The men who were pledged to defend her left her, and she saw from Fisher’s looks that she had acted correctly.

But when they had gone she was afraid. Hers was a pitiable position, when she could not trust her own Council.


* * *

KATHARINE STOOD before the Royal Council which was presided over by the Chancellor. Wolsey studied her shrewdly. Poor, brave woman, he thought, what hope does she think she has when she attempts to stand against the King’s wishes?

“Your Grace,” said the Chancellor, “I have to tell you that I speak for the King and his Council. Are we to understand that you refuse to write to the Emperor asking him to return that brief which is of the utmost importance in this case?”

“You may understand that. There is a good copy of the brief which can be used in the court; and I see no reason why the original should not remain for safe keeping in the hands of the Emperor.”

“Your Grace, you will forgive my temerity but, in refusing to obey the King’s command, you lay yourself open to a charge of high treason.”

Katharine was silent and Wolsey saw that he had shocked her. Now she would perhaps begin to realize the folly of pitting her strength against that of the King and his ministers who, more realistic than she was, understood that not to obey meant risking their lives.

“Your Grace,” went on Wolsey soothingly, “I have prepared here a draft of a letter which the King desires you to copy and send to the Emperor.”

She held out her hand for it and read a plea to her nephew that he dispatch the brief with all speed to England as it was most necessary for her defense in the pending action.

She looked at the Chancellor, the man whom she had begun to hate because she considered him to be the instigator of all her troubles. He was ruthless; he had to procure the divorce for the King or suffer his displeasure and he did not care how he achieved that end. She did not doubt that when the brief came to England it would be mislaid and destroyed, for it was the finest evidence she could possibly have.

“So I am certain,” went on the Chancellor, “that Your Grace will wish to comply with the King’s desire in this matter.”

She bowed her head. She could see that she would have to write the letter, but she would write another explaining that she had written under duress. She felt desolate, for it seemed that she depended so much on that pale aloof young man who might so easily consider her troubles unworthy of his attention.

Wolsey read her thoughts and said: “Your Grace must swear not to write to the Emperor any other letter but this. If you did so, that could only be construed as high treason.”

She saw her predicament. She had to give way, so she bowed before the power of her enemies.


* * *

AS SHE KNELT in her chapel, a priest came and knelt beside her.

“Your Grace,” whispered Mendoza, “the brief must not come to England.”

“You know I must write to my nephew,” she replied. “I am being forced to it, and I gave my word that I would write no other letter to him.”

“Then we must find a means of communicating without letters.”

“A messenger whom we could trust?”

“That is so. Francisco Felipez did good service once.”

“Perhaps he would be suspect if he did so again.”

“Is there anyone else in your suite whom you could trust?”

“There is Montoya. He is a Spaniard, and loyal. But I do not think he would be so resourceful as Felipez.”

“Then let us chance Felipez. This time he should not ask for permission, as the matter is very dangerous. Let him leave at once for Spain, with nothing in writing. When he reaches the Emperor he must explain to him how dangerous it would be to send the brief to England as it would almost surely be destroyed.”

“Felipez shall leave at once,” said the Queen. “He will then have a good start of the messenger with the letter.”

“Let us pray for the success of his journey,” murmured Mendoza. “But later. Now there is not a moment to be lost.”


* * *

THE CARDINAL, brooding on his affairs in his private apartments at York Place, was interrupted by the arrival of a man who asked permission to speak with him on a private matter.

Wolsey received the man at once, for he was one of his spies in the Queen’s household.

“Your Eminence,” said the man, “Francisco Felipez disappeared from the Queen’s household yesterday. I have made one or two enquiries and it seems he was seen riding hard on the road to the coast.”

Wolsey rose and his eyes glowed with anger.

So the Queen, for all her outward resignation, was putting up a fight. Her man must not reach the Emperor, as the King’s hopes of procuring a divorce could well depend on that brief. He would not rest—nor would the King—until it was in their hands.

Felipez must be stopped before he reached Madrid.


* * *

THE QUEEN was seated with a few women while she worked with her needle and one of them read aloud. She was anxious that there should be no change in her routine.

Yet she was not listening to the reader; her thoughts were with her nephew. Felipez would have reached him by now; he would be explaining all that was happening to the Emperor’s aunt in England, and the urgent need for Charles to hold that brief in safe keeping, so that it could be shown to the Pope if there were any attempt to declare her marriage invalid.

Charles was a man of honor; he had the utmost respect for family ties, and he would see that to treat her as Henry was planning to do was an insult to Spain. He would understand, as soon as Felipez explained to him, that the King’s ministers were not to be trusted. She blamed the King’s ministers—chief of them Wolsey. She could never for long see Henry as the monster he sometimes appeared to be. He had been led astray, she believed. He was young in heart and spirit; he was lusty and sensual and she had never greatly pleased him physically; she was too religiously minded and the sexual act to her was only tolerable as the necessary prelude to childbearing. Henry had always seemed to her like a boy; those childish games which he had once played at every masque, when he had disguised himself and expected all to be so surprised when the disguise was removed, were symbolic. He had not grown up; he was easily led astray. He was still the chivalrous knight who had rescued her from humiliation when he was eighteen years old. Never would she forget those early days of their marriage; always she would remember that he it was who had rescued her. At this time he was in the thrall of the wicked minister, Wolsey, and he was bemused by the black-eyed witch named Anne Boleyn.

If she could live through these troublous days, if she could bring Henry to a sense of duty, she was sure that they would settle down happily together. This was what she prayed for.

But in the meantime she must continue the fight against the machinations of those about him and the inclinations of his own youthful desires.

There was a commotion below her window and, setting aside her work, she went to it and looking out, saw a man limping into the Palace; his arm was bandaged and it was clear that he had recently met with an accident.

She stood very still, clenching her hands, for she had recognized the man as Francisco Felipez, who should at this time be in Spain.

She turned to the group of women and said: “I think that one of my servants has met with an accident. One of you must go below and bring him to me at once. I would hear what has befallen him.”

One of them obeyed and Katharine said to the others: “Put away the work for today and leave me.”

When Francisco Felipez came to her her first emotion was relief to see that he was not seriously hurt.

“You have been involved in an accident?” she asked.

His expression was apologetic. “I was riding through France, Your Grace, and in the town of Abbeville I was set upon by footpads. They knocked me unconscious and rifled my pockets.” He grinned ruefully. “They found nothing to interest them there, Your Grace. So they left me with a broken arm which meant that I was unable to ride my horse. A merchant bound it for me and helped me to return to England.”

“My poor Francisco,” said the Queen, “you are in pain.”

“It is nothing, Your Grace. I can only regret that I had to delay so long before returning to you, and that I was unable to continue my journey because of my inability to ride.”

“I will send you to my physician. Your arm needs attention.”

“And Your Grace has no further commission for me?”

Katharine shook her head. She understood that he had been seen to leave England, that the nature of his mission had been guessed, that he had been incapacitated by the Cardinal’s men, and that the hope of conveying an understanding of her peril to the Emperor was now slight.


* * *

THE CARDINAL sat with his head buried in his hands. He had been reading dispatches from Rome, and had learned that Clement, after seeming near to death, was making a remarkable recovery. The position at the Vatican was more hopeful and it seemed as though the Pope had taken a new grip on life. It followed that the chances of a Conclave in the near future were gradually but certainly fading; and the Cardinal’s position in England had worsened.

Each day the King viewed him with more disfavor after listening to the complaints of Anne Boleyn. Continually Henry chafed against the delay. Had there ever, he asked himself, been such procrastination over such a simple matter? Other Kings, when they needed to rid themselves of unwanted wives, procured a dispensation and the matter was done with. But he, Henry Tudor, who had always until now, taken what he wanted, was balked at every turn.