Shamelessly I hid myself and listened. The door was slightly ajar, and I could hear every word.

“It is time we discussed this matter which is causing me so much grief,” he said.

“I wish to do so with all my heart,” she replied. “Ah,” he went on. “How well I remember the time we went through the ceremony of marriage. Do you recall it? You were so desolate.”

“Yes, neglected by all…”

“I suffered with you…my brother's widow … unwanted in Spain and no place for you here. I shall never forget.”

“I also have good reason to remember.”

“Unhappy days… until I changed all that.”

“Yes, you changed it.”

“All seemed set fair. We were young. We were in love. I was a romantic boy. I wanted to do what was right. I wanted to help you.”

“You were pleased with my person, I believe.”

“Kate…I have always been pleased with your person. It is this question which they are raising. It gives me sleepless nights. I cannot rest. It is on my mind … on my conscience. I feel a great anger against these probing churchmen who have raised this question. They believe ours is no true marriage. Think what that means, Kate.”

“I do not have to. It is untrue.”

“They quote the scriptures. That cannot be ignored. I vow my desire is to tell them to hold their peace … to leave us … but I cannot do that, Kate. My conscience…it plagues me… night and day it asks me to stop and consider. I am committing a sin in the eyes of God.”

“Your conscience must have been troubling you for some time,” said my mother coldly, “regarding Bessie Blount and Mary Boleyn.”

“Oh come, come, such talk does no good. It was that fellow Tarbes… that monstrous suggestion about our daughter.”

“It is unforgivable.”

“Unforgivable… but is it true, Kate? Think of what has happened to us. We have been denied that which we most desire…a son, Kate. God has made it clear that He is displeased. Every time…every time…”

“We have our dear daughter.”

“Yes…yes… and none dearer…a cherished child, but a girl, Kate. A girl… when the country needs a man to follow me.”

“There have been worthy queens.”

“A queen cannot lead an army.”

“I was your regent while you were in France.”

“My mother did, and a good one, too. Ah, Kate, if only this man had not raised that question! It is too late now for us to get sons. My concern for your health…”

“And your desire for a new wife.”

“You joke. You know that is not my desire… though I could be forced to it… for the people, Kate, for the sake of the country… for the hope of a son.”

“And to satisfy your own desire.”

“For a son, Kate, only for a son. By God's Holy Blood, I would He had granted us a son… just one healthy son… and I would shake my fist at this Tarbes and anyone who dares raise such a question. I would not have it.”

“Yet you will,” said my mother softly.

“If I could quieten my conscience…if I could turn my face from the truth…I would be the happiest man on Earth.”

“You need not concern yourself, for it is lies. I was never Arthur's wife.”

“If I could but ease my conscience…”

I was almost on the point of dashing into the room and shouting at him, “Stop it. Stop talking of your conscience. We know too much. It is not your conscience you must appease but your desire for a new wife.”

I stood uncertain for a moment but I knew I must not betray my presence. I wondered what would happen if he knew that I had listened to their conversation, that I knew he was living a lie, that he wanted this divorce. He wanted to be rid of my mother even though I should be proclaimed illegitimate.

He was untrue to us and to himself.

I could not bear to hear him mention his conscience once more. I crept silently out of the ante-room and made my way to my bedchamber.

NOW THAT I SAW my father afresh, I placed myself firmly on my mother's side. My father had said they should no longer live together, for he feared it was sin in the eyes of Heaven. His talk about his conscience had seemed to me so blatantly insincere; and I had heard the whispers about Anne Boleyn. As she was at Court, one of my mother's women, I saw her now and then. She fascinated me. She scintillated and dazzled all those about her. She was surrounded by the wittiest of the young men, all the poets and the musicians; she planned the masques; laughter rang out round her; and the King wanted all the time to be close to her.

I was deeply aware of her blinding brilliance, her quick wits, her sharp, clever face. It frightened me. My tenderness for my mother was almost painful. I would sit and watch her sad, sad face and feel sick at heart. I longed beyond everything to comfort her.

Once she caught me looking at her and, taking my hand, she smiled at me.

“You must not grieve, dearest child,” she said. “It may not come to pass, you know. He cannot put me away from him. I am his true wife. Moreover I am the daughter of a great King and Queen. They are both dead now, it is true, but I am still a Princess of Spain as well as a Queen of England.”

“The Emperor would not allow it to happen,” I said confidently.

“I think you are right.”

“Does he know of it? It is called the King's Secret Matter, so it must be secret to some.”

“It is not easy to keep such secrets. The Court knows what is happening. In the streets they are talking of it. The Emperor would never allow the King to harm me, and the Emperor is more powerful than ever since he defeated the French. Your father has tried to get the Pope's sanction to a divorce but, as you know, the Pope is now virtually a prisoner in Castel Sant' Angelo. One could say he is the Emperor's prisoner. Your father is very angry about that.”

“His conscience worries him, he says.”

My mother smiled wanly, then she said, “This is too much to burden you with, dear child. You are too young fully to grasp the significance of this.”

“I do grasp it,” I said.

“Perhaps you should, for it could be vital to your future.”

“I know that, my lady.”

“Then listen. I will tell you a secret. I have sent one of my servants to Spain. He has taken a letter from me to the Emperor in which I have told him exactly what is happening.”

I clasped my hands together in relief.

“Everything will be well now,” I said with conviction. I still remembered the hero of my youth.

MY MOTHER WAS JUBILANT, for she had received an answer from the Emperor, brought to her through the ambassador Mendoza.

She called me to her, for she knew what my feeling for the Emperor had been.

“Here is his reply,” she said.

“He is deeply shocked. He says that, because I have been married to him for so long, the King has forgotten that I am a Princess of Spain, and the Emperor will not allow a member of his family to be treated thus. He is sending Cardinal Quiñones, General of the Franciscans, to Rome without delay. He will be in charge of the affair there. He writes, ‘My dear Aunt…' Yes, he calls me his dear Aunt. ‘You can be assured that Clement, still in Castel Sant' Angelo, will not be in a position to flout my wishes.'”

“What a wonderful message!” I cried.

I threw myself into her arms, forgetting all formality owed to the Queen, and we laughed together although we were near to tears.

THERE WAS SO MUCH about this affair that I learned later, and I was able to fit the information together like pieces in a puzzle. Consequently I now understand more than I did at the time it happened.

I think few of us believed then that the King really meant to marry Anne Boleyn. It seemed then preposterous; but my father was a most powerful man; he was the despotic ruler of our country, and it was only the heads of other countries who could prevent his having his own way. The divorce would have been settled in a few months but for the fact that the Queen was the aunt of the most powerful man in Europe; and, this being a matter for the Church, the Pope was involved—and that Pope was now virtually the Emperor's prisoner.