Виктория Холт - The Shadow of the Pomegranate

Maria took the Queen’s hand and kissed it. “All did not desert Your Grace.”

“No. You were always there, Maria. Oh, it is good to have staunch friends.”

“Let me cover you. Then you should try to sleep. When you are rested you will feel stronger.”

Katharine smiled and closed her eyes.

* * *

IT WAS LATER that night when she was awakened by pains which gripped her body and brought a sweat upon her skin.

She stumbled from her bed, calling to her ladies as she did so; but before they could reach her she fell groaning to the floor.

They put her to bed; they called her physicians; but there was nothing they could do.

On that September night Katharine’s third pregnancy ended. It had been brief, but the result was no less distressing.

Once more she had failed to give the King the son for which he longed.

She was ill for several days, and during that time she was tormented with nightmares. The King figured largely in these—an enormous menacing figure with greedy, demanding hands which caressed others, but when he turned to her, held out those hands, crying: “Give me sons.”

AS THE DAYS PASSED THEY TOOK SOME OF KATHARINE’S sorrow with them, and she began to look at her life in a more philosophical way. Through the ages Kings had taken mistresses who bore them children, but it was the children who were born in wedlock who were heirs to their father’s crown. She must be realistic; she must not hope for impossible virtue from her lusty young husband.

More than ever she thought of her mother, who had borne the same tribulations before her; she must endeavor as never before to emulate Isabella and keep the memory of her as a bright example of how a Queen should live.

As for Henry, he was ready enough to meet her halfway. Reproaches would only result in sullen looks; and the pout of the little mouth, the glare of the little eyes in that large face implied that he was the King and he would do as he wished. But any signs of a desire on her part to return to the old relationship brought immediate response; dazzling smiles would light up his face; he would be boisterously affectionate, sentimental, calling her his Kate—the only woman who was of any real importance to him.

So Katharine set aside her illusions and accepted reality; which was, she assured herself, pleasant enough. If she could have a child—ah, if she could have a child—that little creature would make up to her for all else. That child would be the center of her existence; and her husband’s philandering would be of small importance compared with the delight that child would bring her.

In the meantime she would concern herself with another important matter. Since she had become Queen of England she had been in close contact with her father. She waited for his letters with the utmost eagerness, forgetting that, when she had been living in neglected seclusion at Durham House, he had not written to her for years.

“What a joy it is to me,” Ferdinand assured her, “that you, my daughter, are the Queen of England, a country which I have always believed should be my closest ally. I am beginning to understand that a father can have no better ambassador than his own daughter.”

Ferdinand in his letters to her artfully mingled his schemes with his news of family affairs. His daughter was the beloved wife of young Henry, and if the King of England was occasionally unfaithful to his marriage bed, what did that matter as long as he continued to regard his wife with affection and respect!

“If your dear mother could know what a comfort to me you have become, what a clever ambassadress for her beloved country, how happy she would be.”

Such words could not fail to move Katharine, for the very mention of her mother always touched all that was sentimental in her nature.

After receiving her father’s letters she would put forward his ideas to Henry, but never in such a manner that it would appear she was receiving instructions from Spain.

“The King of France,” Ferdinand wrote, “is an enemy to both our countries. Singly we might find it difficult to subdue him. But together…”

Henry liked to walk with her in the gardens surrounding his palaces. When he felt particularly affectionate towards her he would take her arm and they would go on ahead of the little band of courtiers, and occasional he would bend his head and whisper to her in the manner of a lover.

On such an occasion she said to him: “Henry, there are certain provinces in France which are by right English. Now that there is a young King on the throne, do you think the people would wish to see those provinces restored to the crown?”

Henry’s eyes glistened. He had always longed for the conquest of France. He was beginning to think he had had enough of empty triumphs at the jousts and masques. He wished to show his people that he was a man of war no less than a sportsman. Nothing could have given him greater pleasure at that time than the thought of military conquest.

“I’ll tell you this, Kate,” he said. “It has always been a dream of mine to restore our dominions in France to the English crown.”

“And what better opportunity could we have than an alliance with my father who also regards the King of France as his enemy?”

“A family affair. I like that. Your father and I standing together against the French.”

“I believe my father would be ready enough to make a treaty in which you and he would agree to attack the French.”

“Is it so, Kate? Then write to him and tell him that, having such regard for his daughter, I would have him for my friend.”

“You have made me happy, Henry…so happy.”

He smiled at her complacently. “We’ll make each other happy, eh Kate?” His eyes were searching her face. There was a question in them which he did not need to put into words. It was the perpetual question: Any sign, Kate? Any sign yet that we may expect a child?

She shook her head sadly. He did not share her sadness today. The thought of war and conquest had made him forget temporarily even the great need for a son.

He patted her arm affectionately.

“Have no fear, Kate. We’ll not suffer ill luck for ever. I have a notion, Kate, that England and Spain together are…invincible! No matter what they undertake.”

She felt her spirits rising. It was a great pleasure to see that his thoughts were turned for a while from the matter of childbearing; and it was equally gratifying that he was so willing to fall in with her father’s desires. Thus she could please them both at the same time. And surely her next pregnancy must result in a healthy child!

* * *

RICHARD FOX, Bishop of Winchester and Lord Privy Seal, was deeply disturbed, and he had asked Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, and William Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, to call upon him.

Fox, some sixty-four years of age, was as much a politician as a man of the church. He had stood staunchly by Henry VII and had worked in cooperation with the King since the victory at Bosworth, receiving from that monarch the offices of Principal Secretary of State and Lord Privy Seal. When he had died Henry VII had recommended his son to place himself under the guidance of Richard Fox, and this young Henry had been prepared to do, particularly when Warham had declared himself against the marriage with Katharine.

Fox, the politician, had supported the marriage because he believed that an alliance with Spain was advantageous. Warham, as a man of the Church, had felt that a more suitable wife than the widow of his brother might have been found for the King. The fact that Fox had supported the marriage had placed him higher in the King’s favor than the Archbishop of Canterbury; but Fox was now becoming disturbed to see that the country’s wealth, which he so carefully had helped Henry VII to amass, was being extravagantly squandered by the young King.

But that was not the matter he intended to discuss with his two colleagues at this time—something of even greater importance had arisen.

William Warham, who was perhaps a year or two younger than Fox, had also served the Tudors well. Henry VII had made him Lord Chancellor and he had held the Great Seal for some nine years. Although he disagreed with Fox on certain matters they both felt deeply the responsibility of guiding a young king who lacked his father’s caution and thrift.

The third member of the party was the choleric Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, who was the eldest of the three by some five years.

His record was not one of loyalty to the Tudors for he and his father had both fought at Bosworth on the side of Richard III. At this battle Surrey had been taken prisoner and his father killed. There had followed imprisonment in the Tower and forfeiture of his estates; but Henry VII had never been a man to allow desire for revenge to color his judgment; he realized the worth of Surrey who believed in upholding the crown and the nobility, no matter who wore the first and whatever the actions of the latter, and it seemed to the crafty King that such a man could be of more use to him free than a prisoner. It cost little to restore his titles—but Henry kept the greater part of his property, and sent him up to Yorkshire to subdue a rebellion against high taxation.

The King proved his wisdom when Surrey turned out to be a first-class general and as ready to work for the Tudor as he had for Richard III. For his services he was made a member of the Privy Council and Lord Treasurer.

When Henry VII had died, Surrey, on account of his age and experience, had become the chief of the new King’s advisers; and recently, to show his appreciation, young Henry had bestowed upon his faithful servant the title of Earl Marshal.

As soon as these three men were together Fox told them of his concern.

“The King contemplates war with France. I confess that the prospect does not please me.”

“The expense would be great,” agreed Warham, “and what hope would there be of recovering that which we laid out?”

They were looking at Surrey, the soldier, who was thoughtful. The prospect of war always thrilled him; but he was becoming too old to take an active part in wars and therefore could consider them, not in terms of adventure and valor, but of profit and loss.

“It would depend on our friends,” he said.

“We should stand with Spain.”

Surrey nodded. “Spain could attack from the South; we from the North. It does not sound a pleasant prospect for the French.”

“The late King,” said Fox, “was against wars. He always said that it was a sure way of losing English blood and gold.”

“Yet, there could be riches from conquest,” mused Surrey.

“Victory,” put in Warham, “is more easily dreamed of than won.”

“The King is enamored of the prospect,” Fox declared.

“Doubtless because the Queen has made it sound so attractive to him,” added Warham. “Can it be that Ferdinand has placed an ambassador nearer to the King than any of his own advisers could hope to be?”

He was looking ironically at Fox, reminding him that he had been in favor of the marriage while he, Warham, had seen many disadvantages—of which this could be one.

“The King is pleased with his Queen as a wife,” put in Fox. “Yet I believe him to be wise enough to look to his ministers for advice as to how matters of state should be conducted.”

“Yet,” Surrey said, “he would seem eager for war.”

“How can we know,” went on Warham, “what has been written in Ferdinand’s secret dispatches to his daughter? How can we know what the Queen whispers to the King in moments of intimacy?”

“It always seemed to me that the young King must tire of his sports and pageants in time,” said Fox. “Now the time has come and he wishes to turn his energies to war. This was bound to happen, and the conquest of France is a natural desire.”

“What course do you suggest we should take in this matter?” Warham asked.

“Why,” Fox told him, “I believe that if we advised His Grace to send a few archers to help his father-in-law in his battles, that would suffice for the time.”

“And you think the King will be satisfied with that?” demanded Surrey. “Young Henry is yearning to place himself at the head of his fighting men. He wishes to earn glory for his country…and himself.”

“His father had turned a bankrupt state into one of some consequence,” Warham reminded them. “He did it through peace, not through war.”