E-text prepared by Verity White, Suzanne Shell, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) +-----------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's note: | | | | This edition of _The Fifth Queen Crowned_ was extracted | | from an omnibus edition of the trilogy. The two previous | | books of the trilogy are _The Fifth Queen_ and _Privy | | Seal: His Last Venture_. | | | | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has | | been preserved. | +-----------------------------------------------------------+ THE FIFTH QUEEN CROWNED A Romance _"Da habt Ihr schon das End vom Lied"_ To Arthur Marwood CONTENTS PART ONE The Major Cord PART TWO The Threatened Rift PART THREE The Dwindling Melody PART FOUR The End of the Song PART ONE THE MAJOR CHORD I 'The Bishop of Rome----' Thomas Cranmer began a hesitating speech. In the pause after the words the King himself hesitated, as if he poised between a heavy rage and a sardonic humour. He deemed, however, that the humour could the more terrify the Archbishop--and, indeed, he was so much upon the joyous side in those summer days that he had forgotten how to browbeat. 'Our holy father,' he corrected the Archbishop. 'Or I will say my holy father, since thou art a heretic----' Cranmer's eyes had always the expression of a man's who looked at approaching calamity, but at the King's words his whole face, his closed lips, his brows, the lines from his round nose, all drooped suddenly downwards. 'Your Grace will have me write a letter to the--to his--to him----' The downward lines fixed themselves, and from amongst them the panic-stricken eyes made a dumb appeal to the griffins and crowns of his dark green hangings, for they were afraid to turn to the King. Henry retained his heavy look of jocularity: he jumped at a weighty gibe-- 'My Grace will have thy Grace write a letter to his Holiness.' He dropped into a heavy impassivity, rolled his eyes, fluttered his swollen fingers on the red and gilded table, and then said clearly, 'My. Thy. His.' When he was in that mood he spoke with a singular distinctness that came up from his husky and ordinary joviality like something dire and terrible--like that something that upon a clear smooth day will suggest to you suddenly the cruelty that lies always hidden in the limpid sea. 'To Caesar--egomet, I mineself--that which is Caesar's: to him--that is to say to his Holiness, our lord of Rome--the things which are of God! But to thee, Archbishop, I know not what belongs.'