“We leave at first light.”
FOURTEEN
Thomasin had not forgotten the last time she’d travelled on the Thames. Last autumn, she, her father and Cecilia had made the short trip in Wolsey’s barge to an entertainment held at York House. It had been a cold night, bright with stars overhead, a night that promised excitement, but the rolling motion of the boat on the choppy water had unsettled her stomach and made her feel queasy.
This stretch of the river, though, was gentle and meandering. Now it was late spring, not autumn, mid-morning, not evening and the wide, flat-bottomed craft moved at a gentle pace so that their leisurely progress through the green fields was almost a pleasure. The queen’s ladies sat on cushions, with blankets across their knees for warmth, Thomasin and Ellen on the right-hand side, with Maria and Gertrude opposite. Catherine herself sat on a low chair set in the bow, covered over with furs. Her face was composed. The rhythm was set by the rise and fall of the oars, smoothly handled by the team of eight rowers in the cardinal’s livery. In the boat behind rode Mountjoy and Wolsey himself, who had declared it his duty to accompany Catherine on her journey.
It was another sudden departure. Thomasin felt the strangeness of it, this glittering life of upheaval. Last time, they had been fleeing from the danger of the sweating sickness, but now they were in pursuit of the king, all concerns about infection set aside. Catherine had needed little reassurance. The men insisted that all at Greenwich were healthy and that no new infections had been reported in the area in the past three weeks. She had allowed herself to be guided into the boat and heaped with furs with a sense of quiet desperation. Surely Henry had fled to Anne. The letters were merely the catalyst for his desire. And where Henry went, Catherine would follow, as befitted her station, as she had done for almost twenty years.
Thomasin was surprised to find the journey so enjoyable. Along the banks, they saw the occasional houses, or people walking, washing and leading horses, church towers and the spokes and wheels of wind and water mills, but the countryside had come to life, in a riot of greenery and wildflowers. Sheep and cows stared back at them from meadows, grazing contentedly and once, a flock of swans glided serenely downstream.
Catherine was in tune with her thoughts. “There is no more beautiful time in England than the month of May.” She indicated the bank with a sweep of her hand. Willows overhung the water, trailing their leaves. “I did not notice it until I had been in England two years. The first May, I was widowed, and lay in my chamber in the darkness, but the next year, I travelled to Greenwich for the first time. There is an incomparable beauty about it. I never saw the like in Spain.”
“Nothing like,” echoed Maria Willoughby, her accent still heavy with her own Spanish youth.
Thomasin sat up. It was rare that Catherine spoke about those early days in England. “It must have been a very difficult time for you.”
Maria shot her a discouraging look, but the question had already been asked.
Catherine paused. “Perhaps the hardest time of my life. So far.”
Thomasin waited. All the women waited.
“It was hardest because I could not see God’s plan for me. I had always known what I was born to be, but there were times when it seemed as if this would never come to fruition. It had been given to me, then suddenly taken back.”
“You were widowed very young,” Thomasin encouraged.
“I was just sixteen. A child, still.”
“What was he like? Your first husband?”
Maria tried to intervene, but Catherine lifted her hand to stop her. “He should not be forgotten. Especially not in times like these, when we are grateful to have survived the pestilence once more, thanks be to God.” She sighed deeply. “He was even more of a child than I. Only fifteen, but so gentle and serious. He tried so hard, did his best to be the little king in the making. A good, noble soul. Truth be told, we spent very little time together. After all these years, I barely feel I knew him at all.”
“He was a great prince and would have been a great king,” interjected Maria.
“But God took him, God chose him,” replied Catherine. “I do remember that Easter, at Ludlow. We went to the local church, and washed the feet of the poor. The next day, we both fell ill.”
“I remember,” Maria nodded. “But you could not have known. I saw no danger in it either.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” Catherine continued, “what would have happened if we had stayed in the castle that day. There were reports of illness, but not in the town centre, and being young, we had no thought of our own mortality. We were newly married; we would be king and queen; we did not think we could die. Not yet.”
“And yet you did become queen,” said Thomasin.
“Seven years later. And in all that time, it was never certain. I thought I should be set back to Spain.”
“They were hard years. And yet you came through them. You are England’s queen. That was God’s plan for you all along.”
“And what about now? More tests? More hardship? I am no longer young. I wonder what we will find at Greenwich. I fear my husband’s last words.”
“He spoke in haste,” Maria reassured her.
“But I am old; my beauty has deserted me in the service of my husband. Child after child, until I can no more. And now this: treason.”
The women in the barge were silent. There was little comfort to offer when the king had been so cruel.
The palace lay around a bend in the river. After the sweeping fields, it was an imposing sight, with its long red-brick frontage stretching along the bank. The squarish gatehouse had turrets rising to the sky and a line of windows caught the sun. Beyond, the roofs of more buildings were visible, with their twisted chimneys, giving way to tall trees and the rising slope of the park behind. The place looked busy. Small craft were arriving and departing, offloading items at the side steps, where barrels were being rolled round to the cellar.
The queen’s barges drew gently alongside the steps. Thomasin was relieved to have arrived after the long journey, setting her feet again on solid ground. She had heard much of the magnificence of this palace, rebuilt by the king’s late father, and the sight of it did not disappoint. Yet, like her mistress, she was apprehensive about their reception.
