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| Scarlet like hellfire; tag: Cardinal Wolsey | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 1 2010, 06:39 PM (272 Views) | |
| Francesca de' Medici | Nov 1 2010, 06:39 PM Post #1 |
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What a change it was to request an audience with the Cardinal now, knowing that he would have to accept it. Francesca waited for the man in her room, twisted the ivory rosary around her fingers, and began writing a letter to her father. It was partially to gather her thoughts, partially to inform her father of them, and again she glanced up at the door, waiting for the Cardinal to arrive. She was not nervous, because she had dealt with the Cardinal before, the lustful material man that she would try again to manipulate, whether with success or failure, Francesca would soon find out. It was the first time she was negotiating on her own, as Queen in her own right. The only time that she was representing nobody but herself, her own interests at heart. Yet, even then, her interests resonated with the Medici cause, the preservation of her own little neck so she can see little Medicis running around the court, carrying the title of the Prince of Wales, and one day sitting on the great throne of England. Those were the words she composed to her father, although not quite in such a way. She wanted to become a good Queen, and followed in Cosimo de’ Medici, her great-great grandfather’s footsteps, with the lessons of history forever imbedded in her thinking. She was not perfect, she could not act without making mistakes, that part she knew, but she hoped that they would not matter in the greater scheme of things. The King, her husband, was interested too much in games and fun to rule the Kingdom, He was still a young man, and Francesca watched him stray from one entertainment to the next, his patronage passing as quickly as his lusts. If Francesca needed anything done, she must approach Wolsey. Her husband would only make vague promises, only to appease her later with a pretty brooch or ruby necklace. Now, she wanted to talk business and Wolsey knew the lingo better than anyone at Court. She would be able to speak to him with the simple words of a trader, of which they were both descended. If there was an ally for her in this world, it was Wolsey, because they knew each other’s world so well, knew the daily whispered ridicule hanging on the tongues of every landed noble. Yet they did not trust each other. Francesca could not trust Wolsey and knew that Wolsey would be a fool to trust her. It seemed absurd to Francesca, but at the same time, she lived by the rules that were set down by the men before her. Trust nobody, because they could all betray you. Francesca wondered when she had become a cynic, but she did not consider herself a cynic, only a realist. Slowly, she was pulled out of her thoughts by the door opening to announce the arrival of the scarlet-robed Cardinal. Francesca stoop up and circled around her desk, walking towards him with a firm expression set in place. ”Your Eminence” |
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| Cardinal Thomas Wolsey | Nov 20 2010, 10:00 PM Post #2 |
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The queen requested the honor of an audience with him, which wasn't shocking. In fact, Wolsey had been expecting an audience with her, it was just a matter of when. The nature of their meeting wasn't at all surprising to him, from the reading of her missive...she wished to ask something of him; that he was certain. The first time they saw each other, she had made several inquiries of him...everyone who wished to meet with him always had inquiries of him. As queen, he was obligated to listen to and indulge her request, but it did not mean he had to fulfill it. He was the one who made the decisions for the kingdom, his wishes carefully disguised and presented to the king in such a manner where he thought they were his own. Anything this lady wished, she would truly have to learn that he would do it or present it to the king only if it benefited him. For he did not trust her. She was on the throne of England by his words and his good graces, but he did not trust her. He was a cardinal, but also the son of a merchant. The dealer in him was trained to sniff out those with false intentions, and if ever he thought the queen might betray him, he would see to her downfall. Because of her new rise in power, she might be looking to secure her foothold or gain support from less than scrupulous people at court, people who might be against him. His all-seeing eye would most definitely be on her every move. He made himself presentable, and walked down the halls to her chambers, a page in front of him to announce his arrival once he reached his destination. "His Eminence Cardinal Wolsey, the Archbishop of York," his page said at the entrance, and Wolsey swept through the door, an intimidating blur of red. "Your Majesty," he said, and nodded his head. "I trust I have not kept you waiting long." Yes, he took his time in coming to her apartments, to still show her that he, as cardinal and the most powerful man in England, answered to no man...or woman, in this case, on their schedule. He answered missives in his own time. "What is it that you wished to see me about?" The undertone of this question was that he was a busy man and did not wish to spend all day conversing with her. The only person who he gave the entirety of his attentions to was the king. "I hope it is nothing too serious." |
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| Francesca de' Medici | Nov 21 2010, 09:42 PM Post #3 |
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As soon as Francesca was greeted by the scarlet robed man, her firm expression was cracked into the most welcoming of smiles. This was the man that would accomplish everything for her, should she play her cards right. Why wouldn’t he? It might have been naïve to bank everything on the feeling of mutual brotherhood and friendship between her father and Wolsey, but she could at least use it as a bargaining chip. Wolsey, despite his absurd loyalty to the English throne, was still a cleric and clerics needed to follow the voice of the Holy Father, especially if they ever wanted to advance in the world. That was the chip that Francesca had on her side, the vital trump she held over the man. He may show his dominance through various means, but Francesca knew that the bigger a head was, the less it saw. Slowly, Francesca stepped forward and stooped down to kiss the Cardinal’s ring. It was an empty sign of deference, as the Cardinal well knew, making the point that such acts were meaningless in the wider context. It was just as well to fill the occasion with endless pageantry and fanciful claims, but it was harder to bring anything to fruition. That was what Francesca was after. Not some meaningless mannerisms but true accomplishment. ”Not at all Your Eminence. I was just writing a letter to my father.” The deeper meaning behind those seemingly innocuous words would not be lost upon the Cardinal. The letter lay half-finished carefully on the table, a coral paperweight holding it down, ink still wet from recent usage. It had begun with the basic formalities, sweet nothing inquiring after health and what not, simple for a girl writing to her father. Yet, Francesca’s father was perhaps one of the only people that held Wolsey in check, at least somewhat. Her father held the key to Wolsey’s future elevation and Francesca was not going to let Wolsey forget it. There was a light pause after the simple statement, the indication that the letter was unfinished and will be after the Cardinal was gone, no doubt filled with words commenting on the meeting. ”Come, Your Eminence, please take a seat. Will you have wine?” She did not directly answer his question but remained the perfect hostess all the same. ”It is of course, nothing too serious. I should hate to trouble you at all with it. I wanted to see you because I wanted your advice, Your Eminence. As the spiritual head of England, I cannot help but look to you for guidance.” She began a preamble filled with flattery, and yet that flattery was not artificial. It was the truth and so it rang much deeper than the confines of mere praise. Francesca’s father had made Cardinal Wolsey the man he was that day and now Francesca was seeking advice from the man. ”My father wishes me to be a good Queen. I wish to help the people and my country with good Christian endeavours.” |
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| Cardinal Thomas Wolsey | Nov 24 2010, 06:58 PM Post #4 |
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He nodded at her gesture of respect. "I thank you, madam, for your kindness." She mentioned writing a letter to her father, and his eyes trained toward the desk to see a piece of parchment, and inkwell. "Be sure to give your father my blessings and my thanks." He was not a stupid man; the outcome and conclusion of this meeting would be written in this letter, so he would do his best to not intentionally anger the queen. Yet he did hope that the meeting was brief, for he had other important affairs he needed to attend to. "After all, he has done much for me when I have deserved so little." This statement was false; he felt he deserved everything he received, whether it was from others or of his own volition. "Indeed, your father is much too kind." Then, a lull in the conversation, followed by a question. "Wine would be good, thank you." Taking a seat, he waited for a servant to bring him the aforementioned fermented drink. "Though I hope you have not troubled yourself overly much with preparing for this meeting." The servant brought over the wine, and Wolsey barely nodded his thanks before the queen was giving him all sorts of flattery. It was true, everything she was saying. "By the grace of God and His Majesty, I am able to protect the souls of England. Also, by the grace of His Holiness' trust in me." He crossed himself with his free hand, and took a sip of his wine, relishing in its tanginess. "I am pleased that you trust me enough to seek my counsel." Leaning back in his chair, he listened to her wishes, and gave her a sharp nod. "I see. As any good, charitable Christian woman should." It was as he thought...a request. Such was the detriment to his position: a never-ending sea of requests being thrown his way. "So, you wish to know how to help your people with good Christian endeavors." The rapid mind of his darted about like quicksilver, and came up with several solutions that might appease her. "I do have some guidance in this matter. Make sure you are seen by your people, especially at Mass, and give alms, in the sake of good faith, and love. This will be the start of endearing them to you." The poor are always endeared to money. "Also, make you that you are the model of a Christian queen, and conduct yourself with modesty at all times." This, in itself, was laughable. The Florentines were not known for their modesty. "And do not let any vile talk of heresy pass from either your lips or the lips of your ladies. For there are some whispers of curiosity about this...vile, filthy...thing. I don't even want to give it credence." A final nod of affirmation, and he took another sip of his wine. "Yet I sense you also have something else in mind, something that will endear people to you." |
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| Francesca de' Medici | Nov 24 2010, 09:32 PM Post #5 |
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All of Wolsey’s advice was redundant, ones that she had received many times over from her family, her priest and anyone she sought advice from. Alms, always give them alms, but didn’t they see that alms was not the only solution? Francesca, in her gilded carriage fit for a princess, had driven by the outskirts of Florence, what they would call the slums near Ponte Vecchio. They were given alms daily by the Dominicans. Those that gave the poor a crust of bread a day and called it salvation, they tell them that it is a blessing from the lord, and yet Francesca knew that it would not help anything, or anyone. Francesca knew that the rich would go on throwing banquets daily, letting the venison and veal grow cold while the poor starved in the street. Francesca wanted a long term approach, an approach that didn’t just mean that they would receive food for a day and then starve the next when Francesca didn’t have time to see to them. She had spent many hours pouring over the history books, from the Republic to Utopia, trying to find an answer. She had written letters to Italy, to her uncle Giuliano and to the Cardinals that taught her all she knew, and Francesca believed, if too optimistically, that she had come up with an answer that would kill several birds with a single stone. ”Your Eminence, the things you speak of, I have already thought of and begun. These suggestions, I believe, are only the beginning of a larger endeavour. I do not wish only to give alms, but perhaps help those poorest in London. They are unemployed are they not? The beggars and the hoodlums scraping a living from whatever they can find on the street. Why can we not use them? She had first begun with the idea of the wool processing industry, one that she had seen done many times over with English wool in the industries of Florence. That, she understood the most about, and it would have been easier were it not for the preservation of Florentine industry that still lingered in her mind. Then, she thought of transportation. Of the wool trade and the merchant ships that transferred the wool. Naturally, her thoughts turned again to the idea of the Portuguese discovery. That African truly ended, that it was possible to go around Africa and reach the Indies! England was an island was it not? Francesca was sure that even England, as barbaric as it was, could turn its attention to such noble endeavours. Perhaps they may even do so instead of a war. ”I had the idea of a factory, along the Thames or perhaps in Dover. A shipbuilding factory. England is an island, and as such, a naval force is crucial to the country. Venice and Genoa, not islands but costal cities, have prospered through trade upon the Mediterranean and Florence has fought long and hard for the city of Pisa in order to access the sea.” Francesca waved a servant forward, who brought a newly drawn map of the world. It showed the new world, and even the end of African through Portuguese discovery. Francesca pointed to the line that the Portuguese took in scaling Africa. There is logic behind an elite seafaring trade. You must have heard, Your Eminence, that Venice has lost its trade monopoly of the East with the destruction of Constantinople by the infidels. Portugal has found its way to the East Indies through going around Africa. Can not England do the same? I believe we have both the skill and the ability. Such endeavours would first create jobs, and then trade routes, and perhaps even a naval force capable of defeating France and bankrupting Venice. Would that not be the best of all possible worlds?” Francesca asked, smiling gently at the idea. The factory, of course, would derive its expertise from the Medicean methods, methods that would ensure that Francesca’s name would be carved into every ship that the place produced. ”The Glory of England would then be synonymous with your name, Your Eminence, your name eternally linked with the House of Tudor and the House of Medici.” |
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| Cardinal Thomas Wolsey | Dec 20 2010, 08:25 PM Post #6 |
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He knew he wasn't trying with this meeting. Wolsey could have offered much more important advice to the new queen, had he not had other places he felt he had to be. Suggestions along the lines of what she currently stated, and what he would not take, unless it personally benefited him. "Madam, if I may interject...what you speak of is truly humanistic in its purest sense. Applying the principles of humanism to the fundamentals of business. But what business would you have using the beggars and thieves off of the street? It seems as if you are trying to be their savior. You are the queen, my lady; this task is not yours to be overly concerned with." And as such she shouldn't. In all likelihood, Wolsey would have to start preparations for a war with France. The cardinal did not want to start preparations for a war with France, and he had tried every way possible to pacify the young lion. But the predator desperately wanted to sink his claws into his foreign prey, and he could not stop him. What use was starting naval factories when every bit of money possible was needed to finance this war fiasco? Regarding her with little more than casual arrogance as the servant brought the map forward, he eyed the paths Francesca traced with her finger. Very idealistic, wishing to jump in headfirst to the business of men. Not even the allure and the Glory of England appealed to him...at least not as long as he had this other business to take care of. "We already have a fine naval force, and His Majesty has a goal in mind. I know that whatever he wishes to do, he will have done." Wolsey shook his head at her ideas. "In theory, your ideas are excellent, I must say. In reality, though, we must be practical. We need all of the money and resources we have to prepare for war with France, if necessary: troops, soldiers, supplies, and preparing the naval force. We cannot divert any money toward these endeavors at this time." Again, she needed to be put in her place and reminded that no matter how learned she thought she was, or how powerful she was for the fact her father was now Pope, he was still Cardinal Wolsey, the Archbishop of York. The most powerful man in England. Yes, he could easily snap his fingers and in an instant, turn this dream into the most potent reality. If he wanted to. But he didn't want to, or wish to. "Not even the merchant blood in me is overriding what I know needs to be done. There is something you must learn, madam, and learn quickly." He leaned forward, and lowered his voice. "You are the queen. Your job is to present the front of a united marriage, and to give the king a son. That is the most Christian endeavor of all, bearing a son that will, by divine right, be the next king of England." Straightening up, he gave her a small smirk. "Should no war or preparations be needed, I shall be sure to mention what you spoke of to His Majesty. But I am bound, by right, to do what the king commands, as well as the Good Lord." He made a sign of the cross in the air, tracing the invisible draft with two sweeping motions. Even the Pope could not argue with this....a man had to serve both of his sovereigns. |
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| Queen Francesca de' Medici | Jan 3 2011, 11:27 AM Post #7 |
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First and foremost, the Queen was a Medici, by birth and by heart. They were merchants and tyrants, rulers and patrons, and Francesca had inherited the formidable personality that was passed down through the generations of Medici dictatorship. Levelling a gaze at the Cardinal, who was taller than her, but Francesca refused to let that affect the severity of her look, her black eyes reflected her determination. Her lips were still cracked in an effortless smile, one that betrayed nothing of her anger at being patronized like a child. Her eyes were not smiling anymore. The rouge of her lips drew out in a curved line as she spoke, ”I am the Queen, it is true, and I care for my subjects. You are a Cardinal, Your Eminence, and thus are concerned with the spiritual salvation of your flock, as Queen, might I not be concerned with the material? Should not we all keep to the realms we each were assigned?” Her voice was strong, although she felt physically tired already. She was already plotting in her head for the worst. Whether she would turn to her enemies or to her husband. They surely wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to defy the word of the Cardinal. At least, not now, and they certainly had enough power to start such an endeavour, perhaps not in London but then England was an island, there were so many ports. Francesca had always been of a mind to go inspect the ports up north where the wool trade began. She had seen the final stages of processing in Florence, but having Florence’s interest in mine first and foremost, she wanted to see how efficient the shearing process was. ”Of course, worried always about money. It is no surprise after all. The Duchy of Milan’s revenue exceeds that of England and France, a simple Duchy, can you imagine?” Francesca let out a dry laugh. She wanted to ask him where the tax revenues went, why her uncle Giulio had received only half his due pension, where was the rest? Never reveal your hand unless necessary. Francesca would not ask now. She however, did find it pitiful that a simple Duchy, and one overrun by Spanish and French armies alike could generate more revenue than the kingdom of England. It was due to its vast expanses of industry, developed early and maintained by the Sforza. Of course that is not to mention Venice, whose wealth has far surpassed anything these country bumpkins of nobles and kings would ever dream of. A simple oligarchy, a seafaring republic, and it was all due to industry. ”A fine naval force you say? A simple look at the numbers say otherwise. The English navy is growing, but my husband’s father relied on merchant vessels. I do not compare England to the greatest, but to a small republic on the Ligurian Sea. Genoa has a fleet of ninety-eight. Our King had inherited four warships.” Francesca lowered her head in a sign of deference, ”Surely, Your Eminence sees the need for action.” ”My uncle Giulio, Cardinal-Protector of England, receives a pension from the English parishes for his duties. He is willing to invest some of his money, at a return, for this factory.” Usury was illegal, but who in the world cared? At least she knew that it would remind the Cardinal of who his friends were. Her father was young. There was no reason not to expect a reign of at least ten years, and then, her uncle Giulio would take over just as planned, with political powers like Spain and England backing the vote. Francesca was attempting to make the deal sound as attractive as possible, appealing not to the Cardinal’s emotion (she had never been a damsel in distress) but using empirical evidence. ”I only need leadership on this endeavour. As Your Eminence says, I am but a woman.” As he lowered his voice, Francesca raised her head, proud and defiant. She listened to what the Cardinal had to say, and offered a charming girlish smile in return, a smile that hinted at the idea that she held a sweet secret tucked in her womb. Slowly, she raised her hand to rest it gently on the stomach, almost insinuating something that the Cardinal did not know. ”Oh, I shall bear sons for His Majesty. Healthy, sprightly sons, one for each day of the week, and one day, my son will become the King of England. I want to leave him with the greatest kingdom in Christendom. Your Eminence surely sees the maternal instinct present in us women.” If Wolsey was bound by the King’s commands then she would whisper her plans along with the sweet nothings of love in the King’s bedroom. Francesca had a brain. She knew that her body provided gateway to it. ”Your Eminence has sworn to two masters as I have but I add a third master, my son. I dedicate my life to serve him and his Kingdom.” |
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| Cardinal Thomas Wolsey | Jan 9 2011, 03:34 PM Post #8 |
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Insolent child. No matter how grown up she thought herself to be, subtly correcting and telling him to keep to where he was assigned was completely absurd. It mattered not that she was the Queen of England...or whom her father was. She hadn't the slightest idea who she was dealing with. "Yes, it is true, we should all keep to the realms we are assigned, madam." The blue of his eyes turned ever icy and colder. "You are in England, not in Florence. Behavior that is acceptable there is no longer acceptable here. You are no longer a Medici, you are a Tudor. By my grace, and my grace alone, you are on the throne. You would do well to remember that; if it weren't for me, you would still be pattering about the English court in search of a husband." In his mind, he made her...and he could break her. Yes, it mattered not whether she was the Queen of England. "You would do well to heed your own advice. Yes, indeed." Money was always on his mind. Through the shrewdness of His Majesty's father, the exchequer was rather ample. Wolsey had dipped his hand into the pot, true, yet blind eyes were always turned to this fact. After all, he deserved it. "Yes, I am well aware of the revenue of that particular duchy, madam." He rubbed at his forehead as she prattled on, ever the woman who did not know how to hold her tongue. Yes, England's naval force was as fine as they could manage, given the present circumstances, since they had not had cause to attack anyone, or had anyone attack him. "We have as fine a naval force as we can manage. Building ships takes time, and if we are to war, who is to say these ships would even be ready in time? Though I will admit, we could do with more ships. I shall see if His Majesty thinks this endeavor is a good idea." He listened again as she said her uncle would put forth his own money toward a ship-building factory. "Really." At this, he suddenly thought it was a good idea. As long as England wasn't fully responsible. "Then I see no reason to further delay. I shall mention this endeavor to His Majesty as soon as is humanly possible. Of course..." it did not have to be said that for the return, the scarlet cardinal also expected something for mentioning this to the king. He didn't have to mention this to him, and he hoped she was most definitely aware of this. Wolsey knew how to keep people in check. Glancing down at the hand resting on her belly, he nodded. "Of course. If it so comes to pass that you bear the king's son, he would be the future King of England and my allegiance and fealty would also be sworn to him even unto my dying day." He hoped that he would never be given over in his gray hairs to any of his enemies and went into the arms of the Lord peacefully. "You would be much revered and beloved by your people and subjects if this is the case." |
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| Queen Francesca de' Medici | Jan 19 2011, 07:44 PM Post #9 |
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Swallowing hard, Francesca thought it was a wry twist of fate that she ended up ruling this backward country, a country that was still stuck in the Dark Ages while she and the rest of her society were fast moving into the enlightened age. Was Francesca wrong in trying to bring some of the humanist principles to this isolated little island? This country, whose universities were second rate, whose Latin was scholastic, whose art seemed so archaic to their Queen that had grown up in the opulence of Rome. She didn’t understand any of it. She needed to make England into the country she knew it could become. Its industries needed development, but it only developed on the backs of the peasantry. Francesca had read Utopia. She trusted Thomas More’s judgment. Was she wrong in trying to implement a solution? Still she pandered on, playing her cards only as Francesca could. ”You have put me on this throne, Your Eminence, but with my position, also comes yours. If ever I fall, so shall you. Take heed of that.” The threat seemed empty now, but they carried some truth in them. If Francesca’s position as Queen was jeopardized, then so would Wolsey’s chance of advancement inside his clerical realm. Even more, Wolsey’s judgment placed her on the throne, it could very well be said that Wolsey’s judgement would be at fault. They were irrevocably linked in this struggle together. Francesca thought it better that Wolsey did not oppose her. So it was about the money. Wolsey was no better than a Jew, and a calculating one at that. The Italians called any foreigners that they distrusted a Jew, and Francesca could think of no better term than that for the scarlet Cardinal. ”A return fixed at thirty percent.” It was a low amount, but only because her uncle needed not the money. Only Francesca stressed this point, because she was afraid of what would happen to her own position if the money was not received. The King of France has been hinting at offering lucrative positions to Cardinal Giulio. Francesca prayed everyday that her father would not be blinded so much as to accept. ”Then let it happen. Maestro Torrigiano may draw up the plans for this place. He is a maestro in every respect. I trust his judgment.” – which was more than she could say for Wolsey, now that she’s seen the side of his hostility – ”I shall need to find an overseer too. I would hate to burden you with such menial tasks, Your Eminence.” She didn’t mention that the Maestro would also attach her coat of arms above the factory, so that all knew that Medici influence created this project. If it failed, it was the Medici that would take the blame also. ”It will be the case. I thank you, Your Eminence, for the loyalty you show my son, the Prince of Wales.” KAY ANTI-SEMITISM WAS LIKE NORMAL BACK THEN And yes, interest rates WERE that high back then. Inflation sucks, deal with it. |
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