Katharine of Aragon (88 page)

“But it is really because of his noble character,” Mary asserted.

“I believe that to be so. Mary, I think he will soon be coming to England.”

Mary clasped her hands in ecstasy. “And will he come to Ludlow?”

“Come to see his mother! Of a certainty he will. You do not know my Reginald.”

“I do,” declared the Princess.

And after that they often spoke of his coming and when Mary awoke in the mornings she would say to herself: “Will there be news from my mother today?” And then: “Is Reginald now on his way to the Castle?”

It was only these hopes which made the separation tolerable. But the months passed and there was no news of Mary's joining her mother; and Reginald continued to stay in Italy.

HENRY CUT HIMSELF OFF
from communication with his Queen, and she rarely saw him. She lived quietly, working on her garments for the poor, reading religious books, going to Mass, praying privately. Her great joy was writing letters to her daughter, but what a difficult task this was when she must suppress her fierce longing, and not convey her fears that the long absence was stifling that deep affection they had for each other!

Henry was growing impatient. He had begun to wonder whether Wolsey was working as wholeheartedly for him as he had once believed. Wolsey was a man who had seen that his own pockets were well lined; and should a king feel such gratitude towards a man who in his service had grown as rich as surely only a king should be?

Wolsey was constantly whispering caution, and Henry was becoming a little uncertain of the game the Chancellor was playing. There was a new faction springing up at Court, and at the center of this was George Boleyn whom the King found a fascinating young man, largely because he was the brother of Anne.

Anne remained at Hever, but she should not do so for long. Henry had already shown his favor to the family by raising Sir Thomas to the peerage, so that he now bore the title of Viscount Rochford. He had even given poor Will Carey, Mary's husband, a post at Court as gentleman of the Privy Chamber. He was certain that soon the haughty girl would give in to his pleading, and stop talking about her virtue.

But at the same time it was this Boleyn faction which was making him
doubt Wolsey. He sent for his Chancellor in order to discuss a matter which was of great concern to them both at this time: the marriage of the Princess Mary.

When Wolsey entered, the King did not greet him with the affectionate look which the Chancellor usually received from him. Wolsey was acutely aware of the King's changing attitude towards him and it was doubly alarming because he was not sure of its origin.

“I have news from France,” said Henry. “It seems that François is rejecting our offer of my daughter.”

Wolsey nodded gravely. Here was one matter on which they were in agreement; they shared the desire for a marriage between Mary and a member of the royal French family. Nothing would disturb the Emperor more; at the same time if Mary were to marry into France she would very soon be sent to that country; and if the King were about to rid himself of the Queen, Mary's presence in England could prove an embarrassment. There was no need to speak of this matter. Each knew that it was well to the fore in the mind of the other.

The King took a document from his table which had been sent to him from Louise of Savoy who was her son's Regent while he, François, remained the Emperor's prisoner in Madrid.

“Read it,” commanded the King; and Wolsey read that the Duchesse of Savoy could not express sufficient regret that the marriage between her son and the Princess Mary was not possible. She knew that the Princess of England excelled all other Princesses; she had heard nothing but good of her character, her attainments and her beauty. Alas, a tragic fate had befallen her son; he was in the hands of the Emperor and harsh terms were being imposed on him. Not the least harsh of these—in view of the offer of the Princess's hand from England—was that he should marry the Emperor's sister Eleanora whom Emanuel of Portugal had recently left a widow. It seemed likely that the King of France would have to comply with this unless Eleanora refused to marry him.

The Duchesse however hoped that this might not make an end of their desire for a French-English alliance. She had grandsons. She was certain that François would welcome the Princess Mary as the wife of his son Henri, Duc d'Orléans.

“Well,” the King demanded, “what do you think of this proposition?”

“A fair one. Marriage to young Henri would, in truth, be more suitable than marriage with François.”

“A second son,” murmured the King.

“Eldest sons sometimes die,” Wolsey reminded him.

“That's so,” replied the King, himself a second son. He was thoughtful
for awhile. “The child is young… not yet ten years of age. There is time. But it shall be a French match for her.”

“I am in full agreement with Your Grace.”

“I rejoice to hear it.” Was it his imagination, wondered Wolsey, or was there a trace of sarcasm in the King's voice? The little blue eyes swept over the rich satin robes. “We shall be having French ambassadors here soon, I doubt not. When they come it would be well for them to be entertained at Hampton Court.”

“Hampton Court is, as always, at Your Grace's command.”

“These foreigners…,” mused Henry. “They do not think they are at Court until they are received at Hampton. Is it meet a subject should possess such a palace?”

Wolsey quickly saw the meaning behind the words. He had always gambled. He gambled now.

“There is only one reason why a subject could possess such a palace,” he answered quickly, “and that is that he can put it into the hands of his King.”

Suddenly the peevish animosity died in the King's face and the old affection was back there. The blue eyes were so bright that Wolsey was not sure whether it was tears of friendship or covetousness which he saw there.

The Chancellor felt a catch of fear at his heart; it was as though he were running towards danger; and that only by throwing his most valued possessions to his pursuers could he stave off the evil moment of disaster. He was playing for time. He believed that he could regain his power over the King…given time. He could arrange a divorce for Henry, get him married to a French Princess, put an end to unprofitable wars—then he would be able to rout all his enemies. But he needed time.

The King put his own construction on those words.

“A goodly gift,” he said, “from a loyal subject to his affectionate master. I would not offend you, Thomas, by refusing your handsome gift. But you shall live on there…you shall entertain these foreigners there…in my name, eh? Then they will no longer sing in the streets: ‘The King's Court or Hampton Court …' for from now on Hampton Court
is
the King's Court.”

Wolsey bowed his head and taking the King's hand kissed it. He was glad to hide his face for a few seconds; the loss of his most cherished possession was a blow, and he found it difficult to hide the sorrow he was feeling.

THE DAYS WERE DREARY
to Katharine, one so much like another. She had no friend in whom she could confide. Maria de Salinas was no longer at Court; Margaret Pole was in Ludlow with Mary; and, saddest of all, there was no mention of Mary's returning.

The women who surrounded her, she knew, were not her true friends,
but had been put there by her enemy, Wolsey, to spy on her. She saw the King frequently but never in private; he was courteous to her but she fancied that he was afraid to meet her eye and always seemed relieved when he parted from her.

On one or two occasions she had mentioned their daughter to which he invariably replied with prompt finality: “It pleases me that she now has her own Court in her own Principality. She will learn something of government there in Ludlow.”

She wanted to protest: She is only a child. At least allow me to go and stay with her there.

But she knew that it was impossible to speak of such things in public, and there was never an opportunity of doing so in private.

She guessed that there was a mistress—perhaps several. Light-o'-loves, she thought contemptuously; and as she could not discuss this matter with the women who surrounded her, who would report to their master every word she said, she was silent.

She knew that negotiations were going forward with a view to a French alliance for Mary. She prayed that this might not be carried through. What she dreaded more than anything was alliance with France because she longed to restore friendship between her nephew and her husband. She believed that, if only Charles could explain in person, or if only he had a good and efficient ambassador, Henry would understand that he had been forced to do what he had done. None could be more disappointed at his rejection of Mary than she was. Had it not been the dearest dream of her life that her nephew and daughter should marry? But Charles was no longer very young and it was understandable that he should feel the need to marry without delay. She did not believe that Charles had wantonly deceived her husband; it was pressure of circumstances—and that must at times afflict every head of state—which had made him do so.

She wrote many letters to Charles—cautiously worded—for she could not be sure that they would reach him. A little spice was added to those dreary days by this game of outwitting the Cardinal, whom she had now begun to regard as her greatest enemy.

And one day in the spring of that long year a letter from her nephew was smuggled to her and she felt a great triumph, as at least one of hers had reached him. That made her feel that she had some friends at the English Court.

Charles wrote that he was sending a new ambassador to England, Don Iñigo de Mendoza, who would be travelling through France and should arrive in England not long after she received this letter. He knew, of course, that Wolsey was doing his utmost to make a French alliance for Mary and that Katharine would agree with him that such an alliance would be fatal to
their interests. He believed that she would find Mendoza more to her liking than ambassadors from Flanders, and it was for this reason that he was sending a Spaniard to England.

When Katharine read this letter she felt the tears of joy rushing to her eyes. Mendoza was coming. A Spaniard, one with whom she could converse in her native tongue. She even knew Iñigo. He had been her mother's favorite page, and she had seen him often riding in the entourage when Isabella had gone from town to town visiting her dominions, her family with her, as she had insisted whenever possible. Perhaps they would talk of Granada and Madrid, of the days of Isabella's greatness.

Katharine closed her eyes and thought of her early life in Spain, when she had never been forced to suffer the humiliation she had endured since coming to England, when she had been surrounded by the love of her family and, most of all, that of her mother.

“Oh Holy Mother,” she murmured, “how sad life becomes when the greatest joy it has to offer is in remembering the past.”

THROUGH THE SPRING
and summer Katharine awaited the arrival of Mendoza in vain. A little news did seep through to her and eventually she discovered that the French were determined to delay the arrival of the Spanish ambassador in England until a French embassy had been able to arrange for the marriage of Mary with the Duc d'Orléans.

They had promised Mendoza free passage through France, but shortly after he had set foot on that land he was arrested as a foreign spy and put into prison where he remained for months without trial.

Katharine was in despair because plans for the French marriage were going forward, although she did console herself that the matter could not be viewed with any certainty. François had been released from his prison in Madrid but he had only been allowed to go home if he promised on oath to send his two sons to Madrid as hostages for his good faith in carrying out the terms Charles had imposed on him. Thus the little boy who was betrothed to Mary was now the Emperor's prisoner in his father's stead.

Katharine was reminded now of those days between the death of her first husband, Arthur, and her marriage with Henry, when she lived through the uneventful yet dangerous months. Unable to be lulled by a false feeling of security and with dreadful premonition always in her mind that a storm was soon to break about her, she waited, knowing that when it did come it would contain an element of the unexpected, to face which she would need every scrap of courage she possessed.

It was December of that year when Mendoza arrived in London, but by that time she knew it was too late to stop the negotiations with France.

The first action of Mendoza was to beg an audience of the Queen. This she granted and he came speedily to her apartments.

She received him with emotion because of the memories of early and happier days he brought with him.

“It gives me great pleasure to see you,” she told him.

“I cannot express to Your Grace my pleasure in being here. I have found the delay almost intolerable.”

She looked at him closely and saw what those months in a French prison must have done to him; but, of course, when she had seen him in her mother's entourage he had been nothing but a boy. She was forgetting how many years ago that was.

This was not the time to waste on reminiscences and she said: “There is much we have to say to each other. I am seriously alarmed about the relations between my nephew and this country.”

“The Emperor greatly desires to put them back on a friendly footing.”

“The King is incensed on account of his treatment of Mary.”

“Your Grace is also displeased.”

“It was of course a bitter disappointment to me.”

“The Emperor was pressed hard by the people of Spain, and he needed money from Portugal.”

“I know…I know. But let us talk of what we shall do to put matters right between Spain and England. I must tell you that the Cardinal is my most bitter enemy. I am surrounded by his spies and I know not whom I can trust. You will know that he is the most powerful man in England.”

Mendoza nodded. “We shall have to make sure that he cannot interfere with our correspondence as he did with de Praet's.”