The Sixth Wife: The Story of Katherine Parr

Henry sighed. “It is doubtless folly to talk of such matters, for when a man would talk of what he has done, he is indeed an old man. It is when he speaks of what he will do that he is in his prime. Doth that not show how we—the most humble among us and the most high—love life?”

“You speak truth, my lord, for love of life is the only love to which men are constant.”

“Why speak ye of constancy in such a sad voice, Kate?”

“Was my voice sad?”

“Indeed it was. Come, come, Kate. I like not this sadness in you.”

Katharine watched him cautiously. “I did not command it to come, my lord. I would I could command it to go.”

“Then we command it!” cried the King. “A wife must obey her husband, Kate.”

Katharine laughed mirthlessly; she felt the hysteria close.

She reminded herself of Thomas, and remembering him, wished above all things to placate her husband. Between the promise of a happy life with Thomas and the threat of death which Henry personified, she must walk carefully.

The King leaned forward; he was able to reach her hand, and he took it and pressed it.

“You and I,” he said musingly, “we suit each other. I am not so young that I must be a gay butterfly, flitting from this flower to that. There is a quiet of evening, Kate, whose coming should bring peace. The peace of God that passeth all understanding; that is what I seek. Oh, I have been a most unhappy man, for those I loved deceived me. I am a simple man, Kate— a man who asks but little from his wife save fidelity…love… obedience. ’tis not much for a man…for a King … to ask.”

Katharine smiled ironically. “Nay, my lord. ’tis not much. ’tis what a husband might well ask of his wife.”

Henry patted the hand over which he had placed his own. “Then we see through the same eyes, wife.” He shook his head slowly. “But ofttimes have I sought these qualities in a wife, and when I have put out my hands to grasp them, they have been lost to me.”

He sat back, looking at her; and, passing a weary hand across his brow, he went on: “We are wearied with matters of state. Our French possessions are in constant danger. The Emperor Charles strides across Europe. He is after the German Princes now. But what will follow? Will he turn to England? Oh, I have prayed…I have worked for England. England is dear to me, Kate, and England is uneasy. These wars bring the trade of our people to a standstill. State matters, I tell you, weigh heavily upon my mind. And when we are worried, we fret. Burdens fray our temper.”

He looked at her appealingly, and this seemed incongruous in one so large, so dazzling and all-powerful. She could have laughed, had she not been afraid of him, contemplating this man who, so recently, had plotted against her life, and was now begging for her approval.

She said quietly, but with an aloofness in her tone: “Your Majesty has much to occupy your mind, I doubt not.”

He looked at her slyly. “There you speak truth. Aye, there you speak truth. And when a man is tired—and a King is also a man, Kate—he is apt to seek diversion, where mayhap it is not good for him to seek it. Might it not be that she, who should offer this diversion, hath become a little overbearing, that she hath become her husband’s instructor rather than his loving wife?”

Katharine did not meet his eyes; she looked beyond him, at the window, through which she could see the trees in the gardens.

She answered slowly: “Might it not be that she, who should be a loving wife, seemed an instructress because her husband saw her, not through his usually shrewd eyes, but through those of her enemies?”

“By God, Kate,” said the King with a wry smile, “there may be some truth in those words of thine.”

“I would hear news of Your Grace’s health,” she said.

“By St. Mary, I suffer such agony, Kate, that there are times when I think I know the pains of hell.”

“Your Majesty needs those who love you, and whose joy it is to attend you, to be at your side by day and night.”

She closed her eyes as she spoke, and she thought: I believe I am saving my life. I believe the ax is not turned toward me now. It will be there, near me…as long as this man lives, but the blade is now turning slowly from me. And I do this for Thomas… for the hope that is in the future.

She wondered ruefully what the King would do if he could read her thoughts; but there was no need to conjecture; she knew. She would be judged guilty—so guilty that neither clever words nor deft fingers would be able to save her.

The King was saying pathetically: “There’s none that can dress my wounds as thou canst, Kate.”

“Your Grace honors me by remembering that.”

“I’ faith I did.”

Katharine smiled and lifted her hand which he had released. She smiled at it gratefully. “These are good and capable hands, are they not? They are deft with a bandage. Perhaps there are more beautiful hands. I have often noticed how beautiful are those of my lady of Suffolk.”

Henry looked nonchalant. “Have you, then? I cannot swear that I have marked the lady’s hands.”

“Has Your Grace not done so? I am surprised at that. Methought Your Grace talked often with the lady.”

Henry smiled deprecatingly, and Katharine found that she could be faintly amused at his discomfiture. “Why, bless you, Kate,” he said, “we are overeager to help all in our realm. The lady, being lately widowed, is in need of comfort. We did but wish to make her happy. She misses our friend Brandon, I doubt not.”

“I noticed Your Grace’s kindness to the lady. Methinks it did much to help her forget the so recent loss of her husband.”