A plague on them! he thought. Why must they put obstacles in my path?

As they came to Windsor, the King looked with pleasure at the forest. There would be good hunting, and there was little he liked better than a day in the open; then to return to good feasting and masking, and later to retire between the sheets with the right bedfellow.

She had succumbed at last and he wondered what he would do were she to become pregnant. Then, by God, he told himself, I would make them act.

Oddly enough she did not. But he would not spoil his pleasure by brooding on that. When they could be free in their love, when she could dispense with her fretful questions as to how much longer he would allow the delay; when he could take her with a good conscience…ah, then their union would be blessed with healthy boys.

They entered the castle, and the Queen retired with her little court and the King retired with his.

It would seem there are two queens at this Court, grumbled some of the courtiers; but most of them knew to which Court they should attach themselves…if they sought advancement. The Lady’s bright black eyes missed little, and any attention to the Queen or the Princess Mary was noted.

The Queen in her apartments was attended by her few ladies. She was not so much afraid of spies as she had been in the days of Wolsey; and she was very happy to have her daughter and Maria with her.

She prayed on her arrival and in her prayers, as always, asked that the King might be turned from his sad and evil scheme and come back to her.

Mary was in her own apartment, her women preparing her for the banquet, when Henry came to see the Queen. Her women went scuttling away at a look from him, and Katharine cried: “Oh, Henry, how pleased I am that you should come to see me. It is a rare honor.”

“I would come often enough if I could but satisfy myself that you were in truth my wife.”

“Henry, I do not think that deep within your heart you believe that I am not.”

It was wrong, of course. She should not say such things; but there were occasions when the bitterness was too much to be hidden.

He ignored her words as though he had not heard them. He said: “Dr. Cranmer has procured the opinions of the universities. There are many who believe we should be formally divorced.”

“Ah, Henry, you have many friends. I alas have few.”

“I think you too have friends,” he said. “Now I am going to ask you to give me something.”

“There is little I would deny you.”

“I ask only sweet reasonableness.”

“I try always to be reasonable.”

“Then I am sure you will agree that this matter has continued too long, and it is time it were brought to an end. I want to refer it to the arbitration of four English prelates and four nobles.”

Her expression was stony. “No,” she said.

“Katharine, you call this reasonableness?”

“I do. A court in this country is unnecessary. It is a waste of time, for any court you set up would decide in your favor.”

“This is nonsense.”

“Henry, have done with hypocrisy. You know it to be truth. May God grant you a quiet conscience.”

“You talk to me of a quiet conscience when you know it to be perpetually disturbed by this matter.”

“Let it speak for itself, Henry. Do not provoke it with your desire, but let it say what it knows to be truth. Abide by it. Come back to me and then I think your conscience need never trouble you again on this matter.”

“Never!” cried the King.

She answered his obstinacy with her own.

“Never will I abide by any decision except that of Rome.”

The King gave her a murderous glance before he strode out of her apartment.


* * *

HENRY CALLED NORFOLK and Suffolk to him and when they were alone said: “I fear the Queen hates me.”

The Dukes looked alert. They had heard this statement from the King’s lips before this, and they knew that it was meant to be the prelude to some action which he was willing himself to take.

Henry went on: “I believe she delights in my discomfiture, that she seeks to prolong it; that, knowing herself not to be my wife, she is determined to proclaim to the world that she is. I believe that she is seeking to lure my subjects from me.”

“That,” said Suffolk, “would amount to treason.”

“Much as it pains me to admit it, I must agree,” replied Henry. “Eustache Chapuys is nothing but a spy. I believe that it is the Emperor’s desire to bring about a civil war in England, to split the country and to set the Queen and the Princess Mary at the head of the rebels.”

“This is indeed treason,” declared Norfolk.

“I have seen some of the letters which Chapuys has written to his master. In them he states that the English people are against a divorce and it would not surprise him if they rose in protest. They have full sympathy for the Queen, he writes significantly. I believe that the Spanish ambassador, with the help of the Queen, is ready to raise an insurrection.”

“Your Grace, should he not be arrested?” asked Norfolk.

Henry raised a hand. “This is a delicate matter. Although Katharine is no true wife to me, for many years I believed her to be so.”

Henry was thinking of the discontent among the people who, when Katharine’s barge sailed up or down river, lined the banks to cheer her. To put Katharine under arrest would be to turn their sympathy into fury and the desire to protect their Queen. Moreover, he did not believe for one moment that Katharine would ever put herself at the head of an insurrection. How lacking in subtlety were these two! Wolsey would have grasped his meaning immediately.

“Nay,” went on Henry, “she is no wife to me, but I confess to a certain tenderness. I would be lenient with her.”

“But Your Grace will not continue to be in her company,” said Norfolk, who was a little sharper than Suffolk and had at last begun to follow the King’s train of thought.

“I fear the time has come when we must part…finally,” Henry replied.

“I am in full agreement,” Suffolk put in. “Your Grace should separate yourself from the Lady Katharine both at bed and board. It would not be safe for you to do otherwise.”

A look of sadness came into the King’s face. “After so many years…,” he murmured.

But the Dukes were now aware of the part they were expected to play, and Suffolk said sternly: “Your Grace would do well not to think of a woman with whom you have for so long been living in sin.”

Henry laid a hand on his brother-in-law’s arm. “You do well to remind me.”

His eyes were vindictive suddenly because he was remembering her obstinacy and how quickly this case could have been settled but for that. He went on: “’Tis my belief that she sets my daughter Mary against me.”

Suffolk piped up dutifully: “Your Grace, should not the Princess Mary be taken from her?”

“That might be wise,” answered the King, looking at Norfolk.

The Duke was well aware of what was expected of him. He spoke vehemently. “Above all, the Princess Mary should be removed from the Lady Katharine. That I consider to be of the greatest importance.”

“Thank you, my friends,” said the King. “You echo the thoughts which my tenderness would not let me utter. But since this is your advice, and I know it to be based on sound good sense, I will accept your decision.”


* * *

MARY CAME INTO the Queen’s apartments, her face pale, her eyes frightened.

“Mother,” she cried, even before Katharine had had time to sign to the women to leave them, “I am to go away from you.”

Katharine took her daughter’s hands and found that they were trembling. “Be calm, my precious.”

“I am to go to Richmond. Those are my father’s orders.”

“Well, you will go to Richmond and soon I shall come to you there.”

“Suppose you cannot?”

“But why…why?”

“I do not know…except that it is a feeling I have. I was told to prepare to leave at once. Why, Mother? What harm am I doing them here? Do I prevent his…his…being with that odious woman?”

“Hush, my love. Go to Richmond. I will find means of coming to you there.”

Mary had begun to shiver. “Mother, I am afraid. Reginald is writing his treatise and it is all for us. I tremble for Reginald. I do not believe he understands what this could mean.”

“He understands, my darling.”

“Then he does not seem to care.”

“Reginald is a good man, a brave man. He could not be so if he trimmed his opinions to the prevailing wind. Do not fear for him, my child; for the only thing we should fear in life is our own wrongdoing. Go to Richmond, as your father commands. Think of me, pray for me…as I shall for you. You will be in my thoughts every minute of the day, and rest assured that as soon as I am able I shall be at your side.”

“But Mother, what harm are we doing him…by being together? Does he not know that this is the only joy that is left to us?”

“My darling, be brave.”

“There is tension in the Castle. Something is about to happen. Mother, I have a terrible fear that, if I leave you now, I shall never see you again.”

“You are overwrought. This is merely another parting.”

“Why…why…should there be these partings? What harm are we doing?”

“It is the second time you have spoken of harm. No one thinks we are doing harm, my love.”

“They do, Mother. I see it in their looks. Our love harms him in some way and he is afraid of it. I cannot leave you. Let us go away together.” Mary drew away from her mother. Her eyes were brilliant with sudden hope and speculation. “I will send for Reginald. I will ask him to take us with him to Italy. There the Pope will give us refuge—or perhaps the Emperor will.”