Judge The Best

by G Lawrence

  “Fishes!” she said with a simplicity of joy that caught at my heart. “Pretty fishes!”

  I looked down at her.

  A mirror of my black eyes came up to greet me, and inside her eyes, I saw my own. I saw the tired rings under my eyes, and the paleness of my skin. I saw the horrors I had faced and the terror I now lived with. And yet, as I saw all that, I saw too the purity and grace of my only child. My little girl. My sweet, sacred babe.

  Her hand reached up to touch my face, as though she wanted to take hold of the black eyes that shone into hers with a love so strong I could barely contain it. I moved my face towards her hand, so her palm rested on my cheek, pressing my flesh against hers, feeling the warmth of her skin, smelling the scent of rose perfume, and the sweet smell all children possess, born of purity and innocence.

  Elizabeth crowed with delight, her little laugh bounding about the gardens. The fine spring afternoon held a slight chill, as darkness loomed upon us, but the air remained warm. My eyes closed. For a moment, just a moment, I sought to draw peace from my daughter.

  When I opened my eyes, they swam with tears.

  Elizabeth’s tiny face crumpled. Her head bobbed to one side as she tried to make sense of what she saw. My daughter was used to me laughing, for I was ever-joyous in her company, and yet now I was sad. It made no sense to her, I could see that. I wanted to stop my tears, to keep from scaring her, but I could not. Through a filmy haze I watched as she reached out both hands to touch my face. I smiled, trying to reassure her that all was well, but the smile petrified upon my face.

  “Be not sad,” she said in a commanding tone. “Mamma be not sad.”

  I was about to tell her that all was well when I caught a movement at the window. It was Henry. He was standing in his rooms, looking out onto us. His expression was dark, full of loathing.

  His clothes and fingers sparkled with jewels and gold, flashing and twinkling as the sun caught them with her light fingers. But his face was grim as the sky before a summer storm.

  Elizabeth saw him, and cooed with pleasure. Next to me, Henry was her favourite person in all the world. I pulled her to me, rose, and turned with her in my arms. I pushed our daughter out, holding her up so her father could see her. So he might be reminded of the love that had made this perfect, beautiful little girl.

  She is my shield, I thought. She will protect me.

  His dark face faltered. He looked down at the floor, then up again. He frowned. Then he turned away and walked away, disappearing into the darkness.

  The window was empty. He had gone.

  Like a statue, I held Elizabeth in the air, my palms slick with clammy fear. She grumbled, breaking the spell of terror upon me. I brought her down. When I turned her to face me, she started. As I looked into her eyes, I knew she had seen the naked horror in mine.

  Reflected in Elizabeth’s eyes, I was a hunted animal who knew not where to run.

  Black falling to black… Blood on blood… the ripple was spreading.

  My daughter leaned against me and I kissed her. “May God bless you, sweet one,” I whispered. “And may He ever keep you safe. Remember that I love you, Elizabeth. Always remember that.”

  Quickly, before she could see more, I handed her to her maids. Elizabeth howled to be set aside, and cried out for me. But I could not go back. I could not allow her to be touched, tainted, by my fear. I walked away.

  Had I known that was the last time I would hold her, I would never have let go.

  I heard her maids tell her to be a good girl. They said that I was the Queen, and had many affairs to tend to. As they took her back to the palace, I walked on through the gardens. I did not know where I was going or what I would do. Everything was falling apart.

  My gown of deep green whispered as I walked, its slashes of crimson velvet embroidered with golden thread catching the afternoon light, just as the fishes in the pond had. Little seed pearls glimmered in the waning light, and my French hood, lined with more pearls, was hot upon my head.

  As I walked my hands clenched into fists, and then splayed out again.

  I caught sight of the Scottish reformer, Alexander Aless. He lifted a hand to me and bowed, but I marched on. My ladies ran behind me, trying to keep up.

  I knew not where I was going. I had no path, no purpose, and no plan. For the first time in my life, I was utterly lost. A vast desert was opening before me. I knew not my way home.

  That was my selva oscura, the time I had lost my way.

  Elizabeth went back to Eltham that night, on Henry’s command.

  I never saw her again.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Greenwich Palace

  April 30th 1536

  I barely slept that night.

  Long hours of wakeful terror came one after the other. I stared at the rich hangings over my bed, those that Henry had presented me with years ago, flush with the arms of the Rochfords and motifs of honeysuckle and acorns. I stared at our entwined initials, and I thought on all I had done.

  How could I have spoken so wild and untamed before witnesses? How could I have placed not only myself but Norris in danger? Guilt assailed me for what might become of him, but I told myself over and over that Henry loved Norris. He was his greatest friend, the man he trusted more than any other. He would not, surely, believe that I would plot his death, and Norris with me? He would not think that I had ceased to love him?

  But his eyes…. But that expression of pure loathing when I had held up Elizabeth. That disgust was not directed at his daughter. His hatred burned for me.

  When I rose, I was told I was not alone in sharing Henry’s anger. That morning he had shouted at Cromwell for forgetting to send a letter, a most unusual slip for careful Cromwell, which, had I thought on it more, might have told me he had other things on his mind.

  “The King boxed his ears,” Jane informed me with some delight.

  “He has become heavy handed with those who displease him,” I agreed, hoping this would not be the case with me. In his pain and changeable temper, Henry had taken to abusing those who served him. It was not unusual for masters to slap, pinch or strike servants if they displeased them, but Henry had never before been so free with his hands.

  I tried to see Henry, but I was curtly informed he was with his Council, and they would be some hours. When I said I would wait, I was told there was no point. “The King will be busy for the rest of the day,” said one of his guards. “He told us to inform you, Majesty, if you came calling, that he would see you tomorrow.”

  If I came. If. He knew I would. Gone were the days when he would come running to me. Our roles had switched. He held all the power now.

  I could not help but wonder, as I walked away, if Henry and his Council were meeting about what was to be done with me. Every imaginable terror was within me as I went back to my rooms.

  That afternoon my chambers felt hollow and stark. The usual musicians and crowds were present, but the anxious fear and sorrow seeping from me infected everyone. Eventually my sister-in-law came to me. “Come, Majesty,” she said in a kindly tone. “There is a dog fight due to begin soon in the gardens. Let us go and watch.”

  I did not want to go, but I did not want to stay. I was twitchy, restless… there was a rising wave of panic inside me, trying consume me. I allowed my ladies to dress me in a warm cloak lined with fur and we went to the fight.

  The ring was dusty. No rain had fallen that day and the stands were packed with courtiers, roaring for their beasts. Coins jangled, changing hands, as men placed wagers and ladies crowed. The dogs were brought in. Two mastiffs, that growled and gnashed their teeth, competing with the cheering crowds for who could make the most noise.

  The fight began. Whipped towards each other, starved for days, and regularly abused to be always ready to fight, the hounds fell upon each other.

  Blood dripped. Scathing spittle flew. They tore chunks from one another with startling voracity, seeking to take hold of each other’s throats and rend li
fe into death.

  As I watched the hounds rip at each other with claw and tooth, I did not know Cromwell was making his way to Henry. I did not know my absence would be taken advantage of, and my ladies were being questioned.

  I wagered on the fight, but in truth it made me sick. As one dog slumped to the ground, blood beating from wounds too numerous to count, I turned my face away. A feral cry exploded. Men and women screamed for joy or sorrow as the dog breathed its last. Forgotten as soon as it died, its body was scraped from the earth, black with its blood, and thrown into a pit. Another dog was brought out. Another fight began.

  I went back to my chambers, but the empty silence had not abated. Thinking I would run mad, I sent for musicians. But when I called for Smeaton, I was told he could not be found.

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  No one knew. Some said he was with the King, others said they thought he might be playing in a private house this night, as he had said something to make them think he had received a private commission.

  That was the night Smeaton vanished.

  *

  “The trip to France has been cancelled,” said my brother as he came to my rooms late that night.

  It was twelve of the clock. I had been about to prepare for bed. Without Smeaton to play for us, the evening had passed in quiet strain. I had tried to read my Bible, but found my eyes travelling across the same sentence over and over again. Eventually I had set it aside, and passed the time simply staring at the tapestry. Conversation had dimmed, and soon everyone made excuses, leaving me alone with my ladies until my brother arrived.

  “Why?” My voice was strange. It sounded like a lost child, a child who was afraid.

  “The King gave no reason,” he said. “But something is going on. The Council sat until eleven, and I was not permitted to enter. There is a great crowd gathered about the King’s rooms. I saw Master Aless there, and he said they were battling with some issue about France, but all I was told was that the meeting has been postponed again.”

  “He will set me aside,” I said, my tone hollow. “He will forsake me.”

  George was at my side in a flash, his hands curled about mine. “That is not so,” he said. “You surrender to fear, but you should not.”

  “He knows what I said to Norris. He thinks I wish for his death.”

  “You must speak to him.”

  “Do you not think I have tried?” I wailed. “I go to him and am told he cannot see me. I chase him and he walks away.” I paused, wiping clammy hands on my gown. “I am in trouble, George. I feel the hot breath of my enemies on my neck. They are circling. They will bring me down. I will be set aside, and Henry will take Jane Seymour as his wife. That is what they want. That is what he wants.”

  I burst into tears as my brother took me in his arms. “Will they take Elizabeth from me?” I sobbed into his coat. “Will they take her away?”

  “All is not lost,” he murmured into my hair.

  As I was about to reply, there was a knock at the door. A messenger in Henry’s livery appeared with a note.

  “It is from Henry,” I breathed, my shaking hands tearing the parchment as I opened it. I scanned the note, hoping for reassurance, but it was spare and short. “He wants to see me.”

  “There,” said my brother, forcing a smile. “Perhaps he wishes to make it right between you.”

  I hastened to Henry’s rooms, and found him still dressed, even though the hour was late. “Sit,” he commanded, his face grim.

  Feeling feeble, I scurried to a chair.

  “I have cancelled the trip to France,” he said. “I thought you should know, since we are due to depart in two days.”

  “Will you not look at me?” I asked softly.

  He obliged, and suddenly I wished I had not asked him to. His eyes were deep, dark caves, a fire burning in the belly of their darkness.

  “Have you done this because you mean to set me aside?” I asked.

  “I have not.”

  I breathed in a welcome gulp of air. “I swear upon my soul… upon the soul of our daughter, whom you know I love more than anything, that I meant nothing when I spoke out of turn.”

  “I believe you.”

  My head darted up and I searched his eyes for any spark of love still left in his heart. “Then you know that I love you?”

  He did not answer. His jaw clenched.

  “I love you, Henry,” I said, cursing my voice for sounding like a lost lamb bleating in the fields.

  “Then all is well. I spoke with Norris. He too assures me there was nothing in your conversation. John Skip came too, to plead for you. You have many admirers.”

  There was something lurking in his tone I did not like. But he brushed off his coat and turned to stare into my eyes. “You should have more care of your tongue. What you said was not becoming of a wife or a queen.”

  “I know that,” I said. “All I can do is tell you how sorry I am. I meant nothing by my words, but you are right. I am too unguarded, too brazen at times. I allowed my hurt and pain to master me. It will never happen again.”

  “You will preside over the May Day entertainments,” he said. “I will expect to see you there, on the morrow.”

  “I will be there,” I said, rising, for I heard dismissal in his voice. “And I will watch with a thankful heart, knowing that my husband is the greatest man in the world.” I reached out to touch his sleeve, and this time he did not shrink away. His eyes rested on my hand and then flickered up and into my eyes.

  “You are the best man I have ever known,” I said. “And if I have not always shown you the humility and grace that I should have, I will from this day on.”

  He nodded, and there were tears in his eyes.

  As I reached the door, I turned back. “I love you,” I said.

  He did not answer. With his back to me, I saw his shoulders hunch. I believe he was crying and did not want me to see.

  “I love you,” I said again. “And I will spend the rest of my life showing you my devotion.”

  I felt better as I went to my rooms. I thought we might put this behind us, that I would be given a second chance. Exhausted, I fell into slumber with ease. I walked in dreams of the tower and the desert.

  Katherine came to me again. We stood in the shadow of the tower, looking out across the boundless desert. The tower was bathed in red light, reflected from the angry sun above and the bloody sand below. Dust rose, spiralling into tiny whirlwinds, streaking across the planes. There was a strange light, glowing and eerie. All was red and orange… the colours of flame and fire.

  “The sands are running short,” she said.

  “The sands will never run short,” I replied. “Layer upon layer… Dust upon dust. The winds make no impression. Never will they dissipate, never will they die.”

  “The sands are running short,” she said again and turned to me.

  In her eyes I saw two hourglasses, upturned. The glass vials at the top held sand, running into the bottom. It was almost spent.

  “Time is running out,” Katherine whispered.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Greenwich Palace

  May 1st 1536

  May Day dawned fresh, warm, and with a touch of wildness. A celebration of love and renewal, its customs were entrenched in England’s blood; a time for new beginnings. That was what I wanted.

  Breathing a sigh of relief that Henry had sent for me, and that even if we were not entirely easy with one another, we were talking, I dressed with great care. I wanted to show him this could be our new beginning.

  Early that morning, I sat on a chair with a blanket over my lap, sewing a shirt for Henry. I found myself marvelling upon the benevolence and purity of my husband’s heart. Truly, he is a man like no other. He has the best heart… the most forgiving nature.

  I told myself that day that I must be more like Henry. I should emulate his example, and become a better person. I dressed, thinking of this time of renewal and joy.

  Al
l over England people would celebrate. As dawn emerged, pink and gold on the skyline, maids would bathe their faces in morning dew, hoping to bring good fortune and beauty upon them. Villagers would march out into the forests to gather foliage; budding branches of blooms, flowers, twisted ivy and boughs of green leaves. The ringing sound of hunters’ horns would blast in the woods. Doorsteps of scolds would be marked by alder boughs, and jades would find their steps decorated with a scattering of nuts. In the West Country, young lads would take a bucket of water and head into the streets, dunking any person they came across, especially if he be high ranking, into their brimming buckets. Only those with a piece of May, a flower or a tree sprig pinned to their coats, might escape their tricks.