The king sat encased in armor on his huge destrier at the end of the field, and Anne waved bravely to him as though they were the most intimate of lovers. He merely nodded and, as they turned to watch George in the first matchup, Mary’s eye caught her father, who had just seated himself behind them. He was so much older, older than the two years that had passed since she had last seen him.
“Do not gape so, Mary,” Thomas Boleyn chided low. “I am pleased to see you back with the family where you should be.” He raised himself slightly out of his seat to watch George’s first charge. “You and your country lord are a little late to help though. There is something dangerous afoot, Your Grace,” he said quietly, turning his face to the back of Anne’s head. “The king has ordered out a triple number of yeoman guards.”
“And that two-faced Janus, Cromwell, does me a favor one day and then kidnaps and tortures my musician the next. I shall have his head for this!”
“I think not, Anne,” their father replied. “I am afraid Cromwell has shown his true colors by all this, and he will help the Boleyns no more. I have sent for your Uncle Norfolk. We need a conference and quickly. Damn, I wish George were a better jouster, and I do not know what in hell’s gates is taking Norfolk so long to arrive!”
The stands cheered the victor who had defeated George Boleyn and the tired horses trotted off the field while the battered tilt rail was realigned. “I had heard the king ordered you and Stafford to be gone today, Mary. You could hardly expect him to welcome you with a big smile.”
“We are leaving, father, but Anne wished us to accompany her here as she ends her retirement.”
“I see. Then it is back to the country to desert her here to face God knows what in this wretched atmosphere.”
“I have urged them to go, father. They have a lovely home and a young child to return to. Leave Mary be!” Anne ordered sharply without turning her head.
Anne rose at the beginning of the next match, smiled and waved to the strangely subdued gallery. On a whim, she pulled a golden ribbon off her puffy satin sleeve and threw it to her champion, Henry Norris, who doffed his heavy silver helmet in mock salute. As he and Lord Wingfield plodded away to take up their position, the queen’s stands suddenly exploded with yeoman guards in their red doublets and hose brandishing their ceremonial axe-head pikes before them. Several ladies screamed in shock, and Staff pulled Mary back tight against him on the bench. Across the jousting field, Sir Anthony Wingfield had doffed his helmet and was staring mutely at Norris’s being surrounded by guards who swarmed onto the field. Still, beyond it all, Henry Tudor sat stockstill on his horse, staring at them all.
Anne stood and took her father’s proffered arm. “By what authority do you disturb the king’s games?” her voice rang out clear and strong.
Then their Uncle Norfolk elbowed his way through the guards and Mary breathed a tiny sigh of relief before Staff’s whispered words came terrifyingly clear in her ear. “That Judas!”
“Uncle, I am pleased to see you,” the queen was saying. “May I ask the cause of all this array of force?”
“I fear you are the cause, Your Grace, and some of those with whom you conspire.”
Anne’s sharp unbelieving laughter shredded the air and her father’s words came hard at Norfolk. “Look, man, this is a terrible scene. Does the king actually demand...”
“I am sorry, Thomas, Lord Boleyn, but here is the signed writ and order of arrest for the queen to be legally questioned concerning her crimes.”
Thomas Boleyn went white and looked as though he would double over in pain. “Crimes! Crimes! What crimes? Name them!”
“Not here, please, Lord Boleyn. The masses will know soon enough. Please come with us, Your Grace.”
“Come where, Uncle?”
“To the palace today and The Tower tomorrow. For questioning.” He handed the writ to the stunned Thomas Boleyn, and the pain was etched on his face for all to see. “I act not of my own desires, Your Grace, but the king commands. No, my lord, you shall not accompany her now. Her own answers are wanted.” Norfolk blocked Thomas Boleyn’s way with his gauntleted arm.
“May I go with my sister, then?” Mary heard herself ask, and she stood on Staff’s arm, ignoring his warning look.
“No, Lady Mary. You and Stafford had best hie yourself back to Colchester and be well out of it.” Norfolk nodded to Mary’s shocked face and then to the rows of guards who closed ranks to cut off the departing queen and Weston from the rest of the crowd.
“All will be well, dear sister. This is mere trumped-up foolishness, and you may write that down, uncle.” The queen’s mouth was curved in a derisive laugh, but her eyes were wide and wild. As she turned to go, her voice floated back to them, and all Mary could see of her now was the veil of the pearl-studded red headdress which graced her raven hair. The joust field was suddenly deserted and the king had disappeared. Fervently, Mary wished she would never see him again.