Wolf Hall Recap: The Devil’s Spit

It’s a…girl! Yes, Anne Boleyn has birthed a daughter, and Henry is absolutely delighted. He’s so excited by the news that he immediately does the following:

• Inquires after the baby’s health
• Names her Elizabeth
• Cancels the celebratory jousts

Yippee. Noticeably, what Henry fails to do is ask how Anne is faring. I’m no marriage counselor, but I have studied history, and that doesn’t bode well for Anne’s nascent marriage to King Ficklepants VIII. I mean, he’s already cast off one wife for the very same reason.
But how is Anne doing? Just being her persnickety, scheming self. As she tells a surprised Cromwell, she would like Princess Mary to be made a servant in Elizabeth’s household, and she’d like Cromwell to head on over to France to draw up a marriage contract for her babe. Why so much action on behalf of a newborn?
“The queen sees enemies everywhere,” Rafe tells Cromwell.
“So she should,” says Cromwell, Sage of London.
Though the seeds are being sown for Anne’s demise, for now, where Anne sees enemies, Henry sees enemies. And where Henry sees enemies, Cromwell is dispatched to smoke them out. And that’s exactly what he spends most of this episode doing.
The sleuthing begins with the Holy Maid, the soothsayer and roadside attraction who’s been predicting the downfall of Henry’s reign. Cromwell has had her tailed and monitored her visitors, and now he’s ready to bring her in, because, curiously, among the list of her associates are a fair number of the king’s enemies. That includes both loyalists to Catherine and Mary and supporters of the ousted House Plantagenet.
The Holy Maid’s testimony to her inquisitorial committee is enlightening. For one, apparently the devil is a bird. Her description of his blackened spit is equally amusing, but the words that tumble out of her mouth next are less jolly. She foresees God sending a plague to England, that will kill both Anne and Henry in six months’ time.
Pro tip: never predict the king’s downfall. It angers people, people who like to charge other people with treason.
While the maid mentions several upper crust names among her associates, she does not mention Thomas More, and Cromwell is adamant that his name not be sullied with this particular accusation, even as a host of highborns parade through his chamber. Each of them is hilariously outwitted by Cromwell, who gets to demonstrate his vast spy network.
“The boy who carried in the asparagus? That was my boy,” Cromwell tells one such unlucky lady. “The boy who cut the apricots? He was mine, too.”
Henry’s reaction to this list of alleged traitors is adorably childlike. These people, betray me? They were my friends! Henry is a man continually aghast that there are people who don’t like him, even though that line stretches out the door, around the corner, and down to the parking lot.
Anne, of course, is equally childlike, in a less adorable and more peevish way. Cromwell’s drawn up a bill to install her legally as Henry’s wife, and her children as his rightful heirs. That bill will be sealed with an oath of loyalty—one More is highly reluctant to put his name to. All this legal wrangling, and Anne’s still stuck on niggling details: Cremuel, how dare you even put in writing that one day I might die! Cremuel, why isn’t Mary explicitly labeled a bastard? Cremuel, you put Thomas More’s name into your list of traitors right now! Cremuel, I repeat: I will not die!
Henry tries to coo her into submission to no avail; it seems More’s going on the list of names. Maybe it’s the hormones, because, yes, Anne’s already with child again. Henry’s so tickled he pulls Cromwell into a distressingly authoritative hug.
With that rosy picture of domesticity in place, Cromwell focuses his attention on his other problem child: More. He’s doing his best to save the man from death, but More’s of little help in this endeavor. Cromwell arranges for the Duke of Norfolk (who, by the way, was much more chivalrous when he was king of Rohan) to beg for mercy for More to the king, allowing Henry a dignified way of thwarting the will of his temperamental wife. All Henry demands is that More take the oath. Simple, yes? Well, no. More vehemently resists signing his name, because he vehemently does not recognize Henry as the head of the church.
So despite Cromwell’s best efforts—and Alice More’s desperate pleas—Thomas More walks himself straight into the path of the headsman. And just as the eccentric codger was starting to become truly sympathetic, too.
While I cannot prove cause and effect, More’s death—or perhaps just deft film editing—sends Cromwell into a sudden illness. More was not overly loved by Cromwell, whose friends had suffered bloody ends at the hands of that pious man. But through flashbacks, we see Cromwell as a servant in the household of a young More. When Cromwell thinks of More, he thinks of more than just a man seeking to become a martyr; he thinks of the quiet young boy he once was. It’s almost like he’s human or something.
Almost. An intense fever and a few hallucinations normally mean you’re knocking on death’s door in these tragic times. But not our Cromwell. He’s a tough old rascal, and within just a few days he’s back at work. While his health has recovered, however, Anne’s has taken a sudden turn. She’s suffered a miscarriage, so early in the pregnancy that the sex of the child will never be known, a fact Henry laments. (You have to be awed by the man’s one-track mind.)
Better luck next time, I guess. Speaking of…Cromwell’s infatuation with Jane Seymour continues. Everyone who notices seems to think Cromwell’s shopping for his own bride, but his motives aren’t crystal clear. Maybe he’s got the hots for The One Who Cries? Maybe he’s already scouting for Anne’s replacement? Maybe he just has genuine affection for another human being? Time will tell.
And probably soon. As Cromwell dictates the king’s upcoming summer travel schedule, he ad hocs a stop at Wolf Hall, Seymour headquarters. We’ll see how that plays out, next time on Wolf Hall.