When Katharine told him: “Little Henry is growing so like you,” he was pleased but almost immediately disgruntled because he had not a boy to whom he could give his name.
“I feel so much much better since my pilgrimage to Our Lady of Walsingham,” Katharine told him. “I am certain that she will soon answer my prayers.”
But of course she would, thought Henry. There was his good and pious wife. As for himself, did he not hear Mass regularly? Was he not as devout as God could wish?
He was suddenly good-humored. “We will have a merry masque,” he declared. “My sister Margaret will soon be with us. We must show her how we amuse ourselves here in England, for I believe the Scots to be a dour race. Now if we should have a tourney our champions must be there. Suffolk must come back to Court and Mary must greet her own sister.”
Katharine remembered, a little sadly, the country idyll she had disturbed, and imagined the messengers arriving there with the King’s orders.
Moreover she thought of Mary, the mother of a son, being at Court with Margaret who also had a boy. Henry would be delighted to have his sisters at his Court, but he was going to be very envious of them.
The Birth of Frances
WHEN THE KING COMMANDED, there was nothing to do but obey.
Reluctantly Mary said goodbye to the peace of the country. She left governesses and nurses in charge of the children with her own special instructions as to the care which was to be taken of them. Then sadly she rode away from Westhorpe.
Charles laughed at her melancholy.
“Once you are back you will realize how much you miss the pageantry and splendor at dull old Westhorpe.”
“Do you know me so little then?”
“But you used to love to dance, and did so more tirelessly than any.”
“That was when I thought it was an accomplishment to dance. If it is, I no longer care.”
“Do not grieve. You will soon be back again.”
“There is Margaret to entertain. And Henry may refuse to let us go. Oh, Charles, in the joust, you must take care. …”
“I can face any who rides against me, you know.”
“The one I fear most is my brother. Never unhorse him, Charles. Always remember … he must be the victor.”
Charles laughed. “Dearest, you seek to teach me a lesson which I mastered years ago.”
She was silent. “I am growing a little afraid of Henry,” she said after a while. “He is changing. I loved him dearly … I still do. When he was a boy, and I seemed so much younger, I thought him perfect. But since he has come to power …”
“Ah. Power is not always good for a man.”
“And supreme power, Charles. …” She shivered. “There are times when I am so sorry for Katharine. She was pathetic, Charles, when she looked at our little Henry and I fancy that my brother has not been kind to her, and has implied that it is her fault they have no son.”
“They’ll get a son in time.”
“They have been unlucky so far.”
“Well, they have Mary. Katharine can produce healthy children, it seems.”
“You understand now why I do not wish to leave Westhorpe. It contains all my treasures when you are there, and I want to keep them safe.”
“Safe! We’re safe enough. Henry is our friend.”
She shook her head. “He was Katharine’s friend once. Sometimes I doubt whether he still is. And when I remember her bending over our Henry’s cradle, when I remember the look of longing in her face … yes and fear, Charles, I am afraid too … afraid for you. So, dearest, as you love me, while we are at Court, have a care.”
He leaned toward her and touched her hand.
“You talk as though I were going into a den of lions.”
“Sometimes I think you are.”
“But you will be there, my love, to protect me.”
He might laugh, but she was serious. She would not be really at peace until they had done a turnabout and, instead of riding toward London, were on the journey back to Suffolk.
During that visit there was cause for uneasiness. Henry had been determined to show his sister Margaret the splendors of his Court, and had appointed Charles to select twelve gentlemen while he himself did the same. They were to make the opposing teams who would joust in honor of the ladies.
Mary had sat with Katharine and her sister Margaret watching Charles ride out in white velvet, with crimson satin, shaped like lozenges, making a splash of color on the white, his entire costume decorated with gold letters —M and C entwined; the King’s party were as dazzlingly attired and their letters were H and K.
Charles had been as clever as usual, arranging that his side should joust brilliantly and be only that fraction less skillful than the King’s. But there were times when some spirit of mischief would make him seem as though he were
