“It sounds to me very much like an affront to the Pope.”
“Are you very devoted to the Pope, Thomasin?”
She looked Anne in the face, directly for the first time. “I do not think the Pope gives two figs whether or not he has my support, but he might mind that his authority is being undermined in a country that has been under his spiritual rule for centuries.”
The group fell silent, surprised at the confidence of her reply.
“Well, well,” said Anne, raising her eyebrows archly. “You speak with authority for one in your position. Are you presuming to be the voice of the Pope in England?”
“Absolutely not.” Thomasin reached for her wine.
“Then I wonder you venture to be so bold on his behalf. Times are changing, you know, and those who do not keep up will be left behind.”
Was there a threat in those last words, Thomasin wondered?
Anne put on a false smile and continued. “I recommend that you read this work. I shall lend it to you, so that you might see the arguments set forth.”
“I am busy with my duties, and I have no inclination to read banned books.”
“Of course,” Anne replied cattily, “you are probably not accustomed to reading much. It was my mistake.”
“Oh, Thomasin can read well enough,” said Rafe suddenly. “She is a good friend of Thomas More, are you not, Thomasin? And they speak of books.”
She was touched by his defence, and nodded in affirmation. “Sir Thomas was kind enough to lend me some works from his own library when I first arrived in London, and his daughter Margaret is the most intelligent, learned woman I have ever met.”
“All the more reason to read Tyndale, then. Take it to More, and his Margaret, and see what they have to say about it. I believe More is due at court soon, as the king has summoned him to discuss the state of his affairs.”
“Enough now, Anne. You have said quite enough!” Thomas Boleyn’s tone would allow no argument.
It was on the tip of Thomasin’s tongue to state directly that this work by Tyndale was one of the books that King Henry had banned. The ones he had warned Lady Salisbury about, which should be burned upon discovery. That she should go at once and tell Henry what she had heard. But she sensed that would lead to an escalation she did not wish to deal with, especially after the viscount had intervened. Besides, the meal had become so unpleasant that she longed for escape. She applied herself to her plate and raced through the last morsels of her food, barely noticing their flavour.
“Please excuse me. I must return to my mistress.” Thomasin nodded to the viscount. “Thank you for your invitation. I wish you all a good night.”
Thomasin rose to her feet. Rafe moved as if to follow her, but she gave him a quick frown that stopped him in his tracks. Before any others might protest or attempt to detain her, she hurried away across the rushes and into the night. She didn’t even pause to see if Ellen and the others, seated together in their usual place, had noticed her presence.
Outside, the late November air was clean and fresh. There was the scent of cold skies, earth and decaying vegetation, and the acrid tang of woodsmoke. Thomasin paused and breathed for a moment, processing the conversation that had sent her head reeling. A wooden bench to her side offered a welcome respite, so she sank down upon it to steady herself.
There was little doubt in her mind that Anne had been indiscreet, owning a copy of a book that Henry had specifically banned. Yet she seemed so confident in the matter, so certain of its content and the influence it would have upon the king. An influence that would, no doubt, spell trouble for the queen, if Henry decided he had the right to grant himself a divorce. But how could he do so? The Pope still held authority over England; Henry himself had acknowledged that by inviting the papal legate, Cardinal Campeggio, upon whose word everything rested. So, what was Anne intending to do? How could this book change the king’s mind?
Thomasin realised at once that she was powerless to do anything. Unless she had actually read the book concerned, she could not counter its argument, and before then, any thoughts she might have could easily be defeated. But she was not about to start reading books that Henry wished to burn. No doubt there was a severe penalty for those who did so, or who imported them into the country. Of course, there was the option to let slip to Henry somehow that Anne had a copy, but she did not doubt the strength of Anne’s retaliation, which might find an easy target, such as the princess. So the best course for her was to wait and watch the situation unfold. With any luck, Anne’s plan would backfire and the king would be angered by her disobedience.
Then an unpleasant thought occurred to Thomasin. Perhaps it was no coincidence that the Boleyns had invited her to their table tonight. After all, it was strange and unexpected, despite their explanation of Lady Boleyn’s favour. What if they had intended for Thomasin to hear this conversation, in expectation of her taking action? But why? And what might they think she would do? Tell the queen? How would that assist their cause?
Thomasin felt the strands of their webs about her, drawing her in. No, she would refuse to play their games. She would simplycarry on, as if nothing had happened. But wasn’t she, now, complicit? Didn’t she now know that Anne owned this Tyndale book? Didn’t she have a responsibility to prevent banned ideas, heretical ideas, from spreading? From reaching innocent ears? Damn those Boleyns!
She was about to jump up from her seat, when she saw two figures in the archway ahead. The path led from the long walk, from where the pair had proceeded into this walled garden. On the threshold, they had paused, deep in earnest conversation.
Or at least one of them was. Thomas Cromwell’s silhouette was instantly recognisable as he leaned forward, poking his finger aggressively into the chest of the man standing opposite. Nico Amato was still standing tall, as tall as his master, his spine straight, bracing himself against the onslaught. Thomasin could only watch, knowing her presence would only cause further difficulties.
As she sat in the shadows, out of earshot, she saw Cromwell take a step closer. Nico was forced back against the stone wall. Then, without warning, Cromwell lifted a hand and cuffed Nico about the ear. Thomasin’s hand flew to her mouth to cover her gasp, and it was all she could do to prevent herself from rushing over. The older man delivered a few final, harsh words, then disappeared back into the long walk behind. Nico was left alone, stepping instinctively in the opposite direction, into the walled garden.
Thomasin hastened to his side. “Nico?”
He turned towards the wall.
“Are you hurt? I was on the other side, but I saw it all. How dare he strike you?”
But Nico’s golden eyes were dimmed and refused to meet hers. She realised at once that she should have remained hidden. Her witnessing the action had wounded his pride.
