will receive an order to appear at the Manor of Wanstead. Then you shall hear all about it.”
“Mary …”
She stood on tiptoe and put her lips against his.
“Kiss me,” she said. “That makes me happier than talk. By the Holy Mother, there is so little time when we may be alone; Mother Guildford will find some pretext soon to come and disturb us. Oh, you are back … miraculously free … as I am! Charles, Charles, do not ever think that I will allow them to take you from me.”
He abandoned himself. How could he do otherwise? She was irresistible; he could even ask himself: What did it matter if this was the end of ambition? At moments like this he could believe he would willingly barter all he had achieved for an hour with her.
Charles was not the only one who was summoned to the Manor of Wanstead. Thomas Wolsey, Bishop of Lincoln, received a command to attend, as did the Bishops of Winchester and Durham.
When they arrived they found Sir Ralph Verney, the Princess’s Chamberlain, already there; with him was the Earl of Worcester who told them that, on the instructions of the Princess Mary, he was to take them with him into the great hall.
There Mary was waiting to receive them. She looked more than beautiful on that day; she was regal; she had put on a purple cloak which was lined with ermine, and standing on the dais she greeted them with the utmost formality.
When she had spoken to each singly, she begged them to be seated, while she addressed them.
She spoke in her high clear voice and, although now and then during her discourse her eyes fell on Charles, she gave no suggestion that she regarded him in any special light; and the impression she gave was that he was there because he was the Duke of Suffolk and for no other reason.
“My lords,” she said, “I have assembled you here to speak of a matter which touches my royal dignity, and I look to your loyalty to the Crown to support me. I know I can rely on you. It has been brought to my ears that the Prince of Castile and his family continually conspire against my brother and this realm. I am, therefore, resolved never to fulfill my contract with him.”
There was silence among the assembly, but there was one among them whose eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Wolsey had risen high in the King’s favor since the war, and he saw himself rising still higher. He had long doubted the sincerity of the Emperor, and that the alliance with the Prince of Castile should be abandoned suited his plans.
Mary continued: “I beg of you all to plead my cause with the King, my brother, who may well be displeased with me for summoning you hither.”
Charles watching her thought: How wonderful she is! There is no one like her. Who else, but eighteen years old, would have dared summon her brother’s ministers to her presence and make her will known?
He was exultant because he was beginning to believe that she must achieve her desires—and hers were his.
When Mary rode back with her attendants to Greenwich, the people came out to cheer her; they marveled at her appearance for, on this occasion with the certainty of victory in her eyes, she was so beautiful.
She had not been so happy since she had realized the difficulties which stood between her and the man she so ardently loved, and one of the reasons for her elation was that Thomas Wolsey had spoken to her when taking his leave.
“My lady,” he had said, “you may rely on me to do my utmost with the King to have you released from this match which is repugnant to you.”
Mary recognized in that man a spirit similar to her own.
“Wolsey is on my side,” she told herself.
Henry no longer had any doubt of the perfidy of the Emperor.
Envoys from France had arrived at Greenwich, ostensibly to make terms for the return of the Duc de Longueville and other prisoners whom Henry had taken at Therouanne; in fact they came to bring a message from the King of France which was for Henry’s ears alone, and as he listened to it the veins stood out at his temples. Not only had Ferdinand renewed his alliance with France but the Emperor Maximilian was his ally in this and—behind the back of his comrade-in-arms, Henry of England—had made his peace with the French. It was however the wish of the King of France to make friends with England; and if His Grace would summon the Duc de Longueville to his presence, the Duke would lay before him a proposition from the King of France.
Henry summoned the Duke to his presence, and with him that minister on whom he had come to rely, Thomas Wolsey; and when the King heard what the Duc de Longueville had to say his eyes glistened with something like delight. By God, he thought, here is a way of avenging myself on that pair of rascals. Foxy Ferdinand and Imperial Perfidy will dance with rage when they hear of this.
The matter was settled and it only remained for the principal person concerned to be informed. Henry sent for his sister, the Princess Mary.
When she came to his presence Thomas Wolsey was with the King, and her warm smile included them both, for she believed Wolsey to be her friend.
Henry embraced her.
“News, sister, which will be most welcome to you.”
Her smile was dazzling in its satisfaction.
“We are breaking off relations with Maximilian, and a marriage between you and his grandson is now impossible.”
She clasped her hands together. Gratitude filled her heart, to Providence, to Henry, to Wolsey, to the Emperor for his perfidy. Her prayers were answered. She was free and in a short time she would cajole Henry into letting her have her way.
“Therefore,” went on Henry, “you should no longer consider yourself under contract to the Prince of Castile.”
