VIII

tap at the door. Wolsey moves to answer it – has a brief, murmured conversation with someone outside and comes back into the room, holding a letter. I lean back in my chair and stretch, turn my head, move my shoulders, look up at the ceiling – at the antique mermaids fashioned in painted leather mâché, their cheeks rouged as brightly as an actor’s.  
    “My God, half an hour doing anything at a desk and I’ve had enough. How on earth do you manage more?”  
    “I am constantly inspired by devotion to my master.” Wolsey’s grinning. He holds out the letter.  
    “What’s this, then?”  
    “Sir, I believe it’s news from Italy.”  
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    Catherine’s at prayer when I burst in: a stout bundle of ornate clothes, kneeling at the altar in the far corner of her bedchamber. She starts, crosses herself hastily, and stands up.  
    I’m across the carpet in two strides – I see her flinch minutely as I reach for her. What is she expecting? Whatever it is, what she gets is a picking up and a whirling round. She shrieks and loses a slipper, which goes spinning into a corner.  
    “By Saint Mary! Hal! What is it?”  
    I set her down, her bell-skirt swinging. I put my hands on her shoulders. It takes an effort to speak steadily. “There’s been a battle in Italy – at Pavia. Your nephew… our nephew, Charles… God has given him such a victory over the French, Catherine! Thousands of them dead and King Francis captured. In imperial hands. Right now.”
    There is silence – a delicious silence. She’s not even breathing. Then her hands reach for the soft green hangings at the bedpost beside her; she hides her face in them and weeps.
    “Read it to her!” I tell Wolsey, who’s come in behind me, brandishing the letter. “Read the bit about Francis stuck under a horse!” I laugh and clutch his arm, then bound back to Catherine and turn her gently in to my shoulder. “Listen to this.”
    She leans against me as Wolsey reads: “…The French were attacked where they camped in the great hunting park outside the city walls. As the battle raged, the thick forest hampered the movements of their cavalry. By eight o’clock the Emperor’s pikemen and arquebusiers were closing in from all sides. The French king fought on, but his horse was killed beneath him, and fell upon him, injuring him and pinning him to the ground. As he lay, Spanish troops plucked the plumes from his very helmet. He was taken prisoner and carried from the field—”
    “Might he die from his injuries?” I say to Wolsey. “Huh? Do you think?”
    “God willing!”
    “We’ll pray for it! Won’t we? But he might as well be dead for all the use he’ll be to his country when we invade. Charles from the south; us from the north.” I can’t stand still; I detach myself from Catherine and pace about. “Christ, this is it! This is perfect! At last, at last !”
    I open the windows – all of them; unlatching and pushing on casement after casement. It has rained, and the wind that blows in from the river is strong and fresh, whipping the last droplets from the creepers on the walls outside. Past the river I see a clear expanse of country and, beyond it, sunshine breaking on the hills.
    I can breathe again.
    I turn back to the room. Compared to the brightness outside, the light is soft and green, as if we’re under a canopy of trees. Wolsey stands like a red-robed Merlin, his hands tucked into his sleeves. Catherine’s tears have stopped; her face is shining as she looks at me.
    I go to her and take her hand. It is soft and pudgy, these days, like a child’s. I rub the back of it gently as I say to Wolsey, “We must mount the invasion as soon as possible. All ships in our ports, of whatever nationality – have them detained for use as transport. And dismiss the French ambassador. We need to send to Flanders to buy horses, too. But most of all we need money – fast.”
    “My last calculation was eight hundred thousand pounds, sir. Parliament will hate it.”
    “Then to hell with Parliament! Find another way.”
    “Of course. Nothing can possibly prevent the invasion now.”
    “Go on, then. Go and start work on it.”
    “Your Grace.” Wolsey bows and leaves the room.
    Catherine is still looking at me – and it’s a look to bask in. This is why I married her: she has brought me Emperor Charles. She has brought me this moment.
    I kiss her. I have not kissed her on the mouth for years.

 
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