One afternoon a week hence, Kate returned from dining in his apartments and drew her ladies together.
“The king has extended his hand to me in marriage. He has given me some time to think upon the matter, though he made no secret of what his earnest desire would be.”
I looked at Dorothy and she looked back at me—we were both horrified. His earnest desire! Enforced with the point of a sword? Mayhap not, but the king was hard to resist; none had ever done so that I could tell. Many former queens had sought his favor but, once they’d captured it, rather found that it was like taming a tiger. Kate had neither sought nor wanted his attentions, I knew.
I gave Dorothy a meaningful look, and though we both held our tongues and kept our peace, I knew we’d discuss this in detail later in our chamber. I determined, if I could, to speak of my fears to my lady, to reassure myself, if not to inform her of anything new.
Some of Kate’s greater ladies gathered round her to offer solemn congratulations, but shortly thereafter Sir Thomas Seymour and many of his household, though not Jamie, arrived to play cards. Kate dismissed most of her household, but Lady Margaret Neville and I remained to assist in putting away the cards and dice that would no longer be needed. She then drew Sir Thomas aside.
Dorothy looked at Sir Thomas and Kate, and then me, with a knowing glance before she took her leave. While I was glad to have been chosen to help Lady Margaret Neville, I grew irritated at Dorothy. She is jealous, I told myself. I had to wonder why the questioning of Sir Thomas made me behave with uncharacteristic rashness. And why did Dorothy insist on so easily questioning Sir Thomas when she knew him to be my patron and my father’s friend?
Kate and Sir Thomas spoke softly by the fire and we took care not to draw too close, but I was young and my hearing was sharp. I knew Margaret Neville’s was too.
“I will have none but you, Kate,” he said.
“I wish none but you, Tom,” she said. “It is my fondest wish and desire to marry you. But it cannot be.”
“It need not remain so, but can indeed become a fact.” Seymour took her hand in his and slowly kissed each fingertip and then the inside of her palm. I turned away from the intimacy of it and withdrew to her dressing chamber with Margaret Neville. I wondered what Lady Margaret Neville thought of this, only months after her own father’s death. But she had always remained resolutely loyal to Kate.
When we returned to the room, Seymour was about to take his leave. As he did, the king appeared with his men at the door to Kate’s chambers.
“Tom,” the king said, a look of surprise upon his face. Lady Margaret, Kate’s ladies, and I attempted to make it clear that Kate had not been in the room alone.
“Your Majesty,” Sir Thomas said with a deep bow from the waist. He withdrew and the king took Kate’s hand in his own, although he still looked faintly bewildered.
“We bring glad tidings,” he said. “In addition to those I have already imparted earlier.” His eyes gleamed at the apparent memory of his proposal of marriage.
Kate welcomed the king into her receiving chamber. We withdrew to a suitable distance.
“We have decided to raise your beloved brother William to Knight of the Garter,” he said. “And thereupon make him lord warden and keeper of the Western March. With all its attendant responsibilities and privileges, incomes, and rooms at court.”
Margaret and I looked at one another wide eyed.
“Thank you, Majesty,” Kate said in her sweet, moderated voice.
“But that is not all,” the king continued. “We have also decided to dispense various favors and privileges upon your sister’s husband, Lord Herbert. In Wales.”
“You are too kind, sire,” Kate said. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“We shall take our leave,” he said. “We know you have much to think upon and shall need quiet. But we shall not stop thinking upon you in your absence,” he said, his voice filled with affection. “And shall pray for Godspeed in your decision.”
Kate spent some time conferring with her brother and sister over the matter of the king’s proposal, and I was sure that they knew of her affections for Sir Thomas. In spite of her misgivings, Kate’s siblings were strongly in favor of the king’s suit and spent the week encouraging her in that direction. In case she wanted of a push, the king sent that promised girdle of gold and rubies, which she immediately fastened about her waist. He knew she loved rubies above all other gems.
One morning in early May we gathered in Kate’s chambers, and after some stitching and gossip Kate indicated that she wanted us to read for a while. Her friends were women with preferences similar to her own: reading, debate, reformed religious discussion. It was not that we didn’t enjoy dancing and music, gowns and jewelry, and discussing men; we did that too. Excepting perhaps the Countess of Sussex, who rarely made small talk. I could think of no one who liked her husband the earl. He had a back as firm as a thin leather lash and a tongue to match it; though she were sharply spoken sometimes as well, her back was of oak. ’Twas hard to believe she was but a few years older than Kate.
“Shall you read to us this morning, Juliana?” Kate asked. Dorothy had read, beautifully, the morning before, so it was not unexpected that it might be my turn. I chose Tyndale’s translation of holy writ, as I had been spending time reading it in my own chamber and felt most confident with and affectionate toward the material. I opened to a passage in the Epistle of Saint Paul unto the Galatians, and began reading in the sixth chapter. I had just finished the section which ended with, “Let us not be weary of welldoing. For when the time is come, we shall reap without weariness. While we have therefore time, let us do good unto all men, and specially unto them which are of the household of faith.”
At that moment, the Countess of Sussex entered the room with Lady Tyrwhitt, Tristram’s aunt and Kate’s dear friend. Kate indicated for me to stop reading.
Lady Tyrwhitt began. “Parliament has just passed a law barring Tyndale’s translation as a ‘crafty, false, and untrue translation.’ It also forbids nearly all religious commentary, and indeed, practically every book published with the exception of a very few approved by His Majesty.”
The countess snorted. “His Majesty’s Great Bible is so alike Tyndale’s ‘crafty, false, and untrue’ one as to be cut of the same cloth.”
Lady Tyrwhitt continued. “All lower classes and servants are forbidden from reading holy writ either publicly or privately. And whilst highborn women are allowed to read the king’s Great Bible privately to themselves, they are not allowed to read it to their ladies or servants. Only licensed men may read it aloud or publicly.”
All expected me, I knew, to close Tyndale’s “crafty” and now forbidden translation and for a moment I felt the weight of the king’s new law. Then Matthias’s father’s smug face leered at me from a memory, and my father risking himself to transport it responded in my mind, so I pressed on, courageously and not foolishly, I hoped, nervously turning back a few pages before reading out in a strong voice.
“‘Now is there no Jew neither gentile: there is neither bond nor free: there is neither man nor woman: but ye are all one thing in Christ Jesus.”
I closed the book with a flourish. Holy writ itself contradicted the king’s new decree. The room remained still. For a moment, I repented of the choice. Had I gone too far? Misjudged the tone of the room? I held my face steady and prayed that I had not overstepped.