“Interesting. Campeggio seemed to give the king encouragement, brushing the former ruling aside, so that Henry lives in hope.”
Thomasin frowned. “Then he is giving both cause to hope, playing both sides. I wonder why he would do such a thing.”
“To delay, I expect,” suggested Dudley. “He wishes to upset neither, and anticipates a lengthy stay in England, so he will smile at both and keep his cards close to his chest, holding out for as long as he can before he must deliver the final blow.”
Thomasin saw the wisdom of this strategy. “I fear you may be right. But which way will his judgement fall? Do you think he already knows the outcome?”
Dudley shrugged. “Who can say? This is a game far beyond those I know how to play.”
“And me.”
“Ah, look, the rain is easing. God be with you, Thomasin. I must away. I leave first thing in the morning.”
“God speed, John. I hope to see you both at Greenwich.”
“Yes, yes, we will raise a glass together at Christmas.”
Thomasin watched her friend hurry away across the rain-spattered courtyard. Could this truly be the case? Was the grumbling old legate playing the most sophisticated game of all of them, keeping them dancing at the ends of the Pope’s strings, drawing this out for as long as he could? Perhaps he had no real intention of playing fair. Perhaps the trial was to be a sham and the Pope had already made his ruling.
This may well be the case, she thought, venturing out under the grey sky, but she knew there was absolutely nothing she could do about it, except stand back and watch it all play out.
She remembered something Rafe had said on the night when he had conducted her to dine with the Boleyns: that people like them were mere pawns in the games of the wealthy, and they must try to survive and not be drawn into the misfortunes of their masters. He had questioned what Thomasin would do if Catherine were to fall from power or worse. Thomasin had dismissed the thought angrily at the time, and had been cross with herself for allowing Rafe to influence her. But what if there was such a thing as a fated path? What if this decision had already been made? There was no question of free will. No argument, no persuasion, no actions, that might divert this course.
She looked up into the sky, where the evening stars were concealed by clouds. Was her path being obscured by loyalty and duty? Was she failing to see clearly?
Thomasin shook her head, hoping to dislodge the unwelcome thought, and hurried back to the queen. The corridor was silent, watchful, in her wake.
THIRTEEN
Queen Catherine headed for the palace gate to the north, built of sturdy stone, close by the Fleet Bridge. Accompanied by her chamberlain, the silver-haired Baron Mountjoy, and her string of ladies, she walked the short journey towards the gates of St Bride’s Church. Its tall, three-pointed steeple towered above the other buildings nearby, and double doors stood open in the porch. Bells pealed out, drawing the congregation inside, out of the cold. Although she had a little closet chapel in her chambers for daily use, the queen liked to attend full Mass in the church on Sunday mornings.
Thomasin, Ellen and the other ladies in waiting followed the queen, the princess, Lady Salisbury and Mary Tudor into the church. Each was sober and quiet, with their heads bowed in respect. Inside, the central aisle led them down between carved wooden pews, the ends skilfully fashioned into the shapes of animals and birds, praying figures, fruits and flowers. Candles flickered on either side, collected in a blaze about the altar, and the air was heady with incense.
Catherine’s place was reserved at the front, on the left, and her ladies squeezed into the rows behind as best they could. Silence was expected. In the pew opposite, on the right, Henry was already kneeling in preparation for the service. His gentlemen made an imposing presence: Cromwell looked impatient and Wolsey self-contained, not conducting the Mass for once. Thomasin saw the Boleyns: they were on the right, but further back than they would probably have liked.
Thomasin was relieved to have the opportunity for reflection that the service would bring. The emotions coursing through her were nothing less than turbulent. The recent encounter with Rafe returned to plague her, along with the truth in his wordsand the kiss he had planted on her lips. Timing their arrival so as to be last, the queen’s party had avoided any awkward encounters in the churchyard, but she was aware that Rafe may be somewhere across the aisle, perhaps watching her and wondering at her thoughts.
She must find some calm: he was frustrating, enraging, provocative, although she recognised that this confusion came from within herself, as the result of her indecision about him. Rafe knew her too well. She would not be feeling this way had he not touched a nerve. She did desire him, she had always known that. Was she ever to put herself first, follow her own heart and wishes, or must she forever be someone else’s minion, bound by duty?
Thomasin shot a look across the aisle, but the stern faces of Charles Brandon and Thomas Howard made a formidable wall. The priest was beginning the sermon, so she settled down between Ellen and Maria, and allowed herself to drift away into her own thoughts as the solemn words filled the aisle.
A little sunshine was pouring down by the time the service had ended, and the congregation emerged into bright light. Having thanked the priest, Catherine did not want to linger for any difficult encounters and led her daughter straight back through the gates and into the palace courtyard. Following in their wake, Thomasin briefly caught a glimpse of a group clustered round the Boleyns, listening to a tall, sandy-haired man who was speaking. He appeared stern, his brow furrowed, shaking his head as he explained something.
“Who is that?” Thomasin asked as they hurried past.
Lady Essex was behind her. “That is Richard Sampson, Dean of the Chapel Royal. Every bit as fierce as he looks!”
“He does seem to be speaking firmly,” said Thomasin, but as she turned back to look, she saw Anne emerge from the group,interrupting Sampson as if in disagreement. Hurrying after the queen, Thomasin could only wonder what it was that they were discussing.
“Thomasin?”
Nico was waiting in the outer courtyard. She felt a flash of annoyance at seeing him, recalling his harsh response to her the other night, but she also knew her reaction to him was aggravated by what had happened between her and Rafe.
“Might I speak with you?”
“Not now, Nico. I must go with the queen!” She hurried past him and up the stone staircase, refusing to acknowledge his downcast face. Nico would have to wait.
Catherine retired to her chamber to be undressed, taking Ellen and Maria with her. According to their agreement, Thomasin remained with the princess, offering to set up the chessboard so they might play.
