As she was returning through the courtyard, Thomasin realised something was amiss. People were appearing from all the doorways, hurrying in the direction of the king’s presence chamber, calling to others, stopping them in their tracks and redirecting them. She wondered at first if it was a fire, but there was no smell of smoke nor sight of flames.
“What’s happening?” Thomasin asked a boy carrying wood.
“It’s the king, miss. He’s going to speak.”
Instructing him to fetch the princess’s bags, Thomasin turned and followed the crowd.
As soon as she stepped inside the inner corridor, the mood changed. A large number of people, from courtiers and lords, to ministers and servants, were all headed the same way, amid expectant but subdued chatter. At the end, another line of jostling bodies met them, coming from the outer gate, overseen by guards. She realised these people had come from outside, Londoners off the streets, invited to listen to whatever it was Henry had to say. The smell of bodies reached her, coming in from the rain into such a busy space.
The doors to the great chamber stood open, but the space inside was groaning with souls, all trying to enter and find a spot in which to breathe. Thomasin caught sight of John Dudley, a junior minister to the king she had met through their mutual friend Sir Thomas More. He waved and managed to struggle his way to her side.
“What is this?” she asked him, bewildered.
“Ah, Thomasin, are you well? Not hurt in the crush?”
“I am quite well, I thank you. I had no idea this was happening. All these people have been invited? For what?”
He looked sheepish. “You would not have been told. None of the queen’s ladies were. The king is set upon making a public declaration about the state of his marriage.”
Thomasin turned cold. “To what purpose? It can only humiliate the queen at a moment when her spirits are low enough.”
“I believe it is intended to justify the forthcoming Papal trial and to defend Anne Boleyn.”
“Defend her?”
Anne was hardly a woman who needed defending. From their interactions, Thomasin had recognised her pride and boldness, her determination to be heard and not put aside: all qualities that set her apart from the usual rules for a woman of her position. Thomasin’s complicity in a recent plot hatched in the queen’s chambers, to supply Henry with a false mistress to displace Anne, had occasioned harsh words between them. Since then, the royal favourite had treated Thomasin with cool disdain.
King Henry stood on a dais at the far end of the room, flanked by his supporters. Instantly recognisable by his red hair under its jewelled cap, the king stood a head above other men, exuding an air of authority even greater than the red velvet and gold tissue that adorned his powerful body. He was broad-shouldered, his sleeves further padded and slashed to add inches, and golden chains hung about his neck. He surveyed the chamber with scrutiny, his small blue eyes capturing every presence, every movement, as if he were a hawk hovering above them.
“There has been gossip,” whispered Dudley, as if in fear that Henry could hear them above the heads. “Too much gossip for the king’s liking.”
“Against the marriage?”
“Not just that. Against Anne herself. A man was arrested yesterday in the palace grounds for casting slurs upon her character.”
Thomasin could not help but hear this with a little satisfaction. Her first experiences at court had left her dazzled by Anne’s energy and presence, but the king’s mistress had swiftly proven herself to be sharp-tongued, and her public hostility towards the queen had been unforgiveable. Normally she wouldn’t wish ill upon anyone, but Anne’s conduct had invited it.
Following Dudley through the crowd, Thomasin picked her way to the side of the chamber where she could stand back and survey the company. All manner of people were there, both men and women, of all ages and ranks, some still dressed in the aprons or coats of their trades. She saw Bishop Fisher, Bishop Tunstall and other faces she recognised. Leaning in the opposite doorway was the compact figure of George Boleyn, Anne’s brother, with his close-clipped beard and neat features.
“There’s a judge,” said Dudley, nodding towards a man nearby, “a bishop, and over there, members of the Guild of Bakers, merchants and fishmongers.”
But Thomasin particularly noticed the women. Some were angry, with their hearts hardened against Anne, some pushed forwards, but others gaped in surprise at the palace, with its gilded ornaments and hammerbeam roof. There were wives of aldermen and sheriffs, wives of butchers and sailors, washerwomen and maids, drawn out of their usual routine and brought here, so that they might go out and spread the king’s message in the taverns and squares, at the docks and by their hearths. Thomasin was captivated by them. Such a mixture of faces and expressions, such a cross-section of lives. What were those lives like? What if she had been born among them, instead of into the Marwood family, in their great country house? She shivered at the randomness of fate.
She became aware that the king was about to speak. The crowds slowly quietened and his words reached her across their heads.
“My trusty and well-beloved subjects, both you of the nobility and the meaner sort, it is not unknown to you that I, both by God’s provision and true and lawful inheritance, have reigned over this realm of England for the term of twenty years.”
Henry paused and the crowd waited. Then he spoke of the peace of the country during this time, its honour and wealth, and the people around Thomasin nodded to each other, as if every word he spoke were direct from God.
“But when I remember my mortality,” Henry continued, taking a bleaker turn, “and that I must die, then I think that all my doings in my lifetime are clearly defaced and worthy of no memory if I leave you in trouble at the time of my death. For if my true heir be not known at the time of my death, see what mischief and trouble shall succeed to you and your children.
“Although it has pleased almighty God to send me a fair daughter of a noble woman, begotten to our great comfort and joy, yet it hath been told us by many great clerks that she is not our lawful daughter, nor is her mother my lawful wife, and that we live together abominably and detestably in open adultery.”
Thomasin thought of the slender little girl in furs, climbing out of the barge. Princess Mary was the true heir of England. There was no doubt about that in her mind.
“Think you, my lords, that these words touch not my body and soul?” Henry continued, with an expression of anguish on his face. “Daily and hourly this touches my conscience and vexes my spirits. I have no doubts myself, but think that every man among you would seek remedy when the peril of your soul and the loss of your inheritance is laid upon you. For this reason alone, I have sought counsel from the greatest men in Christendom and sent for a legate to settle my conscience according to the law of God.And as to my wife, if she be judged to be lawfully so, there would never be anything more pleasant or acceptable to me in my life, for the clearing of my conscience and for the good qualities and conditions I have found in her.”
A word took form on Thomasin’s lips. She wanted to whisper to Dudley that the king was a liar, but she dared not give it breath.
