The Tudors s01e07 Episode Script

You think you know a story, but you only know how it ends.
To get to the heart of the story, you have to go back to the beginning.
Sir William.
- Sir William.
What is it? - Go and fetch the physician.
Go and get him now.
Sir.
Good God, man.
Why did no one wake him? Sleep in these cases is fatal.
Keep away.
Keep away, you fools.
Your master has the sweating sickness.
You two.
You, stay.
We must try and treat him.
Poor fellow.
Turn him over.
For the love of God, get on with it.
We may yet save him.
I'm going to cut into his back.
For I heard that it sometimes works.
It draws out some of the toxin.
Hold him now.
- What are you doing? - May I not meet him? God, woman, out.
Out.
His Majesty the king and Lady Anne Boleyn.
- Wolsey.
- Your Majesty.
Mistress Anne.
You are most welcome.
I must thank Your Eminence for the magnificent brooch you sent me.
I am so glad you liked it.
It is Italianate.
I thought the craftsmanship superb.
I'm sure Your Majesty will be pleased with the presents sent by the king of France.
A golden chalice gold silk altar cloths and tapestries worth, I'm sure, at least 30,000 ducats.
So we are once more allies with the French.
Indeed.
And we are both officially at war with the emperor.
Good.
It pleases me.
As it pleased the emperor to announce he has just had a son.
By the princess he jilted my daughter for.
- How is the shrimp, Lady Anne? - Perfect, Your Eminence.
Thank you.
You are too generous, in everything.
So, what of our personal matter? Your Majesty, I have arranged to send two of my colleagues two young lawyers, Stephen Gardiner, my secretary and Edward Foxe, to meet the pope at Orvieto, near Rome where he still resides, in wretched discomfort apparently.
What will you have these lawyers do? They will press upon His Holiness the necessity for his cooperation.
He must recognise, in both civil and canon law the invalidity of Your Majesty's marriage.
I have read countless texts on the matter.
Sometimes reading well into the night and giving myself terrible headaches.
But I am more assured now than ever of the spiritual and legal justice of my case.
- My conscience is clear.
- As it should be.
And Your Majesty must rest assured that these two gentlemen, these two restless lawyers will not leave Orvieto until they have attained satisfaction.
Good.
Very good.
Have you spoken recently with the king? No, Your Majesty.
Cardinal Wolsey refuses my requests, and in a most high-handed manner.
It is something I have learned about the English.
A small advantage makes them overbearing while the slightest adversity makes them despondent.
I have received a coded letter from your nephew, the emperor.
He declares his undying support for you in this ugly matter.
You may wait for me here.
Yes, Your Majesty.
Pray continue.
He has already written a letter to His Holiness Pope Clement warning him of the king's brutal intentions.
He has asked Clement to dismiss Wolsey as official legate and declare you and the king legally married.
He tells you to be strong.
I try to be.
But so much now is hidden from me.
Tell him that I trust in him more than anyone else.
Except in God.
- Mistress Hastings.
- Dr.
Linacre? As soon as he heard the news, the king sent me here.
Alas to no avail.
Mistress Hastings, I know you were his common-law wife.
He was in every way a most lovely and loving man.
His Majesty will miss his companionship a great deal.
- Let me see him.
- There is a grave risk.
- About which we know so little.
- Please.
Oh, my poor, sweet darling.
Protect us from evil.
Forgive me.
You must burn all his bedding and clothing.
He must be in the ground first thing.
Gentlemen, here is a personal letter from the king to the pope thanking him in advance for attending to his suit sympathetically.
How is His Holiness likely to respond? To be honest with you, Mr.
Gardiner, I am not absolutely sure.
The pope was an abused prisoner of the emperor's mercenaries.
And even though the emperor reputedly allowed him to escape to Orvieto his condition continues to be little better there.
He leads a most sad life, locked up in a ruined castle.
In which case, why should the pope favour the emperor who has caused him nothing but misery over the king of England who has never caused him any harm at all? The trouble is, Your Eminence the swords of the king of England are much further away than the swords of the emperor.
Diplomacy is nearly always settled by such proximity.
Spoken like a true lawyer.
If all else fails, use threats.
Tell His Holiness that if the king can't get satisfaction from the papal court he will find other means to satisfy his conscience and rid himself of his present wife.
Do I make myself clear? Yes, Eminence.
We understand.
Godspeed, gentlemen.
The evening after William died, his servants began stealing his effects.
In his will, he bequeathed this to the king.
I managed to save it.
William is buried in the churchyard.
So too are the servants who also caught and died of the sweat in the last 24 hours.
I don't know what to say to you.
- My lord Norfolk.
- Your Eminence.
- What do you want? - A word with you if I might.
- In private.
- Very well.
You are commanded to return at once to your estates in East Anglia.
Commanded? - By whom? - By His Majesty.
In his own hand.
What for? His Majesty would like you to supervise grain production and North Sea trade.
Trade? Trade? What do you take me for? A butcher's son? As you see, my lord, these are not my orders.
Poor William.
Is this all that remains of an entire life? We must see that these jewels get back to his unfortunate lady.
William died at Warwickshire which is a long way from here and God willing, the disease won't spread.
But you should fortify yourselves against it in any case.
Now, these are plasters to heal ulcers.
An unguent which cools inflammation and stops itching.
This helps digestion, this soothes dry skin.
And this ointment will comfort your cock if it's sore.
Thank you.
These are called pills of Rasis.
They're named after the Turk who invented them.
They are said to be good against the sweating sickness.
But this infusion is even better.
What is it? It's a mixture of marigold Manus christi, a very efficacious herb sorrel, meadow plant, linseed vinegar ivory scrapings, all mixed with sugar.
- Take some.
- Are you sure? Someone told me taking infusions was the worst thing.
Trust me.
It'll make you feel sick.
But it's better than the sickness it prevents.
Mistress Hastings.
Bury her beside Sir William.
That's so beautiful.
It's just something for a friend.
Forgive me, I can't work unless I'm Of course.
Good night, Thomas Tallis.
Wait.
What's your name? - Joan.
- Stay a moment.
Why me? Do you think the world judges you both the same? Yes.
It seems to.
I don't.
I see the differences between you.
When I looked at you, I saw a light around your head.
A light? You mean like a halo? Yes.
Like a circle of light.
You're weird.
May I kiss you, Joan? - Good morning, chamberlain.
- Your Majesty.
May I present His Highness Jean de Bellay bishop of Bayonne, the new French ambassador.
Your Majesty, I am happy to present my credentials.
And I am happy to be once more friend and ally to your master.
Thank him for his precious gifts.
It is a pleasure, Your Highness.
So, Your Excellence, how is the war against the emperor going? Your Majesty has no cause for anxiety.
A French army and a fleet of our allies, the Genoese have hopelessly besieged the emperor's soldiers at Napoli.
Sooner or later, Charles must surrender and leave Italy altogether.
That is truly excellent news.
Your Excellence, allow me to introduce Is this not Mademoiselle Anne? His Eminence, Cardinal Wolsey, has told me all about you.
He did not tell how beautiful you are.
For a Frenchman, that is a crime.
But Frenchmen tell every woman she is beautiful.
Is that not a crime too? - I have a gift for you.
- For me? For you, sir.
This dog is very fast really formidable.
- What's his name? - Wolsey.
You ought to be glad, sweetheart.
His Excellence has informed me that the emperor is soon to be driven out of Italy.
He will no longer be able to stand in the way of our happiness.
Go back to your wife.
Halt! In the name of the king! Did someone say something? - Hold.
- What is that stink? It's vinegar.
Vinegar, Excellence.
- Your Majesty.
- What's happened? There has been an outbreak of sweating sickness.
- Three hundred deaths this day alone.
- Fetch Dr.
Linacre quickly.
What about my wife, the queen? What about the queen? Anne, don't be afraid.
I'll see you soon.
George, take your sister to her chambers.
I find from experience, Your Majesty, that in a great many cases before any actual physical symptoms appear the sufferers undergo a curious mental disorientation.
A quick sense of fear and apprehension.
A foreboding of pain and death.
Every rumour sends them into agitated alarm.
Indeed, one rumour can itself cause a thousand cases of sweat.
So thousands catch the disease from fear who need not otherwise sweat.
Especially if they observe a good, wholesome diet.
A good, wholesome diet? That is your best remedy, Dr.
Linacre? Not infusions? I hope Your Majesty will trust me when I tell you that there are countless remedies for the sweat.
Nearly all of them, in my opinion, medically useless.
Even to ward it off? Well, I heard of an interesting theory.
A young gentleman of my acquaintance swears that he can combat the disease directly by working himself into a natural sweat by exercise each night.
Thank you, doctor.
Bring out your dead.
My dearest wife and family.
This plague that has come upon us is a punishment from God.
We are all sinners, and God is displeased with us.
Whether we live or die is entirely in his hands.
All we can do is pray and appeal to his great and infinite mercy and acknowledge our sinful natures and our need for his grace.
So, what do you think? Isn't that the best way of working up a sweat? Yes, Your Grace.
Get your husband to lick it off.
Child, what is it? Nothing, madam, I just felt a little dizzy.
- Well, come here.
- No, I I still feel dizzy, I That's it.
I've caught the sweat.
No, gentle child.
It's just a headache.
- No more than that.
- It's not.
I have pains in my stomach.
Yes.
Isn't that a sign? How can you deny it? - I'm going to die.
- No, you're not going to die.
Listen to me.
You are not going to die.
Come here.
There.
"My poor maid has this day caught the sweat and died.
I beg Your Majesty, what shall I do?" I want to see her.
I would counsel against any contact with infected persons or those who have had contact with infected persons.
You are the king of England.
Yes, but what if she? What if she dies? All right.
Tell her she must quit the palace.
She must go with her father back to Hever and by all means, shut herself up there.
I will send her infusions to fortify herself and I will write to her.
And what of Her Majesty? The queen will join our daughter at Ludlow.
I pray to God they will be safe enough in Wales.
And you, Your Majesty? I will shut myself up here and keep the sweat at bay with every means.
Then if I may advise Your Majesty.
Keep as few people around you as possible.
In that way, you can reduce the risk of contamination.
God bless us both.
Indeed.
I've come to say goodbye.
Are you pleased to send me away? - You do not want to see our daughter? - You send me away so that you can be with her.
- No, she's not - Do you mean Lady Anne Boleyn? - Yes, I mean Lady Anne Boleyn.
You make no secret of her.
No, she's going back to Hever.
One of her maids died of the sweat.
Your fear of the sweat is greater than your infatuation with your mistress? Catherine, she is not my mistress.
I do not sleep with her.
Not whilst you and I are still married.
But do you tell her that you love her? Do you make promises to her? Does she make promises to you? Will you not tell me since, as you say, I am still your wife? Catherine, I wish with all my heart you could accept our marriage was based upon a lie.
And in the meantime I still love you enough to want to save your life.
Now do as I command.
Go to Wales.
When you speak like that, my love You act as though I had the plague.
As though love itself were a plague.
I shall write to you.
Tell Mary, the king, her father, sends his love and devotion.
How do you feel? - I feel fine, Papa.
- You're sure? What are you saying? Because of my maid l'm certain to be contaminated? - No, of course not.
What is it? I can't breathe.
What? - What's wrong? - I can't breathe.
Stop the coach.
- I can't breathe.
Stop the coach! - Halt.
Stop the coach.
Anne.
Drive on.
Anne.
Joan, my dear sister.
Father, it is well said and known that sickness is a visitation from God and a punishment for sins.
But why, Father, why is my land so marked out for disfavour? What have we done that has displeased Almighty God so much that he brings this pestilence upon us? Is it my fault? Father, I ask forgiveness for sins unknown.
And I beg you for your blessing.
Not as a king but as a man.
Please, Father.
Father? Father? Father? Are you the English envoys? Come.
My sons.
Holy Father.
You see how I am forced to live? Can you imagine Your Father's misery? The Spaniards are practically at my doorstep.
Your Holiness knows why we are here.
We bring a letter from His Majesty, King Henry the most dutiful and Catholic king of England, Ireland and France.
His Majesty thanks Your Holiness in advance for your support of his nullity suit.
He knows that you, Holy Father, will not object to our supplications.
I wish with all my heart to please and satisfy your master.
But I must say to you, in all honesty as God is my witness, as I am an honest man that I have been advised that this suit is prompted solely by the king's vain affection and undue love for this woman, Anne Boleyn.
It has been said to me that the king of England desires his divorce for private reasons only.
And that the woman he loves is far below him.
Not only in rank, but also in virtue.
Holiness, who has told you these things? They say that Anne is already pregnant and that the king urgently wishes to make her child his heir to the throne.
Lady Anne is a model of chastity.
Though very apt to procreate children when the time comes.
Holy Father, she impresses everyone who sees her or knows her with the purity of her life, her constant virginity her soberness, meekness.
Indeed, of all the women in England she is, by far, the fittest to become queen.
But what of Queen Catherine? His Majesty hopes that when Your Highness has taken cognisance of the arguments we have brought with us you will write to the queen to urge her compliance.
Of course.
But first, I must read these arguments, must I not? Before coming to judgement.
His Majesty also made it plain to us that if you could not give him satisfaction then he must look for a judgement elsewhere.
He might be forced to live outside the laws of the Holy Church and beyond Your Holiness's authority.
My sons.
Boy? Keep a look out.
My sons.
- Holy Father.
- Holy Father.
I fear you will be disappointed in my answer.
I am unable to make a judgement, here and today concerning the king's case.
Wait, I have not said it is the end of the matter.
I am resolved it should be settled as soon as may be, but not here.
For you see how I am here.
So I am appointing Cardinal Campeggio as my official legate.
Once the sickness in your country abates he will travel to England, and together with Cardinal Wolsey constitute a court to hear and decide upon the merits of the case.
If your king is as certain of his rightness as you say he is then no doubt he will welcome the proceedings which can only hasten the fulfilment of his desires.
Come.
Put them there.
Your Majesty should know that, His Grace, the Duk e of Norfolk, having caught the sweat ask ed to be allowed back to London, ostensibly to see a doctor.
This permission I refused on Your Majesty's behalf.
Three of Your Majesty's apothecaries have also fallen sick while three of your chamber servants have died.
Your mason Redman is also dead.
The disease shows no sign of abating.
There are now 40, 000 cases in London alone.
Lady Anne Boleyn is also sick, yet still survives.
- Dr.
Linacre.
- Yes, Your Majesty.
Lady Anne is ill.
Lady Anne Boleyn.
Go at once to Hever castle.
And for the love of God, save her life.
In my opinion, there is no hope.
The vital signs of life are weak and worsening.
The priest should attend her now, in extremis.
I'm very sorry.
- Are you not frightened, Papa? - Of what? Of death? No, no, no.
I have given myself entirely into the hands of God and I know with certainty that when I die I shall pass into a far better place than this.
What you see around you is not the fear of death but the fear of what, for the unrepentant, must surely follow it.
There is a spectre haunting Europe which I fear far more than the sweat.
A sickness spreading everywhere.
Infecting thousands.
Of what do you speak, Papa? The disease of Lutheranism.
It spreads among the poor.
Those who see the church as rich and corrupt and decadent.
It has already ignited a peasants' war in Germany and killed 100,000 people.
The contagion has spread to Burgundy, Salzburg, Montpellier and Nantes.
Every day brings more news of the virulence of this heresy.
Surely it won't come here? It is already here.
We know of secret meetings here in the city of London where the Church is attacked, infamous books distributed.
Let me ask you, my child.
Let me ask you, what do you do with a house which is plagued with sickness? You purge it with fire.
Exactly so.
In the same way, the sickness which is in our house of faith must be purged with fire.
Now, I am against violence, as you know.
But I believe that Luther and his followers should be seized right now.
And burned.
Your Majesty, multitudes are dying around us.
Almost everyone in Oxford, Cambridge, and London has been ill recently.
Since the cardinal has also been ill, and Your Majesty is gone from court there is really no government to the kingdom.
There have been some riots in the city but Your Majesty should not be alarmed.
Sir.
- Come and see her.
- Get the master.
- My lord, my lord! - Papa, come quickly.
George.
Praise be to God.
You know what you have done, child? You have risen from the dead.
Now you can see the king again.
It can be just as before.
Thanks be to God, my own darling, you are saved and the plague is abated.
The legate which we most desire arrived at Paris on Sunday or Monday last.
I trust by next Monday to hear of his arrival in Calais and then I trust within a while to enjoy that which I have so longed for.
To God's pleasure and our own.
No more to you now, my darling, for lack of time but that I would you were in my arms or I in yours for I think it long since I kissed you.
You have a letter from Lady Anne Boleyn.
"My dear lord, I am delighted to hear that you have escaped the sweat.
All the days of my life, I am most bound of all creatures, next to the king's grace to love and serve Your Grace.
I beseech you never to doubt that my opinion of you will ever change as long as I have any breath in my body.
Your humble servant, Anne Boleyn.
" Well, at least she has a sense of humour.
Joan.
Arrange for my pilgrimage to Walsingham.
I must give thanks to our Lady.
Thank you.
Thank you, God.