in a whisper then. “Why lookest thou at me with those great black eyes? Thy neck is small. Thou wilt not feel the sword. Ah! You would have a sword from Calais. That is like you. The ax is for ordinary mortals. Haughty to the end! Anne… Anne…’ tis for England, sweetheart. An heir for England. A King is the servant of his country. He is not the servant of his passions. Anne, thy black eyes scorn me. I’ll not have it. To the block! To the block!”
The King opened his eyes suddenly and stared about him in a startled fashion. The candles were burning low and flickering in their sockets.
“Review your past life and seek God’s mercy through Christ,” he murmured. “That is what they tell me. That is what they tell me now. A great reign…a great and glorious reign. Oh God, always did the eighth Henry work for Thy glory and for the good of England. No thought gave he to his own desires….”
His voice died away; his breathing was heavy; then suddenly it stopped, and those watching in the shadows thought the end had come.
But before they could move toward him, he had begun to speak again.
“Is that you, Cardinal, sitting there? Why do you smile, Cardinal? I like your smile not at all. The Cardinal died of a flux. Many die of a flux…be they Cardinal or beggar. You keep good wine, Thomas… good food and wine. A subject should not keep such state. Look at me not with those great black eyes, Anne. You witch! Sorceress! Poisoner! The roses are beautiful at Hever. Red roses… red… the color of blood. Shadows… shadows move about me. Shadows in my room. There. There! Monks… monks. …Black cowls that drip red blood. Oh, dear God, they creep toward me. Closer… closer they come. Monks… monks from all corners….” He tried to lift his hands, but he could not move them; he tried to shout for help, but his voice was a whisper. “The candles are going out and the darkness is coming, and with it… monks…. To Tyburn with them! To Tyburn! I…am not at Tyburn. I lie in bed… adying…adying.”
The sound of his stertorous breathing filled the chamber.
“A drink!” he gasped. “A drink…a cup of wine, for the love of God.”
“He is scorched with the death thirst,” said Wriothesley.
As the Chancellor approached the bed and poured wine into the cup, the King said: “Kate… Kate, is that you… good wife?”
“It is your Chancellor, my lord,” said Wriothesley. “Here is the wine you crave.”
“Good Kate,” said the King; and his eyes were closed now. “Good wife.”
“There, ’tis refreshing, is it not, my lord?”
“It doth but cool the fires ere they burst to wilder fury. Kate… Kate… I’ll not see the sun rise again.”
“Speak not thus, my lord,” said Wriothesley.
“Kate… I loved thee. I loved thee well. I had not thought of putting you from me that I might take another wife. I would not have married… Jane…yes, Jane…an my subjects had not urged me to it.”
Even the grim heart of the Chancellor was moved to pity, and listening to these last words of the King he wished to soothe the monstrous conscience.
“Your subjects urged Your Grace to the marriage,” he said softly.
“’ Twas so. Katharine… canst thou see a dark shadow there… over there by the arras at the door?”
“There is nothing there, Your Grace.”
“Look again,” commanded the King.
“Nay, Sire. Your eyes deceive you.”
“Come closer, Kate. I would whisper. It doth look to me like a fellow in a black robe. Can you not see a monk standing there?”
“It is but the hangings, my lord.”
“You lie!” cried the King. “I’ll have your head off your shoulders an you deceive me. Suffolk’s wife, ah! She doth please me. Her eyes are dove’s eyes and she would be a loving wench, I vow. And not too docile. I never greatly cared for too much docility. Jane, dost remember what happened to thy predecessor? A Flander’s mare… and Howard’s niece the prettiest thing that ever graced a court. Is that you, Chancellor? Monks…. Chancellor. They come at me. They come at me. Hold them off. Hold them off from your King, I say!” The King was breathing with difficulty. “What day is this?” he asked.
“The morning has come, for it is two of the clock,” said Wriothesley.
“What day? What day?”
“The twenty-eighth day of January, my lord.”
“The twenty-eighth day of January. Remember it. It is the day your sovereign lord the