Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story; all your comments are greatly appreciated. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of this. Thanks for reading, and reviews/constructive criticism welcome.

Chapter Ten: The Book of Hours.

Mary Boleyn fumbled with the lacing at the back the Queen's bodices, the cords now straining against her rapidly expanding middle. Anne's knuckles whitened as she gripped bed post, and leaned forwards, breathing in as much as she could. She could feel Mary tugging as the laces, struggling to untie the knot. Pregnancy left little room for dignity, and things were about to get worse. Lady Mary Howard stepped into the chamber, and announced the arrival of the King.

"God's death, sister, hurry up!" snapped Anne, looking over her shoulder at Mary who was still fighting to loosen the knots. "He can't see me like this."

"I'm … trying …" she hissed through gritted teeth.

Finally, Mary hooked her fingernail through the knotted cord, gave one firm tug and the bindings loosened. Anne lurched forwards, but caught herself in time, and panted, gasping in lungfuls of air, as though she had just emerged from deep waters, and groaned with relief.

"What happened?" Anne panted. "It was fine this morning!"

Mary hurriedly began organising a new, loose fitting but elegant gown for Anne to wear while receiving the King. Although the pregnancy was still relatively early, the swelling was already showing. A good sign, or so every said. However, Mary had bed news for Anne.

"You can't wear these bodices any more," she informed her. "You'll be swelling like a pan loaf from now until the babe is born."

"Wonderful," replied Anne as held out her arms for the new gown to slipped over her head. "Still, he's strong and he's healthy. That's all that matters."

Mary took Anne's hand and led her out into main apartments, where she and the King would be going over the day's business. These days, however, Henry would use any excuse at all to drop everything to come and see Anne. The visit was as likely to nothing, as it was business. He was seated, glass of wine in hand, when she entered. He got up, turned to face her, and beamed.

"You look beautiful," he greeted her. "Let me look at you."

Anne thought she looked like a beached whale, and that Henry was merely being considerate.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she replied as Mary eased her down into the seat opposite Henry's.

Once he, too, had sat back down, he leaned over and handed her a sheaf of papers that were left on a cabinet at his side.

"This," he said with a nod to the papers that Anne was now frowning at. "Is a report from my Church commissioners. They have investigated fifty monastic houses, and those are just some of the abuses they found."

Eagerly, Anne began reading the reports. The first came from an Abbey in Yorkshire. Concubines lodged in the cellar of the Prior's house, and the local parish littered with his bastard offspring. It was typical of what she had come to expect. But, the final report made her gasp in shock at the audacity of the monks. It seemed a pious and charitable house, at first glance. The monks travelled to nearest town, some twenty miles, to collect donations to distribute as alms amongst the poor of their neighbouring hamlet. However, on further inspection, the local hamlet was a settlement that had lain abandoned since the population was wiped out by Black Death some two hundred years ago. Even Anne could not begin to fathom how the abuses had lasted for all that time.

"Why did no one check that the ghost parishioners actually existed?" she asked, exasperated.

"No one questions the monks, Anne, except for the reformers," replied Henry. "And the hamlet was said to be inaccessible, except in summer. It was remote; isolated even. There are several such places around the country that do exist, so why question this one?"

"What is to be done?" asked Anne as she handed the report to Mary, who handed it back to the King.

"The whole lot are to be closed down," he replied bluntly. "All fifty will be shut and sold off to the highest bidder within the month."

Anne smiled contentedly. "The people will be relieved, and reassured, that you have taken such decisive action to protect them from such corruption," she assured him, But, he looked hurt, as though he had taken it as a personal insult. "Is something else the matter?"

Henry looked at her, his expression unreadable. He looked away again, and agitatedly ran his hands through his hair. "Its Wolsey," he said. "I got a letter from Cromwell. Wolsey's been ill. Very ill."

"Is Cromwell still serving him?" asked Anne, missing the point about the Cardinal's illness.

Henry frowned at the question, but swept it aside.

"Of course," he replied. "They are good friends. But Wolsey is likely to die, Anne. I know how you feel about him, but he always been there for me."

Anne hadn't meant to sound crass. She got to her feet, and wrapped her arms around Henry.

"I know darling," she said. "I am sorry, I did not mean to be harsh."

The reports sounded grim. He was travelling back from York in the company of the earl of Northumberland, Harry Percy. They had reached Leicestershire, and the Cardinal was stricken with stomach pains, and then began to void black blood from his body. Henry returned her embrace, shifting her onto his lap so she could be more comfortable.

"I have to go away for a few days," he said. "A week or two at most."

Anne's body stiffened. "Why?"

"I need to see somebody," he replied vaguely. "I'll be back soon, I promise."

She was about to protest further, when Henry cut her off with a kiss. That done, he helped her get back to her feet and left. Anne watched him go, frowning at the door he had vanished through.

"Are you all right?" asked Mary as she came to walk Anne back to her bed chamber.

"I suppose he has a mistress, now," she said sadly. "I understand. I cannot lie with him because of the baby."

Even as she spoke, tears welled in her eyes. But Mary batted her concerns away.

"No, Anne. Its a business trip, I am certain of it."

Her emotions had been scattered to the four winds since she got with child. One minute ecstatic; the next crying over the most trivial of things. Earlier, she had snapped at one of her ladies, Madge Shelton, for reading some of Thomas Wyatt's poetry, when she should have been attending to the Privy Chamber. Now she was growing suspicious of her own husband. She linked her arm through Mary's, and stifled her tears.

"You're right," replied Anne as she rationalised it all in her head. "I'm being silly."

But, as she lay back down on the bed, ready for a much needed rest, doubts shadowed her thoughts. Henry hadn't wanted to tell her where he was going. He was cagey, and vague about when he would return. But, he had been as attentive as ever. She ran her hands over the growing bump. 'When I have a son,' she thought to herself. 'He will never stray again.'

Arthur looked down at the book in his hands. It belonged to Catherine, and he had found it lying in the Solar. The frontispiece was loose, the leather jacket battered and scuffed, and the pages were hanging from their bindings. He turned it over, and dug his finger into a dent where a gem had once been fixed. When it was new, it would have been something special. He lifted the jacket, and read the fading, scrawled, inscription on the page, above the publishers colophon.

'Dear Catalina, Princess of Wales. For your journey through many lands, and across the narrow sea, I give you this to guide and keep you. Remember me, your mother, Queen Isabella."

It was an old book of hours, given to Catherine to mark out the milestones in her life. Her wedding to him had been noted in black ink that was now fading. Catherine had noted her first meeting with Queen Elizabeth, and the dance at the wedding feast with Prince Henry. Arthur thought that she had fallen in love with him, and he with her. But, scrawled in the margin of the relevant page were the words: 'interminable little show off' in Spanish. Even all these years later, he felt himself flush at his misjudged presumption.

He was about to reach into his bag to get the right tools to mend the damaged book, when curiosity overwhelmed him again. He thumbed the pages delicately until he reached the month of April, 1501, not long after the wedding pages. He sought the correct date, and held his breath as he tried to make out what Catherine had written about his death. The ink had run, the characters that made up each word blurred and flowed into each other making it indecipherable. That whole part of the page had been spoiled by tears.

Arthur snapped the book shut and dropped it onto the table. He hadn't known what to expect, but for some reason he hadn't expected that. But she grieved for him. The evidence, louder than any words written on a fading page, was right in front of him. He got to his feet, and looked out of the Solar window. Catherine and Mary were walking their dogs together in the grounds of the Castle. Lady Salisbury and the other women were trailing behind them. He willed her to look up, but Catherine was engrossed in conversation with her daughter, oblivious to what was going in his head.

"Your Grace," said Ursula from across the room. "Is everything all right?"

Arthur had forgotten that she was even there. She had one of Mary's gowns spread out on her lap, and she was just finishing edging the hems with some gold threads to repair some wear and tear in the fabric. She set it to one side, and crossed the room to where he stood at the window, and circled her arm around his waist.

"Forgive me," he said, placing an arm around her shoulders. "I just … I just got a bit of a shock is all."

Ursula turned to look at the book lying on the table, and frowned. "From that?" she asked with a nod its direction.

Arthur, already feeling lewdly voyeuristic for reading what was contained in its pages, couldn't bring himself to tell Ursula what he had read. Instead, he just shrugged his shoulders, and steered her back towards her seat by the fire. He sat there and pulled her into his lap.

"I'm just mending it for Catherine," he explained. "Its just an old book, nothing more."

Ursula knew there was something else, but she did not press the issue. But the small smile faded from her lips as she rested her cheek against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. She closed her eyes, listening to the beat of his heart as she gathered her thoughts. She laced her index finger through the open collar of his shirt, and caressed his chest, coming to a rest over his left breast, where the heart beat jumped beneath his skin.

"I think you still love her," she said, her voice distant and low. "But a marriage isn't like an old book. You can't just tie the loose bindings a little tighter and hope it all holds together."

"Its not love," he replied with a sigh. "Its far more complicated than that."

King Henry dismounted his horse outside The More. He sniffed at the air again, relishing the cool autumnal breeze; always welcomed after the oppressive heat of the summer. The leaves on the trees were beginning to bronze in the turning of the year, and soon, he sensed, the winter would be setting in all around the country. He shrugged the sables tighter around his shoulders as he tossed the horses reins to the stable hand. As soon as his grooms, guards and servants had joined him, he set off into the grounds of the castle itself.

He had barely reached the porch, when his daughter spotted him. Mary yelped with excitement, and tugged her hand free of Catherine's before tearing across the front lawns. Catherine managed a smile as she watched father and daughter being reunited. But, the visit was unexpected. There were no chambers prepared for the King, and she had not seen Arthur in over two days. They had been skilfully dodging each other for some time.

"Your Majesty," she said with a curtsey as she joined Mary at his side. "This is a surprise."

"Your Grace," replied Henry, now with Mary in his arms. "Forgive the intrusion, but I came on a secret errand."

He winked at her, making her laugh. Anne was obviously not willing to let him off the lead.

"Papa, has come to see us," Mary piped up enthusiastically.

"Come on, let's get inside its freezing," Henry stated, walking towards the door. "Did you miss me? I missed you?" he said to Mary, squeezing her tight.

Once they were inside the great hall, they warmed themselves by the fire with a glass of spiced wine from a cask rustled up by the servants. Others had been despatched to prepare chambers for the King, as already the dusk was settling in. He wouldn't be able to return to London that day. Catherine sighed at the sudden inconvenience, but at least Mary had not been forgotten. The King had brought her a gift of fabrics (for a new gown), and some books for her studies.

"I must speak with the duke," said Henry, once they had got settled in. "Any idea where he is?"

"I have not seen him today," replied Catherine. "But, our servant here can take you up to the Solar, he is probably in there."

"Excellent. But tell me, how is he settling back in?" he asked, taking Catherine aside so that they could speak privately, away from the hive of servants. "It must be an upheaval for him, and I worry. Is he well?"

Catherine look up him, and found herself struggling to reply. She found herself consumed by an irrational sense of guilt. She had no idea of how he was settling in, or of how he was feeling. She hadn't bothered to ask, and she hadn't bothered to consider the upheaval in his life. For want of anything better to say, she simply replied:

"I think it would be best for you to see him yourself."

So it was that Henry found himself outside the solar door not five minutes later. He could hear the sound of his brother's voice, muffled by the closed door, so dismissed the servant who had escorted him through the castle, tossing him a silver coin as a tip as he went. He knocked once, but opened the door without waiting for an answer.

As he stepped inside, however, the chamber's two occupants looked at him like two thieves caught in the act. A moment too late, there was a blur of flying skirts as Lady Ursula shot up from Arthur's lap and sank into a deep curtsey, as though she hoped that King had not noticed what she and Arthur were doing. Following Ursula's cue, Arthur got up and bowed, giving himself time to figure out how he was going to explain it all to Henry.

Henry looked from one to the other, and back again.

"Lady Pole," he said to her. "If you don't mind, I need to speak with His Grace in private."

Ursula was up at the door within the second, but as she left, she looked back over her shoulder. She smiled, and gave Arthur a nod of encouragement. As soon as the door was closed behind her, and her footsteps receded down the outer gallery, Henry led Arthur over to the window.

"What was all that about?" he asked, nodding towards the spot where Arthur and Ursula had been caught in each other's arms. "Does Cate know?"

"There is nothing to know-"

"That didn't look like nothing to me," snapped Henry. "I cannot have your royal blood, and hers, in a bastard child. Do you understand?"

Arthur sagged against the window behind his back, and sighed. "She stakes no claim to the throne," he said, trying to placate his brother's fear. "But that's not the point. We're just … friends. Friends who … console each other."

"Find consolation in the arms of your wife," retorted Henry. "Anyway, I haven't come here to lecture you on morality."

"Thank God."

"I have come to hire you," said Henry, placing his bag on the table, and taking out a large, leather bound volume. "This."

Arthur pushed himself away from the window ledge to look the book over. A Bible. He turned the fine parchment pages, noting their crisp newness. Each page had been hand painstakingly hand written. But, it was plain text. No illuminations had been added, and Arthur guessed that was his job.

"Its beautiful," he said. "And English. The Pope could excommunicate you for that."

"Never mind the Bishop of Rome," he spat. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "I want you to illuminate it. It's a surprise for Queen Anne. She has always wanted a decorated English Bible. Not some tattered old thing that's been smuggled into the country in the back of a wool crate, that smells of sheep by the time it reaches England."

Arthur paused, mid way through turning a page. He did not want to speak out of turn, or overreach himself. He was painfully aware that any advice he imparted to Henry may sound like he was trying to do the King's job, and that could lead to misunderstandings. But, if an occasion called for it, it was then.

"This Bible," he said. "It is only for the Queen's use?"

Henry paused; a hesitation that betrayed him.

"And her ladies," he replied at length. "Why shouldn't people be able to read the word of God, in their own language? What is the priests are trying to hide? That fact that Purgatory is not mentioned anywhere, or that Bishops of Rome are not mentioned anywhere?"

Arthur turned back to the book, and decided to withdraw from a debate. He agreed with the reformers, to an extent. He saw no harm in a Bible translated into the vernacular; that Latin was not the only language the devil couldn't understand. He loathed the corruption as much as anyone. But, he saw the path that Henry was on was a dangerous one; a collision course with the might of Rome. He, for one, wouldn't want to be around at the moment of impact.

"Just be cautious, brother," he advised, and then changed tack before they could stuck on any thorny issues. "I will do it, and I pray the Queen will like it well enough."

"No expense spared, and I'll reimburse you from my own Privy Purse," replied Henry, giving him a hearty slap on the back. "Thank you, Arthur."

With their business concluded, and the night settling in outside, the two of them dined alone together. The servants were admitted to bring in their meal of venison and beef. There were decanters of warmed wine left out, and then the staff were dismissed. It occurred to Arthur that they had never dined together, even before he left. The atmosphere was relaxed; the gesture spontaneous. It could even be called normal.

Once the first course had been finished, Henry set down his knife and fork, and topped up their glasses with red wine. It was only then that Arthur sensed another "talk" coming on, and he wasn't wrong.

"Catherine is a good woman," said Henry, frowning at his glass as though he were addressing it, rather than Arthur. "If I am honest, she probably deserves better than both of us."

"I know that," Arthur replied flatly.

Henry paused before speaking again. It seemed that Arthur was not the only who carefully chose his words. But eventually, he added:

"Perhaps you ought to speak with her. She may surprise you."

"Catherine won't even be in the same room as me," protested Arthur. "What can I do? I can't tie her up and make her listen."

"Catherine is a good woman," repeated Henry.

"So you said."

"You miss the point, Arthur," said Henry, fixing him in a hard stare. "She is a very good woman, and a very good wife. She knows why you have sent for the Pole girl, and she knows you're carrying on with her. She is just too good to take it up with you. Send the girl away, and you'll find Catherine to be far more amenable."

Arthur choked on his wine. "This started before I sent for Ursula!"

"No, it got worse when you sent for Ursula," Henry hotly retorted. "I know Cate. I know Cate better than anyone. I know how she feels, and I know what's etched in her heart. How hard did you try with Cate, before you summoned your mistress into her home?"

"She is not my mistress!"

"Cate's heard that one before," Henry laughed aloud. Once he calmed down, he calmly added: "I am speaking to you as your brother; man to man. Just give it one more try."

It was hard for him not to sound smug. But Henry thought of Anne, waiting for him at Hampton Court. He thought of the baby growing in her belly, and of the marital harmony that he had found with her. Their future was set. He wanted the same for Arthur, if possible. But he let the matter drop as they continued their meal.

"When do you return to Court?" asked Arthur as they finished eating.

"I am not sure," replied Henry as he rang the bell for the servants to re-enter. "In two days, I ride for Leicestershire. Wolsey is dying."

"The Cardinal?"

Henry nodded sadly. "Yes," he said. "I must make haste; Anne doesn't know about it. She'd get upset if she knew."

Arthur turned to look his brother in the eye, but bit back the words on his tongue. He couldn't help but wonder why the King of England was sneaking around behind his wife's back just to see his old friend. Instead, he decided to mind his own business, and let Henry's private life remain just that.

Once Henry had retired for the night, Arthur picked up the old book of hours again. He looked at its sorry state, and thought of Catherine. He could fix the book easily enough. He could make it as good as new. He slid the bulky bible to one side, and picked up the tools of his book trade. The servants were summoned to light fresh candles, and he prepared himself to make an effort.