Katharine’s face hardened. “She left me once, because she felt it was to her advantage to do so. I would never take back one who has proved her disloyalty to me and to her family.”
“I have heard, Your Grace, that the banker loves her truly.”
“Then if she is so loved she should be content with that state of life which she deliberately chose. There will never be a place for her in my household.”
When Katharine spoke as firmly as that Maria knew that her mind was made up.
Katharine changed the subject. “I hope that you do not intend to leave me at once, Maria.”
Maria knelt once more at the Queen’s feet and buried her face against Katharine’s skirts.
“It is my only regret that I cannot be in constant attendance on Your Grace.”
There was sudden commotion outside the apartment. The door was flung open and the King stalked in. His face was a deeper red than usual and his anger was apparent from the manner in which he strutted. In his hand he carried papers, and a quick glance at those papers, as she swung round from the mirror, told Katharine that it was news from Spain which had angered her husband.
Maria rose to her feet and dropped a curtsey with the other women in the apartment. The King did not bestow his usual smile of appreciation on some particular beauty who caught his eye. Henry was always single-minded and now his thoughts were on the papers he carried.
He waved his hand in an imperious gesture. It was eloquent. It meant: “Leave us.” The women hastened to obey, and Maria’s heart sank seeing those signs of anger in the King’s face, because she, who was closer to Katharine than any of her companions, knew that the Queen was beginning to fear the King.
When they were alone Henry stood glaring at his wife, for the first few seconds too angry to speak. She waited, having learned from experience that when the King was in such a mood a carelessly spoken word could fan the flame of anger.
Henry waved the papers as though they were banners and he were advancing on an enemy.
“News from your father!” he spat out. “He seems determined to insult me.”
“But Henry, I am sure this cannot be so. He has the utmost regard for you.”
“So it would seem. He tells me here that my armies are useless. He is offering to fight my battles for me if I will pay him to provide mercenaries!”
“This cannot be so.”
“You have eyes. Read this,” he roared.
She took the papers and glanced at them. She could only see her father as her mother had taught her to look at him. Isabella had never complained to their children of Ferdinand’s conduct; she had always represented him as the perfect King and father. Katharine had only heard by chance that her father had on many occasions been unfaithful to Isabella and that there were children to prove it. And even though she must accept him as an unfaithful husband—in her opinion to the greatest and most saintly woman who had ever lived—still she could not believe that he was anything but honorable; and she accepted in good faith what he had written.
“Well?” demanded Henry harshly.
“My father considered what happened to our men in Spain. He wishes to help you.”
“So he casts a sneer at me and my armies.”
“You read into this what is not intended, Henry.”
“I…I? I am a fool, I suppose, Madam. I lack your perception. There is something you and your father forget.” He came close to her, his eyes narrowed, and she shrank from the malice she saw in his face. “But for me, what would have happened to you? I brought you up to your present position. It would be wise not to forget that. There were many who were against our marriage. What were you then? A miserable outcast. Your father would not support you…you were living in poverty.” Henry folded his arms behind his back and scowled at her. “I was told that a monarch such as I might choose my wife from all the greatest heiresses in the world. And what did I do? I chose you. You, Madam, who had been the wife of my brother, who were neglected by your father, who was living in miserable poverty in Durham House. I raised you up. I set you on the throne. And this is my reward.…”
She tried to fight the terror which such words inspired. She had grown pale and her twitching fingers caught at the cloth of her gown.
“Henry,” she said, “this I know well. Even if I did not love you for your many qualities…I would be grateful and wish to serve you until the end of my life.”
He was slightly mollified. She thought: Oh God, how easy it is to placate him, how easy to anger him.
“’Tis as well you are aware of your debts,” he growled. “And your father! What have you to say for him? He too should be grateful for what I did for you. This is an example of his gratitude!”
“Henry, he is offering to help you.…”
“With German mercenaries! Because we English are unable to fight our own battles!”
“He does not mean that, Henry. I am sure of this.”
“Not mean it! Then why does he say it?”
“Because he believes you to be suffering a keen disappointment, because he is sorry our army did not achieve its end.”
“He does not want English troops on Spanish soil! By God, would I had hanged the traitor Dorset. Would I had not listened to your woman’s pleading for a worthless life.”
“Nay, Henry, you must not blame Dorset.” She was suddenly overwhelmed by her tenderness for this big man who, it seemed to her, at times had the heart and mind of a child. “Let us face the truth. We failed. We failed because we had not enough food for our men, and we sent them out illequipped. Certainly you cannot accept my father’s offer—though he makes it in friendship; I do assure you of that. But there is an answer to those who have jeered at our failure. There is an answer to my father.”
“What is this answer!”
“That you should prepare an army that will be invincible, that you should place yourself at the head of it and attack the French, not from the South but from the North. There you would find a climate not unlike our own; there would not be the same difficulties in feeding an army that was separated from England only by twenty-one miles of sea. And with you at the head of it…”
A slow smile was spreading across the King’s face. He did not speak for a few seconds; then he burst out: “By God, Kate, we have the answer there. That is it. We shall start from Calais…and go on from there. And this time it will not be a Marquis who commands, but a King.”
All ill humor had disappeared. He seized her in his arms and hugged her, but already his thoughts were far away from her; he was leading his men into triumphant battle. This would be a masque to outdo those merry exercises that had charmed the courtiers and the people at Windsor, Richmond and Westminster.
He was content—content with life, content with Kate.
He danced round the apartment with her, lifting her in his arms, pausing so that she should marvel at his strength, which she did—running his fingers through her hair and over her body.
“There’s one thing that will not please me. I shall be separated from my Kate. And what will she be doing while she awaits the return of the conqueror, eh?” The little eyes were alight with laughter and confidence. “Mayhap she will be nursing the heir of England…the heir to all those lands which I shall bring back to the English crown!”
Katharine was laughing in his arms. The danger was over for a while; the King was happy again.
SO IT WAS TO be war. Katharine was eager to show Henry how she could work for him and that he could rely on his Queen’s being always at his side.
Henry was in high spirits. He was certain that he was going to win fresh honors and was already regarding the coming war as a glorified masque. It was a comfort to know that he could safely leave those matters of minor importance to Katharine, and he was pleased with her because she was so eager to be made use of.