The Sixth Wife_ The Story of Katherine P - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,8

remind Your Majesty that it is not easy for a humble subject to follow the example of his King.”

Henry looked sharply at the man. Insolence? Was that it? He softened in spite of himself. Liking the fellow, he could not help it. Yes, he had a liking for Tom Seymour as he had had for others. Thomas Wyatt, for instance, who was reputed to have been the lover of Anne Boleyn; Thomas Wolsey was another who had had his regard. Dear Thomas Wolsey! A good servant. Henry had long persuaded his conscience that Wolsey’s decline and death lay at the door of Anne Boleyn, as did the execution of that other favorite, Thomas More. There was yet another Thomas who was beloved of the King— Thomas Cranmer. How different was pious Cranmer—rather sly, sensitive Cranmer—from this handsome braggart who now stood before him. Perhaps he liked Cranmer for his very cunning, for his clever way of extricating his King from troubles; and he liked Tom Seymour because he was amusing, because he seemed a pale shadow of a youthful Henry.

“There has been too much gallantry, my lord,” went on Henry. “It extends, we hear, from the lowest to the highest. Take care, brother.”

“I know not what tales have been brought to Your Gracious Majesty, but whoever uttered them …”

“Lied in his throat, I don’t doubt you will tell me. Let us hope that you are right.”

“I can assure Your Gracious Majesty that it is so.”

“And,” went on the King, “that you, my lord, have never raised those handsome eyes to the Princess Elizabeth, our daughter?”

“My Gracious Lord …”

“Ah, you would have need of our gracious leniency if we found you guilty of such folly.”

“I beg Your Grace to listen to my side of the story.”

“We are listening.”

“I would not presume to raise my eyes to one so near Your Grace.”

“That is well. Eyes raised to the sun become dazzled, brother; and dazzled eyes see not clearly the dangers that lie ahead. Do not allow yourself to be blinded. Neither the Princess Elizabeth nor the Lady Jane Grey is for you, brother.”

“Indeed not, Your Majesty. If I seemed to admire these two, it was as charming children and…”

“Then all is well. You may leave us, brother.”

Seymour bowed, retired and went from the palace to his waiting barge.

He was sweating a little under his fine garments, particularly about the neck. Necks were so sensitive. How many times did the gentlemen about the King fancy they felt the touch of the ax there? One day a man was in high favor, his ambitions promising fulfillment; the next day he was being rowed to the Tower and taken through the Traitors’ Gate. It had happened to so many whom he had known.

That interview meant that, at present, he must curb his hopes. The redheaded Princess was not for him…at present. He must forget the little Lady Jane. But there was still the rich widow waiting in her late husband’s mansion; and very rich she was, and comely too. He had developed an insatiable taste for riches since his sister’s elevation. A rich wife today was a more exciting prize than a royal one in seven years’ time. Much could happen in a day, an hour. How much more could happen in seven years!

The King had stumped to his window and watched the progress of the gallant young man as he made his way toward the river.

Whither was he going? wondered Henry. It was to meet a woman, doubtless. Henry smiled slyly. Not the Princess Elizabeth, for certain. He had not been unaware of the fear he had planted in Seymour. The gallant sailor would be a little less gallant in that direction and keep his eyes from straying too high.

The King was so curious that he had one of Sir Thomas’s gentlemen brought to him.

“Whither goes your master this day?” he asked.

“To London, Your Majesty.”

“And why to London?”

“On business, as far as I know, Your Majesty.”

“What business? Out with it, knave. You know his errand and you would be wise to tell it.”

“My Lord King, if it pleases you, he has gone to call on Lady Latimer.”

The King smiled. “You may go. It is our wish that you tell not your master that we were interested in his journey. It will go ill with you if you do.”

Lady Latimer, mused the King, when the man had left. He knew her well. Kate Parr, he called her, for he remembered her as Parr’s girl. He