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IN THE NORTH, HARRY Percy had finally fallen out with all his family, his brothers and his mother. It seemed they wanted to cling steadfastly to the Roman church, despite how the law was changing, despite knowing it might cost them their lives.
Harry was determined that their stubbornness would not cost him his estates and his livelihood, even if he were no longer here to care about it. And there was always a slim chance that generosity from him might soften the King toward his brothers, although he doubted it.
He spent more and more time asleep nowadays, more and more time with fat little leeches stuck to his body. How strange that such a short time ago he was young and carefree, in love and looking forward to a contented future. When was that? Only ten years ago? It seemed like another life, a distant past life that was lived by someone else.
Now he knew he could not last long, he sent for a lawyer to put his affairs in order and he made a Will, leaving his entire estate to the King. It might just save the Percys, at least his mother if not his brothers.
He had not seen his wife for years, not since the loss of their only child, and even if he wanted to travel to Shrewsbury to visit her, the journey would be too much. Not that he wanted to see her. He had been relieved not to have her presence in his home and he had no doubt that she felt the same.
If she were unhappy, it might make her father feel something of the blame for that. It was a pity that his own father was no longer alive to take any of that blame upon himself.
But it was the King, so he was told, who insisted on this farce of a marriage. It was the King who had separated him from Anne because he had taken a fancy to her himself, because the royal loins had honoured her with their attention. And look where that had led, the whole country in turmoil, many afraid for their very souls, all for the sake of one man’s lust.
But he had little choice other than to leave his estate to that King. He would be sure Henry got to hear of it in the vain hope that it would soften his heart toward the Percy family.
***
THAT CHRISTMAS OF 1535 was as joyous as every other Christmas before it. There was no warning that this year would be different and Anne was pleased that the King stayed with her, did not desert her for the delights of Madge Shelton and other sluts about the court.
He could not, of course, bed with Anne, since her pregnancy must be preserved at all costs, but he spent the whole twelve days with her, dancing, singing, enjoying the entertainments.
Henry cancelled another planned trip to Calais as he did not want Anne to make such an arduous journey in her condition, and he wanted his Queen with him.
Perhaps things would be all right after all, if he would cancel such an important journey for her sake. He really wanted her with him enough to postpone it; that gave her comfort and endeared him to her.
It was just after twelfth night that news came to them of the death of the Dowager Princess of Wales. Katherine of Aragon, that stately, impeccable woman, that woman whom Anne had pitied all those years ago when first she came to court, was no more.
She felt strangely grief stricken to know that she was gone. She took to her chamber and wept, but she dared not ask Henry to put the court into mourning for her.
This feeling that overcame Anne was unlikely, since Katherine’s death strengthened her own position. No more would there be devious supporters of Katherine plotting to bring down Anne and reunite Henry with his former wife.
But despite that, more gossip spread around the country. It was said that Katherine’s heart had been black when they cut her open and rumour now had it that Anne had put a curse on her.
She wanted to laugh at that. It was ridiculous, since Katherine was no threat to her. She had tried to make her banishment more comfortable, even pleaded with the King to allow a meeting between her and Mary, but nobody would ever believe that, even if it were announced as a proclamation.
She found Henry alone but for his close servants. He glanced up from his work and gave her a half smile that she felt sure was forced, but she continued to stand beside him.
“I come to offer my condolences,” she said.
“On the death of my sister-in-law? Why should that be? She was your enemy.”
His sister-in-law. That was so typical of Henry, to pretend those twenty years as Katherine’s husband never existed, that they were some pretence that never really happened.
“You made her my enemy,” said Anne, her anger mounting. “I always had respect for her.”
“She is gone now,” said the King. “But do not get too comfortable, Madam. I rid myself of one wife, one of far more importance than you.”
“You are threatening me? And I but came to offer sympathy.” She touched her stomach soothingly. “Does this child mean nothing to you?”
News of Katherine’s death had chilled him, filled him with regret. He had cast her aside, a loyal wife whom he had loved, and now it was clear that God was telling him He was as yet not satisfied.
His eyes wandered over Anne, and he knew that the notion that entered his head was a reply from God. She had enchanted him, had seduced him away from his marriage, had caused him to split the country and even execute his closest friends. Was the Almighty now telling him he had married a witch? Why else would He take his male children?
But she was with child and she could well be carrying the heir, the son he so desperately needed. God might still be telling him to wait, that he would learn that he was right.
He stayed in his chair but pulled her against him, held her stomach close to his face, turned his head and gently kissed the satin that covered her precious cargo.
“Forgive me, my love,” he said. “I am distraught. I thought I would be glad to see the end of Katherine, but I find myself strangely affected.”
She held him against her, stroked his hair, bent and kissed the top of his head. It would be all right; this child would be a boy and with Katherine gone, more people would accept her as Queen. They would be happy again; Henry would love her again.
Henry ordered an expensive funeral for his former Queen and a celebration of her life took place at the palace that evening. He was very attentive to his present Queen, enough to make Anne feel more secure.
***
THEY WERE AT GREENWICH later in the month for the jousting. Henry was a keen jouster and always took part in the lists; that day was no exception. Anne sat on her Queen’s throne, wrapped in her ermine lined purple cloak for a shield against the harsh January weather.
She wore the necklace with her initialled pendant hanging from the pearls and her dark eyes followed the King as he cantered forward, his lance ready to unhorse his opponent.
He had shared her bed last night. They had not made love, of course, since nothing could be allowed to endanger this foetus, which could well grow to be the next King of England. But he had held her close, kissed her tenderly just as he had in the early days, and she had slept in his arms.
She felt better, felt that she would win back his love, even though his love was a thing she had never wanted. Strange that she had never loved him, no matter what he had done for her. Yet those things were not for her, not to her mind. He had done all those things for himself, because he wanted to free himself of the Pope, wanted to free himself of Katherine, wanted Anne, and he was the King; no one was going to come between him and what he had set his mind on.
She had grown fond of him over the years, but she could never forget that it was he and Wolsey who had destroyed her chance of being with the man she really loved. Wolsey was gone, her revenge on him complete, and she had long ceased to want revenge on Henry. It was too dangerous to even think about.
She had no choice but to show Henry the love he craved and now, as she watched him, she saw once again what a wonderful horseman he was. He looked splendid in his armour which shone in the winter sunlight, and she was enjoying the entertainment, laughing and clapping her hands, crying out her joy.
Then it happened. Henry was easy enough to spot, being taller and fuller built than any of the other contestants, and she watched with mounting excitement as he cantered toward his challenger once more. But this time his adversary’s lance unhorsed the King, he landed on the frost covered ground, his heavily armoured horse fell on him and the crowd subsided into hushed silence.
Anne leapt to her feet, her arms outstretched as though to catch her husband as he fell. It was an empty gesture, an impulse in the few seconds after the fall, then she screamed and fainted into the arms of her brother, George.
Having revived his sister, George wanted to take her to her chamber, but she insisted on going to the King. What she saw when she entered his apartment, made her feel dizzy again and she leaned heavily on her brother for support.
The King lay completely still, his servants busy with water and cloths, while his groom of the stool, Sir Henry Norris, removed as much of his armour as was possible. Still the King remained unconscious, still nothing could wake him.
Anne moved close to sit on the bed beside him, to take his hand and hold it to her lips. It was a touching scene, one that a few among those present did not trust. Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, in particular stared at Anne with a frown, a grimace of disapproval, a grimace so fiercely hateful that she could almost feel it.
The Duke was the King’s best friend and the widower of his sister, the Princess Mary Tudor. He was one of Anne’s worst enemies. He had been a great friend of Cardinal Wolsey and supporter of Queen Katherine and although he had obeyed the King’s wishes regarding his divorce and marriage to Anne, he blamed her entirely for turning Henry against his lawful marriage.
Still, she was the Queen and if she wanted to sit at the King’s bedside and hold his hand during this worrying time, it was none of the Duke’s concern. It was men like him who were trying to turn Henry against his wife, but while she carried his child, they would not succeed.
It was two hours before the King regained consciousness and during this time Anne sat with him, held onto that heavily ringed hand and silently prayed, although her prayers were muddled. Part of her desperately wanted the King to recover; he was the only protection she had against her many enemies. But part of her wished him dead, while Elizabeth was his natural heir and she, Anne, would have a place from which no one could topple her.
The King recovered over the next few days, but his leg was badly injured and seemed likely never to fully mend. He would certainly never joust again, a fact which gave him a sour temper; it had ever been his favourite sport and now it was denied him.
He began to wonder for what he was being punished, began to wonder just what God really wanted of him. He thought he saw a glimmer of an answer when, a few days later, Anne miscarried of a boy child.
There could be no clearer message, for it happened on the very day of Katherine’s funeral.