In the Shadow of the Crown - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,130

wives. It was a great step forward—and Elizabeth was to come after me.

Elizabeth was full of high spirits during this time.

We owed a great deal to Katharine—but perhaps not all as far as I was concerned, for my father was eagerly seeking to renew his friendship with the Emperor, and it might well have been for this reason that he was treating me as he was.

But that would not account for Elizabeth's recognition, so I suppose we did owe a great deal to the Queen.

It was impossible not to be fond of her. She was determined to be a mother to us and took an especial interest in Edward and Elizabeth, on account of their youth, I think; and they both loved her. They were fond of Anne of Cleves too, and they had liked pretty Catharine Howard, but none had been the mother to them that the present Queen was proving to be. I think that Katharine had always longed for children of her own; it was sad that she had only stepchildren on whom to lavish her affection; and that she did with abandon. She really was a mother to those children—including Jane Grey, who was touchingly devoted to her.

She believed that my weakness and debility were due to a lack of interest in life. Like many people, she thought that I should have married. Perhaps she was right. I seemed to have withered. I had longed for children so much but I had come to the conclusion that I should never have them.

To give me an interest, Katharine suggested that I make a translation of Erasmus' Latin Paraphrase of St. John. It was a task which appealed to me, and I set about it with zest and found myself waking each morning with the urge to get on working at it.

When I had finished it, Katharine was loud in her praises; she said I must have it printed so that many could read it.

I was reluctant at first, wondering whether it was beneath the dignity of a princess—now recognized as such and in line for the throne—but Katharine said she would not rest until she had persuaded me.

Meanwhile I was becoming aware of danger.

Katharine and the King had been married for a year, and there was no sign of pregnancy. Was he beginning to be restless? The fact was that under her skilful hands he suffered less pain; indeed there were times when he was quite without it. It was ironic that Katharine, who had been the one who had brought about this relief, should be the one to suffer for it. It might have been my imagination, but did I see his eyes linger on some of the beauties of the Court? I had also seen a glimmer of anxiety when he looked at Edward. One son was all he had; he was feeling better; I could imagine his telling himself that he was still full of vigor. There were some tempting beauties at Court, and it must be Katharine's fault that there was no child.

It was amazing how those about him were aware of his feelings.

Then came what many believed was a definite sign that the Queen was losing her place in his affections.

Hans Holbein had been out of favor since he had brought back that deceiving picture of Anne of Cleves, representing her as a beauty and completely ignoring the fact that her skin was faintly pock-marked.

“But the fellow is a good painter,” said the King, “and I pay him a retainer of £30 a year, so he may as well earn it.”

He wanted a portrait of the family—with his son and daughters and his Queen beside him.

Elizabeth was delighted to be included. She would have liked to be in the forefront of the picture; but this was not the King's intention.

He would be in the center, with Edward beside him and on the far left should be one of his daughters and the other on the far right. Still, we were in the picture. But the crux of the matter was that, when Katharine prepared to take her place beside the King, she was brusquely told that her presence would not be needed. My father wanted the artist to make a picture of Edward's mother, Jane Seymour, the only wife who had given him a son, and she should take the place of honor beside him.

The insult to Katharine was too marked to go unnoticed. She had been deeply hurt—and, more than that,