“And where did your travels take you?” pressed Henry, before turning to Catherine in a show of unity. “I believe they left Windsor in some haste, did they not?”
“Against my express wishes,” Catherine added, buoyed by Henry’s support, “and without taking their leave.”
“Without taking their leave?” Henry turned back to Vernier with a calculated intensity. “Surely that was not the case? They would not have been so disrespectful?”
Vernier squirmed before them, half turning for support from his companions, the wind knocked out of his golden sails. “My Lord, My Lady, no disrespect was intended. The sweat arrived at Windsor and the whole castle was being closed up. We were given to understand that you had departed for Hampton.”
Catherine looked as if she would speak again, but Henry got in first.
“No doubt, now you are at Greenwich, you will be anxious to prove that there was no disrespect, merely misunderstanding.”
“Of course, My Lord, of course, no disrespect.” Vernier threw in another bow for good measure.
At that point, Anne made a movement. It was slight, perhaps the rise and fall of a hand, or a shift in weight from one side to the other, but it caused her orange skirts to ripple in the light. Thomasin caught it out of the corner of her eye. If it had been designed to get Henry’s attention, it was successful. Once she had his eyes upon her, she pursed her lips and turned away. There was a pause.
“My Lord,” Catherine said softly. Only those closest could hear. “Shall we proceed to the joust?”
Henry turned back to the hall. “By eleven of the clock, the challengers must hang their shields upon the tree. You must all be in your seats by then, and we shall commence. Be about your business. The ambassadors will attend upon the queen.”
Henry left the dais and walked past the Venetians.
Passing Anne, with a mixture of impatience and interest, but barely fixing her with his eyes, he said, “Come, Madam.”
For a second, Anne hesitated. But Henry had merely taken two steps further when she slipped into pace behind him, like his shadow as he withdrew from sight.
It was an unsatisfactory ending. Henry had backed Catherine’s position in public, insisted that the ambassadors give her the respect she was due, but then he had asserted his private preference, before all those watching.
Even from a distance, Thomasin could see Catherine’s bottom lip trembling as she struggled to maintain her calm front. But Thomasin was not alone in seeing her distress; the queen’s devoted Maria was at her side, speaking softly, offering her arm as Catherine rose.
Vernier was still on his knees before her. She looked down upon the top of his head. All the emotion seemed to rise in her. “Is there anything else you would say to me, Signore?”
Vernier looked uncomfortable. The remaining members of court fell silent.
“You will not find me so forgiving of the slight you gave me.”
“Please, my Lady…”
“Nor the way you intended to use my ladies, to gain information about my movements, my thoughts, through the means of encouraging them to write you letters. And offering them gifts to do so, in secret? Whatever did you mean by it?”
“It was merely a way to build a closer relationship…”
“Nonsense. It was little less than espionage. What did you hope to hear? Did you think to get news about my nephew, the emperor? Or were you merely playing myself against my husband, waiting to see whose cause to back? You have been premature, Signore Vernier. Premature indeed, with your gifts and requests. I have long wished to return this to you.” She reached into her sleeve and drew out the ballas ruby on its gold chain. “Take it.”
Vernier stumbled forwards to receive the jewel. “My Lady, I…”
Rising, Catherine looked down at him. “You will not address me again in all the time you are here, and you will depart as soon as possible.”
The Venetian appeared as if he was about to speak, but Catherine walked past him, signalling that the discussion was over. Thomasin and Ellen jumped up and hurried after her, but not before Thomasin had briefly met the golden eyes of Nico Amato. They somehow seemed to be speaking to her, but their message was impenetrable.
Out in the tilt yard, Catherine shook off her dark cloud and made for the stands. Thomasin was delighted to see Thomas More and his daughter and son-in-law, Margaret and Will Roper taking their seats, along with Bishops Mendoza and Fisher. Margaret saw her approach and waved, but for now, Thomasin had to sit with Catherine in the opposite section, decked out in red and green flags. Catherine occupied the carved chair, made more comfortable with cushions, but at least there were thick carpets draped over the benches where her ladies were to sit. From a service tent painted with gold apples and pomegranates, servants brought them dishes of pastries and glasses of wine.
Henry was seated in the next portion of the stands, already deep in conversation with Wolsey. At one side, Thomasin also noted the familiar figure of Thomas Cromwell, listening intently to his master. His time with his family had clearly come to an end, and he had judged it safe to return to court. Catherine would not be pleased at his return, thought Thomasin. Hopefully it would not resurrect the unpleasantness about the letters at Hampton.
Beyond the king, in the final third of the left stands, Thomasin caught the flash of Anne’s orange skirts. Surely her parents were among her party, and Jane Boleyn and their hangers-on. No doubt, though, their young men, Thomas Wyatt, George Boleyn and Rafe Danvers, would be riding in the lists.
The arena lay before them, freshly sanded and marked out by palings painted in green and white. Brightly-coloured rings were suspended from a handful of scaffolds, which the competitors would attempt to spear. Opposite, the right-hand stand was filled by the non-royal parties.
The Venetians had been directed to sit at the furthest end, the worst seats with the worst view, looking a little uncomfortable and uncertain of their welcome. Nico was among them, Thomasin noted, but the distance was too great for any meaningful communication.
