In the Shadow of Lions: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (Chronicles of the Scribe #1)

“I set it out that my servants may see it, and even read it, Henry.” This much was true.

“Are you so foolish, Anne? Your servants are educated and can make wise decisions. But it will encourage lawlessness among those who hear of it.”

Anne reached for him, taking his hand. Maybe he lashed out because he was wounded. Maybe she could soften him, nurse the raw edges, and he would be tender to her always.

“I know your marriage is void in the eyes of God,” Anne said, keeping her voice as soft and inviting as she knew how. “You tell me that is God’s Word, and I accept it. But if you found such truth in one small verse in Leviticus, why should you withhold this book from your people? Maybe they are in need of truth too. Something troubles me at night, Henry. I cannot describe it, but I do not think I will sleep well again until this book is free and among the people. I think it is God’s will.”

“What is the will of God?” Henry asked. His voice sounded tired and his eyes were not on her.

“Sons,” she whispered, squeezing his hand.

Henry looked up and she read his face.

She had found her way into his heart.



The Thames was moving fast, and at this early hour, the stench of the city in summer had not risen. She sat, keeping her eyes ahead, past caring that her Yeoman never spoke. He was a shadow behind and before her, always, but he said nothing. They landed on the steps to lead into the church, and he helped her out of the barge. She was careful to keep her hood low so no one could see her face as servants escorted her in secret. Blackfriars hurt her eyes; the church had endless rows of glass that caught the morning sun, bouncing back bolts of every colour. She walked past window after window until she came to the back steps, where the poor begged. Earlier servants must have kicked the drunk and infirm away, because she was unhindered as she sneaked in, easing the plain wood door open.

Everyone knew where the trial would be. The servants had spoken of it freely enough, and there was much gossip about Catherine. Anne had heard them speaking with gristly satisfaction, the way the hungry picked at discarded bones after the meal, licking them to remember the taste of the flesh. This court feasted on the misery of its women.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness as she felt the cool, still air at the foot of the stairs. The church was heavy with incense, and it made her head hurt. These close quarters were always pungent; she had been spoiled by the trip down the Thames in the fresh morning air. Anne had not thought until then of how drenched in odour the city was—how she had to brace herself before leaving a garden to go indoors, or kneel before the cross in a chapel. Wolsey’s peculiar habit of carrying an orange before his nose as he walked through confined spaces, looking like a horse holding his own carrot, made sense. The city loomed above everyone, but the odours were the closest companions, crowding in unpleasantly and leaving one no air.

She began the ascent up the stairs, the air growing thicker and warmer. Her Yeoman had motioned for her to step aside and let him lead her, but she had declined. He followed as she sneaked into a private box. She kept her back to the wall so no one would see her, but it afforded her a good view. There was a semicircle of chairs at the end of the church, and all pews had been moved along the sides to provide seating for the court members. Henry’s great throne sat at the top of the arch in the semicircle. It was the sun that all else radiated from, nestled just below the crucifix.

Anne saw that the court members were jostling for seats and there was much hushed conversation as the judges took their seats around Henry’s throne. Campeggio, the cardinal Rome had sent, looked uneasy. Wolsey was there, his red cardinal’s robes capped with fur, his face already red from the morning sun that found its way in through the stained glass. He would sweat himself to death by the end of the morning. She felt hot just looking at him and decided to remove her robe with the hood. No one would see her up here. The summer sun, the full court, and the lack of air promised to make this a difficult morning.

There was a stillness that began to grow as everyone waited for the king to appear. Anne studied the Christ resting over them all. His face looked so peaceful, and this gave Anne encouragement. Everything here was under His arms.