Page 99 of Boleyn Traitor
She steps past me, steady on the gently rocking deck, up to the raised dais. In full view of the boats on the river, she kneels in her silver gown, raises her praying hands to the king and mimes – for everyone watching – the beautiful young queen begging for mercy. She does it beautifully, a single tear rolls down her cheek.
The king leans forward on his chair, puts his hands around hers, and raises her to her feet. She bends down, her hair tumbling forward, and she kisses him on his wine-stained lips.
Greenwich Palace, March
1541
MY FATHER GREETSus on the quay at Greenwich, kneeling to the king and queen, who process proudly past him. He rises to give me his blessing.
‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ I say as I kiss his cheek. ‘Is my lady mother well, and my sister and brother?’
‘Yes, yes, all well,’ he says. ‘And before you ask, I’m here to ask the king for some lands at home – there’s no inquiry.’
‘Thomas Wyatt is to be released,’ I tell him. ‘The queen asked for pardon?’
‘Lady Margaret Pole?’ He raises an eyebrow.
I shake my head.
My father sighs. ‘Circa Regna Tonat,’ he says, quoting a Wyatt poem. ‘Thunder around the throne.’
I take his arm, and we follow the courtiers into the palace.
‘And how is your new queen?’
‘Young, but guided into her great calling,’ I say.
He understands at once. ‘Be modest, daughter,’ he says gently. ‘She should grow; but the greatest courtier never forgets he is in service. And you are on your own now you have no protector.’
‘I have you,’ I suggest.
He gives a little shrug. ‘I could translate a text for you, but little more. I am an observer of the machinery behind the masque; I don’t put my shoulder to the wheel.’
Greenwich Palace, April
1541
ICOME INTO THEroyal bedroom at Greenwich and find Katheryn is still in bed. She has a handful of counters from the gaming tables spread over her embroidered sheets, and a written calendar of dates.
‘What’s this?’ I ask.
‘I’m not quite sure,’ she says. She is breathless; the calendar is scribbled over and corrected several times. She has marked questionmarks at the foot of the page and a week of bold ticks at the top. ‘I’m not quite certain?’
‘You’re trying to calculate your courses?’ I ask her.
She looks up with relief. ‘Jane, d’you know if it’s due? I think I am late?’
I have been a courtier to five queens. It is an essential tool of my trade. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘You’re a few days late; but it could mean nothing.’
‘But I could be with child?’ She looks up from the counters and the calendar. ‘I could be with child?’
‘Only if you conceived as soon as the king came back to your bed. It’s too early to say. Certainly, too early to tell anyone.’
‘It must be then!’ she agrees. ‘He said God blessed him. I am with child; I know I am! I have a great desire for sugarplums.’
‘You always do,’ I point out.
‘Far more than usual,’ she says stubbornly. ‘I shall tell the king.’
