Виктория Холт - The Shadow of the Pomegranate

Katharine was watching the faces of some of the women who had pressed into the hall. They were mothers, and some of these boys who stood there on the threshold of death, the halters round their necks, had been their babies.

It was more than she could bear. Stripping off her headdress so that her hair fell about her shoulders—as became a supplicant—she threw herself at the King’s feet.

“Your Grace, I implore you, spare these prisoners. They are young. Let them grow to serve Your Grace.”

Henry, legs apart, his fingers playing with the great pearl which hung about his neck, regarded her with assumed tenderness and said: “You are a woman, Kate, and soft. You know nothing of these matters.…”

Katharine turned to Mary and Margaret and they, seeing the appeal in her eyes and being moved themselves by the sight of those miserable prisoners and their sorrowing families, loosened their hair and knelt with Katharine at the King’s feet.

Henry regarded them, and his eyes were a brilliant blue.

Three Queens knelt at his feet! What a spectacle for his people!

He appeared to consider.

Wolsey—the great Cardinal who, when he went abroad, rode through the streets in a procession which rivalled that of a king’s—also appealed to Henry.

His appeal was a warning, but there was no need for the warning. Henry was about to make the grand gesture.

“I am not proof against such pleading,” he declared. “And I know full well that these foolish men and women now regret their folly. They shall live to be my very good subjects.”

There was a sudden shout of joy. The prisoners took the halters from their necks and threw them high into the air.

Henry stood watching them—sons rushing into their mother’s arms, wives embracing husbands—a smug smile of pleasure on his face.

As Katharine watched, the tears flowed down her cheeks.

LITTLE MARY WAS GROWING UP TO BE A MODEL CHILD. SHE was now two years old and had her separate establishment at Ditton Park in Buckinghamshire. Katharine could not bear to be separated from the child, and consequently she spent a great deal of time in her daughter’s nursery; and she contrived to be often at Windsor Castle so that the child could be ferried over to her there.

Katharine was going to supervise her education as Isabella had her children’s. She was going to take her mother as an example; Mary should learn to love and depend on her mother as she, Katharine, had on hers.

Already Mary was showing great promise. She had a lively intelligence, could speak clearly and knew how to receive important personages. It was a constant delight to present them to her that she might charm them as she charmed her parents.

Henry was almost as devoted as Katharine. He enjoyed taking the child in his arms or on his knees and playing with her. Only occasionally would the frown appear between his eyes, and Katharine would know then that he was thinking: Why is this child not a boy?

Mary quickly showed an aptitude for music, and, young as she was, Katharine taught her how to play on the virginals. The Queen would sit with the little girl on her lap, the four feet long box in which the keyboard was set, placed on the table; and there the childish fingers would pick out the notes.

Her progress was amazing, and Henry as well as Katharine liked to show off her talent as much as possible.

What happy days they were; and to crown her pleasure, Katharine discovered that she was once more pregnant.

“Now we have a healthy girl, we must get us a boy,” said Henry.

His tone was playful but there was a faint threat beneath it. He was determined to have a boy…from someone.

AUTUMN HAD COME and the King hunted all through the day and returned in the late afternoon to banquets and masques.

Katharine was spending the days in happy preoccupation with her domestic affairs. There was so much to occupy her days. She liked to sit sewing with her women; and it was her delight to embroider Henry’s linen, and garments for little Mary. She had moved away from the sphere of politics and was happier for it.

Her hopes of bearing another healthy child were high. Mary was a joy in more ways than one. Not only was she her charming self but she was a promise of future children, a symbol which insisted that what could be done once could be done again.

This was the happiest of her pregnancies—apart from the first one. This time she could feel almost complacent.

“But let it be a boy,” she prayed. “O Holy Mother, intercede for me and give me a boy.”

She was seated at the table on the dais; the hunters had returned hungry from the forest, and Henry was in his place at the center of the table where there was much jesting and laughter.

Elizabeth Blount was present. Katharine always looked for her among the guests, and she marvelled that Henry could have been faithful to a woman for so long. Elizabeth was, of course, a beauty; and she was entirely the King’s. The marriage to Sir Gilbert Taillebois was one in name only. They could be certain of this. Sir Gilbert would not dare to be a husband to Elizabeth while she was the King’s paramour.

Poor Gilbert! thought Katharine with some contempt. He stands by, like a cur, waiting for his master to throw the bone after he has finished gnawing it.

She felt no jealousy of Elizabeth; she felt nothing but this great desire to bear a son.

She did notice, however, that Elizabeth looked different tonight. She was even more attractive than usual. A diamond glittered at her throat. A gift from the King of course. She was dressed in blue velvet with cloth of silver, and those colors were very becoming to her fair beauty. She was subdued tonight. Had she perhaps noticed that the King was less attentive? Yet she seemed radiant. Had she another lover?

Katharine ceased to think of the woman. It was no concern of hers if Henry discarded a mistress, because there would be another if he dispensed with this one. She was not a giddy girl to look for faithfulness in a man such as Henry.

There was a burst of laughter at the table. The King had made a joke. It must be the King’s, for only his jokes provoked such abandoned laughter.

Katharine set her face into a smile, but she was not thinking of the King nor of Elizabeth Blount.

The child stirred suddenly within her. “Holy Mother, give me a healthy child…a healthy male child.”

HENRY’S HAND touched that of Elizabeth in the dance. She raised her eyes to his and smiled.

He pressed her hand warmly. He too had noticed the change in her tonight.

“But you are more fair than ever,” he whispered.

“Your Grace…” Her voice faltered.

“Speak up, Bessie.”

“There is something I must tell you.”

“What is this?”

“I…wish to tell you as soon as we can be alone.”

“You’re frightened, Bessie. What’s wrong?”

“I pray Your Grace…. When we are alone.”

Henry narrowed his eyes, but she was whirled away from him in the dance.

SHE WAS WAITING for him in the antechamber where he had bidden her go.

“Slip away,” he had said when their hands had touched again in the dance. “I will join you. None will notice us.”

At one time she would have smiled at his belief that, when he did not wish to be noticed, he never was. As if everyone in the hall was not aware of the movements of the King! But tonight she was too preoccupied with her thoughts and fears.

He shut the door and stood looking at her.

“Well, Bessie?”

“Your Grace…I…we…I am with child.”

Henry stared at her.

Then he began to laugh. “By God, Bessie,” he cried, “I had begun to think you were a barren woman. When I considered all the nights we have been together…and no sign of a child. I began to wonder what was wrong with you…or…”