abroad; he had become more aware of his power, and that awareness had awakened in him a latent cruelty. In the old days she had never been afraid of her brother; she was now … desperately afraid for Charles.
The little girls and their brother came running to her; they had escaped from their nursery, sensing that something important was about to happen. Little Eleanor came toddling in after them to catch her skirts.
She thrust the letter into the neck of her gown and picked up the baby, while the others made a circle about her.
It was Anne who spoke. “My father is coming back?” she asked.
“Yes,” replied Mary firmly. “In time he will … but not yet.”
“When … when … ?” They were all shouting together and she tried to smile at them.
“As soon as possible,” she answered. Then: “First I must go to see your uncle.”
“Uncle King?” asked Henry.
“Yes,” Mary told him. “And when I come back I hope to bring you news of your father.”
“Don’t go away,” said little Frances, catching at her mother’s skirts.
“Never, fear, little one,” Mary reassured her. “I shall soon be back … with your father.”
Henry glowered at his sister.
“So you thought fit to come to see us.”
“I would, Henry, that you could come to see
“I have matters of state to attend to and those on whom I should rely do not always serve me well.”
“Never was a king blessed with more faithful servants. If they could command even the weather to work for him they would do so.”
“I thought as much. You have come to talk to me about that husband of yours.”
“Who is your great friend and servant, Henry.”
“It does not seem so, Madam.”
“That is because you are not being reasonable.”
His eyes narrowed; his scowl deepened. “I pray you do not bring your rustic manners to Court, sister.”
She laughed and, going to him, boldly put her arms about his neck and kissed his cheek.
“All your scowls and harsh words cannot make you other than my big brother whom I have adored since I was a baby.”
It was easy to soften him. She was his little sister again.
“I was ever over-indulgent to you.”
“How could you be otherwise toward one who had so great a regard for
“Methinks you are about to ask some boon, sister.”
“And you, being the wisest man in Christendom, know what it is.”
“I like it not when my orders are disobeyed.”
“But Henry, your orders would have been obeyed had he received them.”
“He did not wait to receive them. He has made me look a fool in the eyes of Francis.”
“Oh no, Henry. You could never look a fool. Dear brother, the men would not stay together. The weather, the conditions, everything was too bad.”
“So he has been whining to you. And now cowers in Calais, afraid to come home until his wife has pleaded with me to forgive him. By God, sister, you should have married a man, not a poltroon.”
Mary’s face flushed scarlet and she looked remarkably like her brother in that moment. “I married the finest man in England …” She added slyly: “Except one.” But Henry did not see the irony.
“So he is now skulking in Calais, eh?”
“Awaiting your invitation to return.”
“A pretty state of affairs when my generals take it upon themselves to disband my armies.”
“Henry, you have fought in France. You know the difficulties. …”
His brow darkened; he was thinking of his exploits abroad when he had been fooled by wily Ferdinand and the Emperor Maximilian.
“So,” went on Mary quickly, “you will understand how Charles had to make this decision without your help. He made it too early, as we know; but he made it because he thought it the best way to serve you.”
“And what do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me to write to him … to bring him home. You know how you enjoy jousting with him beyond all others.”
It was true. He did miss Suffolk.
“You ever knew how to cajole me, you witch,” he said.
She waited for no more; again her arms were about his neck and again she kissed him; and as she did so she
