“I shall be so,” said Maria, “as long as I know that Your Grace is too.”

The two women smiled at each other then. Their gaiety was a little forced. Each was thinking of the King—on whom Katharine’s happiness depended. What would happen on his return?


* * *

HENRY CAME riding to Richmond.

As soon as he had disembarked, he had called for a horse, declaring that he was not going to wait for a ceremonial cavalcade.

“This is a happy moment,” he cried. “Once more I set foot on English soil. But I cannot be completely happy until I am with my wife. So a horse…and to Richmond where I know she eagerly awaits me.”

He had been unfaithful a score of times in Flanders but that made him feel more kindly towards Katharine. Those affairs had meant nothing to him, he assured himself. They were not to be given a moment’s thought. It was Katharine, his Queen, whom he loved. There was no other woman who was of any importance to him.

Such peccadilloes were to be set at naught, merely to be mentioned at confession and dismissed with a Hail Mary and a Paternoster.

Katharine heard the commotion below.

“The King is here.”

“But so soon!” Her hands were trembling, as she put them to her headdress. Her knees felt as though they were giving way beneath her.

“Oh, Maria, how do I look?”

“Beautiful, Your Grace.”

“Ah…you say that!”

“In my eyes Your Grace is beautiful.”

“That is because you love me, Maria.”

And how shall I look to him? she wondered. Will he, like Maria, look at me with the eyes of love?

She went down to greet him. He had leaped from his steaming horse. How dramatic he was in all he did.

His face was as smooth as a boy’s, flushed with exercise, his blue eyes beaming with good will. Thank God for that.

“Kate! Why Kate, have you forgotten who I am?”

She heard his laughter at the incongruity of such a suggestion, saw the glittering arms held out. No ceremonial occasion this. Now he was the good husband, returning home, longing for a sight of his wife.

He had swung her up in his arms before those who had come riding ahead of the cavalcade, before those who had hastened from the Palace to greet him.

Two audible kisses. “By God, it does my heart good to see you!”

“Henry…oh my Henry…but you look so wonderful!”

“A successful campaign, Kate. I do not return with my tail between my legs like some licked cur, eh! I come as conqueror. By my faith, Kate, this time next year you’ll be with me in Paris.”

“The news was so good.”

“Ay, the best.”

He had his arm round her. “Come,” he said, “let’s get within walls. Let’s drink to conquest, Kate. And later you and I will talk together…alone, eh…of all that has been happening there and here.”

His arm about her they went into the great hall where the feast was waiting.

He ate while he talked—mainly of those great victories, Thérouanne and Tournai—and from his talk it would appear that he and he alone had captured them. Maximilian had been there, yes…but in a minor role. Had he not placed himself under Henry’s banner; had he not received pay for his services?

“And you looked after our kingdom well in our absence, Kate. You and Surrey together with the help of all those good men and true I left behind me. So Jemmy the Scot is no more. I wonder how Margaret likes being without a husband. ’Tis a sad thing, Kate, to be without a husband. You missed me?”

“Very much, Henry.”

“And we lost the child. A boy too. Alas, my Kate. But you lost him in a good cause. I have heard how you worked for England…when you should have been resting….” His eyes were slightly glazed; he was remembering past experiences in Flanders. That sly court Madam, lady to the Duchess; that kitchen girl. By God, he thought, I have profited more than my Kate realizes by my Flanders campaign.

“Well, Kate, it grieves me. But we are young yet.…”

She thought: He has learned soldiers’ ways in Flanders.

His eyes were warm, his hands straying to her thigh. But she was not unhappy. She had been afraid that he would blame her for the loss of the child as he had on other occasions.

He was drinking freely; he had eaten well.

“Come,” he said, “’twas a long ride to Richmond. ’Tis bed for us, Kate.”

His eyes were warm; so that all knew that it was not to rest he was taking her.

She did not object; she was filled with optimism.

There would be another time, and then it should not fail.


* * *

THE COURT was gay that Christmas. There was so much to celebrate. Henry was looking forward to the next year’s campaign. His sister Margaret was looking after his interests in Scotland; and at the Palace of Richmond masques, balls and banquets were arranged for Henry’s delight.

One day Lord Mountjoy, when talking to the Queen, mentioned a relative of his whose family were eager that she should have a place at Court.

William Blount, Lord Mountjoy, was one of Katharine’s greatest friends. He was her chamberlain and one of the few seriously inclined men of the Court; Katharine had a great regard for him and had tried to influence the King in favor of this man. Mountjoy’s friends were the learned men on the fringe of the Court—men such as Colet, Linacre, Thomas More.

So far the King had shown little interest in the more serious-minded of his subjects. His greatest friends were those men who danced well or excelled at the joust, men such as William Compton, Francis Bryan, Nicholas Carew, Charles Brandon.

But it sometimes seemed to Katharine that Henry grew up under her eyes. He had remained a boy rather long, but she was convinced that eventually the man would emerge and then he would take an interest in the scholars of his Court.

“I’m thinking of this relative of mine,” Mountjoy was saying. “She is fifteen or sixteen…a comely child, and her parents would like to see her enjoy a place in Your Grace’s household.”

“You must bring her to me,” said Katharine. “I doubt not we shall find room for her here.”

So the next day Mountjoy brought little Bessie Blount with him to the Queen’s presence.

The girl curtseyed, and blushed at Katharine’s scrutiny, keeping her eyes modestly downcast. A pretty creature, thought Katharine, and one who, if she could dance, would fit well into the Christmas masque.

“Have you learned the Court dances?” asked Katharine.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And you wish to serve in my household. Well, I think that can be managed.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Can you play a musical instrument or sing?”

“I play the lute, Your Grace, and sing a little.”

“Then pray let me hear you.”

Bessie Blount took the instrument which one of Katharine’s women offered her and, seating herself on a stool, began to pick out notes on the lute and sing as she did so.

The song she sang was the King’s own song:

“Pastance with good company


I love, and shall until I die.


Grudge who will, but none deny;


So God be pleased, this life will I


For my pastance


Hunt, sing and dance.”

And as she sat there singing, her reddish gold hair falling childishly about her shoulders, the door was burst open and the King came in.

He heard the words of the song and the music; he saw the child who sang them; and the words he was about to utter died on his lips. He stood very still, and those who were with him, realizing the command for silence in his attitude, stood very still behind him.

When the song came to an end, the King strode forward.

“Bravo!” he shouted. “’Twas well done. And who is our performer?”

Bessie had risen to her feet and the flush in her cheeks matched her hair.

She sank to her knees, her eyes downcast, her long golden lashes, a shade or two darker than her hair, shielding her large violet-colored eyes.

“Ha!” cried Henry. “You should not feel shame, my child. ’Twas worthy of praise.” He turned to the company. “Was it not?”

There was a chorus of assent from those who stood with the King, and Katharine said: “This is little Bessie Blount, Your Grace, Mountjoy’s relation. She is to have a place in my household.”

“I am right glad to hear it,” said Henry. “As she sings like that she will be an asset to your court, Kate.”

“I thought so.”

Henry went to the girl and took her chin in his hands. She lifted her awestruck eyes to his face.

“There is one thing we must ask of you, Mistress Bessie, if you belong to our Court. Do you know what it is?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Then we’ll tell you, Bessie. ’Tis not to be afraid of us. We like our subjects who play our music and sing it well, as you do. You’ve nothing to fear from us, Bessie. Remember it.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He gave her a little push and turned to the Queen.

Mountjoy signed to the trembling girl that she should disappear. She went out quickly and with relief, while Henry began to talk to the Queen about some item of the pageantry. But he was not really thinking of that; he could not dismiss the picture of that pretty child sitting on the stool, so sweetly singing his own music.


* * *

NEVER HAD THE KING seemed so full of vigor as he did that Christmas. That year the pageants were of the gayest, the banquets more lavish than ever before. Katharine hid her weariness of the continual round of pleasure which lasted far into the night, for it seemed that the King never tired. He would hunt through the day, or perhaps joust in the tiltyard, a splendid figure in his glittering armor inlaid with gold which seemed not to hamper him at all. His laughter would ring out at the splintering of lances as one by one his opponents fell before him.