VIII

now, and I’m kissing her.
    As I begin to kiss her neck, she tilts her head to one side. She says dreamily, “Tell me about Wolsey.”
    I stop. We look at one another. Her gaze is entirely serious – not dreamy at all.
    I disengage and lean my elbow on a shelf. “All right, he’s adjourned the case. He says it’s too difficult and he needs to take legal advice. But he’s given me guarantees—”
    “Too difficult? Because?” Her eyes have narrowed.
    I let out a breath. “The Bible clearly states in the Book of Leviticus that a man may not marry his brother’s widow. But elsewhere in the Old Testament, there’s a text contradicting that—”
    “In Deuteronomy, I know.” Anne moves into the light. She looks cool and elegant and human again. “But it deals with ceremonial law. It applies only to Jews, not Christians.”
    “Ye-es. But not all theologians agree on that, do they? Wolsey thinks it’s unavoidable…” I hesitate.
    “What is?”
    “That the Pope must be involved.”
    Anne has picked up and opened a box; now she snaps the lid shut. “But imperial troops have overrun Rome; the Pope is the Emperor’s prisoner.” She paces about. “If the trial is held there, do you imagine for one moment that the Pope will be allowed to make a judgement against Catherine, the Emperor’s own aunt?”
    “The trial won’t be held in Rome. It won’t come to that. Wolsey has plans.”
    Anne makes a noise in her throat, something like a laugh.
    “He’s asking the Pope to send a document, specifically granting him authority to decide this case.”
    Anne has stopped by a table; she’s fiddling with the stopper of a bottle. She says, “Do you ever doubt his loyalty?”
    “Wolsey’s?” I glance out of the window. “I’ve known him a long time. Longer than you’ve…”
    “Been alive?”
    I smile. “Not far off it.”
    She lifts the bottle, examining its surface. “Still. Catherine’s known him just as long. He may be working for her. What has she said?”
    There’s an awkward silence. Anne looks at me sharply.
    “You haven’t told her.”
    I don’t move. I say, “I will.”
    Silence again; we’re looking at one another. Suddenly I notice that the bottle she’s holding is engraved with an entwined H and C – I go to her and slip it out of her hands. I say, “I just need to find the right moment.”
    “Do you remember what my chaplain said? That it would be a high crime against God if you didn’t repudiate her straight away?”
    “Progress is being made. Wolsey—”
    “And what about my right moment, anyway?” she says. “I’ve turned down offers for this. I could be married and pregnant by now. I need to be sure.” Her thin fingers are on my arm again; their grip is surprisingly strong.
    “Sure?”
    She nods. “That I’m not wasting my time.”

 
♦  ♦  ♦  V   ♦  ♦  ♦
     
     
    “I didn’t want to trouble you when you’ve been so busy with these… these negotiations. I mean with the French. So I ordered them anyway. One is purple velvet edged with ermine, three are cloth of gold, and then—” she counts on her fingers, “there’s one purple tinsel, one cloth of silver and one tawny cloth of gold—”
    “Catherine—”
    “Oh, and a couple of hoods. Black velvet lined with satin. The gable style suits Mary best, don’t you think?”
    “Catherine.”
    “Yes?”
    We’re alone in her chamber. It faces south, across the Greenwich parkland, and today the sunshine is streaming in – a bright black light, almost unbearable. Having edged into the room, I’m standing in the shadows, just inside the door, sweating beneath my clothes.
    God is all around: icons look down at me from every wall – Christ wearing the crown of thorns; Christ as the Man of Sorrows, bleeding and attended by angels; the Virgin Mary with diadem and sceptre, balancing the Christ child on her knee. On an altar by the window, a gold monstrance blazes in the sun. At its heart, encased in crystal, lies a dull black splinter: a piece of the true cross.
    Catherine is standing in the middle of the room, solid as a velvet-upholstered man-of-war, her prayer beads looped at her waist. A gold cross, heavy with gemstones, presses into the doughy flesh below her throat. Above it, her face bears an expression of such innocence – such openness. I am about to shatter her world.
    I take a breath, then start, quickly. “Several wise and learned men have come to me with terrible news. They say