“What is this story you have heard?”
“Oh it is about Philip’s mistress. She was very very beautiful with the longest most luxuriant golden hair ever seen in the land. Philip doted on her and Juana was furiously jealous. Well, Philip had to leave Court for a while. Juana then . . . remember she is the Queen in her own right and I’ll swear she has inherited something of her mother’s authoritative ways . . . well, she summoned the woman to her palace.”
“And the woman went?”
“It was impossible for her to do otherwise. How could she disobey the royal command?”
“And then?”
“Juana had her bound hand and foot, called in the barbers and had them cut off that beautiful golden hair. In fact they shaved her head. . . .”
Henry was aghast. “She did that. And Philip . . . what of Philip?”
“When he came back he was horrified. I think it was the end of that mistress. Hair takes a long time to grow and he is not a man to stand still, they say. But it did not endear his wife to him . . . and everyone who knows her says she is quite insane. . . .”
“And this is Katharine’s sister. . . .”
“Katharine is quite different. Juana is the only one to inherit the madness. There is nothing of the wild woman about Katharine. I hear she is very devout and spends a great deal of time on her knees. I even hear that she expressed a desire to give herself up to a life of prayer.”
“What when she marries?”
Brandon laughed aloud. “Alas, her poor husband! But I’ll swear if he is the man I believe him to be he will see that she gives up quite a bit of time to other activities.”
Henry laughed with Brandon but he was thinking: a life of prayer! How could a woman do her duty to her husband and the state by living like a nun? It would be a good excuse for not marrying at all.
His conscience liked the idea. He brooded on it. What Katharine had said—or what he had heard she had said —meant that the life she would prefer was that of a nun.
He had no intention of telling anyone what he was thinking. He did not want an avowal from Katharine that the stories circulated about her were untrue and that she was ready to be all that was expected of a wife when the time came.
Henry wanted to put it on paper that he had had a good reason for doing what he did. He wanted to be able to proclaim to the world that the marriage with Katharine of Aragon would not be good for the state. He had not repudiated her for any personal reasons and certainly not because he was afraid to stand up to his father for what was right.
Then the idea came to him. He would write to the Pope. He would tell no one. But his letter would be there on record if ever he was called on to answer for his action.
He made several drafts of the letter and finally produced one which he could send. In it he told Pope Julius that Katharine had made a vow dedicating herself to an austere life. She would fast, and give up her time to prayers and pilgrimages. He asked the Pope to forbid her to do this as such practices would injure her health and possibly affect her ability to bear children. He was deeply concerned about this as it would in time be his duty to get heirs for England; and if Katharine would not give up this way of life marriage would be impossible.
He waited in trepidation for the reply; but he was at peace with his conscience. He had had a very good reason for signing that document, which while it did not actually annul the ceremony through which he and Katharine had gone, it did give him a loophole to escape if necessary.
The Pope treated his letter with the utmost seriousness and replied that any vows Katharine had made which might affect the health of her body could be revoked by her husband.
The husband was master of the wife and the procreation of children was the very special blessing of matrimony and Henry had the Church’s full permission to restrain his wife and to prevent her from carrying out any vows she might have made which would endanger her ability to perform those functions, which were the duty of a wife.
Henry was delighted. Now if he should not wish—or not be allowed—to marry Katharine he had a very good excuse for not doing so. He could produce a copy of the letter he had sent to the Pope’s reply. He could say Katharine’s way of life had made marriage with her unsuitable and it was for this reason that he had signed the repudiation—not because his father had forced him to.
He became happy again.
But he had discovered his conscience and he knew that forever more it would be necessary to placate it.
The King was still looking for a wife and his eyes had turned to France. The Comte d’Angouleme had died leaving a widow with two children, Franccois and Marguerite. It seemed that the son Franccois had a chance of reaching the throne of France for he was the nephew of Louis the Twelfth. The widowed Comtesse was considered to be very beautiful and gifted and her daughter Marguerite, who was about a year younger than Henry, had a reputation for a beauty and intelligence, which equaled that of her mother.
So the King’s eyes had turned to this family.
Why not the mother for him and the daughter for Henry?
Young Henry was told by his father that emissaries had been sent to Angouleme to discover the state of affairs there. The King thought the match would be an ideal one for it did appear that the Spanish connection was becoming weaker every month.
The Prince was very interested in Marguerite and wanted to hear all that he could about her. He had decided that Katharine had ruined her health by her refusal to lead the life of an ordinary Court lady. He shut his eyes to the fact that she was too short of money to do so, and he refused to listen to those who hinted that something should be done about this. It was for her family to help her, he reasoned. The dowry . . . well that had not been paid and he had heard that a great part of the first instalment had been in jewelery which she had pawned.
