Page 31 of The Queen’s Witch

Henry remained silent a long moment, while the room held its breath. Then he laughed, a loud guffaw, and said to the Lord of Misrule, “All my servants must be devoted, and as for age—how old are you, my lord?”

Relief swept the crowd like wind through fields. Laughter, chatter. Katherine sat stony and unsmiling, something more in her eyes than her usual dignity.

Anne had gotten away with it yet again.

She could make no misstep. For all twelve days of Christmas, the king was beside the queen at church services and on all official occasions, but he sought Anne for all else. It was Anne his small blue eyes watched. It was Anne the courtiers flocked to as she played at dice and bowling and hoodman-blind and dancing, always dancing. Masques, mummery, interludes, music, feasting and more feasting. Anne, always magnificently dressed and flaunting jewels from the king, ruled Yuletide.

On New Year’s Day, the traditional time for giving gifts, the common folk received alms. Some brought the king a gift in return: a bag of apples, a cake, an embroidered nose cloth. Henry, always generous at Christmas, greeted alike gift givers and those too poor to give anything, and was heartily cheered. Nobles and aldermen, churchmen and important tradesmen brought gifts for the king, a ceremony that lasted for hours. In turn, the king bestowed presents on Anne, but I was not witness. Later, as she changed her gown to watch yet another entertainment, she gave gifts of money to Emma and me. I was astonished to find two pounds in the purse, an incredibly generous amount.

“You have served me well as taster, Elyn. I wish you a good new year.”

“Thank you, my lady,” I said, though something in her voice made me uneasy.

I did not find out what it was until Twelfth Night.

Before dawn, the pastry cooks baked an enormous cake by torchlight and assembled it in the great kitchen. The cake barely fit on a wide board set atop a wheeled cart and was decorated with all manner of sugar devices. When, after the last feast of Yuletide, it was brought into the great hall, there was cheering and clapping. The Lord of Misrule recited something that made the nobles laugh, but since it was in Latin, I did not understand the jest. Then slices were cut and carried around to all.

A scullery maid, scornful of my ignorance but taking pity, had told me what to expect. “Ye know nothing of this? There be a bean in the cake, ye great dolt, and she what finds it be crowned the Queen of the Bean. She leads the dancing and singing.”

I said, “What if a gentleman finds the bean?”

She snorted in contempt and turned away.

Anne, of course, found the bean. Amid blasts from the heralds’ trumpets, the Lord of Misrule took the crown from his head and placed it on hers. Cheers and clapping.

Katherine rose and left the hall.

She did not reappear for the play performed by the most skillful troupe yet. Nor for the singing, for which Anne chose the songs, nor for the dancing. This last day of Yuletide went on far into the night.

Anne dismissed me before the dancing began. “Wait for me in my privy chamber. I would talk to you.”

“Yes, my lady.”

I already knew what she would say, and what I would answer. This was my last chance.

Disheveled, exhausted, necklace and hood awry, Anne had never looked more lovely. A lock of dark hair had come loose from her hood and fell across her flushed cheek. The very low neckline of her bodice was rumpled.

Emma came from the bedchamber, and Anne said, “Wait for me without, Emma. I would talk to Elyn alone. Close the door.”

The door of thick wood kept out all sound. Anne faced me. “You saw how the king treated me tonight—the king, the court, everyone.”

Not everyone. Katherine’s most faithful followers, joined by some of the bishops visiting court for Christmas, had not joined in the adulation of the queen’s rival.

I said, “You had a great triumph, my lady. I most sincerely congratulate you.”

“Come, Elyn, let us be frank. You wish me, still, to participate in this ceremony binding us together in some magickal way, and I do not choose to do so. I will not need your dubious magick. I am secure in the king’s love, and before long I shall be queen. You are dismissed from my service, with gratitude for all. You have served me well.”

It was what I had expected. She had kept me dangling for half a year with vague promises, always withholding action. It was, in truth, exactly as she treated Henry, and it had made him more and more besotted, more determined to have her at any cost, even to shattering his kingdom.

I was not a king. I had no realm to offer her. But I must try.

“My lady, I beg you to reconsider. You are secure now in the king’s affection, and I believe you will become the rightful queen”—to say otherwise would be fatal—“but Fate can be so uncertain, and it may be that at some future point you will need the powerful magick that only a thrice-braided witch can place at your service. If the pope’s decision should go against you, or—and may a merciful God forbid it!—if anything should happen to the king—”

“Be quiet,” she said sharply. “To ill-wish the king is a crime.”

“I do not ill-wish him. I wish for him all good, all success, and long life. I wish all for you as well. I only say that no one can prophesy the future, and chance can be so cruel. Think of me as you do your men-at-arms, a protection you may never need but will wish for if you do need it.”

She hesitated, and hope seized me in its fickle embrace. But then she shook her head, the loose lock of her hair swinging gently across her cheek. “No. You may be a protection held in reserve, but you are also a danger. Do you know that some decry me as a witch?”