The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [250]
I felt a rush of relief. My pride had been spared. But no, this would not do. “Kate,” I said, “you have seen, now, what I would have kept from you at all costs. I am not what I was. The truth is, the sun has never bothered me before. The truth is, I have many infirmities. My leg periodically goes on a rampage, crippling me. I have had trouble, of late, with my bladder ... and with raging headaches that leave me spent and weak. And with sick fancies, with shapes that come and talk to me, that stand in corners and run down corridors, shrieking. I am an old, sick man.” There, I had said it. Now I would dismiss her, release her from the betrothal, on the understandownwmunication from his master. It seemed that Charles had had a successful campaign already, and had scored some notable triumphs in Luxembourg and Navarre. He looked to continue the war on the northern front, but would pass the coming fortnight at Landrecies, directing the siege there. If I wished to enter the campaign after that date ... ?
“No, no,” I said. “It is too late in the season, and we cannot ready an army now, with midsummer already past.” Not to mention the plague. “Next season, next season, we shall join him. How long does he plan to campaign?”
“Not past September,” Van der Delft replied. “He has family business then—a wedding.”
“Ah.” I smiled. “I also. I have my own wedding.”
The ambassador grinned. “Your own, Your Majesty?”
“Aye. Ah, ah, do not mock me, sir”—I began laughing, as I could see his surprise and unasked questions—“although I know ’tis a temptation.”
“I wish you happiness,” he said simply.
“I do truly seek it,” I answered.
“Then you shall find it.” He looked straight into my eyes. I liked him; he seemed honest. We would not spar and parry, as I had done with Chapuys, but that was well enough.
“I pray so. I shall wed the widow Latimer, as soon as all is set in order. Now, though, as to this war business—Charles and I have settled satisfactorily the title confusion, as being addressed as ‘Defender of the Faith, etc.’ will content me. I lack but the proper means—in winds and moneys—to come to France before spring. But I shall do so, and in person. You may tell your master that I will lead my soldiers myself, as I did in the glorious campaign of 1513—the Golden War!”
My God, I grew excited just thinking of it! Oh, my blood stirred! To wear armour again, to camp again, to hold war council meetings in the field-tent ... how sweetly it beckoned!
As soon as he returned to London, I spoke to Bishop Gardiner about my intention to wed Kate Parr.
“I wish you to marry us,” I said.
“Not Cranmer?” His tone was distant, judging. Yes, Gardiner was jealous of Cranmer, jealous of his closeness to me and his privilege in sharing so much of my life.
“No. It must be someone whose orthodoxy is beyond question, as Lady Latimer is suspected—unjustly, of course—of leaning toward the Reformers. Your performing the ceremony will silence those tongues.”
“Will it, Your Grace?” Still he appeared aloof, cool, uncommitted.
“As best they can be,” I retorted. “Nothing ever silences tongues altogether.”
“Are you so very sure she is not a Reformer?” Each word was measured out and flung at me.
“Because her foolish friend Anne Askew goes about preaching? Each person is responsible for his or her own soul. Wto me aave to nurse me—“and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.” Her voice was faint. Had something given her pause? The “sickness”? The “forsaking all other”? For she was young....
“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” He looked round at the company, smiled his thin February smile, and said, “I do.”
Then, taking our right hands together, he directed me to say:
“I, Henry, take thee, Katherine, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance: and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
Marriage promises.