The King's Secret Matter (22 page)

Henry's lower lip jutted out. ‘There's strength beneath that gentleness, Thomas.'

‘Your Grace is right as usual, but that strength is, shall we say, given support by some of those women about her.'

The King looked questioningly at Wolsey.

‘There is the Countess of Salisbury for one. She has ever been close to the Queen. Lady Willoughby is another. Women like that chat in secret, talking of wrongs, urging resistance.'

‘They shall be banished from Court.'

‘May I suggest, Your Grace, that we move with care? We do not want to rouse too much sympathy in . . . the wrong quarters.'

‘You mean that there would be those to take her side against
me
!'

‘Among the people, Your Grace. And some men of the Court, in secret. Let Lady Willoughby be sent away from Court. As for Lady Salisbury . . . If Your Grace will trust this matter to me, and commission me to deal with the Queen's household, I will see that those women likely to influence her are removed from her side.'

‘Do that, Thomas. By God, she must understand that I'll not stand by and accept her reproaches. She had the temerity to suggest that I might soon take Mary's title of Wales that I might give it to young Henry.'

‘The Queen may well wean the Princess's affection from Your Grace.'

The King looked at his Chancellor; and for a few moments they both remained thoughtful.

This was the most cruel blow of all. Katharine had been so stunned when she heard the news that she could not believe it was true.

All the humiliations, all the uneasiness of the past years had been forgotten when she was in the presence of her daughter; her only joy in life had been wrapped up in the child. The love
between them was intense, as deep and abiding as that which Katharine had shared with her own mother.

In all her troubles she had been able to tell herself: ‘I have my daughter.'

And now Mary was to be taken away from her.

She did not weep. This was too great a sorrow to be assuaged by tears. She sat limply staring before her while her dearest friend, Maria de Salinas, Countess of Willoughby, sat beside her, desperately seeking for words which would comfort her.

But there was no comfort. Maria herself would not long be at the Queen's side. She was to leave Court, and she believed she knew why.

One of the Queen's women had recently been dismissed from the Court and she had confessed to Maria that the reason was because she had declined to act as the Cardinal's spy. His idea was clearly to remove from the Queen's side all those who would not work for him against her.

What did it all mean? Maria asked herself. Should I try to warn her? If only I could stay with her to comfort her.

But now Katharine could think of nothing but her daughter.

‘Why should she be taken from me?' she demanded passionately. ‘When she marries it may be necessary for her to leave me. There cannot be many years left to us. Why must I lose her now?'

‘I think, Your Grace,' said Maria, desperately seeking a reason that might soothe the Queen, ‘that the King wishes her to go to Wales so that the country may know she is still Princess of the Principality and heir to the throne.'

The Queen brightened at that suggestion. ‘It may be so,' she said. ‘The people did not like his elevating the bastard.'

‘That is the answer, Your Grace. You can depend upon it, she will not stay long. It is merely a gesture. I feel certain that is the reason.'

‘I shall miss her so much,' said the Queen.

‘Yes, Your Grace, but perhaps it is well that she should go.'

Katharine said: ‘There is one consolation; Lady Salisbury is going with her as her governess. I cannot tell you how that cheers me.'

One more friend, thought Maria, to be taken from the Queen's side.

Katharine rose suddenly and said: ‘I shall go to my daughter now. I would like to break this news to her myself. I trust that she has not already heard it. Stay here, Maria. I would be alone with her.'

In the Princess's apartments the little girl was seated at the virginals; one or two of her attendants were with her. When the Queen entered they curtseyed and moved away from the Princess who leaped from her chair and threw herself into her mother's arms.

‘That was well played,' said the Queen, trying to control her emotion.

She smiled at the attendants and nodded. They understood; the Queen often wished to be alone with her daughter.

‘I was hoping you would come, Mother,' said the Princess. ‘I have learned a new piece and wanted to play it to you.'

‘We will hear it later,' answered Katharine. ‘I have come to talk to you.'

She sat on a stool near the virginals, and Mary came to stand beside her while the Queen put her arm about her daughter.

‘You have heard no rumours about Wales?' asked the Queen.

‘Wales, Mother? What sort of rumours?'

The Queen was relieved. ‘Well, you know you are Princess of Wales and it is the custom for the Prince or Princess to visit the Principality at some time.'

‘We are going to Wales then, Mother?'

‘You are going, my darling.'

Mary drew away from her mother and looked at her in startled dismay.

‘Oh, it will not be for long,' said the Queen.

‘But why do you not come with me?'

‘It is the wish of your father that you go alone. You see,
you
are the Princess of Wales.
You
are the one the people want to see.'

‘You must come too, Mother.'

‘My darling, if only I could!'

‘I will not go without you.' For a moment Mary looked like her father.

‘My darling, your father has commanded you to go.'

Mary threw herself against her mother and clung to her. ‘But it is so far away.'

‘Not so very far, and you will come back soon. We shall write to each other and there will be the letters to look forward to.'

‘I don't want to go away from you, Mother . . . ever.'

The Queen felt the tears, which she had so far managed to keep in check, rising to her eyes.

‘My love, these partings are the fate of royal people.'

‘I wish I were not royal then.'

‘Hush, my darling. You must never say that. We have a duty to our people which is something we must never forget.'

Mary pulled at the rings on her mother's fingers but
Katharine knew she was not thinking of them. ‘Mother,' she said, ‘if I were to plead with my father . . .'

The Queen shook her head. ‘He has decided. You must go. But do not let us spoil what time is left to us in grieving. Time will pass, my darling, more quickly than you realise. I shall hear of you from your governess and tutors, and you will write to me yourself. You see I shall have all that to live for.'

Mary nodded slowly. Poor child! thought the Queen. She has learned to keep her feelings in check. She has learned that the fate of Princesses can often be cruel and that one thing is certain, they must be accepted.

‘You will go to Ludlow Castle,' said the Queen trying to speak brightly. ‘It is a beautiful place.'

‘Tell me about when you were there, Mother.'

‘It was long . . . long ago. I went there with my first husband.'

‘My father's brother,' murmured Mary.

‘It was so long ago,' said the Queen, and she thought of those days when she had been married to the gentle Arthur who was so different from Henry; Arthur who had been her husband for scarcely six months.

‘Tell me about the castle,' said Mary.

‘It rises from the point of a headland,' the Queen told her, ‘and is guarded by a wide, deep fosse. It is grand and imposing with its battlemented towers; and the surrounding country is superb . . . indeed some of the best I have ever seen.'

The Princess nodded sadly.

‘You will be happy there,' murmured Katharine, putting her lips to Mary's forehead. ‘We shall not be very far away from each other, and soon you will come back to me.'

‘How soon?' asked Mary.

‘You will be surprised how soon.'

‘I would rather know. It is always so much easier to bear if you know how long. Then I could count the days.'

‘My darling, you will be happy there. When I left my mother, the ocean separated us. This is not the same at all.'

‘No,' said Mary slowly. ‘It is not the same at all.'

‘And now, my love, go to the virginals. Play the piece which you wished me to hear.'

Mary hesitated and for a moment Katharine feared that the child would lose her hold on that rigid control. But obediently she rose, went to the virginals, sat down and began to play; and as she did so, the tears, which would no longer be kept back, rolled silently down her cheeks.

Chapter IV

T
he Princess Mary was melancholy in the Castle of Ludlow and the Countess of Salisbury was alarmed on her account. The only thing which could bring the child out of that languid indifference as to what went on around her was a letter from her mother.

Each day she told the Countess how long they had been at Ludlow; and she would ask wistfully if there were any news of their returning to her father's Court.

‘All in good time,' the Countess would say. ‘With the passing of each day we are a little nearer to our return.'

The Princess rode often in the beautiful woods close to the castle; she had to admit that the country was some of the fairest she had ever seen; but it was clear that when she was separated from her mother she could not be happy, and the Countess feared that her health would be affected by her melancholy.

Great plans were afoot for the celebrations of Christmas, The New Year and Twelfth Night.

‘There will be plays, masques and a banquet . . . just as at your father's Court,' the Countess told her.

‘I wonder whether my mother will come,' was all the Princess could say.

It was true that she had a certain interest in her lessons; she worked hard at her Latin and her music and sometimes she would chuckle and say: ‘My mother will be surprised that I have come so far. I shall write to her in Latin, and when she comes I shall play all my new pieces.'

The Countess was grateful that she had this interest in her Latin and music, and made the most of it. There had been rumours which had come to the Countess's notice before she left Court and, although she could not believe there was much truth in them, they made her very uneasy. The fact that the Queen had married the King's brother could have no effect on the present marriage. The Pope had given the necessary dispensation, and during all the years the King and Queen had been married there had never before been any suggestion that the marriage might not be legal.

She was a wise woman, and in her fifty-two years she had seen much tragedy. None understood, more than she did, the Tudors's fierce determination to fight off all those who threatened to take the crown from them. It was natural that the King wanted to make sure of the Tudor succession. Desperately he needed a son, and Katharine had failed to give it to him.