The Clicket-Gate Chronicles

The Church taught that women's bodies ran hot and thus they always desired sex and acts of fornication. Thus marriage and sex within marriage was the only way to control a woman's desires. Women were forbidden to have sex during Lent, Advent, Feast Days, Fast Days, Easter Week, Sundays, Wednesdays and Saturdays... Women were also forbidden to have sex when they were menstruating, pregnant, and for a 40-day period after giving birth or when they were breastfeeding.  Free sex days= Lady Day; May Day, and alternate Tuesdays.

The Church believed that both men AND women needed to produce seed to create a child; it was therefore necessary that a woman obtained an orgasm. The burning and eternal question was (and perhaps is), how do we achieve this? The survival of the Tudor Dynasty depends on this singular goal.

CAST

Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury.

An unemployed privateer (“Sea Dog”), Sir Percy Januvia.

Sir William Butts, physician to HRH King Henry VIII. 

Thomas Cromwell, statesman and lawyer who later would serve the King as his chief minister.

Pope Clement VII, in absentia.

Lady Margaret Butts, wife of Sir William

Viscountess Prudence (“Prue”) Cavendish, confidante of Lady Margaret Butts

Hans Holbein, official portrait painter of the court

SCENE

1525, Hampton Court, in the London Borough of Richmond upon Thames, 12 miles outside of London. A group of distinguished, richly dressed gentlemen intend to convene in a cozy, wood-paneled room located in the depths of Hampton Court.

Sir William sits at a long wooden table with legs of ornate carvings. A cozy fire emits an occasional crackle that punctuates the relative silence of the room. He shuffles through a few sheafs of heavy parchment, pausing intermittently to scribble furiously in a large, bound blank book. A series of pounding knocks reverberates through the quiet space. BANG, BANG, BANG!

SIR WILLIAM: (irritated) Yes?

CRANMER:(yelling) It is I, and with me Thomas Cromwell accompanied by a misbegotten pirate, Sir Percy Januvia. We present to conversate regarding the recent edict of His Eminence, Pope Clement VII. 

SIR WILLIAM: (languidly) Which one, prithee? Currently Rome is lousy with edicts; he likely issues no fewer than three by the day.

CRANMER: (in an audible whisper) The Proclamation Regarding the VaGIna!

CROMWELL: Not the vagina, it’s the vulva (also shouting)!

JANUVIA: Aye! It be somewhere in the vicinity of the vulva wherein pleasure resides!

CRANMER: Ahem; not quite, Sir Percy. The Eastern Synod of 1252 hath determined–

SIR WILLIAM: (impatiently and loudly) Gentlemen! I do believe the French caught wind of thy clamour. Speak softly! Enter forthwith with dignity, for God’s sake. We have much to cover in but a brief time.

CROMWELL: (entering calmly first) We will steer straight to the heart of the matter, Sir William.

CRANMER: His Eminence received information about a matter most vital to His Royal Highness at this critical juncture when he doth desire to fulfill one wish before all else: to sire a true and rightful heir.

SIR WILLIAM: Who does not have a vagina.

CRANMER: (singsongy) One stillborn male, another miscarried; a son Henry who lived not 60 days before drawing his final breath.

SIR WILLIAM: (shrugging) This be known to all, Thomas. 

CROMWELL: (conspiratorially) As we were saying, His Eminence is in receipt of a startling revelation based in fact that can alter the current fateful course of King Henry’s destiny and, in turn, benefit the fortunes of we three.

SIR WILLIAM: And what of him? (jerking his head in JANUVIA’s direction)

JANUVIA: I be here, godly Sir, to navigate.

SIR WILLIAM: (raising an eyebrow) Navigate?

CRANMER: Percy is an aspiring explorer presently without employ but eager to enlighten us.

SIR WILLIAM: Januvia, can you do us the honor of pointing to Scotland on this map (produces a heavy tome the size of a Galapagos turtle and flips to the beginning of the book).

JANUVIA: (flustered, stammering) Sir William, this map is devoid of label.

SIR WILLIAM: Precisely the point. If you are the seasoned explorer you dissemble to be, I have full confidence in your success. Where, prithee, is Scotland?

JANUVIA: (scanning the map, then confidently) It be here, my liege. (taps his index finger definitively on the open page).

SIR WILLIAM: That is your final answer?

JANUVIA: Aye.

SIR WILLIAM: That, my friend, is the home of the heathen Turk (slams heavy atlas shut). Prithee, Sir Percy, have you yourself ever engaged in sexual congress?

JANUVIA: (thoughtfully) Not with a vagina per se, no.

SIR WILLIAM (purses lips and widens his eyes ever so slightly) I see. Your presence, then, is no longer required to discuss this matter, which does in fact focus solely on the female genitalia. If you are unable to locate Scotland on a common map, how will you ever find the clitoris?

CROMWELL: (leaning in to whisper into Sir William’s ear) Sir William, Januvia is my wife’s lubberwort brother. He is here out of deference to my kickie-wickie; I would be truly humbled if you deign to tolerate his benign presence. (Sir William fleetingly raises his right hand with a dismissive wave to indicate assent).

CRANMER: I heard tell the physick whom did send Pope Clement his urgent findings resides in the East.

CROMWELL: Perhaps in Arabia.

CRANMER: Or serves as personal physician to the Sultan.

SIR WILLIAM: So he clearly knoweth of which he speaks.

CROMWELL: We bring both written decree and a map.

CRANMER: (musing lasciviously and dreamily) Imagine what a master such as Holbein could wrought with the delicate subject matter at hand.

SIR WILLIAM: Ah yes, I can picture it anon (holding both hands, thumbs extended, in front of him as if framing a painting): Anne Boleyn, legs akimbo, her Netherlands on full display for esteemed members of the Court, preserved for perpetuity.

(HANS HOLBEIN, portrait painter of Henry’s Court, bursts into the room wearing a green velvet doublet, short trousers, mustard-yellow stockings, and codpiece. He holds a long paintbrush with an extended hand directly in front of him and noisily carries an easel with the other, in stereotypical artiste fashion) Did someone request my services?

SIR WILLIAM: (irritated) Not now, Hans, begone with you! (HOLBEIN retreats as swiftly as he entered, backing out of the room whilst still holding in front of him the proverbial paintbrush for perspective).

CROMWELL: (wistfully) And what we would not give to steal but a fleeting glimpse of her belle-chose.

SIR WILLIAM: It certainly has captivated many an ardent suitor, forsooth.

CROMWELL: (musing) If woman in fact runs “hot,” as noted by the oriental physick, why doth my wife have feet of blocks of ice whilst slumbering beside me?

SIR WILLIAM: (wearily) Because, Cromwell, their passions doth burn whilst the lower extremities freeze, a phenomenon well known. Provide thine wife with a pair of stockings and her braying will cease. Show me the decree and diagram, I weary of fruitless banter.

CROMWELL: Sir William, we present an arresting visual depiction, hand-drawn by the learned, anonymous doctor (he ceremoniously produces a long, thick roll of  parchment and unfurls it on the table before Sir William). Of the orientation, I am unsure if it is best viewed in portrait or landscape mode. (he turns the picture 180 degrees to the left and then to the right, chuckling sheepishly). I must say, never have I examined the trench in such detail. Although I am highly familiar with it, being a virile male.

SIR JANUVIA: (peering over Cromwell’s shoulder to obtain a closer look) How now! It hath teeth, my lord!

SIR WILLIAM: It offers many features, Januvia, dentata decidedly not amongst them. Rest assured, should you ever have the fortune to encounter one in the proverbial flesh, it will not bite. Horatio! (after calling out, he extends the crook of his arm upon which his trained pet crow enters through an open window to alight on his forearm with an emphatic ca-CAW).

CROMWELL: Allow me to read the meat, if you will, of the decree by Anonymous Physick via His Eminence: “It being an accepted fact that both husband and wyfe must release their respective seeds in unison to ensure a healthy and viable conceptus. It is the duty of Husbande to carry the Wyfe over the threshold of pleasure, to induce la petite mort, as she will then release her seed as he does his in copious measure.”

SIR WILLIAM: Thank you, Cromwell. (turning to address a seemingly bewildered Januvia) You appear lost in the wilderness, man; we will prepare a useful lexicon for your benefit as you are the sole amongst us to have never taken a maiden’s token.

CRANMER: (whispering) It is therefore of the highest urgency for her to cum, to put it directly.

CROMWELL: It is a point of pride, by my troth: I hath delivered my wyfe of pleasure at least three times, as evidenced by our living children, Gregory, Anne, and Grace (boastfully).

CRANMER: (doubtfully) The edict perhaps is aspirational rather than prescriptive, Sir William.

SIR WILLIAM: (impatiently) Lest we descend into petty squabbles, good men, kneel we must at the Altar of Venus.

CROMWELL: (clapping his hands together delightedly) Well played, Sir William! 

SIR WILLIAM: Upon reflection, this information I strongly doubt, good sirs. My wife the Lady Margaret and I have two strong children and another babe en route, and I assure you, she has never experienced a single scintilla of pleasure with me in all our years of marriage (proudly leaning back in his stately chair and folding his arms defiantly across his chest).

[An awkward silence descends as the three other men react with facial expressions conveying confusion]

CRANMER: [doubtfully, in a hushed voice] If I may be so bold to suggest, Sir William, the Pope is infallible. Thus, any edict issued from him cannot be questioned or deemed false. Methinks you may have inadvertently induced pleasure in thy good wyfe, who no doubt doth expresse modestly herself befitting her elevated social standing….? 

SIR WILLIAM: [stubbornly] Is this a question, Cranmer, or a truth? At the risk of heresy, I swear on this bible she doth lay still as a spent trout having breathed his last. Perfectly still, her body rigid and unmoving.

CROMWELL: Hmmm...If I may humbly suggest, my Lord, my wyfe have I seen her entire personage go completely still, her breath shallow, the limbs taut as if seizure is imminent, before surrendering her whole selfe to paroxysms of bliss [CRANMER quickly removes a handkerchief from his wide belt and dabs sweat from his glistening brow]. This you may have witnessed and mistook her actions for indifference, or even distress.

CRANMER: Do go on, Cromwell [hoarsely].

CROMWELL: I do tell the truth, Cranmer.

CRANMER: No no, I meant to say, continue with your description–it be intriguing to me [with prurience and clearly aroused].

SIR WILLIAM: Enough! I grow weary of this tiresome banter. It moves the needle not. 

CRANMER: [chuckling] I do feel now compelled to move my needle. 

CROMWELL: Keep thy needle in its pincushion, Cranmer! [continuing the double entendres]

CRANMER: [giggling] I believe I will, sir, until I canst remove it gingerly and doth employ as a rod with which to divine rapture! [adjusting his sizable codpiece]

SIR WILLIAM: Good God! If thine knowledge was measured in bawdy quips, I would be convinced ye both be expertes. Which thou art not. Allow me to inspect the diagram to assess its veracity. [he smooths his hands over the parchment]

[SIR WILLIAM scans the large scroll and uses a variety of instruments–sextant, compass, protractor, measuring points and confirming his calculations by scribbling furiously on a separate blank parchment and muttering to himself. The three men hover behind him, anxiously peering over his shoulder] 

SIR WILLIAM: [shrugging] It seemeth copacetic, goode sirs. I will present His Eminence’s decree to His Highness this very night. [he grabs an official wax seal and affixes it to the document, to feeble applause by CROMWELL, CRANMER, and SIR JANUVIA]

[CUT to the bed chamber of LADY MARGARET BUTTS, the heavily pregnant wyfe of Sir William, enjoying a cup of coffee in front of a fireplace with her best friend, VISCOUNTESS PRUDENCE (Prue)]

PRUE: Did the gentleman receive His Eminence’s edict?

LADY MARGARET: (extracting a small scroll from her ample bosom and unfurling it) He did indeed, dear Prue. 

PRUE: Thank you, O learned physick of the Orient.

LADY MARGARET: You are most welcome, friend.