The 48

by Donna Hosie

  Lady Jane had a plain freckled face, with an angular nose and a weak chin that disappeared into her neck. She also had small eyes and thin lips. It was the kind of face that disappeared from memory the second you looked away.

  “And the king has chosen her over Anne?” whispered back my brother, incredulously.

  “Apparently, but we’re here to make sure he doesn’t choose her. Or more importantly, her religion,” I replied. “Besides, I don’t think it’s her face he’s interested in.”

  “Their son would be a redhead,” quipped Charlie.

  “I’m sure there are some redheaded Protestants around,” I whispered, running my fingers through my own bright hair. I couldn’t resist smiling at Marlon, my new friend, who was standing near the archery targets. I’d made his acquaintance only a few days ago. He was a yeoman, and according to the laws of this court, beneath me. But he was kind. Unassuming, but self-respecting. And yes, handsome. I’d felt drawn to him immediately. I didn’t see the harm in at least being amicable.

  “Will you stop being so obvious?” hissed my brother.

  “Nothing wrong with being friendly.” It felt good to say aloud. “When in England, as they say—”

  “Right now in England, even friendly can get you hanged, drawn, and quartered,” interrupted Charlie.

  With an exaggerated sigh, I went back to looking at Jane Seymour. Her covered head was bent; she was staring straight at the floor. It was the antithesis of what most of the younger girls were doing; they wanted to be seen. Lady Jane wouldn’t stand out in a crowd of one, let alone drown out the vivaciousness of the current queen.

  But it was also a lesson in self-preservation. It was a tactic that my brother, too, used brilliantly, but that I could never quite master myself. If no one notices you, then you don’t become a target. Lady Jane wasn’t meek and mild. She was playing the game and winning.

  And I admired her on the spot for it.

  “I’ll concentrate on flattering the king. You concentrate on flattering Jane,” Charlie whispered. “We need to start drawing her away from him. If we can report that we’ve already made headway when we return, our positions will be strengthened.”

  “I like the sound of that,” I replied.

  “Cleves, come here,” barked the king, beckoning with his fingers without looking at either of us. I immediately walked forward, as did Charlie.

  “Come as a package, do you?” said Edward Seymour, smirking.

  “All great things come in twos,” I replied, bowing. The king laughed. The courtiers laughed too. Edward gritted his teeth and smirked.

  “Pick a bow, man,” ordered the king.

  Two were offered to me by a yeoman guard. Both were made of yew with hemp strings strung tightly together. At six feet tall, I had a long reach. I flexed both bows before deciding to take the one that was a little more rigid. Harder to fire for an amateur, but accurate in the hands of someone who knew what he was doing.

  Charlie got the second bow by default; he didn’t look happy. Then I remembered he was the one who was supposed to be impressing the king. Time to push down the pride and get in the shadows. I passed my bow to my brother, knowing he would do well with it.

  I was handed a brown leather quiver filled with birch arrows, tipped with tiny gray goose feathers. The king’s fur-lined coat was stripped from his shoulders by an aide and he immediately took aim with an elongated, fluid movement. Henry was an incredibly large man, and when his chest was exposed, he looked very intimidating. In that moment, I completely understood why people were terrified of him.

  Henry’s arrow flew through the air and landed. The target wasn’t the colorful board I was used to practicing on, but was instead a black outer circle with a smaller white bull’s-eye. The king’s arrow had just made the white. The courtiers clapped enthusiastically.

  Edward Seymour caught my eye as Charlie stepped up next. He wanted one of us to win so his sister could console the king. I needed to be average, to disappear into the crowd and get to know Jane, so today, Charlie’s prowess with a bow needed to elicit a memory in the king that reminded him of…him.

  Charlie’s arrow wobbled slightly off course as it sailed in a straight line. He was better over the curve with a longer distance, but this wasn’t the length of ten tennis courts. His arrow just made the white like Henry’s. There was polite clapping.

  I then hit the black—on purpose. I practiced archery back home more than anyone. Not because I liked it, but because I was terrified of Piermont placing an orange on my head and practicing on me as punishment for poor performance.

  Courtiers, male and female, all had a shot, except Jane, who stayed behind her brother and close to Lady Margaret, who had been the most enthusiastic of clappers at my shot, even though it was a miss. The younger courtiers didn’t struggle as much as I thought they would. There were a few who were good enough to deserve a respectful nod. One earl, who stood out because he was almost as tall as me, asked me for some tips, which gave me an introduction into his group of friends.

  I caught Jane Seymour’s eye several times. She seemed to be impressed that my brother was actually trying to beat the king; I was even sure he got half a smile from her at one point, but Jane showed no interest in taking up a bow herself.

  The king was a very talented archer, and after several rounds, he and Charlie were well placed ahead of the rest of the court. I pretended to get very annoyed at my game, blaming everything from the bow to the strings to my fingers. Then the daughter of one duke took a particular shine to my ineptitude and started assisting me, which simply seemed to involve a lot of sighing and chest-heaving.

  I tolerated it, as her attentions had inadvertently drawn me closer to where Lady Jane and Lady Margaret stood. My new friend, Marlon, was also nearby.

  When the duke’s daughter finally tired of helping, Edward Seymour approached. “The fair Lady Agnes seems enamored of you,” he said with a smirk. When I made no reply, he asked, “Her feelings are not reciprocated?”

  “Women are a mystery to me,” I replied.

  “You hope to be a man of the cloth, then?”

  It took all my willpower not to laugh at his question.

  “I do not see you presiding over a church, Alexander,” said Marlon, stepping closer to the small group. “You are too—”

  “Foreign?” interrupted Edward Seymour spitefully.

  “I was going to say honest,” said Marlon, smiling.

  “What would a yeoman know?” replied Edward Seymour, barely keeping the sneer from his face. “Cleves, in this court, yeomen know their place, and it isn’t to converse with nobility. You would do well to remember that, sir.”

  “I’m not certain of my future,” I said, deciding to intercede quickly before matters took a turn for the worse. “Especially the Church’s role in it.”

  “All men should be certain of their future,” boomed an angry voice behind me. It was the king. “For every man’s future should have God, riches, and heirs.”

  “My brother reads the core theological teachings,” said Charlie, rescuing me from the king’s ire and incredibly bad breath. “And yet I believe he is right to question the future. We both have concerns about the wealth of the Church, for one.”

  “Explain.”

  “We believe in the divine right of the king. A man of the cloth has no requirement of jewels and gold, because a divine man should be a penitent man. The wealth should come to the king. It is he who governs the people,” said Charlie, taking his last arrow from the quiver. “And it is the king who should provide, for he knows his people best.”

  I had no idea where my brother pulled these lines from, but they were brilliant. And the king clearly agreed.

  “A chief ministership I see in your future with rhetoric like that,” said Henry.

  “Or shall I be a poet?” replied Charlie. “Both are talented wi
th words.”

  “Ha!” barked Henry. “Cromwell, you have your match here.” The chief minister dipped his head in deferential reply. He and Edward Seymour took several steps back and started conversing quietly, occasionally pausing to look up at the king and those around him.

  “Your brother is a fine archer, Alexander of Cleves,” said a quiet, calm voice behind me.

  “Lady Jane.” I bowed. “I am honored to make your acquaintance. Lady Margaret, a delight to see you again.”

  “You and your brother are looking well, Alexander of Cleves,” said Lady Margaret boldly. “I had hoped to see you…”

  Lady Margaret suddenly trailed off. Her pale blue eyes were transfixed by my wrist. Damn. I pulled my sleeve down, hoping no one else had seen—hoping I’d been fast enough that she’d simply rationalize it away.

  A trick of the light, she might say. That was all it was.

  “Is this your first time at court, sir?” asked Lady Jane.

  “It is indeed. My brother and I leave for home this night, but we will return shortly. The king informed our father on our second day here that we have been afforded the honor of a place in the court until the summer and possibly beyond.”

  Not that we’ll need to stay that long, I thought, watching Lady Margaret carefully.

  “Will you require assistance in removing your belongings to a carriage?” asked Marlon quietly, barely moving his lips. He was taking a risk in continuing to converse with me, but I was glad he did. “I could speak to the groomsman to ensure that the best horses are made available to you.”

  “All arrangements have been taken care of,” I replied. “As we are to return, most of our possessions will remain. But I thank you for your attentiveness.”

  Marlon nodded and stepped back in deference to my status, but his dark green eyes remained locked with mine.

  “When will you return?” asked Lady Margaret.

  “As soon as we possibly can. It is a great honor for us to be of service to His Majesty.”

  “As it is for all of us,” said Lady Jane, lowering her head. I looked over at her brother, who was now glaring at me.

  * * *

  —

  The atmosphere in the room was getting heavy with the condensed breath of so many people. The king suddenly ordered the game over, and a welcome blast of frigid air swept through the hall as the main doors were opened. Everyone congratulated Henry as if he had won. The king inhaled and stood up straight to receive his heavy coat once more, and he grimaced as his legs took his full weight.

  “Well played, Cleves,” called the king. “You will practice with me daily on your return to the court.”

  “It would be an honor, Your Majesty,” replied Charlie.

  “Just you.”

  Henry pushed past me and offered his hand to Jane Seymour, and she placed hers on his. He dwarfed her in every sense. The room chilled quickly as everyone departed.

  “I think I was just dismissed,” I said as Charlie sidled up to me.

  “Henry saw Jane talking to you,” he replied. “What did you expect?”

  “Is that going to be our strategy? I’ll flirt with Jane and get the king jealous, and you’ll stop him from chopping my head off by kissing his ass?”

  “It’s one of my strategies,” Charlie replied. “If only because watching you flirt with women is hilarious.”

  * * *

  —

  We made our way back to our rooms. We would be traveling light, and Aramis had already spoken to the head of the household to keep our clothes in storage while we were gone.

  “Is everything arranged?” I asked my brother.

  “The painting is still exactly where it was this morning, and yesterday, and the day before…”

  “So the nighttime departure is on,” I replied. “How very…clandestine.”

  “Story of our lives,” muttered my brother. “Story of our lives.”

  You appeared rather enamored of Alexander of Cleves,” whispered Lady Jane, slipping her arm through the crook of mine as we left the Great Hall after dinner.

  “It—it is a highborn lady’s role to welcome visitors to the court of His Grace, is it not?” I replied, staring straight ahead as we made our way to the queen’s chambers.

  “Ah, so you were just being welcoming?” she teased.

  “I am here to serve His Grace—nothing more, nothing less. Charles and Alexander of Cleves are here by the king’s favor.”

  “Mm. But did you notice? He is very handsome, and such a good archer.”

  “The king. Of course. He is—”

  “Not the king, you goose,” whispered Lady Jane, pulling on my arm. “Charles of Cleves.”

  “I had not noticed.”

  She feigned shock by gasping dramatically. “I never thought I would live to see the day when my dear friend Lady Margaret Montague would utter a falsehood to me. Oh, Margaret, I would so dearly love to see you matched with a handsome young man from a great house. I want you to be happy.”

  “And what of you and the king? He made eyes at you in the same way Mark Smeaton makes eyes at the queen.”

  “No one makes eyes like Smeaton,” she replied sadly. “If he continues to fawn over Her Grace with such abandon, the day will come when they are plucked from their sockets by the crows.”

  “Please, Lady Jane. Do not speak of it,” I said.

  “Then let us speak more of the sons of Cleves. You cannot fool me, Lady Margaret. I saw you staring.”

  I looked around, my eyes sweeping every doorway, every corner, for hidden courtiers who could be listening in. Then I took Lady Jane’s hand and pulled her toward a stained-glass window that showed a bright green-and-yellow fish leaping from a pool of water.

  “Very well, Lady Jane. I admit your eyes did not deceive you.” At this, Lady Jane smiled. “You must have heard the whispers already, that the sons of Cleves are the bastards of the king, and I have been thinking on this. What if they are to receive his grace and favor? What if they are both here for wives? They could be our salvation.”

  “You cannot mean—”

  “Yes. We could leave this poisonous place forever and never return, my dear friend. We could forget the cruelty of our fathers and the lecherous, fumbling old men here at court. Charles and Alexander of Cleves seem kind men. Strange, perchance, but that is simply the foreign way. We could learn to love them.”

  “My family would never allow it,” whispered Lady Jane.

  “If the king agreed to it, they would have no voice to object.”

  “You do not understand, Lady Margaret.”

  “If you become the next chattel of His Grace, you will be living under the sentence of death forever more,” I said urgently. “Let His Grace down now, before it is too late. These are dangerous times, my dearest Lady Jane. You have been a friend to me, protected me, for years. Let me do the same for you now.”

  “Never speak to me of this again, Lady Margaret,” said Lady Jane, pulling away from me. She straightened her hood and stared into my eyes. “It is too late for me.”

  * * *

  —

  I watched her walk ahead of me to the queen’s rooms. Lady Jane’s back was straight, yet her steps were slow and heavy, as if the weight of the world were upon her shoulders.

  Perchance it was too late for her.

  Yet I would not, could not, let it be too late for me. I was going to claim one of the Cleves brothers. I would use any means necessary to see that it was done.

  And this night, I would make my move.

  The entire palace was asleep and the only light was from the crescent moon streaming in through one of the windows of the Great Hall.

  Alex and I stood in front of the life-sized oil painting of Henry by Hans Holbein the Younger. It was so new, I could still smell the pungent pigments that had been used to crea
te it.

  We had seen this painting a hundred times in the past six months, and I knew every brushstroke. It showed Henry posing in front of a golden brocade drape. He was wearing a silver tunic that fell just above his knees, with a red-and-gold embroidered short-sleeved cloak over it that was just a little longer. A black beret studded with pearls, and enough jewelry to sink the Mary Rose covered the rest of him. Cream tights and golden slippers completed the look.

  “Do I have to wear something like that?” had been my first question when I was shown a replica of the painting.

  Alex had laughed so hard he’d almost peed his pants.

  * * *

  —

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Let’s go home,” replied Alex.

  Three knocks on my chamber door had been the signal. A boy from the kitchens had been more than willing to aid a queen’s maid of honor in return for a coin that would feed his family for a week.

  Lady Cecily made to protest—to leave our chamber was reckless, foolish—but I would not hear her. I wanted to follow the sons of Cleves. To bid them farewell in person. To ensure that I was seared in their brains as the last person they saw at Hampton Court. And, perchance, we could speak just a little.

  The sons of Cleves were deep in conversation as I tiptoed behind them, but the words were all being spoken by Charles, the more serious of the two. He appeared to be giving instruction to Alexander. I felt my brow furrow when I saw they had no one and nothing with them. No servants, no belongings.

  And they were heading for the Great Hall. Why did they not make for the stables?

  I loitered by the door and watched from the shadows as the tall redheaded bastards of His Majesty gazed at a portrait of the king. Charles kept looking at his wrist. I had seen a strange mark on Alexander in the same place earlier in the day. I thought it a birthmark. They are of the same womb, it stands to reason that they have the same feature, I told myself.

  Alexander spoke of home. There was longing in his voice that warmed my soul.