“I believe in you,” I said. “And I’ll pray for you every day.”
She squeezed my arm. “I know you will. I am glad one of us has faith.”
“You have faith!” I contradicted her.
“Not like yours.”
After leaving her things for her maidservant to repack, we went down to the gardens outside.
The chairs and table were set up in neat little quartets on the Hever property, and Master Ridley, our music teacher, had recruited friends to play lutes. The notes wafted over the field, the sweetest of aural perfumes. The mood was one of love, of friendship, of pledge. We’d all been forged together and though circumstances might separate us for a time, we were somehow inextricably bound for life. I sat down alone at a table near the edge of the garden, a private spot, and wished it to remain so but for the company of one.
My wish was granted.
“May I join you?” Will approached. I remained seated, as a lady should.
“Of course.” I gestured to the seat next to me with grace and dignity that would have made my father proud. I caught Anne out of the corner of my eye gently steering the others to different tables so Will and I might have some time alone.
“What’s this?” He touched the wreath of daisies I’d woven whilst waiting for the day to begin.
“A wreath of the last flowers clinging to summer,” I said. “Something to both pass and mark the time.”
“There is no flower here to contend with you. You believe they’re dying off because it’s the end of summer? Methinks they saw the competition and realized they must capitulate.”
“Will Ogilvy, are you practicing courtly manners on me?” I teased.
“No,” he said. “I mean it. May I have this wreath as a keepsake?” I wound it around his fingers and I wished it were my hand I was placing in his instead of that which my hand had created.
I nodded my agreement and kept my eyes lowered. For once, overcome by the moment, I had no smart retort.
We sat for a little while, intensely aware at the adult turn in our relationship. Will cheerfully turned the topic back to mathematics, and then horses, and finally Latin, which we both loved. We sparred over the rendering of a certain word, and in the end I believe I won.
“Succumbo,” he admitted. “A rare victory, and one you will not soon duplicate.”
“Is that a challenge?” I teased. But then his look turned somber. “Why not?” I asked, more subdued as I sipped from the goblet in front of me and tapped at the light sheen on my forehead with my kerchief.
“My father is sending me to Cambridge.”
“Ah.” I nodded. So now I knew why my brother Thomas was going to Cambridge. Not that my father couldn’t have thought of it on his own, but he admired the Ogilvys and Boleyns as his betters in many ways. Feeling unsure of himself, he often imitated their choices. If only he would send me to France!
“I’ll surely see you at pageants now and again,” Will said. “And at the Christmas celebration at court.”
“Surely,” I agreed, knowing that those pageants and jousts would be infrequent, that my mother was often ill and required my companionship, and that the studies at Cambridge were demanding and could take up to eight years to complete.
“There are so many different teachers there.” His voice rose with excitement. “I hope to learn more about our Lord too. What we have here is so….” He shrugged his shoulders. “Limited.”
I nodded, happy for him but envious of his opportunity. Anne and I had many rigorous debates about holy things, too, which would have horrified my father and even Will, had they known. “You’ll do well. I’m glad for you.” I echoed the sentiment I’d given Anne just an hour before, and the words, whilst well-intentioned, felt as dry in my mouth as my oft-prattled apologies to my father.
“There are fine days ahead for you, too, Meg.” Will rested his hand on the table near mine, not able to take mine in his while others were around but showing me what was in his heart by his gesture. “I know it. Omnino scire.” He used the Latin word that meant “to know something without doubt, to be certain.” Strangely enough, I believed he was right. I’d had the feeling that their ships were setting sail, leaving port perhaps a year or two afore my own, but that my ship would set sail, too, and it would be in the same direction. I looked at Will, suffused with happiness, and Anne, an already court-worthy hostess. Then I looked toward the sky, where the heavy gray clouds of late summer were already beginning to clot.
Lady Boleyn, ever the chaperone, made her way toward our table. As reluctant as I was to see her come, I understood she had my good name and Will’s in mind.
“I’ll send you a note sometimes through my sister, Rose,” Will said, and I nodded.
“Tui meminero,” I said. I will remember you.
Perhaps because he was leaving and felt free to be candid, he answered me back more strongly. “Te somniabo.” I will dream of you.
Later in the afternoon, when the others had mostly returned home, I stayed to say my final good-bye to Anne. We walked in the garden and sat on a bench, carved gargoyles expressing silent horror over her departure. “I’ll miss you,” I said. “Our constant companionship. Studying together.”
“I’ll be home soon. If Mary or George gets married or if someone dies….”
“Don’t say that!” I told her, aghast. Even my jesting wouldn’t go that far.
“No, no,” she reassured me. “And then, soon, I’ll be home to stay.”
“Yes,” I said. “And things will be as they ever were between us. We’ll marry rich, titled, wonderful men, and have renowned parties and beautiful children.” I looked at the gathering storm clouds and knew that if what I sensed was true then I was a liar and, worse, was breaking our friendship pledge of honesty. And yet I wasn’t sure my impressions were true. They were wobbly things, jellies to roll out from under my thumb as soon as I tried to pin them down.
To make things even, I offered another oath. “You know how the boys, ah, relieve themselves together when they make a promise?”
Anne, mannered and discreet, looked at me, shocked. “Surely you can’t be suggesting….”
I blushed. “No, no, I speak too fast.” Oh my, what would my father think if he could overhear me now? “I just meant we could plight an oath too. Afore you leave.”
She nodded and turned toward me on the bench before speaking. “A friendship oath. So you won’t choose Rose Ogilvy as your dearest friend in my absence.”
“As much as I like Rose, she’s not the Ogilvy I desire to pledge an oath with,” I teased, and we laughed. It was one of our friendship’s better qualities, the ability to laugh together in the most difficult moments. “And make sure you don’t find a French friend to replace me,” I said.
“Never.” She reached up and plucked one of the roses. She pricked her finger with its thorn till a little drop of blood oozed out. “It didn’t hurt much….”
I looked at her hard, reminding her of the difficulties I faced with my father. “A poke to the finger is not going to harm me,” I said, grinning. I pierced my finger too.
We held our fingers together and commingled our blood, friends to the end, never leaving one another’s side, loyalty firmly pledged, come what may.
TWO
Year of Our Lord 1520
Allington Castle, Kent, England
Two years had passed since my brother Thomas and Will had been sent to Cambridge to master rhetoric and Anne back to France to master the ways of their court.
But some things never change.
It began as it always did, Thomas begging me to do something against my better judgment, me wavering between my love for him and my misgivings toward the deed itself.