Stand by the road close to Calais, halfway between Guines and Ardres, facing north-east. What do you see? A flat, featureless agricultural landscape, with the village of Guines a mile or so to your left and Ardres a similar distance to your right. A plain granite slab marks the spot, inscribed

CAMP DU DRAP D’OR

1520

FIELD OF CLOTH OF GOLD

Other than that, there is not the slightest hint that you are standing on the site of one of the most spectacular and famous events of the sixteenth century. Fabulously expensive, it was also ephemeral and no trace of it survived, even a few years after it took place. A similar, although more gradual, fate awaited the vast hoard of plate and jewels that filled Whitehall and the Tower jewel house as Henry VIII lay dying in January 1547: a century later hardly a trace of it remained. How could this be?

Despite its vast scale, despite the artfulness of many of the pieces in the king's personal keeping and the historic resonance of some of the treasures in the jewel house, it would be a mistake to regard the royal plate as a collection in the modern sense. For plate and jewels were infinitely recyclable and, ultimately, were mainly prized for their intrinsic value. This differentiated them fundamentally from other things and meant that goldsmiths’ work, although admired as things of beauty and virtuosity, was primarily seen as a resource. It is for this reason that the inventories are often thin on description but scrupulous in recording weight and counting precious stones.

The destruction of Henry's plate was a continual process. Against the overall pattern of ever-increasing holdings, there were many occasions when the graph dipped and large quantities of plate were dispatched to the mint to meet a national emergency: 57,000 ounces in 1536 at the time of the Pilgrimage of Grace, for example, or some 72,000 between 1542 and 1544 to help fund the war with France. There were also many occasions when royal plate was given away or melted down to be remade in new fashions.