A Gate! FitzRoy thought. Denno's going to put a Gate right into my cellar. Will he take me Underhill again at night when no one will miss me? He could not say any part of his thoughts, but his rather dull brown eyes fairly glowed bright hazel, showing sparks of gold and green.
For two more weeks FitzRoy lived in a cheerful disorder, taking his meals in the kitchen and spending most of his time directing the placement of furniture sent by some deputy of the king's steward. Then, with his house clean and furnished, with every fireplace in the building flaming high, life returned to what FitzRoy considered normal. He was more comfortable, of course, able to sprawl on comfortable chairs in a withdrawing room and be warm away from the kitchen ovens or his down covered bed, but there were disadvantages too.
He was again dining in lonely splendor instead of having slapdash meals in the busy kitchen—until Masters Croke and Palsgrave returned from their leaves. FitzRoy sighed. He liked both Croke and Palsgrave; they were fond of him and did their best to make his lessons interesting, only their return meant that lessons began anew.
A small respite occurred when Sir Edward returned from his leave. At least that ended Master Croke's and Master Palsgrave's attempts to hold dinner-table conversations in Latin and introduced instead the subject of setting up FitzRoy's stable, which was enjoyable. Unfortunately, Sir Edward was too prone to defer to the tutors.
On the days when Lord Henry came, sometimes bringing a friend or two, there was further relief. Lord Henry would have none of Latin and little of court gossip too. He talked of the hunt and other sport. Some days Denno came too. It was amazing, FitzRoy thought with his experience at court behind him, how elegant Denno was. He made Sir Edward appear rough, Lord Henry look callow. Only the tutors, although not so elegantly clad, held up well by comparison.
Lessons or no lessons, FitzRoy was now happier than ever. He was summoned to court periodically so he did see his father, but living so near he only stayed for the event in which he was to take part. Anne was glad to see him for a day or two now and again. The king was pleased by their obvious ease with each other—his two dearest, he called them. The weather improved as April passed and May began, but no one suggested that FitzRoy should go back north, certainly not FitzRoy himself.
Time was set aside for his lessons—he could not avoid them and did not wish his father to hear he was so busy enjoying himself that he would not study. But he was enjoying himself; Lord Henry generally included him when he and his friends went to see a cockfight, or a bull- or bear-baiting, and Denno took him to the docks and showed him the wonder of strange people from distant lands and the cargoes their ships carried.
Truth was that, while May edged into June, FitzRoy was utterly indifferent to the open talk about the king marrying Lady Anne without the pope's permission. He had long accepted the idea; when he was pressed, he said so and added that his only interest in the matter was that Lady Anne made his father happy and likely would breed him a fine male heir.
There were other rumors, that after a period of coldness between England and France, the king was hoping to bring about a new rapprochement with King Francis—one that would include Francis's support for Henry's divorce from Catherine and remarriage to Lady Anne. The rumors increased with the growing weakness of Archbishop Warham, who opposed the king's statement of supremacy over the English Church and his divorce and remarriage unless sanctioned by the pope.
"So, what do your crystals say, Master Fagildo Otstargi? Do they agree with most of the court that the king will seize the Church and marry Mistress Anne as soon as Warham dies?"
There was some bitterness in Cromwell's mellifluous voice and the threat in his eyes to any other, who had not Pasgen's ability to reduce the man to a mindless puppet, would have been terrifying. Only Pasgen knew he dared not make a puppet of Cromwell. It was only by virtue of the man's knowledge of the king and court, of his devious mind and remarkable ability to manipulate people, that Pasgen was able to manage so much of what happened around King Henry without ever awakening a flicker of suspicion of occult influence.
Cromwell had been right and Pasgen wrong about how to save himself when Wolsey fell. Cromwell had been right about the result of trying to tax—no matter the tax was called an amicable grant—without Parliament. He had been right about a lot of things. It was galling to need to reason and wheedle, but Pasgen knew that if he did not succeed in getting Anne into Henry's bed so that the red-haired babe would be born a bastard, he was going to need Cromwell even more when they had to destroy Anne.
Unfortunately there were some things of which Cromwell was simply unaware. Because of subtle friction between Norfolk and Wiltshire on the one hand, and Cromwell on the other, for example, the duke and the earl did not always acquaint the still-common privy councilor with all their plans. They were glad enough to use him, but they did not consider him an equal. That was how that accursed bastard FitzRoy had been summoned to court before Pasgen could induce Cromwell to prevent the idea from being presented to the king.
So there FitzRoy was, as dutiful a son as any man could desire, healthy, strong—the ideal heir . . . except that he was not legitimate. His presence was a constant reminder to the king that he must not allow his desire to force Anne into his bed. And the stupid, mewling FitzRoy had Oberon's mark on him and could not simply be wiped away.
Pasgen restrained a sigh. Cromwell had been able to solve the problem of FitzRoy. When Pasgen pointed out that he must be got rid of and why and suggested that Cromwell order the boy back north, Cromwell had said flatly that his power did not yet reach so far. The king would never agree. What Cromwell had arranged through the council was for FitzRoy to be granted a house of his own right in London.
At least, Cromwell said, the boy was out of the court and not in his father's eye every hour. Pasgen agreed; the center of London had advantages for a boy just entering his salad years. All the taverns and arenas for sport would keep FitzRoy busy and introduce him to mortal vices. If FitzRoy took to gambling, drinking, and wenching, perhaps he would again be banished to the north.
Anyhow with that reminder of the cost of bastardy out of the king's way, Pasgen could again begin to direct Cromwell to making it worthwhile to Anne to yield up her virtue. Cromwell had been right again when he pointed out that ennobling and enriching her father and brother would not much influence her. It was time, Pasgen thought, to make grants to the witch herself. Surely when she was a noblewoman in her own right, not dependent on father or brother for her status, surely she would repay the king in the coin he desired.
A finger gesture had made certain that Cromwell was unaware of the long silence after his question concerning the marriage of Anne and Henry. Now Pasgen completed the gesture as he said, "My crystal shows Lady Anne wearing the mantle and coronet of a . . . of a nobleman."
Cromwell frowned. "You mean she was married to someone other than the king? I do not believe it!"
"No," Pasgen agreed. "I do not believe it either. And there is no man in my Vision. It is only of Lady Anne wearing a ermine-furred mantle and a coronet. Is it possible that the king could ennoble a woman in her own right? Is it possible?"
Cromwell's lips parted to say "no," but he did not utter the word. His brow furrowed. "The arrangements are all but made for a meeting between King Francis and King Henry at Calais and Boulogne. I know that the king plans to take Lady Anne with him and that she and Francis should meet. But would King Francis feel sufficiently honored to meet the mere daughter of an earl? Hmm. Perhaps I could whisper in the king's ear that it would be a compliment to King Francis if the lady had some title of her own to support her dignity."
Some weeks later Cromwell summoned Fagildo Otstargi again. He was very pleased with Master Otstargi. Far from being shocked by Cromwell's tentative suggestion that Lady Anne be raised to the nobility in her own right, the king had embraced his suggestion with enthusiasm. He complimented Cromwell on his clear perception of Anne's worth and said he would seek for a way to reward him.
By the end of July King Henry had found a suitable reward for his astute councilor. In addition to being master of the king's jewels, Cromwell was made keeper of the Hanaper of Chancery—a more powerful position. If Master Otstargi saw any more unlikely pictures in his crystals, Cromwell said, he should not hesitate to speak of them. Only that they would all soon go to France, Master Otstargi said, and that did not need a crystal to predict.
In August, Archbishop Warham died. The king was on progress and did not attend the funeral. The mourning in court was more like rejoicing among those who favored the king's remarriage. On September first, Henry met Anne in Windsor and conferred upon her the title of marquis (not marchioness because she held the title in her own right) and lands to the value of a thousand pounds a year to support her. Half the court believed that the creation and lands meant that Anne had yielded, but nothing in her behavior or the king's changed. Then toward the end of the month Henry demanded that all the queen's jewels be surrendered so Anne could wear them for Francis to see in France. It became apparent that whether or not Anne was warming the king's bed, Henry fully intended to marry her.
FitzRoy had turned thirteen in June. Denno gave him the most magnificent sword he had ever seen, made of a silver alloy that was harder than steel, its hilt ablaze with jewels. FitzRoy had no doubt that each and every one of the stones was invested with a spell, and despite the stones the hilt fit into his hand with a firmness that told him it would never slip, no matter if it were covered with sweat or blood.
Lord Henry gave him a handsome brooch, but more important to FitzRoy, Henry took him to one of the naughty masques in which the ladies—only they were not at all ladies—appeared in almost nothing. What more he introduced FitzRoy to FitzRoy kept to himself but Denoriel guessed and promptly countered by providing FitzRoy with a night in the company of a group of playful nymphs and dryads. The contrast with the drabs of London was enough, FitzRoy assured Denoriel, to keep him from becoming addicted to common whores.
In any case FitzRoy and Lord Henry, too, had little enough time to get into trouble. Almost as soon as the meeting with Francis was definitely arranged, the two young men were informed that they would attend the king. This would require serious study not only of the French degrees of nobility, but of the persons of the French court—and all of it had to be done in French. Utter fluency was required . . . and correct pronunciation too. Croke and Palsgrave were reinforced with a French duc from an impoverished but very old and honorable family.
There was scarcely time enough. By October tenth the court was at Dover; on the eleventh they took ship for France. When the meeting had first been discussed, there had been objections to the king crossing the narrow sea so near the evil storms of winter, but the crossing was perfect. In only four hours, King Henry was stepping ashore at Calais. It was only the third time in his life that Henry had been out of England, and Calais had mustered every adornment and entertainment it could find to welcome him and Anne.
FitzRoy and Lord Henry, fast friends now, were taking full advantage of what Calais offered. Knowing he would be far too busy to oversee his ward, Norfolk had commanded his son to see that the younger boy did not get into trouble. With Lord Henry's connivance, Denoriel had been added to FitzRoy's usual household as gentleman-usher. Over two thousand people had accompanied the king to France; no one was going to question the appropriateness of one more gentleman-usher.
By the nineteenth of October, King Francis had reached Boulogne; the very next day the kings set out for their well-planned meeting. Every move had been discussed and calculated, planned so that neither Henry or Francis should outdo the other.
No such considerations troubled Lord Henry or FitzRoy. They liked France. They liked the French. They were relieved that no one made fun of their accents and that they understood nearly everything that was said and could make the French nobles who were assigned to accompany them understand what they said. The five days the king spent in Boulogne were pure pleasure to them.
Neither cared that one part of Henry's plan had already failed. The only Frenchwoman of high enough birth willing to meet and greet Lady Anne was of such light virtue that Henry had to refuse. However, when Francis rode back to Calais with Henry, he personally greeted Anne with great warmth and was noted to have spent considerable time in her company, not only with Henry present but often enough with only her ladies and his gentlemen in attendance.
Francis genuinely liked Anne. Denoriel remarked to FitzRoy that she had probably done her cause more good with her witty conversation than Henry had with all his pomp and flattery. For whatever reason, before the meeting was over, Henry had assurances from Francis that he would use his uttermost influence to urge the pope to agree to the divorce.
The entire meeting had taken place in perfect weather. All the jousts and revels had escaped interruption by even a mild rainstorm; however, as soon as Francis parted from Henry at the edge of the English pale, the skies began to cloud and the wind began to rise. That night there was intense fog, and that fog lingered all the next day. Then the rain came pouring down and the wind drove behind it. Several ships that had set out for England were driven back on the French shore; one ship was lost.
Lord Henry and FitzRoy neither knew nor cared. With King Henry's permission, they had ridden south with King Francis, now part of the French king's court. Both young men, although FitzRoy was scarcely more than a boy, were to be trained and polished, fitted for their important roles in European society. Without even hinting about it, FitzRoy was taking his first steps toward his avowed aim of becoming a diplomat.
Denoriel was as amused and delighted as FitzRoy and Lord Henry. Miralys soon found an entrance to Elfhame Melusine and Denoriel went Underhill to pay his respects to King Huon and Queen Melusine. They were beautiful and powerful, both perfect representatives of High Court elven appearance, but not nearly so overwhelming as Oberon and Titania, and they were in greater accord with each other, which made for a more peaceful and happier court.
Aleneil was neither so satisfied nor so at ease. She and Lady Lee had fought a rearguard action to keep Anne out of Henry's bed, but they had failed. Twelve days of foul weather with nothing to do and nowhere to go had raised boredom to a peak. Twelve days of cramped quarters, which forced Anne and Henry into more proximity than they were accustomed to, which provided only their bedchambers for private talk at last overcame the barriers each had raised.
Anne had been accepted by the French king, and she knew he preferred her not only for personal but for political reasons, as she was not tied by blood to Spain and the emperor. She was reasonably sure Francis would make every effort he could to make the pope see reason. Moreover the king had gone so far—ennobling her, publicly giving her Catherine's jewels—not her personal jewels but the queen of England's jewels—bringing her with him to meet the king of France. She was sure that Henry would marry her. What a fool he would look if he tried to cast her off.
Henry also felt that political events were pushing the pope in his direction; Francis had offered to marry his second son to the pope's niece—a strong tie there. But even if Francis could not push the pope into agreeing to the divorce there was a lesser matter that he could forward. With Warham dead, an archbishop of Canterbury sympathetic to Henry's view that he, not the pope, ruled the Church of England was possible. And once that new archbishop was consecrated by the pope, Henry's marriage to Catherine could be reexamined by English clerics, in which case Henry was assured that the marriage would be declared null and void.
The king's party had finally managed to cross on the twelfth of November, although it was a horrible voyage of nearly a whole day and night. However, they arrived safely at Dover and rode back to London where there was a joyous thanksgiving in St. Paul's. Henry and Anne could each retire to their luxurious apartments to rest and think over what had occurred.
By then it was too late to preserve Anne's virginity, of course. Aleneil knew when Anne finally succumbed and knew too
that the coupling had not been much of a pleasure from Anne's point of view. That, at least, Anne had sense enough to keep to herself, possibly even—as the soft-voiced Lady Alana advised as soon as she had a chance—had sense enough to cover with a false enthusiasm. In any case, Henry seemed happy enough and eager enough to seek more of the same even when there was no longer a forced propinquity.
By the middle of December, Anne was pregnant. That rumor flashed around the court like wildfire in a dry summer. Some said it was fed by Anne herself, or by her most intimate ladies, and Anne only laughed; she did not deny. On the twenty-fifth of January, in a very private ceremony, Anne and Henry were married. The marriage was kept secret for the time being, while Cranmer was proposed and, by the end of March, consecrated archbishop of Canterbury by the pope.
Only twelve days after receiving the pallium, Cranmer requested permission to examine the matter of the king's marriage and by the twenty-third of May Henry's marriage to Catherine was declared null and void, making his marriage to Anne valid and the child she was carrying legitimate. Six days after Cranmer's judgment was made public, Anne was crowned queen.
The coronation had been planned well in advance, of course. The archbishop considerately informed the king of each step in the examination of his marriage and an estimate of how long it would take. Thus it was possible to recall FitzRoy and Lord Henry from France in time to take part in the coronation. Denoriel had been about to slide away into obscurity as soon as his young companions were safe ashore, but to his dismay Norfolk was in the welcoming party.
Instead of a cold dismissal—which he was afraid would inspire an equally cold (or worse yet, a hot) rejoinder by FitzRoy—for at fourteen and with the experience of life in two sophisticated courts behind him, Harry was no one's boy any more—Norfolk seized upon him with expressions of delight.
"Lord Denno. Just the man I was hoping to see. I was going to ask Richmond whether he was still in touch with you—" those words caused a fleeting expression of dissatisfaction to flicker across Norfolk's face, but it was gone as soon as it came, and he continued "—so I could get your direction. I remember when you played King of Misrule the Christmas of '32. You are the man to create the spectacle we need to lead the water pageant for the queen's coronation."
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