Part IV

Calais, Summer 1520

"Ha! I win!" Francois spread his arms triumphantly, as the English King sprawled in the sand at his feet. The French nobles scattered around them clapped sycophantically, and he swept them a theatrical bow.

"Vive le roi!" they shouted.

The English, meanwhile, watched their King cautiously. They all knew only too well how badly the King took to losing. Would he be more gracious in front of a fellow monarch?

For a moment, they feared the worst, for King Henry's face clouded over as he was hurriedly helped to his feet. But then his eyes, absently roaming the space further back in the yard, lighted upon a clutch of Englishwomen, among them the Lady Mary Carey.

"You might well take the win on the field, Francois," he chuckled, with only the slightest hint of forced gaiety about his words, "but I believe I win between the sheets."

So saying, he clapped Francois on the back, casting a telling glance, first at the stout Queen Claude, and then at Lady Carey as he did so. Francois followed his gaze.

"Marie Boleyn? She is your sweetheart?"

"Is she not a delectable creature? I ride her so often, I might as well call her my mare rather than Mary."

Francois's jaw dropped, "She has yielded to you? Mon frere, you are the luckiest man alive! There is not a man in France who has not dreamed of possessing that beauty. She refused them all!"

"Ah well, you see, we Englishmen know how to pursue what we want. We don't give up at the first hurdle. Indeed, we see it as a badge of honour to catch something that may not want to be caught."

"Ah I see! How do you say, A bird in the hand is worth two in the tree?"

"In the bush, but yes, indeed."

It was Francis's turn to chuckle, "I fear for my son, brother. It would appear I have yoked him to a veritable Diana. She too, knows what she wants, does she not?"

Henry laughed as the memory of his daughter Mary pushing the Dauphin down for refusing her kiss a few nights before entered his head.

"She does, she does!"

Outwardly, then, good humour was restored between the Kings as they retreated to the pavilion to dine with their Queens, but for Mary, catching the King's eye as he passed her, the matter was not over. She knew it was not. King Henry had been humiliated by losing that wrestling match, and he was bound to want to restore his pride later that night.

She winced at the very thought of what that could mean for her.

It was funny, Mary reflected, how sisterly relationships could work. She had never even wanted the King to turn his attention to her, and yet here she was, preparing to take tea with her sister in her finest gown, his obnoxious circlet gleaming atop her head.

She caught her younger sister unawares with her unusually ostentatious display. Oh, Anne hid it well enough that no one else would have known, but Mary had grown up with her sister. She saw the half-step backwards Anne took as she realised just how opulent Mary's rooms were in this faux-palace of King Henry's.

"My, my, you have gone up in the world, haven't you, Mary?" Anne arched an eyebrow, before crossing the room to kiss her older sister's cheek.

There was a half-moment of awkwardness as she bent, Mary deliberately lounging on her padded divan rather than meeting Anne halfway.

Mary waited for her younger sister to sit down before shrugging elegantly, "What can I say? King Henry is good to me. It would be churlish of me to refuse his favours."

"Favours," Anne scoffed, "Like you're not paying for every pearl he gives you with something far more precious than jewels."

Mary couldn't help but flush at the truth in that comment. Eighteen months apart had dulled her memory of just how sharp Anne was; how quick she was to get to the nub of any situation.

"You can't say no to a King, sister," she snapped, before holding out an imperious hand for a goblet of mead. The page who handed it to her looked askance at her – Lady Carey wasn't usually this high-handed in demeanour – but said nothing, only handing Anne a goblet too and then retreating out of earshot, as Mary continued, "Besides, Papa's happy enough with the way I'm handling things. Did he tell you he's to be made Viscount Rochford before the summer is out?"

"He did," Anne murmured, before sighing, "But Papa is, well, a man. He doesn't know what it truly means for a woman to lose her good name."

"What, and you do? Christ, Anne, you're not even fourteen! What would you know of this situation?"

"I have eyes and I have ears. Your King has hardly been discreet over his favour of you, Mary. Did you think the French wouldn't notice that he jousted in your colours alongside the Princess Mary's? That he danced with you last night, almost to the exclusion of all other women? The English might hold their tongues as long as you're in favour, if only to save themselves from royal wrath, but that does not hold true for this court. And your conduct has been deplorable these past few days. I mean, really? Riding pillion behind King Henry at a hunt held to honour Princess Mary's betrothal to the Dauphin? It'll be all over Christendom before the month is out, you mark my words. And that will sully me as well, don't you dare say it won't. I'll be nothing more than the younger sister of the King of England's whore!"

"Get out."

Gone was the veneer of sisterly closeness. Mary was so furious, stinging so much from Anne's well-directed tirade, that she could form only two words, "Get out."

"Oh, so you're dismissing me now, are you?" Anne tossed her dark head as she sprang to her feet, "You're dismissing me because you can't bear the truth! Well, Queen Mary, enjoy the favour while it lasts, but don't come crying to me when it's over."

She swept to the door, her manner as regal as that of her mistress, the Duchess of Angouleme.

"You speak as though I had a choice," The words fell from Mary's lips before she could stop them, "If you truly claim to understand this situation, Anne, if you claim to know Kings, then do you truly believe I had a choice? In any of it?"

Anne hesitated.

"You could have said no," she said at last. "You could have said no. You could have fled Court. You could have begged William to take you with him to Portugal. You could have done any one of those things, Mary. But you didn't. Instead, you ride around on your cushioned litter, acting the part of a woman far higher born than you are. So forgive me if I don't exactly pity you."

Without another word, she was gone.

The physicians swarmed through Mary's rooms, one prodding and poking her, the other studying her urine with such intensity, you might have been forgiven for thinking it held the secrets of the universe.

From her ungainly position on her back with her legs spread-eagled for anyone to see, Mary sighed. She wished she could send them away. But King Henry had insisted she let them see her, had insisted that, even if she did have a delicate stomach at times, it wasn't normal for a sickness bug to last a full month at a time without abating or getting worse.

And powerful though her influence on the King might make her, that power did not extend to refusing a direct royal command. Hence the commotion and her current ungainly position.

"If you'll pardon the intrusion, Madam, when did you last have your courses?"

Dr Butts looked up at her and Mary flushed scarlet, "I don't see that that's any concern of yours!" she snapped.

He held her gaze levelly, "Forgive me, Madam, but it might very well be."

Mary bit back her retort and tried to think. Her panic rose when she realised she was drawing a blank. She knew she'd bled before they went to France, but that was back in June. Surely she must have had her courses since then!

"Lady Carey?"

Mary shook herself as she realised Dr Butts was still waiting for an answer.

"Forgive me, Sir. I was just trying to think. I can't honestly remember."

Dr Butts nodded.

"Then, may I suggest, Madam, that you seek out the services of a midwife and ask her opinion? I think there is a very high chance that you may be with child."