Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 1 (103 page)

She shrugged again. ‘He's a man. Easier to interest than turn away.'

‘I am curious about one thing,' I said. If the words had been knives I would have thrown them blade-first into her self-satisfied, smiling face. ‘Clearly, you have his attention if he is giving you such gifts. You have moved upwards at court. You are the favourite.'

She nodded, her satisfaction hung around her like the warm scent of a stroked cat.

‘Clearly you do this despite the fact that he is my acknowledged lover.'

‘I was told to,' she said insolently.

‘You were not told to supplant me,' I said sharply.

She shrugged, all innocent. ‘I can't help it if he desires me,' she said, her tone like milk. ‘The court is filled with men who desire me. Do I encourage them? No.'

‘It's me you're talking to, remember,' I said grimly. ‘Not one of your fools. I know that you encourage everybody.'

She gave me that same bland smile.

‘What d'you hope for, Anne? To be his mistress? To push me out of my place?'

At once the smug joy in her face was replaced by an absorbed thought-fulness. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But it's a risk.'

‘Risk?'

‘If I let him have me, the chances are he'll lose interest. He's hard to hold.'

‘I don't find him so.' I scored a small point.

‘You get nothing. And he married off Bessie Blount to a nobody when he had finished with her. She gained nothing from it either.'

I bit my tongue so hard that I could taste the blood in my mouth. ‘If you say so, Anne.'

‘I think I'll hold out. Hold out till he sees that I am not a Bessie Blount, and not a Mary Boleyn. A greater thing by far. Hold out till he sees that he has to make me an offer, a very great offer.'

I paused for a moment. ‘You'll never get Henry Percy back if that's what you're hoping,' I warned her. ‘He won't give you Percy for your favour.'

She was across the room in two great strides and she snatched both of my wrists, her fingernails digging in. ‘You never mention his name again,' she hissed. ‘Never!'

I wrenched my hands away, and grabbed her by the shoulders. ‘I'll say what I want to you,' I swore. ‘Just as you say what you want to me. You're accursed, Anne, you lost your one love and now you want anything that's not yours. You want anything that's mine. You've always wanted anything that was mine.'

She pulled out of my grip and flung open the door. ‘Leave me,' she ordered.

‘You can go,' I corrected her. ‘This is
my
room, remember.'

For a moment we glared at each other, stubborn as cats on the stable wall, full of mutual resentment and something darker, the old sense between sisters that there is only really room in the world for one girl. The sense that every fight could be to the death.

I moved away first. ‘We're supposed to be on the same side.'

She slammed the door shut. ‘It's our room,' she stipulated.

The lines between Anne and me were now clearly drawn. All our childhood it had been a question as to which of us was the best Boleyn girl, now our girlhood rivalry was to be played out on the greatest stage in the kingdom. By the end of the summer one of us would be the acknowledged mistress of the king; the other would be her maid, her assistant, perhaps her Fool.

There was no way I could defeat her. I would have plotted against her but I had no allies and I had no power. None of my family saw any disadvantage in the king having me in his bed at night and Anne on his arm every day. To them it was an ideal situation, the clever Boleyn girl as his companion and advisor, the fecund Boleyn girl as his lover.

Only I saw what it cost her. At night, after dancing and laughing and continually drawing the attention of the court to her, she would sit before the mirror and pull off her hood and I would see her young face drained and exhausted.

Often George would come to our room and bring a glass of port wine for her and the two of us. George and I would put her into bed, draw the sheets up under her chin and watch her as she drained the glass and the colour came slowly back into her cheeks.

‘God knows where this is taking us,' George muttered to me one evening as we watched her sleep. ‘The king is besotted with her; the court is mad about her. What in God's name is she hoping for?'

Anne stirred in her sleep.

‘Hush,' I said, drawing the curtains around the bed. ‘Don't wake her. I can't stand another moment of her, I really cannot.'

George cocked a bright look at me. ‘That bad?'

‘She sits in my place,' I said flatly.

‘Oh, my dear.'

I turned my head away. ‘Everything I have gained she has taken from me,' I said, my voice low with passionate resentment.

‘But you don't want him so much now, do you?' George asked.

I shook my head. ‘That doesn't mean I want to be pushed aside by Anne.'

He strolled with me to the door with his hand round my waist, idly resting on my hip. He kissed me full on the lips like a lover. ‘You know you're the sweetest.'

I smiled at him. ‘I know I am a better woman than her. She's ice and ambition, and she would see you on the gallows before surrendering her ambition. And I know that in me he has a lover who loves him for himself. But Anne has dazzled him, and dazzled the court, and dazzled even you.'

‘Not me,' George said gently.

‘Uncle likes her best,' I said resentfully.

‘He likes nobody. But he wonders how far she might go.'

‘We all wonder that. And what price she's prepared to pay. Especially if it's me that pays it.'

‘It's not an easy dance she's leading,' George admitted.

‘I hate her,' I said simply. ‘I could happily watch her die of her ambition.'

The court was to visit the Princess Mary at Ludlow Castle and we travelled due west all summer. She was only ten but she was old for her years, educated and schooled in the formal strict style which her mother had known at the Spanish court. She had a priest and a set of tutors, a lady companion and her own household in Wales where she was princess. We expected a dignified little woman, a girl on the brink of womanhood.

What we saw was someone very different.

She came into the great hall where her father was at dinner and had the ordeal of walking from doorway to high table with the eyes of everyone upon her. She was tiny, as small as a six-year-old, a perfect little doll with pale brown hair under her hood and a grave pale-skinned face. She was
as dainty as her mother had been when she had first come to England, but she was tiny, a little child.

The king greeted her tenderly enough but I could see the shock on his face. He had not seen her for more than six months, he had expected her to have grown and bloomed into womanhood. But this was no princess who could be married within a year and sent to her new home, confident that within another two or three years she would be ready to bear children. This was a child herself, and a pale thin shy little child at that.

He kissed her and she was seated at his right hand at the high table where she looked down the hall and saw every eye on her. She ate hardly anything. She drank not at all. When he spoke to her she answered in whispered monosyllables. Undoubtedly she was learned, we had all her tutors troop in one after another to assure the king that she could speak Greek and Latin, and compile addition tables and knew the geography of her principality and of the kingdom. When they played some music and she danced she was graceful and light on her feet. But she did not look like a girl who was robust and buxom and fertile. She looked like a girl who could quite easily fade away, catch a little cold and die of it. This was the only legitimate heir to the throne of Henry's father, and she did not look strong enough to lift the sceptre.

George came for me early that night in Ludlow Castle. ‘He's foul with temper,' he warned.

Anne stirred in our bed. ‘Not happy with his little dwarf?'

‘It's amazing,' George remarked. ‘Even half-asleep, you're still as sweet as poison, Anne. Come on, Mary, he can't be kept waiting.'

Henry was standing by the fire when I entered, one foot resting against a log, pushing it deeper into the red embers. He barely glanced up as I came into the room then he stretched out one peremptory hand for me and I went swiftly into his arms.

‘This is a blow,' he said softly into my hair. ‘I had thought that she would be grown, nearly a woman. I had thought to marry her to Francis or even to his son, and bind us with an alliance to France. A girl is no good for me, no good at all. But a girl who cannot even be married!' He broke off, abruptly turned away and took two swift angry steps across the room. A game of cards was laid out on the table, the hands face down, half-finished. With one angry swipe he knocked them off the table, knocked the table over. At the crash there was a shout from the guard outside the door.

‘Your Majesty?'

‘Leave me!' Henry bellowed back.

He rounded on me. ‘Why would God do this to me? Why such a thing
to me? No sons and a daughter who looks like the next winter might blow her away? I have no heir. I have no-one to come after me. Why would God do such a thing to me?'

I kept silent and shook my head, waiting to see what he wanted.

‘It's the queen, isn't it?' he said. ‘That's what you're thinking. That's what they're all thinking.'

I did not know whether to agree or disagree. I kept a wary watch on him and held my peace.

‘It's that damned marriage,' he said. ‘I should never have done it. My father didn't want it. He said she could stay in England as a widowed princess, ours for the ordering. But I thought … I wanted …' He broke off. He did not want to remember how deeply and faithfully he had loved her. ‘The Pope gave us a dispensation but it was a mistake. You can't dispense against the word of God.'

I nodded gravely.

‘I should not have married my brother's wife. Simple as that. And because I married her I have been accursed with her barrenness. God has not given this false marriage his blessing. Every year he has turned his face from me and I should have seen it earlier. The queen is not my wife, she is Arthur's wife.'

‘But if the marriage was never consummated …' I started.

‘Makes no difference,' he said sharply. ‘And anyway, it was.'

I bowed my head.

‘Come to bed,' Henry said, suddenly weary. ‘I cannot stomach this. I have to be free of sin. I have to tell the queen to leave. I have to cleanse myself of this dreadful sin.'

Obediently, I went to the bed and slipped my cloak from my shoulders. I turned back the sheets and got into bed. Henry fell to his knees at the foot of the bed and prayed fervently. I listened to the muttered words and found that I was praying too: one powerless woman praying for another. I was praying for the queen now that the most powerful man in England was blaming her for leading him into mortal sin.

We returned to London, to Greenwich, one of the king's most beloved palaces, and still his dark mood did not lift. He spent much time with clerics and with advisors, some people thought that he was preparing another book, another study of theology. But I, who had to sit with him most nights while he read and wrote, knew that he was struggling with the words of the Bible, struggling to know whether it was the will of God that a man should marry his brother's widow – and thus care for her; or whether it was the will of God that a man should put his brother's widow away – because to look on her with desire was to shame his brother. God on this occasion was ambiguous. Different passages in the Bible said different things. It would take a college full of theologians to decide which rule should take precedence.

It seemed obvious to me that a man should marry his brother's widow so that his brother's children could be brought up in a godly home and a good woman well cared for. Thank God that I did not venture this opinion at Henry's evening councils. There were men disputing in Greek and Latin, going back to original texts, consulting the fathers of the church. The last thing they wanted was a bit of common sense from an immensely ordinary young woman.