The Sixth Wife_ The Story of Katherine P - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,24

have been able to take them away. I was a King among men then, Kate. Had God not chosen me to rule this realm, then would men have pointed at me and said, ‘There goes a King!’”

“I doubt it not, my Lord.”

“You doubt it not! You doubt it not! That is good, Kate. Ah, did you but know what your sovereign has suffered, you would long to comfort him.”

“I would not dare presume…”

“We give our permission for the presumption. Think of your King’s poor sick leg, Kate, and weep for him.”

“Weep for Your Majesty, who is both great and glorious!”

“Tush! You think of matters of state. A king is a man as well as a king. You know I married my brother’s widow. Twenty years, Kate— twenty years of marriage that was no marriage. For twenty years I lived in sin… with my own brother’s widow. Unintentional sin, though. I was tricked. I was cheated. And England all but robbed of an heir! You know our story, Kate.”

“I know of Your Majesty’s sorrows.”

Henry nodded. He was passing into that mood of sentimentality and selfpity which contemplation of the past brought with it. He took a lace kerchief and wiped a tear from his eye. He could always weep for the injustices that had come to him through his marriages. “To some men it would have been simple,” he said. “I was happily married. I had one daughter. Suffice it that I had given England a future Queen, though a son had been denied me. Then, Kate, I understood. It was my conscience, my most scrupulous conscience that told me I could no longer risk England’s security by continuing with a marriage that was no marriage. No marriage, Kate! Can you realize what that meant? The King of England was living in sin with his brother’s widow. Small wonder that God did not grant us a son! So I wrestled with myself, and my conscience told me that I must end that marriage. I must take a new wife.”

Henry had stood up; he now seemed unaware of the shrinking woman, who immediately rose, as she must not be seated while the King stood. Katharine realized that it was not to her that he was talking now. He began to shout and his fist was clenched.

“I took to wife a black-browed witch! I was cajoled by sorcery. She would have poisoned my daughter, the lady Mary. My son, Richmond, died soon after she laid her wicked head on the block… died slowly, lingeringly. That was the result of the spells she laid upon him. The devil had made her beautiful. I was entrapped by sorcery. She should have burned at the stake.” He began to speak more softly. “But I was ever merciful to those that pleased me… and she pleased me… once.”

There was silence in the chamber but for the rustling of the silken curtains as they moved in the draft. The King’s face was gray, and his eyes went to the curtains as though he looked for someone there.

He turned suddenly and saw Katharine standing beside him. He seemed startled to find her there.

“Ah, yes,” he sighed. “Kate… Kate… Sit down, Kate.”

“Your Grace,” she said, “was most unhappy in his marriages.”

“Aye!” He spoke softly now, and all the selfpity was back in his voice. “Most unhappy. And then came Jane… poor gentle Jane, Jane whom I loved truly. She gave me my son and then she died. The most cruel blow of all!”

Katharine began to pray again silently and fervently. Oh God, save me. Save me from this man. Save me from the King.

She knew more of him than he realized. In her country house she had heard how he had received the news of Jane Seymour’s death. Bluntly he had told his ministers that the death of his wife meant little to him beside the great joy he had in his newborn son.

“Had Jane but lived!” he was saying. “Ah, had Jane but lived!” He turned to Katharine and she felt the hot hand on her knee, caressing her thigh. She longed to beg him to desist, but she dared not.

“You are cold, Kate,” he said. “You tremble. ’tis all this talk of my miseries. Sometimes I wonder if I have paid for my most glorious reign with my most miserable domestic life. If that be so, Kate, I must be content. A king ofttimes must forget he is a man. A king is the slave of his country