He brings Anne some majolica bowls. The word maschio ispainted on the outside, and inside are pictures of plump blond haired babies, each with a coy little phallus. She laughs. The Italians say for a boy you have to keep warm, he tells her. Heat upyour wine to heat up your blood. No cold fruit, no fish.Jane Seymour says, ‘Do you think it’s already decided, what itwill be, or does God decide later? Do you think it knows itself,what it is? Do you think if we could see inside you, we would beable to tell?’‘Jane, I wish you were still down in Wiltshire,’ Mary Sheltonsays.Anne says, ‘You needn’t cut me up, Mistress Seymour. It is aboy, and no one is to say or think otherwise.’ She frowns, andyou can see her bending, concentrating, the great force of herwill.‘I’d like a baby,’ Jane says.‘Watch yourself,’ Lady Rochford tells her. ‘If your bellyshows, mistress, we’ll have you bricked up alive.’‘In her family,’ Anne says, ‘they’d give her a bouquet. Theydon’t know what continence means, down at Wolf Hall.’Jane is flushed and trembling. ‘I meant no harm.’‘Leave her,’ Anne says. ‘It’s like baiting a fieldmouse.’ Sheturns to him. ‘Your bill is not passed yet. Tell me what is thedelay.’The bill, she means, to forbid appeals to Rome. He begins toexplain to her the strength of the opposition, but she raises hereyebrows and says, ‘My father is speaking for you in the Lords,and Norfolk. So who dare oppose us?’‘I shall have it through by Easter, depend upon it.’‘The woman we saw in Canterbury, they say her people areprinting a book of her prophecies.’‘That may be, but I shall make sure no one reads it.’‘They say on St Catherine’s Day last, while we were at Calais,she saw a vision of the so-called princess Mary crowned queen.’Her voice runs on, fluid, rapid, these are my enemies, thisprophetess and those about her, Katherine who is plotting with the Emperor, her daughter Mary the supposed heir, Mary’s oldgoverness Margaret Pole, Lady Salisbury, she and all her familyare my enemies, her son Lord Montague, her son Reginald Polewho is abroad, people talk of his claim to the throne so why canhe not be brought back, his loyalty examined? Henry Courtenay,the Marquis of Exeter, he believes he has a claim, but when myson is born that will put him out of his conceit. Lady Exeter,Gertrude, she is forever complaining that noblemen are beingput down from their places by men of low birth, and you knowwho she means by that.My lady, her sister says softly, do not distress yourself.I am not distressed, Anne says. Her hand over the growingchild, she says calmly, ‘These people want me dead.’The days are still short, the king’s temper shorter. Chapuysbows and writhes before him, twisting and grimacing, as if hehad in mind to ask Henry to dance. ‘I have read with someperplexity certain conclusions reached by Dr Cranmer –’‘My archbishop,’ the king says coldly; at great expense, theanointing has taken place.‘– conclusions regarding Queen Katherine –’‘Who? You mean my late brother’s wife, the Princess of Wales?’‘– for Your Majesty knows that dispensations were issued insuch form as to allow your own marriage to be valid, whether orno that former marriage was consummated.’‘I do not want to hear the word dispensation,’ Henry says. ‘Ido not want to hear you mention what you call my marriage. ThePope has no power to make incest licit. I am no more Katherine’shusband than you are.’Chapuys bows.‘If the contract had not been void,’ Henry says, patient for thelast time, ‘God would not have punished me with the loss of mychildren.’‘We do not know the blessed Katherine is beyond childbearing.’ He looks up with a sly, delicate glance. ‘Tell me, why do you think I do this?’ The king soundscurious. ‘Out of lust? Is that what you think?’Kill a cardinal? Divide your country? Split the church? ‘Itseems extravagant,’ Chapuys murmurs.‘But that is what you think. That is what you tell theEmperor. You are wrong. I am the steward of my country, sir,and if I now take a wife in a union blessed by God, it is to havea son by her.’‘But there is no guarantee that Your Majesty will have a son.Or any living children at all.’‘Why would I not?’ Henry reddens. He is on his feet, shouting, angry tears spilling down his face. ‘Am I not a man like othermen? Am I not? Am I not?’He is a game little terrier, the Emperor’s man; but even heknows that when you’ve made a king cry it’s time to back off. Onthe way out he says – dusting himself down, with his accustomed, self-deprecatory flutter – ‘There is a distinction to bedrawn between the welfare of the country and the welfare of theTudor line. Or do you not think so?’‘So who is your preferred candidate for the throne? Youfavour Courtenay, or Pole?’‘You should not sneer at persons of royal blood.’ Chapuysshakes out his sleeves. ‘At least now I am officially informed ofthe lady’s state, whereas before I could only deduce it fromcertain spectacles of folly I had witnessed … Do you know howmuch you are staking, Cremuel, on the body of one woman? Letus hope no evil comes near her, eh?’He takes the ambassador by the arm, wheels him around.‘What evil? Say what you mean.’‘If you would let go your grip on my jacket. Thank you. Verysoon you resort to manhandling people, which shows, as theysay, your breeding.’ His words are full of bravado, but he istrembling. ‘Look around you and see how by her pride and herpresumption she offends your own nobility. Her own uncle has no stomach for her tricks. The king’s oldest friends make excusesto stay away from court.’‘Wait till she’s crowned,’ he says. ‘Watch them come running.’On 12 April, Easter Sunday, Anne appears with the king atHigh Mass, and is prayed for as Queen of England. His bill wentthrough Parliament just yesterday; he expects a modest reward,and before the royal party go in to break their fast, the kingwaves him over and gives him Lord Berners’s old post, chancellor of the exchequer. ‘Berners suggested you for it.’ Henrysmiles. He likes giving; like a child, he enjoys anticipating howpleased you will be.During Mass, his mind had wandered through the city. Whatnoisome goose houses have they waiting for him at home? Whatrows in the street, what babies left on church steps, what unrulyapprentices with whom he will please have a word? Have Aliceand Jo painted Easter eggs? They are too grown up now, but theyare content to be the children of the house until the next generation comes along. It’s time he put his mind to husbands for them.Anne, if she had lived, could be married by now, and to Rafe, ashe is still not spoken for. He thinks of Helen Barre; how fast shegets on with her reading, how they cannot do without her atAustin Friars. He believes now that her husband is dead, and hethinks, I must talk to her, I must tell her she is free. She is tooproper to show any pleasure, but who would not like to knowthat she is no longer subject to a man like that?Through Mass, Henry keeps up a constant buzz of talk. Hesorts papers and passes them up and down to his councillors;only at the consecration does he throw himself to his knees in afever of reverence, as the miracle takes place and a wafer becomesGod. As soon as the priest says, ‘Ita, missa est,’ he whispers,come to me in my closet, alone.First the assembled courtiers must make their bows to Anne.Her ladies sweep back and leave her alone in a little sunlit space.He watches them, watches the gentlemen and councillors, among whom, on this feast day, are many of the king’s boyhood friends.He watches Sir Nicholas Carew in particular; nothing is wantingin his reverence to his new queen, but he cannot help a downturnof his mouth. Arrange your face, Nicholas Carew, your ancientfamily face. He hears Anne saying, these are my enemies: he addsCarew to the list.Behind the chambers of state are the king’s own rooms, whichonly his intimates see, where he is served by his gentlemen, andwhere he can be free of ambassadors and spies. This is HenryNorris’s ground, and Norris gently congratulates him on his newappointment, and moves away, soft-footed.‘You know Cranmer is to convene a court to make a formaldissolution of the …’ Henry has said he does not want to hearany more about his marriage, so he will not even say the word.‘I have asked him to convene at the priory at Dunstable,because it is, what, ten, twelve miles to Ampthill, where she islodged – so she can send her lawyers, if she likes. Or come tothe court herself. I want you to go to see her, go secretly, justtalk to her –’Make sure she springs no surprises.‘Leave Rafe with me while you are gone.’ At being so easilyunderstood, the king relaxes into good humour. ‘I can rely onhim to say what Cromwell would say. You have a good boythere. And he is better than you are at keeping his face straight. Isee you, when we sit in council, with your hand before yourmouth. Sometimes, you know, I want to laugh myself.’ He dropsinto a chair, covers his face as if to shade his eyes. He sees that,once again, the king is about to cry. ‘Brandon says my sister isdying. There is no more the doctors can do for her. You knowthat fair hair she had once, hair like silver – my daughter had that.When she was seven she was the image of my sister, like a saintpainted on a wall. Tell me, what am I to do with my daughter?’He waits, till he knows it is a real question. ‘Be good to her, sir.Conciliate her. She should not suffer.

‘But I must make her a bastard. I need to settle England on my
lawful children.’
‘Parliament will do it.’
‘Yes.’ He sniffs. Scrubs his tears away. ‘After Anne is crowned.
Cromwell, one thing, and then we will have our breakfast,
because I am really very hungry. This project of a match for my
cousin Richard …’
He thinks his way, rapidly, around the nobility of England.
But no, he sees it’s his Richard, Richard Cromwell. ‘Lady Carey
…’ The king’s voice softens. ‘Well, I have thought it over, and I
think, no. Or at least, not at this time.’
He nods. He understands his reason. When Anne understands
it, she will spit nails.
‘Sometimes it is a solace to me,’ Henry says, ‘not to have to
talk and talk. You were born to understand me, perhaps.’
That is one view of their situations. He was six years or so in
this world before Henry came into it, years of which he made
good use. Henry takes off his embroidered cap, throws it down,
runs his hands through his hair. Like Wyatt’s golden mane, his
hair is thinning, and it exposes the shape of his massive skull. For
a moment he seems like a carved statue, like a simpler form of
himself, or one of his own ancestors: one of the race of giants that
roamed Britain, and left no trace of themselves except in the
dreams of their petty descendants.
He goes back to Austin Friars as soon as he can get away.
Surely he can have one day off? The crowds outside his gate have
dispersed, as Thurston has fed them an Easter dinner. He goes
out to the kitchen first, to give his man a slap on the head and a
gold piece. ‘A hundred open maws, I swear,’ Thurston says. ‘And
by supper time they’ll be round again.’
‘It is a shame there should be beggars.’
‘Beggars my arse. What comes out of this kitchen is so good,
there are aldermen out there, with their hoods up so we don’t
know them. And I have a houseful here, whether you are with us or not – I have Frenchmen, Germans, I have Florentiners, they
all claim to know you and they all want their dinner to their own
liking, I have their servants down here, pinch of that, soupçon of
the other. We must feed fewer, or build another kitchen.’
‘I’ll get it in hand.’
‘Master Rafe says for the Tower you have bought out the
whole of a quarry in Normandy. He says the Frenchmen are all
undermined, and dropping into holes in the ground.’
Such beautiful stone. The colour of butter. Four hundred men
on the payroll, and anyone standing about instantly redeployed
to the building work at Austin Friars. ‘Thurston, don’t let
anybody put pinches or soupçons in our dinner.’ He thinks,
that’s how Bishop Fisher nearly died; unless it was an unboiled
stockpot after all. You could never fault Thurston’s stockpot. He
goes and views it, bubbling away. ‘Where is Richard, do you
know?’
‘Chopping onions on the back step. Oh, you mean Master
Richard? Upstairs. Eating. Where’s anybody?’
He goes up. The Easter eggs, he sees, bear his own unmistakable features. Jo has painted his hat and his hair in one, so he
seems to be wearing a cap with ear-flaps. She has given him at
least two chins. ‘Well, sir,’ Gregory says, ‘it is true you are getting
stout. When Stephen Vaughan was here he could not believe
you.’
‘My master the cardinal waxed like the moon,’ he says. ‘It is a
mystery, because he hardly sat down to dine but he would be
leaping up to deal with some exigency, and even when he was at
the table he could hardly eat for talking. I feel sorry for myself. I
have not broken bread since last night.’ He breaks it, and says,
‘Hans wants to paint me.’
‘I hope he can run fast,’ Richard says.
‘Richard –’
‘Have your dinner.’
‘My breakfast. No, never mind it. Come. ‘The happy bridegroom,’ Gregory says, taunting.
‘You,’ his father threatens him, ‘are going north with Rowland
Lee. If you think I’m a hard man, wait till you meet Rowland.’
In his office, he says, ‘How is your practice in the lists?’
‘Good. Cromwells will knock down all-comers.’
He is afraid for his son; that he will fall, be maimed, be killed.
Afraid for Richard too; these boys are the hope of his house.
Richard says, ‘So am I? The happy bridegroom?’
‘The king says no. It is not because of my family, or your
family – he calls you his cousin. He is, at this moment, his disposition to us, I would say it is excellent. But he needs Mary for
himself. The child is due in late summer and he is afraid to touch
Anne. And he does not wish to resume his celibate life.’
Richard looks up. ‘He said this?’
‘He left me to understand it. And as I understand it, I convey
it to you, and we are both amazed, but we get over it.’
‘I suppose if the sisters were more alike, one could begin to
understand it.’
‘I suppose,’ he says, ‘one could.’
‘And he is the head of our church. No wonder foreigners
laugh.’
‘If he were a model of conduct in his private life, one would be
… surprised … but for me, you see, I can only concern myself
with his kingship. If he were oppressive, if he were to override
Parliament, if he were to pay no heed to the Commons and
govern only for himself … But he does not … so I cannot
concern myself with how he behaves to his women.’
‘But if he were not king …’
‘Oh, I agree. You’d have him locked up. But again, Richard,
leave aside Mary and he has behaved well enough. He hasn’t
filled a nursery with his bastards, as the Scottish kings do. There
have been women, but who can name them? Only Richmond’s
mother, and the Boleyns. He has been discreet.’
‘I dare say Katherine knew their names.’