All language subtitles for Wolf Hall - 02x06 - Light.Organic-1080p-25fps.English.orig.Addic7ed.com

If I'd known...

I would have come.

Then come with me now, Father.

To Antwerp that you were homesick
for.

But you will not.

Come here.

I did not know myself
what was happening.

If I had known, I w...

I would have got warning
to you somehow.

As we were going in,

Wriothesley called me back for some
footling piece of business.

And then as I approached
the council chamber...

Sadler.

Your master is arrested.

I am going to Parliament House
to announce it.

How did Parliament take it?

In silence.

No doubt astonished.

A man made earl in the morning
and kicked out by afternoon.

Edward Seymour went at once
to the King to speak for Gregory.

Did he speak for me?

No, sir.
Did anyone speak for me?

Yes. But I was not heard.

Not Cranmer?

He is writing the King a letter.

Try and get me the contents.

Richard is enraged.

Mm.

He wanted to go straight to the King
and break in on him.

Tell him he must not do that.

He must rest quiet,
and he must keep away from Gregory.

Both of them must keep away from you.

You must do nothing that could
be thought of as conspiracy.

I know how Henry's mind works.

Well, obviously that's not true,
or I wouldn't be here, would 1?

They will both wish to visit here
if the King permits.

No.

They must not.

They must stay away.

You know, I never knew you two to be
such great comrades till lately.

More likely to abuse each other
roundly

than sit together as friends.

We might not always have seen
eye to eye,

but one thing we have in common -

when we scent the truth,
we stick on the trail

So beware, Cromwell.

Whatever we suspect,
we will have out of you...

one way or the other.

It is as crude a threat
as I've heard, my lord,

but you have no need for it.

I will tell you the truth
as I know it and believe it,

and beyond that, there is nothing
for you.

We might begin with
the purple doublet.

You understand, sir, that it is my
duty to put these questions to you,

and that I bear you no ill will
in the doing of it.

I know a disclaimer
when I hear it, Riche.

May I see the King?

No, by God! What on earth gave
Your Lordship that idea?

The King of France once gave me this.

And when he did, I took it to our King,

who after a time
was pleased to return it to me,

saying it might be a token
between us, and if I sent it to him,

even if I did not have my seal,
he would know it came from me.

So... I send it to him now...

Master Secretary.

But what's the point?
The King knows where you are.

He put you here.
Yes, I know,

but it will remind him
of how I've served him

to the best of my capacities,
in the utmost of my strength,

as I hope to do for many years yet.

Yes, well, that is what we are here
to determine...

whether you have served him or no,

whether you have abused
his confidence, as he believes,

and plotted against his throne.

How plotted?

Letters have been discovered
at Austin Friars.

Highly prejudicial to your claims
to be a loyal and quiet subject.

Clear proof of treason.

I'm waiting for you
to tell me what they are.

I cannot guess what you might forge,
can I?

Letters from Martin Luther himself
and his heretic brethren.

Melanchthon? Oh, dear.
The King writes to him.

On you a course most injurious

to King and Commonwealth.

There are no such letters.
They never existed.

And even if they did...
Lawyer's logic!

And even if they did, even if
they contained seditious matter,

would I really leave them
about the house for you to find?

Would I, Call-Me?

Did we do such things?

I, erm...

Shall we pass on?

Would you like me to set the agenda
and run the meeting?

I believe you wanted to know about
my wardrobe.

Yes, the doublet. In the Cardinal's
day, you owned and were seen to wear

a doublet of purple satin.

What gave you the right
to wear such a colour? Hmm?

It's the preserve of royal persons
or high dignitaries of the church.

Yes, I saw it myself.

And moreover, you had sables.

I feel the cold.

Do you know? It was a gift.

A gift from a foreign client of mine
who did not know our rules.

If your client did not know
the rules, you knew them.

It was above your rank and station

to dress as if you were
an earl already.

That's true.

But why would Your Lordship object
if the King did not?

His Majesty would not like
his ministers to go about

in homespun.

Christ, Riche,
is this the best you can do?

The doublet is just a single example
of your insensate and ungodly pride.

It's not just your attire
that offends.

It's the way you talk,
the way you put yourself forward,

interrupt the king's discourse.

Interrupt me, for Christ's sake!

Scorn ambassadors,
the envoys of great princes.

Yes. And speaking of ambassadors,

you and Monsieur Chapuys
are regularly... Not yet!

You have been entrusted
with high office,

and you scant the procedures
that are laid down.

You reach across and you put your
signature to some scrap of paper,

and thousands are paid out
without warrant.

There is no part of the King's
business you do not meddle in.

You override the council.

You pull state policy
out of your pocket.

You read other men's letters.

You corrupt their households
to your own service.

You take their duties
out of their hands.

I act when they should act but don't.

Sometimes government
has to accelerate.

I cannot always wait for the slow
grindings of your brain, my lord.

We have to move
in anticipation of events.

I do not see how
unless you consult sorcerers.

So are we done with the doublet, then?

The King of France congratulates
our King on your putting down.

The French have much to tell us
regarding your ambitions,

not to mention your methods of
discharging our sovereign's trust.

I see.
This is where it began, isn't it?

Your sojourn to France.

The French gave hints of an alliance
between our kingdoms,

something you and Gardiner have
long been urging on the King.

But there was a price.

The price was me,
and the King baulked at it.

Until now.

The French prefer to deal with me,
my lord. I'm sure they do.

Why would they not prefer a minister
whom they can bewilder and trick

and, if need be, purchase?

I'd like to take us back...

Yes, I think you had better
take us back.

You're in danger of proving
what a bad minister I have been

for the King of France.

You made a great deal of money
in the Cardinal's day.

Not so much from Wolsey,
but from my legal practice, yes.

How did you do that?
Long hours.

Wolsey commonly enriched
his servants.

He did, as Stephen here can testify.

But the Cardinal fell from grace
before his debts could be paid.

As you well know, my Lord,
his enemies laid hold of his assets,

bless him.
He cost me money in the end.

When you say his enemies,
you mean the King.

Give me credit, Gardiner.

You don't think I'll gratify you
by calling the King a thief?

Wolsey had enemies enough
in this very room.

But you adhered to him
even when he was a proven traitor.

What you call adherence,
the King calls loyalty.

'Tis true.
I have heard His Majesty say it.

The King regrets the Cardinal.
He told me so.

He misses him to this very day.

You wear a ring the Cardinal gave you.

It possesses certain properties.

Do you covet it, Ricardo?
I'll give it to you.

It will save you from drowning.

You see? He admits it.

It also preserves the wearer
from wild beasts

and secures a Prince's favour.

It doesn't seem to be working
very well, though, does it?

It also allegedly makes princesses
fall in love with you.

I'm turning them away daily.

Well, you didn't turn away
Lady Mary, did you?

You presumed, and the King knows it,
to insinuate yourself with her,

to ingratiate yourself
so that she referred

to you as "my only friend."

I WAS her only friend.

Mary would be dead if I hadn't
persuaded her to obey her father.

And why were you so interested
in saving her life?

Perhaps because I'm a Christian man.

Perhaps because you thought
she would reward you.

She was a powerless girl.
How would she reward me?

It was your dreadful presumption,
offensive to Almighty God,

to attempt to marry her.

Yes. And, for instance,
upon a certain occasion,

you were her Valentine,
and you gave her a gift.

You know how this works, Riche.
We draw lots for Valentines.

Yes, but you rigged the ballot.

You have often boasted of your ways
to manipulate elections of any sort,

even the draw at a tournament.

I offer this, and my recollection
is perfectly clear.

The day your son made his debut
in the field,

you said, "Never fear.
I can get you on the King's team,

"and then you will not have to run
against His Majesty."

Gregory told you that?

He told me that very day.

You hurt his pride.

He spoke in innocence
and he spoke to you, Call-Me,

whom he took to be his friend.

But I suppose you must use
what you have.

Valentines, sorceries,
purple doublets.

Any jury would laugh you
out of court. But then...

there won't be a jury, will there?

There'll be no trial.

You'll pass a bill to make an end of me.

And I cannot complain of the
process. I have used it myself.

You gave Mary a ring in the summer
of 1536.

It was not a lover's ring. It was...

It was a piece for her
to wear around her neck.

Why?
Why what?

Why did she wear it around her neck
and not on her finger?

Because it was too heavy.
There were too many words.

What words?
Words enjoining obedience.

You thought she should obey you?

I thought she should obey her father.

And I showed it to His Majesty.
He liked it so well.

He took it for himself to give to her.

It's true, my lord.
I was there.

Well, all the same, the volume of
the correspondence with the lady,

your manifest influence with her,
the nature of the information she

confided in you, information that
relates to her bodily matters...

You mean she told me
she had a toothache?

Yes. Headaches.

She confided information
proper for a physician to know,

not a stranger.
I was hardly a stranger.

"I do thank you with all my heart
for the great pains

"you have had for me. I think myself
very much bound to you.

"Your assured bounden loving
friend throughout my life, Mary."

That's right. Friend.

And in fact, she gave you gifts,
didn't she?

She gave you a pair of gloves.
That signifies hand in glove.

That signifies alliance.
That signifies matrimony.

The King of France gave me gloves.
He didn't want to marry me.

It disgusts me that a woman
of noble blood should lower herself.

Do not blame the lady.

Cromwell made her believe
only his own person

stood between herself and death.

Ah! There you have it. My "person.”

It was my purple doublet.
She couldn't resist it.

Could a woman rule?

Do you remember the conversation?

Yes!

Yes, and you bursting in.

"It depends who she marries."

And since that time,
you have ensured the Lady Mary

never makes a marriage. All of her
suitors have been sent away.

And I remember when the king
took his fall at the joust.

The 24th of January, 1536.

And he was carried to a tent and lay
on a bier, either dead or dying,

and all your concern was,
"Where is Mary?"

I wanted to protect her.

From whom? From you, my Lord
Norfolk, and from your niece.

And if you had laid hands on her,
what would you have done?

You tell me.
What makes the best story?

Did I seduce her?
Did I enforce her?

Come on, Stephen. I no more meant to
marry her than you did.

Would you kindly address me
as what I am?

I beg your pardon, my lord Bishop.

Leave aside marriage.
There are other means of control.

The King believed you meant
to place Mary on the throne

and rule through her.

And to this end,
you cultivated your friendship

with Chapuys, the Emperor's man.

As he dined with you
twice in the same week.

Well, you should know.
You were at the table.

He was your confidant
and your friend.

I don't have any confidants
and few friends.

Till yesterday, I counted you
amongst them.

At your house at Austin Friars,

you conferred with Chapuys
in the tower.

You made him certain promises
about Mary, her future estate.

I made no promises.

Chapuys thought you did.

Mary thought you did.

How would you know? You weren't even
in the realm at the time.

Well, well, you strain my charity,
Wriothesley.

When I am set at large, I'll try not
to hold these things against you.

Let us pursue the matter
of your marriage further.

The Lady Mary was not
your only prospect.

You took care that Lady Margaret
Douglas was preserved,

though guilty of wilful disobedience
to the King.

Yes, I uncovered that whole affair,

and you talked it away
as if it were nothing.

No, not nothing. Her sweetheart,
"Tom Truth," was executed.

Your brother.

I'm sorry I could not save them both.

You put her under a debt of gratitude.

The King's niece,

and what was she to you
but another path to the throne?

"If I were King"
is a phrase often in your mouth.

You, a manifest traitor, who offered
to meet the King in battle?

What? Let me remind you that you
were heard by a witness here,

at the Tower, to utter certain
treasonable words,

that you would maintain your own
opinion in religion,

that you would never allow the King
to return to Rome,

and — these are the words alleged -
that "If he would turn,

"yet I would not turn, and I would
take the field against him,

"my sword in my hand."

And you accompanied these words
with certain...

certain belligerent gestures.

Is this likely?

That I, even if I had such thoughts,

that I would speak this out in public?

And where has this witness
been since last year?

If I spoke treason, is he not
culpable for concealing it?

I look forward to seeing them
in chains.

You admit it is treason?

Yes, my lord,
but I do not admit to saying it.

How would I make good such a threat?

How could I possibly
overthrow the King?

Perhaps with the help of the Emperor.

You still have contact with his man
Chapuys, do you not?

I hear he plans to return.

Oh, dear. He'll have to find
somewhere else to have his dinner.

Why do we concern ourselves
with Chapuys?

It is much worse than that,

as all will attest who were
in your garden at Austin Friars,

the day the King met his daughter.

You had secret dealings
with Katherine.

Dealings to do with Mary.

And that evening, you confessed
as much to all present.

Even if I did,

my, you've known about this
a long time, Riche.

What stopped you from speaking out?

'Ll tell you what — advantage.

Your own advantage kept you mute
until advantage was greater

on the other side.
What promise have I made...

Look at me!

What promise have I made to you,
Riche, that I have not kept?

And what promises have you made to me?

You should not speak of promises!

The King hates a man
who breaks his word.

You said you would kill
the pretender Reginald Pole.

Yes, and not a drop of his blood
is shed.

The King's so—called marriage.

His Majesty says
you know more of the matter

than any man except himself.

You are to give a full account.
Omit nothing.

From your first negotiations
with Cleves

to the night of
the supposed marriage.

You must set forth all you heard
of the lady's pre—contract,

and record faithfully what you know
of the King's dislike of

and unwillingness to the marriage.

You must write the truth
on the damnation of your soul.

You will be required to take an oath.

I have a son and nephew.

My nephew has heirs,
all of whom I wish to preserve.

Why would I refuse?

I would also take an oath that I am
a true servant of the King.

It's strange, don't you think,

that my word should hold good in the
one matter, but not in the other?

Well, you are a dying man.

They are generally known not to lie.

Leave it with me, my Lord Bishop.

Now kick yourself out.

Sir...
Save your breath.

Norfolk wants to hang you at Tyburn
like a common thief,

to pull your bowels out.

He wants you to suffer the most
painful death the law affords.

He is set on it.
You seem set on it yourself.

No, in no way, sir.

In no way.

I can do no other than I do...

...I assure you.

But I want to see you
treated with honour.

If needs be,
I shall petition the King...

Christ, Call-Me, stand up straight.

How do you think you'll fare
with Henry these next few years

if you're cringing and whining
in the presence of a man

whom you yourself say is doomed?

Well, I trust not, sir.

The King tells me that
you could write to him.

Do it tonight.

The King wants me gone.

Wants to humiliate me.

I feel cast off.

But still I love him.

A porter l'epee!

I have no new instructions, sir.

But yet he permits you
to visit me still.

That's a hopeful sign.

It's Cranmer's letter to the King.

"He that was so advanced
by Your Majesty,

"he who so loved Your Majesty, as I
ever thought, no less than God,

"he that cared for no man's
displeasure to serve Your Majesty,

"he that was such a servant
in my judgment, in wisdom,

"diligence, faithfulness,

"and experience as no prince
in this realm ever had.

"I loved him as my friend,
for so I took him to be, but now..."

Here it comes, on the one hand,
on the other.

"but now, if he be a traitor,

"I am sorry that I ever loved
or trusted him."

Huh.

"But yet again, I am very sorrowful.

"Who will Your Majesty trust
hereafter if you cannot trust him?"

It was better than I expected.

He should have got himself
to the King's presence.

If the Archbishop were in peril of
his life, would you have stood by?

I don't think you would have.

The King has permitted me
to write to him,

which is... another hopeful sign.

Will you make sure that gets to him?

Call-Me has moved into
Austin Friars.

The King has ordered him
to dissolve the household.

Don't give up, Rafe.

Don't give up.
We do not yield.

We hold on. We hold on.

Hmm?

Your household falls
a little short of 3,000 persons,

does it not?

It is the household of a prince.

3,0007? with that number,
I'd be bankrupt.

Every man in England has applied
to me these last seven years

to take his son into my service.

I take who I can.

For the most part,
their fathers pay their keep,

so you cannot say that I employ them.

You talk as if they were all
meek scribblers,

but it is well known that
you take in runaway apprentices,

roisterers, ruffians.

Roaring boys,
such as Richard Riche here was once,

in days he would rather forget.

Yeah, I don't deny
I give a second life to those

who have the enterprise
to knock upon my gates.

Any chancer has a chance with me.

You owned some, erm,
some 300 handguns.

I have the inventories
for Austin Friars here.

300 handguns, 400 pikes,
near 800 bows.

It's... It's enough for an army.

And I have heard you say -
and Wriothesley will bear me out...

that you had a bodyguard of 300
that would come to your whistle

day or night.

Wriothesley?

It is true.
I have heard you say it.

When the northern rebels were up,

I felt ashamed that I could not
turn out enough men of mine own.

So, like any loyal subject
who has means,

I augmented my resources.

Oh, you prate of loyalty!

You, a manifest traitor who would
have sold the King to heretics.

I, a traitor.

Look to the Poles and Courtenays
for treason, my lord.

Not to me, who owe everything I have
to the King.

Look to those who think
it's their natural right

to sweep him aside.

To those who think that his family's
rule is a mere interruption

to their own.

You people.

What will you do without me?

You will read the lines as written,

but you will never read between them.

The French ambassador
will make fools of you,

and Chapuys too, if he returns.

Within a year,

the King will be fighting the Scots,
or the French, or likely both,

and he will bankrupt us.

None of you — none of you —
Can manage matters like I can.

And the King will quarrel with you,
All of you.

You'll quarrel with each other.

In a year's time, if you sacrifice me,

you'll have neither honest coin
or honest minister.

But when the hour strikes
and the bell rings...

you've had the best of it,
haven't you?

What's left is like a sucked
plum stone on the side of a plate.

Lord Cromwell is not well.

We should perhaps pause.

Oh, I think he's fit enough.

It's not as if he has endured
any pains, which are spared him,

at the King's direction,
even though he is not of noble blood

and deserves no such consideration.

What would we do without you?

What would we do without your wisdom?

Oh, wash your eyes clean, Cromwell.

Do you think the King ever loved you?

No.

To him, you were an instrument,
a device.

We are no more to him
than an engine of war or a dog.

A dog that has served him
through the hunting season.

And what do you do with a dog
at the end of the season?

You hang it.

What has happened to the Queen?

Er, the Lady of Cleves
has already left the court.

The King has sent her to Richmond,
and he's promised to join her there.

But, of course, he will not.

No. When he turns his face from you,
he rarely turns back.

Hmm.

Getting the wife used to be
one of my tasks.

It falls to you now, does it?

I suppose it would be Norfolk's
niece.

Giddy little creature.

Very pleased with her great fortune.

Still, it's not for me
to question the King's choice.

If you bear that in mind,
you'll go far.

Of course she's giddy at that age.

You wouldn't want her
to think too much.

History is against her.

I fear it's against us all.

I am a man of honour.
I mean I am a man of my word.

So many words.

You do everything.
You have everything.

You are everything.

So I beg you, Father,

grant me an inch of your broad earth
and leave my wife to me.

Cromwell?

My Lord of Suffolk.

Is she behind there?

The other one?

Boleyn?

No, my lord. She lies at rest
in the chapel nearby.

As for the painting,
yes, I painted her out.

I changed the hair and the eyes.

Personally?

No, my lord.

I had a professional do it.

Look here, Crumb...
this is my advice.

Confess you are a heretic.
Say you were misled.

Ask Harry to see you face-to-face
and reason with you,

bring you back to true religion.

He'd like that, wouldn't he?

You saw how he enjoyed himself
at the trial of that fellow Lambert.

Lambert was burned.

So he was.

Well, that was my idea,
and now I've delivered it.

So I, er...

You're a good fellow, Charles.

I'd rob a house with you if I had to.

Have you robbed many houses?

In my wild days, you know.

Oh, we've all had those.

I wouldn't rob a house with the King.

You'd say to him, "Stand there.

"Whistle if the watch comes."

And at the first footfall, he'd
scamper off and leave you to it,

your leg over the sill.

I don't think he'd go robbing,
in all conscience.

He'd be breaching his own peace,
wouldn't he?

And who would he rob?

He can take all our goods if he likes.

Pauperise the lot of us.

Your hand.

Read it again, Sadler.

The whole, sir?

No. You may omit the accounting
of the Cleves marriage.

Read from where he begins his pleas.

"Most gracious and most merciful
sovereign lord,

"beseeching Almighty God to counsel
you, preserve you, maintain you,

"remedy you, and defend you
as may be most of the comfort

"of your heart's desires.

"God so help me
in this mine adversity,

"and confound me if ever
I thought the contrary.”

It takes but one word, sir.

Yes, I could free Cromwell,
could I not?

I could restore him tomorrow.

The French would be amazed, sir.

But, you know,
he never forgave me for Wolsey.

And I have long wondered to what
extremity his sorrow will lead him.

Bishop Gardiner says...

the Cardinal himself might forgive,

but the Cardinal's man never will.

The Earl is reconciled.
He has let the cardinal go.

Read the part where he says
he would make me live ever young.

"For if it were in my power,
as it is in God's,

"to make Your Majesty to live
ever young and prosperous,

"God knoweth I would."”

But he cannot, can he?

Go on.

"Beseeching most humbly,
Your Majesty, to pardon this,

"my rude writing, and to consider
that I am a most woeful prisoner,

"ready to take the death when it
shall please God and Your Majesty.

"Yet the frail flesh incites me
continually to call to Your Majesty

"to pardon my offences.

"Written the Tower, this Wednesday
the last of June.

"With the heavy heart and trembling
hand of Your Highness's

"most miserable prisoner...

"and poor slave,
I cry for mercy, mercy, mercy."

Thank you for your patience, Sadler.

I was well trained, sir...

by a patient man.

And for a moment -

just a moment, I thought perhaps...

But then he just said...

You may leave me now.

You did well, Rafe.

You did more than I had any right
to expect.

When I was a young child...

you came for me.

Brought me on a journey.

You set me down by the fire.

You said, "This is where you live
now, Rafe.

"We will be your family now.

"We will be good to you.
Never fear."

I had just left my mother that day
and I did not know where I was.

I'd never been to London,
still less your house.

But I never cried.

Did I? I never cried.

It is time that Gregory
wrote a letter repudiating me.

He should speak ill of me.

Say he doesn't know how he came
to be related to such a traitor.

He should plead for a chance
to redeem my errors and crimes...

by serving His Majesty
in the years to come.

I couldn't do it again, you know,
Rafe. I couldn't.

The sleepless toil, the axe work.

When Henry dies and comes
to judgment, he will answer for me.

Then he will have to account
for what he did to Cromwell.

Now... it is time for you to go.

Sir, the King grants you mercy
as to the manner of your death.

It's to be the axe,
and may I say, I rejoiced when I...

I beg your Lordship's pardon.

I mean to say Your Lordship
has often sought such mercy

for others and seldom failed.

Will it be tomorrow?

If Your Lordship were to say his
prayers tonight, it would be well.

The Duke of Norfolk has asked
Your Lordship be informed...

the King marries Catherine Howard
tomorrow.

Where have you been?

I don't know, Thomas.

I'd tell you if I could.

This is where I leave you, my lord.

Godspeed.

Master.

I have a medal.

It is a holy medal.
My mother gave it to me.

Take it, for the love of Christ.

I do not need an image.
I shall see God's face.

Sir, she's waiting for it.

Take it back to her.

Thank you, master.

Now follow on behind.

No fighting.

No fighting!

Your daughter thinks I betrayed you.

I did not.

I hope I did not.

Well, I dare say daughters
sometimes get things wrong.

You all right?

Don't be afraid to strike.

You won't help me or yourself
by hesitating.

I come here to die...

not to excuse myself.

I have lived a sinner
and offended my Lord God...

with which I heartily ask
for his pardon.

Many of you will know
that I have been a great traveller

in this world...

and, being but of base degree,
have been called to high estate.

Since that time...

Since that time, I have injured
and offended my master...

for the which I ask heartily
for his forgiveness,

and beseech you all to pray to God
with me... that he will forgive me.

Oh, Father, forgive me.

There is an abbey, Launde...

in the heart of England.

The air is always sweet there.

And it's quiet.

A little heaven here on earth.

And I'd think to myself...

"I'll live here one day...

"when all my work is done."

Our next mission is utter madness.