“I am trapped,” she said, his grip on her arms remaining firm. She laughed once, the irony lost on him. “You will not let me leave your court. Outside, my name is dragged through the streets. Inside I am betrayed by courtiers who hope to steal a little nibble of my soul, a moment of my distress, to make good conversation at their tables. This is a court of madness.”
Henry stepped back from her, shaking his head. He turned to walk back into the light of the portico.
She sank down on the steps, her legs feeling like they were made of water.
“God help me,” she whispered.
If Henry was violent in professing love for her, she did not know how he would behave when he was angry with her tonight.
Jane put her knee on Anne’s back, leaning back and tightening the laces on her bodice until Anne cried out. Another girl was below her, fluffing out her skirts and strapping pattens to her shoes. Anne couldn’t see her.
Jane came round and attended to Anne’s hair, combing it carefully, making little ringlets set off from her face. She set the hairpiece on next and draped the veil across Anne’s shoulders. Next came the cosmetics, a little powder with rouge for her cheeks and lips. Jane always was a little overzealous in applying powder to Anne’s darker skin, and Anne reached out to steady her hand.
Tucking a pomander of perfume—her favourite, roses—into her bosom, Anne followed Jane to the dining hall. Anne forced herself to breathe in little measured doses.
Henry and Wolsey were already there. Anne took her place next to Henry, and her servants moved to another table, stealing glances back. It was a small dinner tonight, with only ten or so tables, mainly for all the body servants and a few special courtiers, the men who never did much beyond gossip and spy. But, Anne thought, Henry was a king who didn’t mind intimacy with an enemy.
When the servers pushed open the wooden doors, Anne knew what was cooking in the kitchens. Henry and Wolsey must have caught the aroma, too, for they glanced at the servers with questioning looks. Henry conferred quietly with Wolsey, who nodded. Anne’s heart began beating faster, and she fiddled with a piece of bread she had no interest in eating.
The aroma was overpowering. The servers were running up and down the halls, staging their trays in a little room just outside the doors. Every time the doors opened, a stronger whiff of the meal came in with them. Everyone began to murmur. Some tried to eat the bread, keeping their eyes on a tapestry across the room or making meaningless chatter with their neighbour. But the scent grew, the warm summer air making it unbearably delicious.
Finally, they came in with it: great heaping platters of sausages, sizzling and steaming.
Henry jerked to his feet. “What is the meaning of this?” he screamed.
The youngest of the servers dropped his platter in fright.
Wolsey stood, outrage on his face. “Do you not know what day it is?”
Anne rose next. Jaws were flopping open all across the room.
“My king, do not be angry,” Anne said. “Perhaps this is a most fortunate mistake.”
Henry turned to her, his eyes blazing. The servant boy stooped, trying not to draw attention as he scooped the sausages back on his platter.
Anne turned to Wolsey. “My friend, we have a custom of not eating meat on Friday, and this is from the Church. Could you please remind us of the passage from Scripture that commands this practice? We would all be edified to know it, and the cooks will not make this same mistake again.”
Wolsey’s eyes narrowed. She would not be safe again around him. He smiled and addressed the room. “I see you have persisted in reading Hutchins. The Church teaches—”
“Forgive me, Cardinal Wolsey! I did not ask what the church teaches, for we all know that quite well. I am but a woman, and the Church will not allow me to read the Scriptures. So you must tell us where in the Bible it says we are not to eat meat on Fridays.”
Wolsey took a sip of his wine, looking at Henry and the hungry courtiers, clearing his throat before speaking. “We honour …,” he began.
This time Henry cut him off. “The passage?”
“I will retire to my room and find it, my king.” Wolsey excused himself from Henry with a bow, not looking at Anne again, and left.
Anne whispered to Henry, “He will not be back. The passage does not exist. It is one more way the Church has controlled your life, your realm.”
She smiled innocently at everyone in the room. “I have heard a delightful story today! Shall I tell it?”
Henry was still looking at the doors where Wolsey had departed. He muttered his “yes” to Anne and sat.