Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 1 Read online

  We were silent for a moment, a dark little group under a midsummer blue sky. George shook his head. ‘It’s nothing,’ he reiterated. ‘And it’s my own business. I’m sickened by women, by the constant desire and talk of women. You know all the sonnets and all the flirting and all the empty promises. And a boy is so clean and so clear …’ He turned away. ‘It’s a whim. I won’t regard it.’

  Anne looked at him, her eyes narrowed with calculation. ‘It’s a cardinal sin. You’d better let this whim go by.’

  He met her gaze. ‘I know it, Mistress Clever,’ he said.

  ‘What about Francis Weston?’ I asked.

  ‘What about him?’ George rejoined.

  ‘You’re always together.’

  George shook his head impatiently. ‘We’re always in service to the king,’ he corrected me. ‘We’re forever waiting for the king. And all there is to do is to flirt with the girls at court and talk scandal with them. It’s no wonder I am sick of it. The life I live makes me weary to the soul of the vanity of women.’

  Autumn 1525

  When I returned to court in the autumn a family conference was convened. I noted wrily that this time I had one of the big carved chairs with arms, and a velvet cushion in the seat. This year I was a young woman who might be carrying the king’s son in her belly.

  They decided that Anne might come back to court in the spring.

  ‘She’s learned her lesson,’ my father said judicially. ‘And with Mary’s star rising so high we should have Anne at court. She should be married.’

  My uncle nodded, and they moved on to the more important topic of what might be in the king’s mind since the same settlement which had ennobled my father had also made Bessie Blount’s boy a duke. Henry Fitzroy, a little lad of only six, was the Duke of Richmond and Surrey, the Earl of Nottingham and Lord High Admiral of England.

  ‘It’s absurd,’ my uncle said flatly. ‘But it shows how his mind is working. He’s going to make Fitzroy the next heir.’

  He paused. He looked round the table at the four of us: my mother and father, George and me. ‘It tells us that he’s getting truly desperate. He must be thinking of a new marriage. It’s still the safest, fastest way to an heir.’

  ‘But if Wolsey brokers a new marriage he’ll never favour us,’ my father observed. ‘Why should he? He’s no friend of ours. He’ll look for a French princess, or Portuguese.’

  ‘But what if she has a son?’ my uncle asked, nodding towards me. ‘When the queen is out of the way? Here’s a girl of good birth, as good as Henry’s mother’s. Pregnant for the second time by him. Every chance in the world that she might be carrying his son. If he marries her he has an heir. At once. A complete solution.’

  There was a silence. I looked around the table and saw that they were all nodding. ‘But the queen will never leave,’ I said simply. It was always me that reminded them of that one fact.

  ‘If the king has no need of her nephew, then the king has no need of her,’ my uncle said brutally. ‘The Treaty of the More which has taken Wolsey so much trouble has opened the door for us. Peace with France is the end of the alliance with Spain, is the end of the queen. Whether she wills it or no, she is no more than any unwanted wife.’

  He let the silence hang in the room. It was outright treason that we were talking now and my uncle feared nothing. He looked me in the face and I felt the weight of his will like a thumb pressed on my forehead. ‘The end of the alliance with Spain is the end of the queen,’ he said. ‘The queen is going whether she likes it or not. And you are going into her place, whether you like it or not.’

  I searched my soul for courage and I rose to my feet and went behind my chair so that I could hold onto the thick carved wooden back.

  ‘No,’ I said, and my voice came out steadily and strong. ‘No, Uncle, I am sorry but I can’t do it.’ I looked down the long dark wood table and met his gaze, as sharp as a falcon with black eyes that missed nothing. ‘I love the queen. She’s a great lady and I can’t betray her. I cannot take her place. I cannot push her out and take the place of the Queen of England. It’s to overthrow the order of things. I daren’t do it. I can’t do it.’

  He smiled at me, his wolfish smile. ‘We are making a new order,’ he said. ‘A new world. There is talk of the end of the authority of the Pope, the map of France and Spain is being redrawn. Everything is changing, and here we are, at the very front of the change.’

  ‘If I refuse?’ I asked, my voice very thin.

  He gave me his most cynical smile that left his eyes as cold as wet coals. ‘You don’t,’ he said simply. ‘The world’s not changed that much yet. Men still rule.’

  Spring 1526

  Anne was finally allowed back to court and took over my duties as lady in waiting to the queen as I grew weary. It was a hard pregnancy this time, the midwives swore that it was because I was carrying a big strong boy and he was sapping my strength. I certainly felt the weight of him when I walked around Greenwich, always longing for my bed.

  When I lay in bed the weight of the baby pressed on my back so that my feet and toes would seize with the cramps and I would suddenly cry out in the night, and Anne would groggily wake and burrow down to the end of the bed to massage my clenched toes.

  ‘For God’s sake go to sleep,’ she said angrily. ‘Why do you toss and turn the whole time?’

  ‘Because I cannot get comfortable,’ I snapped back. ‘And if you cared more for me and less for yourself you would get me an extra pillow for my back and a drink, instead of lying there like a fat bolster.’

  She giggled at that and sat up in the darkness and turned to see me. The embers of the fire lit the bedroom.

  ‘Are you really ill, or just making a fuss over nothing?’

  ‘Really ill,’ I said. ‘Truly, Anne, I ache in every bone in my body.’

  She sighed and got out of bed and took the candle to the glowing fire and lit it. She held it close to my face so that she could see me.

  ‘You’re as white as a boggart,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You look old enough to be my mother.’

  ‘I am in pain,’ I said steadily.

  ‘D’you want some hot ale?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘And another pillow?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘And a piss as usual?’

  ‘Yes please. Anne, if you had ever carried a child you would know what this feels like. I swear to you it’s no small matter.’

  ‘I can see that it is not,’ she said. ‘I only have to look at you to know that you feel like a woman of ninety years old. God knows how we will keep the king if this goes on.’

  ‘I don’t have to do anything,’ I said irritably. ‘All he ever looks at these days is my belly.’

  Anne thrust the poker in the fire and set the ale at the hearthside with a couple of mugs. ‘Does he play with you?’ she asked interestedly. ‘When you go to his room after dinner?’

  ‘Not once in the past month,’ I said. ‘The midwife said that I should not.’

  ‘Sound advice to the mistress of a king,’ Anne muttered irritably, bending over the fire. ‘I wonder who paid her to tell you that? You’re such a fool to listen.’ She drew the hot poker from the embers and thrust it into the jar of ale where it hissed and seethed. ‘What did you tell the king?’

  ‘The baby matters more than anything.’

  Anne shook her head and poured the ale. ‘We matter more than anything else,’ she reminded me. ‘And no woman has ever kept a man by giving him children. You have to do both, Mary. You can’t stop pleasing him just because he’s got a child on you.’

  ‘I can’t do everything,’ I said plaintively. She passed my cup and I took a sip. ‘Anne, all I really want to do is to rest and let this baby grow strong inside me. I have been at one court or another since I was four years old. I am tired of dancing, I am tired of feasting, I am tired of watching jousting and dancing in the masque and being amazed to see that the man who looks exactly like the king