parliament, and now I say it to you, Bishop, and to you, wife. I am sorry to know how irreverently that precious jewel, the Word of God, is disputed, rhymed, sung and jangled in every alehouse and tavern, contrary to the true meaning and doctrine of the same.”
He paused and raised his eyes devoutly to the ceiling, as though he knew that God was watching and applauding.
“My lord King,” said Katharine, “when Your Most Gracious Majesty says ‘to dispute,’ Your Grace cannot mean that it is not lawful to discuss, one with another, the interpretation of the Gospel?”
“I should have thought that we had stated our meaning clearly,” said the King with weary menace. “What do you, madam? Would you question the decision of our ministers?”
“Never, my lord, but…but…”
“But? But?” cried the King threateningly. “You would then question
“I do no such thing, Your Majesty,” said Katharine quickly, “since it would be unseemly on my part. I would only beg Your Grace that you might cease to forbid the use of that translation which you previously licensed.”
The King let loose his anger. He flagellated it to greater vehemence. He wanted to find fault with his wife; he was tired of her. Through the haze of his fury he saw the alluring body of the Duchess of Suffolk.
“By my faith!” he cried. “I’ll have obedience from my subjects; and hark ye! a wife is not less a subject because she is a wife. Madam, when we say it is forbidden to use a translation, it
“My lord,” said Katharine, trembling before the storm which she had raised, “your word is law indeed, but this translation did so clearly set forth the truth…”
“We would hear no more,” roared the King. “Therefore you have our leave to retire from our presence.”
She knelt before him, but he waved her away.
“Come,” he said, turning to Gardiner, “let us attend to matters of state.”
When Katharine had gone, the purple color flamed anew into his face.
“A good hearing it is,” he snarled, “when women become such clerks; and much to my comfort to be taught in my old age by my wife!”
Gardiner’s eyes were glistening; he wetted his dry lips. “Your Majesty, have I your leave to speak to you on a very serious matter?”
The King’s shrewd eyes appraised his Bishop. He knew the nature of this serious matter; it was a matter, above all others, that he wished to discuss.
“You have my leave,” he said.
“Your Majesty said that if any offended against your laws, no matter what rank that person should hold … it was the bounden duty…”
“Yes…yes…” said the King testily. “I remember my words. There is no need to repeat them.”
“There are secret matters, Your Majesty, which I have long sought an opportunity of bringing to your ears…but since they concern the opinions of the Queen…”
“Well?” cried the King. “Get on, man. Get on.”
“Your Majesty excels the princes of this and any other age as well as all the professed doctors of divinity. It is unseemly for any of Your Majesty’s subjects to argue and discuss with you as malapertly as the Queen hath done. It is grievous for any of your counselors to hear this done.”
“You’re right, Bishop. You’re right there.”
Gardiner lowered his voice. “Your Grace, I could make great discoveries, were I not held back by the Queen’s faction.”
The King looked fiercely at his Bishop, but his pleasure was obvious; and Gardiner knew that the moment for which he had longed was at hand. He would not have been in his eminent position if he had not been a man to seize his opportunities.
NAN WANDERED LISTLESSLY about the gardens of Hampton Court. It was no use pretending that she was unafraid. Every time a messenger came to the apartment she would find herself shivering.
She had heard of the terrible things which had happened to Anne Askew in the Tower. She had been there, at Smithfield Square, and had seen the poor broken creature they had carried out in her chair. She could not look on that gruesome end to Anne’s tragedy; she had knelt on the stones praying while the horrible smoke rose to the sky.
And those wicked men who had destroyed Anne now sought to destroy the Queen.
Nan watched a bee fly past, on the way from the flower garden, laden with pollen. She envied the bee who knew nothing of court intrigues, of fear, and the terrible things which could be done to a good and virtuous woman who had asked nothing but to be allowed to think for herself.
And what next? wondered Nan.
She was in constant dread that she herself would be taken to the Tower. What if they questioned her under torture? It was not the pain that she dreaded so much as the fear that she would not be strong enough to keep silent, and that she might betray the Queen.
What tragedies these gardens must have seen! It seemed to Nan that tension and horror were in the very air of this place. So many had suffered here. So many had walked these gardens waiting for disaster to overtake them.
And now, in the court, people were saying that the days of Katharine Parr were numbered.
The King had turned his eyes elsewhere; and here was the same pattern that had been worked before, with
