The Sixth Wife_ The Story of Katherine P - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,56
into the face of a mighty monarch and had seen there instead a desirable man.
The King’s eyes softened and his gaze followed the girl as she stepped back and took her place with the Queen’s ladies. Expertly, in his mind’s eye, he divested her of her velvet and her jewels. “I’ll warrant she’s as comely without as with her adornments,” he told himself; and the room seemed diffused with a more gentle light, and there was a lifting of his spirits that almost smothered the throbbing of his leg.
Gardiner and Wriothesley were in attendance; they looked smug on this day. Something afoot there, I’ll swear, thought the King; and when I’ve heard this music, I’ll have it from them.
There was Seymour, now Lord High Admiral. The King smiled. How that young man reminded him of himself! The ladies liked Seymour and Seymour had once had his eyes on the Queen, the rogue! But he had never let them stray very far from the Princess Elizabeth. She was another on whom the King must keep a watchful eye.
But at the moment he could not keep his eyes from Mary Howard. She outshone all the women, he decided; and he fancied he saw a resemblance in her to little Catharine Howard.
The instrumental piece which the musicians were playing had come to an end. It was charming, and he would reward the fellow who had written it.
“Bravo!” cried the King. “Bravo! There’s naught that soothes the troubled mind as certain as sweet music.”
“I trust,” said the Queen, “that Your Grace’s mind is not overtroubled.”
“A King, wife, must of necessity have much upon his mind.”
Wriothesley, who never lost an opportunity of flattering his royal master, murmured: “It is fortunate for this realm that Your Majesty sits on the throne.”
Henry lifted his heavy lids to glare at his Chancellor. Too ready, was this Wriothesley, with his honeyed words; true though they were, the rogue was too ready. Yet, as ever, flattery was sweeter in the King’s ears than the sweetest music.
“Good Chancellor,” he replied, wincing as he moved painfully in his chair, “it is the kingly lot to bear the troubles of our subjects. For many years we have sat on the throne of England, but we cannot hope to rule this realm for ever.”
His eyes flickered angrily on the Queen who had failed to provide him with sons; then they went to the charming figure of his daughter-in-law.
Watching them, Surrey speculated: So my words have borne fruit. Mary has already given him the glance, the promise. The seed has been sown. Oh, poor Katharine Parr, my heart bleeds for you. But you are as safe as the rest of us, so why should it bleed for you and not for poor Surrey? My head may not remain on my shoulders any longer than yours. I am a poet, and so is the King. I am the greater poet, and in that I offend. I am more royal than His Majesty, and I have written verses. Two of the greatest literary men of our age have already laid their heads on the block—More and Rochford. Tom Wyatt was a fine poet but he was born lucky. The ax did not catch him though he had his miraculous escapes. And the next who dares wield his pen with more dexterity than the King, shall he die? And is his name Surrey?
Katharine had grown a shade paler, and the King went on with a trace of malice: “We’ll not talk of such matters. They disturb our Queen. Do they not, wife?”
“There are topics which please me more, Your Grace,” said Katharine quietly.
“We like not to brood on the days that lie ahead,” mused the King, “days when we shall no longer be here to lead this country. There is overmuch conflict in this land, and we like it not.” He glared at those about him and shouted: “We like it not. We would have peace in our time, and though that be denied us beyond the realm of England, we demand it at home.” Gardiner had moved closer to the King. The Queen looked at the Bishop and their eyes met. Something has happened, thought Katharine. There is some fresh plot against me.
She had noticed the King’s frequent glances at the Duchess of Richmond. Could it be that Gardiner was offering the King the Duchess as his seventh wife? Had it already been suggested that the sixth wife should go the way of the second and the