In the Shadow of Lions: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (Chronicles of the Scribe #1)(25)

“For a good Christian, you have little faith!”

Henry motioned to his privy guard to hand him a pike, which the boy did with great trouble, being similarly mounted just beside Henry. Henry took the long weapon and dealt Anne’s horse a glancing blow on the rump. The animal ran with great spirit, and Anne cursed this king who was determined to spur her from comfort.

She pulled tightly on the reins, careful not to unseat herself, with her thick bodice and train making any movement difficult. At least Catherine and her court were not on this procession to see her humiliation. Henry spoke out loud as if intimacies had passed between them. Anne hated the taint it bore her, the dirty feeling in her spirit that anyone would think she was unfaithful to Lord Percy or to her Christian duty. Yet what could she say? Henry was master of the realm, and every knee bowed in reverence, making him wholly incapable of understanding anyone else.

“Au premier, L’ Pleazaunce!” she heard him call behind her, and as her horse steadied and slowed, taking a turn in the road, she beheld it: Greenwich Castle, “the pleasant manor,” as Henry called it. Indeed, it was different than his castle at Windsor. Windsor was a grand lady that impressed every visitor with the weight of her history, like a grandmother pouring an old, heavy necklace into the palm of a young girl.

Greenwich was much freer. There were many small buildings, but their charm was not their construction, for they each had small angled eaves and only a few rose above them with spires. But there was an endless army of trees, decked in green and glittering with birds, whose songs filled the air as the royal party entered, her train being lifted by a gentle breeze as she dismounted. Her servants jumped from their horses to assist her, lest the king order them lashed, but she was faster than they were and was off her mount and walking about before they even reached her.

Anne was immediately surrounded by great, tall magical yews and thick, full, long-suffering beeches. Peace lived here; she knew it.

Henry had dismounted and joined her. His face beamed with great pride and appetite. Anne sensed he was hungry after this ride. She hoped he would restrain himself to merely his appetite for victuals. She hadn’t the energy to stay awake through the night and keep watch over her door to prevent his entry yet again.

“The palace sits on the River Thames,” he said, motioning beyond the cluster of red brick-and-plaster buildings. “When the tide turns every seven hours or so, you can catch a barge to any other estate.”

Wolsey was not far behind them. “Yes, Henry was born here … his mother’s most perfect consolation after a hard and difficult labor.”

“Yes.” Henry nodded, but to Anne, not Wolsey. “It is the home of many revelries. I am a king of the people, am I not? All comers are welcome here for jousts, if they do not mind a sore stripe and broken lance!”

Why was everything directed at her? Anne grumbled inwardly. Did she want these prizes? He went to great trouble to present her with these affections, but they were unwholesome. Any move she made only encouraged. To protest gave him license to overcome her disdain. Heaven forbid she praise him, for there’d be no end to his great leapings and posturings.

She had found no way yet to dissuade him in his attentions, to allow her to return to Percy. She reached in her pocket and patted her prayer beads. They were there, as always. She had rubbed them through her fingers so often these last weeks that she feared one day she would reach into her pocket and they would crumble beneath her touch. No prayer beads were meant to withstand this much use, she was sure. When she was alone, she sank to her knees and said her prayers aloud, and when she was attended, she kept the beads in her pocket and said them silently. Once she had fallen asleep in her bed, saying her prayers, and was awakened when the beads hit the floor. She had sat upright in bed and saw a sudden fluttering of the curtains drawn closed around her bed.



“Leave us!” Henry bellowed, and the attendants fled back to their mounts.

“Wolsey, you as well,” Henry said. Wolsey bowed and fell back.

Henry grasped her hand and tried to lean against a trunk, but Anne’s head began to ache. She thought it was the strong sunlight so she moved deeper in the shadows, the woods that surrounded the palace grounds. She hoped Henry would notice her discomfort and not take this retreat into shadow as a sign of encouragement.

The earth was so soft under her feet and, unsteady after a hard ride, she leaned into his grasp … then wished she hadn’t. Henry slipped his arm around her side, dropping her hand, glad to have reason to touch more of her. The birds still sang, and there were so many varieties here that their trilling overlapped and wove together a song unique to this place.

“Everyone in the court observes the order I set,” Henry said. “How many dishes they may eat, and when, and where they may sit, where they may stand, and what clothes they may wear, what they may say and when.”

Anne continued her walk. It was misery. She wanted a still bed and a dark room.

“Only here do I know what it is to be a subject. How small I am against this king.” Perhaps he meant it to affect righteousness, but he sounded depressed, as if he would rule this world too if he could.

Anne bit her lip and kept walking.

“Anne,” he said, pulling against her, stopping her in the path.

She turned to look at him, and his face was that of a boy, lit with desire for some great prize. She noticed her stomach had turned sour and didn’t know if her head or her sovereign was to blame.