Jean Plaidy - The Sixth Wife: The Story of Katherine Parr

“By God’s precious soul!” he murmured. “I see great days ahead for the Seymours—and in particular for you, my dear Sir Thomas.”

One of his gentlemen came in to tell him that the King’s page had brought a message for him. He was to go at once to the King’s presence, and it seemed from the King’s mood that it would not be wise to delay.

Cursing softly, Seymour went to the King’s apartment, where he knelt in reverence.

“H’m!” snorted the King, noting the rich blue satin and the sparkling sapphires and how they made the sailor’s eyes look bluer and more vivid in his suntanned face. There should be a law, thought the King, forbidding a King’s servant to deck himself in finery rivaling his King’s.

“I had word that Your Majesty desired my presence and I came with all speed.”

“You were wise there, brother,” said the King. “Wiser than you have been in some other matters.”

Seymour opened wide his blue eyes and looked at the King with astonishment. He was ready with his tongue too, the King noted.

“My Gracious Lord, if my unwisdom has offended Your Grace, pray let me know in what cause, that I may hasten to be wise.”

“Methinks,” said Henry, “that when I honor a subject with a small favor, that subject is apt to look for bigger ones.”

“It is such an honor to serve Your Grace, and Your Grace’s smiles are treasured. You must forgive your loving subjects if, having received one of your royal smiles, they crave for more.”

“Smiles! It is not smiles some look for. Some enjoy lands and treasures which not so long ago belonged to others.”

Seymour bowed his head. It was true that, as Jane Seymour’s brother, he had received lands and riches from the despoliation of the monasteries; he had grown from a humble country gentleman into a rich courtier. Was the King planning to take away that which he had given? Seymour thought uneasily of another Thomas— Cardinal Wolsey—who had at one time been the richest man, next to the King, in all England; yet he had lost everything, even his life.

“But it is not of lands that we would speak,” went on Henry. “We have been hearing rumors of your conduct, Seymour, and we do not like what we hear.”

“I am deeply grieved, Your Grace.”

“Then that is well. And, hark ye, we shall look to you to mend your ways. We have heard rumors of your gallantry, Seymour. You know what store I set on virtue….”

Seymour bowed his head even lower. It would not do for his master to see the smile which played about his mouth, and, try as he might, Thomas Seymour could not prevent its appearing there. This model of virtue! he thought. This husband of five wives—this lover of how many women! Yet in his own eyes the King remained a figure of virtue. After all, he had always put away one wife before the official ceremony of taking another, even if it meant cutting off her head.

“I know, Your Grace,” said Seymour craftily; “and if I have offended, I crave your pardon and Your Majesty’s clemency. I would remind Your Majesty that it is not easy for a humble subject to follow the example of his King.”

Henry looked sharply at the man. Insolence? Was that it? He softened in spite of himself. Liking the fellow, he could not help it. Yes, he had a liking for Tom Seymour as he had had for others. Thomas Wyatt, for instance, who was reputed to have been the lover of Anne Boleyn; Thomas Wolsey was another who had had his regard. Dear Thomas Wolsey! A good servant. Henry had long persuaded his conscience that Wolsey’s decline and death lay at the door of Anne Boleyn, as did the execution of that other favorite, Thomas More. There was yet another Thomas who was beloved of the King— Thomas Cranmer. How different was pious Cranmer—rather sly, sensitive Cranmer—from this handsome braggart who now stood before him. Perhaps he liked Cranmer for his very cunning, for his clever way of extricating his King from troubles; and he liked Tom Seymour because he was amusing, because he seemed a pale shadow of a youthful Henry.

“There has been too much gallantry, my lord,” went on Henry. “It extends, we hear, from the lowest to the highest. Take care, brother.”

“I know not what tales have been brought to Your Gracious Majesty, but whoever uttered them …”

“Lied in his throat, I don’t doubt you will tell me. Let us hope that you are right.”

“I can assure Your Gracious Majesty that it is so.”

“And,” went on the King, “that you, my lord, have never raised those handsome eyes to the Princess Elizabeth, our daughter?”

“My Gracious Lord …”

“Ah, you would have need of our gracious leniency if we found you guilty of such folly.”

“I beg Your Grace to listen to my side of the story.”

“We are listening.”

“I would not presume to raise my eyes to one so near Your Grace.”

“That is well. Eyes raised to the sun become dazzled, brother; and dazzled eyes see not clearly the dangers that lie ahead. Do not allow yourself to be blinded. Neither the Princess Elizabeth nor the Lady Jane Grey is for you, brother.”

“Indeed not, Your Majesty. If I seemed to admire these two, it was as charming children and…”

“Then all is well. You may leave us, brother.”

Seymour bowed, retired and went from the palace to his waiting barge.

He was sweating a little under his fine garments, particularly about the neck. Necks were so sensitive. How many times did the gentlemen about the King fancy they felt the touch of the ax there? One day a man was in high favor, his ambitions promising fulfillment; the next day he was being rowed to the Tower and taken through the Traitors’ Gate. It had happened to so many whom he had known.

That interview meant that, at present, he must curb his hopes. The redheaded Princess was not for him…at present. He must forget the little Lady Jane. But there was still the rich widow waiting in her late husband’s mansion; and very rich she was, and comely too. He had developed an insatiable taste for riches since his sister’s elevation. A rich wife today was a more exciting prize than a royal one in seven years’ time. Much could happen in a day, an hour. How much more could happen in seven years!

The King had stumped to his window and watched the progress of the gallant young man as he made his way toward the river.

Whither was he going? wondered Henry. It was to meet a woman, doubtless. Henry smiled slyly. Not the Princess Elizabeth, for certain. He had not been unaware of the fear he had planted in Seymour. The gallant sailor would be a little less gallant in that direction and keep his eyes from straying too high.

The King was so curious that he had one of Sir Thomas’s gentlemen brought to him.

“Whither goes your master this day?” he asked.

“To London, Your Majesty.”

“And why to London?”

“On business, as far as I know, Your Majesty.”

“What business? Out with it, knave. You know his errand and you would be wise to tell it.”

“My Lord King, if it pleases you, he has gone to call on Lady Latimer.”

The King smiled. “You may go. It is our wish that you tell not your master that we were interested in his journey. It will go ill with you if you do.”

Lady Latimer, mused the King, when the man had left. He knew her well. Kate Parr, he called her, for he remembered her as Parr’s girl. He had noticed her when she came to court, and he had liked her. She had been a good wife, first to Borough and then to Latimer. A sedate and virtuous lady. The kind of woman he liked to see about the court. And why was it he had not seen her at court? Ah, mourning Latimer, he supposed.

So Seymour was visiting her. To what end? Wealthy widow. Very wealthy widow. Those Seymours were the most avaricious men in the kingdom.

The King laughed. He believed that Seymour, knowing now that the Princess Elizabeth and the Lady Jane Grey were out of reach, was turning to the more mature charms of the widow.

Seymour could always make the King laugh; perhaps that was why the latter liked him. But even as Henry laughed, he grew solemn. She was a charming woman, this Katharine Parr. A good, virtuous and not uncomely woman, the sort the King liked to see at his court. A good influence on others. She had been friendly with the Princess Mary, and that meant that she was a sober, religious lady, having similar interests to those of his twenty-seven-year-old daughter.

Kate Parr and Tom Seymour. Incongruous!

Later, when he was closeted with his Primate, Thomas Cranmer, discussing State affairs, the King said suddenly: “The morals of the court distress me. I would like to see it influenced by our virtuous matrons. There is one…Katharine Parr…recently widowed. Latimer, was it not? He died a short while ago. She is a good woman and she would be an influence for good with our young maidens. I do not see her at court as often as I should like.”

Cranmer lowered his eyes. He was like a frightened stag, always on the alert for the chase to begin. He had seen Thomas Cromwell fall, and he could not forget it.

Latimer! he thought now. The noble lord had been involved in the Pilgrimage of Grace, as had Katharine Parr’s relatives, the Throckmortons. They were staunch Catholics, and Cranmer must be continually on guard against the influence of Catholic thought on the King. Yet of late Latimer’s widow had been turning toward the new faith, which was dear to Cranmer. A Protestant lady’s influence on the King would make Cranmer happy, while it would certainly discomfit his enemies—Norfolk, Gardiner and Wriothesley.

Cranmer said: “Your Grace, we should command this lady to come to court.”

The King nodded.

“Let it be done,” he said. “Let it be done.”

IN THE OAK-PANELED room of the Latimer mansion, Thomas Seymour was bowing over the hand of Katharine Parr.

“I have waited for this moment for…for…” Seymour lifted his handsome eyes to Katharine’s face. It was a trick of the gallant gentleman, who was rarely lost for words, to feign a nervousness which made him tonguetied. It was a trick which never failed to please the lady he was trying to impress.

“For?” prompted Katharine.

“Since I last saw you.” He smiled and boldly drew her to the window-seat, keeping her hand in his.

“Do you find it pleasant to be in London, fair lady, after the monotony of Yorkshire?”

“I had too much to do in Yorkshire to find life monotonous there.”

“But did you not, when you so nobly nursed your husband, long for court life?”

“No. I was happy. Except…”

“Except?”

“I thought of that time when I knew great fear. Not a day would pass when I would not be startled out of my wits by a knock on a door or a sight of a rider in the courtyard. I would look through a window and say to myself: ‘Can it be a messenger from the King?’”

“And, your lord husband, did he tremble with you?”

“He did not. He seemed insensible to danger. He was a brave man.”

“Too sick, I’ll wager, too concerned with fighting death to fear the King’s anger.”

“And then …” she said, “the King pardoned him.”

“The King’s pardon!” Seymour laughed. “The King’s smiles are like April sunshine, Kate.”

“I hear he is moody and depressed these days.”

“The King! Aye. And looking for a wife.”

“May God preserve the poor, unfortunate lady on whom his choice falls.”

Seymour raised his eyebrows in mock horror. “Treason, Kate!” he said.

“I know I should be careful. I speak too rashly.”

“Rashness? That is a fault I share with you. But ’tis truth you speak. What woman would be eager to share the King’s throne since poor little Howard’s head rolled in the straw?”

“Poor child. So young. So beautiful… and to die thus!”

“Caution!” Seymour took the opportunity to put his face close to hers on a pretext of whispering. “Master Wriothesley hath his spies everywhere, they say. I will tell you something: All through the court people are whispering, asking each other on whom the King’s choice will fall. Age creeps on the royal body. Once he was a raging lion; now he is a sick one. The same desires, the same mighty bulk, but a sick lion who stays at home to lick his poor, wounded limbs when once he would have led the chase. Such a state of affairs has not been beneficial to the royal temper.”

“’ Tis you who are incautious now.”

“I ever was, and ’tis true I am more so now. Do you know why? It is because you are sitting near me. You are as beautiful as the sun on the sea, Kate. Oh, I beg of you keep clear of His Majesty’s roaming eye.”

She laughed. “You are mocking me. I have been a wife twice already.”

“Nay! You have never been a wife. You have been twice a nurse. My lord Latimer was old enough to have been your grandsire.”

“He was good to me.”

“Good to his nurse! Oh, Kate, you know not how fair you are. Again I say, strive not to catch the King’s eye.”

“I am thirty years old.”

“And look but twenty. But why talk of the King and his marriages? The marriages of others might make better talk.”

Katharine looked at him earnestly. It was difficult to believe what she so longed to believe. He was too charming, too handsome; and she, as she had pointed out to him, was thirty years old, and twice widowed. No, it was to some fresh and beautiful young girl that he would turn.

“Which… which marriage had you in mind?” she asked.

He put his arm about her then and kissed her heartily on the mouth. “My own!” he cried.

“Yours?” She made an attempt to struggle, but she could put no heart into it because this was where she longed to be, with him beside her, his arms about her, listening to words which she longed to hear more than any in the world. “Since… when did you contemplate marriage?”

“From the moment I set eyes on you,” was his prompt reply. “That was when I began to think of marriage.”

“You forget I am so lately a widow.”

“Nay, sweet Kate—scarce a widow since you were never a wife. Sicknurse! That was you, Kate.”

“But… should I think of marriage with my husband scarce cold in his grave?”

“Bah! He is lucky to be there, Kate. The King never forgives those who work against him. Better, when one is a sick old man, to die in bed than rot in chains as Constable did. He was a fool, that husband of yours.”

Katharine would not allow even the man she loved to speak against the man she had married. “He did what he believed to be right,” she said warmly. “The cause of Rome was very near his heart and he supported it.”

“A man’s a fool who’ll support the Pope’s cause against the King’s when he lives within reach of the King’s wrath and out of reach of the Pope’s succor.”

“We are not all as ambitious, mayhap, as Sir Thomas Seymour.”

“Ambitious? I?”

Katharine drew herself away from him and said with a touch of coldness in her voice: “I have heard it whispered that you are very ambitious indeed, and that you have aspired to make an advantageous marriage.”

“’ Tis true,” he said, “that I seek an advantageous marriage. I seek the advantages that a happy marriage could bring me. I seek the advantage of marriage with the woman I love.”