The Shadow of the Pomegranate Read Online Free PDF Page B

speak on,’ said Henry.
    ‘I was watching Lady Huntingdon pass below. She’s a forward wench.’
    ‘And why did you think that?’
    ‘By the glance she threw at Your Grace. If ever I saw invitation it was there.’
    ‘My dear William,’ said Henry, ‘do you not know that I receive such invitations whenever I am in the company of women?’
    ‘I know it, Sire. But those are invitations discreetly given.’
    ‘And she was not . . . discreet?’
    ‘If she seemed so to Your Grace I will say that she was.’
    Henry laughed. ‘Ah, if I were not a virtuous married man . . .’
    He sighed.
    ‘Your Grace would seem to regret that you are a virtuous married man.’
    ‘How could I regret my virtue?’ said Henry, his mouth falling into the familiar lines of primness.
    ‘Nay, Sire. You, being such a wise King, would not; it is only the ladies who are deprived of Your Grace’s company who must regret.’
    ‘I’ll not say,’ said the King, ‘that I would ask for too muchvirtue in a man. He must do his duty, true, duty to state, duty to family; but when that is done . . .’
    Compton nodded. ‘A little dalliance is good for all.’
    Henry licked his lips. He was thinking of Anne Stafford; the very way she dipped a curtsey was a challenge to a man’s virility.
    ‘I have heard it said that a little dalliance away from the marriage bed will often result in a return to that bed with renewed vigour,’ murmured Henry.
    ‘All are aware of Your Grace’s vigour,’ said Compton slyly, ‘and that it is in no need of renewal.’
    ‘Two of my children have died,’ said the King mournfully.
    Compton smiled. He could see how the King’s mind was working. He wanted to be virtuous; he wanted his dalliance, and yet to be able to say it was virtuous dalliance: I dallied with Anne Stafford because I felt that if I strayed awhile I could come back to Katharine with renewed vigour – so powerful that it must result in the begetting of a fine, strong son.
    Compton, who had lived many years close to Henry, knew something of his character. Henry liked to think of himself as a deeply religious man, a man devoted to duty; but at heart he had one god and that was himself; and his love for pleasure far exceeded his desire to do his duty. Moreover, the King was not a man to deny himself the smallest pleasure; he was a sensualist; he was strong, healthy, lusty like many of his friends; but, whereas some of them thoughtlessly took their pleasures where they found them, Henry could not do this before he had first assured himself that what he did was the right thing to do. He was troubled by the voice of his conscience which must first be appeased; it was as though there were two men in that fine athletic body: the pleasure-seekingKing and the other, who was completely devoted to his duty. The former would always be forced to make his excuses to the latter, but Compton had no doubt of the persuasive powers of one and the blind eye of the other.
    ‘There are some ladies,’ mused Compton, ‘who are willing enough to give a smile of promise but never ready to fulfil those promises.’
    ‘That is so,’ agreed Henry.
    ‘There are some who would cling to their virtue even though it be the King himself who would assail it.’
    ‘A little wooing might be necessary,’ said Henry implying his confidence that if he were the wooer he could not fail to be successful.
    ‘Should the King woo?’ asked Compton. ‘Should a King be a suppliant for a woman’s favours? It seems to me, Your Grace, that a King should beckon and the lady come running.’
    Henry nodded thoughtfully.
    ‘I could sound the lady, I could woo her in your name. She has a husband and if her virtue should prove overstrong it might be well that this was a matter entirely between Your Grace, myself and the lady.’
    ‘We speak of suppositions,’ said Henry, laying a hand on Compton’s shoulder. He picked up his lute. ‘I will play and sing to you. It is a new song I have here