A Love Most Dangerous (28 page)

'I shall get the gentlemen to dress you,' Frost
answered, bowing.

'No time for that,' the King said, slapping Frost on
the shoulder with such strength that the poor man reeled almost off his feet.
'You'll have to dress me today.'

Thank goodness, I thought. The gentlemen who dress the
King peer in at the door to watch me. At least Frost knows me well and does not
need to spy. In fact, apart from the King himself he's the only man who's seen
me naked. Did I excite him? He seems such an unflappable creature. But surely
he must have been excited to see me that morning, all naked and flustered as I
was. Surely such sight of me would inflame all men?

I watched as Frost began to dress the King. I wondered
at how such a touchy man could be so at ease with his servants and his
gentlemen. They dressed him, they washed him, they cut his hair and shaved him.
The only things he seemed to do for himself were eat, walk and ride. And ride
me, of course. He wouldn't let anybody else do that task for him.

I waited until Frost had attired the King before
leaving the bed and going to the bath chamber. I suddenly realised that if I
were Queen I would no longer dress myself. I would have ladies to help me. I
thought of Mary and Lucy dressing me and thought that this would be pleasant
indeed. But then I thought of Wicks and Bray, who I knew for a fact had dressed
Jane Seymour. I shuddered at the thought of them gloating over me, examining my
skin for any blemishes, then scurrying back to their chambers to note it in a
secret book.

Another reason not to be a queen.

I dressed hurriedly and joined the King at the
breakfast table. Despite knowing him as I did I was still astonished at how
much he would eat. Even this early in the morning he stuffed himself with a chicken,
a cony, a dozen rashers of bacon, a slab of cheese and half a loaf of bread. He
even ate two eggs which I thought dangerous at so early an hour.

I contented myself with some bread and honey cake.

Frost had disappeared, dispatched to ready the Royal
Barge for the trip down-river.

He returned with a thick stole for the King and then
glanced at me.

'Mistress Petherton has no outside clothes with her.
Shall I send to her chamber for some?'

The King paused in adjusting his belt. His face looked
troubled and I wondered if he were having inner talk with Thomas Cromwell.

'Or perhaps...' Frost said tentatively.

'Perhaps what?' asked the King, his mind still
working.

'Perhaps she could wear one of the late Queen's
outfits.'

The King's face grew hard and the red anger began to
rise to the King's cheeks. I thought that Frost would quail at this, would turn
tail and flee. But he stood his ground, knowing perhaps that the King could
blow hot as fire but then cool within a moment.

'Not Queen Jane's cloak, Your Majesty,' Frost said
quietly. 'I agree that would not be seemly.'

The King cocked an eye at him. 'Anne Boleyn's?'

Frost bent his head. 'I shall have it sent here
immediately.'

I watched him slip from the room upon his errand.

So, I'm to be garbed as a queen today. I bit my lip
anxiously. Which of those two dead women's cloaks do I wish to enfold me? The
victim's or the martyr's?

Frost returned with a wardrobe woman who bore a thick
cloak trimmed with white ermine. I knew that this was one of Anne's favourite
cloaks and I was suddenly glad of the choice. Nevertheless, my eyes gave it
quick scrutiny for any sign of blood upon the collar. There was none,
thankfully.

The journey up river was not as cold as I feared. It
was partly because the April morning was milder than of late and partly because
of a small charcoal brazier which gave a surprising heat.  But it was mostly
because the Queen's cloak was thick and warm. The journey took five hours and
would have been very dreary were it not for the minstrels who entertained us
with songs and lively tunes.

Interspersed with this, however, was the constant
tom-foolery of Will Sommers, the King's Fool.

I did not like Will Sommers. I distrusted him with his
bright blue stockings and coarse cunning face. I always felt he would humiliate
anyone to ingratiate himself still further with the King. I was determined not
to be the butt of his jests.

His huge hands dipped and dived as he spoke; bigger
than the blades of the rowers' oars they seemed. Ugly hands, powerful hands,
which yet, despite their clumsy appearance, were as adroit as a harpist's.

I found Sommers tedious beyond words but the King
loved him and I forced myself to laugh and smile at his wearisome jests. How
any man could keep up such a barrage of nonsense was beyond me. But there again
I did not have a husband to compare him with.

I must confess that his torrent of words, as constant
as the river's tide, did make the journey seem shorter than it was. There was
one reason for this. Sommers seemed determined to be the focus of the King's
attention and he was successful. He proved sufficient entertainment for the
King so I did not have to dance my usual attendance upon him. I was able to
watch the doings of the river for most of the journey and the time passed
swiftly.

The Thames was busier than any highway. Boats of all
sizes moved along its waters, most going up or down river, a few darting across
the stream as fast as minnows in the spring. There was a constant noise: of
boatmen hailing each other, seagulls squealing and the slap and swish of
hundreds of oars.

The river bank was equally busy, with people tramping
to and from work, hauling goods from the decks of boats, casting crude fishing
lines or merely standing watching the world floating past upon the never ending
tide. I felt as though I were barely moving and the world was drifting past me
like a dream. The clamour and hubbub of ordinary life was slowly drifting away
from me.

We reached the Tower about an hour before noon and
were soon tied up and stepping onto land once more.

I had never seen the Tower before. It was little used
by the King. Mary told me the last time he had stayed there was on the night he
wed Anne Boleyn. She never stayed there again either. At least not until she
was imprisoned there.

I shivered at the thought of this. It was on Tower
Green that she had been executed. Her blood must still be lingering somewhere
in the soil; a feed, a mulch for little flowers and blooms.

We walked through the gatehouse and I turned my head
away from where I imagined she might have been slain. The King took my arm and
we turned left to walk beside the battlements. The air was calm and warm,
sheltered from the breezes of the river, and I wished I had left Anne's cloak
in the Barge. After a few minutes we went through another gatehouse and
strolled onto a bridge which spanned the moat. I wondered if she had walked
along this path in the days before her death.

The noise broke into my thoughts as soon as we crossed
over. It was like no sound I had heard before. A frightful din of screams and
cries, shrieks and bellows. I imagined that this must be what two armies
sounded like when they clashed in arms.

The King rubbed his hands with joy and put my arm
through his, partly to lead me and partly, I suspect, to make me feel less
alarmed.

The closer we got to the Menagerie, the louder the
savage noise. And then the wind must have changed for we caught a noisome
smell. A heavy, musky, dry as dust smell, a smell so thick I could almost taste
it. I thanked the Lord that we had come in cool spring and not the height of
summer. The stench seemed to beat down upon me, battering upon my brow with potent
force.

'A heady scent this morning,' Sommers said. 'It must
be the mating season. Do you think that's the case, Henry? It's not a rotting
smell, more a rutting one.'

'You may be right, Fool,' the King answered. 'Though
I'm half convinced the stench does hail from you.'

'You are too kind, Henry,' he said. 'Indeed it has
been said I have the smell of a bear. Or was it a goat?'

Henry laughed and slapped the Fool upon the back.

A man approached us wringing his hands.

'The Beast-Keeper,' Sommers said. 'He looks worried.'

'I had no notice of Your Majesty's visit,' said the
Keeper anxiously. 'If I had I would have prepared a welcome for you.'

'Do not fret, Master Pepper,' the King replied. 'I
have come to see my lions, not you.'

The Keeper nodded, his face showing sudden relief. 'It
is near the time when we feed them,' he said. 'The lions are in their cages.'

'Bring two chairs,' the King commanded, 'and place it
where we have the best view.'

Pepper bowed and hurried off to a building beside the
bridge.

The King was excited now and rushed us on until we
came to a great pit in the ground. On the nearest side of the pit was an open
space like the Bailey of a castle, and fringing this a multitude of cages.

The Bailey was empty at the moment save for one young
keeper who was sweeping the ground.

The King stopped and I felt his body tense. He put his
fingers to my lips and pointed.

'There, Alice, do you see them?'

At first I could not see what he pointed at. And then,
at last, I saw.

The lions were housed in two cages next to one
another. The cages were small and the lions could take only a few steps before
hitting the bars.

'Tis sad that they are imprisoned,' Will Sommers said.
'They must be supporters of the Pope or maybe French kitties.'

'You're right, Fool,' said the King. 'It is sad. Noble
beasts should not be trammelled so.'

Sommers leaned over and pointed at the man sweeping
the ground. 'Do my eyes deceive me, Henry? Is that not Thomas Cromwell sweeping
up the lions' shit? Or maybe the Duke of Norfolk? Will he feed the lions next
or lead them on a string?'

It was a jest but it went home as, no doubt, the Fool
intended. Only Sommers would dare hint that the King of England was as much a
prisoner as the King of Beasts.

The King leaned over the wall and cried out to the
young keeper. The man looked up with angry glare, searching for who was making
such a noise. When he realised it was the King he fell to his knees, screwing
up his hat as though it had given grave offence and must be punished.

'Unlock the bars to the lions,' the King commanded. 'I
will see my lions.'

The man hurried to do his bidding, fumbling with a
large key. He unlocked the cages, jerked the doors open and raced away as fast
as he could. He had no wish to remain close to two such beasts when they were
uncaged.

At first the lions merely stared at the open gates.
They must be stupid creatures, I thought, if so reluctant to leave their cells.

Eventually one pushed its nose outside the cage,
sniffing at the wind in a weary fashion. It stepped out into the Bailey and
looked around. A moment later the second lion stepped out beside it. They
considered each other carefully. They had no females to fight over so they
contented themselves with snarling angrily at each other.

They began to pace up and down the Bailey. The other
animals fell silent the moment they glimpsed these frightful monsters.

'See,' said the King, gripping me by the hand. 'See
how the other beasts defer to their lords.'

The two great cats trod up and down, their bodies low,
their muscles rippling. Suddenly one raised its head and let out a roar. It was
like the roar it had given at New Year but here it seemed to echo to a new
intensity and power.

The noise seemed to incense the other lion for it
turned and roared back with equal vehemence. They turned face to face and raged
dreadfully, seeking to drown out their rival's noise with their own
outpourings. Eventually they must have felt honour was satisfied for both fell
silent all at once.

And then we heard it. A little cry. A cry of a child.

My eyes searched frantically for the source of the
noise. I saw her, a child of five years or so. She was in the Bailey only
thirty feet from the lions, her toys discarded as she stared at the lions in
terror.

'Tom Pepper's daughter,' cried one of the animal
keepers. 'Tom Pepper's daughter's in the Bailey and some fool's let out the
lions.'

There was an immediate hubbub. Men appeared from
everywhere, some carrying long poles, others nets and ropes. Three men leaped
over the wall, landing close behind the lions and starting towards them
wielding poles. The lions turned and glanced towards them, seemingly
unconcerned at their presence.

Then one roared out and raced away, slinking low to
the ground, covering the thirty feet to the child in moments. The girl cried
out. The lion snatched her in its jaws and shook her as though she were a
little doll. It shook again and again and the girl's cries of terror became
screams of fearsome agony. It shook its head once more and the child was thrown
ten feet away.

The three keepers were on the lion now, prodding it
fiercely with their poles so that it turned on them, its huge paws sweeping out
in angry fight. A fourth man rushed in and flung a net over the beast. It tried
to launch itself at the keepers but the net entangled it and it crashed to the
ground. Another man was trying to herd the other beast back into its cage but
it prowled around him as if seeking to escape.