rose and cheered.
Henry was happy. This was a scene such as he loved: The drama which had a happy ending, with himself as the hero!
He took his place at the table and cried: “This fellow all but killed his King this afternoon. He tells me he will never joust against me again. Methinks he suffered from the affair more than I!”
How bland he was, how blue the little eyes, asparkle with good humor, but ready at any moment to send forth the fire of anger; the thin lips were smiling but everyone was beginning to learn that they could curl in sudden anger.
“Nay, my brother,” he said, smiling at Charles. “We know that, had your lance entered this head, you would have been the most unhappy man in England this day. We know our friends. And I say to you, I hold this not against my brother, for the fault was mine. So eager was I to ride against him that I forgot to lower my visor. I could not have his head for that, could I, my friends?”
There were cheers and laughter.
Charles was shaken; yet not more so than Mary.
The King’s eyes might glisten while the suckling pig was piped to the table, he might command that one of his own songs be sung, he might smile benignly at the company when they applauded his music; but there were three very uneasy people at the banquet that night, and they were his nearest—his wife, his sister and his brother-in- law.
The Last Farewell
GOSSIP WAS RIFE, not only at Court but throughout the country. Even in the village of Suffolk there was whispering of the King’s Secret Matter.
Those days seemed too short for Mary; she wanted to catch them and make them twice as long. She had lost some of her health recently and had discovered a tendency to catch cold, leaving her with an ague and a cough which would not go. Charles was anxious because of her health and to relieve his fears she pretended that she felt as well as ever.
She often wondered what was happening at Court. At least there were not the same demands for her and Charles’s attendance there. There was a new set about the King—bright young people, clever young people who devised plays and masques of much wit for the King’s amusement. The leaders of this set were, strangely enough, her one-time maid of honor, Anne Boleyn, Anne’s brother George, and Thomas Wyatt.
It was pleasant to be left in peace.
Mary felt more and more remote from the Court, but she knew now that Henry was trying to cast off Katharine, and there were rumors that he was so enamored of Anne Boleyn that he wished to make her his Queen.
Mary was angry; she had been so fond of Katharine, although often irritated by her mildness; she believed that if she went to Court she would be unable to avoid quarreling with her brother; and he was in no mood for opposition.
Had she felt well she might have gone to Court, because she did want to comfort Katharine and tell her that she would always support her against that upstart maid of honor.
Yet when she considered her growing family, when she thought of Charles, she knew that they were all safer at Westhorpe. She had her own secret to keep too; she wanted none of them to know that she suffered often from mysterious pains; that she was often breathless; she had warned her maids that they were not to mention that her kerchiefs were sometimes stained with blood.
One day Charles came to her in some dismay.
“A summons?” she asked fearfully.
He nodded gravely. “The Papal Legate Campeggio is in London and I am summoned to the Court.”
“So it has gone as far as that. My poor Katharine!”
Charles took her hands and was alarmed because they were trembling.
“Your brother has determined to be rid of her,” he said.
“I know. And marry that sly wench. Marry her, Charles. How can he so demean himself … his throne … his name … by marrying one so far beneath him!”
Charles laughed and gently touched her cheek. “These Tudors have a way of forgetting what they owe their rank when they take a fancy to some low man or woman.”
“We were quite different.”
“Oh no, my love. And it seems that Henry is as determined to have this girl as you were to marry me.”
“Then … God help Katharine!” cried Mary. She clung to Charles. “Charles, have a care.”
“You may trust me.”
“Remember how precious you are to us all.”
“I will never forget, my love,” he answered.
So Charles went to London.
She was restless; she could not sleep; and when she did she would awake startled, her body bathed in cold sweat.
She had grown thinner and paler, more thoughtful, nervous, ready to be startled by a sudden sound.
One morning she awoke in great distress. If Henry could declare his marriage to Katharine invalid, because of Katharine’s previous marriage with his brother Arthur, what of Charles’s marriage to Lady Mortymer? She was still
