Now proud Norfolk and Suffolk had taken a step backwards that the newly created Duke might stand alone as one whose titles would henceforth set him above them; he would now be known as the first peer of the land, and his titles were impressive: Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond and Somerset, Lord High Admiral of England, Wales, Ireland, Normandy, Gascony and Aquitaine, Knight of the Garter, and first peer of England.

There was a buzz of excitement throughout Court circles which extended to the streets of the city.

Even in the taverns the importance of the ceremony was understood.

“This means one thing: The King, despairing of sons by his wife, honored Elizabeth Blount’s boy.”

“Note the significance of that title—Richmond,” it was whispered. “The King’s father was Duke of Richmond before he became King. Depend upon it, the King has decided that that boy shall one day wear the crown.”

“It is not possible while Mary lives.”

“If the King decrees, it will be possible. None will dare gainsay him. And this ceremony is to prepare his people for what he intends to bring about.”

“The people would not accept the boy while Mary lives.”

“The people will accept what the King wishes. It is better not to argue against the King. Remember Buckingham.”

The name of Buckingham could still send shivers through most bodies.

And so it was generally agreed that the ceremony at Bridewell was a first step in the direction the King intended to go as regards his illegitimate son.


* * *

KATHARINE WHO COULD often suffer in silence on her own account could not do so on her daughter’s.

She faced the King boldly on the first opportunity when they were alone and declared her horror and fear at the recognition given to Henry Fitzroy.

“You forget,” Henry told her coldly, “that the Duke of Richmond is my son.”

“Should you be so proud to call him so?”

“Yes, Madam. Proud I am and always shall be. For his birth gave me the answer I sought. It is no fault of mine that I have no legitimate son.”

“And so you had this one merely to prove this?” she asked with a trace of sarcasm rare in her.

“I did,” said Henry who had told himself this was the case, so frequently that he believed it.

“This is an insult to our daughter. Has she not been insulted enough?”

“By your nephew…yes. This is no insult to Mary. I still accept her as my daughter.” A cunning look came into his eyes. “She is a girl and her position may not be so different from that of the little Duke.”

This was going too far; it was betraying the secret matter. He must be cautious. Katharine did not construe his words as he had meant them. She thought only that he planned to set this illegitimate son before his daughter because of his sex.

“You cannot mean you would set aside our daughter for a…bastard!”

His eyes narrowed. He wanted to speak of what was in his mind. He was never one for secrets. He wanted her to know that although she was a daughter of the hated House of Spain, because she had previously married his brother it might well be that she had no legitimate hold on him.

“Mary is a girl,” he said sullenly.

“There is no reason why she should not make as good a monarch as a man. My own mother…”

The King snapped his fingers. “I have no wish to hear of your sainted mother. And know this, if I decide that any man, woman or child in this kingdom shall be elevated…” His eyes were even more cruel suddenly. “…or set down, this shall be done and none shall be allowed to stand in my way.”

“I wonder,” said the Queen, “that you allowed our daughter to keep the title, Princess of Wales. Why did you not take that away from her and bestow it on your bastard? Then there could have been no doubt of your intentions.”

He looked at her in silent hatred for a few seconds; then fearing that he would be unable to keep from her all the plans which were fermenting in his mind, he left her.


* * *

WOLSEY WAS waiting for him in his apartment. The Chancellor saw the flushed face and angry looks and guessed that Henry had been listening to Katharine’s reproaches.

“Your Grace looks displeased,” he murmured.

“’Tis the Queen; I have never known her so bold…so careless of my feelings.”

“The Queen is afraid, Your Grace. She has her qualms about the marriage, even as you do. Perhaps more so.”

“She could not be more uneasy.”

Wolsey lowered his voice. “She knows, Your Grace, whether or not the marriage with your brother was consummated.”

“You think this is a sign of her guilt?”

“The guilty are often those who feel most fear, Your Grace.”

“You are right, Thomas. And her boldness astonished me.”

“She is surrounded by women who urge her to behave thus. The Queen herself should be…malleable.”

Henry’s lower lip jutted out. “There’s strength beneath that gentleness, Thomas.”

“Your Grace is right as usual, but that strength is, shall we say, given support by some of those women about her.”

The King looked questioningly at Wolsey.

“There is the Countess of Salisbury for one. She has ever been close to the Queen. Lady Willoughby is another. Women like that chat in secret, talking of wrongs, urging resistance.”

“They shall be banished from Court.”

“May I suggest, Your Grace, that we move with care? We do not want to rouse too much sympathy in…the wrong quarters.”

“You mean that there would be those to take her side against me!”

“Among the people, Your Grace. And some men of the Court, in secret. Let Lady Willoughby be sent away from Court. As for Lady Salisbury…If Your Grace will trust this matter to me, and commission me to deal with the Queen’s household, I will see that those women likely to influence her are removed from her side.”

“Do that, Thomas. By God, she must understand that I’ll not stand by and accept her reproaches. She had the temerity to suggest that I might soon take Mary’s title of Wales that I might give it to young Henry.”

“The Queen may well wean the Princess’s affection from Your Grace.”

The King looked at his Chancellor; and for a few moments they both remained thoughtful.


* * *

THIS WAS the most cruel blow of all. Katharine had been so stunned when she heard the news that she could not believe it was true.

All the humiliations, all the uneasiness of the past years had been forgotten when she was in the presence of her daughter; her only joy in life had been wrapped up in the child. The love between them was intense, as deep and abiding as that which Katharine had shared with her own mother.

In all her troubles she had been able to tell herself: I have my daughter.

And now Mary was to be taken away from her.

She did not weep. This was too great a sorrow to be assuaged by tears. She sat limply staring before her while her dearest friend, Maria de Salinas, Countess of Willoughby, sat beside her, desperately seeking for words which would comfort her.

But there was no comfort. Maria herself would not long be at the Queen’s side. She was to leave Court, and she believed she knew why.

One of the Queen’s women had recently been dismissed from the Court and she had confessed to Maria that the reason was because she had declined to act as the Cardinal’s spy. His idea was clearly to remove from the Queen’s side all those who would not work for him against her.

What did it all mean? Maria asked herself. Should I try to warn her? If only I could stay with her to comfort her.

But now Katharine could think of nothing but her daughter.

“Why should she be taken from me?” she demanded passionately. “When she marries it may be necessary for her to leave me. There cannot be many years left to us. Why must I lose her now?”

“I think, Your Grace,” said Maria, desperately seeking a reason that might soothe the Queen, “that the King wishes her to go to Wales so that the country may know she is still Princess of the Principality and heir to the throne.”

The Queen brightened at that suggestion. “It may be so,” she said. “The people did not like his elevating the bastard.”

“That is the answer, Your Grace. You can depend upon it, she will not stay long. It is merely a gesture. I feel certain that is the reason.”

“I shall miss her so much,” said the Queen.

“Yes, Your Grace, but perhaps it is well that she should go.”

Katharine said: “There is one consolation; Lady Salisbury is going with her as her governess. I cannot tell you how that cheers me.”

One more friend, thought Maria, to be taken from the Queen’s side.

Katharine rose suddenly and said: “I shall go to my daughter now. I would like to break this news to her myself. I trust that she has not already heard it. Stay here, Maria. I would be alone with her.”

In the Princess’s apartments the little girl was seated at the virginals; one or two of her attendants were with her. When the Queen entered they curtseyed and moved away from the Princess who leaped from her chair and threw herself into her mother’s arms.

“That was well played,” said the Queen, trying to control her emotion.

She smiled at the attendants and nodded. They understood; the Queen often wished to be alone with her daughter.

“I was hoping you would come, Mother,” said the Princess. “I have learned a new piece and wanted to play it to you.”

“We will hear it later,” answered Katharine. “I have come to talk to you.”