Privy Seal · Part II · Chapter 2 3 (2/2)

“God send the world were another world; I would it were other. But I am a prince in this one.”

“My lord,” she said; “if the world so is, kings and princes are here to be above the world. In your greatness ye shall change it; with your justice ye shall purify it; with your clemencies ye should it chasten and amerce. Ye ask me to be a queen. Shall I be a queen and not such a queen? No, I tell you; if a woman may swear a great oath, I swear by Leonidas that saved Sparta and by Christ Jesus that saved this world, so will I come by my queenship and so act in it that, if God give me strength the whole world never shall find speck upon mine honour⁠—or upon thine if I may sway thee.”

“Why,” he said, “thy voice is like little flutes.”

He considered, patting his square, soft-shod feet upon the bricks of the arbour floor.

“By Guy! I will have thee,” he said; “though ye twist my senses as never woman twisted them⁠—and it is not good for a man to be swayed by his women.”

“My lord,” she said, “in naught would I sway a man save in where my conscience pricks and impels me.” She rubbed her hand across her eyes. “It is difficult to see the right in these matters. The only way is to be firm for God and for the cause of the saints.” She looked down at her feet. “I will be ceaseless in my entreaties to you for them,” she uttered. Suddenly again she stretched forth both her hands that had sunk to her sides:

“Dear lord,” and her voice was full of pity for herself and for entreaty; “let me go to a convent to pray unceasing for thee.”

He shook his head.

“Dear lord,” she repeated; “use me as thou wilt and I will stay beside thee and urge thee to the cause of God.”

Again he shook his head.

“The saints would pardon me it,” she whispered; “or if I even be damned to save England, it were a good burnt-offering.”

“Wench,” he said; “I was never a man to go a-whoring. I ha’ done it, but had no savour with it.” His boastfulness returned to the heavy voice. “I am a king that will give. I will give a crown, a realm, jewels, honours, monies. All I have I will give; but thou shalt wed me.” He threw out his chest and gazed down at her. “I was ever thus,” he said.

“And I ever thus,” she answered him swiftly. “Mary hath put this thing in my mind; and though ye scourge me, ye shall not have it otherwise.”

“Even how?” he said.

“My lord,” she answered; “if the Queen, so it be true, will say she be no wife of thine, I will wed thee. If the Queen, seeing that it is for the good of this suffering realm, will give to me her crown, I will wed with thee. I wot ye may get for yourself another woman with another gear of conscience to bear t’ee children. All the ills of this realm came with a divorce of a queen. I do hate the word as I hate Judas, and will have no truck with the deed.”

“Ye speak me hard,” he said; “but no man shall say I could not bear with the truth at odd moments.”

A great and hasty eagerness came into her voice.

“Ye say that it is truth?” she cried. “God hath softened thy heart.”

“God or thee,” he said, and muttered, “I do not make this avowal to the world.” Suddenly he smote his thigh. “Body o’ God!” he called out; “the day shall soon come. Cleves falls away, France and Spain are sundering. I will sue for peace with the Pope, and set up a chapel to Kat’s memory.” He breathed as if a weight had fallen from his chest, and suddenly laughed: “But ye must wed me to keep me in the right way.”

He changed his tone again.

“Why, go to Anne,” he said; “she is such a fool she will not lie to thee; and, before God, she is no wife of mine.”

“God send ye speak the truth,” she answered; “but I think few men be found that will speak truth in these matters.”