“Do not be deceived by his quiet manners. There is little he misses. He may seem slow of speech, but that is because he never makes an utterance unless he has clearly worked out what he is going to say. Perhaps it would be well if others followed his example.”

“Then there would never be time to say all that has to be said in the world.”

“Perhaps it would not be such a tragedy if much of it was left unsaid. Charles’ family has been very tragic. As you know his father died when he was so young, and his mother…”

Charles Brandon nodded. Who had not heard of the mad Queen of Spain who had so mourned her unfaithful husband that she had taken his corpse with her wherever she went until she had been made more or less a prisoner in the castle of Tordesillas where she still remained.

But Brandon did not wish to talk of dull Charles, his philandering father or his mad mother.

He took Margaret’s hand in his. Reckless in love had always been his motto, and he was considered a connoisseur.

“Margaret,” he began, “you are too fair to remain unmarried.”

“Ah, but I have been so unfortunate in that state.”

“It does not mean you always will be.”

“I have had such experiences that I prefer not to risk more.”

“Then someone must try to make you change your mind.”

“Who should that be?”

“Who but myself?” he whispered.

She withdrew her hand. She was too strongly aware of the potent masculinity of the man for comfort.

“You cannot be serious.”

“Why not? You are a widow who can choose your husband.”

She looked at him. He was indeed a handsome man; he had the experience of life which was so missing in his young King.

Margaret asked herself: Could I be happy again with him?

He saw her hesitation and, taking a ring from his finger, slipped it on hers.

She stared at it with astonishment.

They were then joined by Henry, Maximilian and young Charles, and as the young boy stared at the ring on his aunt’s hand there was no expression in his pallid eyes, but Margaret, who knew him so much better than everyone else, was aware that he understood the meaning of that little scene which he had witnessed from afar—understood and disapproved.


* * *

BY THE BEGINNING of October Henry, tired of play, now hoped to win fresh laurels; but the rainy season had started and when he sought out Maximilian and demanded to know when they would be ready to start on the march to Paris, the Emperor shook his head sagely.

“Your Grace does not know our Flanders mud. It would be impossible to plan an offensive when we have that to contend with.”

“When then?” Henry wanted to know.

“Next spring…next summer.”

“And what of all the troops and equipment I have here?”

“That good fellow Wolsey will take charge of all that. You can rely on him to get them safely back to England for you.”

Henry hesitated. He remembered the disaster which Dorset had suffered when he had stayed a winter in Spain.

He saw now that this was the only course for him to take. He was disappointed, for he had hoped to return to England, conqueror of France. All he had to show was the capture of two French towns and certain prisoners, whom he had sent home to Katharine, and who were causing her some anxiety because she had to feed them and treat them as the noblemen they were, because as the war with Scotland had proved costly and the war with France even more so, there was little to spare for the needs of noble prisoners.

Katharine had the victory of Flodden Field to set side by side with the conquest of Thérouanne and Tournai, and Henry felt piqued because he had to admit that she had scored the greater victory.

He felt angry towards her, particularly as he had now heard of the loss of the child. “Lost, that your kingdom might be held, Henry.” Grudgingly he agreed that all she had done had been necessary. But, he had said to himself, it seemed that God’s hand was against them; and since he had known many other women in France his satisfaction with Katharine had diminished.

Oh, it was time he went home; and he could go as a conqueror. The people of England would be eager to welcome him back.

He sent for Brandon.

“How goes the courtship?” he asked slyly.

Brandon shook his head. “I need time.”

“And that is something you cannot have. We are returning to England.”

Brandon was downcast. “Have no fear,” said Henry, “we shall return and then ere long I doubt not you’ll have swept the Duchess Margaret into marriage.”

“She has returned my ring and asked for the one I took from her,” said Brandon.

“Is that so? The lady is coy.”

“One day she seems willing enough, and the next she holds back. She talks of previous marriages and says that she is afraid she is doomed to be unfortunate in that state. Then she talks of her duty to her nephew. ’Tis true that young fellow looks as though he needs a keeper.”

Henry laughed. “I rejoice every time I look at him,” he said. “Max can’t last forever. Nor can Ferdinand…and then…it will not be difficult to dupe that little fellow, what think you? And who will take over from old Louis…for he too must be near his death-bed? Francis of Angoulême.” Henry’s eyes narrowed. “I hear he is a young braggart…but that he excels in pastimes.”

“A pale shadow of Your Grace.”

Henry’s mouth was prim suddenly. “That fellow is a lecher. His affairs with women are already talked of…and he little more than a boy! Brandon, have you thought that one day, and that day not far distant, there will be three men standing astride Europe…three great rivals…the heads of the three great powers? There will be Francis, myself and that young idiot Charles.” Henry laughed. “Why, when I think of those two…and myself…I have great reason for rejoicing. God will not favor a lecher, will He, against a virtuous man? And what hope has young Charles, whose mother is mad and who seems to have been born with half his wits? Oh, Brandon, I see glorious days ahead of me and I thank God for this sojourn in Europe where my eyes have been opened to all that, with His help, may come to me.”

“Your Grace stands on the threshold of a brilliant future.”

Henry put his arm about Brandon’s shoulder. “In which my friends shall join,” he said. “Why, Charles, I might even win for you the hand of Margaret, eh, in spite of the fact that she returns your ring and demands hers back; in spite of the snivelling little nephew who doubtless cries to his aunt that her duty lies with him.”

The two men smiled, drawn together by a joint ambition.

Henry was placated. He sent for Wolsey and told him to make arrangements to return to England.


* * *

KATHARINE WAS deep in preparations for the return of the King.

Surely, she thought, he cannot but be pleased with me. It is true I have lost the child but, much as he longs for an heir, he must be satisfied with what I have done.

She had Margaret, widow of dead James IV, remain Regent of Scotland; after all, was she not the King’s sister? It would have been too costly to have taken possession of the Scottish crown. She trusted Henry would approve of what she had done.

She had recovered from the last miscarriage, and felt well in body if a little uneasy in mind.

Maria de Salinas, now married to Lord Willoughby, was not at this time separated from her, and she talked to her about the masque she was planning to celebrate the King’s return.

“It must be colorful,” said Katharine. “You know how the King loves color. Let there be dancing, and we will have the King’s own music played. That will delight him.”

While they sat thus Maria ventured: “Your Grace, Francesca de Carceres, realizing that there is no hope of regaining her place in your household, now has hopes of joining that of the Duchess of Savoy. She believes that if Your Grace would speak a word of recommendation to the Duchess on her behalf she would have her place.”

Katharine was thoughtful. It would be pleasant to be rid of Francesca’s disturbing proximity. While she was in England she would continue to haunt the antechambers, hoping for an interview with the Queen. Any mention of the woman brought back unpleasant memories…either of the old days when she had suffered such humiliation, or of that other unfortunate affair of Buckingham’s sister.

Francesca was an intriguer. Was it fair to send her to the Court of the Duchess with a recommendation?

It was not just, she was sure of it.

No, much as she longed to be rid of Francesca she was not going to send her with a recommendation to someone else.

“No,” said Katharine, “she is too perilous a woman. I shall not give her the recommendation she requires. There is only one thing to be done for Francesca; that is that she should be sent back to her own country. When Thomas Wolsey returns I will put this matter before him, and I doubt not he will find some means of having her sent back to Spain.”

“It is where she longed to go in the past,” said Maria. “Poor Francesca! I remember how she used to sigh for Spain! And now…when she does not want to return, she will go back.”

“My dear Maria, she is an adventuress. She wanted to go to Spain because she thought it had more to offer her than England. Remember how she wanted to come to England, when I left Spain, because she thought England would have greater opportunities for her. Such as Francesca deserve their fate. Waste no sorrow on her. You have achieved happiness, my dear Maria, with your Willoughby, because you did not seek to ride over others to reach it. So be happy.”