Bedingfeld cried: “Halt, I say.”

The maid did not listen to him and turning began to run, while the visitor followed her.

The door of Katharine’s bedchamber was thrown open and the maid cried: “Your Majesty, Lady Willoughby has come to see you.”

Then the Queen tried to raise herself, and Maria de Salinas ran to the bedside, threw herself on her knees and embraced her.

When Bedingfeld entered the room he saw the two women in each other’s arms. He saw the tears on the Queen’s wasted cheeks; he heard her say: “So Maria, you came to me; so I am not to die alone. I am not abandoned like some forgotten beast.”

The Queen’s eyes met his over the head of her faithful Maria, and she said: “Leave us. My dear friend has braved much to come to me. I command you to leave us together.”

And Bedingfeld turned quietly and shut the door.


* * *

THERE WERE NOT MANY days left; and Maria de Salinas did not leave the Queen’s bedside. She told Katharine of how she had made the perilous journey unknown to anyone, because she had determined to be with her mistress.

“Oh Maria, how happy you have made me,” sighed the Queen. “The pity of it, there is little time left for us to be together.”

“Nay,” cried Maria, “you will get well now that I am here to nurse you.”

“I am beyond nursing,” replied the Queen; “yet not so far gone that I cannot rejoice in your dear presence.”

Maria refused to leave the Queen’s bedchamber, and during the days that followed she it was who nursed her and sat by her bed talking to her.

There were times when Katharine forgot that she was in her bed in dreary Kimbolton, and believed that she was in the Alhambra at Granada, that she wandered through the Court of Myrtles, that she looked down from her window on to the Courtyard of Lions; and that beside her there was one, benign and loving, her mother Isabella. Maria sitting at her bedside could speak of those days and, with Maria’s hand in hers, they spoke the language of their native Castile; and it seemed to Katharine that the pains of her body and the sorrows of her life in England slipped away from her. Here was sunshine and pleasure amid the rosy towers, she saw the sign of the pomegranate engraved on the walls—the symbol of fertility which she had taken as her own, she forgot with what irony, because the years had slipped away and she was young again.

Maria watched her with startled eyes, for she knew that Katharine’s life was ebbing away.

She sent for the priests and Extreme Unction was given. And at two o’clock in the afternoon of the 7th of January 1536 Katharine died.


* * *

WHEN THE NEWS was brought to Henry he was jubilant.

“Praise be to God,” he cried. “We are delivered from the fear of war. Now I shall be able to treat with the French; for they will be fearful that I shall make an alliance with the Emperor.”

There was another reason for his pleasure. She had been a perpetual embarrassment to him while there were men to believe she was still his wife.

He dressed himself in yellow from head to foot and wore a waving white plume in his cap, declaring that the revelries were to continue because there should be no period of mourning for a woman who had never been his wife.

Queen Anne followed his example and dressed in yellow. Like the King she was relieved by the death of Katharine; but there was a shadow across her relief. She was aware—as were many at Court—how the King’s eyes would light with speculation as they rested on a certain prim but sly maid of honor whose name was Jane Seymour.

Now there was a feverish gaiety about the King and his Queen. Death was waiting round the corner for so many. But through the Court strode the King, the little Elizabeth in his arms, demanding admiration for his daughter. Some wondered what the fate of that other daughter would be, remembering a time when he had walked among them with Mary in his arms.

“On with the dance!” cried the King; and the musicians played while the company danced with abandon.

Queen Katharine was dead; More was dead; Fisher was dead. They formed part of the procession of martyrs.

Dance today! was the order of the Court, for who could know what tomorrow would hold? Whose turn would come next?

BIBLIOGRAPHY

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