The King's Secret Matter (47 page)

Katharine and Mary were sitting together over the Latin exercise when a page entered the apartment to tell them that Reginald was without and begging an audience.

Mary clasped her hands together in delight, and Katharine could not reprove her. Poor child, let her not attempt to curb her pleasure by hiding it. Katharine said with a smile: ‘You may bring him to us.'

Reginald came in and the three of them were alone together. Mary took both his hands when he had bowed first to the Queen and then to herself.

‘Reginald, it seems so long since we saw you.'

He smiled at her youthful exuberance. ‘It is five days, Your Highness.'

‘That,' said Mary, ‘is a very long time for friends to be apart.'

‘We have so few friends now,' Katharine quickly added.

‘You have more than you know,' Reginald replied seriously. ‘Many of the people are your friends.'

‘They greet us warmly when we go among them,' Mary agreed. ‘But we have few friends at Court whom we can trust. I believe they are afraid of . . .' Mary's lips tightened and she looked suddenly old, ‘. . . of . . . that woman,' she finished.

Katharine changed the subject. ‘Reginald, something has happened, has it not?'

‘Your Grace has a penetrating eye.'

‘I can see it in your expression. You look . . . perplexed.'

Reginald took a document from the pocket of his doublet and handed it to the Queen. While she studied it he turned to Mary who laid her hand on his arm. ‘Reginald,' she said, almost imploringly, ‘you are not going away?'

‘I do not know,' he said. ‘So much depends on the King.'

‘Please do not go away.'

He took her hand and kissed it. ‘If I followed my own will I would never go away.'

‘Nor if you followed mine,' said Mary.

Katharine lowered the document and looked from one to the other. The sight of them together frightened her while yet it pleased her. If only it
could
be, she thought; yet how can it?

‘So the King has offered you the archbishopric of York or Winchester,' she said.

Mary caught her breath in dismay. If he became an Archbishop he would take Holy Orders and marriage would be outside his power. Mary loved him with all the force of her serious young nature. She had dreamed that they would go away from Court, quietly with her mother to where they might forget such hateful matters as divorce, such hateful words as bastard, where they would never even think of the Lady who hated them so much and was determined to keep them apart. In her youthful innocence she dreamed of the three of them leaving Court in secret, going out of the country to Padua or some such place which Reginald knew well.

‘These offices became vacant on the death of the Cardinal,' Reginald explained, ‘and someone is needed to fill them.'

‘It is a great honour,' the Queen said almost listlessly.

‘It is one, I have told him, that I cannot accept.'

The relief in the apartment was great. Mary laughed aloud and took Reginald's hand. ‘I am glad,' she cried. ‘I could not bear to think of your stepping into the Cardinal's shoes.'

‘Nor I,' he said. ‘But that is not all. In my refusal of this offer I implored the King not to be deluded by his ministers and his passion for a wanton woman. I am summoned to his presence in White Hall.'

Mary was horrified; although her father had shown her affection at times, she had never conquered her fear of him.
Katharine was equally afraid. She knew the climate of the King's temper. He was fond of Reginald, but when the people of whom he was fond ceased to agree with him he could easily hate them. She thought of the tenderness he had once shown to her; and she believed that his hatred of her was the greater because of it.

‘Oh, Reginald,' she murmured, ‘have a care.'

‘You should not have mentioned us,' said Mary imperiously.

‘I believed I must say what I felt to be right.'

Katharine turned to her daughter and said gently: ‘We must all speak and act according to our consciences.'

‘I came to see you before I presented myself to the King,' said Reginald. And both understood that he had come because this might, in view of the seriousness of the occasion, be the last time he could visit them. Neither of them spoke, and he went on: ‘I should go now. I dare not keep the King waiting.'

He kissed their hands, and Mary suddenly forgot the dignity due to her rank as, like a child, she flung her arms about him; and Katharine was too moved to prevent her.

When he had gone, Mary began to weep, silently.

‘My darling, control yourself,' murmured the Queen, putting an arm about her.

But Mary merely shook her head. ‘What cruel times we live in,' she whispered. ‘What cruel and perilous times!'

When Reginald left the Queen and the Princess he took a barge to White Hall. He knew full well that the archbishopric had been offered him as a bribe. He was of royal blood and the
friend of the Queen and the Princess; the King was hinting: ‘Come, work with me, and here is an example of the prizes which shall be yours.'

That was why in refusing the offer he had told the King that he firmly believed in the royal marriage and implored his kinsman not to imperil his soul by attempting to deny it.

The result: A summons to White Hall.

As he entered the palace he thought of the great Cardinal who had once occupied it; and all this splendour had been passed to the King – a mute appeal . . . ‘all my possessions in exchange for my life . . .' What an example of the worth of treasures upon Earth!

Reginald uttered a prayer for the Cardinal's soul as he made his way to the gallery whither the King had summoned him.

I enter the Palace of White Hall a free man, he thought; how shall I leave it? It was very possible that he would do so with a halberdier on either side of him and thence take a barge to the Tower.

Before he reached the gallery he met his elder brother, Lord Montague, who, having heard of the summons, was waiting for him.

As soon as Montague saw Reginald, he drew him into an anteroom and cried: ‘You are a fool. Do you want us all to lose our heads?'

‘News travels fast,' Reginald replied. ‘So you know I have refused York and Winchester.'

‘And have sought to teach the King his business at the same time.'

‘The archbishoprics were offered as a bribe; it was necessary to explain why I could not take either of them.'

‘It was enough to refuse and thereby offend the King; but to add criticism of his conduct . . . are you mad, brother?'

‘I do not think so,' answered Reginald, ‘unless it be madness to speak one's mind.'

‘That could be a very good definition of mental disorder,' said Montague; and he turned away from his brother, who went on to the gallery.

Henry was expecting him and he was not kept waiting long. The King stood, massive in his jewelled garments, and for a few seconds while Reginald bowed he glared at him through half closed eyes.

‘So, sir,' said Henry at length, ‘you think so little of my gifts that you haughtily refuse them!'

‘Not haughtily, Your Grace.'

‘Do not dare contradict me. How dare you tell me what I should do! Is the King to take orders?'

‘No, Sire, but perhaps advice.'

‘You young coxcomb, so
you
would presume to advise
me
!'

‘Sire, I would plead with you on behalf of the Queen and the Princess Mary.'

‘You would be wise to keep your mouth shut.'

‘Nay, Your Grace, I hold that a wise man is one who speaks out of his love for the truth and not out of expediency.'

Henry came closer to him, and his scarlet glowing cheeks were close to Reginald's pale ones.

‘Is it wise then to gamble with your head?'

‘Yes, Sire, for the sake of truth.'

‘The sake of truth! You dare to come to my presence in the manner of a father confessor . . . you whom I could send to the block merely by signing my name?'

‘I come not as a father confessor, Your Grace, but as a humble kinsman of you and the Princess Mary.'

‘Ha,' interrupted Henry, ‘so you prate of your royal blood. Take care that you do not think too highly of it. Mayhap you remember what befell a certain Duke of Buckingham?'

The sight of Reginald's calm face incensed the King; this was largely because here was another of those men, like Fisher and More, whose approval meant so much to him. They were men of integrity and he needed their approval and support. They maddened him when they would not give it.

‘I remember well, Sire,' Reginald answered.

‘And the memory does not help you to change your views?'

‘No, Your Grace.'

The King's mood altered suddenly. ‘Now listen. I am asking you to come down from the seat of judgment. I am assured by learned men that I am not truly married to the Lady Katharine. I need the help of men such as you. You could write a treatise for me; you could explain the need of my severance from the Lady Katharine and my remarriage. I command you to do this. You are a man whom people respect; your word would carry much weight.' He laid a hand on Reginald's shoulder affectionately. ‘Come now, Reginald, my dear cousin. Do this for love of me.'

‘Sire, on any other matter I would serve you with all my heart, but . . .'

‘But!' Henry shrieked, pushing Reginald from him. ‘It would seem you forget to whom you speak.'

‘I forget not,' answered Reginald. ‘But I crave Your Grace to excuse me in this matter.'

Henry's hand flew to his dagger. ‘Do you not know that it is high treason to disobey the King?'

Reginald was silent.

‘Do you?' cried the King. ‘By God, if you do not I shall find means to teach you.' He called for a page, and when the young man appeared he shouted: ‘Send Lord Montague to me without delay.'

The page departed and in a few moments Reginald's brother came hurrying into the gallery.

Henry shook his fist at Montague. ‘By God,' he cried, ‘I'll have every member of your family clapped into the Tower. I'll brook no more insolence from you.'

Montague stammered: ‘Your Grace, pray tell me what any member of my family has done to displease you.'

Henry pointed at Reginald. ‘This brother of yours should be kept in better order. He dares to come here and meddle in my affairs. I'd have you know, Montague, that I have a way with meddlers.'

‘Yes, Your Grace; On behalf of my family I offer my deepest regrets . . .'

‘Take him away,' shouted Henry, ‘before I lose my patience, before I order him to be sent to the Tower.'

‘Yes, Your Grace.'

They bowed and left the irate Henry glaring after them, thinking: By God, 'twere better if Master Reginald had never come back to England.

When they were alone Montague turned indignantly to his brother.

‘You . . .
fool
!' he cried.

‘I will say to you, brother, what I have said to the King. Is it foolish to adhere to what one believes to be the truth?'

‘Indeed you are a fool, having been at Court, to ask such a question. A man is a fool who attempts to wrestle with
kings. I thought he would commit you to the Tower without delay.'

‘I believe he was contemplating the effect it would have on certain of his subjects if he did.'

‘You are calm enough. Do you seek a martyr's crown?'

‘I hope never to perjure my soul for the sake of my head.' said Reginald quietly.

He left his brother, who was filled with apprehension. Reginald was thinking of the King's suggestion that he should write a treatise. He would; but it would not put forward the reasons why the King should separate from Katharine; instead it would show why the marriage was a true one.

When he was left alone Henry's anger abated a little. He began to think of the earnest young man whom he had threatened. He liked Reginald. He had always admired him; he knew him to be learned and pious; and now he had proved himself to be no coward.