty brass hackbushes, or infantry firearms.39 The duke also organised for ‘1,400 or 1,500 tall men out of Suffolk [to be ready] at an hour’s warning’. Realistically, he warned Henry: ‘I think it unwise to be too hasty in giving them [the rebels] battle’ as royalist forces were as yet, too weak ‘to meddle with them’.40 He had also taken firm action against local sedition: ‘I have set such order that it shall be hard for anyone to speak an unfitting word without being incontinently taken and sent to me.’ Although the words must have choked him, he offered to ‘gladly serve’ under the Duke of Suffolk and promised the Privy Council: ‘My lords . . . I shall set forward towards his highness tonight, as the moon rises.’

  The duke headed northwards with 3,000 troops, but sought two favours from Cromwell on the way. First, that as Marshal of England, he should command the vanguard in any battle - military glory was still uppermost in the old warhorse’s mind - and, second, could his fellow commanders help him out with some bows and arrows, please? He needed 100 bows and 500 sheaves of arrows: ‘These were better than gold and silver, [as] for money, I cannot get bows and arrows.’41

  He was ordered to Ampthill, in Bedfordshire, where a 20,000-strong army was gathering, and reported to Henry on 11 October that he had secured the counties of Norfolk and Suffolk, with hastily assembled scratch forces under the command of the local gentry. He had, naturally, not forgotten to protect his own home at Kenninghall:I will leave in my house my son Thomas, with three or four hundred tall fellows and Roger Townsend and Robert Holdish, my steward.

  He was anxious, he wrote, to ‘joyfully show’ Henry ‘what I can do to serve your highness’.42

  Then, unexpectedly over the two days, 11-12 October, the rebellious commons of Lincolnshire melted away like spectres at dawn.

  Richard Cromwell, relishing his new career as a soldier, regretted their disappearance: ‘I lament nothing so much as that they fly thus, as we had hoped to have used them as they deserved,’ he robustly told his uncle back in London.43 At Lincoln, he snorted, he had found ‘as obstinate persons as ever I saw, who would scarce [re]move their bonnets’ to their betters.

  Henry despatched orders to Norfolk on 14 October, commanding that his son with his contingent should remain at Cambridge, while the situation became clearer. Surrey wrote to his father, enclosing the instructions:As they declare the submission and retirement of most of the traitors, [they] import a commandment of stay to your company [of soldiers] (which is judged by those here who have seen many musters, the finest raised on such short warning).

  I have consulted [Sir Richard] Southwell and the treasurer of your house alone (lest if it were generally known, the companies might withdraw without the king’s command) and decided to hold the musters here tomorrow . . . so that you may give orders for the payment of the soldiers and appoint me a council, for otherwise they give their advice with diffidence.

  Surrey had paid his troops arrears of 3s 4d (16p) ‘as you commanded at Thetford, Bury and Newmarket, and this day the gentlemen [commanders] of the companies have been importuned by them for an advance of wages as they have spent all their money, which is not unlikely considering the great price of victuals . . .’.44

  The Lincolnshire insurgents may have drifted home but the threat of rebellion remained as serious as ever. The beacon fires flickering along the ridge of the north Lincolnshire Wolds that heralded their uprising had been seen further north, across the River Humber, and the commoners in the East Riding of Yorkshire belatedly rose in support. Confirmation of the new emergency arrived in London on 15 October. A report reached Cromwell that ‘the greater part of Yorkshire [is] . . . up, and the whole country favour[s] their opinions. The matter hangs like a fever, one day good, another bad.’45 The Yorkshire insurrection posed a far graver threat to Henry’s throne because it was more widespread and better led. Within days, the northern capital of York had been taken and the major seaport of Hull surrendered after a rebel siege of five days. On 20 October, Pontefract Castle capitulated. More than 40,000 insurgents were on the march and the rebellion spread west and north, infecting the counties of Lancashire, Westmorland and Cumberland.

  The Yorkshire rebels called themselves the ‘Pilgrimage of Grace’ and were led by banners embroidered with the Five Wounds of Christ on the Holy Cross, with the sacred monogram ‘IHS’ shown with the image of a chalice below.46 Their leader, or captain, was Robert Aske, a one-eyed lawyer in his early thirties who had previously been a servant to Henry Percy, sixth Earl of Northumberland. All swore an oath of fidelity to their cause on the Holy Bible:You shall not enter to this our pilgrimage of grace for the common wealth47 but only for the maintenance of God’s Faith and Church militant, preservation of the king’s person and issue and purifying the nobility of all villains’ blood and evil counsellors; to the restitution of Christ’s church and suppression of heretics’ opinions by the holy contents of this book.

  They were now ‘pilgrims’, defending the old, familiar and comfortable faith of their forefathers, and their emotionally powerful message rallied many, including gentry, minor lords and the religious, to their banners. Ironically, theirs was a vow which Norfolk could, in his heart, have willingly signed up to.

  He was again ordered north, in command of the army gathered at Ampthill, but denied the forces he required. Henry may have been unwilling to
commit all his forces to Norfolk, in case his fears over his loyalty proved justified.

  The king was also keen to avoid spending any more than he had to, although his lieutenants were warned that any talk leaking out of ‘want of money would be most injurious’. Norfolk was rarely a happy general and now complained about having to dip into his own bulging purse to pay the king’s troops. But the old warrior also scented the smoke of battle and pledged to the Privy Council that he would rather now be alongside the Duke of Suffolk in Lincolnshire, ‘furnished with money’, than win 10,000 marks (about £7,000 in money of the time) in a wager.48 The same day, he wrote to Henry acknowledging that ‘we cannot be at Doncaster before [Thursday 26 October] for our horses are too weak to go more than twenty miles [32.2 km.] a day’. He had at last received £10,000 in cash for his soldiers’ pay but this would not ‘despatch the army here and pay those who go northwards till Sunday next. We cannot advance further than they may be paid without disorder ensuing.’ ‘All,’ he added, ‘complain they cannot live on 8d [just over 1.5p] a day.’49

  By 20 October, Norfolk had reached Cambridge and late that night sent the king his assessment of the military situation in the north. His letter is lost, but its import may be reconstructed by Henry’s reply. The duke must have counselled that gentle persuasion should be used to disperse the rebels to play for time until enough royalist troops could be concentrated to defeat them in battle. If soft words did not work, George Talbot, fourth Earl of Shrewsbury, with his force of only 7,000 men, should hold the bridges across the Rivers Trent and Don at Newark and Doncaster to prevent further rebel advances but should keep his distance, until reinforced.50

  Shrewsbury, indeed, sent a letter to the insurgents passing on Norfolk’s request to have four ‘discreet’ men from the north to meet him at their forward base at Doncaster and explain to him the causes of the revolt. The thrust of the government’s public strategy was that negotiation must be better than shedding Christian blood.

  Norfolk, riding ahead of his troops, arrived at Newark early in the morning of Wednesday 23 October, complaining ‘I have not slept two hours these two nights and must take some rest’. He had little chance of slumber. Lord Talbot, Shrewsbury’s son, rode in to brief him on the situation at Doncaster and promised that his father would not give the rebels battle until Norfolk’s forces could join him.

  That night - ‘in bed and not asleep’ - a letter was received from Shrewsbury, summoning him to Doncaster to talk to the rebel delegation. Norfolk was anxious about the consequences but mounted up and, accompanied only by a small party of horsemen, set off into the dangers of the night. At Welbeck, 14 miles (22.5 km.) from Doncaster, just before midnight, he dashed off a note to Henry. The duke was convinced it could be the last letter he wrote to his sovereign:I have taken my horse accompanied only with my [half-]brother William and Sir Richard Page, Sir Arthur Darcy and four of my servants to ride towards my Lord Steward [Shrewsbury] according to his desire, not knowing where the enemies be, nor of what number . . . wherein I am so far pricked that whatsoever be the sequel, I shall not spare [my] poor little carcass that for any ease or danger other men shall have cause to object . . .

  Sir, most humbly, I beseech you to take in good part whatsoever promise I shall make unto the rebels . . . no oath nor promise made for policy to serve you mine only master and sovereign can disdain [corrupt] me, who shall rather be torn in a million pieces than to show one point of cowardice or untruth to your majesty.

  Sir, I trust the sending for me is meant to God’s purpose and if it chance to me to miscarry, most good and noble master, be good to my sons and to my poor daughter.

  Then Norfolk added a sting in the tail of his letter. He sniped at the wisdom of Shrewsbury’s earlier tentative advance from Newark to seize bridges across the River Don: ‘If my Lord Steward had not advanced from Trent [Newark] until my coming . . . then I might have followed the effect of my letter written you from Cambridge [and] these traitors, with ease, might have been subdued. I pray God that hap [this mischance] turn not to much hurt.’51

  Norfolk’s meeting with the rebel representatives seems to have agreed that their army concentrated on Doncaster should disperse under a general pardon and that two delegates should accompany the duke to court where their complaints would be explained to the king

  Reinforcements had now arrived including 100 gunners, who were posted to defend the bridge at Doncaster. Very soon the rebels began slowly to trudge home, under the protection of their royal pardons, and Shrewsbury and some of his colleagues also started to demobilise their troops.

  Some time on or after 26 October, a letter was despatched to underline the message the royalists had brought to the negotiating table, signed by Norfolk, Shrewsbury and others who were the king’s lieutenants. Its contents suggest it was the handiwork of the duke, as it did not waste words in any gesture towards conciliation. The letter challenged the insurgents to return home, or else expect the worst from the king. Addressing them as ‘unhappy men’, it castigated them for the folly which seduced them ‘to make this most shameful rebellion against our most noble and righteous king and sovereign, who is more worthy, for his innumerable graces and noble virtues . . . to be king, master and governor of all Christendom, than of so small a realm as England?’:If you find fault, that he has had much good of you, then you ought to consider and think the same to be well employed. He has not only spent the same, but also an infinite sum of his own treasure to maintain and keep you in peace against all enemies.

  Fie for shame!

  It is now your choice whether you will abide the danger of battle against us, or else go home to your houses, submitting yourself to the king’s mercy. If you go home, you may be assured to have us [as the] most humble suitors to his highness to you.

  And yet, you have occasion to say, that we deal like honest charitable men with you to give you this warning - more gentle than your deserts do require.52

  Norfolk, now at Tuxford, in Nottinghamshire, was exhausted, apprehensive and gloomy. He complained to the Council on Sunday morning, 29 October:I came to this town this night late and found the scantiest supper I had for many years. I am weary with anxiety and have been in bed three hours, during which time I have been twice wakened, once with letters from my lord of Suffolk and again with letters from the king . . .

  I have served his highness many times without reproach and now am forced to appoint [meet] with the rebels, my heart is near broken. Yet every man says I never served his grace so well as in dissolving the enemy’s army without loss to ours, yet I am the most unquiet man of mind living.

  All others here [are] joyful and only I sorrowful.

  The tone of the duke’s letter then moved to a mixture of truculence, self-pity and hasty explanations to justify his actions. He again showed his contempt for Shrewsbury’s poor tactical manoeuvres:Alas that the valiant heart of my Lord Steward [Shrewsbury] would not suffer him to have tarried about Trent [Newark] but with his fast hastening forwards to bring us into the most barren country of the realm, whereof has caused the effect that I saw long before would fall.

  It was not fear that which caused us [meet] with the enemy but the cold weather and the want of room to house more than a third of the army and of fuel to make fires.

  Pestilence in the town [Doncaster] is marvellously fervent and where I and my son lie, at a friar’s, ten or twelve houses are infected within a[n archery] butt’s length. On Friday night, the mayor’s wife and two daughters all died in one house. Nine soldiers are dead.

  There is not within five miles of the town one load of hay, oats, peas or beans left.

  It is therefore impossible to give battle or to retreat as we had no horse and they all the flower of the North.

  He also doubted the loyalty of his own troops: ‘Never a prince had a company of more true noblemen and gentlemen, yet right few of the soldiers . . . think their quarrels [with the rebels] to be good.’ Norfolk could not resist the opportunity of yet another dig at
his fellow general:Woe! Woe! Woe, worth the time that my Lord Steward bent so far forth. Had he not, you should have heard other news.

  Finally, if the king should write to me to gather the army again, it is impossible.

  To preserve the terms of the truce, he begged: ‘For God’s sake [ensure] that his highness cause not my lord of Suffolk to put any man to death [before] my coming.’53

  Norfolk continued in his negotiations with the insurgents into December, in pursuance of a policy that banked on the harsh weather reducing rebel numbers and weakening their tenacity for the cause. But soon the pilgrims realised that all along they had been deceived by the weasel-worded promises of both king and duke.

  In January 1537, the glowing embers of rebellion burst into flames again, fanned by rumours that Henry was reinforcing Hull and the Yorkshire town of Scarborough to create bases from which he could subdue the country and make them safe havens for the loyal local gentry. This new revolt was quickly put down and the ringleaders of the Pilgrimage of Grace and others caught up in the insurgency rounded up. In the middle of the following month there was renewed fighting in Cumberland and Westmorland, led by a man with the egalitarian nom de guerre of ‘Captain Poverty’.

  Norfolk had wearily journeyed to Kenninghall for much-deserved rest and recuperation after Christmas. At the end of January, he sent a newly written will to Cromwell for safekeeping54 in preparation for his return north. On the way back, on 2 February, he faced some delicate issues over alleged subversion close to home. He thanked Cromwell for interceding with the Duke of Suffolk over his indictment of some of Norfolk’s feudal bondmen - ‘my folks’, as he called them cosily. ‘I never knew till my first going to Doncaster [that] he bore me any grudge. But, as you write, the better we agree, the better the king shall be served.’ He added: ‘Some lewd persons do not yet cease to speak ill of us, as you shall perceive by a prophecy framed of late.’55