the English Court returned to Calais, half the followers of the nobles were sent home, and then active preparations were made for visiting the emperor at Gravelines, and receiving a visit from him at Calais. By the 10th of July all was ready, and Henry set out with a splendid retinue for Gravelines. He was met on the way, and conducted into the town, by Charles, with every circumstance of honour and display. Charles, whose object was avowedly to efface any impression which Francis and the French might have made on the mind of Henry at the late interview, had given orders to receive the English with every demonstration of friendship and hospitality, and his orders were so well executed that the English were enchanted with their visit. The next day Henry returned to Calais, accompanied by Charles, his aunt Margaret, and the imperial Court. Then, as if Henry had studied to place Charles precisely in the position which Francis had occupied in the late fête, Charles found a stupendous wooden building erected for his reception, in a circular form, and the ceiling painted to represent the concave of heaven, and the moon and stars, like that of the pavilion of Francis; and as if Nature would do her part to make the resemblance perfect, there came a tempest which damaged it so extensively, that it could not be repaired in time. Notwithstanding, three days were spent in a continual round of banquetings, maskings, balls, and revelries.
It was natural that the attention of Francis and the French nation should be fixed with a keen interest on these merry-makings with the rival monarch, directly upon the heels of the Field of the Cloth of Gold. There were, therefore, numbers of the French emissaries who made their way into the royal palace disguised as maskers, to learn what was actually going on under this surface of gaiety. La Roche, the ambassador of Francis, did not hesitate, moreover, to present himself for an audience with the two kings. Whatever the anxious envoys might make out, everything which passed in public was of a character to move the spleen of the French, who had just put themselves to such expense and trouble to prevent an amity in that quarter. On the fourth day Charles returned with his court to Gravelines, mounted on a splendid horse, the gift of Henry, covered with a cloth of gold, richly studded with precious stones. It was a direct triumph over his rival, Francis, and said more loudly than words—"See what has come of it all!" But Charles did not spare to scatter abroad words of high gratulation too. He everywhere extolled the good fortune of his aunt Catherine, who was married to so great and magnificent a prince. In all this may be traced the hand of Wolsey, who was paying his assiduous court to Charles in pursuit of the promised Papal tiara. Henry was but the puppet, whilst he thought himself the director of everything and the greatest man on earth.
On the departure of Charles, Henry and his court embarked for Dover, returning proud of his sham prowess and mock-battles, and of all his finery, but both himself and all his followers loaded with a fearful amount of debt for this useless and hypocritical display. When the nobles and gentlemen got home and began to reflect coolly on the heavy responsibilities they had incurred for their late showy but worthless follies, they could not help grumbling amongst themselves, and even blaming the cardinal, as loudly as they dared, as being at the bottom of the whole affair. One amongst them was neither nice nor cautious in his expressions of chagrin at the ruinous and foolish expense incurred, and denounced the proud cardinal's ambition as the cause of it all. Buckingham never forgot the threat of Wolsey to sit on his skirts, and Wolsey never forgave the insult of Buckingham throwing the water into his shoes, and making a jest before all the Court of the cardinal's menace, by wearing a short jerkin. He was now to pay a fatal penalty for his insult and his jest.
Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, was the son of that duke who, revolting from Richard III. at the instigation of Bishop Morton, was defeated and beheaded. Though the revolt of Buckingham had operated eventually in favour of Henry VII., yet the present duke, his son, had escaped the jealousy of that monarch almost by miracle, for he was one of those descendants of royalty who always kept him in alarm. He was descended from Thomas of Woodstock, the youngest son of Edward III., and is said to have been not only extremely vain of his royal lineage, but to look with the eye of a true claimant on the crown. Whether this was really the case, or only the insinuation of his enemies, the effect was the same. It afforded the vindictive cardinal a convenient plea for the purposes of his vengeance. Buckingham was one of the most wealthy peers in England—another cause of danger under a monarch like Henry VII.—and he was, moreover, of a bold, free, aspiring temperament; fond of the éclat of a great position, a great house and retinue. He was liberal and even lavish in his conduct, and accustomed himself to talk freely of public affairs, not even sparing the king, especially on account of his blindness in fostering so haughty an upstart as Wolsey. He criticised freely the king's ministers and measures, and that was not a day when an opposition to Government could exist and maintain the privilege of freedom of speech with impunity.
Wolsey, having determined to destroy Buckingham, was not long in preparing his machinery. The duke was accused of having augmented extravagantly his retinue and state before going to the Field of the Cloth of Gold, though the reason for this was obvious enough, and every nobleman had done the same to make a figure on that occasion equal to his compeers. But Wolsey's malice had whispered a traitorous idea of it into Henry's ears before setting out on that occasion, and had particularly excited his jealousy by pointing out that Sir William Bulmer had quitted the king's service, and entered that of Buckingham. Henry, in his anger, had summoned Sir William into the Star Chamber, as though such an act were one of treason, and so alarmed the knight that he fell on his knees and begged pardon: whereupon the king pardoned him, but added these significant words:—"He would have none of his servants hang on another man's sleeve; and what might be thought of his departing, and what might be supposed by the duke's retaining, he could not then declare."
Thus mischief was meant, even before the duke went, but now his movements on his return hastened the crisis of his fate. It appears that, like many nobles and princes of those times, Buckingham had great faith in soothsaying
