Read Online The Sixth Wife: The Story of Katherine Parr by Jean Plaidy - Free Book Online

doublet. Arrogant young fool! thought the King; and he hated him for no more reason at that moment than that he was one of the most handsome young men at court. Henry had reason to hate all handsome men on this occasion, for now, with so many about him, he felt his age and infirmity keenly. These were so hard to accept when one had been the handsomest Prince in Christendom and had excelled at all manly pastimes and had been a King—not, he reminded himself scowling at Surrey, a would-be-King.
    Surrey had begun to read:
    “Martial, the things that do attain

The happy life be these, I Find:

The richesse left, not got with pain;

The fruitful ground, the quiet mind;
    “The equal friend; no grudge, no strife;

No charge of rule, nor governance;

Without disease, the healthful life;

The household of continuance;
    “The mean diet, no delicate fare;

True wisdom joined with simpleness;

The night dischargèd of all care
,
Where wine the wit may not oppress
.
    “The faithful wife, without debate;

Such sleeps as may beguile the night:

Contented with thine own estate

Ne wish for death, ne fear his might.”
    While the poet was reading, the King fidgeted in his chair, and all those present marveled at the rashness of Surrey, for it should have been perfectly clear to the poet that those sentiments must arouse unpleasant memories for the King. That talk of health and sleep and, above all, faithful wives! Surrey was a fool. It was almost as though he teased a dangerous bull, deliberately inviting attack.
    There was a short silence. No one spoke before the King expressed an opinion, for it was unwise to differ from His Majesty in the appraisal of verses.
    “Bravo!” growled the King eventually. “Your meter’s good, Surrey.”
    Surrey bowed low. “My greatest delight in my simple verses must be the pleasure they afford my most Gracious Sovereign.”
    “Not so simple!” cried Henry. “Not so simple, eh?” He glared about him. “What did you think, eh, Gardiner? A Bishop should appreciate good verses, And you, Master Wriothesley. You’ve heard enough verses to judge, I’ll swear.”
    Gardiner could always be relied upon to say what was expected of him. “We have heard your Grace’s own verses, Sire.”
    And Wriothesley, always eager for promotion and knowing the surest way to the King’s heart, added: “When your Gracious Majesty sets such a high standard …”
    The Catholic faction must not be allowed to supply all the required compliments. Sir Thomas Seymour interrupted Wriothesley. “The verses seemed to me good enough, but I am a rough sailor, and know little of these matters. I have a fondness for Your Majesty’s own rhymes, it is true…”
    Henry interrupted: “We deemed the verses good.” He was impatient with them all, except the woman beside him. He had been too long without a wife. He was wasting time. “Lady Latimer,” he said in a gentler voice, “what thought you of the verses?”
    Katharine answered nervously: “I thought them good, Your Majesty. Very good.”
    “You did, did you? And are you a judge of verses, Lady Latimer?”
    “I fear not, Sire. I am only…”
    “Ah!” cried Henry. “You are a lady of much modesty, and ’tis my belief you know more of the value of verses than these men who talk so readily of them. Methinks you should have an opportunity of judging your Sovereign’s.”
    “Sire, my judgment would be of little worth.”
    Surrey said ironically: “You would doubtless discover, Lady Latimer, that His Grace the King, as well as being the ruler of this land, is also its greatest poet.”
    Henry shot a suspicious glance at the insolent youth, but he was too intent on Katharine to be drawn at this moment. He leaned forward and patted Katharine’s arm. “Such praise,” he said, “is to beprized since it comes from Surrey—as good a poet as any to be found in the realm, so some men say.”
    “I trust Your Grace has never heard my verses compared with your own,”