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The dog lifted its head as the footsteps approached. He had been dozing in the porch, long experience fooling him into believing there would be no traffic at this time of night. The gates to the city had been closed, and respectable citizens were secure behind their front doors. A younger dog would have jumped up and alerted its owners by barking, but this dog was old and less inclined to be curious. His grey-flecked ears pricked and his nose twitched as he tried to pick up a scent over the stink of the unpaved street’s detritus. The footsteps came nearer, and mindful of his duty at last, the dog rose stiffly to his feet and growled.
The growl halted the footsteps. A surprised laugh came out of the darkness, and a voice said softly, ‘Well, boy. You with us still?’
The stranger came closer, an arm held out, the glove removed. The dog’s dry nose pressed against the silvery pale hand and, despite its long absence, recognised the scent. His tongue slapped wetly at the appendage. The fingers edged beneath his grizzled chin and scratched, then moved around his jaw to tug gently at his soft, malleable ear.
‘It is good to see you, boy. Rest you easy now. Go back to sleep.’
The dog was reluctant to lose the caress and pushed his face into the folds of the man’s cloak as he stepped inside the porch and knocked on the door. A bolt was drawn back and the door opened. A rushlight cast a weak yellow glow over the face of the woman who appeared in the doorway.
‘Who’s there?’ she called nervously.
‘Bess, it’s me.’
The woman lifted the rushlight higher, squinting into the dark. ‘Thomas?’
‘Aye,’ Thomas Wolsey said. ‘Will you let me in, sister, or must I bed down with old Growler here?’
Elizabeth Wolsey stepped back and let Thomas inside. Growler tried to follow, but she thrust him back, ignoring his whine, and shut the door upon him.
‘Why did you not let us know you were arriving tonight?’ Elizabeth scolded as she bolted the door and led Thomas into the parlour. ‘I have made nothing ready for you. No bed, no supper—’
‘’Tis no matter.’ Thomas slipped his leather bag from his shoulder and untied his cloak. ‘I had thought of writing to say I was coming, but there seemed little point. I would have been but a mile behind the letter. I thought I would surprise you instead.’
‘Well, you have certainly done that.’ Elizabeth took his cloak and withdrew into the hallway to hang it up. She came back and looked him up and down, her light brown eyes missing nothing. ‘You’re a little thinner than you used to be.’
Thomas smoothed his hand over his stomach. ‘An Oxford scholar’s life is a meagre one. We have our allotted meat and fish and are granted no more.’
‘Oh, it must be such a hard life at your college.’
Thomas smiled at her scorn. ‘I am grown used to it. And Mother always said I could do with losing a little weight. Where is she?’
Elizabeth’s face fell. ‘Upstairs with Father. She went up to him after we supped. She knows . . . we all know he will be gone soon.’
Thomas rubbed his forehead. ‘Is he so very ill?’
She nodded. ‘I think he has only been waiting for you to arrive. You should have come sooner, Thomas.’
‘I am here now,’ he said, knowing he failed to keep the irritation out of his voice. ‘I should like to see him.’
‘I’ll take you up.’
Thomas followed Elizabeth into the hallway and up the stairs, the wooden treads creaking beneath their feet. The bedroom was at the top of the house, three flights up. They were both breathing heavily as they reached the top chamber, its sloping walls dressed with canvas hangings painted with green and white stripes.
‘Mother,’ Elizabeth said, keeping her voice low. ‘Thomas is here.’
Joan Wolsey sat by the four-poster bed on a high-backed chair. She half rose as Thomas entered, then seemed to change her mind and sank back, holding her arms out for him instead. He crossed the small room in three strides and kissed her cheek, his eyes already on his father in the bed.
‘Oh, Thomas, we were not expecting you—’ Joan began.
‘I have already told him so, Mother,’ Elizabeth cut her off sharply. ‘Where is that stool?’ She looked around the room, found the stool beneath a heap of blankets, and set it down behind Thomas.
‘He’s so thin,’ Thomas said softly as he sat.
Joan sniffed and wiped her nose with her handkerchief. ‘He lost his appetite a while ago and was only eating because he had to. And this last week or so, he has not been able to keep any food down, so . . . ’ She shrugged, seeing there was no need to explain further.
‘Can the physician do nothing?’ Thomas asked.
‘Your father is dying, Thomas,’ his mother said wearily. ‘There is nothing to be done.’
‘The priest was here earlier to give him the last rites,’ Elizabeth said.
‘It will be soon.’ Joan laid her cold hand on Thomas’s arm. ‘I am glad you managed to get here before he goes.’
Thomas’s father stirred. ‘Who’s here?’ he mumbled, opening his rheumy eyes.
Joan leant towards him. ‘It’s Thomas, Robert. He’s come home to see you.’
Robert’s eyes found Thomas. ‘I want to talk to him.’
‘Are you strong enough?’ Joan asked worriedly.
‘Yes, go.’
Joan rose without another word, and she and Elizabeth left the bedchamber, both casting glances back through the banisters as they descended the stairs. Thomas moved nearer the bed, wishing his father had not woken, wishing he had delayed his arrival even longer so he would not have to have this conversation, for he knew what his father would say.
Robert pushed himself up to a sitting position, the effort wearying him a great deal. He sank into his pillow with a grunt. ‘You are not yet a priest, Tom, and ’tis past time you were. Do not look away, boy. You will be a priest.’
Thomas took a deep breath, annoyed as much by the ‘boy’ as his father’s other words. ‘And if I do not want to be a priest?’
‘Why would you say such a thing? The priesthood is what you have been trained for, what you have been educated for. Well,’ Robert demanded impatiently when Thomas again looked away, ‘what else would you do?’
‘I have not thought on it, Father. Take up the law, perhaps.’
‘Be a lawyer!’ Robert spat, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. ‘Crooks, all of them.’
It had been a mistake to say the law; Thomas had known it as soon as he had spoken, but it was the first thing to spring to mind. Robert had a very poor opinion of the legal profession, for he had so often been caught on its wrong side. Thomas suspected he had been told of only a few of the allegations made against Robert for his business dealings. He knew his father had once been taken to court for keeping a bawdy house, an accusation not proven and one which Thomas did not consider likely, as well as being prosecuted for selling meat during Lent, which Thomas thought was probably justified.
‘Why this doubt now?’ Robert asked. ‘You love God, do you not?’
‘Of course I do,’ Thomas replied without hesitation.
‘Then why would you not want to serve him as a priest?’
Thomas could not say why, not to his father. He wouldn’t understand.
‘Nothing to say? No clever argument? Come, argue, debate with me. Is that not what clever fellows like you do up at Oxford?’
‘You do not have the strength for such talk, Father, please.’
‘Do not ‘Father, please’ me. You will be ordained, Tom,’ Robert said, jabbing his finger at him. ‘I would have you say masses for me.’
‘But Father—’
‘Do you want me to remain in Purgatory?’ Robert croaked, and Thomas could hear the fear in his voice. Robert began to cough again, and bright red blood speckled the bed sheet.
There were rapid footsteps on the stairs. Thomas turned to see Joan hurrying into the chamber, Elizabeth close behind. Joan pushed Thomas out of the way, and he watched as his mother tended to his father, unable to take his eyes from them. Robert’s coughing lessened but only, it seemed, because he had not the strength to continue. He fell back against the pillows, his eyes closed, his mouth flapping open. His breathing slowed, and his eyes remained shut.
Joan straightened, her chest heaving, and looked at her children. ‘You may as well go,’ she said sadly. ‘There is nothing you can do.’
‘We will stay, Mother,’ Elizabeth declared, her voice crackly with emotion.
‘You two go downstairs,’ Joan said, her tone commanding. ‘Thomas, you must be hungry after your journey. Bess, see that your brother has something to eat.’
Thomas was only too glad to be given permission to leave the death chamber and touched Elizabeth’s hand as an encouragement to move. She jerked at his touch but followed him down the stairs.

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