50

“The Most Joyful News”

The great rebellion known as the Pilgrimage of Grace, a reaction to the King’s religious policies, broke out in October 1537 in Lincolnshire and the north, where the old ideas remained more entrenched among the gentry, to whom the court was a distant place. This was the most serious threat to his authority that Henry had yet faced, and he prepared to lead an army against the rebels. At Greenwich, the tiltyard was converted into a workshop, where his armourers were set to repairing his rusted old armour that had been in storage at the Crowned Key Inn in Southwark. However, as the rebellion spread, the King realised that he did not have sufficient forces to deal with it, and decided to play for time. He sent north an army under the command of Norfolk and Suffolk, with instructions to use conciliatory measures. The coronation of the Queen was again postponed.

Fortunately, most lords rallied to the support of the Crown, demonstrating that the Reformation and the Dissolution had become largely populist movements. In December, a truce was reached, with Norfolk, in the King’s name, agreeing to all the rebels’ demands, among them a request that the Queen be crowned at York, and dangling before them a royal pardon which Henry did not intend to put into effect.

Henry had remained at Windsor. Among his attendants was an upcoming young secretary, Thomas Wriothesley, who had entered the royal service in 1530 as a Clerk of the Signet. Wriothesley, now thirty-one, was a member of a distinguished family of heralds, whose father, William Wryth, York Herald, had changed his name, with a view to bettering himself, to Wriothesley (pronounced “Risley,” as his family relatives phonetically spelt it). Young Thomas had been taught law by Gardiner at Cambridge, but had left early to pursue a career at court, where he attracted the attention of Cromwell. His loyalties, however, would always lie with Gardiner. Wriothesley was able, enterprising, tenacious, and ruthless, yet insufferably overconfident and egotistic. Nevertheless Henry liked him, rewarded his diligence with substantial grants of monastic lands, sent him abroad several times as an ambassador, and affectionately nicknamed him “my pig.”

It was upon such men that the King relied at times of crisis. Until now, his advisers had urged him to deal gently with the rebels, but he had no intention of keeping his promises, although he lured Robert Aske, one of the leaders of the rebellion, to spend Christmas at court, there to be lulled into a sense of false security.

It was a bitter winter, so cold that the Thames froze. Henry and Jane, swathed in furs, rode on horseback through the gaily decorated streets of London to a service in St. Paul’s Cathedral, then galloped across the ice-clad river to Greenwich, instead of travelling by barge,¹ much to the delight of the crowds who came to see them. Christmas was kept with wonderful solemnity and splendour, marred only by news of the death of the Queen’s father, Sir John Seymour, on 21 December at Wulfhall. Both the King’s daughters were at court, and at New Year Mary received many expensive gifts from her father and stepmother, and from Cromwell.

Aske went back north convinced that his sovereign was on his side, but in January 1537, another rising broke out in Yorkshire. This time the King was prepared—and bent on vengeance. Martial law was imposed in the north, and Norfolk and Suffolk set about suppressing the rebels with grim ferocity.

The King’s anger had been fuelled by news from Rome that his cousin Reginald Pole had not only accepted a cardinal’s hat from the Pope but had also published a vicious tract² condemning Henry, who had been generous to him in youth, as a heretic and adulterer. Worse still, the Pope had appointed Pole to coordinate a European offensive against Henry while he was occupied with the rebellion. This was treason of the worst kind, and all those linked by blood to Pole, who was out of reach of Henry’s justice, suffered the consequences. Cromwell had warned the King that Lady Salisbury and her sons might unite with the Exeters and other conservatives against him, and that now seemed all too credible, despite Lady Salisbury’s condemnation of her son’s book. From now on, the Poles and the Courtenays were under suspicion. “The King, to be avenged of Reginald, will kill us all,” they predicted. ³

God, it appeared, was on the King’s side, for at the end of February Queen Jane revealed that she was at last to bear him a child. There was no more talk for the present of her coronation, for Henry wished to spare her any undue strain that might threaten her precious burden, and was happy to postpone the ceremony until after the birth.⁴ In March, the Queen stood sponsor at the christening of her brother Edward’s daughter, who was named in her honour; Mary and Cromwell also attended. The following May, the baby’s father, Lord Beauchamp, was admitted to the Privy Council.

That spring, the Pilgrimage of Grace was finally—and ruthlessly— suppressed. The King and many others took this success as a sign of divine approval. Two hundred rebels, including Aske, were executed, and Henry emerged stronger, more powerful, and more respected than ever before. Norfolk and Suffolk were restored to high favour, and other magnates, such as the Earls of Rutland and Shrewsbury and Sir John Russell, who had been especially proactive on the Crown’s behalf, basked in the King’s gratitude. Henry also dubbed forty-eight new knights. Hard on the heels of the rebellion, Cranmer published, on the King’s instructions, a book outlining the doctrines of the Church of England. Entitled The Institution of a Christian Man but known as The Bishops’ Book, it marked a return to more orthodox beliefs. ⁵

Spring brought warm weather. Henry told Norfolk that he had intended to go north to overawe the subjects who had dared rebel against him, but confessed, “To be frank with you, which you must keep to yourself, a humour has fallen into our legs, and our physicians advise us not to go far in the heat of the year.” ⁶ He was suffering from “a sore leg that no man would be glad of,”⁷ perhaps a recurrence of the ulcer or abscess that had first troubled him in 1528, which may have been triggered by his fall in January 1536. Now both legs were affected, one worse than the other, and from henceforth Henry would be subject to attacks of unbearable pain and suffer intermittent problems with mobility and consequent weight gain, which only exacerbated the problem. His condition would also have an incalculable effect on his increasingly irascible temper, for he found it hard to be incapacitated after leading such an active life, and drove himself when it would have been better to rest. But, as a ruler, he could not afford to be seen as losing his grasp.

The condition Henry suffered from was probably osteomyelitis—a septic infection of the bone resulting from an injury that caused splinters of bone to break away. When, from time to time, the splinters worked their way through the skin, there would be sudden swelling accompanied by agonising pain, relieved only by a discharge of pus and the removal of the bone shard. It could also have been a varicose ulcer, perhaps made worse by a fall, or thrombosed or infected varicose veins. It has recently been suggested that the King’s sore legs were due to scurvy, contracted as a result of eating a diet too high in protein,⁸ but there is plenty of evidence that Henry liked fruit and vegetables.

This attack was severe enough to confine the King to his chambers: “he seldom goes abroad because his leg is something sore.” ⁹ His physicians tried many remedies, including herbal baths, and Henry devised some of his own, but to little effect.¹⁰ For such a fastidious man, the condition was distasteful and humiliating. It is said that his fool, Will Somers, was the only person who could keep his spirits up when his leg was paining him, which would account for the close friendship between these two very different men. During the King’s period of seclusion, there was much speculation at court as to the severity of his illness. Lord Montague privately observed: “He will die one day, suddenly. His leg will kill him, and then we shall have jolly stirrings!”¹¹

Henry’s low spirits were evident when a French merchant brought to court the latest velvet bonnets, lace trimmings, and other luxuries from Paris. Henry refused to see him, saying he was “too old to wear such things.” He later changed his mind and bought a rich collar, a hat, some fur, some linen, and a mirror.¹² In fact, he would continue to adorn himself magnificently, and set fashion trends, until the end of his life.

When Henry recovered, he took Jane on a short pilgrimage—his last—through Kent, visiting Rochester, Sittingbourne, and Canterbury, where they made offerings at the shrine of St. Thomas Becket, which would be destroyed the following year. After a brief visit to Dover, the royal couple made their leisurely way to Hampton Court.

While in Kent, they may have taken the opportunity to visit three former archiepiscopal residences that the King acquired from Cranmer that year, having decided that the Archbishop, who owned sixteen houses, had too much property in Kent. Charing Palace had been built around 1300, and a stone gatehouse and hall survived from that time, but Archbishop Morton had converted the other buildings into a brick courtyard house at the end of the fifteenth century.¹³

Knole, which the King liked for its “sound, perfect and wholesome situation,”¹⁴ had been built as a private residence by Archbishop Thomas Bourchier in 1456–1460, and on his death in 1486 had passed to the See of Canterbury. Henry enlarged the house and park, building the battlemented west front with its gatehouse, King’s Tower, and octagonal chimney stacks, and constructing or extending the Green Court¹⁵ to house his retinue. He also installed plasterwork ceilings, marble chimneypieces, and carved panelling, examples of which survive.

Otford, which Henry disliked because it was low-lying and “rheumatic,” was acquired as a satellite house for Knole, of which Henry said, “If I should make abode here, as I do surely mind to do now and then, I will live at Knole, and most of my house shall live at Otford.”¹⁶ History, however, does not record that Henry spent very much time at Knole at all. Otford, despite its situation, was one of the most splendid palaces in England. Warham had rebuilt much of the original moated manor house— reputedly erected by Thomas Becket in the twelfth century—around 1514–1518, retaining only the hall and chapel. His new palace was vast— the brick outer court measured 270 feet by 238 feet—and ornamented with gilded carvings; it was surrounded by beautiful gardens with topiary, herbs, rare fruits, and high hedges. The King had on several occasions been entertained there. He now ordered some rebuilding,¹⁷ but made only one recorded visit thereafter.

In 1537, the King offered one William Reed the suppressed priory of Tandridge in exchange for the manor of Oatlands at Weybridge, Surrey, which he later incorporated into the Honour of Hampton Court.¹⁸ During the next eight years, the King was to spend £16,500 (nearly £5 million) on constructing a large palace around the core of the old moated house; it was built of brick and stone around three courts, one of them irregularly shaped with an octagonal tower, and the royal lodgings were gabled rather than crenellated. Outside there were terraced gardens with fountains, a pleasance, and a deer park. The fruit trees for the orchards, like the stone of the fabric, came from nearby Chertsey Abbey.¹⁹ The royal lodgings were hung with fine French tapestries, the floors laid with Turkey carpets, and the furniture upholstered in velvet and cloth of gold. Oatlands, which covered ten acres, was designated a greater house, and Henry regularly used it as a hunting lodge.²⁰

In 1537, to mark the renewal of his hopes for an heir, the King commissioned Holbein to paint a vast mural of the Tudor dynasty in the privy chamber at Whitehall Palace. This magnificent work—which measured perhaps twelve feet by nine feet—depicted the full-length, almost life-size figures of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York standing on marble steps draped with a Turkey carpet behind Henry VIII and Jane Seymour, in a splendid antique setting with a classical roundel, grotesque pillars and friezes, trompe l’oeil decoration, and shell-shaped niches, which perhaps reflected the architecture and décor of the privy chamber. The painting, which was by then deteriorating, was lost when the palace was destroyed by fire in 1698, but is known through two small copies commissioned by Charles II in 1667 from a mediocre Dutch artist, Remigius van Leemput.²¹ Holbein’s full-size cartoon of the two Kings survives,²² however, although it shows Henry VIII facing sideways rather than forwards, as in the finished mural. The dominating figure of the King was so realistic and majestic that visitors approaching the throne below the mural claimed they felt “abashed and annihilitated” ²³ by its power. This was the definitive image of Henry VIII—feet firmly apart, hands on hips, gazing with steely authority at the viewer—from which many subsequent portraits derived, and was in fact the first English state portrait, launching a royal tradition that continues to this day. The deliberate dissemination of this image may well have been government policy, but the evidence suggests that after the Reformation there was a popular demand for portraits of the King.

At Hampton Court, work was continuing on the royal apartments. The so-called Wolsey Closet, reconstructed in Victorian times from surviving fragments of Tudor interiors, gives some idea of the décor in the privy lodgings, with a plain stone fireplace; oak linenfold panelling; a carved Renaissance frieze bearing mermaids, dolphins, urns, and Wolsey’s motto; painted panels depicting Christ’s Passion; and a chequered gilded ceiling studded with Tudor roses, sunbursts, and Prince of Wales feathers, which must date from after 1537.

The Queen’s pregnancy progressed well. Late in May she appeared at Hampton Court in an open-laced gown, and on Trinity Sunday Te Deum was sung in St. Paul’s and other churches throughout the realm “for joy of the Queen’s quickening of child.”²⁴ But in June, there occurred another, more virulent outbreak of plague, which drove the court to Windsor and a fearful Jane to an over-rigorous observance of holy days and fast days, much to everyone’s concern. Lord Hussey wrote to Lady Lisle, “Your Ladyship could not believe how much the Queen is afraid of the sickness.” ²⁵ In London, the pestilence was killing off a hundred victims every week, and the King forbade anyone from the City to approach the court. He cancelled his plans for a large-scale hunting progress, concerned that the Queen, “being but a woman, upon some sudden and displeasant rumours that might by foolish or light persons be blown abroad in our absence, being so far from her, might take to her stomach such impressions as might engender no little danger or displeasure to the infant.”²⁶ Instead, he confined himself to short hunting trips, staying at houses within a sixty-mile radius of his wife. His companions found him in good spirits, behaving “more like a good fellow than a king.”²⁷

Meanwhile, Surrey was diverting the waiting court with his escapades. According to the late-sixteenth-century poets Thomas Nashe and Michael Drayton, while visiting the Lady Mary at Hunsdon in 1536, he had met a young maid of honour, Lady Elizabeth FitzGerald, the penniless ten-year-old daughter of the late Earl of Kildare. Surrey immediately conceived a romantic yet platonic affection for this child, and immortalised her in a sonnet as “Fair Geraldine,” in imitation of Petrarch’s love poems to Laura. The courtiers were intrigued by this odd affair, but even more amused when they learned that the hotheaded young Earl had been imprisoned at Windsor for punching Lord Beauchamp in the face within the verge of the court. Beauchamp had provoked the attack by suggesting that Surrey was sympathetic to Aske and his rebels; thanks to the intervention of Cromwell, and the fact that the Earl was known to be loyal, the King was inclined to be sympathetic. Surrey remained in confinement for only two weeks, and spent the time writing verses, among them the poignant poem recalling his years at Windsor with Richmond.

Lady Lisle, who had been unsuccessful the previous year, was still desperately trying to get her daughters, Anne and Katherine Basset, accepted in the Queen’s household. To this end, she assiduously dispatched braces of the quails Jane craved from Calais.²⁸While eating some at dinner one day, the Queen told the Lisles’ agent, John Husee, that she would take one of Lady Lisle’s girls as a maid of honour, but wished to see them both before deciding which. They were to travel from Calais and present themselves, suitably dressed, at court. The girl chosen must be “sober, sad, wise and discreet, and lowly above all things, and be obedient, and governed and ruled by my Lady Rutland and my Lady Sussex, and serve God and be virtuous, and be sober of tongue.”²⁹

The Queen ceremonially took to her chamber at Hampton Court on 16 September. To minimise the risk of plague, Henry moved with his riding household to Esher, where he would await news of the birth.³⁰ From there, he issued orders for a Garter stall to be prepared at Windsor for the expected prince.

On 17 September, Lady Lisle’s daughters arrived, and Jane chose the younger, Anne Basset, who had been educated in France and was highly accomplished. She was “a pretty young creature,” “fair, well-made, and behaveth her self so well that everybody praiseth her that seeth her.” The Queen had her sworn in, and commanded her mother to provide her with a new wardrobe—no French hoods or low necklines—and a maid. Anne was to become a popular figure at court, highly regarded by the King, and never lost her good reputation.

The Queen’s labour was long and hard, but at the end of it, at 2 A.M. on 12 October 1537, she gave birth to the long-awaited Prince. The King was jubilant, weeping with joy as he held his son for the first time, ³¹ and the country erupted in celebration. Hugh Latimer wrote, “We all hungered for a prince so long there was so much rejoicing as at the birth of John the Baptist.” Te Deum was again sung in St. Paul’s, a two-thousand-gun salute resounded from the Tower, church bells pealed out, bonfires were lit, free wine was distributed in London, and there were processions, street parties, and civic banquets. Meanwhile, royal messengers sped off to all parts of the realm with “the most joyful news that has come to England these many years.”³² The kingdom had an heir, and the Tudor dynasty was assured. The spectre of civil war, which had threatened for so many decades, retreated into oblivion.

The Prince was to be christened in the new chapel royal at Hampton Court. In 1535–1536, the King had converted Wolsey’s old chapel into a lavish Perpendicular masterpiece with Renaissance details and installed a beautiful oak fan-vaulted ceiling, carved by Richard Ridge and another master craftsman, Henry Corren,³³ and painted blue and gold, with drop pendants, piping putti, and the King’s motto, “Dieu et mon Droit,” on the arches. There were new stained glass windows, carved choir stalls and benches, paintings, tapestries, a black-and-white-chequered floor, and an organ. Pews for the King and Queen were set in a gallery above the main body of the chapel, which had crystal windows and was approached through two richly appointed “holyday closets” with battened and gilded ceilings.³⁴ The arms of the King and Queen were set in stone plaques either side of the chapel door, where they may be seen today.

The Prince was brought here on the evening of Sunday, 15 October, in a magnificent torchlit procession, led by knights, ushers, squires, and household officers, followed by bishops, abbots, and the clergy of the Chapel Royal, the entire Privy Council, foreign ambassadors, and many lords, among them the Earl of Wiltshire. Then came the Lady Elizabeth, just four, borne in the arms of Lord Beauchamp and carrying her brother’s richly embroidered white baptismal robe and the chrysom oil. The Prince followed, on a cushion held by the Marchioness of Exeter, with Norfolk supporting his head and Suffolk his feet, all walking under a canopy of cloth of gold supported by four Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber. The Prince’s long velvet train was carried by the Earl of Arundel, who was followed by the baby’s nurse, Sybil Penn, and the midwife who had delivered him. The Lady Mary, who was to be the Prince’s godmother, walked behind, attended by many ladies. Although there were four hundred people present, numbers had been restricted for fear of plague.

In the chapel royal, at midnight, Archbishop Cranmer baptised the Prince with the name Edward, after St. Edward the Confessor, in the silver-gilt font which had been set up on a dais draped with cloth of gold. Nearby was a cubicle formed of tapestries, in which were set a basin of perfumed water and a charcoal brazier, so that the infant should not catch cold when he was undressed. Suffolk, Norfolk, and Cranmer were godfathers. Garter King of Arms then cried: “God, of His almighty and infinite grace, give and grant good life and long to the right high, right excellent and noble Prince Edward, Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Chester, most dear and entirely beloved son to our most dread and gracious lord, King Henry VIII!”

After the final Te Deum, the procession re-formed and, to the sound of trumpets, the Prince was borne back to the Queen’s apartments, where his parents were waiting to receive him and their guests. The Queen, wearing a mantle of crimson velvet furred with ermine, was lying on a rich pallet bed, propped up on cushions of crimson damask and cloth of gold, with the King sitting beside her. After Jane had given her son her blessing, the King took him in his arms and, weeping for joy, blessed him in the name of God, the Virgin Mary, and St. George. The young Duchess of Suffolk then took the baby back to his nursery, and refreshments were served: hippocras and wafers for the nobility, bread and wine for the rest. Henry then gave alms to be distributed among the poor who had gathered at the palace gates. It was nearly morning before the guests kissed the hands of the King and Queen and departed.³⁵

Three days later, on 18 October, Prince Edward was proclaimed Prince of Wales,³⁶ although he would never be formally created as such. On the same day, several lords were ennobled. The Prince’s uncle, Lord Beauchamp, whose future prominence and influence were now assured, was created Earl of Hertford, and Sir William Fitzwilliam was promoted to Earl of Southampton. He had been appointed Lord High Admiral in place of Richmond in 1536; a portrait of him holding his staff of office, painted by Holbein in 1542, hung in his house at Cowdray, near Mid-hurst, Sussex.³⁷

The King also knighted several courtiers, notably Thomas Seymour, Hertford’s younger brother, an ambitious but dangerous hothead, who had until recently been in the service of Sir Francis Bryan. Henry now promoted him to the Privy Chamber, and used him on several diplomatic missions. Seymour was a lusty man, in great favour with the ladies, but shallow and unscrupulous, and ever jealous of his elder brother, in whose shadow he was doomed to live.

Thomas Wyatt was also knighted, and was given the dissolved abbey of Boxley, Kent, which he made his country seat. In 1537, his marriage to Elizabeth Brooke was finally dissolved, and he married Jane Haute, a distant connection of the King’s grandmother, Elizabeth Wydeville, queen of Edward IV. Despite his aversion for court life, Wyatt now made a career of diplomacy, and from 1537 to 1539 served as ambassador to Charles V.

Another rising courtier who was dubbed knight was William Parr, son of Sir Thomas Parr, a former Comptroller of the Household, and brother of the future Queen Katherine. Born in 1513, he had been educated at Cambridge; then, thanks to the influence of his uncle, William, Lord Parr of Horton, who made suit to Cromwell, he was admitted to the Privy Chamber. Both Cromwell and Norfolk recommended him for a knighthood. In 1526, Parr had married Anne, heiress of the last Bourchier Earl of Essex, whose title and vast estates Parr was to inherit.³⁸ A close ally of the Seymours, Parr was an amiable man with a “florid fancy and wit.”³⁹ He loved music and poetry, and aspired to be a soldier, but never showed much aptitude for a military career.

In the royal household, Sir William Paulet was now made Treasurer, while Sir John Russell was appointed Comptroller in his place.

Before her son was many days old, Queen Jane contracted puerperal fever, probably as a result of unhygienic obstetric methods employed during her confinement. Her attendants swathed her in furs and gave her the rich foods she asked for,⁴⁰ but her condition grew worse, and on 24 October she died. The King was at Hampton Court at the time, having postponed a hunting trip to Esher to be at her side. After her death, he immediately left for Whitehall, and shut himself away to mourn in private.⁴¹ Kings did not customarily attend the obsequies of their spouses.

Henry had observed only perfunctory mourning for his two previous wives, and since full-scale court mourning for a queen had not been decreed since the death of Elizabeth of York in 1503, Norfolk, who was in charge of the Queen’s obsequies because the King was “too broken” to order them, was obliged to ask Garter Herald to study precedents. The wearing of mourning garments was governed by sumptuary laws and complex household ordinances, many of them laid down by Lady Margaret Beaufort, who specified the length of trains; the size of hoods, which must not cover the face; and the width of mourning barbs, which could only be worn over the chin by ladies of noble estate.⁴² Mourning was issued to everyone in the royal household by the Great Wardrobe, in materials appropriate to the degree of the wearer. Kings wore purple or white mourning; everyone else wore black.

Jane Seymour’s solemn obsequies lasted for three weeks. Because long periods usually elapsed between the death and burial of a royal personage, the corpse was always embalmed. In 1503, the body of Elizabeth of York had been treated with certain chemicals, wrapped in seventy-five yards of waxed and spiced Holland cloth, then sealed in a lead coffin draped with a black velvet pall with a white damask cross.

Queen Jane’s body was dressed in gold tissue and laid out in her presence chamber, with a crown on her head and rings on her fingers. The Lady Mary, who was chief mourner, and the ladies of the Queen’s household took turns to keep perpetual vigil on their knees beside the bier, which was surrounded by twenty-one wax tapers, while dirges were sung and masses offered for the soul of the departed. The body remained in the presence chamber for a week before it was embalmed, coffined, and moved to the chapel royal, which had been hung with black cloth and decorated with rich images. Around the hearse were banners depicting the Queen’s noble lineage. A herald required all present, “of their charity,” to pray for their late mistress’s soul. Priests watched over the corpse by night, Mary Tudor and the ladies by day.

Regal funerals, like every other aspect of royal life, were occasions for magnificent display, designed to impress upon observers, through ceremonial processions, pageantry, heraldry, and pomp, the high status of the deceased, which was also reflected in elaborate tombs. It was customary for a wax effigy of the dead king or queen, complete with crown and sceptre, to be placed on the bier; such an effigy was carried at Jane Seymour’s funeral.

On 8 November, “in presence of many pensive hearts,” the body of the Queen was taken in a solemn procession to Windsor “with all the pomp and majesty that could be”; on 12 November it was buried in a vault in the choir of St. George’s Chapel. Norfolk ordered twelve thousand masses to be said in London churches for her soul,⁴³ while the King arranged for twelve to be said privately. Henry planned to raise a splendid tomb to his wife’s memory, bearing an effigy of Jane sweetly sleeping, surrounded by marble figures of children with baskets of the flowers she had loved so much,⁴⁴ but it was never built.

The Queen’s household, which, since her death, had been subject to the rule of the Lady Mary, was disbanded soon afterwards,⁴⁵ and her official jewels returned to the Jewel House; her personal jewellery was given to her family or distributed among her ladies. Mary herself returned to Hunsdon later in November, and for the next two years would be an infrequent visitor to court, since there was no queen to act as her chaperone.

Court mourning was decreed for a period of three months, until the day after Candlemas Day, 3 February 1538, when the King and everybody else appeared again in normal clothes.⁴⁶ After the funeral, Henry emerged from seclusion and was reported to be “in good health and merry as a widower may be.”⁴⁷ Already, he was considering taking another wife.