In the Shadow of the Crown - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,46

I thought he was going to plunge it into my heart without more ado. The King is a strange man. There are such contradictions in his nature. He can be so ruthless … and yet sentimental. He changes from one moment to another. That is why one sometimes believes what he says, however outrageous. One could accept that he wants this divorce solely because of his conscience. One believes that he really is worried about the fact that he married his brother's widow because when he says it he seems to believe it…sincerely. Then, the next minute one knows it is the desire for this woman. I do not understand him. I do not believe he understands himself. Just as he was about to lift his dagger and strike me, he seemed to remember that he was fond of me. He looked at me with rage… and sorrow.”

“And he let you go.”

Reginald nodded.

“He shouted at me, ‘You say you understand my scruples and you know how they should be dealt with.' It was like a reprieve. I said, ‘Yes, Your Majesty.' ‘Then set it down. Set it down,' he cried. ‘And let me see it when it is done. And go now …go… before I am tempted to do you an injury.' So I went, feeling deeply wounded and at the same time rejoicing that he was no longer in doubt as to my true feeling.”

This was an addition to our worries, but at least Reginald seemed at peace, and he set about writing his treatise.

I think my father was genuinely fond of him, because he read it with interest and showed no displeasure, although Cromwell said it must not be made public because it was contrary to the King's purpose; and he added that the arguments were set down with wisdom and elegance but would have the opposite effect of what the King wanted.

We trembled afresh when we heard this.

“This man Cromwell is an evil influence on the King,” declared Reginald.

“I do believe he is trying to undermine the supremacy of the Church. Pray God he does not succeed. The King does not like the man but he is very taken with his arguments. I am greatly in fear of what will happen next.”

We had many serious talks after that. His mother was in constant fear for she was convinced he was in acute danger. She was persuading him to go abroad. She said to me, “I know we do not want to lose him, nor does he wish to leave us, but I am terrified every day he remains.”

“What do you think will happen?” I asked.

“Cromwell's idea is that the King should break with Rome and set himself up as Supreme Head of the Church of England. That is what Reginald thinks will happen. The King will then demand to be accepted as such, and those who refuse to accept him—as all good churchmen must—will be accused of treason.”

“Surely my father would never go so far!”

“He is caught up in this matter. It is more than a desire to marry Anne Boleyn. It is a battle between Church and State, and it is one he must win to satisfy himself.”

“And you think that Reginald…”

“Is in danger if he stays. He must get out now … and stay away until it is safe for him to come back.”

At length his mother prevailed on Reginald to go; but first he must get the King's permission.

I remember that day when Reginald presented himself to the King. The Countess had been all for his going away and writing to the King from Paris, Padua or some safe distance; but Reginald would not agree to that. He thought it cowardly.

He presented himself to my father and told him he wished to continue his studies abroad. He told us afterward what happened. The King was pleasant to him, and Reginald was able to tell him frankly that he could not go against his conscience. Perhaps the King was particularly sympathetic about consciences, for he listened with sympathy. Reginald told my father that he believed it was wrong to divorce the Queen and, no matter what happened to him, he could not go against his convictions.

The King was sorrowful rather than angry and at length he agreed to allow Reginald to go.

How relieved we were to see him arrive back to us but that relief was tempered with sadness that he should be leaving us.

I was very melancholy. I had lost one of my few