The king had pardoned Brandon for the killing of the two men in Billingsgate, as he was forced to do under the circumstances, but there his kindness stopped.  After a short time he deprived him of his place at court, and all that was left for him of royal favor was permission to remain with me and live at the palace until such time as he should sail for New Spain.

CHAPTER XIII

A Girl’s Consent

The treaty had been agreed upon, and as to the international arrangement, at least, the marriage of Louis de Valois and Mary Tudor was a settled fact.  All it needed was the consent of an eighteen-year-old girl—­a small matter, of course, as marriageable women are but commodities in statecraft, and theoretically, at least, acquiesce in everything their liege lords ordain.  Lady Mary’s consent had been but theoretical, but it was looked upon by every one as amounting to an actual, vociferated, sonorous “yes;” that is to say, by every one but the princess, who had no more notion of saying “yes” than she had of reciting the Sanscrit vocabulary from the pillory of Smithfield.

Wolsey, whose manner was smooth as an otter’s coat, had been sent to fetch the needed “yes”; but he failed.

Jane told me about it.

Wolsey had gone privately to see the princess, and had thrown out a sort of skirmish line by flattering her beauty, but had found her not in the best humor.

“Yes, yes, my lord of Lincoln, I know how beautiful I am; no one knows better; I know all about my hair, eyes, teeth, eyebrows and skin.  I tell you I am sick of them.  Don’t talk to me about them; it won’t help you to get my consent to marry that vile old creature.  That is what you have come for, of course.  I have been expecting you; why did not my brother come?”

“I think he was afraid; and, to tell you the truth, I was afraid myself,” answered Wolsey, with a smile.  This made Mary smile, too, in spite of herself, and went a long way toward putting her in a good humor.  Wolsey continued:  “His majesty could not have given me a more disagreeable task.  You doubtless think I am in favor of this marriage, but I am not.”

This was as great a lie as ever fell whole out of a bishop’s mouth.  “I have been obliged to fall in with the king’s views on the matter, for he has had his mind set on it from the first mention by de Longueville.”

“Was it that bead-eyed little mummy who suggested it?”

“Yes, and if you marry the king of France you can repay him with usury.”

“’Tis an inducement, by my troth.”

“I do not mind saying to you in confidence that I think it an outrage to force a girl like you to marry a man like Louis of France, but how are we to avoid it?”

By the “we” Wolsey put himself in alliance with Mary, and the move was certainly adroit.

“How are we to avoid it?  Have no fear of that, my lord; I will show you.”