Thomas bowed to the king and stormed from the tent. As the door closed behind him, the strange words the king had uttered at Mary’s wedding returned to her:‘Soon, my dearest Lizzie, our time will be upon us and we will be able to declare our love to the world. You shall be my queen, forever.’
A shiver ran down her spine.
Henry muttered orders to his staff: drinks were poured, plates laid out and then the pages scurried away. The thin, makeshift wooden door set in the canvas wall was drawn shut and Elizabeth felt panic rise in her chest. A terrible thought entered her mind: was Thomas involved in this scenario? Had he been offered a reward for delivering her to the king? Would he be declared the Earl of Ormond if the king were to bed her? Was that why he had mentioned it? A code? A reminder? A sign of his agreement?
No.She pushed the thought away. Thomas would never treat her in such a derogatory manner; if her heart had not toldher this, the expression on his face had confirmed his pain. He would never betray her.
Elizabeth stood, frozen in the centre of the room, while Henry bustled around her, his cheeks flushed, his hands trembling with either nervousness or excitement. She could not tell.
‘Come, let us sit,’ he said and ushered her to chairs positioned on either side of a small table.
She perched on the edge, unable to relax, her hand shaking when he handed her a goblet. In desperation, she sipped her wine, then regretted it. What if it was drugged to make her more compliant? The king followed suit, downing half the goblet.
‘Do you remember me once talking about my father?’ he said. ‘It was the day we danced the galliard, the first Christmas I was king. His long wait for the throne taught him patience and this was a lesson he passed on to me: to watch, to learn and not to act until the moment is most potent. I have watched you since I was a child, I have learned all there is to know about you, Elizabeth, you are a woman of great love, passion and loyalty. After all these years, when I have watched you in the arms of another, I know, at last, this is the time to act. A potent joining of a man and woman who have long suppressed the burning desire in the hearts, their bodies.’
He took another gulp of wine and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, before rummaging in the puffed breeches he wore over his hose, fishing around in what was obviously a hidden pocket. Elizabeth felt faintly sick as she wondered what he was doing, and it was a relief when he withdrew his hand and placed a velvet box in front of her.
‘You are the jewel in my court, Elizabeth, and my greatest pleasure is to give gifts to those I love,’ Henry said. ‘Thomas showed me the pendants you have bought for your daughters – an “M” for Mary, who looks very like you, and “A” for Anne,who bears a combination of your mother and your husband’s colouring. As does your son, George. I admired the “B” pendants and the matching badge when they arrived from the jeweller. They will look spectacular, there is no doubt the Boleyn children are a glamorous and interesting trio.’
‘Thank you, sire,’ said Elizabeth. It was every courtier’s dream for their offspring to be well thought of by the monarch, to continue the family power through the generations, but Elizabeth felt sickened by the possessive edge in the king’s voice when he spoke about them. ‘I am very proud of my children.’
Henry raised the glass of fine Gascon wine to his lips and observed Elizabeth over the rim.
‘It is a relief to have time alone at last,’ he said. ‘Your husband is one of my most loyal courtiers and a dear friend, but he has much which I crave to possess.’
Elizabeth swallowed her nausea and forced a gentle smile to her lips.
‘You have everything, sire,’ she said. ‘Thomas is a mere knight.’
‘He could be more,’ replied Henry. ‘You could make him a duke.’
She forced a laugh. ‘How so? I am a mere wife and mother, a nurse to my husband’s ailing mother. What power do I have to raise my husband to such heights?’
‘You are all those things and more,’ said Henry. ‘You are a creature of bewitching allure, a woman above all others, you are my heart. Our love, which has grown over the years through our clandestine correspondence, is one which can no longer be denied. We both feel it, we have known of this forbidden passion for years. Your father and your brother are aware and, before I left for France, your father gave his blessing to our union. Your brother has long encouraged it, so at last, our path is clear. We have the chance to fulfil our inner feelings. Once sated, I shallgrant whichever title you desire for your husband, your son, your daughters. All I have will be yours, as will I.’
The words wound around Elizabeth like a spider’s web. Each utterance a sticky trap, a cocoon of silken threads, impossible to break, holding her suspended, vulnerable. She was appalled. Had her father said such things or were they another fabrication? There was no love between her and the king. There had been no secret correspondence. He had written to her, but she had never replied. The relationship he held in such high stead was entirely imaginary.
Henry leaned forward, nudging the gift towards her, oblivious of her distress and the crushing feeling in her chest as she realised the depth of her father and brother’s betrayal. ‘Open your gift,’ he whispered. ‘Perhaps you will care for this more than the hawking whistle I gave you all those years ago. Look, I carry mine still, in the hope one day your whistle shall call out in response to mine.’ He pulled the whistle from a top pocket in his doublet and placed it to his lips. It let out a high-pitched note and Elizabeth stared into his eyes. His expression was a terrifying combination of lust, love, desire and anger. His leering smile radiated control and dominance.
This is a game, she realised.One I must win. She thanked the angels for throwing the whistle at her feet. She could pretend she too carried his gift with her.
‘But I do carry it,’ she said and removed the pouch from her pocket. ‘See, “Two for joy”.’ She blew the whistle in response, giving two short blasts, the usual signal on a hunt for distress, hoping someone outside might hear and respond. But no one came and, instead, the poem Lady Reynolds had written so many years earlier flowed through Elizabeth’s mind as though the woman were standing beside her, intoning the words like a prayer:
If breath is loosed in trembling fear,
Then danger soon will draw it near.
If breath is loosed in wrathful fire,
The devil shall appear in ire.
If breath is loosed in love sincere,
The ancient curse shall break – and clear.
Henry beamed, then he pushed the box towards her again. His words, although softly-spoken, were a command.
Elizabeth placed the whistle back in her pocket and, with trembling fingers, opened the velvet bag, removing an ornately decorated leather box. The hinge creaked as she lifted the lid and Elizabeth stared down at the pendant inside. It was similar to the gold and pearl necklaces she and Thomas had commissioned for their daughters and Jane, as well as the matching badge for George, but this was a letter ‘H’ and it was carved from a glowing red stone.
