‘Make haste!’ the King grumbled. ‘Here! Lend room.’ And himself he took one end of the knot and pulled it tight, breathing heavily.
‘Now speak,’ he said. ‘I am not one made for the healing of cripples.’
Throckmorton brushed the black blood from the furs on his sleeve, using his gloves.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I am in pain and my knees tremble, because I have lost much blood. I were more minded to take to my pallet.
Nevertheless, I am a man that do bear no grudge, being rather a very proper man, and one intent to do well to my country and its Lord.’
‘Sir,’ the King said, ‘if you are minded to speak ill of this lady you had best had no mouth.’
Throckmorton fell upon one knee.
‘Grant me the boon to be her advocate,’ he said. ‘And let me speak swiftly, for Privy Seal shall come soon and the Bishop of Winchester.’
‘Ass that you are,’ the King said, ‘fetch me a stool from the chapel, that I may not stand all the day.’
Throckmorton ran swiftly to the folding doors.
‘—Winchester comes,’ he said hurriedly, when he returned.
The King sat himself gingerly down upon the three-legged stool, balancing himself with his legs wide apart. A dark face peered from the folding doors: a priest’s shape came out from them.
‘Cousin of Winchester,’ the King called, ‘bide where you be.’
He had the air of a man hardly intent on what the spy could say. He had already made up his mind as to what he himself was to say to Katharine.
‘Sir,’ Throckmorton said, ‘this lady loves you well, and most well she loveth your Highness’ daughter. Most well, therefore, doth she hate Privy Seal. I, as your Highness knoweth, have for long well loved Privy Seal. Now I love others better—the common weal and your great and beneficent Highness. As I have told your Highness, this Lady Katharine hath laboured very heartily to bring the Lady Mary to love you. But that might not be. Now, your Highness being minded to give to these your happy realms a lasting peace, was intent that the Lady Mary should write a letter, very urgently, to your Highness’ foes urging them to make a truce with this realm, so that your Highness might cast out certain evil men and then better purge this realm of certain false doctrines.’
Amazement, that was almost a horror, made Katharine open wide the two hands that hung at her side.
‘You!’ she cried to the King. ‘You would have that letter written?’
He looked at her with a heavy astonishment.
‘Wherefore not?’ he asked.
‘My God! my God!’ she said. ‘And I have suffered!’
Her first feeling of horror at this endless plot hardly gave way to relief. She had been used as a tool; she had done the work. But she had been betrayed.
‘Aye, would I have the letter written,’ the King said. ‘What could better serve my turn? Would I not have mine enemies stay their arming against me?’
‘Then I have written your letter,’ she said bitterly. ‘That is why I should be gaoled.’
The King’s look of heavy astonishment did not leave him.
‘Why, sweetheart, shalt be made a countess,’ he said. ‘Y’ have done more in this than I or any man could do with my daughter.’
‘Wherefore, then, should this man have gaoled me?’ Katharine asked.
The King turned his heavy gaze upon Throckmorton. The big man’s eyes had a sunny and devious smile.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘this is a subtle conceit of mine, since I am a subtle man. If I am set a task I do it ever in mine own way. Here there was a task.…
‘Pray you let me sit upon the floor!’ he craved. ‘My legs begin to fail.’
The King made a small motion with his hand, and the great man, letting himself down by one hand against the arras, leaned back his head and stretched his long legs half across the corridor.
‘In ten minutes Privy Seal shall be here with the letter,’ he said. ‘My head swims, but I will be brief.’
He closed his eyes and passed his hand across his forehead.
‘I do a task ever in mine own way,’ he began again. ‘Here am I. Here is Privy Seal. Your Highness is minded to know what passes in the mind of Privy Seal. Well: I am Privy Seal’s servant. Now, if I am to come at the mind of Privy Seal, I must serve him well. In this thing I might seem to serve him main well. Listen …’
He cleared his throat and then spoke again.
‘Your Highness would have this letter written by the Lady Mary. That, with the help of this fair dame, was a thing passing easy. But neither your Highness nor Privy Seal knew the channel through which these letters passed. Yet I discovered it. Now, think I to myself: here is a secret for which Privy Seal would give his head. Therefore, how better may I ingratiate myself with Privy Seal than by telling him this same fine secret?’
‘Oh, devil!’ Katharine Howard called out. ‘Who was Judas to thee?’
Throckmorton raised his head, and winked upwards at her.
‘It was a fine device?’ he asked. ‘Why, I am a subtle man.… Do you not see?’ he said. ‘The King’s Highness would have me keep the confidence of Privy Seal that I may learn out his secrets. How better should I keep that confidence than by seeming to betray your secret to Privy Seal?
‘It was very certain,’ he added, ‘that Privy Seal should give a warrant to gaol your la’ship. But it was still more certain that the King’s Highness should pardon you. Therefore no bones should have been broken. And I did come myself to take you to a safe place, and to enlighten you as to the comedy.’
‘Oh, Judas, Judas,’ she cried.
‘Could you but have trusted me,’ he said reproachfully, ‘you had spared yourself a mad canter and me a maimed arm.’
‘Why, you have done well,’ the King said heavily. ‘But you speak this lady too saucily.’
He was in a high and ponderous good humour, but he stayed to reflect for a moment, with his head on one side, to see what he had gained.
‘This letter is written,’ he said. ‘But Cromwell holdeth it. How, then, has it profited me?’
‘Why,’ Throckmorton said, ‘Privy Seal shall come to bring the letter to your Highness; your Highness shall deliver it to me; I to the cook; the cook to the ambassador; the ambassador to the kings. And so the kings shall be prayed, by your daughter, whom they heed, to stay all unfriendly hands against your Highness.’
‘You are a shrewd fellow,’ the King said.
‘I have a shrewd ache in the head,’ the spy answered. ‘If you would give me a boon, let me begone.’
The King got stiffly up from his stool, and, bracing his feet firmly, gave the spy one hand. The tall man shook upon his legs.
‘Why, I have done well!’ he said, smiling. ‘Now Privy Seal shall take me for his very bedfellow, until it shall please your Highness to deal with him for good and all.’
He went, waveringly, along the corridor, brushing the hangings with his shoulder.
Katharine stood out before the King.
‘Now I will get me gone,’ she said. ‘This is no place for me.’
He surveyed her amiably, resting his hands on his red-clothed thighs as he sat his legs akimbo on his stool.
‘Why, it is main cold here,’ he said. ‘But bide a short space.’
‘I am not made for courts,’ she answered.
‘We will go pray anon,’ he quieted her, with his hand stretched out. ‘Give me a space for meditation, I am not yet in the mood for prayer.’
She pleaded, ‘Let me begone.’
‘Body of God,’ he said good-humouredly. ‘It is fitting that at this time that you do pray. You have escaped a great peril. But I am wont to drive away earthly passions ere I come before the Throne of grace.’
‘Sir,’ she pleaded more urgently, ‘the night draws near. Before morning I would be upon my road to Calais.’
He looked at her interestedly, and questioned in a peremptory voice:
‘Upon what errand? I have heard of no journey
ing of yours.’
‘I am not made for courts,’ she repeated.
He said: ‘Anan?’ with a sudden, half-comprehending anger, and she quailed.
‘I will get me gone to Calais,’ she uttered. ‘And then to a nunnery. I am not for this world.’
He uttered a tremendous: ‘Body of God,’ and repeated it four times.
He sprang to his feet and she shrank against the wall. His eyes rolled in his great head, and suddenly he shouted:
‘Ungrateful child. Ungrateful!’ Then he lost words; his swollen brow moved up and down. She was afraid to speak again.
Then, suddenly, with a light and brushing step, the Lord Privy Seal was coming towards them. His sagacious eyes looked from one to the other, his lips moved with their sideways motion.
‘Fiend,’ the King uttered. ‘Give me the letter and get thee out of earshot.’ And whilst Cromwell was bending before his person, he continued: ‘I have pardoned this lady. I would have you both clasp hands.’
Cromwell’s mouth fell open for a minute.
‘Your Highness knoweth the contents?’ he asked. And by then he appeared as calm as when he asked a question about the price of chalk at Calais.
‘My Highness knoweth!’ Henry said friendlily. He crumpled the letter in his hand, and then, remembering its use, moved to put it in his own pouch. ‘This lady has done very well to speak to me who am the fountain-head of power.’
‘Get thee out of earshot,’ he repeated. ‘I have things as to which I would admonish this lady.’
‘Your Highness knoweth …’ Privy Seal began again, then his eye fell upon Winchester, who still stayed by the chapel door at the far end of the corridor. He threw up his hands.
‘Sir,’ he said. ‘Traitors have come to you!’
Gardiner, indeed, was gliding towards them, drawn, in spite of all prudence, by his invincible hatred.
The King watched the pair of them with his crafty eyes, deep seated in his head.
‘It is certain that no traitors have come to me,’ he uttered gently; and to Cromwell: ‘You have a nose for them.’
He appeared placable and was very quiet.
Winchester, his black eyes glaring with desire, was almost upon them in the shadows.
‘Here is enough of wrangling,’ Henry said. He appeared to meditate, and then uttered: ‘As well here as elsewhere.’
‘Sir,’ Gardiner said, ‘if Privy Seal misleads me, I have somewhat to say of Privy Seal.’
‘Cousin of Winchester,’ Henry answered. ‘Stretch out your hand, I would have you end your tulzies in this place.’
Winchester, bringing out his words with a snake’s coldness, seemed to whisper:
‘Your Highness did promise that Privy Seal should make me amends.’
‘Why, Privy Seal shall make amends,’ the King answered. ‘It was his man that did miscall thee. Therefore, Privy Seal shall come to dine with thee, and shall, in the presence of all men, hold out to thee his hand.’
‘Let him come, then, with great state,’ the bishop stuck to his note.
‘Aye, with a great state,’ the King answered. ‘I will have an end to these quarrels.’
He set his hand cordially upon Privy Seal’s shoulder.
‘For thee,’ he said, ‘I would have thee think between now and the assembling of the Parliaments of what title thou wilt have to an earldom.’
Cromwell fell upon one knee, and, in Latin, made three words of a speech of thanks.
‘Why, good man,’ the King said, ‘art a man very valuable to me.’ His eyes rested upon Katharine for a moment. ‘I am well watched for by one and the other of you,’ he went on. ‘Each of you by now has brought me a letter of this lady’s.’
Katharine cried out at Gardiner:
‘You too!’
His eyes sought the ground, and then looked defiantly into hers.
‘You did threaten me!’ he said doggedly. ‘I was minded to be betimes.’
‘Why, end it all, now and here,’ the King said. ‘Here is a folly with a silly wench in it.’
‘Here was a treason that I would show your Highness,’ the Bishop said doggedly.
‘Sirs,’ the King said. He touched his bonnet: ‘God in His great mercy has seen fit much to trouble me. But here are troubles that I may end. Now I have ended them all. If this lady would not have her cousin to murder a cardinal, God, she would not. There are a plenty others to do that work.’
He pressed one hand on Cromwell’s chest and pushed him backwards gently.
‘Get thee gone, now,’ he said, ‘out of earshot. I shall speak with thee soon.—And you!’ he added to Winchester.
‘Body of God, Body of God,’ he muttered beneath his breath, as they went, ‘very soon now I can rid me of these knaves,’ and then, suddenly, he blared upon Katharine:
‘Thou seest how I am plagued and would’st leave me. Before the Most High God, I swear thou shalt not.’
She fell upon her knees.
‘With each that speaks, I find a new traitor to me,’ she said. ‘Let me begone.’
He threatened her with one hand.
‘Wench,’ he said, ‘I have had better converse with thee than with man or child this several years. Thinkest thou I will let thee go?’
She began to sob:
‘What rest may I have? What rest?’
He mocked her:
‘What rest may I have? What rest? My nights are full of evil dreams! God help me. Have I offered thee foul usage? Have I pursued thee with amorous suits?’
She said pitifully:
‘You had better have done that than set me amongst these plotters.’
‘I have never seen a woman so goodly to look upon as thou art,’ he answered.
She covered her face with her hands, but he pulled them apart and gazed at it.
‘Child,’ he said, ‘I will cherish thee as I would a young lamb. Shalt have Cromwell’s head; shalt have Winchester in what gaol thou wilt when I have used them.’
She put her fingers in her ears.
‘For pity,’ she whispered. ‘Let me begone.’
‘Why,’ he reasoned with her, ‘I cannot let thee have Cromwell down before he has called this Parliament. There is no man like him for calling of truckling Parliaments. And, rest assured,’ he uttered solemnly, ‘that that man dies that comes between thee and me from this day on.’
‘Let me begone,’ she said wearily. ‘Let me begone. I am afraid to look upon these happenings.’
‘Look then upon nothing,’ he answered. ‘Stay you by my daughter’s side. Even yet you shall win for me her obedience. If you shall earn the love of the dear saints, I will much honour you and set you on high before all the land.’
She said:
‘For pity, for pity. Here is a too great danger for my soul.’
‘Never, never,’ he answered. ‘You shall live closed in. No man shall speak with you but only I. You shall be as you were in a cloister. An you will, you shall have great wealth. Your house shall be advanced; your father close his eyes in honour and estate. None shall walk before you in the land.’
She said: ‘No. No.’
‘See you,’ he said. ‘This world goes very wearily with me. I am upon a make of husbandry that bringeth little joy. I have no rest, no music, no corner to hide in save in thy converse and the regard of thy countenance.’
He paused to search her face with his narrow eyes.
‘God knows that the Queen there is no wife of mine,’ he said slowly. ‘If thou wilt wait till the accomplished time.…’
She said:
‘No, no!’ and her voice had an urgent sharpness.
She stretched out both her hands, being still upon her knees. Her fair face worked convulsively, her lips moved, and her hood, falling away from her brows, showed her hair that had golden glints.
‘For pity let me go,’ she moaned. ‘For pity.’
He answered:
‘When I renounce my kingdom and my life!’
From oppos
ite ends of the gallery Winchester and Cromwell watched them with intent and winking eyes.
‘Let us go pray,’ the King said. ‘For now I am in the mood.’
She got upon her legs wearily, and, for a moment, took his hand to steady herself.
PRIVY SEAL
His Last Venture
“Ille potens … et lætus cui licet in diem
Dixisse: Vixi!…”
To Frau Laura Schmedding
who has so often combated my prejudices
and corrected my assertions
this with affection
PART ONE
The Rising Sun
I
THE MAGISTER UDAL sat in the room of his inn in Paris, where customarily the King of France lodged such envoys as came at his expense. He had been sent there to Latinise the letters that passed between Sir Thomas Wyatt and the King’s Ministers of France, for he was esteemed the most learned man in these islands. He had groaned much at being sent there, for he must leave in England so many loves—the great, blonde Margot Poins, that was maid to Katharine Howard; the tall, swaying Katharine Howard herself; Judge Cantre’s wife that had fed him well; and two other women, with all of whom he had succeeded easily or succeeded in no wise at all. But the mission was so well paid—with as many crowns the day as he had had groats for teaching the Lady Mary of England—that fain he had been to go. Moreover, it was by way of being a favour of Privy Seal’s. The magister had written for him a play in English; the rich post was the reward—and it was an ill thing, a thing the magister dreaded, to refuse the favours of Privy Seal. He consoled himself with the thought that the writing of letters in Latin might wash from his mouth the savour of the play he had written in the vulgar tongue.
But his work in Paris was ended—for with the flight of Cardinal Pole, who had left Paris precipitately upon news that the King of England had sent a drunken roisterer to assassinate him, it was imagined that soon now more concord between Francis and England might ensue, and the magister sat in his room planning his voyage back to Dover. The room was great in size, panelled mostly in wood, lit with lampwicks that floated in oil dishes and heated with a sea-coal fire, for though it was April the magister was of a cold disposition of the hands and shins. The inn—of the Golden Astrolabe—was kept by an Englishwoman, a masterful widow with a broad face and a great mouth that smiled. She stood beside him there. Forty-seven she might have been, and she called herself the Widow Annot.
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