Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 1 (80 page)

The king was seated before the fire, wrapped in a warm robe of velvet trimmed with fur. As he heard the door open he leaped to his feet.

I dropped into a deep curtsey. ‘You sent for me, Majesty.'

He could not take his eyes from my face. ‘I did. And I thank you for coming. I wanted to see … I wanted to talk … I wanted to take a little …' He broke off finally. ‘I wanted you.'

I stepped a little closer. He would smell Anne's perfume from that distance, I thought. I tossed my head and felt the weight of my hair shift. I saw his eyes go from my face to my hair and back again. Behind me, I heard the door closing as George went out without a word. Henry did not even see him go.

‘I am honoured, Your Majesty,' I murmured.

He shook his head, not in impatience, but as the gesture of a man who cannot waste time on play. ‘I want you,' he said again, flatly, as if that were all that a woman would need to know. ‘I want you, Mary Boleyn.'

I took a small step closer to him. I leaned towards him. I felt the warmth of his breath and then the touch of his lips on my hair. I did not move forward or back.

‘Mary,' he whispered and his voice was choked with his desire.

‘Your Majesty?'

‘Please call me Henry. I want to hear my name on your lips.'

‘Henry.'

‘D'you want me?' he whispered. ‘I mean as a man? If I were a farmer on your father's estate, would you want me then?' He put his hand under my chin to lift up my face so that he could look into my eyes. I met his bright blue gaze. Carefully, delicately I put my hand to his face and felt the softness of his curling beard under my palm. At once he closed his eyes at my touch and then turned his face and kissed my hand where it cupped his chin.

‘Yes,' I said, caring not at all that it was nonsense. I could not imagine this man as anything but King of England. He could no more deny being king than I could deny being a Howard. ‘If you were a nobody and I were a nobody I would love you,' I whispered. ‘If you were a farmer with
a field of hops I would love you. If I were a girl who came to pick the hops would you love me?'

He drew me closer to him, his hands warm on my stomacher. ‘I would,' he promised. ‘I would know you anywhere for my true love. Whoever I was and whoever you were, I would know you at once for my true love.'

His head came down and he kissed me gently at first and then harder, the touch of his lips very warm. Then he led me by the hand towards the canopied bed and lay me down on it and buried his face in the swell of my breasts where they showed above the stomacher that Anne had helpfully loosened for him.

At dawn I raised myself on my elbow and looked out of the leaded panes of the window to where the sky was growing pale and I knew that Anne would be watching for the sun too. Anne would be watching the light slowly filling the sky and knowing that her sister was the king's mistress and the most important woman in England, second only to the queen. I wondered what she made of that as she sat in the windowseat and listened to the first birds tentatively sounding out their notes. I wondered how she felt, knowing that I was the one the king had chosen, the one who was carrying the ambitions of the family. Knowing that it was me and not her in his bed.

In truth, I did not have to wonder. She would be feeling that disturbing mixture of emotions that she always summoned from me: admiration and envy, pride and a furious rivalry, a longing to see a beloved sister succeed, and a passionate desire to see a rival fall.

The king stirred. ‘Are you awake?' he asked from half-under the covers.

‘Yes,' I said, instantly alert. I wondered if I should offer to leave, but then he emerged head first from the tangle of bedding and his face was smiling.

‘Good morrow, sweetheart,' he said to me. ‘Are you well this morning?'

I found I was beaming back at him, reflecting his joy. ‘I'm very well.'

‘Merry in your heart?'

‘Happier than I have ever been in my life before.'

‘Then come to me,' he said, opening his arms, and I slid down the sheets and into the warm musky-scented embrace, his strong thighs pressing against me, his arms cradling my shoulders, his face burrowing into my neck.

‘Oh Henry,' I said foolishly. ‘Oh, my love.'

‘Oh I know,' he said engagingly. ‘Come a little closer.'

I did not leave him till the sun was fully up and then I was in a hurry to be back in my room before the servants were about.

Henry himself helped me into my gown, tied the laces at the back of my stomacher, put his own cloak around my shoulders against the chill of the morning. When he opened the door my brother George was lounging in the windowseat. When he saw the king, he rose to his feet and bowed, cap in hand, and when he saw me behind the king he gave me a sweet smile.

‘See Mistress Carey back to her room,' the king said. ‘And then send the groom of the bedchamber in, would you, George? I want to be up early this morning.'

George bowed again and offered me his arm.

‘And come with me to hear Mass,' the king said at the door. ‘You can come with me to my private chapel today, George.'

‘I thank you.' George accepted with nonchalant grace the greatest honour that any courtier could receive. The door to the privy chamber closed as I curtsied and then we went quickly through the audience chamber and through the great hall.

We were too late to avoid the lowest of the servants, the lads employed to keep the fires burning were dragging great logs into the hall. Other boys were sweeping the floor, and the men at arms who had slept where they had dined were opening their eyes and yawning and cursing the strength of the wine.

I put the hood of the king's cloak up over my dishevelled hair and we went quickly and quietly through the great hall and up the staircase to the queen's apartments.

Anne opened the door at George's knock and drew us in. She was white-faced with lack of sleep, her eyes red. I took in the delicious sight of my sister on the rack of jealousy.

‘Well?' she asked sharply.

I glanced at the smooth counterpane on the bed. ‘You didn't sleep.'

‘I couldn't,' she said. ‘And I hope you slept but little.'

I turned away from her bawdiness.

‘Come now,' George said to me. ‘We only want to know that all is well with you, Mary. And Father will have to know and Mother and Uncle Howard. You'd better get used to talking about it. It's not a private matter.'

‘It's the most private matter in the world.'

‘Not for you,' Anne said coldly. ‘So stop looking like a milkmaid in springtime. Did he have you?'

‘Yes,' I said shortly.

‘More than once?'

‘Yes.'

‘Praise God!' George said. ‘She's done it. And I have to go. He asked me to hear Mass with him.' He crossed the room and caught me up into a hard hug. ‘Well done. We'll talk later. I have to go now.'

He banged the door indiscreetly as he left and Anne made a little tutting noise and then turned to the chest which held our clothes.

‘You'd better wear your cream gown,' she said. ‘No need to look the whore. I'll get you some hot water. You'll have to bathe.' She raised her hand to my protests. ‘Yes, you will. So don't argue. And wash your hair. You have to be spotless, Mary. Don't be such a lazy slut. And get out of that gown and hurry, we have to go to Mass with the queen in less than an hour.'

I obeyed her, as I always did. ‘But are you happy for me?' I asked as I struggled out of the stomacher and petticoat.

I saw her face in the mirror, the leap of jealousy veiled by the sweep of her eyelashes. ‘I am happy for the family,' she said. ‘I hardly ever think about you.'

The king was in his private gallery, overlooking the chapel, hearing matins as we filed past to the queen's adjoining room. Straining my ears I could just hear the mutter of the clerk putting papers before the king for him to glance at and sign as he watched the priest in the chapel below go through the familiar motions of the Mass. The king always did his business at the same time as hearing the morning service, he followed his father in this tradition, and there were many who thought the work was hallowed. There were others, my uncle among them, who thought that it showed that the king was in a hurry to get the work out of the way and that he only ever gave it half his mind.

I kneeled on the cushion in the queen's private room, looking at the ivory gleam of my gown as it shimmered, hinting at the contours of my thighs. I could still feel the warmth of him in the tenderness between my legs, I could still taste him on my lips. Despite the bath which Anne had insisted that I took, I still fancied that I could smell the sweat from his chest on my face and in my hair. When I closed my eyes it was not in prayer, but in a reverie of sensuality.

The queen was kneeling beside me, her face grave, her head erect under the heavy gable hood. Her gown was open a little at the neck so that she might slide her finger inside and touch the hair shirt that she always wore next to her skin. Her sober face was drawn and tired, her head bowed
over her rosary, the old slack skin on her chin and cheeks looking weary and pouched under her tightly closed eyes.

The Mass went on interminably. I envied Henry the distraction of the state papers. The queen's attention never wavered, her fingers were never idle on her beads, her eyes were always closed in prayer. Only when the service ended and the priest wiped the chalices in the white cloths and took them away did she give a lingering sigh, as if she had heard something that none of us had ears for. She turned and smiled on all of us, all her ladies, even me.

‘And now let us go to break our fast,' she said pleasantly. ‘Perhaps the king will eat with us.'

As we filed past his door, I felt myself dawdle, I could not believe that he would let me go by without a word. As if he sensed my desire, my brother George flung open the door at the exact moment that I was lingering and said loudly: ‘A good morning to you, my sister.'

In the room behind him Henry looked up quickly from his work and saw me, framed in the doorway, in the cream gown that Anne had chosen for me, with my cream headdress pulling my rich hair off my young face. He gave a little sigh of desire at the sight of me and I felt my colour rise, and my smile warm my face.

‘Good day, sire. And good day to you, my brother,' I said softly, while my eyes never left Henry's face.

Henry rose to his feet and stretched out his hand as if to draw me in. He checked himself with a glance at his clerk.

‘I'll take my breakfast with you,' he said. ‘Tell the queen I will come along in a few moments. Just as soon as I have finished these … these …' His vague gesture indicated that he had no idea what the papers were.

He came across the room, like a dazed trout swimming towards a poacher's bright lantern. ‘And you, this morning, are you well?' he said quietly, for my ears only.

‘I am.' I shot a quick, mischievous glance up at his intent face. ‘A little weary.'