The Taming of the Queen

The king comes home very tired, and sends for me to visit him in his rooms. They have already put him to bed, and I hesitate on the threshold, wondering if he intended me to come in my nightgown, to bed him.

He beckons me in. ‘Come in,’ he says. ‘Sit with me. I want to tell you all about it before I sleep. You will have heard that they were in awe of me at Westminster? They wept as I told them I was their father and I would have command of them. They said that they had never heard such a speech before.’

‘How wonderful,’ I say faintly. ‘And how good you are to make the effort to go out to them, and on Christmas Eve as well.’

He waves a fat hand. ‘I wanted them to know my mind,’ he says. ‘It is important that they are clear. I think for them, I decide for them, they must know what I am thinking. How else are they to find their way through life? How else get to heaven?’

The door behind me opens and the first of the servers comes in with a platter and a spoon and knife. The king is to be served his dinner in bed. One after another the men come in with dish after dish. Henry piles food on his platter as they wrap a great linen napkin under his chin to keep the bedclothes from being spattered with juices from the meats and sauces. I am served in my seat at a table at the foot of the great bed and I eat slowly, so that we may finish our meal together. Henry’s plate is constantly replenished and he drinks at least three bottles of wine, the meal takes for ever, and when he waves the last dish away he throws himself back against the pillows, exhausted and sweating. I am nauseous just from watching the huge plates of food come and go.

‘Should you see the doctor?’ I ask him. ‘Is your fever rising?’

He shakes his head. ‘Doctor Wendy can attend me later,’ he says. ‘Did you know that Doctor Butts is ill?’ He gives a wheezy laugh. ‘What sort of a doctor is that? I sent him a message – what sort of doctor are you, too sick to attend his patient?’

‘How amusing. But is he at court? Is he cared for?’

‘I think he went home,’ Henry says indifferently. ‘He knows better than to bring illness to court. As soon as he had the first symptom he sent me a message to tell me that he would not come near me till he is well again. He begged my pardon for not being able to attend to me. He should be here. I knew I would be overtaxed, going to my people, taking my wisdom to my people, like that. In this cold weather.’

I nod to the servers to take everything from the room but to bring the king another bottle of wine and the sweet pastries that he likes to have beside the bed in case he is hungry during the night.

‘I was inspiring.’ He belches with quiet satisfaction. ‘They listened to me in complete silence. When people talk about preaching, they should have heard me in Westminster this evening! People who call for a new prophet should have heard me speak tonight! I am a father to my people, and a better father than the false priest they call the Holy Father in Rome!’

‘Did someone write it down so that others can read it?’ I ask.

He nods. His eyes are closing like a sleepy child after a busy day. ‘I hope so,’ he says. ‘I shall see that you get a copy. You will want to study it, I know.’

‘I will,’ I say.

‘I have pronounced,’ he says. ‘That is the end of all argument.’

‘Yes. Shall I leave you to sleep, husband?’

‘Stay,’ he says. ‘Stay. I have hardly seen you all day. Did you sit beside old Latimer’s bed?’

‘Hardly ever,’ I lie. ‘He was not a husband to me as you are, my lord.’

‘I thought not,’ he says. ‘You must have had a moment, when he was dying, when you thought you would be free of all husbands. Did you? When you thought you would be a widow, with your own little estate and your own fortune? Perhaps you even picked out a handsome young man?’ The little eyes open, twinkle with sly amusement.

It is illegal for a woman to marry the king if she has any hidden love affairs in her past. These are dangerous words for a bedtime story.

‘I thought I would be a widow living only for my family, just like your grandmother, Lady Margaret Beaufort,’ I smile. ‘But a great destiny called me.’

‘The greatest destiny a woman can have,’ he agrees. ‘But why do you think you have not conceived, Kateryn?’

The question is so unexpected that I give a little start. His eyes are closed; perhaps he does not see it. I think at once, guiltily, of the purse of herbs and Nan’s terror that if I do not prevent it, he will give me some monstrous miscarriage. It is not possible that someone in my rooms has told him of the herbs. I am certain that no-one would betray me. No-one knows but Nan and me. Even the maid who brings the hot water knows nothing more than that she brings a jug of hot water for a morning tisane, now and then.

‘I don’t know, husband,’ I say humbly. ‘Sometimes it takes time, I suppose.’