my promise,” he said in his fantasies about himself, “and I will remain steadfast to you.”
Therefore when he heard what proposition the King had to lay before him, he was astonished and completely taken off his guard.
“My son,” said the King, “you are aware of the change in Spanish affairs.”
“Yes, my lord,” answered the Prince.
“Ferdinand does not hold the same power since Queen Isabella died. When your brother married Katharine it was indeed the best of matches. Times change.”
The Prince listened intently. He knew that his father had behaved in a very parsimonious manner toward Katharine; he knew that she was always short of money. That was part of another of his fantasies. He had imagined himself showering riches on her at which she cried: “You are the most wonderful of beings. I am the luckiest Princess in the world and quite unworthy of your greatness.” He was rather glad therefore that she was in this position. It made his gesture all the more wonderful.
“It is fortunate,” went on the King, “that it was not in fact a true ceremony that was held in the Bishop’s house.”
“But . . . it was like a marriage ceremony. We signed our names.. . .”
“Henry, you must be able to adjust your thoughts. That is what being a good king means. If a marriage such as this one could bring no good to our country . . . and might bring harm . . . then the best thing possible is to repudiate it.”
“But how can we repudiate that which has in fact taken place, when there is evidence to prove it?”
“You have to disregard such sentiments if you are to keep the country prosperous and the crown on your head. This Spanish marriage is no longer necessary nor desirable to us.”
“But if it has already taken place.”
“It has not taken place. You are not married to the Lady Katharine and we are going to have another ceremony in which you repudiate that previous one.”
“My lord, it seems to me that in all honor . . .”
“What it seems to you, my son, is not important. She will understand for I believe her to be a sensible girl. Moreover she will know nothing of it . . . yet.”
“To repudiate a promise, my lord, and particularly one given so solemnly seems to me not to be in keeping with knightly honor.”
“Henry, you are obtuse. No more of this, you will obey my orders.”
“My lord . . .”
“Silence. Don’t show your childishness.”
Henry disliked his father at that moment, for he knew that he would have to obey. He would have to do as they wanted. It was a reminder of his youth.
“We will settle this matter without delay,” said the King.
“You mean there will not be a ceremony like that other . . .”
“Of course there will not be. This is a secret matter. The Bishop of Winchester awaits us below.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Henry sullenly.
“You will not have to learn your words. They will be handed to you. You will read them and then they will be signed in the presence of the Bishop.”
“I like it not . . .”
“It is not for you to like or dislike. You must make it clear now that you do not consider the contract with Katharine of Aragon valid and you will make a statement to this effect.”
Henry, his mouth tight and sullen, his little blue eyes veiled, followed his father down from the apartments to a room below the kitchens. There was no window in this room and Henry realized at once that the King was determined they should not be seen.
There were present Richard Bishop of Winchester, Giles Daubeney, Charles Somerset, Earl of Worcester, and the King’s secretary.
They were all men, the Prince noticed, who had served his father well and before he came to the throne. Therefore he would be sure of their loyalty.
“Are we ready?” said the King.
It was agreed that they were.
Henry was told to stand before the company and a paper was thrust into his hand.
“Read,” commanded the King.
Henry started: “before you reverend lord and father in Christ, Richard Lord Bishop of Winchester, I Henry, Prince of Wales . . . declare that while of tender years and being to all knowledge below the age of manhood contracted a de facto marriage with her most Serene Highness Katharine daughter of the King of Spain and although that contract, because of my minority, is in itself already invalid, imperfect and of no force or effect nevertheless . . . I being on the verge of manhood declare that I do not intend in any way to approve validate or ratify that pretended contract . . . Now in this present document induced by no force, trickery or prayer but willingly and freely and in no way compelled, I denounce the contract and dissent therefrom. . . .”
He went on reading and his heart was saying: but I was forced. I was told I must do this. It is not my fault that I am breaking vows . . .
