Table Of ContentA biographical novel of
Thomas Cranmer
OF HUMAN FRAILTY
ERIC MALPASS
Thomas Cranmer, by virtue of his
nature, should have lived and died a
gentle, unambitious scholar. Instead,
thanks to a chance meeting, he finds
himself exchanging the tranquillity
of Cambridge for the heartless magnifi-
cence of Henry VIII’s Court. In quick
succession he is made a Royal Chaplain,
an ambassador and finally Archbishop
of Canterbury. From this moment,
until his terrible death, he can have
known few peaceful hours.
In this book we meet the brilliant,
charming but utterly ruthless giant,
Henry VIII, the beautiful but shrewish
Anne Boleyn and the fanatical Mary
Tudor. The nightmarish winter journeys
across Europe that Cranmer undertook
are vividly described, as is his terrifying
imprisonment in the Tower. Finally
there is Thomas himself: a tormented
figure, vacillating under pressure be-
tween courage and cowardice; a man
who would have loved everyone, yet
lived surrounded by enemies; a man of
simple virtue, flawed by his only too
human frailty.
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OF HUMAN FRAILTY
Thomas Cranmer, by virtue of his nature, should have
lived and died a gentle, unambitious scholar. Instead,
thanks to a chance meeting, he finds himself exchanging
the tranquillity of Cambridge for the heartless mag-
nificence of Henry VIII’s Court. In quick succession he is
made a Royal Chaplain, an Ambassador and finally
Archbishop of Canterbury. From this moment, until his
terrible death, he can have known few peaceful hours.
In this book we meet the brilliant, charming but
utterly ruthless giant, Henry VIII, the beautiful but
shrewish Anne Boleyn and the fanatical Mary Tudor.
The nightmarish winter journeys across Europe that
Cranmer undertook are vividly described, as is his
terrifying imprisonment in the Tower. Finally there is
Thomas himself: a tormented figure, vacillating under
pressure between courage and cowardice; a man who
would have loved everyone, yet lived surrounded by
enemies; a man of simple virtue, flawed by his only too
human frailty.
By the same author
Beefy Jones
Operazione Gemelli
Mornings at Seven
At the Height of the Moon
Fortinbras Has Escaped
Oh My Darling Daughter
Sweet Will
The Cleopatra Boy
A House of Women
The Long Long Dances .
Summer Awakening
The Wind Brings Up The Rain
Liebe bliht zu allen zeiten
Und doch singt die Amsel
The Lamplight and the Stars
OF HUMAN
FRAILTY
ERIC MALPASS
ROBERT HALE -: LONDON
© Eric Malpass 1986 and 1987
First published in Great Britain 1987
ISBN 0 7090 3043 6
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R OHT
Originally published in Germany
under the title of
Thomas Cranmer, oder die Kraft der Schwache
Photoset in North Wales by
Derek Doyle & Associates, Mold, Clwyd.
Printed in Great Britain by
WBC Print Ltd., Barton Manor, Bristol.
Bound by WBC Bookbinders Limited.
Prologue
All his life he had known what it was to wake from
nightmare to the safety of morning: nightmares of Blount,
his brutal schoolmaster; nightmares of the terrible Old
King whom he yet loved, of his implacable enemy the
bitter-lipped Queen. But now something more frightful.
His dreams were gentle and peaceful, so that as he slept
tears of happiness and thankfulness squeezed from his tired
lids. He galloped through forest rides, his head his thighs
scattering the dew from the crowding laurels. He ate a
peaceful meal with his sweet Margarete, and they were
courteous and loving one to another, as they had been in
life. He walked, in a monk’s habit, his face hidden by his
cowl, the echoing aisles of Canterbury. But the people
knew. He saw them nudging each other. ‘ "Tis his Grace.
"Tis Doctor Cranmer.’ And down on their knees for a
blessing from his Grace.
Yes. Sweet, lovely dreams. Only, unnaturally now, it was
the waking that was nightmare. ‘One o’clock of a fine
morning, and all’s well.’ And the bells of Oxford telling
away his last hours before — O gentle Christ, if it be Thy
will — ? One o’clock, and all’s well. All well. The faggots
laid, covered with a cloth to keep the dew from them. The
Realm soon to be rid of one more heretic. All’s well.
He slept again fitfully, worn out in body, mind and spirit.
And, waking again to nightmare, upbraided himself for
sleeping away a tenth of his remaining life. “Two o’clock of
5
6 Of Human Frailty
a fine morning, and all’s well.’ Our Sovereign Lady Mary,
safe on the throne, with Reginald Pole, the new Archbishop
of Canterbury, to protect her in the Faith. And one heretic
the less. One old enemy, the most hated of them all, held
safe and ready for the fire: the fire that would not only
destroy him but would also cauterize the bitterness and the
hatred (and perhaps the guilt) in her very bowels.
Weak, exhausted by suffering, he drifted towards sleep
once more. And this half-sleep was the most wonderful
thing he had ever known. He seemed to float in a soft and
balmy air, in a silence deeper than the grave. He was a
child once more, cradled against his mother’s breast. Before
it all began. Before Blount; before Joan and Margarete,
those two sweet tempters of the urgent flesh; before that
chance meeting with Gardiner and Foxe that pitchforked
him into an unwanted greatness: the chance meeting that
had set him on a long and fearful road, through fame and
honour to degradation and torment. But for that chance
meeting, where would he be now? Sleeping in his study in
Cambridge, preparing for another day with his books. Not
lying on a bed of straw, in a worn habit, in a stone cell with
jailers guarding the locked door. ‘Three o’clock of a fine
morning. And all’s well.’
He woke and dragged himself on to his knees. He gazed
up towards heaven, tugging his fingers through his dirty
beard. He was not praying. He was experiencing a miracle.
He felt strength flowing into his limbs; and knew,
wonderfully, that he was no longer afraid. After the years of
weakness and vacillation he was strong again. The fire
would pass. And beyond the fire, dimming it to a sulky
glare, would be the effulgence of the Throne, and the voice
of the Most High: ‘Well done, Thomas, thou good and
faithful servant.’ If only, that is, he could remain strong,
renounce all his written recantations. He held out his right
hand and stared at it in the darkness for a long time.
‘Judas!’ he whispered, with fond reproach. Then he
