Often he tilted in what was meant to be a disguise. He would be a strange knight from Germany, from Flanders, from Savoy; even from Turkey. The massive form would enter the tiltyard in a hushed silence, would challenge the champion, and, when he had beaten him would lift his visor; then the people would go wild with joy to recognize the well-known features, the crown of golden hair.

Katharine never failed to display a surprise which she was far from feeling. He would come to her, kiss her hand and tell her that his exploits were all in her honor. At which she would kiss him in return, thank him for the pastance, and then chide him a little for risking his life and causing her anxiety.

Henry enjoyed every moment. There was nothing he desired more than to be the popular, dazzling, godlike King of England.

It seemed, thought Katharine, that he had become a boy again. But there was a difference.

On occasions he would sit pensively staring before him; the music he played on his lute was plaintive. He was kinder, more gentle than he had ever been to Katharine and seemed to take great pains to please her.

Henry was changing subtly because he was falling in love.

She was a slip of a girl of sixteen with hair of that red gold color not unlike his own; but shy and innocent as she was, she could not remain long in ignorance of his interest and its significance. In the dances which were arranged for the Queen’s pleasure she would often find herself as his partner; their hands would touch and a slow smile would illumine the royal features. Bessie smiled shyly, blushing; and the sight of her, so young, so different from the brazen members of his Court, increased the King’s ardor.

He watched her at the banqueting table, at the masques, in the Queen’s apartments, but he rarely spoke to her.

He was surprised at his feelings. Previously he had believed that, if he desired, it was for him to beckon and the girl to come willingly. It was different with Bessie. She was so young, so innocent; and she aroused such tender feeling within him.

He even began to question himself. Should I? It would be so easy…like plucking a tender blossom. Yet she was ready for the plucking. But she was fragile and strangely enough he would not be happy if he hurt her.

Perhaps he should make a good match for her and send her away from Court. It was astonishing that he, who desired her so ardently, should think of such a thing; but it was his conscience which suggested this to him, and it was significant that it should never have worried him so insistently as it did over this matter of Elizabeth Blount.

During the masque they danced together.

He was dressed in white brocade of the Turkish fashion and he wore a mask over his face, but his stature always betrayed him, and everyone in the ballroom paid great deference to the unknown Turkish nobleman.

The Queen was seated on a dais with some of her women about her, splendidly clad in cloth of silver with many colored jewels glittering about her person. She was easily tired, although she did not admit this: so many miscarriages were beginning to take their toll of her health. Often after supper she would make an excuse to retire and in her apartments her women would undress her quickly so that she might sink into an exhausted sleep. She was aware that meanwhile Henry capered and danced in the ballroom. It was different for him. He had not suffered as she had from their attempts to get children; she was nearly thirty; he was in his early twenties, and she was beginning to be uncomfortably aware of the difference in their ages.

Now she watched him leaping, cavorting among the dancers. Did he never tire? He must always remind them of his superiority. She imagined the scene at the unmasking; the cries of surprise when it was seen who the Turkish nobleman really was—as if everyone in the ballroom was not aware of this. She herself would have to feign the greatest surprise of all, for he would surely come to her and tell her that it was all in her honor.

How much more acceptable would a little peace be to me, she thought.

Henry wound his way among the dancers because he knew that she was there and he must find her. No mask could hide her from him. She was as delicate as a flower and his heart beat fast to think of her.

He found and drew her towards an embrasure. Here they could feel themselves cut off from the dancers; here Katharine could not see them from her dais.

“Mistress Bessie,” he began.

She started to tremble.

His big hand rested on her shoulder then strayed down her back.

“Your Grace…” she murmured.

“So you have seen through the mask, Bessie.”

“Anyone must know Your Grace.”

“You have penetrating eyes. Can it be because you have such regard for your King that you know him, however he tries to hide himself?”

“All must know Your Grace. There is none like you.”

“Ah…Bessie.”

He seized her hungrily and held her against him for a few seconds.

He put his face close to her ear and she felt his hot breath on her neck. “You know of my feelings for you, Bessie. Tell me, what are yours for me?”

“Oh…Sire!” There was no need for more; that was enough.

His pulse was racing; his desire shone in the intense blue visible through the slits of the mask. He had abandoned all thought of restraint. Only this evening he had been thinking of a good match for her. A good match there should be, but this was for afterwards.

“I have sought to restrain my ardor,” he said, “but it is too strong for me, Bessie.”

She waited for him to go on, her lips slightly parted so that she appeared breathless; and watching her, his desire was an agony which demanded immediate satisfaction.

But they were here in the ballroom, barely hidden from the rest of the company.

Tonight? he thought. But how could he leave the ball? Oh, the restraint set upon a King! All his actions watched and commented upon; too many people were too interested in what he did.

There must be no scandal, for Bessie’s sake as well as his own.

He made a quick decision. For the sake of propriety his desire must wait…for tonight.

“Listen, Bessie,” he said. “Tomorrow I shall hunt, and you must join the hunt. You will stay close beside me and we will give them the slip. You understand?”

“Yes, Sire.”

He let his hand caress her body for a few seconds, but the emotions this aroused startled him, so he gave her a little push and murmured: “Back to the dance, girl.” And she left him to stand there in the embrasure, trying to quell the rising excitement, trying to steel himself to patience.


* * *

HE RODE WITH COMPTON and Francis Bryan beside him, the rest falling in behind. He had caught a glimpse of her among the party. She rode well, which was pleasing.

He said to Compton: “We must not forget this day that we have ladies with us. The hunt must not be too fierce.”

“Nay,” answered Compton, “since Your Grace is so considerate of the ladies, so must we all be.”

It was impossible to keep secrets from Compton. He was one of those wise men who seemed to read the King’s secrets before Henry had fully made up his mind to share them. Bryan was such another. His friends had often hinted that the King should live less virtuously. “For,” Compton had said, “if Your Grace sinned a little the rest of us would feel happier about our own sins.”

He could rely on their help and, as they already guessed his feelings towards Bessie and were waiting for the culmination of that little affair, Henry decided that he would use their help.

“When I give the sign,” he said, “I wish you to turn aside from the rest of the party with me…keep about me to cover my retreat.”

Compton nodded.

“And see that Mistress Blount is of our party.”

Compton winked at Bryan knowing Henry could not see the signal. There was scarcely a man in the party who would not understand. But Henry always believed that those about him only saw that which he wished them to see.

“Your Grace,” said Compton, “I know of an arbor in the woods which makes an excellent shelter.”

“He has dallied there himself,” put in Bryan.

“Well, Sire, it is an inviting arbor. It calls out to be of use.”

“I would like to see this arbor and perhaps show it to Mistress Blount.”

“Your humble servants will stand guard at a goodly distance,” said Compton. “Near enough though to prevent any from disturbing Your Grace and the lady.”

Henry nodded. Alas, he thought, that love must be indulged in thus shamefully. If I were but a shepherd, he thought, and she a village maid!

The thought was entrancing. To be a shepherd for an hour’s dalliance one afternoon! And such was his nature—he who was more jealous of his rank and dignity than any man—that when he sighed to be a shepherd he really believed that it was his desire.

He saw her—his village maiden—among the women. Gracefully she sat her horse; and her eyes were expectant. It is a great honor I do her, Henry assured himself. And I’ll make a goodly match for her. It shall be a complaisant husband who will be happy to do this service for his King.

It was easily arranged under the skilful guidance of Compton and Bryan; and even the sun shone its wintry light on the arbor; and the lovers did not feel the chill in the air. They were warmed by the hunt—not only of the deer but for the quenching of their desire.

Henry took her roughly into his arms; kissed her fiercely; then expertly—for he had learned of these matters in Flanders—he took her virginity. She wept a little, in fear and joy. She was overcome with the wonder that this great King should look her way. Her modesty enchanted him; he knew too that he would teach her passion and was amazed by the new tenderness she discovered in his nature.