Catherine was in her chamber, with Maria and Ellen stripping away her grey velvet layers to replace them with a soft gown of tawny. She turned to eye Thomasin wearily.
“The red slippers,” she instructed, sending Thomasin to the chest in the corner.
Thomasin knew the ones her mistress wanted: a well-loved pair of deep red velvet shoes with a flexible sole and laces: the kind of shoes made for comfort. Digging them out, she gave them a quick brush and laid them at the queen’s feet.
“I hope that inconvenience earlier has been sorted.”
They were harsh words to speak of Cecilia, but Thomasin knew that they were justified. “All sorted out, my lady, and will trouble you no more.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
Catherine held out her tiny stockinged foot and Thomasin gently eased the first slipper upon it, then the second.
“Now my headdress. And these rings, these jewels, remove them all.”
The sparkling gems, the structured headdress and the formal gown were all stripped away. Catherine lay down upon her bed, closing her eyes in a rare moment of relaxation, looking like the tired, fragile woman that her adornments belied.
“Will you attend the feast tonight, my lady?” asked Maria.
“I will not. It is to be given to celebrate the cardinals, so I shall yield my place to them. None of the leading women will be attending, I have been assured. I am content to remain here. Ellen, you will wait upon us, but the rest of you may dine in the hall, should you wish.”
They slipped away and left her in her haven of peace amid the noise and chaos of the palace.
“No Anne, then, tonight,” whispered Ellen.
“Such a relief,” Thomasin nodded. “Let her read her heretical books behind closed doors until her soul is rotted away.”
Ellen raised her brows.
“You think not?”
“Oh, I agree. Quite, quite so, but it is unlike you, cousin, to be so vehement in your damnations.”
Thomasin shrugged and began to gather up the princess’s things. It was true. She did feel vehement. The situation called for vehemence. Her passions had always been strong and the past few days had provoked them again.
“Still, let us drink and be merry tonight,” added Ellen, “while we have the chance!”
TWENTY
The great hall was set for the feast of the cardinals. Tapestries hung from the walls, end to end, depicting hunting scenes. A fresh cloth of state was draped above the top table, in ecclesiastical scarlet, making for a dramatic contrast with the green branches of holly and ivy that had been replenished for the occasion. Torches burned on the walls and dozens of candles added their warmth and light.
Thomasin took her seat with her father, who had left Lady Elizabeth upstairs with Cecilia, and joined More, Margaret, Will and the Dudleys to make a merry group. Tonight, the royal women made way for a celebration of the Pope’s chosen men. The very men, thought Thomasin, who would be responsible for deciding the queen’s future. It was clear, in her mind, that Henry was doing all he could to woo Campeggio.
The musicians were playing a new tune, with words set to music by Richard Sampson. It was a gentle, lyrical song, with a hint of melancholy. A group of small choirboys had been assembled from the palace chapel, and now occupied the oriel window, dressed in crimson and white, their voices rising in unison. As they sang, Henry proceeded down the crowded hall, with Wolsey on one side and Campeggio on the other. They walked slowly, in stately fashion, as each group they passed bowed to do them homage. Behind them came Campeggio’s son Allessandro, and a string of bishops.
“My good lords,” said Henry, allowing the cardinals to mount the dais before him. Wolsey took his place first, while Campeggio moved more slowly to find his place behind the table. Allessandro and the others were seated on a gold-covered table at the side.
Henry stood to address the hall. “Tonight, upon this Feast of the Holy Innocents, we give good cheer and welcome to our cardinals, Thomas Wolsey of England and Lorenzo Campeggio of Milan, by whose good offices we hope that God will soon deliver us from uncertainty.”
Across the table, Thomasin saw Thomas More’s eyebrows twitch.
“We celebrate the wisdom of the Pope in Rome, in sending us two such invaluable intermediaries, and give thanks for the endurance and perseverance of Cardinal Campeggio, whose travels here to our humble island have been lengthy and arduous. In God’s name, we thank you for your good works, Cardinals, and for that which you are yet to do.”
A chorus of “Amen” rippled through the hall.
“It is with the greatest of pleasures that we have received you here, at our palace of Greenwich, to observe this most holy of seasons with us, in the hope that the new year will bring health and comfort to all.”
Henry signalled to Sampson, and the choirboys resumed their song. Lines of servants appeared, bearing dishes that they set down before the guests, followed by jugs of warm spiced wine.
