“And we should get ye dressed, for Henry is awake and about, asking for you. You must tell him.”
Anne stood, grasping the table to help steady herself as she rose from the bed. She tried not to breathe as Jane lifted her shift and lowered in its place a new shift, and on top of this, a dress. Every night, the dress she wore would be aired out, and in the morning, it would be perfumed to mask any odours that remained. The result was a dress with thick, violent layers of perfume. Anne had never noticed it before, but it made her stomach churn.
Jane, seeing her gasping like a fish, trying to breathe in fresh air, fetched a new pomander and ran it around her waist. It was a silver ball that snapped open in the center and could be filled with dry herbs and perfumed linens. Anne’s usual infusion of roses did not set well with her lately, so Jane had poured in cloves and orange peels. It was a moderate success, Anne thought. It did nothing for her sickness, but it did not provoke it either.
Dressed, with a bite of bread to coat her stomach and a bite of a lemon to keep it down, Anne was led down the hall towards the garden nearest the Thames. She prayed the cold currents would have swept all the trash well away overnight, and the air would be clean.
Henry was sitting on a swing that hung down from a heavy beech tree. He had a blanket with him, which he spread around her shoulders as she lowered herself to his side. The swing’s motion upset her stomach and she asked him to stop it. He did, before wrapping his arms around her and holding her. He did not speak, and she used the time to beg her stomach to keep its peace too.
Greenwich had always been his favourite residence, and his preferred home for Christmas. She did today too. The Thames, a most perfect courtier, swept all the rubbish away. She listened for the birds; a few still sang in the trees above them, especially the song thrushes. They were small and timid but sang louder than any bird she had ever heard, their song never the same, always changing through seasons and moods. A few were singing this morning, and Anne knew they would sing loudest tonight, just before darkness was complete and they fled to a deep, hidden life within the trees. The blackbirds were out this morning too, those rude, oafish creatures, pecking at the ground, searching for any crumbs from the court kitchens.
Henry waved them away with a wave and a hiss, and Anne was glad.
He bent his face down, nuzzling her neck, kissing it once. “I missed you last night.”
“I fell asleep quite early. Jane did not want to wake me. She said you returned from hunting late.”
Henry sat up and cleared his throat. “Yes.”
Anne placed her hand on his thigh, and he turned to her, relaxing.
“I’m with child.”
He was still, the muscles in his face losing their taut play, his expression going soft and loose. Stunned, he couldn’t coordinate a smile, let alone a verbal reply. He burst from the swing, lifting her off it with him in one motion, holding her too roughly so that she was gasping for breath, crushed between his robes and her stiff bodice. Her skirt billowed out so far he had to hold her all the more tightly to crush it flat.
Laughing, he was kissing her over and over on the mouth, and she had to push against him with all her strength to get a breath. He tilted his head back and shouted, pointing at the sky.
He looked like a maniac when he turned to her, his finger still shaking at the clouds above. “I am vindicated! A son will be born to me. My dynasty will be greater than any king England has ever known. All generations will know my name.”
He was doing a little dance, which Anne could scarcely believe. Knowing he was to be a father had turned him into a child.
“Henry, do you love me?”
He stepped to her and bowed. “There was never a queen loved like you. How may I prove it to you? Haven’t I already broken the Church, rearranged the governing of England, and generally set the world’s course around pleasing you?” He was grinning. “What more should be done, my good queen? Speak it and it will be done!”
“Call off Sir Thomas. Do not let him persecute those who want to read the Scriptures, for these people, in their way, are only trying to get closer to the God who blesses you. They should not die for this crime. And bring Hutchins back to England safely. Do not provoke this war of words.”