And then, though I am trapped in the sin of fear, and a slave to a passion, something very strange happens. Though it is nowhere near dawn, though it is the darkest time of the night, I feel the room lighten, the ashes of the fire grow a little brighter. I raise my head, and my forehead no longer throbs and my fearful sweat has cooled. I feel well, as if I had slept well and I am waking to a bright morning. The smell from the king’s room is diminished and I know once again my deep pity for him in his pain and illness. His rumbling snore has grown quieter and I am glad that he is sleeping well. Hardly believing my own sense of being uplifted, I feel as if I can hear the voice of God, as if He is with me, as if He has come to me in this night of my trial, as if His mercy can look on me, a sinner, a woman who has sinned and has longed for sin, who still longs for sin, and that, even seeing all this, He can forgive me.
I stay, kneeling on the hearthstone, till the clock on the table strikes four with its silvery little chime and I realise that I have been in a trance of prayer for hours. I have prayed and I believe that I have been heard. I have spoken and I believe I have been answered. No priest took my confession or gave me absolution, no church took my fee, no pilgrim badges or miracle cures or little pieces of trumpery helped me to come into the presence of God. I simply asked for His great mercy and I received it, as He promised in the Bible that it should be granted.
I rise up from the floor and I get into my bed, shivering a little. I think, with a sense of great wonderment, that I have been blessed, as God promised I would be blessed. I think He has come to me, a sinner, and that I have, by His grace, been granted forgiveness and the remission of my sins.
WHITEHALL PALACE, LONDON, SUMMER 1544
The army is setting sail for France; Thomas Howard has already gone with the vanguard but still the king delays.
‘I have summoned my astronomer,’ he says to me as we leave Mass one morning. ‘Come with me and see what he advises.’
The king’s astronomer is as skilled as any of the European scientists in understanding the movement of the stars and the planets, and he can also identify a favourable date for any venture depending on which planet is in the ascendancy. He treads a difficult course between describing the known and observable movement of the heavens, which is philosophy, and the art of fortune-telling, which is illegal. To suggest that the king might be ill or injured is treason, so anything he sees or foresees has to be described with extreme caution. But Nicholas Kratzer has drawn charts for the king many times before, and knows how to phrase his warnings and advice to stay inside the law.
Henry tucks my hand under his elbow and leans on his page on the other side as we walk to his privy chamber. Behind us come the rest of the court, the king’s noblemen and my ladies. Somewhere among them is Thomas Seymour; I don’t glance round. I think that God will hold me to my resolution. I will not glance round.
We walk through the presence chamber and most of the court wait there, only a few of us going inwards to the privy chamber, where a great table has been pulled into the centre of the room, spread with charts weighted down with little astrological symbols made of gold. Nicholas Kratzer, his blue eyes twinkling, is waiting for us, holding a long pointer in one hand and rolling a couple of the little gold figures in the other. He bows low when he sees us and then waits for the king to command him.
‘Good, I see you are prepared. I am come to listen to you. Tell me what you think.’ The king approaches the table and leans heavily on it.
‘Am I right in thinking that you are in alliance with Spain for this war against France?’ the astronomer asks.
Henry nods.
‘Even I know that!’ Will Somers interrupts from under the table. ‘If that’s a prediction I could have done it myself. And I could have found it in the bottom of a mug of ale in any taproom outside the Tower. I don’t need to look at stars. Just give me the price of a jug of ale and I’ll make another prediction.’
The astronomer smiles at the king, not at all disturbed by the Fool. Behind us I see that a few of the courtiers have come in. Thomas is not among them. The door shuts. Perhaps he is waiting outside in the presence chamber, perhaps he has gone to his own rooms or to the stables to see his horses. I suppose that he is avoiding me for our safety. I wish I could be sure of that. I cannot help but fear that he has lost his desire for me, and that he is keeping out of my way to spare us both the embarrassment of a love that is dead and gone.
‘So I shall show you first the chart of the Emperor of Spain, your ally,’ Nicholas Kratzer says. He draws one chart forward and shows how the emperor’s fortune is coming into the ascendancy this autumn.
‘And here is the chart for the French king.’
There is a murmur of interest as the chart shows clearly that Francis of France is moving into a time of weakness and disorganisation.
‘This is promising,’ Henry says, pleased. He glances at me. ‘Don’t you think so?’
I was not listening, but now I look alert and interested. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘And this is a chart for Your Majesty.’ Nicholas Kratzer points to the most complex chart of them all. The signs for Mars: the dogs of war, the spear, the arrow, the tower, are all drawn and beautifully coloured around the king’s chart.
‘See that?’ The king nudges me. ‘Warlike, isn’t it?’
‘Mars is rising in your house,’ the astronomer says. ‘I have seldom seen more puissance in any man.’
‘Yes, yes.’ The king approves. ‘I knew it. You see it in the stars?’
‘Absolutely. But therein lies the danger—’
‘What danger?’
‘The symbol for Mars is also the symbol for pain, for heat in the blood, pain in the legs. I fear for Your Majesty’s health.’
There is a muted murmur of agreement. We all fear for the king’s health. He thinks he can ride to war like a boy when he cannot even walk to dinner without support on either side.
‘I’m better,’ the king says flatly.
The astronomer nods. ‘Certainly the auguries are good for you,’ he says. ‘If the physicians can keep the heat from your old wound. But, Your Majesty, remember it was a weapon’s wound, and like a war wound it waxes and wanes with Mars.’
‘Then it is bound to trouble me a little when I go to war,’ the king says stoutly. ‘By your own reading, Astronomer. By your own signs.’
I give him a little smile. The king’s stubborn courage is one of the finest things about him.
The astronomer bows. ‘That would certainly be my reading of the chart.’
‘And shall we get as far as Paris?’
This is a dangerous question. The court, the whole country, is anxious that the king shall not attempt to go too deep into France. But nobody dares to tell him so.