“Why, it is main cold here,” he said. “But bide a short space.”
“I am not made for courts,” she answered.
“We will go pray anon,” he quieted her, with his hand stretched out. “Give me a space for meditation, I am not yet in the mood for prayer.”
She pleaded, “Let me begone.”
“Body of God,” he said good-humouredly. “It is fitting that at this time that you do pray. You have escaped a great peril. But I am wont to drive away earthly passions ere I come before the Throne of grace.”
“Sir,” she pleaded more urgently, “the night draws near. Before morning I would be upon my road to Calais.”
He looked at her interestedly, and questioned in a peremptory voice:
“Upon what errand? I have heard of no journeying of yours.”
“I am not made for courts,” she repeated.
He said: “Anan?” with a sudden, half-comprehending anger, and she quailed.
“I will get me gone to Calais,” she uttered. “And then to a nunnery. I am not for this world.”
He uttered a tremendous: “Body of God,” and repeated it four times.
He sprang to his feet and she shrank against the wall. His eyes rolled in his great head, and suddenly he shouted:
“Ungrateful child. Ungrateful!” Then he lost words; his swollen brow moved up and down. She was afraid to speak again.
Then, suddenly, with a light and brushing step, the Lord Privy Seal was coming towards them. His sagacious eyes looked from one to the other, his lips moved with their sideways motion.
“Fiend,” the King uttered. “Give me the letter and get thee out of earshot.” And whilst Cromwell was bending before his person, he continued: “I have pardoned this lady. I would have you both clasp hands.”
Cromwell’s mouth fell open for a minute.
“Your Highness knoweth the contents?” he asked. And by then he appeared as calm as when he asked a question about the price of chalk at Calais.
“My Highness knoweth!” Henry said friendlily. He crumpled the letter in his hand, and then, remembering its use, moved to put it in his own pouch. “This lady has done very well to speak to me who am the fountainhead of power.”
“Get thee out of earshot,” he repeated. “I have things as to which I would admonish this lady.”
“Your Highness knoweth. …” Privy Seal began again, then his eye fell upon Winchester, who still stayed by the chapel door at the far end of the corridor. He threw up his hands.
“Sir,” he said. “Traitors have come to you!”
Gardiner, indeed, was gliding towards them, drawn, in spite of all prudence, by his invincible hatred.
The King watched the pair of them with his crafty eyes, deep seated in his head.
“It is certain that no traitors have come to me,” he uttered gently; and to Cromwell: “You have a nose for them.”
He appeared placable and was very quiet.
Winchester, his black eyes glaring with desire, was almost upon them in the shadows.
“Here is enough of wrangling,” Henry said. He appeared to meditate, and then uttered: “As well here as elsewhere.”
“Sir,” Gardiner said, “if Privy Seal misleads me, I have somewhat to say of Privy Seal.”
“Cousin of Winchester,” Henry answered. “Stretch out your hand, I would have you end your tulzies in this place.”
Winchester, bringing out his words with a snake’s coldness, seemed to whisper:
“Your Highness did promise that Privy Seal should make me amends.”
“Why, Privy Seal shall make amends,” the King answered. “It was his man that did miscall thee. Therefore, Privy Seal shall come to dine with thee, and shall, in the presence of all men, hold out to thee his hand.”
“Let him come, then, with great state,” the bishop stuck to his note.
“Aye, with a great state,” the King answered. “I will have an end to these quarrels.”
He set his hand cordially upon Privy Seal’s shoulder.
“For thee,” he said, “I would have thee think between now and the assembling of the Parliaments of what title thou wilt have to an earldom.”
Cromwell fell upon one knee, and, in Latin, made three words of a speech of thanks.
“Why, good man,” the King said, “art a man very valuable to me.” His eyes rested upon Katharine for a moment. “I am well watched for by one and the other of you,” he went on. “Each of you by now has brought me a letter of this lady’s.”
Katharine cried out at Gardiner:
“You too!”
His eyes sought the ground, and then looked defiantly into hers.
“You did threaten me!” he said doggedly. “I was minded to be betimes.”
“Why, end it all, now and here,” the King said. “Here is a folly with a silly wench in it.”
“Here was a treason that I would show your Highness,” the Bishop said doggedly.
“Sirs,” the King said. He touched his bonnet: “God in His great mercy has seen fit much to trouble me. But here are troubles that I may end. Now I have ended them all. If this lady would not have her cousin to murder a cardinal, God, she would not. There are a plenty others to do that work.”
He pressed one hand on Cromwell’s chest and pushed him backwards gently.
“Get thee gone, now,” he said, “out of earshot. I shall speak with thee soon.—And you!” he added to Winchester.
“Body of God, Body of God,” he muttered beneath his breath, as they went, “very soon now I can rid me of these knaves,” and then, suddenly, he blared upon Katharine:
“Thou seest how I am plagued and would’st leave me. Before the Most High God, I swear thou shalt not.”
She fell upon her knees.
“With each that speaks, I find a new traitor to me,” she said. “Let me begone.”
He threatened her with one hand.
“Wench,” he said, “I have had better converse with thee than with man or child this several years. Thinkest thou I will let thee go?”
She began to sob:
“What rest may I have? What rest?”
He mocked her:
“What rest may I have? What rest? My nights are full of evil dreams! God help me. Have I offered thee foul usage? Have I pursued thee
