Виктория Холт - The Shadow of the Pomegranate

Henry was exultant; he had taken as prisoner the famous Chevalier Bayard, that knight who was known to be sans peur et sans reproche, and he felt that he was indeed making up for the disgrace which Dorset’s army had brought upon his country.

The battle was derisively called by the French: The Battle of the Spurs; and shortly afterwards, with the Emperor beside him, Henry had taken Tournai.

When these two towns, the taking of which had been his reason for entering the war, were in his hands, Maximilian had had enough of war. Not so Henry.

He burst into Maximilian’s tent and cried: “Now the way is clear. Now it is for us to go straight through to Paris to complete the victory.”

Maximilian was thinking quickly. The date was August 22nd. It was hot but the summer was almost at its end and in a few weeks the rains would start. Henry could have no notion what the Flanders mud could be like.

The idea of marching on Paris, even if it was possible to defeat Louis, would only mean, if they were successful, that this conceited young man would become more overbearing than ever. The English were becoming too powerful already, and Maximilian had no intention of helping them at the expense of Louis, who was already preparing to make a treaty with him as he was with Ferdinand.

He must be kept in Flanders until the winter set in; then he would have to return to England, for he could not stay where he was through the winter. He could spend the winter in England preparing for a fresh onslaught next spring if he liked; that was of little concern to Maximilian since he had achieved what he wanted: These two towns which jutted into the Hapsburg dominions and which were therefore a menace to Netherlands trade.

“Have I your permission to speak frankly to Your Grace?” he asked.

Henry was always so delighted when the Emperor addressed him in humble fashion that he was ready to give what was asked even before the request was made.

“You have indeed.”

“I am an old man. I have fought many battles. If we marched on Paris now, we could be defeated.”

“Defeated! Standing together as we do. Impossible!”

“Nay, Your Grace, if you will forgive my contradiction. Louis has not put all his forces into the field for the protection of these two insignificant towns. He would fight to the death for Paris. Our men need rest, and a little gaiety. It is always wise in war to consolidate one’s gains before one passes on to fresh conquests. I am under your command but it is my duty to give you the benefit of my experience. My daughter Margaret is impatient to see you. She is eager that the proposed marriage between Charles and your sister Mary may be discussed more fully. We have won these towns from the French. Let us fortify them and then go to my daughter’s court. There she will entertain you right royally…the King of England, conqueror of Thérouanne and Tournai.”

Henry wavered. He longed for conquest, yet the thought of being entertained and flattered by Margaret was growing more and more inviting.

* * *

WHEN MAXIMILIAN had left him Henry sent for Thomas Wolsey.

He looked affectionately at the almoner, of whose worth he had become daily more and more aware. When he needed anything, it was Thomas Wolsey who always seemed to be at his side to supply it. The Emperor had congratulated him on the excellence of his equipment. All this he owed to Wolsey.

He had even come to the point when he spoke to him of matters far beyond the man’s duty; and, moreover, listened to his advice which had always seemed to him sound.

When Wolsey came to the King he saw at once the indecision in the King’s eyes and he was alert. It was his policy to give the King the advice he hoped for and then allowed him to think that he had taken his, Wolsey’s.

The King put his arm through that of Wolsey and proceeded to walk with him about the tent…a habit of Henry’s when he was deep in thought and with one whom he wished to favor.

“Friend Thomas,” he said, “we have won a victory. These two towns are in our hands. The Emperor is of the opinion that this victory should be consolidated and that we should now proceed to his daughter’s court at Lille, there to rest awhile. Now you are in charge of our supplies. Is it your opinion that we need this time to make ready for further attacks?”

Wolsey hesitated. He could see that the King was torn between two desires and he was not certain which course the King had made up his mind to follow. Wolsey must be on the right side.

“Your Grace is tireless,” he said. “I know full well that it would be no hardship for you to continue in fierce battle.” He paused significantly. Then went on: “For others, who lack Your Grace’s powers…”

“Ah!” said the King, and it was almost a sigh of relief. “Yes, I owe something to my men, Thomas. I need them beside me when I ride into battle.”

Wolsey went on triumphantly now that he had received his cue. The King wished to go to the court of the Duchess of Savoy, but it must be a matter of duty not of pleasure.

“Therefore, Sire,” Wolsey continued, “I would say, since you command me to give you my humble advice, that for the sake of others—though not your august self—it would be desirable to rest awhile before continuing the fight.”

Wolsey’s arm was pressed; the King was smiling.

“I must perforce think of those others, Thomas. Much as it irks me to leave the field at this stage…I must think of them.”

“Your Grace is ever thoughtful of his subjects. They know this, and they will serve you with even greater zeal remembering Your Grace’s clemency towards them.”

The King sighed deeply but his eyes were glittering with delight.

“Then, my friend, what must be, must be. We shall be leaving ere long for Lille.”

Wolsey felt gratified; he had once more gracefully leaped what might have been a difficult hurdle.

The King was also gratified, for he went on: “The bishopric of Tournai was fallen vacant, I hear. Louis has put forward a new Bishop. I venture to think, now that Tournai is no longer in French hands, it is not for Louis to appoint its Bishop and my nomination will more readily receive the blessings of His Holiness.”

“Sire!” Wolsey’s gratitude shone from his eyes as he knelt and kissed his sovereign’s hand.

Henry beamed on him. “It is ever our wish,” he said, “to reward a good servant.”

Bishop of Tournai! pondered Wolsey. A further step along the road.

Bishop! he thought, and he kept his head lowered over Henry’s hand lest his eyes should betray the ambition which he felt was so strong that it must be obvious.

Bishop! Cardinal? And then: Pope himself!

AT HOME IN ENGLAND KATHARINE TOOK HER responsibilities very seriously. She was eager that when he returned Henry should be satisfied with the manner in which she had governed the realm during his absence. She attended meetings of her Council and impressed them with her good sense; she spent any time she could spare from these duties with her ladies who were busily working, stitching standards, banners and badges. She prayed each day for the strength to do her duty and that the child she carried would not suffer because of her activities.

She felt well and full of confidence. The news from France was good. Henry was in high spirits; she had heard of the successful conclusion of the Battle of the Spurs; and she wondered now and then whether Henry was learning soldiers’ habits, for she knew that there would be women to haunt the camp. Would he remain faithful? She must remember how stoically her own mother had accepted Ferdinand’s infidelities; and Isabella had been a Queen in her own right. Ferdinand had ruled Castile as her consort, and Isabella never forgot that; and yet she meekly accepted his unfaithfulness as something which women, whose husbands are forced to spend long periods from their marriage beds, must regard as inevitable.

She was thankful that there was so much with which to occupy herself. There was always the child to comfort her, and she thanked God daily that she had become pregnant before Henry had left.

This one must live, she told herself again and again. It would not be possible to go on having such disappointments.

One day, when she sat stitching with her women, Surrey came into the apartment without ceremony.

“Your Grace,” he cried, “forgive this intrusion. You will understand when you hear the news. The Scots are gathering and preparing to swarm over the Border.”

She stared at him in horror. “But the King made a treaty with his brotherin-law…,” she began.

Surrey snapped his fingers. “Treaties, Your Grace, it would seem are made to be broken. This is no surprise to me. When the English army is overseas the Scots always attack.”

“We must meet this attack,” said Katharine quickly.

“Ay, Your Grace. I’ve men enough to meet the beggarly Scots.”

“Then go to it. There’s little time to waste.”

Katharine went with him to the Council chamber. The time for stitching was over.

As she did so she was aware of the child moving within her and she felt exultant because of its existence and a certain apprehension because of the anxieties to come.

She thought of Margaret, Henry’s sister, who was wife to James IV of Scotland, and it saddened her because sister must surely be working against brother.

She listened to Surrey, addressing the Council. His eyes gleamed and he seemed to have thrown off twenty years. It was as though he were saying, I was considered too old to join the French frolic. Now the King and the butcher’s cur shall see how real victories are won.