“I do not want to be a mistress! Only you can protect his name, and mine.”
Wolsey looked at her, his eyes watery and soft in the bright sun. He had a kind face, Anne thought, too kind for this work. This was not the age for men of compassion.
“You have shown yourself as an enemy of the realm, Anne. In time Henry will see it too. This is a prophecy as certain as anything in that black book you secreted away in your trunk.”
He took his leave of her without another word, and Anne was left alone while yet surrounded by courtiers and guards who did not speak to her as they moved past. She waited for her attendant to find her and show her which room at Greenwich was to be hers and tried to keep from crying in front of any of them. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and clenched her lips together.
The sun bore down strangely, and sweat beaded along her lip and down between her breasts. She shrugged, trying to make herself comfortable as the heat grew remorseless. A cough rattled her chest—not the deep cough of a winter cold, but a choking, bloody cough. She saw the sleeves of her dress speckle with red as she covered her mouth.
The last thing she remembered was hearing Catherine’s courtiers arriving behind Henry’s procession. Henry had brought his queen in on the progress after all. Anne fell to the ground, thinking of this doomed queen who held everyone’s heart but his. She wished to be trampled under the hooves of a fast horse so she could be absent at last from this world.
She was aware of voices, warm and whispering, all around her. She laid there, listening for the one voice she always heard in her dreams, but it was not among them. Instead, she recognized the clipped, short speech of Dr. Butts, the court physician, a man of many remedies and few words. She felt his hand on her forehead and heard him whisper.
“Graces, no!” another voice said.
Anne opened her eyes. She grabbed his hand and jerked it from her forehead and sank back, lifeless, onto the pillows. Why was she so weak?
The men stared at her dispassionately. She tried to make her gaze fierce but began to shake, as helpless before them as a bent old woman. She shook so hard the linens quaked all around her and slipped down, revealing an immodest view of her bosom. She saw she was in her linen shift and it afforded a generous view at the moment. She saw her chest was spattered with blood.
Dr. Butts began putting his bottles back into his bag and spoke to the other man, not to her. “We’ll have to inform the king of this. You know how he detests sickness, especially the sweats. The Boleyn name pollutes everyone it touches. Her attendant, Jane, has fallen too. Send Miss Boleyn away from court, back to her parents at Hever Castle. We’re done with her.”
She watched them leave, without giving her even so much as the dignity of a nod or bothering to adjust the linens so she was not exposed. She tasted something—old blood?—in her mouth. She wished for the crown, thinking how she would use it to crush this man. She had been indifferent to the promise of power until she had someone to hurt. Now she was tasting revenge.
A violent tremor shook her, and warmth moved through her body. She thought she was dying, and it was clean and tasted sweet. She slipped away.
The room was dark when she awoke. Anne did not know how many hours, or days, had passed. Her tongue was thick and dry. Everything within her cried out for a drink. Her very bones were made of sawdust and brimstone; the fever burned through her thoroughly. She groped about in the dark, finding the table next to her bed but no bell upon it.
“Help,” she called, with no energy behind it. No one came.
“Help me!” she called again, but nothing beyond her door stirred. She sank back onto the pillows and fell back into unconsciousness.
When she awoke again, the sun was piercing the curtains, splitting the mattress she was lying upon into light and shadow. Strength was returning to her flesh, though her tongue remained swollen and cracked. It burned as she opened her mouth to call for help, but no noise came out that would bring anyone to her door. Hoisting herself into an upright position, she banged her head against the wall above her bed, wincing from the pain it caused and the halos she saw as the room doubled and spun around her.
The door swung open and her brother cried out when she saw her. “She’s alive!”
Anne sank down as George rushed to her side, touching her forehead and calling for others to come and help. Her father poked his head in the room.