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Charles Brandon (1484 – ), one of the greatest noblemen in England and brother-in-law to the king through his wife Mary Tudor, Henry’s sister.

A blundering hearty, a big man with a big beard. Six of seven years older than Henry, you are one of the tiltyard stars he looks up to when he is a young lad just taking up dangerous sports. Your relationship with him is warm and brotherly.

Hilary Mantel, notes on character

We learn that Wolsey, the king and Charles Brandon are all giants among men. In 1529, he’s turning the cardinal out of York Place, temporarily obstructed and delayed by a sly lawyer called Cromwell.

Wolsey hopefully considers the precedents set by other marriages set aside. Brandon is now married to the king’s sister. But he “had an earlier alliance put aside in circumstances that hardly bear inquiry.”

The king’s best mate tends to want what the king wants. So when the tide turns against Wolsey in 1529, at the legatine court, he is yelling at the cardinal. And later in October, he comes with Norfolk for the Great Seal of England. We have returned to the events of Visitation.

“I like a good fire”, Suffolk tells Cromwell, as he takes Wolsey’s chimney man into his household. Always helpful, that Charles Brandon. Later, when Brandon makes a joke about the cardinal in front of the king, Cromwell is there to remove the sting: “My lord, they tell that story all over Italy. Of this cardinal, or that.”

‘There are bad times for proud prelates,’' says Brandon, when next they meet. He sounds jaunty, a man whistling to keep his courage up. ‘We need no cardinals in this realm.’

That smarts. That riles the cardinal Wolsey. It was he, “a simple cardinal”, who kept Brandon’s head attached to his body when Suffolk married the king’s sister without the king’s permission.

Brandon, Cromwell says, “can’t fit my life together.” He thinks me some “Jewish peddler”.

Brandon is marries to the king’s sister and the king’s sister wants nothing to do with Lady Anne. “She will never appear, my wife, in the train of that harlot.” Henry sends him away: “Leave us now and come back when you are master of yourself.” It’s Cromwell’s job to make Charles master himself.

He agrees to say his wife is ill and go to Calais alone.

‘My lord, be guided by me.’
Brandon grunts. ‘We all are. We must be. You do everything, Cromwell. You are everythhing now. We say, hhow did it happen? We ask ourselves.’ The duke sniffs. ‘We ask ourselves, but by thhe steaming blood of Christ we have no bloody answer.’

Charles Brandon, Constable of England, mounted on his white horse and ready to ride into the hall among them. He is a huge, blazing presence, from which he withdraws his sight; Charles, he thinks, will not outlive me either.

Brandon’s wife, the king’s sister, is dead. He has already re-married, an heiress of fourteen, who was “betrothed to his son, but Charles thought an experienced man like him could turn her to better use.”

Lady Rochford quips that he has her “every time he sees her… If I judge by the startled expression on her face.”

Later in the year, Brandon is sent up country to get Katherine to move house. He is miserable to be away from his bride in holiday time. He writes back to London. “When his letter is read out to the council, he, Cromwell, bursts out laughing. The sheer joy of it carries him into the new year.”

Suffolk is keeping a low profile down in the country, chased by his debts. “It is bliss to think of: two dukes on the run from him.”

An unhappy Brandon forms part of the committee to put the oath one last time to Thomas More. He looks “as if he would as soon be fishing.” Drips are spoiling his hat. “Christ, what a place.”

At Greenwich, Brandon marches in wearing his armour and telling the king that Katherine is dying and he, Henry, can soon get rid of Anne and marry into France. Chapuys hears all this and Cromwell tries to stop him.

He takes a grip on Brandon. He is a head shorter. He doesn’t think he can move half a ton of idiot, still padded and partly armed. But it seems he can, he can move him fast, fast, and try to get him out of earshot of the ambassador, whose face is astonished.

Brandon puts Cromwell in his place: ‘Get back to your abacus, Cromwell… you are a common man of no status, and the king himself says so, you are not fit to talk to princes.’

He knows Brandon’s words will go round in his head when that head touches the pillow… Brandon can make a racket, unreproved, near the royal person; he can slap the king on the back and call him Harry; he can chuckle with him over ancient jests and tilt-yard escapades. But chivarly’s day is over.

A new addition to Cromwell’s banquet: ‘It’s Duke Dishpan.’ Welcome, my lord Suffolk. ‘Take a seat. Careful not to get crumbs in that great beard of yours.’

St George’s Day. ‘Cromwell, we have had our differences. But I always did say to Harry Tudor, now take note of Cromwell, let him not go down with his ingrate master, for Wolsey has taught him his tricks and he may be useful to you accordingly.’

Brandon thinks now that he made Cromwell rich, who in turn made Harry rich. Cromwell asks who he will vote for in the chapter of the Garter. ‘Depend on me,’ Suffolk says with a strenuous wink.

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