Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 1 (88 page)

‘Please God that you are lucky and that it is your last love as well as your first,' George said, suddenly sober.

Her dark eyes met his in the mirror. ‘Please God,' she said. ‘I want nothing more in my life but Henry Percy. With that I would be content. Oh – George, I cannot tell you. If I can have and hold Henry Percy I will be so very content.'

Henry Percy came, at Anne's bidding, to the queen's rooms at noon the next day. She had chosen her time with care. The ladies had all gone to Mass, and we had the rooms to ourselves. Henry Percy came in and looked around, surprised at the silence and emptiness. Anne went up to him and took both his hands in hers. I thought for a moment that he looked, not so much courted as hunted.

‘My love,' Anne said, and at the sound of her voice the boy's face warmed; his courage came back to him.

‘Anne,' he said softly.

His hand fumbled in the pocket of his padded breeches, he drew a ring out of an inner pocket. From my station in the windowseat I could see the wink of a red ruby – the symbol of a virtuous woman.

‘For you,' he said softly.

Anne took his hand. ‘Do you want to plight our troth now, before witnesses?' she asked.

He gulped a little. ‘Yes, I do.'

She glowed at him. ‘Do it then.'

He glanced at George and me as if he thought one of us might stop him.

George and I smiled encouragingly, the Boleyn smile: a pair of pleasant snakes.

‘I, Henry Percy, take thee, Anne Boleyn, to be my lawful wedded wife,' he said, taking Anne by the hand.

‘I, Anne Boleyn, take thee, Henry Percy, to be my lawful wedded husband,' she said, her voice steadier than his.

He found the third finger of her left hand. ‘With this ring I promise myself to you,' he said quietly, and slipped it on her finger. It was too loose. She clenched a fist to hold it on.

‘With this ring, I take you,' she replied.

He bent his head, he kissed her. When she turned her face to me her eyes were hazy with desire.

‘Leave us,' she said in a low voice.

We gave them two hours, and then we heard, down the stone corridors, the queen and her ladies coming back from Mass. We knocked loudly on the door in the rhythm that meant ‘Boleyn!' and we knew that Anne, even in a sated sleep, would hear it and jump up. But when we opened the door and went in, she and Henry Percy were composing a madrigal. She was playing the lute and he was singing the words they had written together. Their heads were very close so that they might both see the hand-written music on the stand, but excepting that intimacy, they were as they had been any day these last three months.

Anne smiled at me as George and I came into the room, followed by the queen's ladies.

‘We have written such a pretty air, it has taken us all the morning,' Anne said sweetly.

‘And what is it called?' George asked.

‘“Merrily, merrily”,' Anne replied. ‘It's called “Merrily Merrily and Onward We Go”.'

That night it was Anne who left our bedchamber. She threw a dark cloak over her gown and went to the door as the palace tower bell rang for midnight.

‘Where are you going at this time of night?' I demanded, scandalised.

Her pale face looked out at me from under the dark hood. ‘To my husband,' she said simply.

‘Anne, you cannot,' I said, aghast. ‘You will get caught and you will be ruined.'

‘We are betrothed in the sight of God and before witnesses. That's as good as a marriage, isn't it?'

‘Yes,' I said unwillingly.

‘A marriage could be overthrown for non-consummation, couldn't it?'

‘Yes.'

‘So I'm making it fast,' she said. ‘Not even the Percy family will be able to wriggle out of it when Henry and I tell them that we are wedded and bedded.'

I kneeled up in the bed, imploring her to stay. ‘But Anne, if someone sees you!'

‘They won't,' she said.

‘When the Percys know that you and he have been slipping out at midnight!'

She shrugged. ‘I don't see the how or where makes much difference. As long as it is done.'

‘If it should come to nothing –' I broke off at the blaze of her eyes. In one stride she was across the room and she had her hands at the neck of my nightdress, twisting it against my throat. ‘That is why I am doing this,' she hissed. ‘Fool that you are. So that it does not come to nothing. So that no-one can ever say that it was nothing. So that it is signed and sealed. Wedded and bedded. Done without possibility of denial. Now you sleep. I shall be back in the early hours. Long before dawn. But I shall go now.'

I nodded and said not a word until her hand was on the ring of the door latch. ‘But Anne, do you love him?' I asked curiously.

The curve of her hood hid all but the corner of her smile. ‘I am a fool to own it, but I am in a fever for his touch.'

Then she opened the door, and was gone.

The court saw in the May with a day of revels, planned and executed by Cardinal Wolsey. The ladies of the queen's court went out on barges, all dressed in white, and were surprised by French brigands, dressed in black. A rescue party of freeborn Englishmen, dressed all in green, rowed to the rescue and there was a merry fight with water thrown from buckets, and water cannonade with pigs' bladders filled with water. The royal barge, decorated all over in green bunting and flying a greenwood flag, had an ingenious cannon that fired little water bombs which blasted the French brigands out of the water, and they had to be rescued by the Thames boatmen who were well paid for their trouble and then had to be prevented from joining in the fight.

The queen was thoroughly splashed in the battle and she laughed as merry as a girl to see her husband with a mask on his face and a hat on his head, playing at Robin of Nottingham and throwing a rose to me, as I sat in the barge beside her.

We landed at York Place and the cardinal himself greeted us on shore. There were musicians hidden in the trees of the garden. Robin of Greenwood, half a head taller than anyone else and golden-haired, led me into the dance. I saw the queen's smile never falter as the king took my hand and placed it on his green doublet, over his heart, and I tucked his rose into my hood so that it bloomed at my temple.

The cardinal's cooks had surpassed themselves. As well as stuffed peacock and swan, goose and chicken, there were great haunches of venison and four different sorts of roasted fish, including his favourite, carp. The sweetmeats on the table were a tribute to the May, all made into flowers and bouquets in marchpane, almost too pretty to break and eat. After we had eaten and the day started to grow chilly, the musicians played an eerie little tune and led us up through the darkening gardens into the great hall of York Place.

It was transformed. The cardinal had ordered it swathed in green cloth, fastened at every corner with great boughs of flowering may. In the centre of the room were two great thrones, one for the king and one for the queen, with the king's choristers dancing and singing before them. We all took our places and watched the children's masque and then we all rose and danced too.

We made merry till midnight and then the queen rose and signalled to her ladies to leave the room. I was following in her train when my gown was caught by the king.

‘Come to me now,' Henry said urgently.

The queen turned to make her farewell curtsey to the king and saw him, with his hand on the hem of my gown and me hesitating before him. She did not falter, she swept him her dignified Spanish curtsey.

‘I give you good night, husband,' she said in her deep sweet tone. ‘Good night, Mistress Carey.'

I dropped like a stone into a curtsey to her. ‘Good night, Your Majesty,' I whispered, my head down. I wished that the curtsey might take me down further, into the floor, into the ground below the floor, so she could not see my scarlet burning face as I came up.

When I rose up she was gone and he was turned aside. He had forgotten her already, it was as if a mother had left the young people to play at last. ‘Let's have some more music,' he said joyously. ‘And some wine.'

I looked around. The ladies of the queen's court were gone with her. George smiled reassuringly at me.

‘Don't fret,' he said in an undertone.

I hesitated but Henry, who had been taking a glass of wine, turned back to me with a goblet in his hand. ‘To the Queen of the May!' he said, and his court, who would have repeated Dutch riddles if he had recited them, obediently replied: ‘To the Queen of the May!' and raised their glasses to me.

Henry took me by the hand and led me up to the throne where Queen Katherine had been sitting. I went with him but I could feel my feet drag. I was not ready to sit on her chair.

Gently he urged me up the steps and I turned and looked down at the innocent faces of the children below me, and the more knowing smiles from Henry's court.

‘Let's dance for the Queen of the May!' Henry said, and swept a girl into a set and they danced before me, and I, seated on the queen's throne, watching her husband dance, and flirt prettily with his partner, knew that I wore her tolerant mask-like smile on my own face.

A day after the May Day feast Anne came whirling into our room, white-faced.

‘See this!' she hissed and threw a piece of paper on the bed.

                
Dear Anne, I cannot come to see you today. My lord cardinal knows everything and I am bidden to explain to him. But I swear I shall not fail you
.

‘Oh my God,' I said softly. ‘The cardinal knows. The king will know too.'

‘So what?' Anne demanded, like a striking adder. ‘So what if they all know? It's a proper betrothal, isn't it? Why shouldn't they all know?'

I saw that the paper was shaking in my hand. ‘What does he mean, he will not fail you?' I asked. ‘If it is an unbreakable betrothal then he cannot fail. There can be no question of failure.'

Anne took three swift steps across the room, came up short against the wall, wheeled around and took three steps back again, prowling like a lion in the Tower. ‘I don't know what he means by that,' she spat. ‘The boy's a fool.'