VIII

darkness that will burn away the evil: that light is my son, in her belly.
    I think of the child I once saw in a dream, the little boy walking down beams of light towards me from a bright black sun. Now I feel as if it is my son coming down the beams of light towards me, as I stand here in the darkness – the darkness of the Tower, the darkness of my years of struggle. He will stretch out his small hand to me. And I will take it and step into the light. He is my bloodline, my future, the beginning of my glorious dynasty that will live on for ever.
    Anne walks past the bowing lords and bishops. She reaches me, and her black eyes shine brighter than her golden robes.
    In a ringing voice that all can hear I say, “Welcome, my adored wife and true queen.” I take her shoulders and kiss her; more quietly I add, “Welcome Anne.”
    And, turning, I take her hand and lead her under the shadowy gateway, and on, into the dark Tower itself.
    The required feats have been performed; I have won the hand of the golden maiden. Now my destiny stretches before me, as the prophecy made in this very place, all those long years ago, foretold:
    Oh blessed ruler… you are the one so welcome that many acts will smooth your way. You will extend your wings in every place; your glory will live down the ages .
    Now, at last, the waiting is ended.
    Empire and sons.

 
♦  ♦  ♦  VIII   ♦  ♦  ♦
     
     
    It is three months since Anne’s coronation: it is September and it is squally. The wind whines around the gardens and courtyards here at Greenwich, seeming unsure of the way out, buffeting the heraldic beasts on their poles and stirring the waters of the fountains. Inside my thick robes I shiver.
    September, for months, has been my goal. By now, I was to have been deliriously happy. Because by now, the child would have been born.
    And it is born. Anne has been delivered safely. She and the child are both alive. It is a fine-looking infant. Healthy, robust.
    But it is a girl.
    When the news was brought to me I took in a sharp breath. Now, five days later, I feel as if I have not yet breathed out again.
    This I never expected.
    Not this, not this, not this.
    It is unthinkable.
    The river today looks cold and grey in the flat north light. I am standing in a bay window, staring out; someone behind me speaks. It is a bishop, one of my councillors. In his hand he holds a dispatch: begging Your Grace’s pardon, but there is an urgent question regarding the matter of the ships from Lübeck…
    I snatch the paper: I can read it for myself. The bishop makes a nervous little prance towards me and back, urging me to let him summarise – in scanning the paper I soon see why. Not just news of ships and mercantile quarrels: there is news from our man in Flanders of rumours, too. Rumours circulating that Anne has been delivered of a monster – or else a child that is dead; and that if I do not take back Catherine as my wife the Pope will summon all Christian princes to make war on England by Easter next. Oh yes and, to cap it all, these Flemings liken the King of England to Count Baldwin of Flanders, who was plagued by diabolic illusions…
    I crush the paper – tight, tight into a ball – and take it to the fireplace and throw it in the flames. As it catches light it begins to unfurl; the edges flare brightly as they burn.
    Behind me the bishop’s voice patters on anxiously, bland and soothing: what ordure it is, sir, but it is as well to know what is said on the streets, what is said anywhere in fact; it’s astonishing of course how evil the slander can be, nevertheless we can circulate counter-rumours, even as far afield as Flanders; and now perhaps we can come on to the matter of those ships from Lübeck?
    I don’t turn; I stare into the flames as they curl around the blackened remnants of the paper. These last few nights I have dreamed of monstrous births myself. Such events have genuinely happened in certain German and Italian cities – I have seen woodcuts of the things born. One woman produced a creature with bird’s wings and a single leg ending in a clawed foot. Another had a child with bat’s wings and two legs, one bearing a devil’s hoof, the other an eye at the knee. I have dreamed of Anne bringing forth a serpent, with a scaly hide and great tearing claws.
    Each time, I have woken to find Anne lying beside me in the dark: this astonishing being sent me by God, as ready for battle as if she wore armour. And I have