How glad she was when the sound of trumpets and the tramp of horses' hoofs heralded the approach of the procession. The people shouted; the children stood spellbound. And as die excitement grew Jane felt a little better. There had not been much in her purse, and this would be a lesson to her. She would quote Thomas and say: “Experience is generally worth the price, however dearly bought.”

Now came the knights and squires and the lords of the land—so handsome, some magnificent in their velvet and cloth of gold. But more handsome than any was the King himself. There he rode, so young, so eager for the approbation of his subjects, smiling, inclining his head, aglitter with jewels. It was worth a little discomfort, even the loss of her purse, to witness such glory.

And there was the Queen—a bride of a few days although she was a widow of some years' standing. She was in her twenties—too old, some said, for such a hearty youth; but she was beautiful—there was no denying that Her dark hair, which it was said, hung to her feet when she stood, now hung about her shoulders, a black, gleaming cloak; she was dressed in white satin, beautifully embroidered, and her headdress was glittering with multicolored jewels. Two white horses bore her litter, which was decorated; and cries of “God Save Queen Katharine” mingled with those of “God Bless die King.”

Now came the rest of the procession, and so close did the prancing horses come that the mass of people surged back to avoid being trodden on. Jane grasped her children and pulled them toward her, but the pressure increased. The faces of the people seemed to merge into the blue sky and the fanfares and the trumpeting seemed to come from a long way off. Jane fainted.

“Mother … Mother!” cried Margaret in alarm.

But Jane was slipping down and was in danger of being trampled underfoot.

“Stop … Stop…. I beg of you stop!” cried Margaret.

Cecily began to scream, Elizabeth to cry forlornly, while Mercy tried in vain to hold back the people with her little hands.

Then suddenly a strong voice cried: “Stand back! Stand back! Can you not see! A woman has fainted.”

It was a loud, authoritative feminine voice; and Margaret lifted fearful eyes to a plump woman who was holding a little girl by the hand. Her fat cheeks quivered, her mouth was tight with indignation, and her eyes snapped contempt at the crowd.

Miraculously she had cleared a space about Jane. She put an arm about the fainting woman and forced her head downward. After a few seconds, to Margaret's delight, the color began to return to her mothers face.

“The heat, that's what it is,” said the woman. “I could have fainted myself. And would have done … if I had not had the will to stop myself.”

Margaret, grateful as she was, could not help sensing the reproof to her mother in those words. She said: “My mother is not strong yet. We have just had a baby brother.”

“Then more fool she to come out on such a day!” was the answer to that. “Where do you live?”

“At The Barge in Bucklers bury.”

“That's not more than a stone's throw from here. I'll take you back. The crowds will be rougher ere long.”

“You are very good,” said Margaret.

“Tilly valley! What could I do? Leave a baby like you to look after a fainting woman in a crowd like this? Ah, mistress, I see you are looking about you. You fainted and I am looking after your children here. Can you stand? Here, lean on me. You two big girls take the little ones and keep a firm hold of their hands. Now, Ailie, you cling to my gown. I am going to force my way through the crowd. Come, mistress. Take my arm. Your children are here, and we'll push them ahead so that they cannot stray from our sight. We'll be in Bucklersbury in next to no time, and that's where you should be before the mob starts roystering.”

“You are very good,” said Jane. “I…”

“Now keep your breath for walking. Come along now. Come along.”

Forcefully she pushed a way for them, calling sharply to any that stood in their path. “Can you not see? I have a sick woman here. Stand aside, you oafs. Make way there.”

And the odd thing was that none cared to disobey her, and under such strong guidance the family soon reached Bucklersbury.

The woman sniffed and looked with scorn about her. “What odors! What odors!” she declared. “I'm glad my late husband was not one of these apothecaries with their smells. There are no smells in a mercers shop but goodly smells. But this … poof! I like it not!”

“My husband,” said Jane, “is a lawyer.”

“A lawyer, eh! What the good year! Well, here you are, and if you will take my advice you'll not go into crowds again in a hurry.”

“You will come in and take a little refreshment?”

The widow said she would, and followed them into the big hall, where she sat down.

Margaret saw that the little girl named Ailie was very pretty and more or less of an age with herself and Mercy. Her golden hair escaped from her cap, and her gown was of richer material than that worn by the little More girls.

“Tell me the names of your girls,” said the widow. “Nay … let them speak for themselves. I'll warrant they have tongues in their heads.”

“We have,” said Margaret with dignity, for although she was grateful for the widow's help in bringing them home, she did not like her overbearing manner. “I am Margaret. This is my foster sister called Mercy because her name is also Margaret, and … my sisters Elizabeth and Cecily.”

“And I am Mistress Alice Middleton, widow of Master John Middleton, mercer of the City and merchant of the Staple of Calais. Here is my daughter. Alice like myself, so like Mercy there, she is called by a name other than her own. Why, you and she are of an age. That should make you friends.”

The children continued to study each other, and Mistress Middleton turned to her hostess, complimented her on the mead she was offered and told her how she could improve it by using more honey in its making. Still, it was a goodly brew.

She went on: “Now rest yourself. Keep to the house, for there'll be roystering this night… and so there should be, for it is a good day for the land, I'll swear, with such a bonny King come to the throne.”

When she had drunk her mead and had a look at the house, commenting—not always favorably—on its furnishings, she left with her daughter.

“A talkative woman,” said Jane, “but capable, I'll swear … and very kind.”


* * *

THIS WAS a happy day for Thomas More. The tyrant was dead and in his place was a monarch who promised great things for England.

When Thomas was happy, he liked to take up his pen, and it was natural that his writings should now be concerned with the new reign.

“If ever there was a day, England,” he wrote, “if ever there was a time for you to give thanks to Those above, this is that happy day, one to be marked with a pure white stone and put in your calendar. This day is the limit of our slavery, the beginning of freedom, the end of sadness, the source of joy….”

He went on to enumerate the virtues of the young King: “Among a thousand noble companions, does he not stand out taller than any? If only nature could permit that, like his body, the outstanding excellence of his mind could be visible! This Prince has inherited his father's wisdom, his mother's kindly strength, the scrupulous intelligence of his father's mother, the noble heart of his mother's father. What wonder if England rejoices in such a King as she has never had before!”

Thomas went on to sing the praises of the Queen; he wrote of her dignity and her devotion to religion, of her beauty and her loyalty. There was surely no woman more worthy to be the wife of such a King, and none but the King was worthy to be the husband of such a Queen. Heaven bless such a union; and surely when the crowns had long been worn by Katharine and Henry, their grandson and great-grandson would wear the crown of England in the years to come.

When Thomas recited this composition to John Colet, the Dean of St Paul's remarked in his dry way that the qualities of Henrys ancestors might have been construed differently. For instance, the wisdom of Henry the Seventh might have been called avarice; the kindly strength of Elizabeth of York, meekness dictated by expediency; the scrupulous intelligence of Margaret of Richmond, ambition; the noble heart of Edward the Fourth as lechery and determination to rule at all cost.

“Still,” said the dean, “this should be shown to the King. It will surely please His Grace. Much flattery has been poured into the royal ears, but I doubt that any has ever been so elegantly phrased.”

“Flattery?” said Thomas. “That may be. But, John, it sometimes happens that if a man is shown a flattering picture of himself, he will try to be worthy of that picture. For such reasons it is expedient to flatter kings.”

“Yet when men offer flattery with one hand, they are apt to hold out the other to receive the rewards such flattery may earn. What rewards seek you, friend Thomas?”

Thomas considered this. “Might it not be,” he said at length, “that this writing of mine is in payment for his coming to the throne at an opportune time for me? I could sing paeans, my friend, if I had the voice for them, because this King now reigns and there is no need for me to leave the country. Rewards? Perhaps I wish for them. It may be that I long to go on as I have … here in London … with my family about me. Oh, and perhaps if the King is pleased with my offering, I might ask concessions for Erasmus. It would be good to have him with us again, would it not?”

“It would. Take the verses. Crave audience. I doubt not you will obtain it.”

And so Thomas took his writing to the King.


* * *

THE HAPPIEST person in the palace of Westminster should have been its King. None knew this more than the King himself, and he was sullen on finding that it was not so.

It was a glorious thing to be a King. Wherever he went the people hailed him, for he was not only a King; he was a beloved King. Were he not taller than all those about him, he would have been distinguished as their King by the glittering jewels he wore. He was the richest King in Europe; he was only now realizing how rich, for he had only guessed at the amount of wealth and treasure his father had amassed.

The reason for his discontent was his Queen. He liked his Queen. She was older than he was by five years—but as he did not care to be considered a mere boy, he liked this, for it seemed that she helped to add years to his age.

But they were rich; they were young; and they should be gay. There must be lavish entertainment; masques, jousts and pageants could go on for as long as he wished; and at all these ceremonies he should be the very center of attention as was meet, considering who he was. All festivities should have one purpose: to honor the King, to display the King in all his glory, to show that the King was more skilled, more daring, than any King who had ever lived before him or would come after him.

But his Queen had disappointed him. Alas! she had not his love of gaiety, his passion for enjoyment; they had made her too solemn in that Spanish court of her childhood. She was comely enough to please him: and he was glad to reflect that she was the daughter of two of the greatest monarchs in the world; it pleased him too that he had married her, for marrying her was like snapping his fingers at his fathers ghost. He did not care to disparage the dead, but it had rankled to be forced to relinquish his betrothed. It was only at that time that he had discovered how fair she was and how much he desired her—her above all women. It hurt his pride to be forced into that protest. And now, every time he looked at her, he could say: “There is none now to force me to that which I desire not; nor shall there ever be again.” Such thought stimulated his desire, made him more ardent that he would otherwise have been; which, he reminded himself, not without a touch of primness, was all for the good of England, since an ardent man will get himself children more speedily than a cold one.

Yet she disappointed him.

It had happened on the day after the Coronation, when the ceremonies were at their height. He and Katharine had sat on a platform covered with velvet and cloth of gold set up within the grounds of Westminster Palace. What a wonderful sight had met their gaze, with the fountains emitting the best of wine, and more wine flowing from the mouths of stone animals! Many pageants had been prepared for the enjoyment of the royal couple. A fair young lady dressed as Minerva had presented six champions to the Queen, and that was a tribute to her solemnity, for these champions, dressed in cloth of gold and green velvet, were meant to represent scholars. That should have pleased her; and it did. Then drums and pipes heralded more knights who bowed before the Queen and asked leave to joust with the champions of Minerva.