The Sixth Wife: The Story of Katherine Parr

CHAPTER

IV

THE KING WAS DISSATISFIED.

The execution had availed him nothing. He was a tired man; he was a King in need of relaxation, and my lady of Suffolk seemed to grow more fair as the days passed.

He was overburdened with matters of state. The cost of garrisoning the town of Boulogne and holding it against the French was a considerable drain on his resources, yet he would not give it up. It was an additional foothold in France which he felt was necessary to England. He affectionately called Boulogne “my daughter”; and it was said that he never squandered so much on any child of his as he did on the bricks and soil of that town.

Indeed he needed relaxation. In the days of his youth he had found great pleasure in the hunt; but he could no longer hunt with pleasure. He had enjoyed dancing, jousting, playing games, amusing and distinguishing himself in the tiltyard. But now that he was no longer a young man those avenues to pleasure were closed. There was still love. He needed love; but because he was a virtuous man—and he was continually worried by the thought that his end might not be far off—it must be legalized love; the sort of love which would not distress his conscience while it delighted his body.

All the kings of his age were egoists; but egoism was the very essence of this King’s nature. Everything that happened must be colored by his view of it, garnished and flavored to satisfy his conscience.

After he had fallen from grace, Cardinal Wolsey, who had perhaps known him better than any other person, said of him: “The King is a man of royal courage. He has a princely heart; and rather than he will miss or want part of his appetite he will hazard the loss of onehalf of his kingdom.”

It was true of Henry. He was as Wolsey had seen him. But he was strong and ruthless in an age when strength and ruthlessness were the qualities a growing country looked for in its King; and under this man a little island had become a great power; he, who had seemed to his enemies on the Continent of Europe but of ducal standing when he ascended the throne, had become a mighty King.

But there was more than one Henry. Just as there was the moralist and the sensualist, so there was the strong and ruthless ruler, determined to make his country great, and that other who must at all cost have his pleasure and who was ready to sacrifice half his kingdom for his appetite. But every phase of Henry’s character—the moralist, the sensualist, the great King and the weak King—was dominated by the brutal, callous monster.

Those about him, those sly and subtle ministers, continually watching him, sensed his moods.

They had murdered Anne Askew, but they still had to rid him of his sixth wife and provide him with a seventh. And there came a day shortly after the executions in Smithfield when Gardiner found his opportunity.

Gardiner had been granted an audience with the King when His Majesty was alone with the Queen, and the Bishop sensed at once a certain tension in the atmosphere. The King was irritated and wished to quarrel with the Queen; and the woman would give him no opportunity.

When Gardiner had the King’s signature to the papers which he had set before him, he spoke of the execution of Anne Askew, a subject which never failed to upset the Queen so thoroughly that it set her emotions above her common sense.

The King scowled.

“The trouble, Your Grace,” said Gardiner, “can be traced to these books which are circulating in your realm. They lead astray those who read them.” Gardiner had turned to the Queen, and he added pointedly: “Your Majesty has doubtless seen the books to which I refer?”

“I?” said Katharine, flushing uncomfortably.

“I feel sure that the woman, Anne Askew, must have brought them to Your Grace’s notice.”

Katharine, who had suffered and was still suffering from the tragedy which had robbed her of a woman whom she had loved and respected, said sharply: “The books I see and read could be of little interest to you, my lord Bishop.”

“Not if they were forbidden books, Your Majesty.”

“Forbidden books!” cried the Queen. “I was unaware that I must ask my lord Bishop’s advice as to what I might and might not read.”

Henry, who could never like Gardiner, thought his manner insolent, and growled: “I, too, was unaware of it.”

Gardiner bowed. He was a bold man and he knew that he was but obeying the will of the King in what he was doing.

“In truth,” he said quietly, “it would be presumptuous of me to direct Your Highness’s reading. I would but express an opinion that it might be unwise for the Queen’s Grace to have in her possession books given to her by those who, by order of the King, have been found guilty of heresy and sentenced to death.”

The King’s eyes glistened; they almost disappeared into his face as they did in moments of great pleasure or anger.

“What books are these?” he growled. “Has our Queen become the friend of those who work against us?”

Gardiner caught the note of excitement in the King’s voice. Was this the moment? Could he, by subtle words, trap the Queen, as he and the Chancellor had been unable to do by applying the torture to Anne Askew?

“Indeed not,” said Katharine.

She saw the crafty wickedness in her husband’s eyes, and because of what had happened to those who had shared his throne before her, she read his thoughts.

“Not so?” said the King. “We would be sure of that.”

“Your Majesty will hear me out?” said Katharine.

The King would not look at her. “I am weary of these conflicts,” he said. “I will not have my Queen take part in them…or if she does, she will not long remain my Queen.”

The threat in his words terrified Katharine. “Courage!” she prayed, as Anne Askew had prayed before her. But she knew that she, who loved life so much, could never face death as Anne had. Anne had longed for death, for martyrdom; and Katharine had never ceased to long for life and Thomas Seymour.

“Conflicts…?” she stammered.

“You heard us,” said the King; and the scowl on his brow had deepened. His anger shifted from the Queen to Gardiner. At that moment he disliked them both heartily and he was thinking: I am a King, heavily burdened with matters of state. I need pleasure to soothe me; I need gentle relaxation. Instead I have these two to plague me. Methinks it is time I rid myself of them both. “It would appear,” he continued, keeping his eyes on Gardiner, “that there are some among us who, in place of preaching the Word of God, do nothing but rail against one another.” His eyes shifted unpleasantly from the Bishop to the Queen and back to the Bishop. “If any know that there are those among us who preach perverse doctrines, he should come and declare it before us or some of our council. Have I not said it before?”

Gardiner murmured: “Your Majesty has indeed, and it shall be done….”

The King waved a hand; he was not going to endure one of Gardiner’s speeches. If any should speak now it would be the King.

“We now permit our subjects to read the Holy Scriptures,” he said, “and to have the Word of God in our mother tongue, and I will have it known that it is licensed them so to do only to inform their consciences, their children and their families, and not to dispute and to make scripture a railing and a taunting stock. This I have said to my parliament, and now I say it to you, Bishop, and to you, wife. I am sorry to know how irreverently that precious jewel, the Word of God, is disputed, rhymed, sung and jangled in every alehouse and tavern, contrary to the true meaning and doctrine of the same.”

He paused and raised his eyes devoutly to the ceiling, as though he knew that God was watching and applauding.

“My lord King,” said Katharine, “when Your Most Gracious Majesty says ‘to dispute,’ Your Grace cannot mean that it is not lawful to discuss, one with another, the interpretation of the Gospel?”

“I should have thought that we had stated our meaning clearly,” said the King with weary menace. “What do you, madam? Would you question the decision of our ministers?”

“Never, my lord, but…but…”

“But? But?” cried the King threateningly. “You would then question our decision?”

“I do no such thing, Your Majesty,” said Katharine quickly, “since it would be unseemly on my part. I would only beg Your Grace that you might cease to forbid the use of that translation which you previously licensed.”

The King let loose his anger. He flagellated it to greater vehemence. He wanted to find fault with his wife; he was tired of her. Through the haze of his fury he saw the alluring body of the Duchess of Suffolk.

“By my faith!” he cried. “I’ll have obedience from my subjects; and hark ye! a wife is not less a subject because she is a wife. Madam, when we say it is forbidden to use a translation, it is forbidden.”

“My lord,” said Katharine, trembling before the storm which she had raised, “your word is law indeed, but this translation did so clearly set forth the truth…”

“We would hear no more,” roared the King. “Therefore you have our leave to retire from our presence.”

She knelt before him, but he waved her away.

“Come,” he said, turning to Gardiner, “let us attend to matters of state.”

When Katharine had gone, the purple color flamed anew into his face.

“A good hearing it is,” he snarled, “when women become such clerks; and much to my comfort to be taught in my old age by my wife!”

Gardiner’s eyes were glistening; he wetted his dry lips. “Your Majesty, have I your leave to speak to you on a very serious matter?”

The King’s shrewd eyes appraised his Bishop. He knew the nature of this serious matter; it was a matter, above all others, that he wished to discuss.

“You have my leave,” he said.

“Your Majesty said that if any offended against your laws, no matter what rank that person should hold … it was the bounden duty…”

“Yes…yes…” said the King testily. “I remember my words. There is no need to repeat them.”

“There are secret matters, Your Majesty, which I have long sought an opportunity of bringing to your ears…but since they concern the opinions of the Queen…”

“Well?” cried the King. “Get on, man. Get on.”

“Your Majesty excels the princes of this and any other age as well as all the professed doctors of divinity. It is unseemly for any of Your Majesty’s subjects to argue and discuss with you as malapertly as the Queen hath done. It is grievous for any of your counselors to hear this done.”

“You’re right, Bishop. You’re right there.”

Gardiner lowered his voice. “Your Grace, I could make great discoveries, were I not held back by the Queen’s faction.”

The King looked fiercely at his Bishop, but his pleasure was obvious; and Gardiner knew that the moment for which he had longed was at hand. He would not have been in his eminent position if he had not been a man to seize his opportunities.

NAN WANDERED LISTLESSLY about the gardens of Hampton Court. It was no use pretending that she was unafraid. Every time a messenger came to the apartment she would find herself shivering.

She had heard of the terrible things which had happened to Anne Askew in the Tower. She had been there, at Smithfield Square, and had seen the poor broken creature they had carried out in her chair. She could not look on that gruesome end to Anne’s tragedy; she had knelt on the stones praying while the horrible smoke rose to the sky.

And those wicked men who had destroyed Anne now sought to destroy the Queen.

Nan watched a bee fly past, on the way from the flower garden, laden with pollen. She envied the bee who knew nothing of court intrigues, of fear, and the terrible things which could be done to a good and virtuous woman who had asked nothing but to be allowed to think for herself.

And what next? wondered Nan.

She was in constant dread that she herself would be taken to the Tower. What if they questioned her under torture? It was not the pain that she dreaded so much as the fear that she would not be strong enough to keep silent, and that she might betray the Queen.

What tragedies these gardens must have seen! It seemed to Nan that tension and horror were in the very air of this place. So many had suffered here. So many had walked these gardens waiting for disaster to overtake them.

And now, in the court, people were saying that the days of Katharine Parr were numbered.

The King had turned his eyes elsewhere; and here was the same pattern that had been worked before, with Katharine Parr in place of Anne Boleyn.

I would die for her! thought Nan; for dying would be easy. And oh, how I pray that it may never be my evil lot to betray her.

She must not delay. It was time to attend, with the other ladies, in the Queen’s apartment. The Queen’s apartment…. How long before there would be a new Queen in place of Queen Katharine?

She was about to cross the great courtyard when she saw, hurrying across it, that man who had taken off his mantle that he himself might ferociously work the rack and so inflict greater torture on the suffering body of Anne Askew. Nan drew back and hid herself in an archway.

Sir Thomas Wriothesley, the Lord Chancellor, was smiling, and it occurred to Nan that she had never seen him look so smug.

What could this mean? What fresh evil was he planning?

And as he crossed the courtyard, obviously in great haste, by some chance which could only be called miraculous, a scroll fell from his sleeve and came to rest on the cobbles.

Nan waited for him to pick it up, but he was unaware that it had fallen.

He passed on into the palace.

Quickly, and with madly beating heart, Nan ran out of her hiding place and picked up the documents.

She felt them to be of great importance, but she did not stop to read them; she thrust them into her bodice and ran, as fast as she could, to the Queen’s apartment. Intuitively she knew that the self-satisfied smile on the face of the Chancellor had something to do with these documents.

When she was in a small antechamber she took them from her bodice and examined one of them. She saw the seal and the King’s signature, and with horror, realized what it was.

Benumbed, she stood looking at it, and never in all her life had she felt such misery.

“What shall I do?” she whispered. “What can I do?”

She closed her eyes and said a short prayer asking for help and guidance that she might do the right thing. Then she thrust the documents back into her bodice and went to find the Queen.

IN THE PRIVY CHAMBER the Queen sat alone with her sister. She could not bring herself to work on the embroidery which lay on the windowseat.

She had been aware of the atmosphere of brooding disaster which pervaded the court. She was conscious of the quick glances which the King gave her now and then. All the ladies and gentlemen of the court were aware of it. They waited, with a certain fatalism, for past events to be repeated.

Lady Herbert felt the tension as much as any. Not only did she fear for her sister but for her husband, Lord Herbert, who was involved in the new learning as deeply as she was. It was true that the powerful Seymours were with them, but one felt sure, knowing the mental agility of the Seymours, that if there was trouble they would, with a few twists and turns, extricate themselves and leave their friends to take the blame.

The tragedy of Anne Askew could not be forgotten or misunderstood. It was a grim warning, the shadow cast before approaching disaster.

Katharine spoke of it, for to whom could she speak her thoughts if not to this beloved sister?

“I cannot bear to refer to it,” she said. “And yet I cannot bear not to.”

“Oh, my sister, when the mind is disturbed, it is well to speak of the worry, since it is not dismissed by silence.”

“How brave she was! Oh, Anne, could any of us be as brave?”

“I doubt it. It seems she was born to be a martyr. She longed for martyrdom. She was different from the rest of us. She embraced death eagerly; but dearest Kate… you and I… there is much on Earth that we long for.”

“You speak truth there, sister.”

Anne said: “You think of Seymour still, do you not?”

“I do.”

“Dearest Kate, it is not wise.”

“Love is beyond wisdom.”

“Sometimes I wonder…”

“You wonder whether I am a foolish woman to love him? You see him about the court, seeming not to care for me, casting his eyes on others. But, Anne, what could he do? How could he show his love for me, the King’s wife?”

Anne Herbert sighed and turned away. The tragedy of Anne Askew was a safer subject than the love of Thomas Seymour.

“I have scarcely slept since they took Anne Askew to the Tower,” she said.

“Nor I. I have dreams, Anne…horrible dreams. I dream of her on the rack…so frail…so delicate. And her bearing it so bravely, refusing to name us. I am glad we made her days in prison as comfortable as we could.”

“We acted foolishly in sending Nan with comforts,” said Anne. “But I am glad we did so. I, like you, dream dreams…of discovery. I dream that Nan… little Nan…is caught and tortured.”

The Queen shuddered. “If she had betrayed us they would have sent me to the Tower.”

“Dearest Kate, I think that was what Gardiner wished to do. Face the truth, my sister. It was you whom they wanted…not poor Anne Askew.”

“How I hate that man… and Wriothesley…Wriothesley the brute who tortured Anne with his own hands. How I hate them both!”

“Do not let your hatred grow too hot. You must be cool and calm … as they are.”

“Anne…my dearest sister… what can I do?”

Anne Herbert rose and, going to the Queen, put her hands on her shoulders and, drawing her toward her, held her close.

“Kate, face the truth. When the King’s nuptial ring was put on your finger, your head was placed directly under the ax.”

“I know it, Anne. I would be brave, but I am so frightened. When I think of what happiness might have been mine…”

“Hush! You must not speak of Seymour. You must not think of him.” Anne Herbert’s mouth hardened. “You must play his game. When he looks at you it would seem he has forgotten that he ever thought to make you his wife.”

“He is clever. He thinks of me, but he knows that one careless word would be enough to send us both to the scaffold. Oh, Anne, often I think of those others… Anne Boleyn and Catharine Howard.”

“But you must not! You must not!”

“How can I help it? What happened to them will happen to me.”

“Nay!” Anne was frightened by the signs of hysteria in her sister. “We have the advantage of knowing what happened to them.”

Katharine laughed wildly, and it was laughter which aroused fresh fears in her sister. Was this calm Kate, the practical one? They had made fun of Kate in the old days at home. Dear, sensible little Kate! they had called her. How placidly she had received the news that she was to marry Lord Borough; and how quickly she had adjusted herself to life with her husbands. There had never been any sign of hysteria in Kate during those years. But she had been living at the whim of a royal murderer for the last three years, and the strain was too much. It would break through the deep composure.

“Death is a dreary subject,” said Anne. “And how do any of us know when it will catch up with us? Come. I want you to see this embroidery of mine.”

“It is beautiful,” said the Queen. After a short silence she went on: “I often think of life in Yorkshire. Long summer days and the buzz of the bees in the lavender. I would sit in the garden with my husband and we would talk of… little things; the weeding that would have to be done; the little affairs of those who labored for us. How different life was! I was a Catholic then.”

“Catholic or Protestant, none is safe, Kate.”

“You are right. From the fury of the King none is safe.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Who is there?” cried Katharine, and the color left her face.

Every knock, every sound, is to her like the death knell! thought Anne.

“Please come in,” said the Queen in a breathless voice.

The door was opened and both ladies felt an immense relief, because it was only Nan who stood there.

But what had happened to Nan? Her face was parchment color and her eyes were wild; she held her hands across her bodice as though she feared someone might force from her what was hidden there.

“Your Majesty …” she stammered; and she did not fall on her knees, but stood still, looking wildly from the Queen to the Queen’s sister.

“You are distressed, Nan,” said the Queen. “What ails you?”

“Your Majesty, I know not what I have done. I thought it for the best….”

“Come here, Nan. Tell us what troubles you.”

Nan came forward and, as she did so, took the documents from her bodice.

“It was in the courtyard, Your Majesty. I saw the Chancellor. He was smiling, and he looked…so evil, that I greatly feared what was in his mind. And then … this dropped from his gown. I picked it up, and instead of running after him, something held me back. And…I saw Your Majesty’s name…so I brought it to you. If I have done aught wrong, it was for love of Your Majesty.”

The Queen took the documents. She said: “Nan, you did well to bring this to me. If … if it is aught that should be passed on to a member of the court, I will see to its despatch.”

“I thank Your Majesty.”

Nan had recovered her selfpossession. She had done all that she could.

Katharine said: “You may go, Nan.” And her sister, watching her, was aware of the great effort she was making to keep her control.

“I…I trust I did right, Your Majesty,” said Nan dropping to her knees.

“Yes, Nan. Yes.”

Nan went out, and Lady Herbert said quickly: “What are these papers?”

“They concern me, Anne. They concern me deeply. Read this! You see…”

Anne took the paper, and as she gazed at it, realized that what she had feared above all things had come to pass.

“It is a mandate for my arrest,” said Katharine slowly, and the hysterical laughter was in her voice.

“Oh God!” cried Anne. “It has come. It has come then.” She kept staring at the paper; she longed to tell herself that her eyes had deceived her, that fear and anger had made her see what was not there. But she knew that her eyes were not deceived. She cried out angrily: “Wriothesley has done this. He… and Gardiner. I would it were in my power to kill them!”

“But it is not in your power,” said Katharine wildly. “It is they who have the power. It is they who plan to kill me.”

“Nan saw this mandate for your arrest. She has endangered her life by bringing it to you. There are many who love you, Kate. Remember that. Remember it, dearest sister. Wriothesley was on his way to the King. He would have done his best to persuade His Majesty to sign.”

Katharine’s laughter seemed to fill the apartment. “Did you not see then? Did you not see it, Anne?”

Anne stared at her sister.

“The King!” cried Katharine wildly. “The King has signed. See. Here! The King has signed the mandate for the Queen’s arrest.”

Katharine walked to the window and looked out over the gardens where the red and white roses were lifting their faces to the hot sunshine.

She whispered: “I shall go down to the river. I shall take boat to the Tower. I shall enter by the Traitors’ Gate. That which I have dreaded so long is about to take place. Can aught prevent it? Oh, Thomas…we could have been happy together, you and I. But ’t was not to be so. I might not be your wife, for I must be a Queen. Often I have wondered about those who went before me, who enjoyed royal favor and who suffered royal displeasure. I have no need to wonder now.” She turned to her sister. “Do not weep for me, Anne. The shadow has grown large above me. I have seen it grow. Sweet sister, I am no lighthearted girl to imagine that the way which was so thorny for some would be smooth for me.”

“Katharine…perchance this is not the end.”

The Queen shook her head slowly. “This much I know: You spoke truth when you said that the King put a ring of doom about me when he placed the nuptial ring on my finger. None may share the throne of Henry of England and escape disaster. Mine closes in upon me now.”

Anne Herbert watched the Queen with wide and terrified eyes. That calmness would break, she knew; and then what would happen?

“Save her,” prayed Anne. “Save her. Death should not come to her so soon. She is young; she is sweet and kind and has never willingly harmed any. Oh God, let her live. Let her have a chance of happiness. She is not meant for death… not yet, dear Lord, not yet.”

And the Queen stood long at the window, looking out on the white and red roses of York and Lancaster blooming side by side within the Tudor fence.

THE QUEEN LAY on her bed. Her ladies had drawn the curtains, but the sound of her unrestrained sobbing could be heard even in the adjoining apartments.

A familiar sound within these walls—a Queen’s sobbing! The gallery was haunted by the sound of another Queen’s cries—those of the fifth Queen. How could the sixth Queen hope to evade the fate of the others?

“What means it?” asked the gentlemen of the King’s bedchamber when they heard the sound of the Queen’s distress.

“What has happened? Something of which we have not yet heard?”

They could guess what was about to happen. Had it not happened to others?

How far would this go? Would this mean the end of others besides the Queen? The Seymours seemed strong, but would the downfall of the Queen mean the downfall of their party? Those with Protestant leanings would have to take care, for if the King had decided to rid himself of the Queen, he must show less favor to her party. The King’s physical needs had always in some measure dictated his state policy. He was a ruthless ruler with voracious appetites.

Speculation was rife. And all through the day the Queen’s hysterical sobbing could be heard, and many thought that she was on the point of losing her reason.

Lady Herbert and Nan sat together in the anteschamber. Between those two was a great bond: their devotion to the Queen.

“I fear she will die,” said Anne Herbert.

“A terrible thing has come upon us,” said Nan, the tears streaming down her checks. “It is like a wild storm that sweeps through the forest. It will blow down the little plants with the big trees.”

“I trust not. I trust not, Nan. I will not give up hope.”

“It breaks my heart to hear her,” said Nan.

“I fear for her reason. I cannot believe that this is Kate, my calm sister Kate.”

“It is the nearness of the ax, my lady. It would drive me mad, I fear, to know the ax was so close. Throughout the palace men and women speak in hushed whispers. I dreamed last night that I was walking ’twixt two halberdiers, and one carried an ax whose blade was turned toward me.”

“You should not set such store by dreams, Nan.”

“I awoke with tears on my face. Oh, my lady, I heard the Duchess of Suffolk spoken of with great respect this day. It seems that many do her honor already.”

“I cannot think any envy her, Nan. Would she be the seventh? Would she come to this… this near madness, this closeness to the ax?”

“Some would do anything, my lady, anything for one short hour of fame.”

“Not after this. And if the King will rid himself of the Queen for what he calls heresy, how can he take my lady of Suffolk who could also be accused of the same?”

“The King would do anything that pleased him.”

“You must not speak of the King. Oh God, did you hear that? Poor soul! Poor Kate! What torment!”

“She will be heard in the courtyards. There seems to be a quiet everywhere, as though people wait and listen.”

“Ah, my sweet sister!” cried Lady Herbert, herself beginning to weep. “What did she ever do that was not kind? And what cares that… that lecher… but to satisfy his desires?”

“Hush, hush, my lady. We know not who may listen.”

“Nan… dear good Nan, I will say this: You may be near death, Katharine Parr, but in your goodness you have made many love you.”

“My lady, I have heard it said that if Catharine Howard could have spoken to the King she would have saved herself.”

“But, dear Nan, this is not quite the same. The pattern changes a little. He was deeply enamored of Catharine Howard. There was no lady of Suffolk waiting for him then.”

“Oh my lady, I think I hear someone at the door.”

“Go … go quickly and see. It may be that we have been overheard.”

Even as she spoke there was a loud rapping on the door.

“Let no one in!” whispered Lady Herbert. “Say that the Queen is sick to death and can see no one.”

With terrified eyes, Anne Herbert stared at the door. Nan had opened it and closed it behind her. From the Queen’s bedchamber came the sound of her sobbing.

Nan came back, shut the door and stood against it. Her eyes were wide with terror.

“Who is it, Nan?”

“Sir Thomas Seymour.”

“What does he want?”

“A word with her Grace the Queen.”

“Then he has gone mad.”

“He says it is most important. He is in great haste. He says, for pity’s sake let him in quickly, an you love the Queen.”

“Bring him here, Nan. Quickly.”

Lady Herbert rose and met Thomas at the door.

“My lord,” she cried, “you are mad…to come thus to the Queen’s chamber.”

“None saw me come,” said Seymour, shutting the door quickly. “How fares the Queen?”

“Sick… sick unto death.”

“There is yet a hope. I came to warn her. The King has heard her cries.”

“And what of that?”

“He comes this way. He comes to see the Queen.”

“Then why do you come here? Go at once, my lord, and for the love of God, be quick. Were you found here…”

“He will be some minutes yet. He is himself indisposed. He cannot set foot to ground. He will be wheeled here, and that will take time. Tell the Queen that he comes. Prepare her. Impress upon her that if she will fight with all her might there may be a chance. That chance, which was denied to others may be hers.”

“Go. Go at once. I will prepare her.”

By force of habit he bowed over her hand.

“Please… please,” she begged. “No ceremony. I will go to her. I will go at once.”

He smiled his reckless smile, but there was a touch of anguish in it. Did he then care for Katharine after all? wondered Anne. He must in some measure, for he had come to her apartments at some peril.

She shut the door and ran to the Queen’s chamber.

“Kate… Kate… rouse yourself, my dearest. Gather your thoughts together, sweet sister. All is not lost.”

The Queen sat up, pushing the hair from her hot face. She had changed in the last few days; she was unlike the calm, pleasant-faced woman whom the court knew as Queen Katharine Parr.

“What means this?” she asked listlessly.

“The King comes this way. He has heard of your distress and is coming to see you.”

Katharine laughed wildly.

“No, no,” cried her sister. “Be calm. Be calm. Everything depends on the next few minutes. Let me braid your hair. Let me wipe the tears from your face. The King comes, I tell you. He is being carried here in his chair, for he cannot walk…yet he comes to see you.”

Katharine had roused herself, but the deep depression had not left her face. If it had changed at all, it had changed to resignation. It seemed to Anne that the listlessness indicated that if she had done with tears it was because she no longer cared whether she lived or died.

“Did you see his signature, sister? His signature on the mandate? Bold and clear… signing me to death?”

“The King’s moods are variable as April weather. One day a cloudburst, and within the hour… bright sunshine. Rain, hail, storm and sudden heat. You should know, Kate.”

While she spoke she was combing the Queen’s hair, and in her voice there were trills of laughter. This sudden hope after hopelessness was more than she could bear. She felt that if the King did not soon come she herself would burst into hysterical laughter.

“He was ever a strong man, sister,” Katharine was saying, “a man of purpose. And now that purpose is to rid himself of me.”

“He is a sick man also.”

“She is beautiful, his new love; and he desires her as once he desired Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour and Catharine Howard.”

“This is an ageing man. Deft healing fingers mean more to him in some moods than a pretty face.”

“I only wish that I might die now, before I am required to walk out to the Green and see in the crowd the faces of mine enemies come thither to watch my blood flow.”

“Kate, Kate, while there is life in the body there is hope in the heart. There must be. Tidy yourself. Look your most beautiful. You are fair enough.”

“I care not. I care not, Anne; for what would happen if I escaped this time? How long before the King would be signing another mandate for my arrest?”

“You must save yourself… for Thomas’s sake. He will be anxiously awaiting the result of the King’s visit.”

“Thomas?”

“Hush! Thomas Seymour. I trust he is in safety by now.”

“What means this?” cried Katharine. “You think…he is to be accused with me?”

“If he were seen leaving your apartment he well might be.”

“But… that could not be?”

“Could it not! He has been here. He has just left. It was he who warned me of the King’s approach. At great risk to himself he came here. ‘Tell her,’ he said, ‘tell her to save herself….’”

“And did he then?” said Katharine softly. And Anne felt a new hope within her, for Katharine was beautiful, even in the wildness of her grief, when she spoke of Seymour.

“He came,” elaborated Anne, “risking his life that you might be warned to save yourself. He begged that you should do all in your power to win the favor of the King. You must save yourself, sister, so that one day, if the fates are kind…”

Katharine’s face had lighted up, and she seemed like a different person from the poor, feardazed creature she had been a short while before.

“One day,” she murmured, “if the fates are kind to me… and to him …”

“Listen!” commanded Anne. “I hear a commotion. The King and his attendants are coming this way.”

The two women were silent, listening; through the apartment from which, such a short time ago, had come the sound of the Queen’s terrible sobbing, now echoed the cry of the heralds:

“Make way for His Most Gracious Majesty!”

THE KING WAS FEELING HIS YEARS.

His leg had pained him so much that it had been necessary for him to take to his bed; and since the Queen was in disgrace, it had been the duty of one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber to dress his leg.

His temper had been short; he had roared with pain; he had leaped up to cuff the gentleman, only to sink back, groaning in pain.

At such times he could find little pleasure in the contemplation of the charms of my lady of Suffolk. In fact, he wished that his Queen were not indulging in a little sickness herself, so that she could be at hand to attend to him. There had been times when he cursed her for her clumsiness, but he realized now how deft were those nimble fingers.

He thought tenderly of them, and the more tender his feelings grew toward her, the more angry he grew with those who had turned him against her.

He had sent for her physician.

“What ails the Queen?” he demanded. “What is that noise I hear? It sounds like a creature in distress.”

Dr. Wendy answered: “Your Grace, the Queen is, I fear, in a low state of health. She seems on the point of death through melancholy.”

“She is in pain, then?”

“Great mental stress, Sire.”

“She disturbs our rest with her cries.”

“They cannot be silenced, Your Grace. Her distress is such that there is nothing that can be done.”

The King dismissed the man.

He knew what ailed his wife. He had heard screams like that before. Sometimes he heard them in his dreams. Sometimes he fancied he heard them mingling with the singing in the chapel.

Kate must have discovered what was afoot.

She was no wanton. He could be sure of her fidelity. But she gave herself airs. She would teach her husband. She had become a clerk with her cleverness. A woman should have more sense.

Yet, to tell the truth, it distressed him to hear her distress.

Misguided Kate! he mused.

He had merely given his permission to have her examined, that was all. The next day they would come to take her to the Tower. He had no intention of harming Kate if she could satisfy them that she had not been dabbling in heresy. It was naught to do with him. He was a King, not an examiner of his subjects’ opinions. Others did that, and brought the results to him.

If Kate were innocent, she would have nothing to fear.

His little mouth was set in prim lines. There was justice in this land; and he had instituted it. If any of that long procession of headless corpses, which sometimes haunted his dreams, had proved their innocence, they would have retained their heads. That was how his conscience said it was, and that was how it must be.

But heretic or not, Kate was the best nurse he had ever had, and he needed Kate.

He roared to his gentlemen.

“I will go to see the Queen. I will see if I can calm her distress. Here! Get my chair and take me there. I declare I cannot put foot to the ground, yet I will make the journey to her apartment, since she is so sick. I will not trouble her to come here.”

Even while he cursed them for their clumsiness, he was smiling at his own benevolence. You see, he said to his conscience, what a clement ruler we are! We never condemn unjustly. Now I shall go to Kate and see what I can do for her. I shall try to soothe her malady, poor Kate!

They wheeled his chair through the great rooms, lifting it up the stairs when necessary. When they neared the Queen’s apartments, Seymour joined the party, but the King, so intent on his own thoughts, paid no heed to the sudden reappearance of that gentleman.

When the King entered the Queen’s bedchamber, Lady Herbert sank to her knees. The Queen raised herself at Henry’s approach.

“Don’t rise…don’t rise,” said Henry. “We know of your sickness.”

“Your Majesty is gracious,” said Katharine.

For a moment her eyes rested on the most handsome gentleman of the King’s bedchamber, but Seymour had looked quickly away.

Lady Herbert said: “Your Majesty, I fear the Queen is very ill.”

The King looked at her in mild distaste. “We asked not your opinion, my Lady Herbert. It is for the Queen’s physicians to give us news of the Queen’s health, and that when we ask it.” He looked round at the assembled company. “I would be alone with the Queen,” he said. “Push me nearer to the bed that I may see the Queen as I speak with her.”

They did this and, bowing low, left Henry and Katharine together.

The King began, not without a note of tenderness in his voice: “How now, Kate? What means this?”

“It is good of Your Grace to visit me thus,” said Katharine.

“You sound as pleased to see us as you would to see a ghost.”

“If I seem ungracious it is on account of the deep melancholy which besets me, my lord.”

The King gazed at her—so small and fragile in the huge and most splendid bed, her hair hanging about her shoulders.

“By my faith,” he said in those tones which she knew so well, “you’re a pretty wench with your hair thus disordered.”

She answered as though repeating a lesson she had at great pains taught herself. “I am glad my looks find favor in Your Majesty’s sight.”

“Looks?” cried the King. “Ah!” He winced as he moved forward in his chair that he might see her better. “Methinks I am too old to sigh because a woman’s hair is black or gold.”

“But Your Majesty is as young in spirit as he ever was. That is constantly proved.”

“H’m,” said the King. “But this poor body, Kate… Ah! There’s the pity of it. When I was twenty… when I was thirty…I was indeed a man.”

“But wisdom walketh hand in hand with our gray hairs, Your Grace. Which would you…youth and its follies, or age with its experience?”

And as she spoke she asked herself: How is it that I can talk thus, as though I cared for his opinion, as though I did not know his thoughts, his plans for me? But I flatter him because I want to live. Thomas came to my apartments at great risk to warn me…to let me know that I must live because he is waiting for me.

“There speaks my wise Queen,” said the King. “Methinks, Kate, that youth should be the right of kingship. Never to grow old! A king should be young for ever.”

“Had your royal father been eternally young, we should never have had his great and clement Majesty King Henry the Eighth upon the throne.”

The King shot her a swift glance, and she knew that she had made a mistake. Her nails hurt the palms of her hands. There must be no mistakes.

“Methinks you jest,” said Henry coldly. “You were ever fond of a jest…overfond.”

“My lord,” said Katharine earnestly, “I never was less in the mood for jokes.”

Henry sighed. “It is doubtless folly to talk of such matters, for when a man would talk of what he has done, he is indeed an old man. It is when he speaks of what he will do that he is in his prime. Doth that not show how we—the most humble among us and the most high—love life?”

“You speak truth, my lord, for love of life is the only love to which men are constant.”

“Why speak ye of constancy in such a sad voice, Kate?”

“Was my voice sad?”

“Indeed it was. Come, come, Kate. I like not this sadness in you.”

Katharine watched him cautiously. “I did not command it to come, my lord. I would I could command it to go.”

“Then we command it!” cried the King. “A wife must obey her husband, Kate.”

Katharine laughed mirthlessly; she felt the hysteria close.

She reminded herself of Thomas, and remembering him, wished above all things to placate her husband. Between the promise of a happy life with Thomas and the threat of death which Henry personified, she must walk carefully.

The King leaned forward; he was able to reach her hand, and he took it and pressed it.

“You and I,” he said musingly, “we suit each other. I am not so young that I must be a gay butterfly, flitting from this flower to that. There is a quiet of evening, Kate, whose coming should bring peace. The peace of God that passeth all understanding; that is what I seek. Oh, I have been a most unhappy man, for those I loved deceived me. I am a simple man, Kate— a man who asks but little from his wife save fidelity…love… obedience. ’tis not much for a man…for a King … to ask.”

Katharine smiled ironically. “Nay, my lord. ’tis not much. ’tis what a husband might well ask of his wife.”

Henry patted the hand over which he had placed his own. “Then we see through the same eyes, wife.” He shook his head slowly. “But ofttimes have I sought these qualities in a wife, and when I have put out my hands to grasp them, they have been lost to me.”

He sat back, looking at her; and, passing a weary hand across his brow, he went on: “We are wearied with matters of state. Our French possessions are in constant danger. The Emperor Charles strides across Europe. He is after the German Princes now. But what will follow? Will he turn to England? Oh, I have prayed…I have worked for England. England is dear to me, Kate, and England is uneasy. These wars bring the trade of our people to a standstill. State matters, I tell you, weigh heavily upon my mind. And when we are worried, we fret. Burdens fray our temper.”

He looked at her appealingly, and this seemed incongruous in one so large, so dazzling and all-powerful. She could have laughed, had she not been afraid of him, contemplating this man who, so recently, had plotted against her life, and was now begging for her approval.

She said quietly, but with an aloofness in her tone: “Your Majesty has much to occupy your mind, I doubt not.”

He looked at her slyly. “There you speak truth. Aye, there you speak truth. And when a man is tired—and a King is also a man, Kate—he is apt to seek diversion, where mayhap it is not good for him to seek it. Might it not be that she, who should offer this diversion, hath become a little overbearing, that she hath become her husband’s instructor rather than his loving wife?”

Katharine did not meet his eyes; she looked beyond him, at the window, through which she could see the trees in the gardens.

She answered slowly: “Might it not be that she, who should be a loving wife, seemed an instructress because her husband saw her, not through his usually shrewd eyes, but through those of her enemies?”

“By God, Kate,” said the King with a wry smile, “there may be some truth in those words of thine.”

“I would hear news of Your Grace’s health,” she said.

“By St. Mary, I suffer such agony, Kate, that there are times when I think I know the pains of hell.”

“Your Majesty needs those who love you, and whose joy it is to attend you, to be at your side by day and night.”

She closed her eyes as she spoke, and she thought: I believe I am saving my life. I believe the ax is not turned toward me now. It will be there, near me…as long as this man lives, but the blade is now turning slowly from me. And I do this for Thomas… for the hope that is in the future.

She wondered ruefully what the King would do if he could read her thoughts; but there was no need to conjecture; she knew. She would be judged guilty—so guilty that neither clever words nor deft fingers would be able to save her.

The King was saying pathetically: “There’s none that can dress my wounds as thou canst, Kate.”

“Your Grace honors me by remembering that.”

“I’ faith I did.”

Katharine smiled and lifted her hand which he had released. She smiled at it gratefully. “These are good and capable hands, are they not? They are deft with a bandage. Perhaps there are more beautiful hands. I have often noticed how beautiful are those of my lady of Suffolk.”

Henry looked nonchalant. “Have you, then? I cannot swear that I have marked the lady’s hands.”

“Has Your Grace not done so? I am surprised at that. Methought Your Grace talked often with the lady.”

Henry smiled deprecatingly, and Katharine found that she could be faintly amused at his discomfiture. “Why, bless you, Kate,” he said, “we are overeager to help all in our realm. The lady, being lately widowed, is in need of comfort. We did but wish to make her happy. She misses our friend Brandon, I doubt not.”

“I noticed Your Grace’s kindness to the lady. Methinks it did much to help her forget the so recent loss of her husband.”

“Then our purpose was achieved,” said Henry with familiar unctuousness. He smiled impishly at the Queen. “We need not, therefore, give too much of our time to the lady in the future. Is that what you think?”

Katharine said, with a dignity which was not lost on him, and did not in his present mood displease him: “Your Majesty can be the only judge of how and where he shall give his time.”

Henry chuckled benevolently. “We would please our Queen in this matter. By my faith, we did miss her so much, and we were so concerned for her health, that we thought we must put an end to her melancholy by telling her these things without delay.”

“Ah, Your Majesty must have suffered much.”

“Those fools!” said the King. “My bandages are ever too loose or too tight when thou dost not fix them.”

“There’s none can fix a bandage, Sire, like a loving wife.”

He nodded; but a sternness had crept into his face, and it set her shivering afresh.

His eyes narrowing, he said: “Dost still think I should give license to that translation of the Scriptures?”

Katharine’s heart had begun to beat faster.

The mask of indulgence was removed from the King’s face, and the expression of well-remembered cruelty was exposed. She wanted to live, to fulfill those dreams which she had had before the King had made her aware of his intention to make her his sixth wife.

She folded her hands across her breasts and lowered her eyes demurely. “My lord King, ’tis not the task of a woman to discuss such matters. Her place is on the footstool at her husband’s feet. I would refer this, and all other matters, to the wisdom of Your Majesty.”

The King was not to be easily put off. He was watching her shrewdly. “Not so, by St. Mary! You are become a doctor to instruct us, Kate, as we take it, and not to be instructed or directed by us.”

“Nay,” said Katharine. “You have mistaken my intentions. I know there have been times when I have been led into discourse with Your Majesty, but such was to pass the time, for well I know the pain that besets your royal body. I took an opposite view but to entertain, for, had I shown immediate agreement, then would the discourse have ended ere it had begun, and Your Majesty would have had no amusement from our talk. My one thought has been to entertain Your Grace, to do my small part in taking your mind, when possible, from your grievous pains and burdens of state. Only for such a purpose would I venture such views—not to contradict my most gracious lord, but to divert him.”

Fearfully she threw a glance in his direction. He was stroking his beard and smiling. He was pleased with her answer.

She went on: “It was true that I did hope that, by hearing Your Majesty’s most learned discourse, I might perchance receive some profit.”

The King was laughing.

“And is it even so?” he said. “Then we are perfect friends again, sweetheart.”

He sat there, smiling at her. She had pleased him. He was her friend now; and the friendly smile was soon giving place to the lecher’s leer.

“Get up from your bed and come and kiss me, Kate,” he commanded.

As she rose, she thought: I am safe for a while. The danger is past… for a time. Now the pattern will be formed again—starting from the beginning. Will it have the same ending?

He caught her and pulled her on to his knees. She closed her eyes as she felt his mouth on hers. His lips were no longer tight and prim, but slack and eager.

This, she thought, is the price of postponement.

NEXT MORNING HE sent for her to sit with him in the walled garden.

He was much better, and able to hobble with the aid of a stick.

She came, her sister and Lady Jane Grey in attendance; but he dismissed those two with a wave of his stick.

“Good morrow to you, Kate. Come sit beside me. There’s tonic in this morning air. There, there, you may come close. Don’t feign to be a modest virgin… for I know better, Kate, eh? I know better.”

He was in good spirits.

“The pain’s relieved a little. A good nurse and a good bedfellow. Well, who could do better than that? That’s good enough for a King, eh, Kate?”

He pinched her cheek.

“It is indeed gratifying to see Your Majesty in such good spirits.”

“Oh, Kate, I fear I am a sad old bear when the pains are with me. What say you?” He drew back to watch her face, and it was as though he dared her to agree with him.

“Nay,” she said; “there was never a man more patient.”

“Ah, Kate, for one who has ever been sprightly, ever active, a leader in the jousts and tourneys, it is hard to stand by and see other men excel.”

“Your Grace’s skill is well remembered and will, I dare swear, never be forgot.”

“There was not a man who could tilt against me and be the victor,” said Henry sadly. “Ah well, I am skilled in other matters, am I not, sweetheart?”

“I know it well.”

“You know it well, eh, little pig? And it pleases you! It is well that we are blessed with a faithful and obedient wife. We shall never seek to change her, Kate, while she is thus.”

“Her desire,” said Katharine, “is to please her lord in all things.”

“If she would but give me a son, I should have naught to complain of.” He sighed.

“Ah, my lord, those matters are with God.”

That had been a mistake, for his eyes had narrowed at once. But there must always be such mistakes. It was not possible always to avoid words which could conjure up pictures in his mind, pictures which it was unwise for him to see.

“I cannot understand why God should deny me a son,” he said; there was the faintest criticism in his voice, for the emphasized word was significant. He would never deny me a son, those words implied; although He denies you one.

But he was too pleased with her on this bright morning to dwell on that dismal subject; he would shelve it for a more appropriate time.

“I like to hear you say you are an obedient wife, Kate,” he said. “Forget it not.”

“Nay, my lord,” said Katharine with great earnestness. “I’ll not forget. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll not forget.”

“A hundred!” cried Henry boisterously. “Why, bless you, Kate, thou art many a long year from that great age. And, by my faith, I swear you look younger than you did the day I made you my Queen.”

He turned to her and kissed her; he fondled her throat and let his hands stray to her breasts and thighs.

“Your…Your Majesty is kind to me,” stammered Katharine.

“To be kind was ever a fault of ours, Kate.”

“A fault? I would not call it that. ’tis a virtue, and in one so great as your august self, doubly so.”

The lecher had now been succeeded by the sentimentalist. He took his hand from her thigh and laid it on her arm. “You speak sound truth, Kate. Yet it has been our kindness… our softness, which has led many to deceive us. We have been deceived again and again in our life. By those, mark you, who had the best reason to give us their loving regard. This garden doth remind me of another…. It was at Hever Castle. A garden of roses… walled thus…a pleasant place.”

Katharine heard the note of regret and longing, the selfpity which she had heard so many times.

“By God,” he cried suddenly, “if any try deceiving tricks on us, they shall pay. They shall pay with their blood.”

She drew away from him. His moods followed quickly on one another this morning.

“Who would dare deceive the King?” she soothed. “Who would dare deceive a wise and tender King?”

He mumbled: “That is what we would know.” He softened again and put an arm about her shoulders. “Thou art a good woman, Kate. Thy beauty is not of the devil; it is the beauty of meadow flowers, sweet and simple, and not to drive a man to torment.” He began to kiss her and his ringed fingers caught at the neck of her gown. “Thou and I have many a merry night before us, Kate. Old age? Who dares speak of it?”

“It is years away from us, my lord.”

“And we are here, and the sun doth shine. And you are a fair woman and I love you well. You are my wife, and we will get ourselves a son, eh?”

“I trust so. Indeed, I trust so. I care not that the sun doth shine. I care only that my lord’s content doth continue to shine on me.”

“It doth, Kate, and it shall. Thou mayest rest assured of that. Thou art good to kiss, and I am man enough to do the kissing.”

He had lifted his head from her throat and, with him, Katharine heard the sound of soldiers’ marching feet.

The King stood up and shouted, but the sound of his voice was lost in the noise made by the approaching guard.

Katharine stood beside him; she could see a company of the King’s guard, and at its head marched Sir Thomas Wriothesley.

“Halt!” cried the King. “Halt there, I say. What means this? Who dares disturb the King’s peace?”

“Your Majesty …” began the Queen.

“Wait there!” commanded Henry; and he hobbled toward the Chancellor and the forty members of the Guard who had halted at his command.

Over the morning air their words came distinctly to Katharine.

“Wriothesley, you knave, what means this?”

Wriothesley ingratiatingly replied: “My lord King, I have come on your orders with forty halberdiers.”

“What means this?” cried the King. “I understand you not.” His face was purple with fury. “How darest thou disturb our peace?”

“Sire, Your Majesty’s orders. I come with forty men to arrest the Queen, and take her to the Tower. My barge is at the privy stairs.”

“Fool! Knave!” cried Henry. “Get you gone, or ’t will be you who are clapped into the Tower.”

Wriothesley, pale with confusion, yet persisted: “Can Your Majesty have forgotten? You gave the order. Your Grace signed the mandate…. To arrest the Queen at this hour… wherever she might be.”

“Get you gone from here,” screamed the King. “You fool…you arrant fool!” He lifted his stick and struck at the Chancellor, who managed, most skillfully, to avoid the blow.

“By God,” went on the King, “are you a fool, Chancellor? It would seem my lot to be surrounded by fools and knaves. Get you gone, I say. Get you gone.”

Katharine watched the discomfited Chancellor lead his men away.

The King hobbled back to her.

“He…he was disobeying Your Majesty’s command?” asked Katharine in a trembling voice.

“The man’s a fool. The man’s a knave. By God, I’ll not forget this.”

“Mayhap he thought he was obeying Your Majesty’s commands. Mayhap he thought he had Your Grace’s consent to do what he was about to do.”

Henry sat down heavily and signed to her to take her place beside him.

“Let be,” he said. “Let be.” He watched her covertly.

He does not know, she reflected, that I have seen his signature on the order for my arrest, just as Wriothesley does not know that he has changed his mind. From the bed to the scaffold is such a short step. How should Chancellor Wriothesley know that on the King’s whim I have turned about…away from the scaffold, back to the bed!

She began again: “Wriothesley…”

“Enough,” said Henry testily. “I command thee not to speak of that knave.”

“Your Majesty will pardon me, but I thought you regarded him as a good servant. Mayhap Your Majesty will not feel too hard toward him, since he has failed to interpret your wishes on this day.”

Henry, being ignorant of her understanding of this matter and not imagining that she could possibly know that he had signed a mandate for her arrest which should be her death warrant, looked at her pityingly.

“Do not defend Wriothesley,” he said. “Poor soul, poor Kate, you do not know how little he deserves grace at your hands. Come, Kate, enough of this man. You and I have more pleasant matters with which to occupy ourselves.”

His hands were caressing her. She was once more his sweetheart, his little pig.

By a miracle, it seemed, she had been saved from death. But was she saved, or had Death merely receded a pace or two?