God grant she never has to suffer as I have, thought the Queen hastily.
But all would be well for Mary who was now heir to the throne, because there was no Salic law in England. If there were no male children born to her parents, and one day she ascended the throne, she would be Queen in her own right, which was a very different matter from being a King’s Consort.
Katharine’s mother had been a Queen in her own right and, much as she had loved her husband, she had never forgotten it; for although Ferdinand had often been unfaithful—there were several illegitimate children to prove it—although she had accepted this as inevitable, forgiven him and remained his loving and submissive wife, in state matters she had held rigorously to her supremacy.
“Oh, Maria!” she sighed. “I am passing through troublous times, and I feel…alone.”
Maria went to Katharine and kneeling, buried her face in the blue velvet. “Your Grace, while I live to serve you, you are never alone.”
“I know it, Maria…my very good friend. I love you dearly, as you love me, and to no other would I speak of these matters. But to you I will say this: I despair of getting a male child. There is so little opportunity. The King rarely visits my bed. And since the birth of a son to Elizabeth Blount his manner towards me grows colder.”
“That sly creature!” Maria said angrily.
“Nay, do not blame her. She was a shy girl, and he is her King. He said, ‘Come hither’ and the girl has no more power to resist than a rabbit facing a stoat. And she has given him this son.”
“I hear that she no longer pleases him.”
The Queen shrugged her shoulders. “He has taken the boy away to be brought up.”
“In seclusion, Your Grace,” said Maria quickly. “But royally. If another woman should give him a son…”
Maria knew that the Queen was thinking of that catastrophe which she feared so much that she would not even speak of it. It was summed up in one dangerous word which was whispered throughout the Court: Divorce.
Impossible! Maria assured herself. Even Henry would never dare. How could he when the nephew of the Queen was not only King of Spain but Emperor of Austria, the greatest monarch of them all. No, it was all so much talk. Had the Queen been some humble princess, there might have been cause for fear; but the aunt of the Emperor was surely safe from all such indignities.
The Queen went on: “There is this new girl.”
Maria waited.
“She was in France; he found her during that extravagant frolic. She is of a bad reputation and is known in the court of France as a wanton. I cannot understand him. But I have decided to send for the girl.”
Maria trembled. She wanted to say: Oh…no…no. It is folly. Let the King have his women, and look the other way.
“She is the daughter of Thomas Boleyn. I believe he has two girls and a boy. The other girl is in France now and much younger, and is said to be more intelligent than her sister. It is to be hoped this is so. But I shall have something to say to this Boleyn girl.”
“And His Grace…”
“His Grace was amused by her wantonness…as it appears many have been before.”
“Your Grace, this affair has gone…”
“As far as it is possible to go. It would not surprise me if Mary Boleyn is not already with child…perhaps twins. Boys, I’ll dare swear.”
It was unlike the Queen to show such feeling, and Maria trembled afresh. Characteristically the Queen noticed the expression in Maria’s face and was sobered by it—not because she feared for herself, but because she had troubled her friend.
“Have no fear, Maria,” she said. “I shall dismiss this girl from the Court. I shall know how to deal with such a one. The King has amused himself with her, but she is no Elizabeth Blount. He will do nothing to detain her at Court. He will merely look about him and…find another.”
“But if he will find another…”
“I understand your meaning, Maria. Why dismiss this girl? Simply because her reputation is so light. No, if the King must have a mistress it should be one who has not shared the beds of quite so many. I hear that she even included the King of France among her lovers, briefly, oh very briefly. Elizabeth Blount at least behaved decorously and she was connected with the Mountjoys. These Boleyns, I have heard, have descended from trade.”
“Is that so, Your Grace? When one considers Thomas Boleyn that is surprising.”
“Thomas Boleyn gives himself airs, indeed. A very ambitious man, Maria. I wonder he does not take this girl of his and put her into a convent. But I do assure you that I have not been misinformed as to his origins, for when I heard of the King’s…connection…with this girl I had enquiries made. One Geoffrey Boleyn was apprentice to a mercer in London…oh, it is a long time ago, I grant you, and he became rich; but he was a tradesman, no more, no less. Becoming Lord Mayor of London and buying Blickling Hall from Sir John Falstaff, and Hever Castle from the Cobbhams, does not alter that. So this family rose through trade and advantageous marriages. They are connected with the Ormonds, and Thomas’s wife is Norfolk’s daughter. But this girl…this Mary…is doubtless a throw-back to the days of trade.”
How bitter she is, thought Maria; and how unlike herself. My poor Queen Katharine, are you becoming a frightened woman?
“It is a deplorable state of affairs when such people are allowed to come to Court,” went on Katharine.
There was a brief silence and Maria took advantage of it to say that she had heard the Emperor might again visit England and how she hoped this was true.
“I hope so too,” said Katharine. “I think the King has changed the opinion he once held of my nephew.”
“All who saw him on his visit to England were impressed by his serious ways and his fondness for Your Grace.”
Katharine smiled tenderly. “I could not look on him without sadness, although it gave me so much pleasure to see him. He is indeed worthy of his destiny, but I could not help thinking of my sister.”
Maria winced and wished she had not turned the conversation in this direction. There was so much tragedy in the life of the Queen that it seemed impossible to avoid it. Now in reviving her memories of her nephew’s visit she had reminded her of her poor sister Juana, Charles’s mother, who was insane and living out her sad life in the castle of Tordesillas and who would have been the ruler of Spain had she not lost her reason.
“Poor Juana,” went on Katharine, “she was always wild, but we never thought it would come to this. There are times when I can feel almost happy because my mother is dead. I always thought that the deaths of my brother and eldest sister shocked her so deeply that she went earlier to her tomb than she would otherwise have done. But if she were alive now, if she could see her daughters—one mad, the other tormented…”
Maria interrupted, forgetting that it was a breach of etiquette to do so. “Your Grace’s troubles will be over one day. You have a healthy daughter; there will surely one day be a son.”
And so they had arrived back at the matter of the moment; this was the subject which occupied the minds of all at Court. A son. Will there be a son born to the King and Queen? There must be…for, if there is not, the position of Queen Katharine in England will be uncertain.
The Queen had turned back to the window.
“They are coming now,” she said, and picked up her tapestry.
The two women worked in silence for some moments while the sounds from without increased. Those of voices accompanied by laughter floated up to them, but they kept their eyes on the tapestry.
The King’s voice was immediately recognizable; loud and resonant, it was that of a man who knew he only has to speak to achieve the result he wished. If he wanted laughter his courtiers gave it in full measure, with the required implication that his jokes were more witty than any other’s; his frown was also more terrifying.