Greenwich, October 1524
Henry was strolling in the gardens when he suddenly came face-to-face with Anthony Knivert. Startling slightly – he hadn’t known Anthony was back from Middleham – he gave a great bellow of joy.
“Anthony! What a pleasant surprise! Have the pleasures of Yorkshire palled at last?”
Anthony shrugged, “Well, you know me, Sire. I prefer to be doing things. The life of a northern gentleman will never be for me. And may I offer belated personal congratulations on the recent additions to your family. Lord Richard, Lady Katharine and Lady Jacquetta will be the treasures of the country as they grow, I have no doubt.”
“Indeed, indeed. They already are!” Henry said jovially, his face lighting up at the thought of the three young children who, if Lady Bryan’s missives were to be believed, enjoyed wreaking havoc in the nursery at Eltham. He clapped Anthony on the back, laughing.
“You’ll understand when you’re a father yourself. There’s no sign of a young Knivert yet?”
“Sadly, Your Majesty, no. I fear Lady Lovell and myself would need to be rather fonder of each other than we are for there to be any chance of that.”
Anthony tried to laugh the matter off, but Henry fixed him with a beady eye.
“What’s this? Is Lady Lovell still too proud a minx to do her marital duties?”
Anthony spread his hands, “Suffice it to say, Sire, that she prefers to spend her time in whichever one of our manors I am
not currently residing in.”
Then, before Henry could press him any further, he laughed, “But. What does that matter, now that I am back at Court and have left her to the mercies of Yorkshire? Court can’t have changed that much. There must be half a dozen young hussies ready and waiting to throw themselves in my direction for the sake of a few trinkets and a well-turned calf. And if the rumours are true and Your Grace has given up any hope of sowing wild oats, why, then, there’s only all the more for me!”
Henry felt a frisson of distaste run down his spine at Anthony’s careless words, but he shrugged it off. His friend wouldn’t be the first man to seek solace from an unhappy marriage in another woman’s bed. Besides, seeing Anthony had given him an idea.
He slung his arm over Anthony’s shoulders.
“Scores, my old friend,” he said brightly, “But I fear you may have to find them in Rouen, rather than London!”
“Sire?” Anthony glanced sideways at him, queries written all over his gaze.
“You say you wish to be doing things. How would you like to lead a force of men to Normandy for me? I’ve plans to invest Lord Richard as Duke of Normandy, which means King Francis won’t be getting Avranches as part of my daughter’s dowry. The cockerel’s bound to be annoyed by it. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and seize them back by force so I want to pre-empt that. Take a force of 2000 men and hold the borders for me.” Seeing Anthony about to say something, Henry held up a hand, “I want it to be a show of strength, no more, but even that should be enough to make the French stripling think twice about poking the sleeping lion. What do you say? Will you do it?”
Anthony’s heart leapt at the thought of returning to military duties. He’d always been a man of action. Moreover, the fact that those duties would take him abroad would mean that no one would think twice about his leaving his young wife behind for however long they took.
Careful to hide the delight in his eyes behind a mask of solemnity, he bowed at the waist.
“Your wish is my command, My Lord.”