Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) (19 page)

A
nne stared mutely at the King. Her heart had begun a mad
pounding. She thought it would break free of her chest. With great difficulty
she choked down her own spit. George lurched from his chair to stand next to
her. She felt his hand in hers, gripped it tightly.

"Treason?"

"Yes, yes." He waved his hand as if her shock were
inconsequential.

"He believes your zeal for the Luther’s ideals and
Fish’s tracts are endangering the church," he harrumphed. "As if you
have the power to coerce the populace into hating him. They hate him already.
And you more."

He paced again, not caring that her heart had not only
stopped, but done flip flops. From the sound of it, he didn’t even care that
the country hated her. She tried to bite the sides of her mouth to keep from
yelling at him. The pain only worsened her temper.

"And you let him taint me to you?" She shrugged
off George’s grasp when he would catch her from storming the King. She beat
Henry’s chest.

"You let him question your beloved’s faith?"

Henry gripped her wrists away with one hand.

"I let him have his say," he spluttered. "But
you must admit, your ideals are less than discreet. Why, you roam about with
those heretical tracts, passing them off to any who will read them. You ply me
to release the church’s enemies, pleading that they are poor men who want only
to do God’s will. And you must admit... your position as my mistress does
little to strengthen your perception as a religious woman."

She kicked at his shin.

"You cur!" She hollered. "You ungracious
bastard!
Mon Dieu
, would to God I had never laid eyes on you."

When George grasped her by the shoulder she struggled and
kicked and yelled ’til Henry backed away and George pulled her to the settee.

"Leave me!" She turned away when the King pleaded
with his eyes for forgiveness.

She stared at the wall ’til he left the room. For a long
time, she sat staring at the rich tapestries and oiled paintings, never truly
seeing anything. Dinner came and went without word from George to come to the
dining room. After a time, she saw him peek in, but she refused to acknowledge
him. Later in the evening, when she thought she could face her court, she left
by coach to return to the castle.

For long hours George thought over the discussion he had witnessed
between his sister and the King. He had to squelch his desire to scold Henry
for not defending Anne. It irritated him, no, it goaded him that the highest
man in the land could not defend her to the Cardinal. And it proved to George,
just how powerful Thomas Wolsey had grown in his office. Never before had he so
hated the clergy. Damn the man, that he wielded so much power, so much wealth.
He thought of how the Cardinal rode often on a mule, symbolizing his humility.

He envisioned the beast as he had seen it a dozen times,
decked out in the finest crimson and gold trappings, proceeded by two huge
crosses of silver and two silver pillars. How terribly humble. He thought of
how impossible it was to be granted audience with the Cardinal, having to pass
through at least four attempts before having the request granted. He recalled
his father saying that the King was more accessible than his Cardinal, and that
the leavings for the beggars from the Cardinal’s supper table made the King’s
look frugal in comparison. More than that, he remembered that the Cardinal was
served first at all banquets, even before the King. As he lounged on his bed,
in the gloom of his chamber, he thought this over, and grew angrier at the
Cardinal, and madder still at Henry. That Anne should be slandered, and allowed
to be slandered, galled him so he didn’t even hear his wife come into the room.
Her voice startled him from his thoughts.

"Your sister has left." She sat next to him on the
bed, fingered his hair so she pushed it back from his face. He grunted, too
absorbed in his anger to answer.

"She said no good-byes. Just left."

He stared at her.

"She’s been wronged."

"And how so?" The concern on her face endeared her
to him. He touched her cheek.

"In the worst way—by not being respected by the man who
loves her." For the first time he saw Jayne as she truly was, a child who
tried desperately to please her husband. Her blue eyes grew round.

"Indeed, that is the worst way."

O
n a chilly September morning, as Anne instructed her women
in verses, her father asked for private audience. She led him into her
bedchamber, shushed out the maid who was just then pulling the coverlet up over
the pillow, and bade him sit in a chair near the fire. He shook his head,
choosing instead to stand near the window. His wide-set eyes scanned the room
suspiciously. That search unnerved her, yet she resolved not to show it. She
tried to imagine what he feared in the opulent chamber—could there be menace
beneath the heavily stitched quilts, spies behind the maple dressing screen?

"It’s a prime time, Anne." He crossed the room,
fingering the tapestry as he left his spot by the wall. It flapped back against
the stones with a heavy flop, sending dust into the air. She watched the
particles dance in the sun's rays near the window with some speculation.

"Prime for what, my lord father?" She chose to use
the formal term, knowing he had come for a formal purpose.

"Prime to secure the Cardinal’s discredit. It’s no
secret the country tires of him. Or that Henry covets his riches. I think since
this last failure, the King may well be pushed to disfavor him, and I believe
your influence may seal his fate."

"My influence? You would use me to secure the fall of a
man you loathe?"

"A man we both loathe," he corrected.

"Fortunate then, that the King and I have patched our
disagreement." She couldn’t help being sarcastic. She had spent the better
part of a week advocating for priests who had been imprisoned because they
upheld Martin Luther’s convictions; knowing as she did that Wolsey plotted and
planned her banishment from court because of it. His eyes looked so cold she
dared not breathe.

"Do you think this power comes without aid?" He
asked.

She shook her head.

"It’s time now to use it for one of your most influential
supporters." The casual stroke of hand on beard signaled his
concentration—a sign he did his best to control his temper. She was afraid not
to answer, knowing he expected one.

She studied his face with interest, a face so like her own,
black eyes, thick lips, well-shaped brows. And as she studied it, she thought
of how alike they were in character, passionate in beliefs, manipulative. And
even though he frightened her a little, she knew this man was her mold, and at
times her love for him outweighed that fright. She hated herself for her reply
even as she considered it.

"I'll do it. Just tell me what needs to be done."
She crossed the room, leaving her chair to cool without her presence. Taking
his hand in hers, she smiled ineffectively. His hand felt dry from the coming
Autumn. She stroked it reassuringly, needing the reassurance herself as she
gave it to him and hoping to moisten it with her own which was perspiring
madly.

"God help me, I hate him for trying to discredit me
with Henry. Complaining about my religious ideas. I hate him, and I'll do
it."

Thomas snatched his hand back.

"You're not doing it because of your personal feelings,
Anne. You're doing it to secure your position. Our position. The King's
position. For the good of the realm, it has to be done."

She sighed, tired of the habitual corrections.

"Then I'll dine with the King when he arrives in the
morning. I may be able to further persuade him." The bitterness in her own
voice astounded her.

"And if I can't, I'll remind his grace that because of
Wolsey, most of England is slandering him. Henry will never tolerate
that." She returned to her chair and flicked a lint ball from the arm.

"No," Thomas agreed.

"He'd never tolerate slander of his royal person."
Something in his statement made her look at him. She could discern the
bitterness that even now gripped him.

"Not as he tolerated Wolsey's slander of you,
Father?" She guessed. Instead of answering, he made ready to leave. When
she expected no reply, he muttered a response, so low as to be barely audible.
But she heard it, a growl that came from his soul.

"If it hadn't been for Wolsey, I'd be in my office
these ten years now, maybe even higher."

The door closed quietly behind him, leaving her to her
tortured thoughts. She knew to discredit the Cardinal with the King, was to
condemn the man of God. She tried to believe her hatred had naught to do with
it, tried to believe she was defending her name and that of her family. But in
all, she knew she was playing with a man’s future, and possibly his life. The
next morning she left her conscience on that very chair. Foundered with
determination, and sitting across from the King, at an elaborately decorated
breakfast table, she made her move. She gazed wide-eyed into the King's, sipped
delicately at her cup.

"Did you sleep well?" She suspected he hadn't; his
eyes looked bleary still and puffy. Although he was an early riser—usually
between five and six—he never quite woke up ’til after breakfast.

"No."

She lifted a freshly baked roll to her nose, breathed in its
warm fragrance, and split it callously with her fingers. She spread marmalade
on the soft cushion of bread and licked a finger when some of the wayward
preserve found its way there. She glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes.

"Because of this affair with Wolsey?"

Henry's eyes crystallized into hard chunks of blue ice.

"Wolsey. Suffolk says that the French King knows of a
tie he has with the Pope."

"A tie? Suffolk is your best friend, how would he know
what you know not?" Her heart quickened.

"Suffolk spoke to the French King when he was here, and
Francois thinks our Cardinal is in bed with Rome. That together with Campeggio,
they're trying to slow the divorce, not speed it."

She could have told the King this very thing months ago, but
something warned her not to admit the fact. Instead, she prodded him.

"Do you think the Cardinal hopes for higher office from
Rome through this cooperation?"

"What do you mean?" He asked brusquely, pushed his
plate away so that it rested further from the edge of the table, but not so
that it was out of his reach. A sharp creak saturated the silence that came
after his words. A flutter in her chest made her catch her breath. She found
that staring at the linen-fold paneling helped her lungs work better. When she
glanced back at Henry, it was to discover his eyes hadn’t left hers, that he
studied her expressionlessly. The tremor returned.

"Just that I know little of politics. But much of
social gossip."

"Have you, too, heard what Suffolk said?"

"No." She looked at her plate with a quick jerk,
the silver dish leered back at her. The King stared at her intently.

"No. But?"

His look grew so unnerving, so steady that suddenly she felt
as if he’d read the lie in her eye. Her heart lurched, told her to retreat. She
reached across the table, winced as a tiny splinter embedded in her forearm.
She took his hands in hers and stroked it gently, feigning interest in other
than conversation.

"Your hands are soft. An artist's hands," she
changed the subject, her stomach roiling in despair that he might follow. She
turned his hand over and traced the large M on his palm.

"Ah, Ah." He closed his fingers over hers,
trapping them as he pulled her hand to his lips. She gave him a careful caught
mouse smile, allowing him to kiss each finger before he spoke.

"You're changing the subject."

She giggled guiltily, partly from the truth of his statement
and partly from fear.

"Yes, I did, but only because such conversation
frightens me."

"But why?"

"Because I dislike speaking badly of anyone you
love." She tried to make her words sound un-incriminating knowing that at
one point he had loved Catherine, and now treated her cruelly.

"I love you," he stated. "But any crimes you
know of, you must tell me."

She took a deep breath, the aromas in the room left a sour
taste in her mouth.

"I know naught of any crime, just that I hate to hear
how the people grumble over the increase in taxes, especially since it’s not
your fault."

"Ah, you speak of the loan." Henry's face turned
bitter with the knowledge. He sat back in his chair, pulled her hand farther
toward him as she tried to let it go. She protested, afraid suddenly that he
had turned on her.

"You know well that the loan he coerced you into
getting is angering the people, and is burdening you with a debt you can barely
afford. That plan of war with France cost you everything, and all for
naught." She knew the matter had bothered him for some time, and that if
she failed to fuel his ire with it, she may well fail altogether.

"Sire, don't you think it a marvelous thing when you
consider what debt and danger the Cardinal has put you in with your
subjects?"

"What mean you, sweetheart?"

"Well, there isn't a man in all your realm who is worth
five pounds he hasn't indebted you to." She took a bite of roll to hide
the tremor in her voice.

"Well, well, he's not to blame for that. I know that
matter better than you. Or any other." The King also bit his roll, his
beard trapping some marmalade. His face grew ominous but she ignored it,
hurried on instead, afraid he might be softening toward Wolsey.

"Not only that, but think of all the things he has done
that has resulted in slanders of you. There isn't a nobleman in the realm that
wouldn't be worthy of losing his head if he had done as much. If my lord
Suffolk, my lord Norfolk, my lord father, or any other nobleperson had done
even less, they would have lost their heads before this." The words
sounded harsh, even to her ears, but they committed her to her course, and she
was relieved they were finally said.

"Why, then, I guess you are not the Cardinal's
friend." Henry looked at her without emotion, but his eyes were wary. She
took her time answering.

"Not so. I have no more reason than any other person
who loves your grace, but no longer has it—if you were to think about what he's
done." She lifted her fork to stab at the bacon that sat innocently on the
plate, skewering it as she felt her fate had been pierced. Only the bacon slab
didn't wriggle as she felt her heart doing.

"Yes," he agreed.

"Many people have fallen from my grace. But of their
own accord. And Wolsey may well see how I deal with traitors, if I find he is
one." He pushed away from the table and took her hand.

"But let's talk no more of it. I will see him later
today, and he can explain these things to me."

"That is an excellent idea, my lord, for I pray it’s
naught but gossip. But I beg you, have him come later today. I had so wanted to
ride with you." She kissed his fingers.

"I have an excursion planned." Shrewdly, she
winked.

"Ah." His red brows rose in delight.

"Then return to your quarters, my lady, and get
yourself ready. Shall we go alone?" The direct question hid an inference.

"As alone as we may; an excursion is all the better for
the less travelers." And may well keep him from coming home in time to
meet with Wolsey, she added silently.