The King's Secret Matter Read Online Free

disappointed.’
    And those words smote her ears like a funeral knell; the more so because they were spoken quietly in a calculating manner; he had momentarily forgotten the need to appease his conscience; he was planning for the future.
    He had expressed that thought before, and always in that portentous manner, so that it sounded like the opening chorus, the prelude to a drama on which the curtain was about to rise.
    So now she waited for what would follow. It must come one day. If not this day, the next. Perhaps a week might elapse, a month, a year . . . but come it would.
    He was eyeing her craftily, distastefully, the woman who no longer had the power to arouse any desire in him, the woman who after twelve years of marriage had failed to give what he most desired: a son born in wedlock.
    There was nevertheless still to be respite; for suddenly he turned on his heel and strode from the room.
    But Katharine knew that the curtain was soon to rise.

    As the courtiers left the King and Queen together, many an understanding glance was exchanged. It was common knowledge that all was not well between the royal pair. Who could blame the King, said the gay young men, married to a woman five years older than himself – a woman who was over-pious and a solemn Spaniard – when he was surrounded by gay young English girls all eager for a frolic! It would have been different of course had there been a son.
    There was one among the company whose smile was complacent. This did not go unnoticed. Edward Stafford, third Duke of Buckingham, had good reason to be delighted by this lack of royal fertility. Secretly Buckingham believed himself to be more royal than the Tudors, and there were many who, had they dared to express such an opinion, would have agreed with him.
    Buckingham was a proud man; he could not forget that through his father he was descended from Thomas of Woodstock, son of Edward III, and that his mother had been Catherine Woodville, sister of Elizabeth Woodville who had married Edward IV. And who were the Tudors but a bastard sprig from the royal tree!
    Never could Buckingham look on the King without this thought crossing his mind: There but for the chances of fate might stand Edward Stafford.
    Such thoughts were only safe when locked in the secret places of the mind; and it was unwise to betray, even by a look, that they existed. Buckingham was a rash man and therefore, since he lived under Henry VIII, an unwise one.
    The old Duke of Norfolk who was at his side, guessing his thoughts, whispered: ‘Caution, Edward.’
    As Buckingham turned to look at his friend a faint frown of exasperation appeared on his brow. Further resentment flared up in his mind against the King. Why should he have to be cautious lest the stupid young King should realise that he fancied himself in his place? If Henry had a spark of imagination, he would guess this was so.
    Norfolk and Buckingham were intimate friends and there was a connection between the families because Buckingham’s daughter had married Norfolk’s son.
    Buckingham smiled wryly. The old man would want no trouble to befall his friend and connection by marriage, and would be thinking that such trouble often embraced the whole of a family.
    â€˜Your looks betray your thoughts,’ whispered Norfolk. ‘There are those who are ready to carry tales. Let us go to your apartments where we shall be able to talk in peace.’
    Buckingham nodded and they disengaged themselves from the crowd.
    â€˜You should be watchful,’ murmured Norfolk as they mounted the staircase on their way to Buckingham’s apartment.
    Buckingham shrugged elegant shoulders. ‘Oh come,’ he said, ‘Henry knows that I’m as royal as he is. He doesn’t need my careless looks to remind him.’
    â€˜All the more reason for caution. I should have thought you would have been warned by the case of Bulmer.’
    Buckingham smiled reminiscently. It had been