Виктория Холт - The Shadow of the Pomegranate

So much had happened in a year.

Now she spent most of her time sewing with her women, hearing Mass, praying in her own apartments, making pilgrimages to such places as the shrine at Walsingham.

Often she thought of those days when Henry had seemed contented with his wife. But it was not only the husband whom she had lost. She often remembered how, at one time when he had received foreign dispatches, he brought them to her and they read them together. He never did this now.

There were two others who had supplanted her.

There was Cardinal Wolsey in state affairs, and in his bed there was Bessie Blount.

IT WAS NEW YEAR’S NIGHT AND THERE MUST BE ENTERTAINMENT at the Court to celebrate such an occasion; so the great hall of Westminster had been decorated with cloth of gold, and at night, by torchlight, it was a beautiful sight indeed.

The people had crowded in to watch the royal sport; and on such an occasion Henry liked to show his people that he lived in the splendor expected of a King.

Katharine was seated on a dais at one end of the great hall as she had sat so often before. About her were her ladies, and she was glad to have with her her dear Maria de Salinas who, with her husband, was paying a visit to the Court. Maria had heard of the King’s open liaison with Elizabeth Blount and had condoled with Katharine about this. It was the way of Kings, she said, and not to be taken seriously. Why, even the people accepted the fact that the King must have his mistress.

Katharine was considerably comforted by Maria and, perhaps because of that, looked more like her old self on that night. She was magnificently dressed in rich blue velvet, and diamonds, sapphires and rubies glittered about her person.

While she sat there a messenger came to her in the costume of Savoy and begged to be allowed to speak to her. Katharine recognized one of the gentlemen of the Court and knew at once that this was part of the entertainment.

“Pray speak on,” she said.

There was silence in the hall, and the Savoyard said in loud ringing tones but using a foreign accent: “Your Grace of England, there are without a band of dancers from Savoy. They have travelled far that they may enchant you with their dancing on this first night of the New Year. Have they your permission to enter and dance for the pleasure of the Court?”

“I beg you bring them in at once. They must perform for us.”

Katharine sat back on her throne while the party were brought in. There at the head of them were two tall figures—whom she knew well. One was Henry, the other Brandon. They were masked, but beneath the mask it was possible to see the King’s golden hair.

“Welcome, Gentlemen,” said Katharine.

They bowed low; and as they did so Katharine’s eyes began to sparkle, for this was as it had been in the old days, and it might mean that Henry was going to forget their differences and treat her once more as his wife.

When Henry spoke—and who could not recognize his voice—he said: “Most beautiful Queen of this fair land, we are strolling dancers from the land of Savoy. We would fain dance before you so that Your Grace may judge whether there are not as good dancers from Savoy as live in this fair land.”

Katharine threw herself into the game. “You may try,” she said, “but I must warn you, we have most excellent dancers in this land, and they are led by the King himself whom all agree none has ever equalled. If you would care to try your skill against us, do so. But I dare swear you will be dismayed when you see the King dance.”

“We are happy, Your Grace, to put our skill to the test, and you shall be our judge.”

Katharine signed to the musicians then and by the light of the torches the little party took its place before her. There were four men and four women, all in blue velvet and cloth of silver and their costumes were fashioned after the manner of Savoy.

The dancing began. It was a beautiful ballet outstanding on account of the high leaping of the leader.

There were murmurs in the crowd. “Can it be? Does he in truth outjump the King? Where is his Grace? He should see the unusual skill of these men and in particular the leader.”

Sitting back Katharine marvelled at the ability of all to enter so wholeheartedly into the game and to show such seeming innocence of the masquerade which all must have seen so many times before.

At length the dancing ceased and the dancers were all on their knees before the Queen’s throne.

“I pray you,” said Katharine, “unmask, that we may see your faces.”

The dancers rose to their feet and Katharine kept her eyes on the leader while he, with a dramatic gesture, drew off his mask.

There was a gasp throughout the Court and then loud bursts of applause. Henry bowed to the Queen and turned about so that none should be in doubt as to his identity.

He has not grown up at all, thought Katharine; and she felt a little happier, for it was more pleasant to see the naïve boy taking the place of the brutal man.

He then stepped to the Queen’s side and taking her hand kissed it, which drew more lusty cheers from the people.

Holy Mother of God, murmured Katharine to herself, can we really go back to the beginning? Can it really be as though our troubles never happened?

She was more than ready to meet him halfway.

She said so clearly that all might hear: “So it was Your Grace. I could not believe there was one to rival you, and yet it seemed that Savoyard could do so. I thank Your Grace for my good pastance.”

Then boldly she rose and putting her hands to his face drew him down to her and kissed him.

For a few seconds she held her breath with apprehension, but he had returned her kiss, and the people cheered.

“Good Kate,” he whispered, “’tis all done in thy honor.”

It seemed to the watchers then that something of the Queen’s youth returned, as Henry sat beside her and they talked amicably.

That night they slept together. The need to get a child was as urgent as ever. It was a return to the old pattern; and there was, after all, to be another chance.

* * *

IT WAS SHORTLY AFTER the New Year revels when a messenger from France came to Westminster with an urgent dispatch for the King.

Henry read the news and let out an exclamation of dismay. He had the messenger taken to the kitchens to be refreshed and sent at once for Wolsey.

“News!” he cried. “News from France. Louis is dead. He died on New Year’s day.”

Wolsey took the news calmly; he had not expected Louis to live long; a new bride, such as Mary, would not act as an elixir to such as he was, for Louis was Gallic and as such would ape the gallant no matter at what cost.

Wolsey smiled secretly thinking of the old man trying to play lover to that young and passionate girl.

“This means, Your Grace, that Francis of Angoulême will now be King of France unless…”

“Exactly,” said the King, “unless my sister is with child by the King; then Francis’ long nose will be a little out of joint. I’ll warrant the sly fellow is beside himself with anxiety. Imagine! For years he and his mother and doting sister have watched old Louis…waiting for him to die. Then the old man marries my sister. ‘Is she with child?’ ‘Is she not with child?’ This is a fine joke.”

“Let us hope, Your Grace, that the Queen of France has conceived. With one sister Queen of France and another Queen of Scotland, Your Grace would be most fortunately placed.”

“’Tis so. ’Tis so.”

Henry smiled at Wolsey. He appreciated this servant, being fully aware that Wolsey possessed something which he himself lacked. He called it seriousness. He would come to it in time; but at this stage he did not want to devote all his energies to state affairs. He had discovered that he was not as completely devoted to war as he had imagined he would be. When he entered into a game he liked to know what the outcome would be. He wanted the shouts of wonder at his prowess. These did not always come in war. Even Ferdinand and Maximilian—those great warriors, who, all would admit, had had their share of victories—frequently suffered defeat and humiliation. Henry had not been prepared to go to war alone with France, and the reason was that he feared defeat.

He was indeed growing up and it was unfortunate for his peace of mind that, in spite of his vanity and frequent displays of naïveté, he was also intelligent. And this intelligence kept asserting itself—even as his conscience did—to disturb his peace.

Therefore he was grateful to Wolsey. That man had genius, and while he could place state affairs in those capable hands he could be at peace. He was ready to show his appreciation to Wolsey who must be well on the way to becoming one of the richest men in England—next to himself. Henry rejoiced in Wolsey’s advancement; he was ready to abet it. His face softened at the sight of the man; he would put his arm about his shoulders as they walked in the gardens, so that all might realize the esteem in which he held his new Cardinal.

So now he said: “Well, Thomas, what’s to be done?”

“There is nothing we can do but wait, Sire. All depends on whether the Queen of France carries the heir.”

Henry nodded. “My poor sister! There she is, all alone in that country. And she will have to endure the period of mourning as a widow, shut into her darkened apartments where she will be most unhappy. I must send my envoy at once to France to convey my condolences…to my sister, to Francis…”