The Other Boleyn Girl Read online

  “It is a pleasure to serve you, Queen Katherine,” I said, and I meant it.

  For a moment she looked at me as if she understood some of what was in my mind and then she turned to her husband. “And are your horses fit for today?” she asked. “Are you confident, Your Majesty?”

  “It’s me or Suffolk today,” he said.

  “You will be careful, sire?” she said softly. “There’s no harm in losing to a rider like the duke; and it would be the end of the kingdom if anything happened to you.”

  It was a loving thought, but he took it with no grace at all. “It would be indeed, since we have no son.”

  She flinched and I saw the color go from her face. “There is time,” she said, her voice so quiet that I could hardly hear it. “There is still time…”

  “Not much,” he said flatly. He turned away from her. “I must go and get ready.”

  He went past me without a glance, though Anne and I and all the other ladies sank down into a curtsy as he passed by. When I rose up the queen was looking toward me, not as if I were a rival, but as if I were still her favorite little maid in waiting who might bring her some comfort. She looked at me as if for a moment she would seek someone who would understand the dreadful predicament of a woman, in this world ruled by men.

  George strolled into the room and kneeled before the queen with his easy grace. “Your Majesty,” he said. “I have come to visit the fairest lady in Kent, in England and the world.”

  “Oh George Boleyn, rise up,” she said, smiling.

  “I would rather die at your feet,” he offered.

  She gave him a little tap on the hand with her fan. “No, but you can give me odds for the king’s joust if you want.”

  “Who would bet against him? He is the finest of horsemen. I will give you a wager of five to two against the second joust. Seymours against Howards. There’s no doubt in my mind of the winner.”

  “You would offer me a bet on the Seymours?” the queen asked.

  “Have them carry your blessing? Never,” George said quickly. “I would have you bet on my cousin Howard, Your Majesty. Then you can be sure of winning, you can be sure of betting on one of the finest and most loyal families in the country, and you can have tremendous odds as well.”

  She laughed at that. “You are an exquisite courtier indeed. How much do you want to lose to me?”

  “Shall we say five crowns?” George asked.

  “Done!”

  “I’ll take a bet,” Jane Parker said suddenly.

  George’s smile vanished. “I could not offer you such odds, Mistress Parker,” he said civilly. “For you have all my fortune at your command.”

  It was still the language of courtly love, the constant flirtatiousness which went on in the royal circles night and day and sometimes meant everything, but more often than not meant nothing at all.

  “I’d just like to bet a couple of crowns.” Jane was trying to engage George in the witty flattering conversation that he could do so well. Anne and I watched her critically, not disposed to help her with our brother.

  “If I lose to Her Majesty—and you will see how graciously she will impoverish me—then I will have nothing for any other,” George said. “Indeed, whenever I am with Her Majesty I have nothing for any other. No money, no heart, no eyes.”

  “For shame,” the queen interrupted. “You say this to your betrothed?”

  George bowed to her. “We are betrothed stars circling a beautiful moon,” he said. “The greatest beauty makes everything else dim.”

  “Oh run away,” the queen said. “Go and twinkle elsewhere, my little star Boleyn.”

  George bowed and went to the back of the tent. I drifted after him. “Give it me quick,” he said tersely. “He’s riding next.”

  I had a yard of white silk trimming the top of my dress, which I took and pulled through the green loops until it was free and then handed it to George. He whisked it into his pocket.

  “Jane sees us,” I said.

  He shook his head. “No matter. She’s tied to our interest whatever her opinion. I have to go.”

  I nodded and went back into the tent as he left. The queen’s eyes rested briefly on the empty loops at the front of my gown, but she said nothing.

  “They’ll start in a moment,” Jane said. “The king’s joust is next.”

  I saw him helped into his saddle, two men supporting him as the weight of his armor nearly bore him down. Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, the king’s brother-in-law, was arming also, and the two men rode out together and came past the entrance to the queen’s tent. The king dipped his lance in salute to her, and held it down as he rode past the length of the tent. It became a salute to me, the visor of his helmet was up, I could see him smile at me. There was a tiny flutter of white at the shoulder of his breastplate which I knew was the kerchief from my gown. The Duke of Suffolk rode behind him, dipped his lance to the queen and then stiffly nodded his head to me. Anne, standing behind me, gave a little indrawn breath.

  “Suffolk acknowledged you,” she whispered.

  “I thought so.”

  “He did. He bowed his head. That means the king has spoken to him of you, or spoken to his sister Queen Mary, and she has told Suffolk. He’s serious. He must be serious.”

  I glanced sideways. The queen was looking down the list where the king had halted his horse. The big charger was tossing his head and sidling while he waited for the trumpet blast. The king sat easily in the saddle, a little golden circlet round his helmet, his visor down, his lance held before him. The queen leaned forward to see. There was a trumpet blast and the two horses leaped forward as the spurs were driven into their sides. The two armored men thundered toward each other, divots of earth flying out from the horses’ hooves. The lances were down like arrows flying to a target, the pennants on the end of each lance fluttering as the gap closed between them, then the king took a glancing blow which he caught on his shield, but his thrust at Suffolk slid under the shield and thudded into the breastplate. The shock of the blow threw Suffolk back off his horse and the weight of his armor did the rest, dragging him over the haunches, and he fell with an awful thud to the ground.

  His wife leaped to her feet. “Charles!” She whirled out of the queen’s pavilion, lifting her skirts, running like a common woman toward her husband as he lay unmoving on the grass.

  “I’d better go too.” Anne hurried after her mistress.

  I looked down the lists to the king. His squire was stripping him of his heavy armor. As the breastplate came off my white kerchief fluttered to the ground, he did not see it fall. They unstrapped the greaves from his legs and the guards from his arms and he pulled on a coat as he walked briskly up the lists to the ominously still body of his friend. Queen Mary was kneeling beside Suffolk, his head cradled in her arms. His squire was stripping off the heavy armor from his master as he lay there. Mary looked up as her brother came closer and she was smiling.

  “He’s all right,” she said. “He just swore an awful oath at Peter for pinching him with a buckle.”

  Henry laughed. “God be praised!”

  Two men carrying a stretcher ran forward. Suffolk sat up. “I can walk,” he said. “Be damned if I’m carried from the field before I’m dead.”

  “Here,” Henry said and heaved him to his feet. Another man came running to the other side and the two of them started to walk him away, his feet dragging and then stumbling to keep pace.

  “Don’t come,” Henry called to Queen Mary over his shoulder. “Let us make him comfortable and then we’ll get a cart or something and he can ride home.”

  She stopped where she was bid. The king’s page came running up with my kerchief in his hands, taking it to his master. Queen Mary put out her hand. “Don’t bother him now,” she said sharply.

  The lad skidded to a halt, still holding my kerchief. “He dropped this, Your Majesty,” he said. “Had it in his breastplate.”

  She put out an indifferent hand for it