After Cranmer had finished, Anne was led to the front of the cathedral, where a specially constructed platform awaited her and a chair was covered in tapestry. All eyes in the cathedral were upon her as she turned and eased herself down into it. From a distance, Thomasin was unable to see her expression, but she moved regally, with slow, deliberate actions. Cranmer spoke again, addressing first Anne, then the congregation, before inviting her forward. They saw her kneel at the high altar before being anointed with holy oils on her forehead and chest, and then a heavy, glittering crown was lowered onto her head.
That was it, thought Thomasin. Now it was concluded, there was no going back. Anne was queen in the eyes of God. Perhaps it would do her more good than it had the ill-fated Catherine.
The great hall was set up again for a feast, this time hung with tapestries. Conduits had been erected at the door and were running with wine. Anne was placed on a high table alone, surrounded by a railing that only her servers and women were permitted to enter. Thomasin saw her hesitate as she approached it, seeing her sudden new isolation, while all others shared tables and plates around her. Lady Elizabeth was waiting in the doorway, watching as all the guests filed in. She pawed at Thomasin’s arm as soon as she saw her.
“Now, I must have you with me. I cannot stand these others who care nothing for my needs.”
Thomasin allowed herself to be led to the main table where Anne’s close family sat, and into a place at the end, beside Lady Elizabeth. She could already sense a different mood around the table, with yesterday’s fears dissolved into relief and celebration. Sir Thomas nodded in acknowledgement as their glasses were filled with wine, but Thomasin did not wish to engage inconversation; in her mind, she was already starting to float away, picturing a world outside the palace, outside London, remembering green fields and running water of Green Hollow, the wide bucolic skies and bats flitting behind the trees. She could bear these last moments because she knew they would soon be over.
A clatter of horse hooves snapped her out of her reverie as the Duke of Suffolk entered the hall, riding high on a fine black stallion. The horse looked around, its nostrils flaring, before Suffolk dismounted and it was led away.
“That’s traditional,” said Lady Elizabeth. “Every coronation feast has a challenger, to defend the honour of the new king or queen.”
Trumpets announced the arrival of the first course as the lords hurried to serve Anne, laying the first dishes before her. Soon, plates were set down before Thomasin too — dishes of roasted swan and peacock, dressed in their feathers still, capons in saffron sauce, larks in honey, roasted pork, venison in red wine, far more than even that amount of people might consume. Thomasin tried to remember the taste of each one, in order to tell Lettice and Giles later.
As she ate, a sound came from the tapestry behind her. No doubt one of the servants’ corridors ran behind it, but this sounded more like a scuffle than the hurrying of feet. Opposite, Sir Thomas caught Thomasin’s expression and sent her a quizzical look. She listened again, and the sound persisted, as if someone had fallen, followed by the clink of metal on stone. It sounded like more than a clumsy server dropping a plate. Sir Thomas was on his feet at once, and Thomasin was minded to follow as he called for guards stationed nearby and fumbled for the gap in the tapestries. It revealed an archway behind, leading to the kitchen passage, dark save for the line of flickering torches that lit the way for those carrying food.
“Help!” cried a muffled voice. “Help, treason!”
The words were enough to galvanise them, with Sir Thomas stepping into the corridor.
In the gloom, they could make out two figures on the ground, with smashed plates around them. One young man lay heavily across another, who was struggling to escape his grip.
“What in God’s name…?” Sir Thomas tried to keep his voice down, mindful of the feast on the other side of the wall.
“He has a dagger! I head him boasting of getting close to the queen.”
“Search them both!”
Sir Thomas stepped aside to allow the guards to separate the figures and drag them into a narrow waiting room opposite, where spare trestles and benches were stacked against the wall.
“Here!” One guard produced a sharp-handled knife from the breeches of the second man.
“It’s for carving,” he protested dully. “Let me be about my business.”
“That is not true, Jenkin!” said the other, turning to Sir Thomas. “I heard him speak of harming the queen, saying that she has bewitched the king and corrupted the court. He said it would be better if she was removed.”
Sir Thomas took the knife and turned it over in his hands. It was most definitely not the sort of instrument used to carve meat, but rather an ornamental piece made for display that should belong to a lord of the realm.
“Where did you get this?”
“He stole it from a lord’s chamber when we were building the fire. I can show you the chamber.”
They all looked at the accused man. He had a plain face, with lumpish features and brown hair and eyes.
“Is this true?” asked Sir Thomas. “You stole this weapon and planned to harm the queen?”
The man was trembling before him, his two large hands rising and falling like pale birds in the gloom. His mouth stammered open and closed.
“What is your name?”
“He’s Jenkin Brown,” said the other. “And I’m William Knott.”
“Take them both to be questioned, away from here,” said Sir Thomas. “Inform Lord Cromwell. Report back to me.”
Both men were led away by the guards, disappearing into the darkness of the passage. Thomasin looked down at the smashed plates underfoot, thinking how narrow an escape that had been, and how lucky it was that the days had passed without similar events.
“Well done,” said Sir Thomas, standing close beside her. “But do not mention this.” He took her by the elbow. “You hear me? Do not tell Anne, or anyone else. It is dealt with, and no one else need know. Do you understand?”
