II

A weary sadness had beset Katharine Howard ever since she had knelt

before Anne of Cleves at Richmond, and it was of this the King had

spoken outside the door whilst they had waited for light to be made.

All Anne's protesting that willingly she rendered up a distasteful

crown could not make Katharine hugely glad with the manner of her own

taking it. And, when a messenger, dressed as a yeoman in green, had

come into the bright gallery to beg the Queen and that fair lady the

Lady Katharine Howard to come a-riding side by side and witness the

sports that certain poor yeomen made in the woods upon Thames-side,

she felt a sinking in her heart that no Rhenish of the Queen's could

relieve. She desired to be alone and to pray--or to be alone with

Henry and speak out her heart and devise how they might atone to the

Queen. But she must ride at the Queen's right hand with the Duke of

Suffolk at her left. It was so between their captives that the Caesars

had ridden into Rome after the taking of barbaric kings. But she had

waged no war.

She did not, in her heart, call shame upon the King; she knew him to

be a heavy man with bitter sorrows who must in these violentnesses and

brave shows find refuge and surcease; it was her province to endure

and to find excuse for him. But to herself she quoted that phrase of

Lucretius that the King again repeated: there was a hidden destiny

that tamed the shows of the great; and she was the mutest of that

throng that upon white horses, all with little flags flying and horns

blowing, cantered to see the yeomen shoot. For the ladies and knights,

avid of these things, loved above all good bowmanry and wagered with

out-stretched hands for the marksmen that most they deemed to have

skill or that usually seemed to enjoy the fortunate favours of chance

and the winds.

But, being alone with the King--(for when the Queen rode back to

Richmond the notable bowman in green walked, holding Katharine's

stirrup, back to Hampton at her saddle-bow)--she could not stay

herself from venting her griefs.

'_Et cognovi quod non esset melius nisi laetari et facere bene in vita

sua_'--Henry finished his quotation when they were within her room. He

sat himself down in her chair and stretched his legs apart; being

tired with his long walk at her saddle bow, the more boisterous part

of his great pleasure had left him. He was no more minded to slap his

thigh, but he felt, as it was his favourite image of blessedness to

desire, like a husbandman who sat beneath his vine and knew his

harvesting prosper.

'Body of God!' he said, 'this is the best day of my life. There doth

no cloud remain. Here is the sunburst. For Cleves hath cut himself

adrift; I need have no more truck with Anne; you have no more cause

nor power to bend yourself from me; to-morrow the Parliament meets,

such a Parliament to do my will as never before met in a Republic;

therefore I have no more need of Cromwell.' He snapped his thumb and

finger as if he were throwing away a pinch of dust, and when she fell

to her knees before his chair, placed his hand upon her head and,

smiling, huge and indulgent, spoke on.

'This is such a day as seldom I have known since I was a child.' He

leaned forward to stroke her dusky and golden hair and laid his hand

upon her shoulder, his fingers touching her flushed cheek.

'On other days I have said with Horace, who is more to my taste than

your Lucretius: "_That man is great and happy who at day's end may

say: To-day I have lived, what of storms or black clouds on the morrow

betide._"'...

He crossed his great legs encased in green, set his heavy head to one

side and, though he could see she was minded to pray to him,

continued to speak like a man uttering of his memories.

'Such days as that of Horace I have known. But never yet such a day as

to-day, which, good in itself, leadeth on to goodness and fair

prospects for a certain morrow.' He smiled again. 'Why, I am no more

an old man as I had thought to be. I have walked that far path beside

thy horse.' It pleased him for two things: because he had walked with

little fatigue and because he had been enabled to show her great and

prodigal honour by so serving her for groom. 'This too I set to thy

account as my good omen. And that thou art. No woman shall have such

honours as thou in this land, save only the Mother of God.' And, after

touching his green and jewelled bonnet, he cast it from his head on to

the table.

'Sir,' she cried out, and clasping her hands uttered her words in

anguish and haste. 'Great kings and lords upon their affiancing day

have ever had the habit of granting their brides a boon or twain--as

the conferring of the revenues of a province, or the pardoning of

criminals.'

'Why, an thou come not to me to pardon Privy Seal----' he began.

'Sir,' she cut in on his words, 'I crave no pardon for Privy Seal; but

let me speak my mind.'

He said tenderly:

'Art in the mood to talk! Talk on! for I know no way to hinder thee.'

'Sir,' she said, 'I ask thee no pardon for Privy Seal, neither his

goods ne his life. I maintain this man hath well served thee and is no

traitor; but since that he hath ground the faces of the poor, hath

made thee to be hated by bringing of false witness, hath made the

thirsty earth shrink from drinking of blood, hath cast down the

Church--since that this man in this way hath brought peril upon the

republic and upon the souls of poor and witless folk, this man hath

wrought worse treasons than any that I wot of. If ye will adjudge him

to die, I am no fool to say: No!'

Henry wrinkled his brows and said:

'Grinding the faces of the poor is in law no treason. Yet I may not

slay him save upon the occasion of treason. I would a man would come

to me that could prove him traitor.'

Kneeling before the King she grasped each of his knees with one of her

hands.

'Sir,' she said, 'this is your occasion, none of mine. I would ye

would reconcile it to your conscience so to act to him as I would have

you, for his injustice to the poor and for his cogged oaths. But yet

grant me this: to cog oaths for the downfall of Privy Seal upon the

occasion of treason ye must have many other innocents implicated with

him; such men as have had no idea, no suspicion, no breath of treason

in their hearts. Grant me their lives. Sir, let me tell you a tale

that I read in Seneca.' She moved her body nearer to him upon the

floor, set her hands upon his two arms and gazed, beseeching and

piteous, up into his face.

'Sir,' she said, 'you may read it in Seneca for yourself that upon the

occasion of Cinna's treachery being made known to the Emperor

Augustus, the Emperor lay at night debating this matter in his mind.

For on the one side, says he in words like this: "_Shall I pardon this

man after that he hath assailed my life, my life that I have preserved

in so many battles by sea and by land, after I have stablished one

single peace throughout the globe into all the corners thereof? Shall

he go free who has considered with himself not only to slay me but to

slay me when I offered sacrifice, ere its consummation, so that I may

be damned as well as slain? Shall I pardon this man?_" And, upon the

other side, the Emperor Augustus, lying in the black of the night,

being a prince, even as thou art, prone to leniency, said such words

as these: "_Why dost thou, Augustus, live, if it is of import to so

many people that thou diest? Shall there never be an end to thy

vengeance and thy punishments? Is thy single life of such worth that

so much ruin shall for ever be wrought to preserve it?_"'

'Why, I have had these thoughts,' Henry said. 'Speak on. What did this

Emperor that thought like me?'

'Sir,' Katharine continued, and now she had her hands upon his

shoulders, 'the Empress Livia his wife lay beside him and was aware of

these his night sweats and his anguishes. "_And the counsels of a

woman; shall these be listened to?_" she spoke to him. "_Do thou in

this what the Physicians follow when their accustomed recipes are of

no avail to cure. They do try the contrary drugs. By severity thou

hast never, sire, profited from the beginning to this very hour that

is; Lepidus has followed to death Savidienus; Murena, Lepidus; Caepio

followed Murena; Eynatius, Caepio. Commence to essay at this pass how

clemency shall act in cure. Cinna is convicted: pardon him. Further to

harm thee he hath no power, and it shall for ever redound to thy

glory._"'

She leaned upon him with all her weight, having her arms about his

neck.

'Sir,' she said, 'the Emperor Augustus listened to his wife, and the

days that followed are styled the Golden Age of Rome, he and the

Empress having great glory.'

Henry scratched his head, holding his beard back from her face that

lay upon his chest; she drew herself from him and once more laid her

hands upon his knees. Her fair face was piteous and afraid; her lips

trembled.

'Dear lord,' she began tremulously, 'I live in this world, and, great

pity 'tis! I cannot but have seen how many have died by the block and

faggots. Yet is there no end to this. Even to-day they have burnt upon

the one part and the other. I do know thy occasions, thy trials, thy

troubles. But think, sir, upon the Empress Livia. Cromwell being dead,

find then a Cinna to pardon. Thou hast with thy great and princely

endeavourings given a Roman peace to the world. Let now a Golden Age

begin in this dear land.'

She rose to her feet and stretched out both her hands.

'These be the glories that I crave,' she said. 'I would have the glory

of advising thee to this. Before God I would escape from being thy

Queen if escape I might. I would live as the Sibyls that gave good

counsel and lived in rocky cells in sackcloth. So would I fainer. But

if you will have me, upon your oaths to me of this our affiancing, I

beseech you to give me no jewels, neither the revenue of provinces for

my dower. But grant it to me that in after ages men may conceive of me

as of such a noble woman of Rome.'

Henry leaned forward and stroked first one knee and then the other.

'Why, I will pardon some,' he said. 'It had not need of so many words

of thine. I am sick of slaughterings when you speak.' A haughty and

challenging frown came into his face; his brows wrinkled furiously; he

gazed at the opening door that moved half imperceptibly, slowly, in

the half light, after the accustomed manner, so that one within might

have time to cry out if a visitor was not welcome. For, for the most

part, in those days, ladies set bolts across their doors.

Throckmorton stood there, blinking his eyes in the candle-light, and,

slowly, he fell upon his knees.

'Majesty,' he said, 'I knew not.'

The King maintained a forbidding silence, his green bulk inert and

dangerous.

'This lady's cousin,' Throckmorton pronounced his words slowly, 'is

new come from France whence he hath driven out from Paris town the

Cardinal Pole.'

The King lifted one hand from his thigh, and, heavily, let it fall

again.

Throckmorton felt his way still further.

'This lady's cousin would speak with this lady in cousin-ship. He was

set in my care by my lord Privy Seal. I have brought him thus far in

safety. For some have made attacks upon him with swords.'

Katharine's hand went to her throat where she stood, tall and half

turning from the King to Throckmorton. The word 'Wherefore?' came from

her lips.

'Wherefore, I know not,' Throckmorton answered her steadily. His eyes

shifted for a moment from the King and rested upon her face. 'But this

I know, that I have him in my safe keeping.'

'Belike,' the King said, 'these swordsmen were friends of Pole.'

'Belike,' Throckmorton answered.

He fingered nonchalantly the rim of his cap that lay beside his knees.

'For his sake,' he said, 'it were well if your Grace, having rewarded

him princely for this deed, should send him to a distant part, or to

Edinbro' in the Kingdom of Scots, where need for men is to lie and

observe.'

'Belike,' the King said. 'Get you gone.' But Throckmorton stayed there

on his knees and the King uttered: 'Anan?'

'Majesty,' Throckmorton said, 'I would ye would see this man who is a

poor, simple swordsman. He being ill made for courts I would have you

reward him and send him from hence ere worse befall him.'

The King raised his brows.

'Ye love this man well,' he said.

'Here is too much beating about the bush,' burst from Katharine's

lips. She stood, tall, winding her hands together, swaying a little

and pale in the half light of the two candles. 'This cousin of mine

loves me well or over well. This gentleman feareth that this cousin of

mine shall cause disorders--for indeed he is of disordered intervals.

Therefore, he will have you send him from this Court to a far land.'

'Why, this is a monstrous sensible gentleman,' Henry said. 'Let us see

this yokel.' He had indeed a certain satisfaction at the interrupting,

for with Katharine in her begging moods he was never certain that he

must not grant her his shirt and go a penance to St Thomas' shrine.

Katharine stayed with her hand upon her heart, but when her cousin

came his green figure in the doorway was stiff; he trembled to pass

the sill, and looking never at her but at the King's shoes, he knelt

him down in the centre of the floor. The words coming to her in the

midst of anguishes and hot emotions, she said:

'Sire, this is my much-loved cousin, who hath bought me food and

dress in my days of poverty, selling his very farms.'

Culpepper grunted over his shoulder:

'Hold thy tongue, cousin Kat. Ye know not that ye shall observe

silence in the awful presence of kings.'

Henry threw his head back and laughed, whilst the chair creaked for a

minute's space.

'Silence!' he said. 'Before God, silence! Have ye ever heard this

lady's tongue?' He grew still and dreadful at the end of his mirth.

'Ye have done well,' he said. 'Give me your sword. I will knight you.

I hear you are a poor man. I give you a knight's fee farm of a hundred

pounds by the year. I hear you are a rough honest man. I had rather ye

were about my nephew's courts than mine. Get you to Edinbro'.' He

waved his hand to Throckmorton. 'See him disposed,' he said.

Culpepper uttered a sound of remonstrance. The King leaned forward in

his seat and thundered:

'Get you gone. Be you this night thirty miles towards the Northland. I

ha' heard ye ha' made brawls and broils here. See you be gone. By God,

I am Harry of Windsor!'

He laid the heavy flat of the sword like a blow upon the green

shoulders below him.

'Rise up, Sir Thomas Culpepper,' he said. 'Get you gone!'

Dazed and trembling still a little, Culpepper stuttered his way to the

door. When he came by her Katharine cast her arms about his shoulder.

'Poor Tom,' she cried. 'Best it is for thee and me that thou goest.

Here thou hast no place.' He shook his head like a man in a daze and

was gone.

'Art too patient with the springald,' the King said.

He thundered 'Body of God!' again when he saw Throckmorton once more

fall to his knees.

'Sire,' he said--and for the first time he faltered in his level

tones--'a very great treason has come to my ken this day!'

'Holy altar fires!' the King growled, 'let your treasons wait. Here

hath this lady been talking to me very reasonably of a golden age.'

'Sire,' Throckmorton said, and he leant one hand on the floor to

support him. 'This is a very great treason of men arming to sustain

Privy Seal against thee! I have seen it; with mine own eyes I have

seen it in thy town of London.'