much noise about the matter because she was young, fair and a woman. He was displeased. Moreover, Boulogne was proving expensive to maintain and, although taking it from the French had been a great pleasure, he was beginning to find it a burden.
But he had driven off the French and had only the Scots to contend with, and they had never worried him very much; he had come to expect periodic warfare on the border, and the lords of the north were capable of dealing with that.
In the old days he would have found great pleasure in the hunt but that was denied him now. Long hours in the saddle tired him. Growing old was unpleasant, and he did not like it.
Edward was sickly. There was no denying it. And what had he besides? Two daughters! I could read his thoughts when his eyes rested on us.
I was very much aware of the tension, although the Queen did not take me into her confidence as much as I am sure she would have done had it not been for the divergence in our beliefs.
I had long become aware of the methods of men like Gardiner and Wriothesley; and I knew they were waiting to pounce. While Wriothesley had worked the rack so fiercely on Anne Askew, his aim had been to implicate the Queen. Previously he would have fabricated evidence, but in view of his last endeavors he dared not be proved at fault again.
He must have known, though, that in time the opportunity would come. And it did.
We were seated in the garden. The King had been wheeled out. That in itself was enough to put him in a testy mood; his leg was so painful that he could not put it to the ground without suffering acute agony.
Gardiner was with him, and the Queen was beside him. He had lifted his leg and placed it on her lap. The Earl of Surrey was present and one or two others.
Surrey was rather a mischievous young man. I guessed that one day he would be in trouble; but he was a good poet and he gave himself airs. I am sure he thought he was more royal than the Tudors.
He mentioned Anne Askew.
From my corner I watched the immediate effect on the Queen. Gardiner was aware of it, too. He said something about the books which were being smuggled into the country, and he added that there was no doubt that people like Anne Askew saw that they were circulated.
He looked directly at the Queen and said, “Your Majesty must be aware of this.”
“To which books do you refer, my lord Bishop?” she asked.
“Forbidden books, Your Majesty.”
“Forbidden?” she asked. “By you, my lord Bishop? Would you seek to instruct us on what books we must read?”
I was afraid for her. She was being reckless. She had suffered so much at the time of Anne Askew's death. She had lived for so long in fear of what might happen that she must be near breaking-point.
“Only, Your Majesty, if the books were those which the law forbids being circulated throughout the country.”
The King was growing impatient. He said, “We now permit our subjects to read the Holy Scriptures in our native tongue; and I have made it known that this is done so only to inform them and their children and not to make scripture a railing and a taunting stock. It grieves me that this precious jewel, the Word of God, is disputed and rhymed, sung and jangled in every alehouse and tavern, contrary to the true meaning and doctrine of the same.”
Katharine should have been wise enough to let the matter rest there but, as I said, she was in a reckless mood.
“When Your Majesty says to dispute,” she said, “you cannot mean that it is unlawful for people to discuss the interpretation of the Gospel.”
He frowned at her. “Would you question our decision?”
“Indeed not, Your Majesty, but I would ask Your Grace if you might cease to forbid the use of books which…”
The King's leg seemed to twitch. He shouted, “Madam, when I say it is forbidden, it is forbidden!”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said.
“But when people have a translation which they understand and they wish to talk…”
“No more,” said the King. “Come, I would go in.” He signed impatiently to the two men who stood by his chair. Then he muttered so that all could hear, “A good hearing it is when women become such clerks—and much to my