“He is a good man, and there is no poison you can drip that will persuade me otherwise,” is all she says.
“Boleyn thought that way too, once,” Seymour says. And that is that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Cleves
When Johana comes to her with the simple words, “She knows”, Cleves is rather pleased with her reaction. Namely, that she manages to conceal all true emotion.
“I have known of Seymour’s rebellion against the king for nearly a year now, and kept the secret to myself for as long. But your servants and Seymour could not keep my involvement a secret for longer than a few days. It is remarkable, cousin.”
Johana scowls. “If I did not love you, I would turn you over to the king myself. I have played servant for days. Do you know what that does to a man’s self-worth?”
So Cecilia knows that Cleves is allied with Seymour. It follows that Cleves should meet with the Dowager Queen. People like Cecilia and Aragon only make bargains with fellow royalty, and though Cleves does not like it, she knows how to play that game. Such a visit aligns with the other plan that has been forming in her head ever since she and Johana realised that the binding cloths are the key to releasing Medren’s power: she must go to the viper’s nest. To High Hall. And she must get there before Mary Boleyn’s royal wedding.
The benefit of having a small household and a smaller court is that it does not take long for her retinue to be readied, and it is a simple matter to avoid bringing any nobility with her. It is well known that her ways are odd, and that she prefers to travel with animals rather than humans.
It is nearly midnight when she reaches Gnottel Lodge. The new moon lights the clearing in which the house sits, the little drawbridge pulled up across the moat. Gnottel Lodge was built for merriment – weekend parties and the like. Here, Cleves’s role is benevolent hostess. Now, though, she feels like a gaoler. There is something deeply uncomfortable about that raised drawbridge. It puts her in mind of another time, when a woodland house intended for banqueting became a fortress besieged. Only that time, she was the one trapped inside.
To her surprise, Cleves finds Seymour and the king’s sister sitting in companionable silence beside a fire. The domestic sight – Cecilia at needlework; Seymour dozing over a book – makes her pause. Johana follows her with Lelij, who bleats plaintively when he spies the warm fire. Cecilia looks up, and a predatory smile spreads across her face.
“Has the Queen of Cnothan sent me new fodder?” she says.
Cleves could laugh. She does not know who she is. Cleves wonders whether she should have some fun, but then decides that would be ill-advised with this woman. Seymour was charmed by the trick; Cecilia would not be. Cleves settles for removing her travelling cloak, revealing a gown of royal purple, cut sleeveless in the Ezzonid style. She does enjoy watching first puzzlement then realisation break across Cecilia’s face.
“You are Queen Cleves?” she says bluntly.
“For several years, yes,” Cleves replies.
Cleves knows what will happen next, and she is not disappointed. It is the same when anyone who has heard tell of the “ugly queen” meets her. Their eyes travel across Cleves’s face, and then down her body, searching for proof that she is as repugnant as the rumours say. There are two kinds of people: those who trust their eyes over the rumours, and those who trust the rumours over their eyes. She wonders which Cecilia will be.
“How did you trick him?” Cecilia says at last.
Cleves cannot help but glance to Seymour, who is watching the exchange with studied disinterest.
“Trick who?” Cleves says.
“You are perfectly attractive. Why does my brother say you are not?”
So Cecilia has more wits about her than Cleves had thought. That is interesting. Cleves hands her cloak to a servant and takes one of the spare seats, closest to the fire.
“I am interested that you should think I would be the trickster,” she says, patting her lap in invitation to her gargoyle. “Who is to say yourbrother did not trick me into coming to this island only to humiliate me for his own purposes?”
“Hmm,” Cecilia says, sitting back down herself. The two women regard each other, like duellists circling after their first parry. Cleves wonders whether Cecilia is as aware of Seymour watching them as Cleves herself is.
“You must be hungry after your long journey,” Cecilia says. She raises a hand, summoning a servant. It is a double test: she is trying to ascertain how far they are from Cnothan, and marking herself as the senior royal. Before Cecilia can order anything, Cleves tells the servant, “The Dowager Queen is hungry, and I would welcome some wine.”
She smiles at Cecilia. Cecilia smiles back.
Johana ruins the moment by snorting. He pulls a chair across the room and places it beside Seymour. “May I join you in watching the tournament?” he asks.
Seymour smiles up at him. “Should we take bets, my lord?”
“It is bold of you to assume that I have money with which to bet. I am, after all, merely a third cousin of the King of Ezzonid.”
Bread, cakes and fruit are brought, along with a jug of fine white wine from Gkontai, one of Cleves’s favourites.
“Rather than spectating, would you care to join us, perhaps?” Cleves says to Seymour and Johana. Tempted by the smell of food, Lelij climbs off Cleves’s lap, stretches and turns his attention to Seymour. Haltrasc watches him nuzzle his mistress and growls half-heartedly – territorial, but not so much that he can be bothered to rise from his snug place by the fire.
