“Well, it is a strange affair, I grant you. This is very different from the Blount affair.”

“What of that child?”

“Doubtless we shall hear news of him some day, unless of course the Queen surprises us all and produces that elusive male heir.”

“Stranger things have been known to happen.”

Many furtive glances were sent in the Queen’s direction and the whispered gossip went on, but Katharine gave no sign that she was aware of this.

She felt sure that there would be other mistresses. That had become inevitable since she no longer appealed to the King as a woman; and because she could not safely suffer more pregnancies he was not interested in her.

She had her daughter Mary, and Mary would one day be Queen because it was impossible for the King to have a legitimate son. It was sad, but it was something they must accept.

This at least, she told herself, is the end of the Boleyn affair.


* * *

THE KING AND QUEEN sat at the banquet table; about them were assembled all the great personalities of their Court, for this was a ceremonial occasion. On the King’s right hand sat the Cardinal, and every now and then they would put their heads together to whisper something which was for their ears alone The complacent expression on the Cardinal’s face was apparent; there was little he liked more than these grand occasions when the King selected him from all others and showed his preference.

This was particularly delightful when the noblemen of the Court could look on and see the King’s reliance on him; and on this occasion the Duke of Buckingham was present, and he made no secret of his distaste for the King’s preference.

The musicians played as the sucking pig was brought in and ceased as it was placed on the table by the steward; homage to the dish was expressed by a respectful silence.

The King looked on the table with drowsy eyes; he had already partaken of many dishes and his face was flushed with wine. His bright blue eyes were slightly glazed as they rested on the group of young girls who sat together at some distance from him.

It seemed that he was no longer enamored of Mary Boleyn and that others might hope to take her place.

The Cardinal was aware of the King’s glances and rejoiced. He liked the King to have his pleasures. He had no desire for him to discover that statecraft could be more absorbing than the pursuit of women; when he did, that could mean a slowing down in Wolsey’s rapid journey to the heights of power.

Wolsey wished his King to remain the healthy, active boy—the young man who could tire out five horses a day at the hunt, who could be an easy victor at the joust, who could beat all his opponents at a game of tennis; and whose thoughts ran on the pursuit of women.

Thomas More had said once: “If the lion knew his strength, it would be hard for any man to rule him.”

No one knew the truth of this better than Wolsey. Therefore he planned to keep the lion unaware of his strength. At the moment he was so. Not through any lack of conceit but because it was so pleasant to be a figure of glory in the tiltyard, at the masques and balls, and to leave state matters to the efficient Cardinal. Why should he tire his eyes by studying state papers? Wolsey was the man for that. The King had often said with a rumbling laugh that a state document could bring a brighter shine to Wolsey’s eyes than any wench could.

It pleased Henry that the shrewd Cardinal should be the perfect complement to the dazzling King. But the lion must not know his strength.

Wolsey looked about the company and his eyes came to rest on the Queen. There was one of whom he must be wary. Relations between them had been less cordial since the friendship of England with France, for, like the good Spaniard that she was, Katharine hated the French. She looked at Europe and saw the only two rulers of consequence there—François Premier and the Emperor Charles—and she knew that they must inevitably be the most bitter of enemies. Each fought for power and there would be continual strife between them. It was Katharine’s great desire that England should be the ally of her nephew Charles; and she had blamed Wolsey for the rapprochement with François which had led to that fantastic spectacle at Guisnes and Ardres. She had been cool with him, a little arrogant, and would have to learn in time that none was allowed to show arrogance towards the great Cardinal—not even the Queen.

Rarely had the Cardinal felt so contented as he did at this banquet. He was climbing high and would go higher, never forgetting that the ultimate goal was the Papal chair, for once he had attained it he would be free from the whims of the King of England. Until then he must feign to submit to them.

He shall be kept in ignorance, thought Wolsey. Such blissful ignorance. Those bright blue eyes must be kept shining for conquest in the tiltyard and the ladies’ chambers; they must not discover the delights of statecraft until the Cardinal had become the Pope.

The King’s plump white hands were greasy with sucking pig; he called for music, and the minstrels began to play one of his songs, which could not fail to increase his good humour.

How easy to handle! thought Wolsey, and his eyes met those of Buckingham who gave him a haughty stare.

Buckingham turned towards Norfolk who was sitting beside him and made a comment which Wolsey knew was derogatory to himself. But Buckingham was a fool. He had spoken during the playing of the King’s music.

“You do not like the song?” demanded Henry, his eyes suddenly narrowed.

“Your Grace,” answered Buckingham suavely, “I was but commenting on its charm.”

“It spoils the pleasure of others when you drown the music with your chatter,” grumbled the King.

“Then,” answered Buckingham, “would Your Grace allow the musicians to play it again that all may hear it in silence?”

Henry waved a hand and the tune was repeated.

Fool Buckingham! thought Wolsey. He was heading straight for trouble.

The Cardinal excelled at collecting information about those he wished to destroy. His spy ring was notorious throughout the Court. Did Buckingham think that because he was a noble duke—as royal as the King, as he loved to stress—he was immune from it?

The music over, the King rose from the banqueting table. On such an occasion it was the duty of one of his gentlemen to bring a silver ewer in which he might wash his hands. The duty was performed by noblemen of the highest rank, and on this occasion the task fell to the Duke of Buckingham.

The ewer was handed to Buckingham by one of his ushers; he took it and bowed before Henry who washed his hands as was the custom.

When the King had finished, the Cardinal, who had been standing beside Henry, put his hands into the bowl and proceeded to wash them.

For a few seconds Buckingham was too astonished to do anything but stand still holding the bowl. Then a slow flush spread from his neck to his forehead. He, the great Duke of Buckingham, who believed himself more royal than Henry Tudor, to hold the ewer for a man who had been born in a butcher’s shop!

In an access of rage he threw the greasy water over the Cardinal’s shoes, drenching his red satin robe as he did so.

There was silence. Even the King looked on astonished.

The Cardinal was the first to recover. He turned to Henry and murmured: “A display of temper, Your Grace, by one who thinks himself privileged to show such in your presence.”

Henry had walked away and the Cardinal followed him.

Buckingham stood staring after them.

“’Tis a sad day for England,” he muttered, “when a noble duke is expected to hold the ewer for a butcher’s cur.”


* * *

IN THE KING’S PRIVATE CHAMBER, Henry was laughing.

“’Twas a merry sight, Thomas, to see you there with the water drenching your robes.”

“I am delighted to have provided Your Grace with some amusement,” murmured Wolsey.

“I have rarely seen you so astonished. As for Buckingham, he was in a rage.”

“And in your presence!”

Henry clapped a hand on Wolsey’s shoulder. “I know Buckingham. He was never one to hold in his temper. And when you…Thomas Wolsey…not a member of the nobility, dipped your hands into the bowl…”

“As Your Grace’s Chancellor…”

“Buckingham pays more respects to a man’s family tree than to his attainments, Thomas.”

“Well I know it, for the man’s a fool, and I thank the saints nightly that this realm has been blessed with a ruler who is of such wisdom.”

The King smiled almost roguishly. “As for me, Thomas, I care not whether men come from butchers’ shops or country mansions. I am the King, and all my subjects are born beneath me. I look down on one and all.”

“Even on Buckingham!”

“Why do you say that, Thomas?”

“Because the Duke has strange notions about his birth. He fancies himself to be as royal as Your Grace.”

The roguishness disappeared and a look of cruelty played about the tight little mouth. “You said Buckingham was a fool, Thomas. We are once again in agreement.”

Now it was Thomas’s turn to smile.

He believed the time had come to make an end of his enemy.


* * *

THE CARDINAL allowed a few weeks to pass; then one day he came to the King in pretended consternation.

“What ails you, Thomas?” asked Henry.

“I have made discoveries, Your Grace, which I hesitate to lay before you, of such a shocking nature are they.”

“Come, come,” said the King testily; he was in a white silk shirt and purple satin breeches, puffed and slashed, ready for a game of tennis.