III

They were a-walking in the little garden below the windows of the late

Cardinal's house at Hampton; the April sun shone, for May came on

apace, and in that sheltered spot the light lay warm and no breezes

came. They took great pleasure there beneath the windows. One girl

kept three golden balls flying in the air, whilst three others and two

lords sought to distract her by inducing her little hound to bark

shrilly below her hands up at the flying balls that caught in them the

light of the sun, the blue of the sky, and the red and grey of the

warm palace walls. Down the nut walk, where the trees that the dead

Cardinal had set were already fifteen years old and dark with young

green leaves as bright as little flowers, they had set up archery

targets. Cicely Elliott, in black and white, flashing like a magpie in

the alleys, ran races with the Earl of Surrey beneath the blinking

eyes of her old knight; the Lady Mary, herself habited all in black,

moved like a dark shadow upon a dial between the little beds upon

paths of red brick between box hedges as high as your ankles. She

spoke to none save once when she asked the name of a flower. But

laughter went up, and it seemed as if, in this first day out of doors,

all the Court opened its lungs to drink the new air; and they were

making plans for May Day already.

They asked, too, a riddle: 'An a nutshell from Candlemas loved a merry

bud in March, how should it come to pleasure and content?' and men who

had the answer looked wise and shook their sides at guessing faces.

In a bower at the south end of the small garden Katharine Howard sat

to play cat's-cradle with the old lady of Rochford. This foolish game

and this foolish old woman, with her unceasing tales of the Queen Anne

Boleyn--who had been her cousin--gave to Katharine a great feeling of

ease. With her troubled eyes and weary expression, her occasional

groans as the rheumatism gnawed at her joints, the old lady minded her

of the mother she had so seldom seen. She had always been somewhere

away, all through Katharine's young years, planning and helping her

father to advancement that never came, and hopeless to control her

wild children. Thus Katharine had come to love this poor old woman and

consorted much with her, for she was utterly bewildered to control the

Lady Mary's maids that were beneath her care.

Katharine held out her hands, parallel, as if she were praying, with

the strand of blue wool and silver cord criss-cross and diagonal

betwixt her fingers. The old lady bent above them, silent and puzzled,

to get the key to the strings. Twice she protruded her gouty fingers,

with swollen ends; and twice she drew them back to stroke her brows.

'I mind,' she said suddenly, 'that I played cat's-cradle with my

cousin Anne, that was a sinful queen.' She bent again and puzzled

about the strings. 'In those days I had a great skill, I mind. We

revised it to the eleventh change many times before her death.' Again

she leant forward and again back. 'I did come near my death, too,' she

added.

Katharine's eyes had been gazing past her; suddenly she asked:

'Was Anne Boleyn loved after she grew to be Queen?'

The old woman's face took on a palsied and haunted look.

'God help you!' she said; 'do you ask that?' and she glanced round her

furtively in an agony of apprehension. Something had drawn all the gay

gowns and embroidered stomachers towards the higher terrace. They were

all alone in the arbour.

'Why,' Katharine said, 'so many innocent creatures have been done to

death since Cromwell came, that, though she was lewd before and a

heretic all her days, I think doubts may be.'

The old lady pressed her hand upon her bosom where her heart beat.

'Madam Howard,' she said, 'for my life I know not the truth of the

matter. There was much trickery; God knoweth the truth.'

Katharine mused for a moment above the cat's-cradle on her fingers.

Near the joint at the end of the little one there was a small mole.

'Take you the fifth and third strings,' she said. 'The king string

holds your wrist,' and whilst the old face was still intent upon the

problem she said:

'I think that if a woman come to be Queen it is odds that she will

live chastely, how lewd soever she ha' been aforetime.'

Lady Rochford set her fingers in between Katharine's, but when she

drew them back with the strings upon them, they wavered, lost their

straightness, knotted and then resolved themselves into a single loop

as in a swift wind a cloud dies away beneath the eyes of the beholder.

'Why, 'tis pity,' Katharine said.

All the lords and all the ladies were now upon the terrace above. The

old lady had the string in her broad lap. Suddenly she bent forward,

her eyes opened.

'She was the enemy of your Church,' she said. 'But this I will tell

you: upon occasions when men swore she had been with other men o'

nights, the Queen was in my bed with me!'

Katharine nodded silently.

'Who was I that I dare speak?' the old woman sobbed; and Katharine

nodded again.

Lady Rochford rubbed together her fat hands as she were ringing them.

'Before God,' she moaned, 'and by the blessed blood of Hailes that

cured ever my pains, if a soul know a soul I knew Anne. If she was a

woman like other women before she wedded the King, she was minded to

be chaste after. Madam Howard,'--and she rocked her fat body to and

fro upon the seat--'they came to me from both sides, your Papists and

her heretics; they threatened me to keep silence of what I knew. I was

to keep silence. I name no names. But they came o' both sides, Papists

and heretics; though she was middling true to the heretics they could

not be true to her.'

Katharine answered her own thoughts with:

'Ay; but my cause is the good cause. Men shall be true to it.'

The old lady leaned forward and stroked her hands.

'Dearie,' she said, 'dandling piece, sweet bit, there are no true

men.' She had an entreaty in her tone, and her large blue eyes gazed

fixedly. 'Say that my cousin Anne was a heretic. I know naught of it

save that my bones have ached always since the holy blood of Hailes

was done away with that was wont to cure me. But the Queen Anne was

hard driven because of a plotting; and no man stood her friend.' With

her large and tear-filled eyes she gazed at the palace, where the pear

trees upon the walls shewed new, pale leaves in the sunlight. 'The

great Cardinal was hard driven because of a plot, and no man was true

to him. There is no true man. Hope not for one. Hope not for any one.

The great Cardinal builded those walls and that palace--and where is

he?'

'Yet,' Katharine said, 'Privy Seal that is was true to him and

profited exceedingly.'

Lady Rochford shook her head.

'For a little while truth may help you,' she said; 'but your name in

the end shall be but a stink.'

'Ay,' Katharine answered her; 'but ye shall gain at the end of all.

For I hold it for certain that because, to the uttermost dregs of his

cup, Cromwell was true to his master Wolsey, before the throne of God

much shall be pardoned him.'

The old woman answered bitterly:

'The throne of God is a long way from here.'

'Please it Mary and the saints,' Katharine said, 'the ten years to

come shall bring Heaven a thousand leagues nearer to this land.' But

her words died away because the Lady Rochford's mouth fell open.

From the terrace a great square man led down a tiny, small man, giving

the child his finger to help him down the steps. It clung to him, the

little, squared replica of himself, sturdily and with a blonde, small

face laughing up into his father's that laughed down past a huge

shoulder. Henry was dressed all in black, and his son too; the boy's

callow head shone in the sunshine, and they came dallying down the

little path, many faces and shoulders peering over the terrace wall at

them. Once the child stumbled, loosed his hold of his father's finger

and came down upon all fours. He crawled to the pathside, filled his

little hands with leaves, and held them up towards his sire; and they

could hear the King say:

'Who-hoop, Ned! Princes walk not like quadrumanes,' as he bent to take

the leaves. The child twisted himself, gripping his little fingers

into Henry's garter, and, catching again at his finger, pulled his

father towards their bower.

The Lady Rochford rose, but Katharine sat where she was to smile upon

the child and brush his head with a pink tassel of her sleeve. The

little prince hid his face in the voluminous velvet of his father's

vast thighs. The King, diffusing a great and embracing pride, laughed

to Lady Rochford.

'Ye played cat's-cradle,' he said. 'I warrant ye brought it not beyond

seven changes. Time was when I have done fourteen with a lady if her

hands were white enough.'

He threw away the green leaves of the clove pinks that his son had

given him, and took the blue and silver loop from the old woman's

hands. He sat himself heavily on the bench facing Katharine, and

crying, 'See you, silly Ned,' held his son's hands apart and fitted

the cord over the little wrists.

Suddenly he bent clumsily forward and picked up again the carnation

leaves that lay in green strands upon the floor of the arbour,

grunting a little with the effort.

'This is the first offering my son ever made me,' he said, and he drew

a pocket purse from his breast to lay them in. 'Please God he shall

yet lay at my feet a province or two of our heritage of France.' He

touched his cap at the Deity's name, and called gruffly at his son:

'See you, forget not ever that we be Kings of France too, you and I,'

and the little boy with his cropped head uttered:

'_Rex Angliae, Galliae, Franciae et Hiberniae!_'

'Aye, I ha' learned ye that,' the King said, and roared with laughter.

Of a sudden he turned his head, without moving his body, towards

Katharine.

'I ha' news from Norfolk in France,' he said, and, as the Lady

Rochford made to move, he uttered good-naturedly: 'Aye, avoid. But ye

may buss my son.'

He stretched back his head, laid an arm along the back of his seat,

put out his feet and pushed at the child, who played with his

shoe-tags.

'The boy grows,' he said, and motioned for Katharine to sit beside

him. Then his face shewed a quick dissatisfaction. 'A brave boy, but a

should be braver,' and looking down, 'see you not blue lines about 's

gills?' He caught at her hand with a masterful grip.

'Here we're a picture,' he said: 'a lusty husbandman, his lusty son,

his lusty wife, resting all beneath his goodly vine.' His face clouded

again. 'I--I am not lusty; my son, he is not lusty.' He touched her

cheek. 'Thou art lusty enow--hast such pink cheeks.'

'Aye, we were always lusty at home when we had enow to eat,' Katharine

said. She took the child upon her knee and blew lightly in his face.

'I will wager you I will guess his weight within a pound,' she added,

and began to play a game with the tiny fingers. 'Wherefore do ye habit

little children in black?'

'Why,' the King answered, 'I know not if I myself appear less

monstrous in black or red, and my son shall be habited as I be. 'Tis

to make the trial.'

'Aye,' Katharine said, 'ye think first of yourself. But dress the

child in white and go in white yourself. And set up a chantry of

priests to pray the child grow sturdy. It was thus my cousin Surrey's

life was saved that was erst a weakling.'

'Be Queen,' he said suddenly. 'Marry me. I came here to ask it.'

Her lips parted; she left her hand in his. The expected words had

come.

'I have thought on it,' she said. 'I knew ye could not long hold to

child and sire as ye sware ye would.'

'Kat,' he said, 'ye shall do my will. I ha' news from France. Ye gave

me good rede. I ha' news from Cleves: the Cleves woman shall no more

be queen of mine. Thee I will have.'

She raised herself from the bench and turned in the entrance of the

arbour to look at him.

'Give me leave to walk on the path,' she said. 'I have thought on

this--for I was sure I gave you good advice, and well I knew Cleves

would sever from ye.' She faltered: 'I ha' thought on it. But 'tis

different to think on it and to ha' the thing in your face.'

He uttered, 'Make haste,' and she walked down the path. He saw her,

tall, fair, swaying a little in the wind, raise her face to the

skies; her long fingers made the sign of the cross, her hood fell

back. Her lips moved; the fringes of her lashes came down over her

blue eyes, and she seemed to wrestle with her hands.

'Aye,' he muttered to himself half earnest, half sardonic, 'prayer is

better than thoughts. God strike with palsy them that made me afraid

to pray.... Aye, pray on, pray on,' he said again. 'But by God and His

wounds! ye shall be my queen.'

By the time she came back he laughed at her tempestuously, and pushing

the little prince tenderly with his huge foot, watched him roll on the

floor catching at the air.

'Why,' he said to her, 'what's the whimsy now? Shalt be the queen.

'Tis the sole way. 'Tis the way to the light.' He leant forward.

'Cleves has gone to the bastard called Charles to sue for mercy. Ye

led me so well to set Francis against Charles that I may snap my

fingers against both. None but thee could ha' forged that bolt. Child,

I will make a league with the Pope against Charles or Francis, with

Francis or Charles. Anne may go hang herself.' He rose to his feet and

stretched out both his hands, his eyes glowing beneath his deep brows.

'Body o' God! thou art a very fair woman; and now I will be such a

king as never was, and take France for mine own and set up Holy Church

again, and say good prayers and sleep in a warm bed. Body o' God! Body

o' God!'

'God and the saints save the issue!' she said. 'I am thy servant and

slave.'

But her tone made him recoil.

'What whimsy's here?' he muttered heavily, and his eyes became

suffused with red. 'Speak, wench!' He pulled at the stuff round his

throat. 'I will have peace,' he said. 'I will at last have peace.'

'God send you have it,' she said, and trembled a little, half in fear,

half in sheer pity at the thought of thwarting him.

'Speak thy fool whimsy,' he muttered huskily. 'Speak!'

'My lord,' she said, 'where is the Queen that is?'

He flared suddenly at her as if she had reproved him.

'At Windsor. 'Tis a better palace than this of mine here.' He shook

his finger heavily and uttered with a boastful defiance: 'Shalt not

say I shower no gifts on her. Shalt not say she has no state. I ha'

sent her seven jennets this day. I shall go bring her golden apples on

the morrow. Scents she has had o' me; French gowns, Southern fruits.

No man nor wench shall say I be not princely----' His boasting bluster

died away before her silence. To please a mute desire in her, he had

showered more gifts on Anne of Cleves than on any other woman he had

ever seen; and thinking that she used him ill not to praise him for

this, he could not hold his tongue: 'What is't to thee what she hath?

What she hath thou losest. 'Tis a folly.'

'My lord,' she said, 'I will myself to see the Queen that is.'

'And whysomever?' he voiced his astonishment.

'My lord,' she said, 'I have a tickly conscience in divorces. I will

ask her mine own self.'

He roared out suddenly indistinguishable words, stamped his feet,

waved his hands at the skies, and lost his voice altogether.

'Aye,' she said, catching at some of his speech, 'I ha' read your

Highness' depositions. I ha' read depositions of the Archbishop's. But

I will be satisfied of her own mouth that she be not your wife.'

And when he swore that Anne would lie:

'Nay,' she answered; 'if she will lie to keep her queenship, keep it

she shall. I am upon the point of honour.'

'Before God!'--and his voice had a sneering haughtiness--'ye will not

be long of this world if ye steer by the point of honour.'

'Sir,' she cried out and stretched forth her hands; 'for the love of

Mary who guides the starry counsels and of the saints who sit in

conclave, speak not in that wise.'

He shrugged his shoulders and said, with a touch of angry shame:

'God send the world were another world; I would it were other. But I

am a prince in this one.'

'My lord,' she said; 'if the world so is, kings and princes are here

to be above the world. In your greatness ye shall change it; with your

justice ye shall purify it; with your clemencies ye should it chasten

and amerce. Ye ask me to be a queen. Shall I be a queen and not such a

queen? No, I tell you; if a woman may swear a great oath, I swear by

Leonidas that saved Sparta and by Christ Jesus that saved this world,

so will I come by my queenship and so act in it that, if God give me

strength the whole world never shall find speck upon mine honour--or

upon thine if I may sway thee.'

'Why,' he said, 'thy voice is like little flutes.'

He considered, patting his square, soft-shod feet upon the bricks of

the arbour floor.

'By Guy! I will have thee,' he said; 'though ye twist my senses as

never woman twisted them--and it is not good for a man to be swayed by

his women.'

'My lord,' she said, 'in naught would I sway a man save in where my

conscience pricks and impels me.' She rubbed her hand across her eyes.

'It is difficult to see the right in these matters. The only way is to

be firm for God and for the cause of the saints.' She looked down at

her feet. 'I will be ceaseless in my entreaties to you for them,' she

uttered. Suddenly again she stretched forth both her hands that had

sunk to her sides:

'Dear lord,' and her voice was full of pity for herself and for

entreaty; 'let me go to a convent to pray unceasing for thee.'

He shook his head.

'Dear lord,' she repeated; 'use me as thou wilt and I will stay beside

thee and urge thee to the cause of God.'

Again he shook his head.

'The saints would pardon me it,' she whispered; 'or if I even be

damned to save England, it were a good burnt-offering.'

'Wench,' he said; 'I was never a man to go a-whoring. I ha' done it,

but had no savour with it.' His boastfulness returned to the heavy

voice. 'I am a king that will give. I will give a crown, a realm,

jewels, honours, monies. All I have I will give; but thou shalt wed

me.' He threw out his chest and gazed down at her. 'I was ever thus,'

he said.

'And I ever thus,' she answered him swiftly. 'Mary hath put this thing

in my mind; and though ye scourge me, ye shall not have it otherwise.'

'Even how?' he said.

'My lord,' she answered; 'if the Queen, so it be true, will say she be

no wife of thine, I will wed thee. If the Queen, seeing that it is for

the good of this suffering realm, will give to me her crown, I will

wed with thee. I wot ye may get for yourself another woman with

another gear of conscience to bear t'ee children. All the ills of this

realm came with a divorce of a queen. I do hate the word as I hate

Judas, and will have no truck with the deed.'

'Ye speak me hard,' he said; 'but no man shall say I could not bear

with the truth at odd moments.'

A great and hasty eagerness came into her voice.

'Ye say that it is truth?' she cried. 'God hath softened thy heart.'

'God or thee,' he said, and muttered, 'I do not make this avowal to

the world.' Suddenly he smote his thigh. 'Body o' God!' he called out;

'the day shall soon come. Cleves falls away, France and Spain are

sundering. I will sue for peace with the Pope, and set up a chapel to

Kat's memory.' He breathed as if a weight had fallen from his chest,

and suddenly laughed: 'But ye must wed me to keep me in the right

way.'

He changed his tone again.

'Why, go to Anne,' he said; 'she is such a fool she will not lie to

thee; and, before God, she is no wife of mine.'

'God send ye speak the truth,' she answered; 'but I think few men be

found that will speak truth in these matters.'