The Shadow of the Pomegranate (26 page)

He’s far too serious for a boy of that age, Henry decided. Why, when I was fourteen, I looked eighteen. I was already a champion at the jousts and I could tire out a horse without a hint of fatigue to myself.

So it was comforting to discover that this ruler was such a puny, slow-witted young fellow.

‘My grandson,’ said Maximilian, ‘may well inherit the dominions on which the sun never sets. ’Tis so, is it not, Charles?’

Charles was slow in replying; then he said: ‘’Tis so, Imperial Highness, but I trust it will be long ere I do so.’

‘And what’s your motto, Grandson? Tell the King of England that.’

Again that faint hesitation as though he were trying very hard to repeat a lesson. ‘“More Beyond”, Grandfather.’

‘That’s right,’ said Maximilian.

Then he put an arm about the boy and held him against him, laughing.

‘He’s a good fellow, my grandson. He’s a Fleming all through. None of your mincing Spaniard about Charles. And he works hard at his lessons. His tutors are pleased with him.’

‘We’re all pleased with him,’ said Henry, laughing at his own subtlety.

Those weeks spent at Lille were delightful ones for Henry. He had changed since coming to France. Previously he had been more or less a faithful husband. Often he wished to stray, and in the case of Buckingham’s sister had been prepared to do so; but he had always had to fight battles with his conscience. He was possessed of deep sensual appetites and at the same time wished to see himself as a religious and virtuous man. He wanted to be a faithful husband; but he desperately wanted to make love to women other than his wife. The two desires pulled him first in one direction, then in another; and always it seemed that he must come to terms with his conscience before indulging in his pleasures.

He had persuaded himself that when he was at war and far from home, he could not be expected to eschew all sexual relationships. The same fidelity must not be expected of a soldier as of a man who was constantly beside his wife. He
reckoned that all the monarchs of Europe would have laughed at what they would call his prudery.

He is young yet, they would say. He believes it is possible to remain faithful to one woman all his life. What a lot he has to learn!

His conscience now told him that it was no great sin, while he was abroad, to make a little light love here and there.

The women expected it.

‘By God,’he told himself on the first lapse. ‘I could not so have disappointed her by refusing to grant that which she so clearly desired.’

And once the first step was taken, others followed and thus the King of England was finding the life of a soldier a highly interesting and exhilarating one.

With each new love affair he thought less kindly of Katharine. She was his wife; she was the daughter of a King; but, by God, he thought, she knows less of the arts of loving than the veriest tavern wench.

Brandon was his closest companion, and Brandon’s reputation, he had always known, was a none too savoury one.

He watched Brandon with the women and followed his example even while he shook his head over the man and was shocked by his conduct.

I am King, he excused himself. The woman will remember all her life what she and I have shared. It was but a kindness on my part. But Brandon!

Always Henry saw his own acts shrouded in mystic glory. What he did was right because he was the King; it was entirely different if another did the same thing.

He was a little worried about Brandon because his sister Mary was so fond of the fellow, and he was afraid that one day
she would be so foolish as to ask to be allowed to marry him. What would she say if she could see that bloodless boy to whom she was betrothed – and side by side with handsome, wicked Brandon!

Brandon was now even daring to carry on a flirtation with the Duchess Margaret; and such was the fascination of the man that Margaret seemed nothing loth.

He had watched the exchange of glances, the hands that touched and lingered.

By God, he thought, that fellow Brandon now has his eyes on the Emperor’s daughter.

He thought about the matter until some hot-eyed wench sought him out in the dance and, when they had danced awhile, found a quiet room in which to explore other pleasures.

Each new experience was a revelation.

What did we know – Katharine and I – of making love? he asked himself. Was our ignorance the reason for our lack of children?

It behoved him to learn all he could.

There must be children, so what he did was really for England.

Charles Brandon was hopeful. Was it possible that he could marry Margaret of Savoy? The prospects were glittering. He could look into a future which might even lead to the Imperial crown, for this crown was never passed to a hereditary heir. The Empire was composed of vassal states and Emperors were elected from a few chosen candidates.

The Emperor’s grandson was a feeble boy who, Brandon was sure, would never win the approval of the electors. But
Margaret was powerful and rich. Votes were won through bribery and the husband of Margaret would stand a very fair chance.

It was a dizzy prospect, and he brought out all his charm to dazzle the woman. He did not even have to make a great effort for she was attractive and he could feel real affection for her. Poor woman, she had been unfortunate first to have her betrothal to the Dauphin ruthlessly terminated by an ambitious King of France; then her marriage to the heir of Spain was short-lived, her child, which came after her husband’s death, still-born; then had followed the marriage with the Duke of Savoy who had soon left her a widow.

Surely she was in need of such solace as one of the most glittering personalities of the English Court – or any court for that matter – could give her.

Brandon had for some time been thinking a great deal of another Princess who he was sure would be delighted to be his wife. This was none other than the King’s own sister, young Mary. Mary was a girl of great determination and too young to hide her feelings; Brandon had been drawn to her, not only because of her youthful charms and the great glory which would surely come to the King’s brother-in-law, but because there was an element of danger in the relationship, and he was always attracted by danger.

But Mary was betrothed to the pale-eyed anaemic Charles, and she would never be allowed to choose her husband; but Margaret of Savoy was a widow, and a woman who would make her own decisions.

That was why he was growing more and more excited and blessing the fate which had brought him to Lille at this time.

He was elated because he believed that the King was not ill-disposed to a marriage between himself and Margaret. Henry knew how his sister felt towards him, and Henry was fond of young Mary. He would hate to deny her what she asked, so it would be helpful to have Brandon out of her path, to let Mary see she had better be contented with her fate, because Brandon, married to the Duchess Margaret, could certainly not be the husband of the Princess of England.

So Brandon made up his mind that he would take an opportunity of asking Margaret to be his wife.

When they walked in the gardens, Margaret allowed herself to be led aside by Brandon, and, as soon as they were out of earshot of their companions, Brandon said to her familiarly: ‘You spoil that nephew of yours.’

Margaret’s eyes dwelt fondly on young Charles who was standing awkwardly with his grandfather and Henry, listening earnestly to the conversation.

‘He is very dear to me,’ she answered. ‘I had no children of my own so it is natural that I should care for my brother’s son.’

‘It is sad that you never had children of your own. But you are young yet. Might that not be remedied?’

Margaret saw where the conversation was leading and caught her breath in amazement. Would this arrogant man really ask the daughter of Maximilian to marry him as unceremoniously as he might – and she was sure did – invite some peasant or serving woman to become his mistress?

She was amazed and fascinated at the project; but she sought to ward it off.

‘You have not a high opinion of my young nephew,’ she said. ‘I see that your King has not either. You do not know my Charles; he is no fool.’

‘I am sure that any child who had the good fortune to be under your care would learn something to his advantage.’

‘Do not be deceived by his quiet manners. There is little he misses. He may seem slow of speech, but that is because he never makes an utterance unless he has clearly worked out what he is going to say. Perhaps it would be well if others followed his example.’

‘Then there would never be time to say all that has to be said in the world.’

‘Perhaps it would not be such a tragedy if much of it was left unsaid. Charles’ family life has been very tragic. As you know his father died when he was so young, and his mother . . .’

Charles Brandon nodded. Who had not heard of the mad Queen of Spain who had so mourned her unfaithful husband that she had taken his corpse with her wherever she went until she had been made more or less a prisoner in the castle of Tordesillas where she still remained.

But Brandon did not wish to talk of dull Charles, his philandering father or his mad mother.

He took Margaret’s hand in his. Reckless in love had always been his motto, and he was considered a connoisseur.

‘Margaret,’he began, ‘you are too fair to remain unmarried.’

‘Ah, but I have been so unfortunate in that state.’

‘It does not mean you always will be.’

‘I have had such experiences that I prefer not to risk more.’

‘Then someone must try to make you change your mind.’

‘Who should that be?’

‘Who but myself?’he whispered.

She withdrew her hand. She was too strongly aware of the potent masculinity of the man for comfort.

‘You cannot be serious.’

‘Why not? You are a widow who can choose your husband.’

She looked at him. He was indeed a handsome man; he had the experience of life which was so missing in his young King.

Margaret asked herself: Could I be happy again with him?

He saw her hesitation and, taking a ring from his finger, slipped it on hers.

She stared at it in astonishment.

They were then joined by Henry, Maximilian and young Charles, and as the young boy stared at the ring on his aunt’s hand there was no expression in his pallid eyes, but Margaret, who knew him so much better than everyone else, was aware that he understood the meaning of that little scene which he had witnessed from afar – understood and disapproved.

By the beginning of October Henry, tired of play, now hoped to win fresh laurels; but the rainy season had started and when he sought out Maximilian and demanded to know when they would be ready to start on the march to Paris, the Emperor shook his head sagely.

‘Your Grace does not know our Flanders mud. It would be impossible to plan an offensive when we have that to contend with.’

‘When then?’Henry wanted to know.

‘Next spring . . . next summer.’

‘And what of all the troops and equipment I have here?’

‘That good fellow Wolsey will take charge of all that. You can rely on him to get them safely back to England for you.’