The Mer- Lion (30 page)

young gallants. Have you no pity? They look tike milksops alongside a real man like you. Then, mercilessly to dance
cinque pas
about them! And you think you feel bad? Think of them, their pride made a shambles. You have outmanned them."

To hear such praise he would gladly tolerate a thousand tongue lashings. If she'd only let him, Henry was sure he could outlove every one of them, too. Especially de Wynter. No man that slender, Henry decided, could have a proper man-sized pisser.

On that satisfying thought, Henry blew his nose resoundingly between two fingers and hawked up spittle from his throat, ejecting both in the general direction of the slop jar. As usual, he missed. God, how he hated using that thing. Even for pissing. If only his father had loved splendor less and creature comforts more when, after the great fire of '99, he'd rebuilt this palace. Wolsey had when he rebuilt Hampton Court. That the son of a butcher could build a better palace than the son of a king disturbed Henry. But he had to admit Hampton Court Palace was a much more fitting residence for a Tudor king than was Richmond.

It had been no surprise when the cardinal finally presented him with the palace and all its furnishings. "Wise move, Wolsey," he'd said. "Tis not fitting for a mere prelate to live better than a king." However, out of his mercy, he had allowed Wolsey to occupy and enjoy the palace for the next four years while he completed the furnishing of it. At the Church's expense, of course.

Now, three years after that, three full years after
all
of Wolsey's lands were declared forfeit to the Crown, a claimant had turned up demanding ruinous back rents or return of the land under some sort of lease made with Wolsey. Henry refused to accede to either demand. Instead, he set his new archbishop to searching out a loophole. Cranmer ought be able to release his king from a simple tease, if not from marriage to Catherine.

Elsewhere in the palace, doors banged open and closed as lackeys alerted ushers of the bedchamber to summon gentlemen of the wardrobe to attend the king. While he awaited their presence, his thoughts dwelled on Hampton Court, a truly imperial palace. An individual jake for every important apartment. Bathing closets, too. No need for the tubs used here at Richmond.

Outside his chamber, word went down to the kitchen to bring water

and bathing tub. Four men struggled upstairs, bearing the china-lined wooden tub with the king's royal arms engraved in the side. A stream of servants followed after, carrying pots of hot or cold water to fill it. Then this whole procedure must be reversed after the bath was over. The stairways of Richmond between kitchen and king were wet daily with spilled water.

But not at Hampton Court. Henry stretched vigorously without disturbing the foot that had temporarily slackened its throbbing. The more he thought of his new palace the more determined he was' to keep it. If need be, he would meet the Turcopilier's demands, and pay rent monies to the Knights Hospitalers of St. John of Jerusalem.

No, damn it, I'll see them all in hell first, he laughed unpleasantly, or better yet, in the Tower. Kings shouldn't pay rent to the Church. What gall, pressing such claims years after I've started enlarging the place. I've even affixed the tokens of royal ownership. Twenty-seven and six it cost me—each!—for that robber baron of a stone carver to carve three lions rampant, holding up shields bearing my arms.

Then there's the cost of the bricks and the glass and everything else I've ordered. If it isn't already legally mine, Cranmer shall have to make it so, he resolved.

As much as he'd have liked to throw the Turcopilier into the Tower, it was all bluster. He reared, righdy so, that the Grand Master had friends in high places at the Vatican. With the Pope still considering the king's petition for a divorce, it would not do to unduly upset the Church. At least right now. However, whatever Henry wanted he would have, eventually. And keep till tired of it. But he was not yet tired of Hampton Court Palace. He consoled himself that the Turcopilier, John Carlby, was an Englishman. A loyal subject should be amenable to some sort of arrangement. But what?

Before Henry could decide, his attendants arrived. Truly important decisions demanded his attention: which doublet to wear, what color hose, a hat with plume or jewel or medal, and especially—his foot reminded him—what to do for shoes.

Once the king was bathed, shaved, preached at, and fed heartily, the court prepared to move up the River Thames to Hampton.

While Henry stood admiring the dignity of the River Thames from the steps of Richmond Palace, with Richmond Hill behind him, the
gatehouse and wardrobe court before him, and the Maids of Honor row of houses just beyond, Suffolk approached him.

The son of Henry VII’s standard-bearer, who had been killed in single combat with Richard III at Bos worth, Suffolk had dared, above his station and without permission, to marry Henry's sister. The same Mary Tudor who has been married and widowed within the previous year by that sickly dotard, Louis XII of France.

Although her remarriage to a commoner was treasonous, Henry pardoned the pair. After all, had not Henry's great-grandfather, Owen Tudor, been a mere clerk of the wardrobe to Henry V's widow before he married her and established the Tudor's dynasty? All Henry demanded was that the pair pay a king's ransom as recompense, as well as returning all the jewels and plate given Mary as her marriage portion. With that returned to the Tudor treasury, Henry relented, allowing the couple years to pay the recompense
...
at the usual usury rates, of course. Meanwhile Henry and Suffolk rousted together, jousted together, and wagered together, for of all of those who attended the king, only Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, completely shared the king's love of jousting, and, because he did, shared Henry's heart.

This morning Suffolk greeted Henry with a proposal. Let there be a race to Hampton Court: the king and those courtiers using the royal barges versus those who preferred to ride cross-country. Coming from anyone else, the idea was dangerous, pitting king against courtier, but Suffolk knew his king.         
^/

Suffolk's idea challenged the king's desire for diversion, especially since Henry'd immediately conceived an advantage for his side that would guarantee his winning. "We shall await you at the gatehouse," he agreed, "if you do not drown first while fording the Thames."

"Fording the Thames? How so, sire?"

"Twould not be fair to use the king's bridges to best the king, would it? We shall send ahead and see to it they refuse you passage."

Suffolk chewed his lip a moment, then guffawed. "Agreed. At the gatehouse. If your barge does not swamp first, that is if it is ever launched."

The two men shook on it, pursuivants trumpeted it, heralds
announced it in voices as loud and clear as the very trumpets. The court, delighted and diverted, divided into two camps. Some to ride the tide, others their horses. The race was on.

Henry's party, arriving at the landing, was off to a slow start Shortsighted, the king had not noticed that the tide was out, the usually strong, peaceful current replaced by
a
yellow muck spotted here and there with human dung and other filth. Henry could onrj fume and limp back and forth until the tide allowed landing of tin royal barge, which was stalled mid-channel where the water wa deep.

His only consolation was that Suffolk would not fare better in hi fording of the treacherous Thames. Then, scores of servants in the livery of Suffolk and others, even Tudor white and green, emerged from the palace and descended to the river's edge. After removing their hose, they waded out shoulder to shoulder into the ooze. Several paces behind the liveried vanguard rode the courtiers,
tin
few ladies riding cross-saddle rather than pillion. Each-had her horse in hand, an equerry to either side. To the merriment of those ashore many a lackey floundered farcically, in unexpected sinkholes, especially midstream. The riders alerted, however, made their way rouiu without incident. Within the hour, Suffolk's contingent had. forded the Thames. With a salute to their king, who was still unable ti board his gilded barge, off they galloped, the few bright-colored velvet gowns among the tawny hunting costumes echoing the touch es of fall foliage in sharp but pleasing contrast to the ombre green of the woods.

So engrossed had Henry been in the spectacle that he did no realize until too late that his sister, Suffolk's frail lady, would share the cabin of the royal barge while Mistress Anne rode horseback One quick query revealed that de Wynter too had taken the more demanding course. Then, the king's rage and jealousy knew a bounds. His sister had all she could do to prevent his sending after Anne; taking horse himself; or wading out, muck or no muck, to board his barge. Only the fact that the tide was reversing itself kep him shorebound.

With the tide with them, the barge party had the advantage o nature as far as Teddington, where the influence of the tide on the Thames ceases. Thereafter they rowed against the current, but the
royal barge had twelve burly oarsmen to a side. The offer of a piece of gold apiece made their adrenaline flow far stronger than the gentle Thames. The contestants using the river route had still another advantage over their horseback opposition: those who went on horse could win only by losing, and that closely. The fickle favor of their king was well known to all.

However, it was a beautiful day for a ride, a typically English late summer day. The sun, burning the mist off the meadows, gradually ' revealed gentle verdant hills to either side of a river valley flat and fat with plentyt-A westerly wind promised continuation of this beautiful beginning throughout the day. It would be a hard ride, nonetheless, cross-country, rather than simply paralleling the river. All but daring women balked at this. To ride at more than a walk meant riding astride, as their Scottish sisters did to the North, instead of using the more usual, ladylike sideways seat. The sidesaddle had not yet been introduced into England.

They rode out straight west, not turning southward until Isleworth. ' As they put the gray, forbidding, cloistered nunnery of St. Bridget's behind them, many a woman crossed herself, breathing silent thanks that she rode free that day instead of being sequestered behind convent walls. The riders' immediate goal was the parish of St. Margaret's, far inland from the river to their left. From there to Twickenham was less than two miles, most of it through broad meadows where all could ride abreast if the sheep grazing there would make way.

But first, passing from meadow to meadow, they must traverse such thick cedar groves that the sun was shut out, the wood dankly quiet. Going single file, or at most two across, the two score courtiers and as many attendants lost time here that they would have to make up if the race were to be close, between St. Margaret's and Twickenham, or again in Strawberry Vale.

As the procession strung itself out, de Wynter followed his natural preference: never to be in the crush of riders where his sword arm might be restricted. Instead, he and Fionn alongside, held back, letting others who were more familiar with the route, go before.

He was not, however, destined to ride so much alone. Within the bounds of the second grove of cedars, he came upon a trio of riders: George Lord Rochford, Mistress Anne Boleyn, and her dismounted
equerry struggling with her stirrup leathers. Losing patience with the equerry, Anne's brother, Rochford, gave an oath and began to dismount.

Anne dissuaded him. "Nay brother, Jane will be spitting pins if you remain longer. The Scots earl here has no jealous wife. He will not refuse me his services while you ride on ahead."

Rocfiford, plainly relieved to be freed, with a "by your leave" hurried off to forestall the harangue he expected from his shrewish, shallow-brained wife. De Wynter had no choice but to come to Anne's assistance.

However, it took less than a minute or two to move the buckle up a notch. Anne, thoughtfully removing her foot from the stirrup and lifting her leg out of his way, raised her skirts unnecessarily high and gave de Wynter an unusually good look at her black-stockinged, shapely calf.

"Thank you, milord," she said, smiling down upon him. "Somehow, I felt sure you would be more successful with that recalcitrant buckle."

He arched an eyebrow questioningly before acknowledging her thanks with a slight bow, but he said nothing. Nothing need be said; with her cooperation and without pressure on the stirrup, the buckle had offered no resistance. As he gathered up her reins and handed them back to her, their fingers touched and lingered.

Slowly, deliberately, she withdrew hers from his. But she did not urge her horse forward. Instead, she waited patiently while he remounted, then moved her horse close beside his, her equerry falling in behind with Fionn. De Wynter couldn't help but wonder why the subterfuge had been necessary. In the past, she had sought him out brazenly, especially when the king was at hand—a practice potentially hazardous to his future. The element of danger, rather than discouraging him, added a fillip to his enjoyment of her attention. Besides, in her he found a woman seemingly impervious to his charms—something new to him. He was more used to keeping women out of his bed than luring them into it. That Henry had had no more success than he, simply whetted his desire for her.

As they rode silently along, he could appreciate her attraction for Henry. Not conventionally beautiful, in fact almost plain in repose, Anne's face was transformed when she smiled or talked. Then, one
couldn't take one's eyes from her: Adding to her fascination was her vivid, almost exotic coloring: long black hair, enormous black eyes, and lips startlingly red against pale white skin.