Anne would not allow these thoughts. They would be treason, punishable by death. To accuse Anne of infidelity put Henry’s line of succession in question. It could unseat him and plunge the realm into civil war. Anne kept a close ear to the rumours, trying to ferret out the source, but she could not. It was as if the devil himself were at court whispering in people’s ears.
The sun broke through the heavy clouds, touching her face. Anne stopped and inhaled, letting the breath go deep within, like a draught of crisp spring water. All would be well yet.
The litter whisked her through the entrance into base court, shielding her from the awful odours that could waft up from the Great Hall of Easement. Anne stepped out, her mind and stomach swimming as she was assaulted by the vast number of turrets, windows, and chimneys all around. The faces of dead Roman emperors glared at her from high above as the water clock struck the hour, telling her the tide was turning. Anne was glad to be done with the trip.
The cobbled courtyard made her unsteady on her feet; her pattens dug into her soft soles and she minced her steps, reaching out for her Yeoman. His arm was like an iron bar, and she clung to it.
From a dark staircase a throng of people burst forth, Henry and Jane in the center.
Anne tried to smile, but the skin was stretched thin across her lips.
The two groups stopped, and neither side of courtiers knew the protocol for the moment. It was Henry who moved first. He dropped the hand of Jane, who receded into the shadows, fleeing with soft giggles among her maids.
“Anne. Are you well? I heard rumours of measles at the palace.”
“I couldn’t stay there.”
He circled, cocking his head as he studied her. “Why? Why would you follow me here?”
“Come and kiss your wife, Henry.” She extended her arms to him.
“How does Elizabeth fare?” he asked. “Is she well?”
“Her nursemaid says she’s grown with great vigor!” she replied, waiting.
Henry took her arms, pulling her in, kissing her on the mouth in full view of her court and the women who giggled in the windows above. Anne could see their white faces, set on either side of Wolsey’s coat of arms, little fat cherubs hoisting his name above her. She turned her body a bit to the side so none of them would miss what she did next.
She moved Henry’s hand to her belly, just beginning to swell. She tried a bright smile, hoping it would distract her from being sick. Jane’s perfume was nauseating.
The sky in winter could be so impossibly blue that she was sure England was the only jewel in Christ’s crown. The sun was high, warming her cold arms and face, and her heart.
“Winter is ending—can you feel it?” she asked, reaching out and touching the barren twigs of the garden. “There is life within.”
Henry cast a glance behind them, up at the windows.
“I want that girl gone, and any like her, Henry.”
“Which girl?”
“It makes me unwell to see all these bosoms and pursed lips around you. We must be more careful this time. And you must join me, my good king, at night. We can read to each other and play cards. Your company is good medicine.”
“I have things to tend to.”
“What greater matter is there than your heir?” She slipped her arm through his. “It will be a glorious spring.”
The nausea began to stop. The baby was kicking every hour, and she loved the first swishes of its limbs in her womb. Her maids slept well but she did not, exhausting herself in her prayers, praying for the movements to tell her if the child was a boy.
Henry often slipped from the bed early in the evening. She did not ask where he went, for she had rid the court of the seducing women that plagued her. Instead she would steal his pillow, inhaling his scent, and return to sleep.
In the early hours of dawn, just before the turtledoves returned to the garden, she dreamed.
She was floating in the Thames, trying desperately to reach an empty barge. Others were in the water, and she heard their cries, but she cared only about the barge, about securing herself in it. Ahead of her was London Bridge, black and monstrous, its limbs plunging deep into the swirling water, lording its might over those in the river. It would not raise to let the ships through, and they scraped its belly as they crumpled under it, with sparks and groans littering the air ahead.
She grasped the barge, heaving herself in, and saw that Elizabeth was holding onto its edge. She reached to save her, but Elizabeth slipped away, under the black waters, and was lost to her.
“Oh, God!” she cried out, awakened. Her heart was beating too fast. She tried to steady herself, lest she harm the baby, and began to cry.
“I do not know what it means!” she said to the dark room.
Nothing stirred.
“Do not show me this, and give me no hope! Tell me what it means!”
Something stirred in the darkness beside her bed, and as an enormous hand passed over her face, Anne fell into a deep sleep.
He spoke. “It is a dream of Noah, Anne. Have you not read? ‘By faith Noah honoured God, after that he was warned of things which were not seen, and prepared the ark to the saving of his household, through which ark, he condemned the world, and became heir of the righteousness which cometh by faith.’”