“’Twas well that it should be.” Henry’s mouth was a little prim. “My sister grows too fond of her pretty face.”

“Is that so?” murmured Brandon.

“She is a witch who can twist me about her finger,” murmured the King fondly. “But what would you? She is my only sister now that Margaret is away. It may be that I am overindulgent.”

“It is difficult not to indulge one so charming,” agreed Brandon.

Henry was faintly impatient. “But the masque, man. I would have you devise some pageant which will amuse the Queen.”

“I will give the matter my earnest attention.”

“And remember that there must be little delay. The Queen cannot lie abed much longer.”

It was on the tip of Brandon’s tongue to remind the King that the Queen had, in less than two years of marriage, twice been brought to bed for the purpose of bearing a child. But one only reminded the King of that which he wished to remember. He himself enjoyed perfect health; those who did not he considered to be rather tiresome.

“I’ll swear Her Grace is all impatience to join the revels,” said Brandon.

“It is so. So let us give her a worthy spectacle, Charles.”

“Your Grace commands, and it is my pleasure to obey. There shall be a spectacle such as none of your courtiers have ever seen before.”

“Then I shall go to the Queen and bid her hasten her convalescence.”

As they approached the Palace they were joined by many of the courtiers who hastened to pay compliments to the King.

“Listen,” commanded Henry, “I would have the Queen know our pleasure. There is to be a pageant.…”

They listened, all eager to join in the fun. The new King was a complete contrast to his father, and in this new reign to be young, gay, witty, to excel at the jousts, could lead the way to fortune. There was not a courtier, as there was not a man or woman in the street, who did not rejoice in the accession of Henry VIII.

They were joined by the King’s sister, the young Princess Mary, said by many to be the loveliest girl at Court. Henry’s eyes glistened with affection as they rested on her. She was now fifteen, full of life as became a Tudor, inclined to take liberties with her brother which no one else would dare; and he seemed to like it.

“Well, sister,” he said, “are you ready to join in our fun?”

Mary swept a deep curtsey and smiled at her brother. “Always ready to be at Your Grace’s side.”

“Come here to me,” said Henry.

She came and he slipped his arm through hers. She was a beauty, this little sister. Tudor, all Tudor. By God what a handsome race we are! thought Henry; then he remembered his father’s somewhat sere, sour face, and laughed.

“It will be necessary for you to show a little decorum, my child,” said Henry.

“Yes, Your Grace. I live but to please Your Grace.”

She was laughing at him, imitating his sycophantish courtiers, but he did not object. He took her cheek between his fingers and pinched it.

Mary cried out. “Too much pressure of the royal fingers,” she explained, taking those fingers and kissing them.

“I shall miss you, sister, when you leave us.”

Mary frowned. “It will be years yet.”

Henry looked at her; he could see the shape of her breasts beneath her bodice. Fifteen! She was a woman. It could not be long before she left England for Flanders to marry Charles, grandson of Maximilian and Ferdinand of Aragon, and heir to great dominions. He did not want to lose Mary, but, as he told himself sadly, a King must not think of his own feelings.

She guessed his thoughts and pouted. She was going to raise difficulties when the time came for her to go.

“It may be,” she said suddenly, and her lovely face was radiant, “that Your Grace will discover he cannot bear to part with his little sister—and Charles will then not get his bride.”

There was an appeal in the lovely eyes; they had strayed to Brandon’s face and rested there. Fifteen! thought Henry. She has the provocation of a girl some years older. He must warn her not to look at men like Brandon in that way. Charles Brandon had not lived the life of a monk. That was something Mary was as yet too young to understand; he should warn her, for he was not only her King but, since she had neither father nor mother, he must be her guardian too.

“Enough, enough,” he said. “Come turn your wits to the pageants. I expect you to give the Queen a goodly spectacle.”

The King’s thoughts had gone to the Queen and his son and purposefully he made his way through the Palace to her apartments.

In her bedchamber the Queen was awakened by the fanfares which announced the King’s coming. Her doctors had said that she must rest, but the King did not know this, or had forgotten.

She spread her hair about her pillows, for he liked it in that way and her hair was her one real beauty.

He burst into the apartment, and she saw him standing on the threshold with Mary on one side of him and Brandon on the other. Behind him were other friends and courtiers.

“Why, Kate,” he cried advancing, “we come to see how you are. Are you not weary of bed? We plan a great entertainment for you. So get well quickly.”

“Your Grace is kind to me,” answered the Queen.

“Your King takes pleasure in pleasing you,” replied Henry.

The courtiers were surrounding her bed, and she felt very tired but she smiled, because one must always smile for the King, that golden boy whose strict upbringing under his father’s rule had been perhaps a little too severe for his exuberant nature.

He was a little irritated by the sight of her. She must lie a-bed, and he was impatient with all inactivity. He was urging her to shorten the period of rest, but she dared not. She had to preserve her strength; she had to remember that this was one of many births which must follow over the coming years.

The baby in his cradle cried suddenly as though he came to his mother’s aid.

The King immediately swung round and the procession, with him at its head, went towards the cradle.

Henry took the child in his arms, and he looked at it with wonder.

“Do you realize,” he said, to those who crowded about him, “that this infant could one day be your King?”

“We trust not until he is an old graybeard, Your Grace.”

It was the right answer. The King laughed. Then he began to walk up and down the Queen’s bedchamber, the child in his arms.

The Queen watched smiling.

He is but a boy himself, she thought.


* * *

AS SOON AS KATHARINE left her bed she prepared to leave Richmond for Westminster. The King had gone on before her; impatient and restless, he had already journeyed to Walsingham, there to give thanks for his son at the Shrine of the Virgin.

But he had now returned to Westminster and was there waiting to receive the Queen.

Katharine, who still felt weak, would have enjoyed some respite, perhaps a few weeks of quiet at Richmond; but she knew that was too much to hope for because Henry begrudged every day he spent hidden from the public gaze. So did the people. Wherever he went they crowded about him to bless his lovely face and express their pleasure in him.

The people would not be excluded from the festivities at Westminster. One of the reasons why they loved their new King was because he showed them with every action, every gesture, that he was determined to be a very different King from his father. One of his first acts had been the public beheading of his father’s ministers, Dudley and Empson, those men whom the people had regarded as the great extortioners of the previous reign. Nothing could have been more significant. “These men imposed great taxes on my beloved people; they have brought poverty and misery to thousands. Therefore they shall die.” That was what the young King was telling his people. “England shall now be merry as she was intended to be.” So they cheered themselves hoarse whenever they saw him.

It seemed fitting to them that their handsome young King should be covered in glittering jewels, that his satin and velvet garments should be more magnificent than anyone had ever worn before. And because he was always conscious of the presence of the people, always determined to extract every ounce of their affection, he constantly won their approval.

They were now looking forward to the festivities at Westminster almost as eagerly as Henry was himself. Therefore there could be no delay merely because the Queen would have liked a little longer to recover from giving the King and country an heir.

All along the route the people cheered her. She was Spanish and alien to their English ways, but their beloved King had chosen her for his wife and she had produced a son; that was enough to make the people shout: “Long live the Queen!”

Beside Katharine rode her beautiful and favorite lady-in-waiting, Maria de Salinas, who had been with her ever since she had left Spain. It was significant that even when they were alone together she and Maria spoke English nowadays.

“Your Grace is a little weary?” asked Maria, anxiously.

“Weary!” cried Katharine, faintly alarmed. Did she look weary? The King would be hurt if she did. She must never show him that she preferred to rest rather than to frolic. “Oh no…no, Maria. I was a little thoughtful, that was all. I was thinking how my life has changed in the last few years. Do you remember how we suffered, how we patched our gowns and often had to eat fish which smelt none too good because it was the cheapest that could be bought in the market, how we wondered whether my father would send for us to return ignobly to Spain, or whether the King of England would ever pay me an allowance?”