Again Chris confessed he did not know.

"Ah, sir!" said Morris reflectively, as if he had received a
satisfactory answer. "And there was his saddle, Mr. Christopher, with
silver-gilt stirrups, and red velvet, set on my lord's mule. And there
was the Red Hat borne in front by another gentleman. At mass, too, he
would be served by none under the rank of an earl; and I heard that he
would have a duke sometimes for his lavabo. I heard Mr. Ralph say that
there was more than a hundred and fifty carts that went with the Lord
Cardinal up to Cawood, and that was after the King's grace had broken
with him, sir; and he was counted a poor man."

Chris asked what was in the carts.

"Just his stuff, sir," said Mr. Morris reverentially.

The servant seemed to take a melancholy pleasure in recounting these
glories, but was most discreet about the political aspects of Wolsey,
although Chris tried hard to get him to speak, and he would neither
praise nor blame the fallen prelate; he was more frank, however, about
Campeggio, who as an Italian, was a less dangerous target.

"He was not a good man, I fear, Mr. Christopher. They told some very
queer tales of him when he was over here. But he could ride, sir, Master
Maxwell's man told me, near as well as my Lord of Canterbury himself.
You know they say, sir, that the Archbishop can ride horses that none of
his grooms can manage. But I never liked to think that a foreigner was
to be sent over to do our business for us, and more than ever not such
an one as that."