“It’s a case of survival,” Giles agreed. “You either go with the king or you step out of his world. There’s no room for compromise.”
“If only it was his world.” John lowered his voice to a whisper. “But many here think the king is ruled over, rather than ruling.”
They were interrupted by the sound of people rising to their feet on all sides: the double doors at the end were thrown open and a trumpet announced the arrival of the king. Thomasin joined the others in bowing low as Henry marched down the hall. But this was no usual entrance. Behind him, haughty with her head tossed back, Anne followed with her uncle Norfolk, deep in conversation, scarcely bothering to acknowledge those around her.
Resuming her seat, Thomasin watched as she passed by, resplendent in wine-coloured velvet, a rich circlet of gold set upon her head. Her eyes, though, betrayed her, flashing with annoyance at some slight that had happened on the way.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Lettice breathed. “The queen?”
Henry took his seat on the dais, but Anne and Norfolk were still quarrelling, with all eyes upon them. The king could not bear it, and rose to his feet again.
“Come, let us eat!”
His command could not be ignored. Separating like two wolves slinking away from a fight, Anne and Norfolk obeyed, the queen going to be seated on Henry’s left and Norfolk to his right, but the tension between them remained.
“Is she angry?” asked Lettice.
“It appears so.”
“What a shame. It quite spoils her beauty.”
Thomasin continued to watch as the royal party was served with wine and the first dishes. Henry gestured to the musicians in the gallery to play and any further words from his wife were covered by their welcome notes.
“Do they often quarrel?”
“Remember I have not been at court for four years.”
“It does not bode well,” said John. “There was some squabble yesterday among her ladies. Something one of them said roused her jealousy and Norfolk stepped in to rebuke her. It looks like the matter lingers on.”
“She is heavy with child,” added Jane with more sympathy. “Women take strange fancies at such times and their emotions are high. I do not doubt that court life is proving a strain to her.”
Another figure had risen from the top tables and headed towards the dais. Thomas Boleyn moved swiftly, as if to avert disaster, and spoke a few quick words to his daughter. In response, they saw Anne lift her chin and tuck her shoulders back, as if she had suddenly become conscious of the onlookers.
“A reprimand from her father,” said Giles. “After all, she was not born to the position, not like the former queen.”
Anne did not look happy, Thomasin decided. This was quite a different figure from that which she had cut yesterday; she had become fretful and unsettled. Thomasin wondered how Henry could allow it, given that she was carrying his child, but perhaps he himself had been the cause of it. Even at this distance, it was clear that Anne picked at her food, barely tasting a morsel of the roasted pheasants and herbed lamb.
“Where is the princess?” asked Lettice, between satisfied mouthfuls of her own food. “Is she at court?”
“Not at the moment. She is in the countryside.”
“Doesn’t she like court?”
“It’s not that. The new marriage makes it —” Thomasin sought the right word — “uncomfortable for her. She is better in her own establishment.”
“Is she? Better than all this? Doesn’t she like the new queen?”
Thomasin recalled the way she had tried to shield poor Mary for as long as possible from discovering her father’s intentions towards Catherine and Anne. And then the pain when the girl had realised her mother was to be replaced.
“It is a difficult situation for her, with the way her mother was put aside.”
Lettice thought about this. “I see. How old is she now?”
“Seventeen.”
“Then she might soon be married herself?”
“It is possible.”
