by Jean Plaidy
As he took Katharine’s hand and kissed it, another cheer went up.
He looked into her face and his eyes were glazed with tenderness and the pleasure he felt in scenes such as this.
“Farewell, my Kate. I will return with rich conquests. Guard yourself well…and that other.”
“I will, my King,” she answered.
A last embrace, and to the fanfares of trumpets he went abroad.
Katharine stood, with those who were remaining behind, on Dover strand, watching the glittering fleet as it set sail for France.
She was praying for Henry’s safety, for divine guidance that she might carry out her duties in a manner worthy of the daughter of Isabella of Castile.
She determined to surprise the King with her ability to govern; she was going to show him that if at one time she had sought to win advantages for Spain, she no longer did so; for there was only one country which she now called her own; and that was England.
Yet the real reason for her exultation lay within her own body. The child! This child must come forth from her womb, strong and healthy; and when he did come he must not be allowed to die.
There must not be another disaster. If such a calamity should befall her, all the affection of the last weeks, all the love and devotion which the King had sworn he bore her, would be as lightly swept away as the gaudy paper decorations after a masque.
Henry at War
BY THE TIME THE KING’S FLEET HAD REACHED CALAIS THE rain had begun to fall. This was disappointing as the cloth of gold and rich brocade trappings lost some of their dazzle in the downpour.
Henry was cheerful, however, determined to show his men that he was ready for any adversity, so certain of success that he was not going to be downcast by a little rain.
Then tents were set up; the army encamped; and on that first night, the King, his garments soaked, made the rounds of the camp like a practiced commander. He laughed at the rain and he made his men do the same.
“We are not the men to let a wetting disturb our spirits. We’ll snap our fingers at the weather as we will at that old rogue, the King of France.”
The men were cheered by the sight of him—pink cheeked, ruddy haired and full of health and high spirits.
Nor was the end of his endeavors for when he returned to his tent he did not take off his clothes.
“If this rain continues to fall,” he told his companions, “the Watch will be in poor spirits as the night progresses. I have heard how Henry V before Agincourt went among his men to comfort them. I will show my soldiers that they have as good a leader in me as the victors of Agincourt had in that other Henry.”
It was three o’clock when the King, still in his damp clothes, made the rounds of the camp.
He found the Watch disconsolate. In the darkness they did not recognize the figure on horseback immediately and Henry heard them, cursing the weather and talking of the warm beds in England which might have been theirs.
“Ay,” said the King, “warm English beds sound even more inviting than they are in reality—when remembered under the rain of other lands.”
“Your Grace!”
“Have no fear,” said Henry. “I myself was thinking of my own bed and the comforts and pleasures I might have been enjoying there. We are of a kind, my friends. Men, all of us. It is understandable that our thoughts turn to the comforts of home. But be of good cheer. You see, I, like you, am damp from the rain. I suffer all that you suffer. That is how I would have it. My men and their King are together in this war. He never forgets it; nor should you; and if we have been made to suffer in the beginning, fortune promises us better things, God willing.”
“Amen,” murmured the men. And then: “God bless Your Grace!” Smiling, Henry rode back to his own tent. He was not displeased with the rain which had enabled him to show his men that he was with them to take part in their misfortunes and give them a share in his triumphs.
IN THE MORNING the rain was over and the sun shone brilliantly. The King was in high spirits and he told himself that he could not leave his good people of Calais before he had made them gay with certain masques and joustings, so that they might see something of the skill which their King and his men would display in battle.
So there in Calais there was jousting and tilting; and the King won the admiration of all by his skill with the bow.
Henry, however, was impatient to be done with mock battles and begin the real fighting, but it was necessary to await the arrival of his ally against the French, the Emperor Maximilian.
There was much talk of Maximilian who was known as one of the greatest soldiers of Europe. Henry was delighted to have him as a friend in this struggle against the French. With the help of Maximilian he could afford to snap his fingers at the other dubious ally, Ferdinand.
It was while he was showing his skill at archery that a message came to him from Maximilian.
He discarded his bow and read it immediately.
The Emperor believed that the first steps in the conquest of France should be the taking of those two towns, Thérouanne and Tournai. Once these were in the hands of the allies, Maximilian pointed out, there would be no difficulty in pouring men in from Flanders. He wanted the King of England to know that he merely proffered the advice of an old campaigner and he was the happiest general in Europe to serve under the banner of the King of England.
Henry, whose plans had been not to go so far from the main object—Paris—as towns on the Flemish border, was so charmed by the Emperor’s last words that he succumbed immediately to his suggestions and set out for Thérouanne.
THE EMPEROR MAXIMILIAN—that hardened old campaigner—had been in communication with Ferdinand concerning the aspirations of the King of England.
“This young colt will become a menace to all if he is not curbed,” wrote Maximilian. “I am mindful of his recent expedition as your ally. He has a conceit which makes it unnecessary to deceive him because he so obligingly is ever ready to deceive himself.”
The Emperor had no great desire to make war on the King of France, but rather to make an alliance with him as Ferdinand had done; he was, as was Ferdinand, in secret negotiations with Louis.
The three great European rulers—Louis, Ferdinand and the Emperor—did not take very seriously the cavortings of the young King of England, who had too much money to squander; but they were all ready to make use of him, and Maximilian had offered a bargain which was irresistible. His treasury was empty and he desperately needed to fill it; therefore he was eager to come to terms with the English King. He would place at Henry’s service the cavalry of Burgundy and as many German Lanzknechts as he wanted. It would be necessary of course for Henry to pay for the hire of these men, because, while the Emperor had the men, he had not the means to keep them on the battlefield.
As for the Emperor himself, he would place himself under the command of Henry. “I shall be honored to serve under such a banner….” were words calculated to bring such satisfaction to the King of England that he would leap at the bargain without considering the cost. Such a general as the Emperor Maximilian must be paid for, and the King of England must understand that his personal expenses would be considerable. But all he would ask was a hundred crowns a day; and the King would naturally be expected to shoulder the expenses of the Emperor’s household guards.
“We are invincible,” Henry had cried, “now we have one of the greatest soldiers in Europe fighting under our banner.”
The three experienced old warriors now prepared to watch the antics of the young cockerel who believed that war was a superior—though more expensive—kind of masque.
Cynically Ferdinand waited. Louis was preparing to make peace with Maximilian and Ferdinand. Maximilian was telling himself that the conquest of Thérouanne and Tournai were all he needed, and he saw no reason why Henry should not pay him for winning them for himself.
Louis had given his instructions that his soldiers were to avoid battle with the English. They were merely to harry t
hem and make their stay in France mildly uncomfortable.
Dorset’s campaign was remembered; so nobody took the English seriously…except themselves.
WHAT A GLORIOUS MOMENT when the Emperor, simply dressed in black—because he was mourning the death of his second wife—rode into the camp to pay homage to the dazzling young King.
Henry embraced the Emperor and would not let him kneel; but the glitter of triumph was in his eyes for all to see.
Maximilian, who cared not at all for cloth of gold but only for making his Empire great, was quite ready to kneel if by so doing he could deceive this young man.
There were tears in Henry’s eyes. “This is the greatest moment of my life,” he declared, “to fight side by side with your Imperial Highness.”
“Who is happy at this time to be your general,” answered the Emperor glibly.
“The capture of these towns should be an easy matter,” Henry told him. “And then…to Paris!”
“My daughter Margaret has written to me urging me to insist on your visiting her before you leave this land. She has heard of your fame and says that she will hold it hard against me if I allow you to depart without being her guest for a while.”
Henry smiled. He had heard that Margaret of Savoy was not uncomely, and the thought of shining in feminine company was very attractive.
“I desire to see the lady as much as she does to see me,” he declared.
“Then we must insist on that visit. My grandson has also heard of you. Charles—as you know he is being brought up by his aunt, my daughter Margaret—has said he wishes to see the King of England because he has heard that he is a young King possessed of all the virtues; and as he himself will be a ruler over great dominions he feels that to study the grace and prowess of great Harry of England would be a lesson to him.”
“I have heard excellent reports of that boy.”
“Ay, he’ll make a good King. He’s a serious young fellow.”
“I can scarce wait to see him…and his aunt. But first there is a war to be won.”
The Emperor agreed, and turned the conversation to plans for the first battle.
THE BATTLE WAS of short duration. The French, who had not taken their enemy seriously and had been ordered by Louis not to join in a pitched battle, put into effect a mock retreat before Thérouanne; but the English were very serious; and for that matter, so was Maximilian, as this town, with Tournai, was at a strategic point on the border of the Netherlands, and Maximilian’s object in joining this campaign was to win them.
The mock retreat soon became a retreat in real earnest; the small French forces were put to flight; and because they had been instructed not to fight, they were overcome by panic when they saw the weight of English and German forces; they galloped from the battlefield with the cavalry of the enemy in hot pursuit.
Henry was exultant; he had taken as prisoner the famous Chevalier Bayard, that knight who was known to be sans peur et sans reproche, and he felt that he was indeed making up for the disgrace which Dorset’s army had brought upon his country.
The battle was derisively called by the French: The Battle of the Spurs; and shortly afterwards, with the Emperor beside him, Henry had taken Tournai.
When these two towns, the taking of which had been his reason for entering the war, were in his hands, Maximilian had had enough of war. Not so Henry.
He burst into Maximilian’s tent and cried: “Now the way is clear. Now it is for us to go straight through to Paris to complete the victory.”
Maximilian was thinking quickly. The date was August 22nd. It was hot but the summer was almost at its end and in a few weeks the rains would start. Henry could have no notion what the Flanders mud could be like.
The idea of marching on Paris, even if it was possible to defeat Louis, would only mean, if they were successful, that this conceited young man would become more overbearing than ever. The English were becoming too powerful already, and Maximilian had no intention of helping them at the expense of Louis, who was already preparing to make a treaty with him as he was with Ferdinand.
He must be kept in Flanders until the winter set in; then he would have to return to England, for he could not stay where he was through the winter. He could spend the winter in England preparing for a fresh onslaught next spring if he liked; that was of little concern to Maximilian since he had achieved what he wanted: These two towns which jutted into the Hapsburg dominions and which were therefore a menace to Netherlands trade.
“Have I your permission to speak frankly to Your Grace?” he asked.
Henry was always so delighted when the Emperor addressed him in humble fashion that he was ready to give what was asked even before the request was made.
“You have indeed.”
“I am an old man. I have fought many battles. If we marched on Paris now, we could be defeated.”
“Defeated! Standing together as we do. Impossible!”
“Nay, Your Grace, if you will forgive my contradiction. Louis has not put all his forces into the field for the protection of these two insignificant towns. He would fight to the death for Paris. Our men need rest, and a little gaiety. It is always wise in war to consolidate one’s gains before one passes on to fresh conquests. I am under your command but it is my duty to give you the benefit of my experience. My daughter Margaret is impatient to see you. She is eager that the proposed marriage between Charles and your sister Mary may be discussed more fully. We have won these towns from the French. Let us fortify them and then go to my daughter’s court. There she will entertain you right royally…the King of England, conqueror of Thérouanne and Tournai.”
Henry wavered. He longed for conquest, yet the thought of being entertained and flattered by Margaret was growing more and more inviting.
WHEN MAXIMILIAN had left him Henry sent for Thomas Wolsey.
He looked affectionately at the almoner, of whose worth he had become daily more and more aware. When he needed anything, it was Thomas Wolsey who always seemed to be at his side to supply it. The Emperor had congratulated him on the excellence of his equipment. All this he owed to Wolsey.
He had even come to the point when he spoke to him of matters far beyond the man’s duty; and, moreover, listened to his advice which had always seemed to him sound.
When Wolsey came to the King he saw at once the indecision in the King’s eyes and he was alert. It was his policy to give the King the advice he hoped for and then allowed him to think that he had taken his, Wolsey’s.
The King put his arm through that of Wolsey and proceeded to walk with him about the tent…a habit of Henry’s when he was deep in thought and with one whom he wished to favor.
“Friend Thomas,” he said, “we have won a victory. These two towns are in our hands. The Emperor is of the opinion that this victory should be consolidated and that we should now proceed to his daughter’s court at Lille, there to rest awhile. Now you are in charge of our supplies. Is it your opinion that we need this time to make ready for further attacks?”
Wolsey hesitated. He could see that the King was torn between two desires and he was not certain which course the King had made up his mind to follow. Wolsey must be on the right side.
“Your Grace is tireless,” he said. “I know full well that it would be no hardship for you to continue in fierce battle.” He paused significantly. Then went on: “For others, who lack Your Grace’s powers…”
“Ah!” said the King, and it was almost a sigh of relief. “Yes, I owe something to my men, Thomas. I need them beside me when I ride into battle.”
Wolsey went on triumphantly now that he had received his cue. The King wished to go to the court of the Duchess of Savoy, but it must be a matter of duty not of pleasure.
“Therefore, Sire,” Wolsey continued, “I would say, since you command me to give you my humble advice, that for the sake of others—though not your august self—it would be desirable to rest awhile before continuing the fight.”
Wolsey’s arm was pre
ssed; the King was smiling.
“I must perforce think of those others, Thomas. Much as it irks me to leave the field at this stage…I must think of them.”
“Your Grace is ever thoughtful of his subjects. They know this, and they will serve you with even greater zeal remembering Your Grace’s clemency towards them.”
The King sighed deeply but his eyes were glittering with delight.
“Then, my friend, what must be, must be. We shall be leaving ere long for Lille.”
Wolsey felt gratified; he had once more gracefully leaped what might have been a difficult hurdle.
The King was also gratified, for he went on: “The bishopric of Tournai was fallen vacant, I hear. Louis has put forward a new Bishop. I venture to think, now that Tournai is no longer in French hands, it is not for Louis to appoint its Bishop and my nomination will more readily receive the blessings of His Holiness.”
“Sire!” Wolsey’s gratitude shone from his eyes as he knelt and kissed his sovereign’s hand.
Henry beamed on him. “It is ever our wish,” he said, “to reward a good servant.”
Bishop of Tournai! pondered Wolsey. A further step along the road.
Bishop! he thought, and he kept his head lowered over Henry’s hand lest his eyes should betray the ambition which he felt was so strong that it must be obvious.
Bishop! Cardinal? And then: Pope himself!
The Flowers of the Forest
AT HOME IN ENGLAND KATHARINE TOOK HER responsibilities very seriously. She was eager that when he returned Henry should be satisfied with the manner in which she had governed the realm during his absence. She attended meetings of her Council and impressed them with her good sense; she spent any time she could spare from these duties with her ladies who were busily working, stitching standards, banners and badges. She prayed each day for the strength to do her duty and that the child she carried would not suffer because of her activities.
She felt well and full of confidence. The news from France was good. Henry was in high spirits; she had heard of the successful conclusion of the Battle of the Spurs; and she wondered now and then whether Henry was learning soldiers’ habits, for she knew that there would be women to haunt the camp. Would he remain faithful? She must remember how stoically her own mother had accepted Ferdinand’s infidelities; and Isabella had been a Queen in her own right. Ferdinand had ruled Castile as her consort, and Isabella never forgot that; and yet she meekly accepted his unfaithfulness as something which women, whose husbands are forced to spend long periods from their marriage beds, must regard as inevitable.