“This means that the King’s Highness is very far from Privy Seal?” Katharine asked.
“His Highness hateth to do business with small princelings.” Throckmorton seemed to laugh at the King’s name. “His high and princely stomach loveth only to deal with his equals, who are great kings. I have seen the letters that have passed about this Cleves wedding. Not one of them is from his Highness’ hand. It is Privy Seal alone that shall bear the weight of the blow when rupture cometh.”
“Well, she is a foul slut,” Katharine said, and her heart was full of sympathy for the heavy King.
“Nay, she is none such,” Throckmorton answered. “If you look upon her with an unjaundiced eye, she will pass for a Christian to be kissed. It is not her body that his Highness hateth, but her fathering. This is a very old quarrel betwixt him and Privy Seal. His Highness hath been wont to see himself the arbiter of the Christian world. Now Privy Seal hath made of him an ally of German princelings. His Highness loveth the Old Faith and the old royal ways. Now Privy Seal doth seek to make him take up the faith of Schmalkaldners, who are a league of bakers and unfrocked monks. Madam Howard, I tell you that if there were but one man that could strike after the new Parliament is called together. …”
Katharine cried:
“The very stones that Cromwell hath soaked with blood will rise to fall upon him when the King’s feet no longer press them down.”
Throckmorton laughed almost inaudibly.
“Norfolk feareth Gardiner for a spy; Gardiner feareth the ambition of Norfolk; Bonner would sell them both to Privy Seal for the price of an archbishopric. The King himself is loth to strike, since no man in the land could get him together such another truckling Parliament as can Privy Seal.”
He stopped speaking and let his words soak into her in the darkness, and after a long pause her voice came back to her.
“It is true that I have heard no man speak as you do. … I can see that his dear Highness must be hatefully inclined to this filthy alliance.”
“Why, you are minded to come into my hut with me,” he chuckled. “There are few men so clear in the head as I am. So listen again to me. If you would strike at this man, it is of no avail to meddle with him at home. It shall in no way help you to clamour of good monks done to death, of honest men ruined, of virgins thrown on to dung-heaps. The King hath had the pence of these good monks, the lands of these honest men, and the golden neck-collars off these virgins.”
She called out, “Keep thy tongue off this sacred King’s name. I will listen to no more lewdness.”
A torch passing outside sent a moving square of light through the high grating across the floor of the cellar. The damp walls became dimly visible with shining snail-tracks on them, and his great form leaning negligently upon a cask, his hand arrested in the pulling of his long beard, his eyes gleaming upon her, sardonic and amused. The light twisted round abruptly and was gone.
“You are monstrous fair,” he said, and sighed. She shuddered.
“No,” his mocking voice came again, “speak not to the King—not to whomsoever you shall elect to speak to the King—of this man’s work at home. The King shall let him go very unwillingly, since no man can so pack a Parliament to do the King’s pleasure. And he hath a nose for treasons that his Highness would give his own nose to possess.”
“Keep thy tongue off the King’s name,” she said again.
He laughed, and continued pensively: “A very pretty treason might be made up of his speech before his armoury to Baumbach. Mark again how it went. Says he: ‘Here are such weaponings as no king, nor prince, nor emperor hath in Christendom. And in this country of ours are twenty gentlemen, my friends, have armouries as great or greater.’ Then he sighs heavily, and saith: ‘But our King will never join with your Schmalkaldners. Yet I would give my head that he should.’ … Your madamship marks that this was said to the ambassador from the Lutheran league?”
“You cannot twist that into a treason,” Katharine whispered.
“No doubt,” he said reasonably, “such words from a minister to an envoy are but a courtesy, as one would say, ‘I fain would help you, but my master wills it not.’ ”
The voice suddenly grew crafty. “But these words, spoken before an armoury and the matter of twenty gentlemen with armouries greater. Say that these twenty are creatures of my Lord Cromwell, implicitur, for the Lutheran cause. And again, the matter, ‘No king hath such an armoury.’ … No king, I would have you observe.”
“Why, this is monstrous foolish pettifogging,” Katharine said. “No king would believe a treason in such words.”
“I call to mind Gilmaw of Hurstleas, near our homes,” the voice came, reflectively.
“I did know him,” said Katharine. “You had his head.”
“You never heard how Privy Seal did that,” the voice came back mockingly. “Goodman Gilmaw had many sheep died of the rot because it rained seven weeks on end. So, coming back from a market-day, with too much ale for prudence and too little for silence, he cried, ‘Curse on this rain! The weather was never good since knaves ruled about the King.’ So that came to the ears of Privy Seal, who made a treason of it, and had his sheep, and his house, and his lands, and his head. He was but one in ten thousand that have gone the same road home from market and made speeches as treasonable.”
“Thus poor Gilmaw died?” Katharine asked. “What a foul world this is!”
“Time it was cleansed,” he answered.
He let his words rankle for a time, then he said softly: “Privy Seal’s words before his armoury were as treasonable as Gilmaw’s on the market road.”
Again he paused.
“Privy Seal may
