XIX: December 1515-February 1516
Richmond, December 1515
The main hall of Richmond Palace was aglow with warmth - both from the many candles lit throughout and the number of people gathered within. The smell of mulling wine and baking pies drifting up from the kitchens only added to the impression, as did the boughs of greenery set about on the tables and the windowsills. Henry loved it, as he had always loved Christmas. It reminded him of his mother and the Yuletide celebrations of his childhood. Next to him, Katherine was looking a little worn but still in good spirits as she peeled an orange and laughed at something that Lady Margaret Pole said.
Henry took a generous sip of wine from his goblet and sat it down, “My lady, you are not overindulging yourself, I hope?”
Katherine turned her head and smiled widely at him, resting a hand on her seven months pregnant stomach, “No, my lord. I am perfectly content.”
“Good,” Henry said before going back for another drink of wine. He hated that Katherine was pregnant, for he was struck now with a great desire to take her in his arms and show her how much he appreciated having her as his wife, especially knowing that she was now carrying his son. He glanced over at her - she had finished peeling her orange and plopped a section into her mouth.
“I am going to join the dancers - would you care to accompany me?” Henry asked, extending his hand to Katherine. They had not danced together all evening and no doubt the court would think that was strange, though perhaps they would credit it to the Queen’s advanced pregnancy.
Katherine chewed on her orange section thoughtfully, “I think not, husband. I am feeling very tired this evening so if it is all the same to you, I shall stay here.”
“Very well,” Henry huffed, “I will see you later.”
He took one last long drink from his goblet of wine before walking over to the section of the floor that had been cleared for dancing. The musicians were beginning a gavotte, and Henry found himself paired with a willowy young woman with light blonde hair tucked underneath a dark hood. He guessed from the richness of her dress that she was one of his wife’s household, for Katherine was particularly generous in attiring her ladies around Christmas.
“Your gown is most becoming” Henry ventured as they took their place in the circle and the dance began.
The young woman glanced over at him and Henry could not help but notice the delicate curve of her reddened lips, “Who says so?”
“Nevermind who says it,” Henry replied, surprised but not entirely displeased that she did not recognize him, “But answer me something if you will, you are one of the Queen’s ladies, yes?”
“I am,” answered the young woman, “But I don’t give my name to men whose names I do not know myself.”
Henry chuckled, “A wise choice, madam. You may have my name, it is…Harry.”
“Just Harry?” a bemused expression came over her face, “I have not met a young man here yet whose Christian name was not succeeded by a surname of ancient lineage and any number of titles and positions. And your clothing is far too grand for you to be lacking in title and position yourself.”
“You play this game well for one so young,” Henry said quietly, admiring the young woman’s forthrightness.
She then smiled, which proved to be a dazzling sight, “Well, Harry, there are a number of things that I do well for one so young. You may yet learn what they are…”
Just then, the dance and the music came to a halt. The young woman who had provided such pleasant company for Henry bowed to him and he bowed back, as was only appropriate. He opened his mouth to say something but before he knew it the young woman was gone, lost in a group of other girls her age, all chattering and giggling. He glanced around quickly to see if he could find William Compton and located him at a nearby table.
“My lord,” Compton said when he saw Henry, standing and bowing, “It is a marvelous banquet that you and Her Grace have thrown this year. May I count that we have a roast boar yet to come?”
“We do indeed, Compton,” laughed Henry, “But there is something else on my mind at my moment.” He gave a glance over at Katherine, her stomach still swollen with his child and likely to remain so for at least two more months, and reminded himself that he had done this before.
“I need you to find someone for me,” Henry said, leaning in and speaking in a low voice so that only Compton could hear him, “It was the woman I was dancing with at the gavotte, the one in the soft orange dress. She is one of my wife’s ladies.”
Compton nodded in understanding, “I will find her name, Your Majesty, and be discreet about it. Was there anything else you desired to know of her?”
Henry considered for a moment and knew that there was no use denying, at least with Compton, what his intentions were, “Have her come to my chambers tomorrow evening, alone. See to it that the Queen is not made aware.”
Greenwich, January 1516
“Intriguing,” Bessie Blount said with a wicked smile as the King placed his rook down on the black square.
The King - or Harry, as Bessie still thought of him - raised an eyebrow, “I hardly think my placing a rook is worthy of comment.”
Bessie laughed, “Oh, this coming from the man who would not stop going ‘hmm’ during my last turn.”
This made the King laugh in turn and Bessie’s heart soared. She could hardly believe her good fortune in having captured this man’s attention - and his bed. Since their meeting at Christmas, he had summoned her every night but two and she had lain with him several other times besides. She could not say that she was in raptures of ecstasy after their couplings but she had enraptured him and that was all that mattered.
“I can’t help it if you inspire thoughtfulness in me,” the King said once the laughter had subsided.
“I inspire many things in you, don’t I?”
Bessie rose then, walking over and sliding herself onto the King’s lap, “The Queen is due to give birth soon, isn’t she?” Bessie still served as one of Queen Katherine’s ladies, but Her Grace had a large household and so not everyone entered into confinement with her.
The King nodded, “Yes, the midwife reports that she is probably less than three weeks away from delivering. My prince will be here very soon.”
“Good,” Bessie murmured, “I’m glad. But I…will I still see you, Your Majesty, after Her Grace is churched and you can return to her bed?”
The King opened his mouth as if to say something, and then shut it. His eyes stayed fixed to Bessie’s face, holding her in an intense gaze. She wondered if he was comparing her to his wife, to the Queen. Bessie wasn’t sure that such a comparison would necessarily come out in her favor - surely the Queen, though not as beautiful as she once was, was a more engaging companion for the King.
“I have never strayed while Katherine could have me,” he said finally, “I have taken women to my bed while she was pregnant, but since she gave birth to our first child I have always ceased after she was churched.”
Bessie pressed her lips together and nodded in understanding. So this would be it. The Queen would give birth to the Prince of Wales and she, Bessie, would be cast out of the King’s bed, to be nothing but a used up old whore. For who would have a girl who had willingly corrupted her virtue as she had?
“Do not be sad,” the King said, reaching over and taking Bessie’s face in his hands - his fingers swiped under Bessie’s eyes and she realized that she had started crying, “I will ensure that you are at the least settled comfortably with a man who treats you well.”
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. They sat there, Bessie’s mind racing as she stared at the chessboard. She was so foolish to have believed that the King would not abandon her. She was foolish for having given in so easily. This time it was she who at last broke the silence.
“Swear it.”
“What?”
“Swear it,” Bessie repeated, “On something…important, significant. I would never dream of asking for something from Your Majesty but I have given you everything that I have to offer. Please.”
Wordlessly, the King removed from one of his fingers a striking ring. It had a gold band emblazoned with white roses, and at its center was a stunning opal.
“This ring was crafted for my grandfather, King Edward IV,” he began, “He intended to present it to my grandmother, his wife, but he died before he could do so. My grandmother received it only after the usurper King Richard was overthrown and she immediately gave it to my mother, as a reminder of whose daughter she was. My mother then gave it to me.”
With that, he pressed the ring in Bessie’s soft palm. She looked up at the King, aghast, even as her fingers curled around it.
“This is too much,” she said softly.
“No,” replied the King, “It’s not too much for a man to keep to his word.”
Greenwich, February 1516
Henry was alone in his privy chamber, kneeling at his prie dieu, when he heard the door open behind him followed by a distinctive rustling of fabric. He hardly needed to turn around before he knew that it was Wolsey, who had recently been appointed a cardinal due to Henry’s machinations.
“Speak,” Henry said, in no mood for pleasantries.
“The Queen has given birth,” Wolsey began, “She and the child are both well. She requests that you come and visit them.”
Henry considered this for a moment. No indication had yet been given that he had his son, but surely Katherine couldn’t have given him another girl. Surely not. It had to be a boy this time.
“And its sex?” Henry asked, steeling himself for the answer.
Wolsey’s previously very placid expression slipped a bit and Henry further prepared himself for what was to come, “I am sorry, Your Majesty, but Her Grace has borne a daughter.”
Henry turned away swiftly from his chancellor. How could this have happened? He had been praying almost ceaselessly since Katherine had quickened that she was carrying his Prince of Wales. Praying that his kingdom would be delivered the blessing of a legitimate male heir. And yet it seemed the Lord had spurned him, one of His anointed, yet again. Henry gave a deep sigh and turned back around to face Wolsey, a stony expression fixed on his face.
“Cancel the tournament. Have someone tell Katherine that the child is to be called Anne.”
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