We ride home slowly. I keep my face locked in a smile to hide my weariness and the pain in my thighs, in my belly, in my back. Lady Margaret brings her horse beside mine and glances at me. “You had better rest this afternoon.”

“I cannot,” I say shortly.

She does not need to ask why. She has been a princess; she knows that a queen has to be on show, whatever her own feelings. “I have the story, if you want to trouble yourself to hear such a thing.”

“You are a good friend,” I say. “Tell me briefly. I think I know the worst that it can be already.”

“After we had gone in for your confinement the king and the young men started to go into the City in the evenings.”

“With guards?”

“No, alone and disguised.”

I stifle a sigh. “Did no one try to stop him?”

“The Earl of Surrey, God bless him. But his own sons were of the party and it was lighthearted fun, and you know that the king will not be denied his pastimes.”

I nod.

“One evening they came into court in their disguises and pretended to be London merchants. The ladies danced with them; it was all very amusing. I was not there that evening, I was with you in confinement; someone told me about it the next day. I took no notice. But apparently one of the merchants singled out Lady Anne and danced with her all night.”

“Henry,” I say, and I can hear the bitterness in my own whisper.

“Yes, but everyone thought it was William Compton. They are about the same height, and they were all wearing false beards and hats. You know how they do.”

“Yes,” I say. “I know how they do.”

“Apparently they made an assignation and when the Duke thought that his sister was sitting with you in the evenings she was slipping away and meeting the king. When she went missing all night, it was too much for her sister. Elizabeth went to her brother and warned him of what Anne was doing. They told her husband and all of them confronted Anne and demanded to know who she was seeing, and she said it was Compton. But when she was missing, and they thought she was with her lover, they met Compton. So then they knew, it was not Compton, it was the king.”

I shake my head.

“I am sorry, my dear,” Lady Margaret says to me gently. “He is a young man. I am sure it is no more than vanity and thoughtlessness.”

I nod and say nothing. I check my horse, who is tossing his head against my hands, which are too heavy on the reins. I am thinking of Anne crying out in pain as her hymen was broken.

“And is her husband, Sir George, unmanned?” I ask. “Was she a virgin until now?”

“So they say,” Lady Margaret replies drily. “Who knows what goes on in a bedroom?”

“I think we know what goes on in the king’s bedroom,” I say bitterly. “They have hardly been discreet.”

“It is the way of the world,” she says quietly. “When you are confined it is only natural that he will take a lover.”

I nod again. This is nothing but the truth. What is surprising to me is that I should feel such hurt.

“The duke must have been much aggrieved,” I say, thinking of the dignity of the man and how it was he who put the Tudors on the throne in the first place.

“Yes,” she says. She hesitates. Something about her voice warns me that there is something she is not sure if she should say.

“What is it, Margaret?” I ask. “I know you well enough to know that there is something more.”

“It is something that Elizabeth said to one of the girls before she left,” she says.

“Oh?”

“Elizabeth says that her sister did not think it was a light love affair that would last while you were in confinement and then be forgotten.”

“What else could it be?”

“She thought that her sister had ambitions.”

“Ambitions for what?”

“She thought that she might take the king’s fancy and hold him.”

“For a season,” I say disparagingly.

“No, for longer,” she says. “He spoke of love. He is a romantic young man. He spoke of being hers till death.” She sees the look on my face and breaks off. “Forgive me, I should have said none of this.”

I think of Anne Stafford crying out in pain and telling him that she was a virgin, a true virgin, in too much pain to go on. That he was her first love, her only love. I know how much he would like that.

I check my horse again, he frets against the bit. “What do you mean she was ambitious?”

“I think she thought that given her family position, and the liking that was between her and the king, that she could become the great mistress of the English court.”

I blink. “And what about me?”

“I think she thought that, in time, he might turn from you to her. I think she hoped to supplant you in his love.”

I nod. “And if I died bearing his child, I suppose she thought she would have her empty marriage annulled and marry him?”

“That would be the very cusp of her ambition,” Lady Margaret says. “And stranger things have happened. Elizabeth Woodville got to the throne of England on looks alone.”

“Anne Stafford was my lady-in-waiting,” I say. “I chose her for the honor over many others. What about her duty to me? What about her friendship with me? Did she never think of me? If she had served me in Spain, we would have lived night and day together…” I break off. There is no way to explain the safety and affection of the harem to a woman who has always lived her life alert to the gaze of men.

Lady Margaret shakes her head. “Women are always rivals,” she says simply. “But until now everyone has thought that the king only had eyes for you. Now everyone knows different. There is not a pretty girl in the land who does not now think that the crown is for taking.”

“It is still my crown,” I point out.

“But girls will hope for it,” she says. “It is the way of the world.”

“They will have to wait for my death,” I say bleakly. “That could be a long wait even for the most ambitious girl.”

Lady Margaret nods. I indicate behind me and she looks back. The ladies-in-waiting are scattered among the huntsmen and courtiers, riding and laughing and flirting. Henry has Princess Mary on one side of him and one of her ladies-in-waiting on another. She is a new girl to court, young and pretty. A virgin, without doubt, another pretty virgin.

“And which of these will be next?” I ask bitterly. “When I next go in for my confinement and cannot watch them like a fierce hawk? Will it be a Percy girl? Or a Seymour? Or a Howard? Or a Neville? Which girl will step up to the king next and try to charm her way into his bed and into my place?”

“Some of your ladies love you dearly,” she says.

“And some of them will use their position at my side to get close to the king,” I say. “Now they have seen it done, they will be waiting for their chance. They will know that the easiest route to the king is to come into my rooms, to pretend to be my friend, to offer me service. First she will pretend friendship and loyalty to me and all the time she will watch for her chance. I can know that one will do it, but I cannot know which one she is.”

Lady Margaret leans forwards and strokes her horse’s neck, her face grave. “Yes,” she agrees.

“And one of them, one of the many, will be clever enough to turn the king’s head,” I say bitterly. “He is young and vain and easily misled. Sooner or later, one of them will turn him against me and want my place.”

Lady Margaret straightens up and looks directly at me, her gray eyes as honest as ever. “This may all be true, but I think you can do nothing to prevent it.”

“I know,” I say grimly.


“I have good news for you,” Katherine said to Henry. They had thrown open the windows of her bedroom to let in the cooler night air. It was a warm night in late May and for once, Henry had chosen to come to bed early.

“Tell me some good news,” he said. “My horse went lame today, and I cannot ride him tomorrow. I would welcome some good news.”

“I think I am with child.”

He bounced up in the bed. “You are?”

“I think so,” she said, smiling.

“Praise God! You are?”

“I am certain of it.”

“God be praised. I shall go to Walsingham the minute you give birth to our son. I shall go on my knees to Walsingham! I shall crawl along the road! I shall wear a suit of pure white. I shall give Our Lady pearls.”

“Our Lady has been gracious to us indeed.”

“And how potent they will all know that I am now! Out of confinement in the first week of May and pregnant by the end of the month. That will show them! That will prove that I am a husband indeed.”

“Indeed it will,” she said levelly.

“It is not too early to be sure?”

“I have missed my course, and I am sick in the morning. They tell me it is a certain sign.”

“And you are certain?” He had no tact to phrase his anxiety in gentle words. “You are certain this time? You know that there can be no mistake?”

She nodded. “I am certain. I have all the signs.”

“God be praised. I knew it would come. I knew that a marriage made in heaven would be blessed.”

Katherine nodded. Smiling.

“We shall go slowly on our progress, you shall not hunt. We shall go by boat for some of the way, barges.”

“I think I will not travel at all, if you will allow it,” she said. “I want to stay quietly in one place this summer, I don’t even want to ride in a litter.”

“Well, I shall go on progress with the court and then come home to you,” he said. “And what a celebration we shall have when our baby is born. When will it be?”

“After Christmas,” Katherine said. “In the New Year.”


WINTER 1510

I should have been a soothsayer, I have proved to be so accurate with my prediction, even without a Moorish abacus. We are holding the Christmas feast at Richmond and the court is joyful in my happiness. The baby is big in my belly, and he kicks so hard that Henry can put his hand on me and feel the little heel thud out against his hand. There is no doubt that he is alive and strong, and his vitality brings joy to the whole court. When I sit in council, I sometimes wince at the strange sensation of him moving inside me, the pressure of his body against my own, and some of the old councilors laugh—having seen their own wives in the same state—for joy that there is to be an heir for England and Spain at last.

I pray for a boy but I do not expect one. A child for England, a child for Arthur, is all I want. If it is the daughter that he had wanted, then I will call her Mary as he asked.

Henry’s desire for a son, and his love for me, has made him more thoughtful at last. He takes care of me in ways that he has never done before. I think he is growing up, the selfish boy is becoming a good man at last, and the fear that has haunted me since his affair with the Stafford girl is receding. Perhaps he will take lovers as kings always do, but perhaps he will resist falling in love with them and making the wild promises that a man can make but a king must not. Perhaps he will acquire the good sense that so many men seem to learn: to enjoy a new woman but remain constant, in their hearts, to their wife. Certainly, if he continues to be this sweet-natured, he will make a good father. I think of him teaching our son to ride, to hunt, to joust. No boy could have a better father for sports and pastimes than a son of Henry’s. Not even Arthur would have made a more playful father. Our boy’s education, his skill in court life, his upbringing as a Christian, his training as a ruler, these are the things that I will teach him. He will learn my mother’s courage and my father’s skills, and from me—I think I can teach him constancy, determination. These are my gifts now.

I believe that between Henry and me, we will raise a prince who will make his mark in Europe, who will keep England safe from the Moors, from the French, from the Scots, from all our enemies.

I will have to go into confinement again but I leave it as late as I dare. Henry swears to me that there will be no other while I am confined, that he is mine, all mine. I leave it till the evening of the Christmas feast and then I take my spiced wine with the members of my court and bid them merry Christmas as they bid me Godspeed, and I go once more into the quietness of my bedroom.