‘We have one here. Or rather, the child has.’‘I could send a more useful one. He might give you a regimenfor your health, and lay it down that you were to take a largebreakfast, in your own room.’‘Meat?’ Mary says.‘In quantity.’‘But who would you send?’‘Dr Butts?’Her face softens. ‘I knew him at my court at Ludlow. When Iwas Princess of Wales. Which I still am. How is it I am put out ofthe succession, Master Cromwell? How is it lawful?’‘It is lawful if Parliament makes it so.’‘There is a law above Parliament. It is the law of God. AskBishop Fisher.’‘I find God’s purposes obscure, and God knows I find Fisherno fit elucidator. By contrast, I find the will of Parliament plain.’She bites her lip; now she will not look at him. ‘I have heardDr Butts is a heretic these days.’‘He believes as your father the king believes.’He waits. She turns, her grey eyes fixed on his face. ‘I will notcall my lord father a heretic.’‘Good. It is better that these traps are tested, first, by yourfriends.’‘I do not see how you can be my friend, if you are also friendto the person, I mean the Marquess of Pembroke.’ She will notgive Anne her royal title.‘That lady stands in a place where she has no need of friends,only of servants.’‘Pole says you are Satan. My cousin Reginald Pole. Who liesabroad at Genoa. He says that when you were born, you werelike any Christian soul, but that at some date the devil enteredinto you.’‘Did you know, Lady Mary, I came here when I was a boy, nineor ten? My uncle was a cook to Morton, and I was a poor snivel ling lad who bundled the hawthorn twigs at dawn to light theovens, and killed the chickens for the boiling house before the sunwas up.’ He speaks gravely. ‘Would you suppose the devil hadentered me by that date? Or was it earlier, around the time whenother people are baptised? You understand it is of interest to me.’Mary watches him, and she does it sideways; she still wears anold-style gable hood, and she seems to blink around it, like ahorse whose headcloth has slipped. He says softly, ‘I am notSatan. Your lord father is not a heretic.’‘And I am not a bastard, I suppose.’‘Indeed no.’ He repeats what he told Anne Shelton: ‘You wereconceived in good faith. Your parents thought they weremarried. That does not mean their marriage was good. You cansee the difference, I think?’She rubs her forefinger under her nose. ‘Yes, I can see thedifference. But in fact the marriage was good.’‘The queen will be coming to visit her daughter soon. If youwould simply greet her respectfully in the way you should greetyour father’s wife –’‘– except she is his concubine –’‘– then your father would take you back to court, you wouldhave everything you lack now, and the warmth and comfort ofsociety. Listen to me, I intend this for your good. The queen doesnot expect your friendship, only an outward show. Bite yourtongue and bob her a curtsey. It will be done in a heartbeat, andit will change everything. Make terms with her before her newchild is born. If she has a son, she will have no reason afterwardsto conciliate you.’‘She is frightened of me,’ Mary says, ‘and she will still befrightened, even if she has a son. She is afraid I will make amarriage, and my own sons will threaten her.’‘Does anyone talk to you of marriage?’A dry little laugh, incredulous. ‘I was a baby at the breastwhen I was married into France. Then to the Emperor, into France again, to the king, to his first son, to his second son, to hissons I have lost count of, and once again to the Emperor, or oneof his cousins. I have been contracted in marriage till I amexhausted. One day I shall really do it.’‘But you will not marry Pole.’She flinches, and he knows that it has been put to her: perhapsby her old governess Margaret Pole, perhaps by Chapuys, whostays up till dawn studying the tables of descent of the Englisharistocracy: strengthen her claim, put her beyond reproach,marry the half-Spanish Tudor back into the old Plantagenet line.He says, ‘I have seen Pole. I knew him before he went out of thekingdom. He is not the man for you. Whatever husband you get,he will need a strong sword arm. Pole is like an old wife sitting bythe fire, starting at Hob in the Corner and the Boneless Man. Hehas nothing but a little holy water in his veins, and they say heweeps copiously if his servant swats a fly.’She smiles: but she slaps a hand over her mouth like a gag.‘That’s right,’ he says. ‘You say nothing to anybody.’She says, from behind her fingers, ‘I can’t see to read.’‘What, they keep you short of candles?’‘No, I mean my sight is failing. All the time my head aches.’‘You cry a good deal?’ She nods. ‘Dr Butts will bring a remedy.Till then, have someone read to you.’‘They do. They read me Tyndale’s gospel. Do you know thatBishop Tunstall and Thomas More between them have identifiedtwo thousand errors in his so-called Testament? It is more heretical than the holy book of the Moslems.’Fighting talk. But he sees that tears are welling up. ‘All this canbe put right.’ She stumbles towards him and for a moment hethinks she will forget herself and lurch and sob against his ridingcoat. ‘The doctor will be here in a day. Now you shall have aproper fire, and your supper. Wherever you like it served.’‘Let me see my mother.’‘Just now the king cannot permit it. But that may change. ‘My father loves me. It is only she, it is only that wretch of awoman, who poisons his mind.’‘Lady Shelton would be kind, if you would let her.’‘What is she, to be kind or not kind? I shall survive AnneShelton, believe me. And her niece. And anyone else who setsthemselves up against my title. Let them do their worst. I amyoung. I will wait them out.’He takes his leave. Gregory follows him, his fascinated gazetrailing back to the girl who resumes her seat by the almost deadfire: who folds her hands, and begins the waiting, her expressionset.‘All that rabbit fur she is bundled up in,’ Gregory says. ‘Itlooks as if it has been nibbled.’‘She’s Henry’s daughter for sure.’‘Why, does someone say she is not?’He laughs. ‘I didn’t mean that. Imagine … if the old queen hadbeen persuaded into adultery, it would have been easy to be rid ofher, but how do you fault a woman who has never known but theone man?’ He checks himself: it is hard even for the king’s closestsupporters to remember that Katherine is supposed to have beenPrince Arthur’s wife. ‘Known two men, I should say.’ He sweepshis eyes over his son. ‘Mary never looked at you, Gregory.’‘Did you think she would?’‘Lady Bryan thinks you such a darling. Wouldn’t it be in ayoung woman’s nature?’‘I don’t think she has a nature.’‘Get somebody to mend the fire. I’ll order the supper. Theking can’t mean her to starve.’‘She likes you,’ Gregory says. ‘That’s strange.’He sees that his son is in earnest. ‘Is it impossible? My daughters liked me, I think. Poor little Grace, I am never sure if sheknew who I was.’‘She liked you when you made her the angel’s wings. She saidshe was always going to keep them.’ His son turns away; speaks as if he is afraid of him. ‘Rafe says you will be the second man inthe kingdom soon. He says you already are, except in title. Hesays the king will put you over the Lord Chancellor, and everybody. Over Norfolk, even.’‘Rafe is running ahead of himself. Listen, son, don’t talk aboutMary to anyone. Not even to Rafe.’‘Did I hear more than I should?’‘What do you think would happen if the king died tomorrow?’‘We should all be very sorry.’‘But who would rule?’Gregory nods towards Lady Bryan, towards the infant in hercradle. ‘Parliament says so. Or the queen’s child that is not bornyet.’‘But would that happen? In practice? An unborn child? Or adaughter not a year old? Anne as regent? It would suit theBoleyns, I grant you.’‘Then Fitzroy.’‘There is a Tudor who is better placed.’Gregory’s eyes turn back towards Lady Mary. ‘Exactly,’ hesays. ‘And look, Gregory, it’s all very well planning what youwill do in six months, what you will do in a year, but it’s no goodat all if you don’t have a plan for tomorrow.’After supper he sits talking to Lady Shelton. Lady Bryan hasgone to bed, then come down again to chivvy them along. ‘You’llbe tired in the morning!’‘Yes,’ Anne Shelton agrees, waving her away. ‘In the morningthere’ll be no doing anything with us. We’ll throw our breakfastson the floor.’They sit till the servants yawn off to another room, and thecandles burn down, and they retreat into the house, to smallerand warmer rooms, to talk some more. You have given Marygood advice, she says, I hope she heeds it, I fear there are hard times ahead for her. She talks about her brother Thomas Boleyn,the most selfish man I ever knew, it is no wonder Anne is sograsping, all she has ever heard from him is talk of money, andhow to gain a mean advantage over people, he would have soldthose girls naked at a Barbary slave market if he had thought hewould get a good price.He imagines himself surrounded by his scimitared retainers,placing a bid for Mary Boleyn; he smiles, and returns his attention to her aunt. She tells him Boleyn secrets; he tells her nosecrets, though she thinks he has.Gregory is asleep when he comes in, but he turns over and says,‘Dear father, where have you been, to bed with Lady Shelton?’These things happen: but not with Boleyns. ‘What strangedreams you must have. Lady Shelton has been thirty yearsmarried.’‘I thought I could have sat with Mary after supper,’ Gregorymurmurs. ‘If I didn’t say the wrong thing. But then she is sosneery. I couldn’t sit with such a sneery girl.’ He flounces over inthe feather bed, and falls asleep again.When Fisher comes to his senses and asks pardon, the old bishopbegs the king to consider that he is ill and infirm. The king indicates that the bill of attainder must take its course: but it is hishabit, he says, to grant mercy to those who admit their fault.The Maid is to be hanged. He says nothing of the chair ofhuman bones. He tells Henry she has stopped prophesying, andhopes that at Tyburn, with the noose around her neck, she willnot make a liar out of him.When his councillors kneel before the king, and beg thatThomas More’s name be taken out of the bill, Henry yields thepoint. Perhaps he has been waiting for this: to be persuaded.Anne is not present, or it might have gone otherwise.They get up and go out, dusting themselves. He thinks hehears the cardinal laughing at them, from some invisible part of the room. Audley’s dignity has not suffered, but the duke looksagitated; when he tried to get up, elderly knees had failed him,and he and Audley had lifted him by the elbows and set him onhis feet. ‘I thought I might be fixed there another hour,’ he says.‘Entreating and entreating him.’‘The joke is,’ he says to Audley, ‘More’s still being paid apension from the treasury. I suppose that had better stop.’‘He has a breathing space now. I pray to God he’ll see sense.Has he arranged his affairs?’‘Made over what he can to the children. So Roper tells me.’‘Oh, you lawyers!’ the duke says. ‘On the day I go down, whowill look after me?’Norfolk is sweating; he eases his pace, and Audley checks too,so they are dawdling along, and Cranmer comes behind like anafterthought. He turns back and takes his arm. He has been atevery sitting of Parliament: the bench of bishops, otherwise,conspicuously underpopulated.The Pope chooses this month, while he is rolling his great billsthrough Parliament, to give his judgment at last on QueenKatherine’s marriage – a judgment so long delayed that hethought Clement meant to die in his indecision. The originaldispensations, Clements finds, are sound; therefore the marriageis sound. The supporters of the Emperor let off fireworks in thestreets of Rome. Henry is contemptuous, sardonic. He expressesthese feelings by dancing. Anne can dance still, though her bellyshows; she must take the summer quietly. He remembers theking’s hand on Lizzie Seymour’s waist. Nothing came of that, theyoung woman is no fool. Now it is little Mary Shelton he iswhirling around, lifting her off her feet and tickling her andsqueezing her and making her breathless with compliments.These things mean nothing; he sees Anne lift up her chin andavert her gaze and lean back in her chair, making somemurmured comment, her expression arch; her veil brushing, forthe briefest moment, against the jacket of that grinning cur Francis Weston. It is clear Anne thinks Mary Shelton must betolerated, kept sweet even. It’s safest to keep the king amongcousins, if no sister is on hand. Where is Mary Boleyn? Down inthe country, perhaps longing like him for warmer weather.And the summer arrives, with no intermission for spring,promptly on a Monday morning, like a new servant with ashining face: 13 April. They are at Lambeth – Audley, himself,the archbishop – the sun shining strongly through the windows.He stands looking down at the palace gardens. This is how thebook Utopia begins: friends, talking in a garden. On the pathsbelow, Hugh Latimer and some of the king’s chaplains are playfighting, pulling each other around like schoolboys, Hughhanging around the necks of two of his clerical fellows so his feetswing off the floor. All they need is a football to make a properholiday of it. ‘Master More,’ he says, ‘why don’t you go out andenjoy the sunshine? And we’ll call for you again in half an hour,and put the oath to you again: and you’ll give us a differentanswer, yes?’He hears More’s joints snap as he stands. ‘Thomas Howardwent on his knees for you!’ he says. That seems like weeks ago.Late-night sittings and a fresh row every day have tired him, butsharpened his senses too, so he is aware that in the room behindhim Cranmer is working himself into a terrible anxiety, and hewants More out of the room before the dam breaks.‘I don’t know what you think a half-hour will do for me,’More says. His tone is easy, bantering. ‘Of course, it might dosomething for you.’More had asked to see a copy of the Act of Succession. NowAudley unrolls it; pointedly, he bends his head and beginsreading, though he has read it a dozen times. ‘Very well,’ Moresays. ‘But I trust I have made myself clear. I cannot swear, but Iwill not speak against your oath, and I will not try to dissuadeanyone else from it.’‘That is not enough. And you know it is not.’ More nods. He meanders towards the door, careering first intothe corner of the table, making Cranmer flinch, his arm dartingout to steady the ink. The door closes after him.‘So?’Audley rolls up the statute. Gently he taps it on the table,looking at the place where More had stood. Cranmer says,‘Look, this is my idea. What if we let him swear in secret? Heswears, but we offer not to tell anybody? Or if he cannot takethis oath, we ask him what oath he can take?’He laughs.‘That would hardly meet the king’s purpose,’ Audley sighs.Tap, tap, tap. ‘After all we did for him, and for Fisher. His nametaken out of the attainder, Fisher fined instead of locked up forlife, what more could they ask for? Our efforts flung back at us.’‘Oh well. Blessed are the peacemakers,’ he says. He wants tostrangle somebody.Cranmer says, ‘We will try again with More. At least, if herefuses, he should give his reasons.’He swears under his breath, turns from the window. ‘Weknow his reasons. All Europe knows them. He is against thedivorce. He does not believe the king can be head of the church.But will he say that? Not he. I know him. Do you know what Ihate? I hate to be part of this play, which is entirely devised byhim. I hate the time it will take that could be better spent, I hateit that minds could be better employed, I hate to see our livesgoing by, because depend upon it, we will all be feeling our agebefore this pageant is played out. And what I hate most of all isthat Master More sits in the audience and sniggers when I tripover my lines, for he has written all the parts. And written themthese many years.’Cranmer, like a waiting-boy, pours him a cup of wine, edgestowards him. ‘Here.’In the archbishop’s hand, the cup cannot help a sacramentalcharacter: not watered wine, but some equivocal mixture, this is my blood, this is like my blood, this is more or less somewhatlike my blood, do this in commemoration of me. He hands thecup back. The north Germans make a strong liquor, aquavitae: ashot of that would be more use. ‘Get More back,’ he says.A moment, and More stands in the doorway, sneezing gently.‘Come now,’ Audley says, smiling, ‘that’s not how a hero arrives.’‘I assure you, I intend in no wise to be a hero,’ More says.‘They have been cutting the grass.’ He pinches his nose onanother sneeze, and shambles towards them, hitching his gownon to his shoulder; he takes the chair placed for him. Before, hehad refused to sit down.‘That’s better,’ Audley says.