Seymour reflected that it must be thirty years since Buckingham went to the block. Now the King remembered. Was his conscience, so long subdued concerning Buckingham, now rousing itself uneasily? The case of Buckingham had been similar to that of Surrey; both had been noble lords obsessed by their nobility.
The King was muttering again. He had returned to the present. “Seymour…are you there? Thomas…my friend…you spoke of Surrey. He has gone, has he? What was his crime?”
“He would have made his sister your mistress, Your Grace. Your Grace was enraged at such a suggestion.”
A leer, which made the bloated face more horrible, now curled the King’s lips. “Howard’s girl…a comely wench… and saucy…”
Seymour felt nauseated. He turned from the King, thinking with amazement: On his dying bed he contemplates his bedtime pleasures! And Kate… my poor Kate… she was married to this man; and this is the monster who planned to send her the way he has sent others; who was planning, if rumor be correct, but a few weeks since.
“Thomas …” cried the King suddenly. “There are men in our chamber. Our enemies whisper and conspire against us.”
“Nay, Sire. They are but your Councillors. They come to inquire of your health.”
“Is Norfolk there?”
“Nay, Your Grace, Norfolk lies in the Tower, awaiting your signature to his death warrant.”
“We’ll give it. We’ll give it. To the block with these Howards… father and son.”
“Your Majesty must preserve his strength.”
“There’s strength enough… I’ll sign it. Surrey…a foolish boy. A comely wench, thy sister, Surrey. A drink…a drink…my throat is scorched by fires. Douse them, Seymour. Douse them, my friend. What whispering goes on about me? Come forth! Come forth! Ah, I see you there, you rogue. What news, eh? Why do you look so smug? Am I going to die? Is that what you would tell me? Come…. You there, Denny. What news? What news, I say?”
Denny, braver than the rest and certain now that the King was dying, decided to tell him the truth.
“My lord King, all human aid is vain, your doctors fear. It is therefore meet for Your Majesty to review your past life and seek God’s mercy through Christ.”
There was a second of terrible silence while understanding showed itself on the King’s distorted face. But he was quick to recover his calm, to banish the terror which had laid hold on him. He said sternly: “Tell me, Denny, by what authority you come to pass sentence on me. What judge has sent you here?”
“Your doctors, Sire. I will send them to you. They await an audience.”
The King closed his eyes wearily, but when a few seconds later the doctors approached the bed with medicines for him, he opened his eyes and glared at them with the old ferocity. “What’s this?” he demanded. “You have passed sentence on me, you judges; and when a judge has passed his sentence on a criminal, he has no longer need to trouble him. Begone! Begone, I say!” As they continued to stand there watching him, he shouted: “Begone! Begone!”
The doctors bowed and turned away.
“Your presence can do no good here,” said Wriothesley.
When they had gone, the Chancellor approached the bed.
“Your Majesty, would you wish to see some of your divines?”
“Eh?” said the King. “What’s that? Ah…so it has come to that. Divines! Nay! I’ll see none but Cranmer… and him not yet.”
Wriothesley turned to one of the gentlemen. “Go you to Cranmer. He is at Croydon. Go with all speed. Tell him the King desires his presence at White Hall without delay.”
“Your Majesty,” he went on, “Cranmer will come.”
“I’ll have him when I am ready… and not before. Begone! Begone, I said. Leave me….”
His eyes glared at them, although, to him they were like shadows at his bedside. They moved away to a far corner of the chamber, and after a while the King closed his eyes and began to speak again.
“Begone…. Begone… I’ll have none of ye.” He moaned and cried out suddenly in a startled voice: “Anne! Anne! You’re there, you witch. I see you.” He spoke 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.