The hotly anticipated second series of the late Hilary Mantell’s Wolf Hall trilogy has finally hit our screens, nearly ten years after the first. The six episodes adapt the trilogy’s last book, The Mirror and the Light, and cover the years from the execution of Henry VIII’s second wife, Anne Boleyn, in 1536, to the climax of Thomas Cromwell’s execution in 1540.
In the first episode, we see the sensational drama of Boleyn’s execution. It also features tensions mounting as the king threatens his daughter, Princess Mary, with the same fate.
Mary is devoted to her recently deceased mother, Catherine of Aragon, Henry VIII’s first wife. Her father had divorced Catherine, claiming the marriage was incestuous and illegal because she had previously been married to his dead brother, Arthur.
Mary refuses to accept these claims, leaving herself open to the full penalties of the law. Played by Lilit Lesser, the princess is portrayed as vulnerable and alone when Cromwell visits her – he is the only man at court who wants to rescue her.
In the peril in which she stands, Mary bemoans that “no other lord has spoken for me … not even the Poles or the Courtenays” – to which a sympathetic Cromwell responds: “They have left you to bear the risk.”
It seems that Cromwell, the blacksmith’s son from Putney, is the only one striving to do what is right, at great risk to himself, while surrounded by conniving and unscrupulous individuals. However, this is not true. As someone who has researched the lives of the Poles and Courtenays, I can tell you they did try to help Mary.
Mary’s second mother
Margaret Pole, played by Harriet Walter, is countess of Salisbury and niece of Kings Edward IV and Richard III. She is depicted as defiant and disdainful, a woman who has to be threatened into writing to Mary in a bid to save the princess from the axe.
In reality, Pole had been Mary’s governess from May 1520. In July the following year, she was removed from the post after the execution of her son-in-law, the duke of Buckingham, for treason. But she was re-appointed in 1525, and remained at Mary’s side until 1535.
As I write in my book on Pole, she was regarded as the princess’s second mother, and needed no prompting from Cromwell to act in Mary’s defence in 1536. She had already done much to shield Mary from the consequences of her parents’ disintegrating marriage, and had incurred the king’s wrath before.
When Mary’s household was broken up in the autumn of 1535 – due to her refusal to accept her illegitimacy and the loss of her title as princess – Pole was discharged and Mary was placed in the household of her baby sister, Elizabeth, daughter of Anne Boleyn.
The king refused Pole’s offer to follow and serve the princess at her own expense, so the distressed countess returned to her own residence, where it appears she suffered some sort of collapse.
While she evaded punishment at the time, Pole would be arrested in 1538 and executed in 1541 due to the treasonous activities of her sons, and Henry VIII’s fears that her extensive estates in the south of England might be used as an entry point for a foreign invasion. It is most likely that Cromwell fabricated evidence against her to ensure her conviction.
The king’s first cousin and his wife
Unlike the Pole family, the Courtenays have mostly been airbrushed out of the show. All that remains are unflattering references in episode one, as Cromwell tells Mary they are among those who “have practice of scuttling into cover”, leaving Mary exposed.
Like the Poles, they were of royal descent. Henry Courtenay, earl of Devon and marquis of Exeter, was the king’s first cousin.
In a dramatic scene, the incredulous imperial ambassador for the holy Roman emperor (and Catherine of Aragon’s nephew) Charles V, Eustace Chapuys, asks Cromwell if he will risk his life for Mary. In reality, the Courtenays had already beaten him to it.
Gertrude Courtenay, marchioness of Exeter, had taken a great risk by visiting Chapuys in person in November 1535, needing the protection of a disguise to do so. Warning him of the danger in which the princess and her mother stood, she begged him “with the greatest possible speed” to write to his master and ask for “a prompt and efficacious remedy to these many evils”. Chapuys would recount this exchange in a letter to Charles V, adding that he considered the danger to them imminent.
Henry Courtenay, unlike many, had a genuine affection for Henry VIII, but also remained loyal to Mary. He was a member of the privy council, the governmental group who advised the king. When the council went into emergency session in the summer of 1536 following Mary’s refusal to accept the invalidity of her parents’ marriage, Courtenay was removed because of his known loyalty to her. In the TV series, however, he is not depicted in the scene that dramatises this event.
In January 1539, Chapuys reminded Charles V of the love that Henry Courtenay had born the princess – “in whose service he would willingly, as he has often sent to tell me, shed his blood.” But by this time, Courtenay’s blood had indeed been shed. In December 1538, as his cousin Henry VIII partied at Westminster, he faced a trial and execution as shocking as that of Anne Boleyn’s. Once again, Cromwell savoured another victory over his enemies.
While the writers of the TV series might have chosen to forget the loyalty these players showed Mary, she did not forget them. When she became queen in 1553, she made grants to Margaret Pole’s granddaughters “in consideration of the service to the queen in her tender age of the said countess of Salisbury”. And Gertrude, marchioness of Exeter, was immediately welcomed to her court as one of her closest companions.
Some may grudge at historians holding forth about the fact or fiction of an enjoyable TV series, when it is understood that dramatic licence must be taken. But I believe such points of contention should be welcomed. After all, The Mirror and the Light is doing what every good historical drama should do – making us all want to know more.
Hazel Pierce, Research Fellow in the School of History, Law and Social Sciences, Bangor University
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
