She caught sight of Mary at the first table on her right, leaning back and talking to a gentleman standing behind her. Anne knew his face. It was William Stafford, with whom her sister had flirted in Calais. They seemed to be getting on very well, for she could hear Mary giggling. In contrast, George and Jane were ignoring each other, chatting to their neighbors.
It was late when the banquet ended and the order was given for the guests to stand until Anne had washed her hands and descended to the floor of the hall. Here she was served wine and comfits, and when she had nibbled at a couple, she beckoned the Lord Mayor over and gave him a gold cup, thanking him and the citizens once more for their efforts on her behalf. The barons of the Cinque Ports were waiting with their canopy to escort her to the door of her chamber, and thus she left the hall, tired but exhilarated. It had, she reflected, been the most extraordinary day of her life.
—
The festivities continued for some days more. There were dances, tournaments, hunts, and sports, all in her honor. Henry had made his pleasure clear, and his courtiers were outdoing each other to honor their new Queen. She suspected that it was not because they wanted to, but because they were aware of him watching like a hawk. But it was gratifying to have everyone striving to be as attentive as possible to her.
Henry had decided that his heir was to be born at Greenwich, his own birthplace, and presented Anne with one of the richest and most sumptuous beds she had ever seen for her confinement. It was French, ornately carved and gilded; years before, it had been part of the ransom for a royal duke, and it had been languishing in the Royal Wardrobe ever since. Surely it was the most wondrous bed any queen had ever owned, Anne thought, luxuriating in its splendor.
News of the death of her great critic, Mary Tudor, did not move her, but Henry was upset at losing his sister, and full of regret that she had died unreconciled to him.
As the summer continued, and Anne grew heavy with her precious burden, she stayed mostly in her apartments resting, or enjoying pastime in her chamber with her favored courtiers, who exerted themselves to entertain her with music, verse, cards, or dice, and flirted outrageously with her ladies.
“I feel sorry for Tom Wyatt and his fellow envoys, having to be overseas at this time,” Norris said, sitting down beside Anne and watching the amorous couples with amusement.
“If they thought that these ladies favored them, and hated parting with their faithful servants, they should see them now,” Anne laughed.
He turned to her and gave her that sweet smile she loved. “And how is your Grace? I trust that all is well with you.”
“I shall be glad to be delivered,” she said. “I am becoming very cumbersome! Soon I must think about taking to my chamber.”
“If there’s anything I can do to bring your Grace comfort, do not hesitate to command me,” Norris invited.
“That’s very kind. And how are you these days, Norris?”
He shrugged. “I do well enough. My work in the Privy Chamber keeps me busy.”
“You should marry again,” she teased.
“Alas, madam, my heart is given to a very special lady, whose name I may not say, for she is wed.” He looked meaningfully at her with eyes full of devotion.
Her heart stirred. How different her life would have been if she had given herself to this loyal, honorable, and gentle man. She could have loved him as she had never loved Henry. But she could not regret choosing the crown. It was enough to have Norris’s friendship and bask in the warmth of his kindness.
“You are wise, sir,” she told him, “for, being married, she must guard her reputation, whether she loves you or not. And some husbands can be very jealous.”
—
A deputation of lords of the Council had informed Katherine of Cranmer’s judgments.
“She refuses to recognize them,” Henry snarled, stalking up and down beside the bed where Anne was resting. “I told them to tell her that I cannot have two wives, or permit her to persist in calling herself queen. It was made clear to her that my marriage to you is irrevocable, and has the consent of Parliament, that nothing that she can do will annul it, and that she will only incur my displeasure and that of Almighty God if she persists in her obstinacy. And what did she do? She took the parchment laying out my terms for her submission, and wherever she found the name of Princess Dowager, she struck it out, insisting she is my true wife and Queen.”
“Will she never desist?” Anne cried. “She has lost you. What more do you have to do to convince her of it?”
“I’m sending her to Buckden, which is further north, with a reduced household. The tower there is fifty years old, and damp. That should make her see sense.”
“I hope so!” Anne said fervently. “You should ban all visitors.”
“I’ve already given the order. There will be no letters either. We don’t want Chapuys cooking up mischief with her.”
“Or the Princess,” Anne said. “I heard today that when Mary went abroad in the countryside recently, the people came hastening to greet her as if she were God Himself descended from Heaven. Henry, you should stop her from inciting demonstrations like that, and punish the demonstrators.”
“I don’t think Mary would have incited them,” Henry said. “They just turned up to see her.”
“Will you never see the truth?” Anne flung back. “She’s playing a clever game, building up sympathy for herself. Poor sweet little Princess, parted from her mother…Henry, she’s seventeen! I was parted from my mother at the age of twelve, and didn’t see her for six years. Mary should count herself lucky.”
Henry subsided. Where his daughter was concerned, he was weak, but Anne was determined that he take a firmer stand with her. Let Mary put another foot wrong, and there’d be a reckoning.
—
In July, the King took Anne to Hampton Court to rest in the final weeks of her pregnancy. They spent the balmy days taking slow strolls in the beautiful gardens, picnicking in the little banqueting houses that Henry had built in the grounds, reading companionably together in Anne’s privy chamber, and making merry at supper. He no longer came to her bed, for he did not wish to disturb her rest, and in truth, the size she was, she preferred to sleep alone. She felt well, and had never seen Henry so happy.