VIII

almost…” I shut my eyes – shake my head.
    Wherrymen are shouting on the river. Somewhere down in the servants’ quarters, a door bangs. In the aviary below the window, a nightingale begins to sing.
    “I thank God for my narrow escape, Jane,” I say. “I thank God for granting me life.” I smile at her: at the grave little concerned face. “Life to share with you.”

 
♦  ♦  ♦  XVIII   ♦  ♦  ♦
     
     
    My dearest Jane –
     
    They tell me that the execution has been set for tomorrow. In the afternoon, about three o’clock, I should be able to send you a messenger with the good news that it has been done. Then I will come to you myself by river and we shall be betrothed the next morning. It will be the happiest day of my life .
     
    H. R.
     

 
♦  ♦  ♦  XIX   ♦  ♦  ♦
     
     

Seventeen months later
     
    I am holding a boy-child again. And his strange, serious eyes are looking into mine. He is swaddled. Just a tuft of hair peeks out at the centre of his forehead. The hair is my colour. He is my son. Edward.
    The cloth he is wrapped in is gold, my clothes are gold, the altar-cloth before me here in the chapel is gold. Gilded angels look down on me from the gold-starred ceiling; icons covered in gold-leaf shimmer in the light of a forest of wax tapers.
    It is evening. The chapel is quiet and still. I have come here for a private moment of thanksgiving – with only my gentlemen for company.
    The baby purses his tiny lips, and makes a gurgling sound in his throat. His brow furrows – wrinkled as a walnut – and blurs as I begin to weep; great blotting droplets which darken the brilliant colours of his wrappings.
    Almighty Father, humbly I thank You for giving me strength to endure my sufferings .
    Through them, like Christ, I have brought salvation to my people .
    Here is that salvation: here is peace and prosperity, lying in my arms. Here is the glorious future of my bloodline. My triumph.
    To be on my knees like this is an agony; my leg is bad again. I indicate that I wish to rise – my gentlemen hurry forward on either side, steadying my elbows, their hands on my back, enabling me to straighten, slowly, while still carrying the child.
    The men stay with me, supporting me, as I turn and walk from the altar.
    Outside the chapel door, one of my favourite young Privy Chamber attendants is waiting.
    “Yes, Tom?” I say, pausing by him.
    Tom Culpeper straightens from his bow. He is a pretty youth, with a hard edge of ambition in his eyes that the ladies do not spot. I, however, see it and like it; he is from no great family – he relies solely on his king to get what he wants. Which is as it should be. He says, “I have news from the Queen’s physicians, Your Majesty.”
    From Jane’s apartments, just a courtyard away.
    “Well?”
    Culpeper steps close and says in a low voice, “Sir, they report that Her Majesty’s condition is worsening. Her fever is high and getting higher. Her confessor is in attendance.”
    I nod, and move off along the passageway, in the direction of my own apartments. Culpeper breaks into a trot to catch up. “Your Majesty?”
    I stop.
    “Forgive me, sir, but I am instructed to ask what your plans might be for going hunting at Esher. Will you delay here another day, sir?”
    “If the Queen is better tomorrow morning, I shall leave for Esher immediately.”
    “And…” The young man hesitates. “… if she is no better, sir?”
    The birthing chamber turned sick room… the thought of such a place fills me with an ancient dread. I cannot be waiting for news. I cannot be waiting for Compton to come.
    I glance at Culpeper. He is not Compton. Compton has been dead these half dozen years or more, carried off by the sweating sickness one summer. I miss him and yet… With new men like Culpeper, I am free of the past.
    Culpeper is waiting for my response. I say, “Let them tell the Queen I am still here. If she asks for me, let them say that I am coming – that I am delayed in some meeting; they can make up a reason. But I cannot wait. Whatever happens, I leave for Esher tomorrow.”
    ♦   ♦   ♦
     
    In the event, she does not ask for me, and no one has to lie. Near midnight that night, before I have had the chance to leave Hampton Court, Jane takes leave of it herself. At the other side of the palace, I am woken to receive the news.

PART FIVE:
Weighed in the Balances
     
     
     

 
♦  ♦  ♦  I   ♦  ♦