Ellen could not show her disappointment; she turned and obeyed at once, hurrying from the hall and disappearing in the direction of the queen’s apartments. Thomasin felt for her, but she was reminded just how close the summer’s outbreak of the sweating sickness remained, and how keenly the king felt any potential threat to his health. Any sign or symptom had to be immediately removed from his presence. And the crowd kept moving forwards, each waiting their turn.
Thomasin was pleased when Henry beckoned Bishop Mendoza to approach the dais, although as usual, he came slowly, with the air of one who suffered. His good friend Bishop Fisher was at his side, offering support.
“My lord and lady,” the Spaniard began, leaning forward like an ancient tree about to uproot.
“Please, my good bishop,” Catherine interrupted at once. “Please do not trouble yourself to bow. We excuse you on account of your health; please be seated.”
“You are too kind, my lady. I would only mention my humble gifts of cloth of gold and green ginger, before I take up your kind offer.”
“Thomasin,” said the queen, “help the bishop to a seat.” She waved her hand to clear space, and those seated on a bench in the window jumped up.
“And my good Bishop Fisher,” Henry added, “you are welcome to court. Much merriment and disports we shall have.”
With the ancient bishop leaning heavily on her arm, Thomasin found the best spot she might, and secured his comfort with cushions. As she turned back to the king and queen, it was to see the French ambassador Jean du Bellay bowing low, then sharing a joke with Henry.
The lithe, mercurial du Bellay was boasting of his gifts. “My master has sent you a manuscript of the life of St Justus, Archbishop of Canterbury, illuminated by the nuns of Notre Dame in gold leaf and lapis lazuli.”
“He is most generous,” nodded Henry, “my good brother across the Channel. Would that I could celebrate with him.”
“The invitation to return is always there.”
“I would like to do so very much,” the king replied. “Perhaps in this coming year, we might be reunited. I might even come to his wedding, if I knew when it might be!”
“The negotiations proceed,” said du Bellay, diplomatically. “It will be a truly splendid match.”
Henry looked as if he would say more. “Come to supper in my chamber, later. I have words for you.”
“It would be my pleasure, my lord.”
Thomas More, accompanied by Margaret and Will Roper, approached the king next. Margaret shot Thomasin a warm smile as she dropped into her curtsey, both looking forward to spending the long winter evenings together.
“My dear friend,” the king said, standing to embrace More. “It is such a pleasure to have you at Greenwich for the season. Such entertainments we shall have. Stay close; there are matters of great importance to me, on which I long to hear your opinion.”
“Of course, my good lord.”
Thomasin wondered if More had reservations, knowing that Henry was likely to wish to speak with him about the queen. No doubt Catherine suspected the same, but she remained as regal as a statue and betrayed nothing of her thoughts. Perhaps her knowledge of More’s goodness gave her the reassurance she needed.
“And your good family, you are all most welcome. Do come and sup with me one evening.”
“Thank you, my lord, we will.”
Following them was Cardinal Campeggio, leaning on the arm of a young man in his twenties who was seemingly overawed by what he saw. Campeggio was dressed in the Italian style, his black hair and beard sharply trimmed. They both made their bow, but the youth’s was deep and extravagant.
“My lord is good to receive us for these holiest of festivities,” said the cardinal in thickly accented English. “My son Allessandro joins me to offer our humble thanks for this opportunity to bear witness to your worship at this time of our saviour’s birth. Blessings upon you, blessings from His Majesty the Pope unto you all.”
Thomasin thought of the masque that Thomas Wolsey had prepared, having heard the rumours of its dramatic content — virtues, vice and devils cavorting — and hoped the old cardinal would not be too scandalised.
The next faces to approach the king made Thomasin colour with delight. It was two months since she had last seen her parents, Sir Richard and Lady Elizabeth Marwood, but now they stood before her in good health, dressed in newly cut clothing,her mother draped in her favourite pearls. Behind them came Thomasin’s uncle, Sir Matthew Russell, who was also Ellen’s former father-in-law. Thomasin was relieved that Ellen was not present, as she had not met with Matthew since the death of Barnaby Russell, her estranged husband. She knew their inevitable meeting was only delayed; they must see each other again at some point, but Matthew was one of the kindest of men and they could meet again with greater privacy.
“Sir Richard, Lady Elizabeth.” Henry beamed in welcome. “It is good to see you at court again, to have you grace us with your company.”
“My lord,” said Thomasin’s father, bowing low in his tasselled cap, “it is our greatest pleasure. We have brought a hog’s head of wine and a sheep from our Suffolk fields, to most humbly add to your table.”
“And a gold dog’s collar,” added Thomasin’s mother, “as we know how fond you are of your hounds.”
“Thoughtful gifts indeed,” smiled Henry.
“And I must thank you,” added Catherine, “for the continuing service of your daughter, who is of great value to me.”
