Queen Catherine led the way to the royal enclosure, with the two duchesses and her ladies following. Her box had been hung with embroidered drapes on three sides, in rich reds, greens, and browns, depicting a hunting scene, with ladies on horseback chasing after a deer. There was a large, carved chair for the queen, covered in furs, and benches for Thomasin and the others, set with russet-coloured cushions. Behind them, braziers stood loaded with coals, waiting to be lit, should Catherine feel the cold. Servants hovered by a small table set with wine and pastries.
Thomasin watched as Catherine made her way to the front of the box, spread out her skirts and took her seat. The ever-attentive Mountjoy was already in position, to ensure all her needs were met. Then Mary Tudor and Lady Howard seated themselves on either side of her. Upon that signal, the rest of the ladies scrambled to find a spot with a good view of the action. Thomasin and Ellen eagerly looked out at the scene, where the crowd were gathering and horses trapped in bright colours and silver bells were being led up and down by their grooms. At both ends, bell-shaped tents housed the teams that were ready to compete; one black, red and yellow, decorated with heraldic beasts, the other green and white, with hands and hearts sewn into the design.
“What does that mean?” asked Ellen, nodding at the strange choice.
“It must be a hidden message,” Thomasin guessed. “A declaration of love? Giving someone your heart and wishing to have their hand? In marriage, perhaps?”
“But who would make such a bold and personal declaration as that?”
For their answer, the tent flaps parted and out stepped the king, wearing partial armour, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the ground.
“There you have it,” Thomasin whispered.
“But where is Anne? His message will be lost if she is not here to see it.”
They scanned the crowds opposite. A mix of court faces and visitors stared back. Wolsey and Cromwell had a box together, where Nico and Ralph were deep in conversation. Another box contained bishops and a third held ambassadors, while others were filled with women in colourful dresses and men with feathers in their caps.
Eventually, Thomas Howard and Thomas Boleyn appeared in the box beside Cromwell, who shooed away Nico and Ralph. Then, Thomasin felt the uncomfortable sensation of Mary Boleyn arriving, remembering their nasty scene in the garden. However, there was no sign of Anne. Had she been present, she would have made a grand entrance, ensuring she was impossible to miss.
“Anne is definitely not here,” Thomasin whispered to Ellen. “Not at dinner last night and not in the box, although her family are.”
“Rafe is here too. Look at the far tent.”
Thomasin couldn’t help looking where her cousin directed, and seeing Rafe Danvers preparing himself to ride, with a squire tightening his saddle. Henry Norris was beside him, pulling on gloves. But she drew her eyes quickly away.
“They are all here but her. I wonder what it can mean?”
“Perhaps the king has already moved on. Perhaps the love message is for one other than Anne?”
“It can’t be. Perhaps she is indisposed.”
King Henry was preparing to ride. Beside him, Charles Brandon, Henry Norris and Hugh Truegood were selecting their lances. It struck Thomasin that if Anne was not present, that meant she could be back at the palace alone, unless she was at Durham House. That presented another obstacle for Thomasin to overcome, if she was to deliver Lady Boleyn’s letter.
Then Thomasin saw something that gave her an unexpected start. At first she could not believe it, but she squinted and looked again at the array of faces. She put her hand out and touched her cousin’s arm.
“Oh, but Ellen, look who has come, on the end.”
In the far box sat a group of familiar figures. Her father was with Thomas More, nodding sagely as the scholar explained something. Her mother and sister had co-ordinated their ash-grey silk dresses and leaned forward to watch in excitement. There were scarlet touches to the sleeves, bodice and cuffs. Cecilia looked especially proud, her profile almost sculptural in its perfection. Thomasin was surprised to see them at court so soon, given her father’s ill-concealed reluctance to bring them with him, but she knew just how persuasive the pair could be. No doubt they would meet up after the tournament.
A little way behind them was Uncle Matthew, and to Thomasin and Ellen’s horror, next to him was a pale, portly figure with a sour expression. It was definitely Barnaby, Ellen’s estranged husband.
Thomasin felt her cousin’s intake of breath as her eyes found him.
“God in heaven, what on earth is he doing here?”
“I have no idea,” said Thomasin. “Nothing was said of his attendance. But don’t fear, he cannot approach you, and you are under the queen’s protection. We will keep you apart.”
“What if he asks to speak with me?”
“We shall warn the queen; she will allow you to remain out of sight, or else send him away.”
“I can hardly bear the sight of him. I feel sick to think of him here.” Her hands were trembling as she spoke.
“I wonder at Uncle Matthew and Father, agreeing to allow him to come to court.”
“Perhaps they had little choice. What on earth can he want?”
“Unless it is to do with the inheritance case?”
