There was silence while she worked, and the King lay back for a few seconds with his eyes closed. He was clearly too concerned with his pain to think of any enemy other than that.
But at length he opened his eyes and looked at those gathered about him.
Wriothesley said, as soon as he knew that he had the King’s attention: “When the Earl speaks of Your Majesty’s enemies, he must be thinking of the last to be discovered—the woman Kyme.”
“What of the woman Kyme?” said Seymour quickly.
“She lies in the Tower, as should all the enemies of our lord the King.”
The Bishop said very clearly: “So be it.”
Katharine was aware of the frightened eyes of three of her ladies—her sister, her stepdaughter and little Jane Grey. These were the three who loved her best, and they knew that an open attack on Anne Askew signified a covert attack on the Queen.
Surrey said: “What is this of Anne Askew? She wishes to be called Askew in place of Kyme, I believe. A comely girl. Dainty of structure, tall and oversad. Her hair is gold as meadow buttercups, and her skin pale as garden lilies; her eyes are blue as skies in summer time.”
“What’s this?” roared the King, recovering from his pain.
“Anne Askew, Your Grace,” said Surrey.
The King laughed unpleasantly. “Like my lord Earl, I remember her well. Overbold of tongue. I like it not when women presume to teach us our business.” He roared out in sudden pain. “What do you, Kate? Thou art pulling our leg this way and that.”
“A thousand pardons, Your Grace,” said Katharine. “The bandage slipped from my hands.”
“Have a care then.”
Surrey could not resist continuing with the dangerous subject of Anne Askew. “She left her husband’s house, Your Grace.”
Lady Herbert interjected quite heatedly: “It would be more truthful to say that her husband drove her from it, Your Grace.”
“What was that?” asked the King.
“Her husband, Your Grace, drove her from his house.”
“For a good reason,” said Wriothesley, throwing a sly smile at Lady Herbert and the Queen. “He liked not her disobedience to Your Grace’s commands.”
“Then ’t was rightly done,” said the King. “We’ll brook no disobedience in this land from man or woman… comely though they may be.”
“Ah,” said Surrey lightly, “it is not always easy to bend the head to the prevailing wind.”
The King gave the Earl a malevolent glance, and as he turned to do so, his leg was jerked out of Katharine’s hand and Henry cried out in agony.
“It was, I fear, Your Grace’s movement,” said Katharine. “’ Twill be soothed when I have the bandages in place. I have a new ointment which I am assured will ease the pain.”
The King took off his plumed hat and wiped his brow. “I am weary of new ointments,” he said peevishly.
“How I long to find the remedy!” said Katharine.
“Right well would I reward the fellow who found it. By my faith, I cannot sleep o’ nights from the pain in this leg. We’ll try the ointment tonight, Kate. Ah, that’s better.” The King turned to frown at his courtiers. “It is not for women to teach us our business,” he said. “We agree with St. Paul on this matter: ‘Let your women keep silent in the churches; for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience…’”
Henry paused significantly to glance at the kneeling figure of his wife. He trusted Kate would remember that. She was a good woman and she had the gentlest fingers in the court. For that he loved her. But he did not love women who meddled in matters which should be regulated by the superior intellects of men. Kate was another such as this meddling Anne Askew. The latter had most rightly been lodged in the Tower. He trusted his good nurse Kate would heed a gentle warning.
Gardiner obsequiously finished the quotation: “‘… as also saith the law.’”
Henry nodded and shook a bejeweled finger at the company and then at his kneeling wife. “This woman, Askew—an I mistake not— was found in possession of forbidden books; she has spoken against the Mass. Keep her in the Tower, my lord. Keep her there until such time as she shall learn good sense.”
Gardiner had stepped forward; his head was bowed and his voice had taken on a serious note. “The woman is oversaucy, alack, having friends at court.”
“What friends are these, lord Bishop?”
“That, Your Grace,” said the Bishop, looking for a few seconds at the kneeling Queen, “is what we have yet to discover.”
“My lord Bishop,” said Seymour, “it cannot be of any great consequence to His Majesty that this woman has friends.”
“I understand you not, brother,” said the King.
“She is a foolish woman, Your Grace. Nothing more.”
“Foolish in all conscience,” growled the King.
“Scarce worthy of such notice,” said Seymour.
