King Takes Queen by Michael Hirst

Author:Michael Hirst
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The crowd in St. Peter’s Square roared as Pope Paul III, in his golden robe, stepped through the velvet curtains onto the small balcony, blinking momentary in the sun, holding his hands out toward the vast and adoring crowd below. Bishop Campeggio and several other bishops, all dressed in scarlet robes, their hands folded piously, moved out to flank the pontiff on the balcony.

The pope made the sign of the cross and then blessed the joyous horde of humanity. “Sancti Apostoli Petrus et Paulus, de quorum potestate et auctoritate confidimus ipsi intercedant pro nobis ad Dominum.”

The crowd responded, “Amen.”

“Precibus et emitis Mariae semper Virginis … et omnium Sanctorum misereatur vestri omnipotens Deus et dimissis omnibus peccatis vestris, perducat vos Iesus Christus ad vitam Qternam.”

“Amen.”

Then the pope said, “My beloved brothers and sisters, I offer you the blessings of God with all my heart. But today, forgive me, I shall speak in English.”

The crowd stood, their gazes fixed expectantly upon him.

“To the faithful people of England,” said Pope Paul, “your Holy Father offers you the hand of condolence, his tears of grief, and his anger at the martyrdom of Sir Thomas More and Cardinal Fisher. Their murders have shocked the whole of Christendom. It was an unpardonable sin against God and our Holy Church, in whose name these two noble men died. We pray for their souls but know that they are already received into Heaven with great joy.

“But we pray, too, for those in England who must continue to live under tyranny, in fear for their lives and their souls. We pray the king ceases to listen to evil counsel and returns to obedience and the true faith before it is too late. We pray to Mary, Mother of God, that England may be redeemed from heresy and all its evil ways, and from the clutches of the heretics who are even now leading her toward destruction and damnation!”

The crowd, together, replied, “Amen.” Campeggio nodded, offering his own silent prayer to God for divine aid.

The brothel was dark and seductive, thick with the cloying scents of exotic perfumes and sex, lined with small chambers in which young ladies laid about, stretching and arching their bodies amid the shadows to entice, to please. Through this darkened place Henry moved silently, led by a gnarled little man who was helping him in his search, peering into the chambers, seeking out the one who might heal him, if not for a lifetime at least for an hour.

Then he found her, her lithe, unclothed body upon a bed of pillows, her face hidden by a veil. Her waist was narrow, her nipples erect, and her long hair shining upon her shoulders. She smiled and beckoned to Henry. He went to her to hold her, tears filling his eyes.

Another woman was suddenly there, her damp and naked body pressed against him, her breath in his ear. He caressed both women’s breasts but did not kiss them.

After a moment the veiled woman whispered, softly, “Why?”

“I come here to forget,” said Henry.

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