Page 71 of The Queen’s Witch

The weather was colder now, with much rain. Servants with the Progress were weary, servants at the great houses tight lipped and irritable. The king was closeted for long hours with Cromwell and other councillors. What gossip I heard in the kitchens, what tidings I learned while crouching behind Anne at table, were of disease, including illness at Kimbolton Castle, the prison of the Dowager Princess Katherine. Rumor said she would not last the year.

We moved on. Bramshill House, old and damp, belonged to Anne’s aunt and her husband, Lord Daubeney. Riders and wagons clattered through a huge stone archway into the cobblestone courtyard. It was scarcely warmer in the servants’ chamber than the courtyard. But after an hour, I was called to Anne’s apartments. I braced myself for a show of temper over the dismal conditions.

She was radiant.

Lady Daubeney and her ladies sat with Anne’s ladies beside a crackling fire, all grouped around Anne, all glowing. Even Emma smiled—Emma! None of them looked at me as I knelt beside Anne’s chair to taste the wine and cakes set out on a small table. Anne, wrapped in furs, did glance, waiting for my nod: no poison. She drank deeply as chatter resumed.

“When do you think, Your Majesty?”

“June. It happened at Winchester.” She did not look at me. “The king is of course delighted. And I know that this time, it will be a boy. I am certain of it.”

She could not yet be certain even that she was pregnant, not even if she had missed her courses. It could merely be windy matter, or some disease of the female parts. If she did indeed carry a child, she could not be sure whose. I kept my gaze firmly on the floor. The slightest skeptical glance could kill me.

Nor did Anne’s ladies display any doubt. Their congratulations were fulsome and sincere. A prince would make their own positions more secure, although Lady Lee, at least, genuinely loved Anne. Lady Lee’s pleasure was real.

As was the king’s. At dinner he said nothing to the company at large; it was too soon. But he was attentive and thoughtful, urging Anne to eat, calling for the best dishes to be offered her first. In his manner I detected no genuine affection, but his queen was now the vessel carrying his son, and as a vessel she was of supreme importance. I had seen enough of court life to know that many women received worse treatment.

Courtiers and guests glanced at each other, wondering.

I could not make my intentions known to Anne now, not on the same day I had learned she had quickened. I must wait until the final halt on the Progress, a crown property of Easthampstead, which Henry used as a hunting lodge. The royal train would head there tomorrow.

The Progress stayed at Easthampstead for several days. I did not.

The royal hunting lodge belied its name. Standing on the edge of Windsor Forest, it was large and moated, with a great hall, chapel, and separate lodgings for king and queen. On the day before departing for Windsor, the rain stopped and a brilliant sun rose in a clear, cold sky. The court prepared for a day of hunting, servants and stablemen and ladies and courtiers rushing around, calling to each other, a chaos of happy merriment. All had caught the buoyant royal mood.

I begged permission to see the queen. She sent word that I might have a moment. The page who brought this message looked at me curiously but asked nothing. I found Anne in the courtyard, preparing to mount, and knelt before her. This exchange must be public, to forestall all questions.

I said loudly, “Your Grace, I have received word that my sister lies dying near Farnham and I most humbly beg to go to her. She will leave two small daughters, born of a husband now dead, and I must make arrangements for their care. I shall rejoin you at Windsor.”

If Anne was surprised, she did not show it. In the masques at court, she always ranked as the best actress. But I saw the suspicion in her eyes.

“I did not know you had a sister living.”

I said nothing, but my unspoken words lay between us: You never asked.

Others were listening. Anne did not want to appear ungenerous before them, but even less did she wish to appear weak. And if she let me leave the Progress, where might I go, and who might I talk to?

She could not risk it. “I pity your sister’s plight, but you are in service to the queen. You may not leave. Nor should you have asked.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I understand. God save the queen.”

She turned away. I remained on my knees until the hunting party had gone, then went to the kitchen to eat breakfast. I ate heartily and pocketed yet more food. Pipkin stirred restlessly in my other pocket. At the gatehouse beside the moat, I spelled the guards into brief sleepiness, crossed the bridge, and slipped into the forest.

My bargain with Anne was complete. My amatory magick had most likely made her pregnant, and her claim of pregnancy had freed me. I could wait no longer; Samhain was but days away. Among the oaks and beech, I did what I had never done before, could never have done before I tied the thrice-braided cord. I set Pipkin on the ground, spelled him to follow me, and turned myself into a hare.

Suddenly, the world was a tapestry of scents, so strange and frightening that I nearly turned myself back to a woman. The forest itself made me uneasy. I could see almost behind me as well as to both sides and in front, but colors were not right, trees looked distorted, something suddenly smelled wrong—danger, danger, danger. I ran as fast as trees and brush permitted, Pipkin running beside me until he could no longer keep up. I ran until I was back at Easthampstead, at the edge of the cleared forest. That was better, although still not right. Dizziness overtook me.

Did thrice-braided Sisters really do this often?

Sleepiness replaced the dizziness. The sun stood as high as it would rise, and a hare should be asleep. Danger, danger, danger . . .

I dashed across an open field of heather and bracken . . . that was better! open space!—until I found a hedgerow beside a farm. Inside the hawthorn was dark safety. When Pipkin found me, we curled together, a hare and a mouse, and I slept. But even in sleep, I was somehow aware of my nose twitching, scenting for harm.

If I had dreams, whether those of hare or woman, I did not remember them.

At dusk, I woke, fed on weeds and grasses, and began running east on long, powerful legs. Hearing, smelling, seeing became easier, less strange, although still distasteful. When dawn came, I again hid, waited for Pipkin, and slept fitfully. In late afternoon, I set off again in the failing light, sticking as much as possible to open fields, stopping often so my familiar could catch up, until we came again to Bredham Abbey.

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