Katharine of Aragon (55 page)

“Have I your permission to speak frankly to Your Grace?” he asked.

Henry was always so delighted when the Emperor addressed him in
humble fashion that he was ready to give what was asked even before the request was made.

“You have indeed.”

“I am an old man. I have fought many battles. If we marched on Paris now, we could be defeated.”

“Defeated! Standing together as we do. Impossible!”

“Nay, Your Grace, if you will forgive my contradiction. Louis has not put all his forces into the field for the protection of these two insignificant towns. He would fight to the death for Paris. Our men need rest, and a little gaiety. It is always wise in war to consolidate one's gains before one passes on to fresh conquests. I am under your command but it is my duty to give you the benefit of my experience. My daughter Margaret is impatient to see you. She is eager that the proposed marriage between Charles and your sister Mary may be discussed more fully. We have won these towns from the French. Let us fortify them and then go to my daughter's court. There she will entertain you right royally… the King of England, conqueror of Thérouanne and Tournai.”

Henry wavered. He longed for conquest, yet the thought of being entertained and flattered by Margaret was growing more and more inviting.

WHEN MAXIMILIAN
had left him Henry sent for Thomas Wolsey.

He looked affectionately at the almoner, of whose worth he had become daily more and more aware. When he needed anything, it was Thomas Wolsey who always seemed to be at his side to supply it. The Emperor had congratulated him on the excellence of his equipment. All this he owed to Wolsey.

He had even come to the point when he spoke to him of matters far beyond the man's duty; and, moreover, listened to his advice which had always seemed to him sound.

When Wolsey came to the King he saw at once the indecision in the King's eyes and he was alert. It was his policy to give the King the advice he hoped for and then allowed him to think that he had taken his, Wolsey's.

The King put his arm through that of Wolsey and proceeded to walk with him about the tent…a habit of Henry's when he was deep in thought and with one whom he wished to favor.

“Friend Thomas,” he said, “we have won a victory. These two towns are in our hands. The Emperor is of the opinion that this victory should be consolidated and that we should now proceed to his daughter's court at Lille, there to rest awhile. Now you are in charge of our supplies. Is it your opinion that we need this time to make ready for further attacks’”

Wolsey hesitated. He could see that the King was torn between two
desires and he was not certain which course the King had made up his mind to follow. Wolsey must be on the right side.

“Your Grace is tireless,” he said. “I know full well that it would be no hardship for you to continue in fierce battle.” He paused significantly. Then went on: “For others, who lack Your Grace's powers…”

“Ah!” said the King, and it was almost a sigh of relief. “Yes, I owe something to my men, Thomas. I need them beside me when I ride into battle.”

Wolsey went on triumphantly now that he had received his cue. The King wished to go to the court of the Duchess of Savoy, but it must be a matter of duty not of pleasure.

“Therefore, Sire,” Wolsey continued, “I would say, since you command me to give you my humble advice, that for the sake of others—though not your august self—it would be desirable to rest awhile before continuing the fight.”

Wolsey's arm was pressed; the King was smiling.

“I must perforce think of those others, Thomas. Much as it irks me to leave the field at this stage…I must think of them.”

“Your Grace is ever thoughtful of his subjects. They know this, and they will serve you with even greater zeal remembering Your Grace's clemency towards them.”

The King sighed deeply but his eyes were glittering with delight.

“Then, my friend, what must be, must be. We shall be leaving ere long for Lille.”

Wolsey felt gratified; he had once more gracefully leaped what might have been a difficult hurdle.

The King was also gratified, for he went on: “The bishopric of Tournai was fallen vacant, I hear. Louis has put forward a new Bishop. I venture to think, now that Tournai is no longer in French hands, it is not for Louis to appoint its Bishop and my nomination will more readily receive the blessings of His Holiness.”

“Sire!” Wolsey's gratitude shone from his eyes as he knelt and kissed his sovereign's hand.

Henry beamed on him. “It is ever our wish,” he said, “to reward a good servant.”

Bishop of Tournai! pondered Wolsey. A further step along the road.

Bishop! he thought, and he kept his head lowered over Henry's hand lest his eyes should betray the ambition which he felt was so strong that it must be obvious.

Bishop! Cardinal? And then: Pope himself!

AT HOME IN ENGLAND KATHARINE TOOK HER RESPONSIBILI
ties very seriously. She was eager that when he returned Henry should be satisfied with the manner in which she had governed the realm during his absence. She attended meetings of her Council and impressed them with her good sense; she spent any time she could spare from these duties with her ladies who were busily working, stitching standards, banners and badges. She prayed each day for the strength to do her duty and that the child she carried would not suffer because of her activities.

She felt well and full of confidence. The news from France was good. Henry was in high spirits; she had heard of the successful conclusion of the Battle of the Spurs; and she wondered now and then whether Henry was learning soldiers' habits, for she knew that there would be women to haunt the camp. Would he remain faithful? She must remember how stoically her own mother had accepted Ferdinand's infidelities; and Isabella had been a Queen in her own right. Ferdinand had ruled Castile as her consort, and Isabella never forgot that; and yet she meekly accepted his unfaithfulness as something which women, whose husbands are forced to spend long periods from their marriage beds, must regard as inevitable.

She was thankful that there was so much with which to occupy herself. There was always the child to comfort her, and she thanked God daily that she had become pregnant before Henry had left.

This one must live, she told herself again and again. It would not be possible to go on having such disappointments.

One day, when she sat stitching with her women, Surrey came into the apartment without ceremony.

“Your Grace,” he cried, “forgive this intrusion. You will understand when you hear the news. The Scots are gathering and preparing to swarm over the Border.”

She stared at him in horror. “But the King made a treaty with his brotherin-law…,” she began.

Surrey snapped his fingers. “Treaties, Your Grace, it would seem are made to be broken. This is no surprise to me. When the English army is overseas the Scots always attack.”

“We must meet this attack,” said Katharine quickly.

“Ay, Your Grace. I've men enough to meet the beggarly Scots.”

“Then go to it. There's little time to waste.”

Katharine went with him to the Council chamber. The time for stitching was over.

As she did so she was aware of the child moving within her and she felt exultant because of its existence and a certain apprehension because of the anxieties to come.

She thought of Margaret, Henry's sister, who was wife to James IV of Scotland, and it saddened her because sister must surely be working against brother.

She listened to Surrey, addressing the Council. His eyes gleamed and he seemed to have thrown off twenty years. It was as though he were saying, I was considered too old to join the French frolic. Now the King and the butcher's cur shall see how real victories are won.

I pray God that Surrey may succeed, thought Katharine. His victory would be hers, and if they could defeat the Scots Henry would be well pleased with her.

And yet… nothing would please him long, she knew, unless she brought forth a healthy son.

She spoke to the Council.

“There is little time to lose,” she said. “Let us gather all our available forces and move at once to the Border. The Scottish King has broken his treaty and seeks to strike us in the back while the King with our armies is on foreign soil. Gentlemen, we must defeat him. We must show His Grace that there are as good men in England this day as there are in France.”

“We'll do it,” cried Surrey; and everyone in the Council chamber echoed his words.

But this was no occasion for words only. Action was needed. No one and nothing must be spared in the great endeavor.

THE DAYS WERE FILLED
with a hundred anxieties. How could she raise the money to supply an army in France and another on the Border? There was only one answer: New taxes must be levied. Surrey was already in the North, fortifying the Border, raising an army to subdue the Stuart, and she herself was in continual correspondence with Wolsey. The amount of money and goods which were needed for the French war was staggering; yet somehow she must raise it.

There was no time now to indulge in those restful hours of sewing with her ladies. Disastrous news came from the North, where James had mustered an army of, some said, one hundred thousand men and was crossing the Tweed determined on battle.

She saw panic in certain faces about her. The King abroad on his French
adventure, his country undefended and only a woman in control. Was this to be the end of the Tudor dynasty? Were the Stuarts going to do what they had longed to do for generations—join the two countries under Stuart rule?

It was unthinkable. She was riding about the country rousing the people to a realization of their danger because that army must be raised somehow. Surrey could not be expected to drive back a hundred thousand warlike Scots unless he had an army to match them.

But she knew she should rest more. There were times when she threw herself on her bed too exhausted to take off her clothes. In this national danger she forgot even the child because there seemed only one goal: to save England.

As she passed through the various towns and villages she stopped to talk to the people who flocked to see her. She looked magnificent on her horse, her eyes alight with purpose.

“God's hand is over those who fight for their homes,” she cried. “And I believe that in valor the English have always surpassed all other nations.”

The people cheered her and rallied to her banner, and when she reached Buckingham she had raised a force of sixty thousand men.

“I will lead them to York,” she said, “and there join up with Surrey.”

When she dismounted she could scarcely stand, so exhausted was she. But she was triumphant because she had achieved that which had seemed impossible and had surely proved herself to be a worthy Regent.

Tired as she was she found time to write to Henry before she slept. She also sent a note to Wolsey—that most able man—who in the midst of all his exertions never failed to find time to write to the Queen, although often Henry was too busy to do so.

She feared that Henry might be too rash on the battlefield; she was worried about his tendency to catch cold; she was having new linen sent for him as she knew how fastidious he was in such matters; and she asked good Master Wolsey, on whom she relied, to look after the King and keep him well, and advise him against over-rashness.

She sealed the letters and sent them off before she dropped into a deep sleep.

In the morning she was unable to leave her bed; her limbs were cramped, and there were frightening pains in her womb.

She felt sick with apprehension but she said to Maria de Salinas: “I rode too long yesterday. My condition is making itself felt.”

“Your Grace should abandon the idea of riding North, and stay here for awhile,” said Maria anxiously. “You have raised the men. They can join Surrey and his army while you rest a little.”

She protested but even as she did so she knew that however much she wished to ride on she would be unable to do so.

She spent that morning in bed after giving orders that the army was to march on without her. And as she lay, racked by periodic pains, she remembered how her mother had told her that she had once sacrificed a child to win a war.

THAT NIGHT
her pains had increased and she could no longer feign not to understand the cause. The time had not come and the child was about to be born.

“Oh God,” she murmured, “so I have failed again.”

Her women were about the bed. They understood.

“Why, Maria,” she said, her mouth twisted bitterly, “it has come to be a pattern, has it not. Why… why should I be so forsaken?”

“Hush, Your Grace. You need your strength. You are young yet. All your life is before you.”

“It is the old cry, Maria. Next time… next time… And always this happens to me. Why? What have I done to deserve this?”

“You have exhausted yourself. You should never have left Richmond. It is easy to understand why this has happened. My dearest lady, rest now. Do not take it too hard. There will be another time.…”