The Fifth Queen Series

by Ford Madox Ford

  Gardiner swallowed in his throat, winked his eyes, and muttered:

  ‘Why, so you do what we will, it matters little in what spirit you shall do it.’

  ‘So you and my uncle and Throckmorton keep your feet from my paths, you may have my leavings,’ she said. ‘And they will be the larger part, since I ask little for myself.’

  He gave her his episcopal blessing as she followed the Lady Mary to her rooms.

  Her mind was made up—and she knew that it had been made up hastily, but she was never one to give much time to doubting. She wished these men to leave her out of their plots—but four men are stronger than one woman. Yet, as her philosophy had it, you may make a woman your tool, but she will bend in your hand and strike where she will, for all that. Therefore she must plot, but not with them.

  As soon as she could she found the Lady Mary alone, and, setting her valour up against the other’s dark and rigid figure, she spoke rapidly:

  She would have her lady write to her friends across the sea that, if Cromwell were ever to fall, they must now stay their hands against the King: they must diminish their bands, discontinue their fortifyings and feign even to quarrel amongst themselves. Otherwise the King must rest firm in his alliance with Cleves, to counterbalance them.

  The Lady Mary raised her eyebrows with a show of insolent astonishment that was for all the world like the King’s.

  ‘You affect my father!’ she said. ‘Is it not a dainty plan?’

  Katharine brushed past her words with:

  ‘It matters little who affects what thing. The main is that Privy Seal must be cast down.’

  ‘Carthage must be destroyed, O Cato,’ the Lady Mary sneered. ‘Ye are peremptory.’

  ‘I am as God made me,’ Katharine answered. ‘I am for God’s Church.…’ She had a sharp spasm of impatience. ‘Here is a thing to do, and the one and the other snarl like dogs, each for his separate ends.’

  ‘Oh, la, la,’ the Lady Mary laughed.

  ‘A Howard is as good as any man,’ Katharine said. Her ingenuous face flushed, and she moved her hand to her throat. ‘God help me: it is true that I swore to be your woman. But it is the true province of your woman to lead you to work for justice and the truth.’

  A black malignancy settled upon the face of the princess.

  ‘I have been called bastard,’ she said. ‘My mother was done to death.’

  ‘No true man believes you misbegotten,’ Katharine answered hotly.

  ‘Well, it is proclaimed treason, to speak thus,’ the Lady Mary sneered.

  ‘Neither can you give your sainted mother her life again.’ Katharine ignored her words. ‘But these actions were not your father’s. It was an ill man forced him to them. The saints be good to you; is it not time to forgive a sad man that would make amends? I would have you to write this letter.’

  The Lady Mary’s lips moved into the curves of a tormenting smile.

  ‘You plead your lover’s cause main well,’ she uttered.

  Katharine had another motion of impatience.

  ‘Your cause I plead main better,’ she said. ‘It is certain that, this man once down, your bastardy should be reversed.’

  ‘I do not ask it,’ the Lady Mary said.

  ‘But I ask that you give us peace here, so that the King may make amends to many that he hath sorely wronged. Do you not see that the King inclineth to the Church of God? Do you not see.…’

  ‘I see very plainly that I needs must thank you for better housing,’ Mary answered. ‘It is certain that my father had never brought me from that well at Isleworth, had it not been that he desireth converse with thee at his ease.’

  Katharine’s lips parted with a hot anger, but before she could speak the bitter girl said calmly:

  ‘Oh, I have not said thou art his leman. I know my father. His blood is not hot—but his ears crave tickling. Tickle them whilst thou mayest. Have I stayed thee? Have I sent thee from my room when he did come?’

  Katharine cast back the purple hood from over her forehead, she brushed her hand across her brow, and made herself calm.

  ‘This is a trifling folly,’ she said. ‘In two words: will your Highness write me this letter?’

  ‘Then, in four words,’ Mary answered, ‘my Highness cares not.’

  The mobile brows above Katharine’s blue eyes made a hard straight line.

  ‘An you will not,’ she brought out, ‘I will leave your Highness’ service. I will get me away to Calais, where my father is.’

  ‘Why, you will never do that,’ the Lady Mary said; ‘you have tasted blood here.’

  Katharine hung her head and meditated for a space.

  ‘No, before God,’ she said earnestly, ‘I think you judge me wrong. I think I am not as you think me. I think that I do seek no ends of my own.’

  The Lady Mary raised her eyebrows and snickered ironically.

  ‘But of this I am very certain,’ Katharine said. She spoke more earnestly, seeming to plead: ‘If I thought that I were grown a self-seeker, by Mars who changed Alectryon to a cock, and by Pallas Athene who changed Arachne to a spider—if I were so changed, I would get me gone from this place. But here is a thing that I may do. If you will aid me to do it I will stay. If you will not I will get me gone.’

  ‘Good wench,’ Mary answered, ‘let us say for the sake of peace that thou art honest.… Yet I have sworn by other gods than thine that never will I do aught that shall be of aid, comfort or succour to my father’s cause.’

  ‘Take back your oaths!’ Katharine cried.

  ‘For thee!’ Mary said. ‘Wench, thou hast brought me food: thou hast served me in the matter of letters. I might only with great trouble get another so to serve me. But, by Mars and Pallas and all the constellation of the deities, thou mightest get thee to Hell’s flames or ever I would take back an oath.’

  ‘Oh, madness,’ Katharine cried out. ‘Oh, mad frenzy of one whom the gods would destroy.’ Three times before she had reined in her anger: now she stretched out her hands with her habitual gesture of pitiful despair. Her eyes looked straight before her, and, as she inclined her knees, the folds of her grey dress bent round her on the floor.

  ‘Here I have pleaded with you, and you have gibed me with the love of the King. Here I have been earnest with you, and you have mocked. God help me!’ she sobbed, with a catch in her throat. ‘Here is rest, peace and the blessing of God offered to this land. Here is a province that is offered back to the Mother of God and the dear hosts of heaven. Here might we bring an erring King back to the right way, a sinful man back unto his God. But you, for a parcel of wrongs of your own.…’

  ‘Now hold thy peace,’ Mary said, between anger and irony. ‘Here is a matter of a farthing or two. Be the letter written, and kiss upon it.’

  Katharine stayed herself in the tremor of her emotions, and the Lady Mary said drily:

  ‘Be the letter written. But thou shalt write it. I have sworn that I will do nothing to give this King ease.’

  ‘But my writing …’ Katharine began.

  ‘Thou shalt write,’ Mary interrupted her harshly. ‘If thou wilt have this King at peace for a space that Cromwell may fall, why I am at one with thee. For this King is such a palterer that without this knave at his back I might have had him down ten years ago. Therefore, thou shalt write, and I will countersign the words.’

  ‘That were to write thyself,’ Katharine said.

  ‘Good wench,’ the Lady Mary said. ‘I am thy slave: but take what thou canst get.’

  Towards six of the next day young Poins clambered in at Katharine Howard’s window and stood, pale, dripping with rain and his teeth chattering, between Cicely Elliott and her old knight.

  ‘The letter,’ he said. ‘They have taken thy letter. My advancement is at an end!’ And he fell upon the floor.

  Going jauntily along the Hampton Street, he had been filled, that afternoon, with visions of advancement. Drifts of rain hid the osiers across the river and made the mud ooze in over
the laces of his shoes. The tall white and black house, where the Emperor’s ambassador had his lodgings, leaned in all its newness over the path, and the water from its gutters fell right into the river, making a bridge above a passer’s head. The little cookshop, with its feet, as it were, in the water, made a small hut nestling down beneath the shadow of the great house. It was much used by Chapuys’ grooms, trencher boys and javelin men, because the cook was a Fleming, and had a comfortable hand in stewing eels.

  Ned Poins must pass the ambassador’s house in his walk, but in under the dark archway there stood four men sheltering, in grey cloaks that reached to their feet. Stepping gingerly on the brick causeway that led down to the barge-steps, they came and stood before the young man, three being in a line together and one a little to the side. He hardly looked at them because he was thinking: ‘This afternoon I will say to my sister Margot: “Fifteen letters I have carried for thy great persons. I have carried them with secrecy and speed. Now, by Cock, I will be advanced to ancient.” ’ He had imagined his sister pleading with him to be patient, and himself stamping with his foot and swearing that he would be advanced instantly.

  The solitary one of the four men barred his way, and said:

  ‘No further! You go back with us!’

  Poins swung his cape back and touched his sword-hilt.

  ‘You will have your neck stretched if you stay me,’ he said.

  The other loosened his cloak which had covered him up to the nose. He showed a mocking mouth, a long red beard that blew aside in a wild gust of the weather, and displayed on his breast the lion badge of the Lord Privy Seal.

  ‘An you will not come you shall be carried!’ he said.

  ‘Nick Throckmorton,’ Poins answered, ‘I will slit thy weazand! I am on a greater errand than thine.’

  It was strong in his mind that he was bearing a letter for the King’s Highness. The other three laid hands swiftly upon him, and a wet cloak flapped over his head. They had his elbows bound together behind his back before his eyes again had the river and the muddy path to look upon. Throckmorton grinned sardonically, and they forced him along in the mud. The rain fell down; his cloak was gone. And then a great dread entered into his simple mind. It kept running through his head:

  ‘I was carrying a letter for the King—I was carrying a letter for the King!’ but his addled brains would bear his thoughts no further until he was cast loose in the very room of Privy Seal himself. They had used him very roughly, and he staggered back against the wall, gasping for breath and weeping with rage and fear.

  Privy Seal stood before the fire; his eyes lifted a little but he said nothing at all. Throckmorton took a dagger from the chain round his neck, and cut the bag from the boy’s girdle. Still smiling sardonically, he placed it in Privy Seal’s fat hands.

  ‘Here is the great secret,’ he said. ‘I took it even in the gates of Chapuys.’

  Privy Seal started a little and cried, ‘Ah!’ The boy would have spoken, but he feared even to cry out; his eyes were starting from his head, and his breath came in great gusts that shook him. Privy Seal sat down in a large chair by the fire and considered for a moment. Then he slowly drew out the crumpled ball of paper. Here at last he held the Lady Mary utterly in his power; here at last, at the eleventh hour, he had a new opportunity to show to the King his vigilance, his power, and how necessary he was to the safety of the realm. He had been beginning to despair; Winchester was to confess the King that night. Now he held them.…

  ‘I have been diligent,’ Throckmorton said. ‘I had had the Lady Mary set in the room that has a spy-hole beside a rose in the ceiling. So I saw the writing of this letter.’

  Cromwell said, ‘Ah!’ He had pulled the paper apart, smoothed it across his knee, and looked at it attentively. Then he held it close to the fire, for no blank paper could trouble the Privy Seal. This was a child’s trick at best.

  In the warmth faint lines became visible on the paper; they darkened and darkened beneath his intent eyes. Behind his back Throckmorton, with his immense beard and sardonic eyes, rubbed his hands and smiled. Privy Seal’s fingers trembled, but he gave no further sign.

  Suddenly he cried, ‘What!’ and then, ‘Both women! both …’

  He fell back in the chair, and the sudden quaver of his face, the deep breath that he drew, showed his immense joy.

  ‘God of my heart! Both women!’ he said again.

  The rain hurled itself with a great rustling against the casement. Though it was so early, it was already nearly dark. Cromwell sat up suddenly and pointed at the boy.

  ‘Take that rat away!’ he said. ‘Set him in irons, and come back here.’

  Throckmorton caught the quivering boy by the ear and led him out at the door. He took him down a small stair that opened behind a curtain. At the stair-foot he pulled open a small, heavy door. He still held his dagger, and he cut the ropes that tied Poins’ elbows. With a sudden alacrity and a grin of malice he kicked him violently.

  ‘Get you gone to your mistress,’ he said.

  Poins stood for a moment, wavering on his feet. He slipped miserably in the mud of the park, and suddenly he ran. His grey, straining form disappeared round the end of the dark buildings, and then Throckmorton waved a hand at the grey sky and laughed noiselessly. Thomas Cromwell was making notes in his tablets when his spy re-entered the room, with the rain-drops glistening in his beard.

  ‘Here are some notes for you,’ Cromwell said. He rose to his feet with a swift and intense energy. ‘I have given you five farms. Now I go to the King.’

  Throckmorton spoke gently.

  ‘You are over-eager,’ he said. ‘It is early to go to the King’s Highness. We may find much more yet.’

  ‘It is already late,’ Cromwell said.

  ‘Sir,’ Throckmorton urged, ‘consider that the King is much affected to this lady. Consider that this letter contains nothing that is treasonable; rather it urges peace upon the King’s enemies.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Cromwell; ‘but it is written covertly to the King’s enemies.’

  ‘That, it is true, is a treason,’ Throckmorton said; ‘but it is very certain that the Lady Mary hath written letters very much more hateful. By questioning this boy that we have in gaol, by gaoling this Lady Katharine—why, we shall put her to the thumbscrews!—by gaol and by thumbscrew, we shall gar her to set her hand to another make of confession. Then you may go to the King’s Highness.’

  ‘Nick Throckmorton,’ Cromwell said, ‘Winchester hath to-night the King’s ear.…’

  ‘Sir,’ Throckmorton answered, and a tremble in his calm voice showed his eagerness, ‘I beseech you to give my words your thoughts. Winchester hath the King’s ear for the moment; but I will get you letters wherein these ladies shall reveal Winchester for the traitor that we know him to be. Listen to me.…’ He paused and let his crafty eyes run over his master’s face. ‘Let this matter be for an hour. See you, you shall make a warrant to take this Lady Katharine.’

  He paused and appeared to reflect.

  ‘In an hour she shall be here. Give me leave to use my thumbscrews.…’

  ‘Aye, but Winchester,’ Cromwell said.

  ‘Why,’ Throckmorton answered confidently, ‘in an hour, too, Winchester shall be with the King in the King’s Privy Chapel. There will be a make of prayers; ten minutes to that. There shall be Gardiner talking to the King against your lordship; ten minutes to that. And, Winchester being craven, it shall cost him twice ten minutes to come to begging your lordship’s head of the King, if ever he dare to beg it. But he never shall.’

  Cromwell said, ‘Well, well!’

  ‘There we have forty minutes,’ Throckmorton said. He licked his lips and held his long beard in his hand carefully, as if it had been a bird. ‘But give me ten minutes to do my will upon this lady’s body, and ten to write down what she shall confess. Then, if it take your lordship ten minutes to dress yourself finely, you shall have still ten in which you shall show the King how his Winchester is
traitor to him.’

  Cromwell considered for a minute; his lips twitched cautiously the one above the other.

  ‘This is a great matter,’ he said. He paused again. ‘If this lady should not confess! And it is very certain that the King affects her.’

  ‘Give me ten minutes of her company,’ the spy answered.

  Cromwell considered again.

  ‘You are very certain,’ he said; and then:

  ‘Wilt thou stake thy head upon it?’

  Throckmorton wagged his beard slowly up and down.

  ‘Thy head and beard!’ Cromwell repeated. He struck his hands briskly together. ‘It is thine own asking. God help thee if thou failest!’

  ‘I will lay nothing to your lordship’s door,’ Throckmorton said eagerly.

  ‘God knows!’ Cromwell said. ‘No man that hath served me have I deserted. So it is that no one hath betrayed me. But thou shalt take this lady without warrant from my hand.’

  Throckmorton nodded.

  ‘If thou shalt wring avowal from her thou shalt be the wealthiest commoner of England,’ Cromwell said. ‘But I will not be here. Nay, thou shalt take her to thine own rooms. I will not be seen in this matter. And if thou fail …’

  ‘Sir, I stand more sure of my succeeding than ever your lordship stood,’ Throckmorton answered him.

  ‘It is not I that shall betray thee if thou fail,’ Cromwell answered. ‘Get thee gone swiftly …’ He took the jewelled badge from his cap that lay on the table. ‘Thou hast served me well,’ he said; ‘take this in case I never see thy face again.’

  ‘Oh, you shall see my triumph!’ Throckmorton answered.

  He bent himself nearly double as he passed through the door.

  Cromwell sat down in his great chair, and his eyes gazed at nothing through the tapestry of his room.

  IV

  IN KATHARINE HOWARD’S ROOM they had the form of the boy, wet, grey, and mud-draggled, lying on the ground between them. Cicely Elliott rose in her chair: it was not any part of her nature to succour fainting knaves, and she let him stay where he was. Old Rochford raised his hands, and cried out to Katharine: