We see that the crowd dispersing after Anne Boleyn’s execution in the opening pages (“time for a second breakfast”) will gather again at its close. We can already tell the shape of this book. “The times being what they are, a man may enter the gate as your friend and change sides while he crosses the courtyard.” As for clothes, best try a reversible garment: “one never knows, is it dying or dancing?” Cromwell lives these years with henchmen at his back, and guards at every door. Taking opponents in his grasp like the snake whose poisoned bite he once survived, he must manoeuvre his arch-enemies the Duke of Norfolk and Stephen Gardiner. He must reconcile Lady Mary to her father the king, bring down two of the most powerful families in Europe, turn monks into money, prevent imperial invasion, organise a new queen. Over four years, 1536-40, his tasks include the seemingly impossible.
“But it’s useful wreckage, isn’t it?” and now Cromwell uses it, strenuously remodelling catastrophes as opportunities.
Bring Up the Bodies closed with bloodshed and wreckage.
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