I nod. A child will bind me even closer into this family. I want them to think me a true Boleyn, mother to a boy of the House of Howard, loyal by blood.
‘Now, Jane, I’ll want to know the moment that Anne conceives. You tell me at the very first sign. Not when Anne wants it given out. You tell me the moment you know anything – anything.’
A good courtier needs a patron, and a man of power needs information. We are paired, like a falcon and the falconer. I hunt for him; he protects me.
‘I hear Anne’s pressing for another new law in which everyone swears loyalty?’ he asks me. ‘Is it not enough for her that her children: Elizabeth and all the ones to come, are named as the only heirs?’
‘It’s not enough,’ I say. ‘She wants all the hidden Spanish party forced to a public oath. Too many bow their head to Anne as queen and her children as heirs, but are secretly loyal to the old queen and Lady Mary.’
‘Face-value was always good enough before.’
‘No, this is an end to false faces.’
‘They have to swear loyalty to a babe unborn?’
‘Or face a charge of treason.’
‘It’s clever,’ he says begrudgingly. ‘I give you that – it’s clever. And it’ll expose the Spanish party. But it doesn’t suit me – it disinherits my son-in-law.’
The king’s bastard son Henry Fitzroy has been married to the duke’s daughter for nearly a year. It’s not a full marriage, it has not been consummated, and now the great triumph of the weddingmight come to nothing. Under Anne’s new law – the young man will only ever be an acknowledged royal bastard, never a royal heir.
‘D’you regret the wedding?’ I ask curiously. Mary Howard does, for sure. She is cold as ice when she and her husband meet publicly. Most of the time they are apart.
‘The king’s like a wet nurse over the precious boy,’ the duke grumbles. ‘Says he’s still too young to bed his own wife.’ He scowls for a moment. ‘Can’t you get Anne to drop a word for me? She’s no friend of mine these days, but we’re still family, for God’s sake!’
‘She’s at work on her own account,’ I warn. ‘The king didn’t like her taking to her bed. And now, there’s Agnes Trent.’
‘That little slut?’ The duke drops his voice to a bad-tempered growl. ‘You can tell Anne I’m with her against Agnes. We can’t have a Spanish party favourite slipping into the king’s bed. We can’t have the king distracted from Anne. Get rid, Jane. Do whatever you have to do. Just make sure she goes.’
ANOTHER NIGHT, ANDthough Anne could not have been more charming through a long day of amusements and entertainments, the king does not send word that he is coming to her bedroom. ‘You can be my bedfellow tonight, Jane,’ she says, pretending to be cheerful as the ladies plait her hair and I hand her her white cap.
‘His Grace said that he will rise early for prayer,’ I say.
She nods. ‘There is no king more devout than ours.’
All the ladies agree, and curtsey and leave us.
‘Did he?’ Anne asks abruptly.
‘No.’
‘Is he with Agnes?’
‘I don’t know. I really don’t,’ I say, though I do.
‘He doesn’t want me as he used to do,’ she says restlessly. She sits by the fireside and puts out her hand for the posset of herbs that she takes every night to make her womb rich and ready for his seed.‘He’s one of those problems where the solution is the problem itself.’
‘Aporia.’
‘For Christ’s sake!’ she snaps. ‘Your endless learning! Who cares?’
We are silent for a moment. ‘So, what’s the question?’ I ask patiently. ‘What’s the question that contains its own answer?’
‘The king can’t desire a willing woman,’ she says simply.
‘He’s never forced anyone!’
She shows me a bitter smile. ‘No. But he desires refusal. He likes the old Romances – a mistress that flees from desire, a beautiful woman who refuses the finest of knights. He’s allLancelotandGuinevere– forbidden love. So that’s what I did – I was a heroine in a Romance. I gave him the challenge: throw down the queen, and then throw down the pope, if you want to win me. As big a quest as killing any dragon. He did it. Just like in the Romances, he triumphed and won his reward – the fair lady: me.’
