The Shadow of the Pomegranate (27 page)

Henry hesitated. He remembered the disaster which Dorset had suffered when he had stayed a winter in Spain.

He saw now that this was the only course for him to take. He was disappointed, for he had hoped to return to England, conqueror of France. All he had to show was the capture of two French towns and certain prisoners, whom he had sent home to Katharine, and who were causing her some anxiety because she had to feed them and treat them as the noblemen they were, and because the war with Scotland had proved costly and the war with France even more so, there was little to spare for the needs of noble prisoners.

Katharine had the victory of Flodden Field to set side by side with the conquest of Thérouanne and Tournai, and Henry felt piqued because he had to admit that she had scored the greater victory.

He felt angry towards her, particularly as he had now heard of the loss of the child. ‘Lost, that your kingdom might be held, Henry.’ Grudgingly he agreed that all she had done had been necessary. But, he had said to himself, it seemed that God’s hand was against them; and since he had known many other women in France his satisfaction with Katharine had diminished.

Oh, it was time he went home; and he could go as a conqueror. The people of England would be eager to welcome him back.

He sent for Brandon.

‘How goes the courtship?’he asked slyly.

Brandon shook his head. ‘I need time.’

‘And that is something you cannot have. We are returning to England.’

Brandon was downcast. ‘Have no fear,’ said Henry, ‘we shall return and then ere long I doubt not you’ll have swept the Duchess Margaret into marriage.’

‘She has returned my ring and asked for the one I took from her,’ said Brandon.

‘Is that so? The lady is coy.’

‘One day she seems willing enough, and the next she holds back. She talks of previous marriages and says that she is afraid she is doomed to be unfortunate in that state. Then she talks of her duty to her nephew. ’Tis true that young fellow looks as though he needs a keeper.’

Henry laughed. ‘I rejoice every time I look at him,’he said. ‘Max can’t last for ever. Nor can Ferdinand . . . and then . . . it will not be difficult to dupe that little fellow, what think you? And who will take over from old Louis . . . for he too must be near his death-bed? Francis of Angoulême.’Henry’s eyes narrowed. ‘I hear he is a young braggart . . . but that he excels in pastimes.’

‘A pale shadow of Your Grace.’

Henry’s mouth was prim suddenly. ‘That fellow is a lecher. His affairs with women are already talked of . . . and he little more than a boy! Brandon, have you thought that one day, and that day not far distant, there will be three men standing astride Europe . . . three great rivals . . . the heads of the three great powers? There will be Francis, myself and that young idiot Charles.’Henry laughed. ‘Why, when I think of those two . . . and myself . . . I have great reason for rejoicing. God will not favour a lecher, will He, against a virtuous man? And what hope has young Charles, whose mother is mad and who seems to have been born with half his wits? Oh, Brandon, I see glorious days ahead of me and I thank God for this sojourn in Europe where my eyes have been opened to all that, with His help, may come to me.’

‘Your Grace stands on the threshold of a brilliant future.’

Henry put his arm about Brandon’s shoulder. ‘In which my friends shall join,’he said. ‘Why, Charles, I might even win for you the hand of Margaret, eh, in spite of the fact that she returns your ring and demands hers back; in spite of the snivelling little nephew who doubtless cries to his aunt that her duty lies with him.’

The two men smiled, drawn together by a joint ambition.

Henry was placated. He sent for Wolsey and told him to make arrangements to return to England.

Katharine was deep in preparations for the return of the King.

Surely, she thought, he cannot but be pleased with me. It is true I have lost the child but, much as he longs for an heir, he must be satisfied with what I have done.

She had Margaret, widow of dead James IV, remain Regent of Scotland; after all, was she not the King’s sister? It would have been too costly to have taken possession of the Scottish crown. She trusted Henry would approve of what she had done.

She had recovered from the last miscarriage, and felt well in body if a little uneasy in mind.

Maria de Salinas, now married to Lord Willoughby, was not at this time separated from her, and she talked to her about the masque she was planning to celebrate the King’s return.

‘It must be colourful,’ said Katharine. ‘You know how the King loves colour. Let there be dancing, and we will have the King’s own music played. That will delight him.’

While they sat thus Maria ventured: ‘Your Grace, Francesca de Carceres, realising that there is no hope of regaining her place in your household, now has hopes of joining that of the
Duchess of Savoy. She believes that if Your Grace would speak a word of recommendation to the Duchess on her behalf she would have her place.’

Katharine was thoughtful. It would be pleasant to be rid of Francesca’s disturbing proximity. While she was in England she would continue to haunt the ante-chambers, hoping for an interview with the Queen. Any mention of the woman brought back unpleasant memories . . . either of the old days when she had suffered such humiliation, or of that other unfortunate affair of Buckingham’s sister.

Francesca was an intriguer. Was it fair to send her to the Court of the Duchess with a recommendation?

It was not just, she was sure of it.

No, much as she longed to be rid of Francesca she was not going to send her with a recommendation to someone else.

‘No,’ said Katharine, ‘she is too perilous a woman. I shall not give her the recommendation she requires. There is only one thing to be done for Francesca; that is that she should be sent back to her own country. When Thomas Wolsey returns I will put this matter before him, and I doubt not he will find some means of having her sent back to Spain.’

‘It is where she longed to go in the past,’ said Maria. ‘Poor Francesca! I remember how she used to sigh for Spain! And now . . . when she does not want to return, she will go back.’

‘My dear Maria, she is an adventuress. She wanted to go to Spain because she thought it had more to offer her than England. Remember how she wanted to come to England, when I left Spain, because she thought England would have greater opportunities for her. Such as Francesca deserve their
fate. Waste no sorrow on her. You have achieved happiness, my dear Maria, with your Willoughby, because you did not seek to ride over others to reach it. So be happy.’

‘I shall be so,’ said Maria, ‘as long as I know that Your Grace is too.’

The two women smiled at each other then. Their gaiety was a little forced. Each was thinking of the King – on whom Katharine’s happiness depended. What would happen on his return?

Henry came riding to Richmond.

As soon as he had disembarked, he had called for a horse, declaring that he was not going to wait for a ceremonial cavalcade.

‘This is a happy moment,’he cried. ‘Once more I set foot on English soil. But I cannot be completely happy until I am with my wife. So a horse . . . and to Richmond where I know she eagerly awaits me.’

He had been unfaithful a score of times in Flanders but that made him feel more kindly towards Katharine. Those affairs had meant nothing to him, he assured himself. They were not to be given a moment’s thought. It was Katharine, his Queen, whom he loved. There was no other woman who was of any importance to him.

Such peccadilloes were to be set at naught, merely to be mentioned at confession and dismissed with a Hail Mary and a Paternoster.

Katharine heard the commotion below.

‘The King is here.’

‘But so soon!’ Her hands were trembling as she put them to
her headdress. Her knees felt as though they were giving way beneath her.

‘Oh Maria, how do I look?’

‘Beautiful, Your Grace.’

‘Ah . . . you say that!’

‘In my eyes Your Grace is beautiful.’

‘That is because you love me, Maria.’

And how shall I look to him? she wondered. Will he, like Maria, look at me with the eyes of love?

She went down to greet him. He had leaped from his steaming horse. How dramatic he was in all he did.

His face was as smooth as a boy’s, flushed with exercise, his blue eyes beaming with goodwill. Thank God for that.

‘Kate! Why Kate, have you forgotten who I am?’

She heard his laughter at the incongruity of such a suggestion, saw the glittering arms held out. No ceremonial occasion this. Now he was the good husband, returning home, longing for a sight of his wife.

He had swung her up in his arms before those who had come riding ahead of the cavalcade, before those who had hastened from the Palace to greet him.

Two audible kisses. ‘By God, it does my heart good to see you!’

‘Henry . . . oh my Henry . . . but you look so wonderful!’

‘A successful campaign, Kate. I do not return with my tail between my legs like some licked cur, eh! I come as conqueror. By my faith, Kate, this time next year you’ll be with me in Paris.’

‘The news was so good.’

‘Ay, the best.’

He had his arm round her. ‘Come,’he said, ‘let’s get within
walls. Let’s drink to conquest, Kate. And later you and I will talk together . . . alone, eh . . . of all that has been happening there and here.’

His arm about her they went into the great hall where the feast was waiting.

He ate while he talked – mainly of those great victories, Thérouanne and Tournai – and from his talk it would appear that he and he alone had captured them. Maximilian had been there, yes . . . but in a minor role. Had he not placed himself under Henry’s banner; had he not received pay for his services?

‘And you looked after our kingdom well in our absence, Kate. You and Surrey together with the help of all those good men and true I left behind me. So Jemmy the Scot is no more. I wonder how Margaret likes being without a husband. ’Tis a sad thing, Kate, to be without a husband. You missed me?’

‘Very much, Henry.’

‘And we lost the child. A boy too. Alas, my Kate. But you lost him in a good cause. I have heard how you worked for England . . . when you should have been resting . . .’His eyes were slightly glazed; he was remembering past experiences in Flanders. That sly court Madam, lady to the Duchess; that kitchen girl. By God, he thought, I have profited more than my Kate realises by my Flanders campaign.

‘Well, Kate, it grieves me. But we are young yet . . .’

She thought: He has learned soldiers’ ways in Flanders.

His eyes were warm, his hands straying to her thigh. But she was not unhappy. She had been afraid that he would blame her for the loss of the child as he had on other occasions.

He was drinking freely; he had eaten well.

‘Come,’he said, ‘’twas a long ride to Richmond. ’Tis bed for us, Kate.’

His eyes were warm; so that all knew that it was not to rest he was taking her.

She did not object; she was filled with optimism.

There would be another time, and then it should not fail.

The Court was gay that Christmas. There was so much to celebrate. Henry was looking forward to the next year’s campaign. His sister Margaret was looking after his interests in Scotland; and at the Palace of Richmond masques, balls and banquets were arranged for Henry’s delight.