by Deryn Lake
Zachary frowned. ‘That is so. But I am not sure, as yet, that I approve of your arrangements for my son.’
Rosamund threw her arms round him. ‘You are getting very pompous and old, my dear. Why, I can see some grey in your hair.’
Zachary nodded. ‘You are right. He is your son too and I have no right to interfere. Lady Banastre will bring him up well, I have no doubt.’
‘You could not take him, astrologer.’ Rosamund often called him this when she was at her most teasing. ‘I would have thought you to have enough trouble caring for your own two. Why, what are you going to do now that they have no mother?’
Zachary smiled just a little forlornly. ‘I had thought, though selfishly, it is true, that perhaps you …’
Rosamund put a finger over his lips. ‘I believed till now you knew me well Zachary, but obviously not! I am far from maternal. Why, I only had Sylvanus because I knew of no way to abort him. No, I shall do my duty by Monsieur le Duc and give him clever sons and pretty daughters, and then hand them straight to the servants.’
‘You are a heartless baggage, though a very sweet one.’
‘Then make love to me.’
‘In a moment. First, I must ask you one favour.’
‘Which is …’
‘That you shelter my children while I go on pilgrimage?’ Rosamund looked astonished. ‘I did not think you pursued that kind of thing.’
‘While I am in France I wish to visit the Black Madonna of Rocamadour. I feel in need of spiritual cleansing and she has enormous power, or so it is said.’
‘His Grace of England would be displeased, turning as he is against all Catholic superstition.’
‘His Grace of England will never know,’ answered Zachary, smiling. ‘Now will you take my two poor waifs into your household for a week or so?’
‘Of course I will. So kiss me.’
They spoke no more, making love in a bitter-sweet mood, knowing that this would be one of the last times before Rosamund became a bride. And because of this the feel of Zachary inside her, familiar though it was, took on an exhilarating excitement, so that Rosamund felt herself lift to a height of sensation that she had never before experienced. In that moment she thought she would end her betrothal to the French Duke and stay with the astrologer always, just for the pleasure of his bedtime company but then, as they shuddered and gasped their way back to normality, she realised that this was an illusion and that truly he was not the man to give her the things she really wanted out of life.
And Zachary, too, as he fell back on the pillow, filled with pleasure, knew guilt again that he should be coupling hard while his wife lay newly dead. He sighed in the candlelight and Rosamund said, ‘She wouldn’t mind. They want us to know joy. My mother told me that when my father died.’
‘You are right, of course. She, least of all, would begrudge me anything.’
‘Then so be it. Go on your pilgrimage and come back refreshed. As best I can I shall mother the three of them. But not if Monsieur le Duc comes calling of course.’
‘Of course,’ answered Zachary gravely, and with that they fell asleep, curled round each other like sleepy cats, totally at ease, wishing, in a way, that it was not necessary to part for ever, but knowing that very soon they must.
*
It took the wedding party several days to make the journey from Wolff Hall to London, for though the old people did not come, Jane’s brothers and sisters, as well as Cloverella and certain servants, set out to take part in the celebrations, forming quite a large group in all. Jane and Henry, anxious for a little privacy during these last few days before they were finally wed, made a leisurely detour through the ancient town of Winchester and finally arrived in London with only two days until the wedding itself.
On the day of Anne’s execution Archbishop Cranmer had issued a dispensation for the marriage of Henry and Jane without publication of banns and it had been Cranmer, too, who had held a special court in Lambeth Palace to pronounce that Anne Boleyn’s marriage to Henry had been null and void because the King had previously had her sister Mary for mistress. And though nobody in the world could have been less cynical than Jane, even she felt her eyebrows rise when, on the wedding eve, returned late from their first official appearance together, Henry suddenly repeated his strange remark that she was to be his first bride.
‘The other misfortunes were no true marriages at all. In both cases the women concerned’ — Jane realised with a start that he could not bring himself to say the names of Katharine or Anne any more — ‘were within the prohibited degrees of affinity, the Princess Dowager being my sister-in-law and the other one’s sister having been my mistress.’
I do hope, thought Jane in a moment of great unease, that if I should die before he does he will not have similar difficulty in referring to me.
But the idea was drowned by Henry’s next words. ‘As part of your wedding gift, sweetheart, I am giving you one hundred and four manors situated throughout the realm, five castles, several chases and forests, and land in London too. Will that please you?’ She could hardly answer, utterly overwhelmed, but Henry rushed on, ‘And for your family, the title of Viscount Beauchamp for Edward, and for Thomas an appointment as a Gentleman of my Privy Chamber.’
Jane pressed her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘I don’t know what to say, Your Grace. You have lifted me and my brothers into such high esteem.’
He was beside her in a second, huge and overpowering. ‘It is the least I can do for she who is to be the mother of my sons, my first true and legal wife.’
A moment of terror struck Jane to the quick, thinking of what her fate might be if she should fail to produce the longed-for heir, and what reason could possibly be found for her disposal. Then she remembered Dr Zachary’s prophecy and screwed her courage up.
‘I will be a mother as soon as God wills it.’
‘And what pleasure there will be in the begetting.’
Henry was winking a heavy eye and Jane felt herself growing hotly uncomfortable, seeing herself as a brood mare and he a sweating stallion. A feeling of unease was enveloping her, triggered by the thought that Henry was far from tolerant of wives who failed him in the serious business of producing princes. Suddenly Jane felt suffocated by the very thought of being his bride and wished that it was not too late to turn back. But it was, by far. She was caught and now there was no escape.
Faintly she said, ‘Your Grace … Henry … tomorrow is my wedding day and it grows late. I pray you excuse me for I would take to my bed in order to have a fresh face in the morning.’
He was all contrition and smiles, ringing a bell for her ladies and insisting that she be given a cool towel for her eyes and forehead.
‘Till tomorrow,’ he said, waving his fingers, then adding roguishly, ‘as this is the first time I truly take leave of my bachelorhood, I would sit an hour or two with my Gentlemen. If you have no objections, sweetheart.’
He was playing a heavy-handed game of already being hen-pecked for the benefit of Jane’s ladies, who all giggled obligingly, only Cloverella having the wit to say, ‘I thought that stags at rut needed no permission to consort.’
The King shot her a withering glance but Cloverella was smiling so sweetly at him that he decided it must be a joke and roared with laughter, as did the rest of the assembled company. Jane had never been so glad to leave anywhere and proceed to her luxurious apartments, very different from the ones she had first occupied in the Palace of Whitehall. As she snuggled into bed, longing for sleep, she dismissed even her sisters, only Cloverella staying behind to tuck her in, as if they were girls again, laughing together in their bedroom at Wolff Hall.
‘Will you read the ancient cards for me?’ asked Jane, tired though she was.
Cloverella shook her head. ‘Dr Zachary told me not to do so.’
‘Why was that?’ Jane said swiftly, very slightly alarmed.
‘He said it is not wise to read for members of one’s own family. That it give
s insights that one is not meant to have.’
The same sense of unease that had afflicted Jane earlier, returned. ‘He is not going to do away with me, is he?’ she asked in alarm.
‘That I know will not happen.’
‘How if you have not looked?’
Cloverella laughed. ‘Because Dr Zachary told me so. He said that you would bear a prince for England.’
Jane smiled. ‘He told me that too.’
‘Then what are you worrying about?’
‘Because he might not be right.’
‘Dr Zachary,’ answered Cloverella firmly, ‘is very nearly always right.’
Jane slanted her eyes. ‘I believe you have a soft spot for him.’
Cloverella’s cheeks took on the shade of a springtime camellia.
‘What nonsense! I admire him for his greatness as an astrologer, that is all.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Jane with a smile, and almost immediately fell asleep.
*
In the hour just after midnight the wedding day began for the Palace servants, who were up and preparing the feast even before the King and his Gentlemen had stopped singing songs, some a little bawdy if their ears served them correctly. Even as Henry Tudor blew out his candle, the master cook was ordering more light by which to see the concoctions and confections forming beneath his skilled but overworked hands. It was not until the first fine threads of day pierced the gloom of the kitchen that he finally took some rest and wandered outside to see the dawning.
The day of the wedding was glittering, for there had been a heavy dewfall some hours before dawn and the grass and flowers shone like glass. The sun, emerging from the indigo east, was a circle of flame, piercing the vapour which floated veil-like, just above the river’s surface, while the waterside Palace glowed rose red as the early rays struck its walls.
The bride, who had risen with the dawn, looked out and thought that such a joyful morning could be nothing but a good omen, and her natural good spirits returned as she thought of the glorious life that spread in front of her. Almost before it was light she had been bathed in musky oils, her hair washed and brushed until it shone like gilt, perfumed with such a heady mix of jasmine and herbs that when the King came to kiss it he would surely be driven mad with passion.
Beneath her garments Jane wore hose of silver and on her feet little silvered shoes, but nothing could be so fine as the satin wedding gown, made in a shade of light clear blue, like ice, the overskirt and sleeves elaborately embroidered in silver threads, the underskirt and undersleeves clustered with real pearls and trimmed with frothing lace. Round her neck Jane wore a choker worked with gems, the links in the shape of the letter J, and a longer necklace, encrusted with sapphires. Her hair, hanging loose about her shoulders, was crowned with a simple circlet, in which glowed one great sapphire at the front; while on her hands sparkled six rings, the one for her betrothal bearing a diamond as big as a quail’s egg.
‘Madam, you are the fairest bride upon whom it has been my pleasure to look,’ said Norfolk, come to lead her to her wedding and now bowing fulsomely in the doorway.
Jane bobbed him a small curtsey — she was not Queen quite yet — and answered, ‘I thank you, Sir.’
‘So now if you are ready …?’
‘I am indeed.’
Laying her hand upon the Duke’s arm and without further ado Jane Seymour set forth, her family walking in procession behind her to the Queen’s private room in Whitehall Palace, where Henry and Archbishop Cranmer awaited her.
She thought afterwards that she had gone into the place plain Mistress Seymour and had come out again Queen of England, but that she herself felt no different, not even fully taking in the fact that the enormous man who sat beside her at the wedding feast was now her husband. Not even at that embarrassing moment when ribald jokes were told and she was led off by her woman relations and the female guests to be prepared for bedding, did anything seem quite real.
Jane stood meekly, clothed in a white nightgown, hoping that she looked virginal, while Cranmer blessed the marriage bed and prayed for a prince from the union of the King’s Highness and the Queen’s Grace.
Everyone, thought Jane dully, has to endure this awful public display, from the meanest ploughboy to the King.
But it made it no easier to bear.
And now, amidst a welter of bawdy noise from his Gentlemen, the King was taking off his robe to signify that all must leave. With Henry Norris dead, there was no one in that room, other than Jane, who had even glimpsed him in his nightshirt, or was allowed to, so it was Henry himself who drew the curtains round the great bed and waited until all grew quiet.
‘My bride,’ he whispered sentimentally. ‘Oh Jane, do you realise, that you are at last my wife?’
‘Not until consummation,’ she answered provocatively, and sighed with delight as he immediately fell to kissing and touching her. In his lovemaking she could forget her fears and give herself up entirely to sensual pleasure, and this night was to be one of that indeed, as Henry almost lazily entered the deep and secret part of her body and slowly began to thrust both himself and her towards fulfilment. It seemed to Jane that this wonderful coupling would never stop, that her new husband was full of renewed strength as he explored and caressed every part of her body.
‘In the morning they will look for virgin’s blood,’ she breathed.
‘Let them,’ answered Henry languidly. ‘I know who spilt it and that is all that matters.’
A moment later it was over as together they reached the wild and breathtaking climax of love and slid down from it into a wondrous calm, Jane moulded against Henry’s body like a child in a cradle. Afterwards she slept, her hair clouded round her face, her breasts bedewed with drops of sweat, her mouth still soft and smiling from the memory of lovemaking.
Let her be the mother of my boy, prayed Henry, staring into the moonlight. ‘Let Jane be the one to bring forth a son.’
Then, quietly, he fell asleep too, as the last of the guests from the wedding feast made their way home and saw a star blaze forth in the firmament before shooting across the sky and fall away in a burst of sparkling drops.
Chapter Fourteen
A cheerful whistle escaping from his pursed lips, Signor Eustace Chapuys, letter-writer extraordinary, picked up his pen and with a flourish wrote, ‘1st January, 1537, Greetings to your Imperial Majesty at the start of another year.’ Then he smiled to himself, thinking how well things had gone in the last twelve months for the party in whom he was interested and deciding, even though he had kept his royal master Charles, King of Spain and Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, up to date with events as they had happened, to give him nonetheless a brief resume of the past six.
‘As Your Majesty will remember,’ Chapuys wrote, ‘a great deal of hope was raised when the King married Mistress Seymour that the Princess Mary would be reinstated at Court, and you will recall that after a great deal of trouble on the part of the new Queen, this came about. Yet not before the Princess, following the advice of myself and Secretary Cromwell, who explained to her bluntly the danger in which she lay, copied out a letter dictated by the Lord Privy Seal word for word in which she acknowledged her father to be the Supreme Head of the Church, I assuring her that the Pope would absolve her of guilt if she made secret confession to him.’
Chapuys smiled slyly. The effort to get Mary back to Court had been enormous. The Queen had begged for the Princess’s company but Henry had refused even to see her. Finally, the poor wretched girl, the only thing left to her her beliefs, persuaded by her advisers that all she said and did would be pardoned by Rome, gave way and begged her father’s forgiveness. On June the fourteenth, Henry’s elder daughter had been summoned to Court where, lying prostrate at her father’s feet, she had put her submission into words.
‘How fond the King is of his child it is difficult to say,’ the Ambassador continued, ‘but while she says and does all that he commands, he seems affectionate enough! But much is owe
d to the Queen who, in July, as Your Majesty will remember, presented the Princess with a valuable diamond, thus chivvying her father into giving the girl, so sorely neglected for so many years, a thousand crowns to buy her little pleasures.’
Chapuys smiled quizzically, his opinion of Henry daily becoming more and more contemptuous.
‘No doubt,’ he continued, ‘you still smart from the letter which the Princess wrote you, informing Your Majesty that she had submitted to her father, but please remember the danger in which she lay and which she finally did realise, for she fainted at the King’s feet on hearing him say to his councillors “Some of you were desirous that I should put this jewel to death”, meaning herself.
‘Of the other news, there still is no sign of the Queen being with child which, since the death of the King’s bastard the Duke of Richmond, at the age of seventeen, puts Princess Mary closer to the throne. The other little bastard, the Concubine’s daughter Elizabeth, is also back in the fold but dines at a separate table to that of the King, Queen and Mary.’
He stopped and poured himself a pitcher of wine, wondering if the King had no power left in him, as George Rochford had averred, and feeling just a little sorry for Jane, even though it suited the Imperialist cause for her not to bear a son. He picked up his pen again, and went on. ‘The Queen herself, despite the fact she has not yet conceived, has had a merry summer, out and about with His Grace, but her Christmas keeping was tinged with sadness for her father, the venerable sage Sir John Seymour, died on 21st December and she was unable to attend his funeral, instead having to take part in a grand occasion, riding with the King in great state through the City.’ Chapuys frowned and added, ‘She has not yet had a coronation, the plans being postponed for fear of the plague, and now some say she will not have one at all as she is unable to conceive. As I have already told you, Majesty, I believe that no children can be expected because of the complexion and disposition of the King himself.’
He put down his pen, feeling that he had said enough, ending the letter with hopes that the Emperor fared well during the rest of the festivities and that the new year would bring him continued wealth and prosperity, coupled with good health.