No, the matter must be kept secret; his enemies must never discover the existence of Mistress Wynter. And he had enemies—many of them. They were an essential part of a man’s life when that man had determined to rise from humble beginnings to greatness.

There was one of them approaching him at this moment.

The Earl of Surrey was pretending not to see him, but Wolsey decided that he should not pass.

“Good day, my lord.”

Surrey gave him a haughty stare.

“You did not see me,” went on Wolsey. “My lord, is your sight failing then?”

“’Tis as good as it was the day I was twenty.”

“A long, long time ago, my lord. You were deep in thought; mayhap that was why you did not see me. You were thinking of the campaign in France.”

Surrey’s curiosity overcame his contempt for one of such humble origin.

“You have been with the King?” he asked. “What news of our leaving? Are the stores ready yet?”

“They will be by the time the King is ready to leave. There will be work for us who go with him to France, and for those of you who stay behind.”

“I am prepared to leave whenever His Grace gives the word,” said Surrey.

“You are prepared to leave, my lord?”

“Indeed I am.”

“You are certain then that you are to serve with the King in France?”

“Of a surety I am certain. Am I not the King’s general?”

Wolsey smiled knowledgeably and in a manner which replaced Surrey’s bombast with fear.

He could have struck the man, but he did not wish to soil his hands by touching a tradesman’s son. Wolsey murmured: “A merry good day to you, my lord,” and passed on.


* * *

SURREY STOOD FOR a few seconds looking after the almoner; then as his rising rage smothered his good sense, he hurried to the royal apartments.

“I wish to see the King at once,” he demanded.

The guards looked astonished; but this was after all the great Earl of Surrey, and it might well be that he had news of importance to impart to the King.

He strode past them and threw open the door of the King’s apartment. Henry was leaning against a table where Wolsey had recently left him; Katharine was seated, and the King was twirling a lock of her hair in his fingers.

“Sire, I must have immediate speech with you!”

Henry looked up, rather peevishly. He did not expect people to burst in unannounced. Could it be that Surrey considered that he was of such nobility that he need not observe the laws of ordinary courtiers?

Henry let fall the lock of hair and fixed his gaze on Surrey. The Earl should have been warned by the glitter in the King’s eye, but he was too alarmed to take notice of anything.

“Sire, I have just met that butcher’s son, coming from your apartments. The insolence of the fellow is beyond endurance.”

“If you speak of my good friend Wolsey,” said Henry sharply, “I should warn you, my lord, to do so with more respect.”

“Your Grace, the fellow hinted that I am too old to follow you in battle. The impertinent butcher’s cur.…”

“Your face is an unhealthy purple, Surrey,” said Henry, “and it would seem that you are forgetful of your manners.” He turned to Katharine. “Could that be his age, do you think?”

Katharine said nothing. She dreaded such scenes. She wanted to warn Surrey, but there was no restraining the irate nobleman.

“The impudent jackanapes! I’d have his tongue cut out. I’d cut off both his ears.…”

“Which shows what a fool you are and how unfit for our counsels,” retorted Henry. “You would rob us of the man who is doing more than any to make the expedition into France a success.”

“He has bemused Your Grace with his sly ways.”

There was nothing he could have said to rouse Henry’s anger more certainly. To suggest that he, the astute and brilliant leader, was a dupe!

Oh Surrey, you fool! thought Katharine.

Henry stood up to his full height and his voice rumbled like thunder when he shouted: “Nay, my lord Earl, there is no room for you in my army. There is no room for you in my Court. You will leave it at once. Do not let me see you until I send for you.”

“Your Grace…”

“Are you so old then that you have lost your hearing!” roared Henry cruelly. “You heard me, sir. Go! At once. Leave the Court. You are banished from our sight. Will you go, or shall I have to call the guard?”

Surrey crumpled suddenly, so that he did indeed look like an old man.

He bowed stiffly and left the King’s presence.


* * *

FROM A WINDOW of the Palace Wolsey watched the departure of Surrey. He wanted to laugh aloud in his triumph.

“Such disgrace shall befall all the enemies of Thomas Wolsey,” he told himself. “No slight shall be forgotten.”

He remembered then a certain gentleman of Limington in Somerset, a Sir Amias Paulet. In the days when Thomas had been rector of Limington he had not shown what Paulet considered adequate respect to this local bigwig; and Paulet had, on some flimsy pretext, caused Thomas Wolsey to be set in the stocks.

Even now Thomas could remember the indignity, and he told himself that when the time was ripe Paulet should deeply regret the day he had Thomas Wolsey set in the stocks.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Nay, thought Thomas, I am no ordinary man, and any who robs me of one tooth shall pay with two of his own.

So Surrey, who had called the King’s almoner a butcher’s cur, had lost his chance of following the King to France; he had also lost his place at Court.

That was meet and fitting, thought Thomas smiling. There would be many scores to settle on the way up, and they should be settled…settled in full.


* * *

IT WAS SOME TIME since Ferdinand had felt so full of vigor. Hourly dispatches were reaching him. He was playing the double game of politics which was so dear to his heart, and he never enjoyed it so much as when he was deluding those who thought themselves to be his allies, and coming to secret terms with those whom his allies thought to be a mutual enemy.

There was only one matter of moment to Ferdinand: the good of Spain. Spain’s desire at this moment was for peace. She had Navarre and, with the acquisition of that important little state, she was ready to consolidate her triumphs.

The English were clamoring for action. Katharine wrote naïvely from England. His dear innocent daughter, did she think that politics were arranged like rules in a convent? She was eager to please that handsome young husband of hers and her father at the same time.

She was invaluable.

Through her, it seemed, Ferdinand could set the young monarch dancing to his tune. He could let England work for Spain. What an excellent state of affairs it was when one had docile children to work for one.

He was a little sad, thinking of his lost youth and his inability to get Germaine with child. The times when he could go to bed with several women in one night were over. But he was still the sly fox of Europe.

He would forget the fear of impotence; forget the delights of love and think of wars instead.

He would allow Caroz to make a treaty for him in London with his son-in-law. He would give his promises…although he had no intention of keeping them. Promises were counters used in a game. If it was worthwhile redeeming them, you did so; if not, you forgot you had ever made them.

He sat down and wrote to Caroz. “…my armies to invade Guienne while the English are to attack from the North. I doubt not that the present Henry will be about to repeat the success of that other Henry in France, and we shall soon be hearing news of another battle of Agincourt. Let there be a treaty between our two countries, and assure my son-in-law that I am in this matter with him, heart and soul.…”

While he was writing a page entered to tell him that the friar for whom he had sent had arrived.

“Bring him to me,” said Ferdinand.

And the man was brought.

Ferdinand was pleased with his appearance. He looked like a wandering friar; he could pass from Spain to the Court of France without attracting a great deal of notice.

“I have work for you,” he said. “You are to leave immediately for France. Seek out King Louis and tell him from whom you come. Tell him that the English are preparing to make war on him and that I, through my daughter, have information of where they will attack and in what force they will come. Sound him well. Let him know that I am ready to make peace with him for a consideration…terms which we can later discuss if he is ready to consider this matter.”

The friar listened eagerly to Ferdinand’s instructions and, when he had left, Ferdinand returned to the letter which he was writing to Caroz.

“I would have my son-in-law know that France is the enemy of us both and that we must stand together to crush her. Let me know how far preparations have proceeded, and we will sign our treaty so that all the world shall know that we are of one family and together in this matter.”

Ferdinand sealed his letters and sent for his messengers.

He stood at the window watching their departure, laughing inwardly.

I am no longer young, he chuckled, I cannot satisfy a wife, let alone a mistress. Yet I am still the slyest fox in Europe.


* * *

ON A BRIGHT APRIL DAY the King presided over the ceremony of signing the treaty with his father-in-law.

Luis Caroz, whose magnificence of person was only slightly less than that of the King, stood with Henry and Katharine; and a cheer went up from all those assembled, because they believed that with the help of Ferdinand they could not but be victorious against France.