The Shadow of the Pomegranate (36 page)

The Venetians, overwhelmed by the friendliness and the hospitality of the King, were then graciously received by members of the King’s Council at the head of whom was the new Cardinal Wolsey whom they well knew to be the most important man in the realm.

They met the Queen – herself gorgeously attired and glittering with jewels; but they had heard rumours of the
King’s feelings towards his wife and they did not believe her to have any real influence with him now.

Henry led the way to the banquet where he surrounded himself by the leaders of the embassy and delightedly watched their incredulity at the dishes produced by his cooks and the ability of the English to consume large quantities of food.

He had no intention of talking state matters; that would come later with Wolsey; but he was eager to know whether the newcomers were comparing him with Francis in their minds.

He was soon asking questions about his great rival.

‘You have recently left the King of France; tell me, is he as tall as I am?’

‘There can be very little difference in the height of the King of France and the King of England,’ was the answer. ‘Your Grace is a big man; and so is Francis.’

‘Is he a fat man, this young King of France?’

‘No, Your Grace. He could not be called a fat man. Far from it. He is lean and lithe.’

‘Lean and lithe.’Henry caressed his own plump thigh.

‘What are his legs like?’ demanded Henry.

The Venetians were puzzled; they looked at each other. What sort of legs had the King of France? To be truthful they had not taken particular note of his legs; but they recalled that they must be spare because of the leanness of the King’s body.

‘Spare legs, eh!’cried Henry. ‘Look at mine.’He held up his legs to display the fine calf, well shaped, firm, the leg of an athletic man. ‘Has he a leg like that, eh?’

The Venetians were certain that the King of France had not a leg like that.

Henry laughed, well pleased. Then he threw open his doublet. ‘Look at this thigh,’he said. ‘’Tis every bit as firm and
well shaped as my leg. Has the King of France a thigh like that?’

When the Venetians assured Henry that the thigh of the King of France could not be compared with the thigh of the King of England, he was delighted and felt full of affection towards them and Francis.

‘Methinks,’he said, ‘I am very fond of this King of France.’

After the banquet Henry retired to prepare himself for the joust; and later this was held in the Palace courtyard.

Henry excelled even his previous exploits on that day, shivering many a lance; which was as it should be; and one by one his opponents went down before him.

He was extremely happy.

When he joined the Venetians to be congratulated he said: ‘I should like to joust with the King of France as my opponent.’

But even as he spoke there was a shadow on his face. He was alarmed by this King on the other side of the water; he had heard so many tales of him, of his bravery, his wit and his lechery. He had scarcely been on the throne a week when he was talking of leading his armies to victory; and Henry had discovered that he himself had no great desire to place himself at the head of his armies.

What if he were to joust with Francis and Francis should win? Did Compton, Kingston and the rest go down before their King because they knew it was wise to do so?

‘So,’he growled, ‘the King of France thinks to make war on Italy. He will cross the Alps. Will his people love him, think you, since he plunges them into a war at the very beginning of his reign?’

Then he was angry because he had longed to bring conquests to his people; and this he had failed to do. He burst
out: ‘He is afraid of me. Why, were I to invade his kingdom he would not be able to cross the Alps into Italy, would he? So you see, all depends on me. If I invade France, Francis cannot make war on Italy. If I do not, he can. You see, my friends, in these hands I hold the future of France.’

The thought pleased him, and he was once more in good spirits.

Now to forget war and plan new entertainments to impress the visitors.

That May was a happy month. Katharine rejoiced in the coming of spring which she had always loved in England. The dark winter was over; there were buds on the trees and wild parsley and stitchwort shone white in the hedges, mingling with the blue of speedwell and ground ivy.

The season of renewal, she thought; and this year she had been happier than she had for some time, for it seemed to her that her relationship with Henry had been renewed and it was like the return of spring. She too had become wiser.

She had learned that she must accept her husband for the lusty young man he was, five years her junior; she must turn a blind eye on those flirtations which took place without too much secrecy; she must accept Elizabeth Blount as her maid of honour and her husband’s chief mistress, and not care that he shared the bed of one because of his great desire to do so and of the other in order to serve the state and produce an heir.

She was full of hope that May. He visited her often; he was kind to her; she rarely saw an outburst of anger. She had learned how to avoid them.

This then was May Day, and Henry was happy because the
occasion called for one of those ceremonial pageants in which he delighted.

He came to the Queen’s apartment early and he was already clad in green velvet – doublet, hose and shoes; and even his cap, which was sporting a jaunty feather, was of the same green.

‘A merry good-day to Your Grace,’he called blithely. ‘I come to see if you will venture a-maying with me this morn.’

‘There is none with whom I would wish to go a-maying but Your Grace.’

‘Then Kate, your wish is granted. We leave at once. Come.’

She was dressed in green velvet to match the King’s, and because she was happy she had regained some of that youthful charm which had attracted him in the early days of their marriage.

So from the Palace of Greenwich they rode out to Shooter’s Hill surrounded by members of the Venetian embassy and nobles of the Court, all gaily dressed to share in the maying.

When they reached the hill a party of men dressed as outlaws, led by one who was clearly meant to be Robin Hood, galloped up to them.

‘Ho!’cried Henry. ‘What means this, and who are you who dare molest the King and Queen of England?’

Robin Hood swept off his hat; and Katharine recognised him through the mask as one of Henry’s courtiers.

‘Molest His Grace the King! That we would never do. The outlaws of the forest respect the King even as do the gentlemen of the Court. Would Your Grace step into the good green wood and learn how the outlaws live?’

Henry turned to Katharine.

‘Would Your Grace venture into the forest with so many outlaws?’

‘My lord,’answered Katharine, ‘where Your Grace ventured there would I fearlessly go.’

Henry was delighted with her answer and Katharine thought: I begin to play his games as well as he does himself.

So into the forest they rode, and there they were taken to a sylvan bower made of hawthorn boughs, spring flowers and moss, where a breakfast of venison and wine was laid out.

‘All for the pleasure of Your Graces,’ said Robin Hood.

The King expressed his delight and watched Katharine closely to see if she appreciated this surprise. She did not disappoint him.

They sat close like lovers and the King took her hand and kissed it.

He was happy; he knew that his sister Mary and her husband were on their way to England, and that pleased him. He was going to enjoy being very displeased with them and then forgiving them; and he was going to be very happy to have them near him once more.

The sun shone brilliantly, and after the feast when they left the wood, several beautiful girls in a vehicle which was decorated with flowers and drawn by five horses were waiting for them. The girls represented Spring and they sang sweetly the praise of the sweetest season of all, not forgetting to add a few paeans of praise to their goodly King and Queen.

And so the May Day procession rode back to Greenwich.

That was a happy day. The King was like a young lover again.

Within the next few days Katharine conceived once more; and this time she was determined that her child should live.

That summer was a happy one. The knowledge that she was once more pregnant delighted Katharine and the King.

‘Why, this time, sweetheart,’ said Henry, ‘our hopes shall not be disappointed. You have a goodly boy within you and he’ll be the first of many.’

Katharine allowed herself to believe this. She would not think of possible bad luck. This was her year.

In September there came news of Francis’s victory. The King of France was hailed already as one of the greatest soldiers in history. Young, intrepid, he set out to perform the impossible and prove it possible.

Contrary to Henry’s assertion that it depended on him whether or not France went into Italy, Francis – indifferent as to whether or not Henry made an attempt to invade France – had crossed the Alps with twenty thousand men, going from Barcelonnette to Salazzo, crossing passes which were no more than narrow tracks, accoutred as he was for war. That was not all. He had fought and won the resounding victory of Marignano.

Henry’s anger when this news was brought to him was too great to hide.

He looked, said those who watched him at the time, as though he were about to burst into tears.

‘He will have to face Maximilian,’ snapped out Henry.

‘Nay, Your Grace. Maximilian now seeks friendship with my master,’the French envoy answered.

‘I assure you he is not seeking that friendship,’ snapped Henry.

The envoy lifted his shoulders, smiled and remained silent.

‘How many of France’s enemies have fallen in battle?’ demanded Henry.

‘Sire, it is some twenty thousand.’

‘You lie. I hear from sources which I trust that it was but ten thousand.’

Henry dismissed the envoy and sulked for several hours.

News of Francis’s success with the Pope was brought to him. Leo hailed the young conqueror and when Francis had attempted to kiss his toe had lifted him in his arms and embraced him.

Leo, it was said, had promised to support Francis, and when Maximilian died – and there must then be an election to decide who should be the next Emperor – he promised to give Francis his support.

It was intolerable.

‘Ha,’cried Henry. ‘They will learn that wise men do not trust Frenchmen.’

But even these events worked favourably for Katharine, for Ferdinand, knowing that the alliance between France and England was weakening, wrote to Henry in a most friendly fashion. He guessed how that young bantam, Henry, would be feeling and was determined to exploit the situation to the full.

Ferdinand did not like to see lack of good faith in families, he wrote. He thought fondly of his dear son and daughter. And to prove this he did an extraordinary thing; he sent Henry a collar studded with jewels, two horses caparisoned in the richest manner, and a jewelled sword.

Ferdinand, it was said, was either genuinely seeking Henry’s friendship this time or in his dotage to send such gifts.

But it was very pleasant for Katharine, nursing the child in her womb, basking in the tenderness of her husband, enjoying
the atmosphere of tolerance which had grown up about them – all this and reunion with her own country!

All will be well, thought Katharine. I am happy because I have learned to take life comfortably as it comes along; I no longer fight, I accept. Perhaps that is the lesson of life.

She did not greatly care. She busied herself with the preparations for her confinement.

She had never felt so calm and confident.