Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (186 page)

‘Anan?’

‘Oh, well your Holiness knows,’ Katharine said. ‘You might have come within an ace of having Cromwell down.’

His eyes flashed, and he swallowed with a bitter delight.

‘I have him at my feet,’ he said. ‘He shall do public reparation to me. You have heard the King say so.’

There were tears of vexation in Katharine’s eyes.

‘Well I know how it is that this brewer’s son has king’d it so long!’ she said. ‘An I had been a man it had been his head or mine.’

Gardiner shook himself like a dog that is newly out of the water.

‘Madam Howard,’ he said, ‘you are mighty high. I have observed how the King spoke all his words for your ear. His passions are beyond words and beyond shame.’

The Lady Mary was almost out of the room, and he came close enough to speak in Katharine’s ears.

‘But be you certain that his Highness’ passions are not beyond the reverse of passion, which is jealousy. You have a cousin at Calais....’

Katharine moved away from him.

‘Why, God help you, priest,’ she said. ‘Do you think you are the only man that knows that?’

He laughed melodiously, with a great anger.

‘But I am the man that knoweth best how to use my knowledge. Therefore you shall do my will.’

Katharine Howard laughed back at him:

‘Where your lordship’s will marches with mine I will do it,’ she said. ‘But I am main weary of your lordship’s threats. You know the words of Artemidorus?’

Gardiner contained his rage.

‘You will write the letter we have asked you to write?’

She laughed again, and faced him, radiant, fair and flushed in the cheeks.

‘In so far as you beg me to write a letter praying the King of France and the Emperor to abstain from war upon this land, I will write the letter. But, in so far as that helps forward the plotting of you and a knave called Throckmorton, I am main sorry that I must write it.’

The bishop drew back, and uttered:

‘Madam Howard, ye are forward.’

‘Why, God help your lordship,’ she said. ‘Where I see little course for respect I show little. You see I am friends with the King — therefore leave you my cousin be. Because I am friends with the King, who is a man among wolves, I will pray my mistress to indite a letter that shall save this King some troubles. But, if you threaten me with my cousin, or my cousin with me, I will use my friendship with the King as well against you as against any other.’

Gardiner swallowed in his throat, winked his eyes, and muttered:

‘Why, so you do what we will, it matters little in what spirit you shall do it.’

‘So you and my uncle and Throckmorton keep your feet from my paths, you may have my leavings,’ she said. ‘And they will be the larger part, since I ask little for myself.’

He gave her his episcopal blessing as she followed the Lady Mary to her rooms.

Her mind was made up — and she knew that it had been made up hastily, but she was never one to give much time to doubting. She wished these men to leave her out of their plots — but four men are stronger than one woman. Yet, as her philosophy had it, you may make a woman your tool, but she will bend in your hand and strike where she will, for all that. Therefore she must plot, but not with them.

As soon as she could she found the Lady Mary alone, and, setting her valour up against the other’s dark and rigid figure, she spoke rapidly:

She would have her lady write to her friends across the sea that, if Cromwell were ever to fall, they must now stay their hands against the King: they must diminish their bands, discontinue their fortifyings and feign even to quarrel amongst themselves. Otherwise the King must rest firm in his alliance with Cleves, to counterbalance them.

The Lady Mary raised her eyebrows with a show of insolent astonishment that was for all the world like the King’s.

‘You affect my father!’ she said. ‘Is it not a dainty plan?’

Katharine brushed past her words with:

‘It matters little who affects what thing. The main is that Privy Seal must be cast down.’

‘Carthage must be destroyed, O Cato,’ the Lady Mary sneered. ‘Ye are peremptory.’

‘I am as God made me,’ Katharine answered. ‘I am for God’s Church....’ She had a sharp spasm of impatience. ‘Here is a thing to do, and the one and the other snarl like dogs, each for his separate ends.’

‘Oh, la, la,’ the Lady Mary laughed.

‘A Howard is as good as any man,’ Katharine said. Her ingenuous face flushed, and she moved her hand to her throat. ‘God help me: it is true that I swore to be your woman. But it is the true province of your woman to lead you to work for justice and the truth.’

A black malignancy settled upon the face of the princess.

‘I have been called bastard,’ she said. ‘My mother was done to death.’

‘No true man believes you misbegotten,’ Katharine answered hotly.

‘Well, it is proclaimed treason, to speak thus,’ the Lady Mary sneered.

‘Neither can you give your sainted mother her life again.’ Katharine ignored her words. ‘But these actions were not your father’s. It was an ill man forced him to them. The saints be good to you; is it not time to forgive a sad man that would make amends? I would have you to write this letter.’

The Lady Mary’s lips moved into the curves of a tormenting smile.

‘You plead your lover’s cause main well,’ she uttered.

Katharine had another motion of impatience.

‘Your cause I plead main better,’ she said. ‘It is certain that, this man once down, your bastardy should be reversed.’

‘I do not ask it,’ the Lady Mary said.

‘But I ask that you give us peace here, so that the King may make amends to many that he hath sorely wronged. Do you not see that the King inclineth to the Church of God? Do you not see....’

‘I see very plainly that I needs must thank you for better housing,’ Mary answered. ‘It is certain that my father had never brought me from that well at Isleworth, had it not been that he desireth converse with thee at his ease.’

Katharine’s lips parted with a hot anger, but before she could speak the bitter girl said calmly:

‘Oh, I have not said thou art his leman. I know my father. His blood is not hot — but his ears crave tickling. Tickle them whilst thou mayest. Have I stayed thee? Have I sent thee from my room when he did come?’

Katharine cast back the purple hood from over her forehead, she brushed her hand across her brow, and made herself calm.

‘This is a trifling folly,’ she said. ‘In two words: will your Highness write me this letter?’

‘Then, in four words,’ Mary answered, ‘my Highness cares not.’

The mobile brows above Katharine’s blue eyes made a hard straight line.

‘An you will not,’ she brought out, ‘I will leave your Highness’ service. I will get me away to Calais, where my father is.’

‘Why, you will never do that,’ the Lady Mary said; ‘you have tasted blood here.’

Katharine hung her head and meditated for a space.

‘No, before God,’ she said earnestly, ‘I think you judge me wrong. I think I am not as you think me. I think that I do seek no ends of my own.’

The Lady Mary raised her eyebrows and snickered ironically.

‘But of this I am very certain,’ Katharine said. She spoke more earnestly, seeming to plead: ‘If I thought that I were grown a self-seeker, by Mars who changed Alectryon to a cock, and by Pallas Athene who changed Arachne to a spider — if I were so changed, I would get me gone from this place. But here is a thing that I may do. If you will aid me to do it I will stay. If you will not I will get me gone.’

‘Good wench,’ Mary answered, ‘let us say for the sake of peace that thou art honest.... Yet I have sworn by other gods than thine that never will I do aught that shall be of aid, comfort or succour to my father’s cause.’

‘Take back your oaths!’ Katharine cried.

‘For thee!’ Mary said. ‘Wench, thou hast brought me food: thou hast served me in the matter of letters. I might only with great trouble get another so to serve me. But, by Mars and Pallas and all the constellation of the deities, thou mightest get thee to Hell’s flames or ever I would take back an oath.’

‘Oh, madness,’ Katharine cried out. ‘Oh, mad frenzy of one whom the gods would destroy.’ Three times before she had reined in her anger: now she stretched out her hands with her habitual gesture of pitiful despair. Her eyes looked straight before her, and, as she inclined her knees, the folds of her grey dress bent round her on the floor.

‘Here I have pleaded with you, and you have gibed me with the love of the King. Here I have been earnest with you, and you have mocked. God help me!’ she sobbed, with a catch in her throat. ‘Here is rest, peace and the blessing of God offered to this land. Here is a province that is offered back to the Mother of God and the dear hosts of heaven. Here might we bring an erring King back to the right way, a sinful man back unto his God. But you, for a parcel of wrongs of your own....’

‘Now hold thy peace,’ Mary said, between anger and irony. ‘Here is a matter of a farthing or two. Be the letter written, and kiss upon it.’

Katharine stayed herself in the tremor of her emotions, and the Lady Mary said drily:

‘Be the letter written. But thou shalt write it. I have sworn that I will do nothing to give this King ease.’

‘But my writing....’ Katharine began.

‘Thou shalt write,’ Mary interrupted her harshly. ‘If thou wilt have this King at peace for a space that Cromwell may fall, why I am at one with thee. For this King is such a palterer that without this knave at his back I might have had him down ten years ago. Therefore, thou shalt write, and I will countersign the words.’

‘That were to write thyself,’ Katharine said.

‘Good wench,’ the Lady Mary said. ‘I am thy slave: but take what thou canst get.’

Towards six of the next day young Poins clambered in at Katharine Howard’s window and stood, pale, dripping with rain and his teeth chattering, between Cicely Elliott and her old knight.

‘The letter,’ he said. ‘They have taken thy letter. My advancement is at an end!’ And he fell upon the floor.

Going jauntily along the Hampton Street, he had been filled, that afternoon, with visions of advancement. Drifts of rain hid the osiers across the river and made the mud ooze in over the laces of his shoes. The tall white and black house, where the Emperor’s ambassador had his lodgings, leaned in all its newness over the path, and the water from its gutters fell right into the river, making a bridge above a passer’s head. The little cookshop, with its feet, as it were, in the water, made a small hut nestling down beneath the shadow of the great house. It was much used by Chapuys’ grooms, trencher boys and javelin men, because the cook was a Fleming, and had a comfortable hand in stewing eels.

Ned Poins must pass the ambassador’s house in his walk, but in under the dark archway there stood four men sheltering, in grey cloaks that reached to their feet. Stepping gingerly on the brick causeway that led down to the barge-steps, they came and stood before the young man, three being in a line together and one a little to the side. He hardly looked at them because he was thinking: ‘This afternoon I will say to my sister Margot: “Fifteen letters I have carried for thy great persons. I have carried them with secrecy and speed. Now, by Cock, I will be advanced to ancient.”’ He had imagined his sister pleading with him to be patient, and himself stamping with his foot and swearing that he would be advanced instantly.