he make her his Queen? Jane had seen the lovely Anne pass along the river in her barge. The King was growing impatient, it was said; the air was thick with rumor; and here was little Jane Dudley, peacefully awaiting the birth of yet another child, living remote from the Court, though so near it—peaceful and contented with her family about her.
Of course she would have liked John to have his heart’s desire—a share in the affairs of the Court. Sometimes he frightened her. He seemed so fierce in his determination. She would watch him pacing their chamber, pacing the lawns, his eyes narrowing as he looked without seeing it at a barge on the river. Then she would be fiercely glad that he was outside Court matters. She often thought of that great man Cardinal Wolsey who had met his doom and died of a broken heart. She would not have her John become such a one as the great Cardinal. But what a ridiculous comparison! Her John and the great Cardinal! But Wolsey had been humble once, and so had John’s father.
She wished that he were not a Dudley, that he had some happier background, someone who had a humble father who had not risen to greatness but who had died peacefully in his bed.
And that day John came home in great excitement.
The King had decided to forgive him for being his father’s son. It was more than twenty years since Henry had beheaded Edmund Dudley; and after twenty years, the King evidently thought, he could forgive a man for reminding him of his own guilt.
Jane watched John alight from his barge, saw him hasten across the turf crying her name; and never had she heard his voice so joyous.
“Jane! Dear wife, I am appointed Master of the King’s Armory.”
She felt her heart fluttering uncomfortably. She must appear to be glad. She always took her cue from him; she must be what he expected her to be.
“What … does it mean, John?”
“What does it mean! It means that the King has decided that, if I am worthy of honors, they should not be denied me. It means that we are on the road, Jane, on the road.”
“Oh, John … on what road?”
But he did not answer. He was smiling as he looked along the river toward Westminster and Greenwich.
And it so happened that in her new apartments at the Tower of London, Jane gave birth to her fifth son.
She called him Robert.
He was the most handsome of all her boys. In the first few weeks of his life she knew that he would be the best beloved. He was lustier than all the others; he had been born with a thick down of hair; his eyes flashed more brightly than she believed eyes had ever flashed before; he demanded his own way from the beginning.
His father scarcely noticed him. Why should he? He was “on the road” now. He was preparing to march on to greatness.
Robert was all Jane’s in those first months of his life. No nurses should take him from her. He was her baby—her little Robin.
How sorry she was for poor Queen Katharine, living out her lonely life in the Castle of Kimbolton. A boy like Robin would have made all the difference in the world to her happiness, poor lady. As if a baby like Robin would not make all the difference to any woman! But poor Queen Katharine desperately needed a son.
And now another Queen was praying for a son.
Queen Anne was lying-in at Greenwich, and the country was waiting for the birth of a prince to be proclaimed.
When the King passed along the river, Jane watched him from the shelter of an arbor—seeing but unseen—and she held up the little boy, murmuring: “Look, Robin. There goes a king. They say he would give half his kingdom for a boy like you. But then who would not give all the world for you!”
There was a mist on the river during those September days, and the trees of the orchards were heavy with ripening fruit.
“May the Queen be fruitful,” prayed Jane; for, sorry as she was for the displaced Queen, yet she wished joy to the new one. “May the Queen give birth to a prince as bonny—nay, that were impossible—almost as bonny as my Robin.”
The bells rang out in the City. A child was born to the King and Queen.
A prince! said the people. It is sure to be a prince. Nothing but