“Brother, you talk with folly. You are proud and foolish. One of these days your tongue will cut off your head.”
“I doubt it not. I doubt it not. And, Mary, dear sister, there are times when I care not. Do not think to ally yourself with lowborn Seymour. I would stand against uniting our family with that one.”
She cried: “More foolish than ever! To unite ourselves with the King’s brother-in-law would be the best thing that could happen to our family.”
“And to its daughter—who lusteth for the man?” he taunted.
“You go too far, brother.”
“Do I, fair sister? I will tell you this: Seymour looks higher. He looks to the Princess Elizabeth. Who knows—he may get her. Unless the King decides to execute him, for that may be necessary in the process of getting rid of the Queen. Seymour had his eyes on Her Majesty at one time, you remember. Master Thomas Seymour is as near the ax as any of us, even though the King may call him brother. Nay, dear sister, do not long so for one man that you cannot see the advantage of casting your glances at another. Be bold. Be clever. Love Tom Seymour if you must, but do not lose the opportunity of restoring your family to greatness through the grace of His Majesty. I tell you he is ripe… ripe for seduction. And the ladies of our family are most accomplished in that art.”
She rose and swept haughtily from the room.
Surrey watched her, plucked a few notes from his lute, and was still playing when a messenger came and told him that his presence was required in the King’s music room.
THE KING SAT on his ornate chair in that chamber which was reserved for the playing of music.
He was surrounded by his courtiers, and the Queen sat beside him. She looked fair enough, sitting there in her scarlet hood; the pearls, which made a becoming edge to it, suited her complexion. Her skirt was of cloth of gold and cut away to show a crimson velvet petticoat. Crimson suited Kate, thought the King. If she would but give me a son I should not be displeased with her.
But she was meddling with religion; and he liked not meddling women. He was now persecuting Lutherans as heretics, and Papists as traitors. Religious matters in this realm had become complicated; and what annoyed him so, was the fact that this need not be. All he wished men to do was worship in the old way, remembering that their King, instead of the Pope, was head of the Church. It was simple enough.
His most comforting thought at the moment was that Francois across the water was ageing just as he was. He doubted Francois had more than a year or two of life left to him; he suffered malignant pain, just as Henry did; and the thought of the French King’s pain helped Henry to bear his.
Matters of State had been equally trying to them both of late. Neither of them had gained much by the war they had been waging against each other.
On Henry’s return to England, the Scottish campaign had gone against him; the French had launched an attack on Boulogne, which, thanks to Hertford, had withstood the attack. But at the same time French ships had entered the Solent and actually landed at Bembridge and tried to force their way into Portsmouth Harbor. But Lisle had caught the foreign fleet and driven it back; and disease aboard the French ships had been a strong ally of the English.
Henry had ridden this storm like the mighty ruler he could be. Ruthless, he did not hesitate. Taxes, “benevolences,” were extorted as they never had been before. His enemies thought that surely his long-suffering people must rise against him. He was a tyrant, a murderer, and many had suffered cruelly at his hands; if there had ever been a moment when he could have been overthrown that was the moment. But the people of England recognized him as their King; he was the strong man; they trusted him to lead them from their trouble. Cheerfully they paid what was asked of them; and during those uneasy months the King had forgotten everything but that he was a King and his country was in danger. He coined his own plate and mortgaged his land; if he did expect his people’s untiring effort, he gave his own contribution also. He had always played for popularity with the people; now he reaped the benefit of that popularity. To those who lived close to him he was a murderous tyrant; to the people he was the dazzling King.
And so, England held fast behind Henry. The French were driven back; a decimated army returned to France. Francois was as eager as Henry for peace, and they had made a settlement. Henry was to keep Boulogne for eight years, after which time the French might bargain for its return. Trouble continued in Scotland, but there was now a war on one front only.
The King could rest a little from his tribulations and give himself to pleasure.
Now there was Surrey entering the music room, as elegant as ever and as insolent. Why was it that Surrey aroused the King’s anger nowadays? He was a good poet, a fine gentleman, but he was arrogant, and each day his insolence was growing. And with Surrey, there was his sister, Mary—Henry’s own daughter-in-law—a comely girl, with the Howard beauty, and the Howard slyness, the King did not doubt.
She knelt before Henry and, as she lifted her eyes, he looked straight at her. She flushed a little as though she read something in his glance which had not been there. She seemed shy and fluttering, dazzled by the radiance from the royal countenance; and Henry felt that sudden pleasure which that look on a woman’s face had never failed to give him. It was as though they expected to look into the face of a mighty monarch and had seen there instead a desirable man.
The King’s eyes softened and his gaze followed the girl as she stepped back and took her place with the Queen’s ladies. Expertly, in his mind’s eye, he divested her of her velvet and her jewels. “I’ll warrant she’s as comely without as with her adornments,” he told himself; and the room seemed diffused with a more gentle light, and there was a lifting of his spirits that almost smothered the throbbing of his leg.
Gardiner and Wriothesley were in attendance; they looked smug on this day. Something afoot there, I’ll swear, thought the King; and when I’ve heard this music, I’ll have it from them.
There was Seymour, now Lord High Admiral. The King smiled. How that young man reminded him of himself! The ladies liked Seymour and Seymour had once had his eyes on the Queen, the rogue! But he had never let them stray very far from the Princess Elizabeth. She was another on whom the King must keep a watchful eye.
But at the moment he could not keep his eyes from Mary Howard. She outshone all the women, he decided; and he fancied he saw a resemblance in her to little Catharine Howard.
The instrumental piece which the musicians were playing had come to an end. It was charming, and he would reward the fellow who had written it.
“Bravo!” cried the King. “Bravo! There’s naught that soothes the troubled mind as certain as sweet music.”
