The Mirror and the Light

He goes early to his desk. It is a day found, he tells himself. But he pushes away a bundle of letters from Carlisle, picks up a book. It is Rolewinck’s history, where all the dates before Christ are printed upside down. Jane Rochford’s father sent it, and he can never just leave you to read; he writes Mirabilia! beside events he particularly enjoys.

He turns the pages to look at the pictures: Antioch, Jerusalem, Temple of Solomon and Tower of Babel. Rolewinck starts his story in the year 6615 (upside down). He is reading about the coronation of Pope Innocent – which occurred, more or less, the year that he himself was born – when his spaniel Bella runs yapping to the door. From below he can hear, ‘Happy New Year, Mr Gregory!’

Bella runs in excited circles. He calls down: ‘Gregory? Why are you here?’

Gregory bangs in. He does not pause for a greeting. ‘Why did you let this happen? Why did you not stop him?’

‘Stop him?’ he says. ‘How? He said it was to nourish love.’

‘You should have prevented it, sir. You are his councillor.’

‘Gregory, drink off a cup of this, and get warm. I thought you were staying with the queen?’

‘I came to warn you. Henry passed the night, but now he is on his way back.’

One of Thurston’s boys comes in with a platter of pastries, and whisks off the cloth. ‘Venison and currant jelly. Pike and horseradish. Plum and raisin.’

‘You see,’ he says, ‘this is why I’ve come home. At court your food has to walk half a mile, you get it cold.’

Another boy brings a bowl of hot water and a napkin, and Gregory is forced to silence till they are alone. Bella capers on her hind legs as if to divert them. He thinks of the scenes he used to stage with George Cavendish, the cardinal’s man. He would say, ‘Show me how it was, George – who sat where, who spoke first.’ And Cavendish would jump up and play the king.

He can lay out this stage in his mind, where bride and groom meet: the old hall at Rochester, the great fireplace with its carved emblems: a fern, a heart, a Welsh dragon holding an orb. He can follow the king with his train of merry men; they hold their masks loosely, playfully, because they expect to be recognised in seconds. And indeed, as they pass, the new queen’s servants kneel.

‘Anna was warned?’ he asks. ‘She was ready?’

‘She was warned, but she was not ready. The king billowed in, but she was looking out of the window – they were baiting a bull in the courtyard. She cast a glance over her shoulder, then she turned away to the sport.’

He can see what Gregory saw: the bulky shape of the king blacking out the light. And the foggy outline of the queen, with the window behind her: the blank oval of her face, a swift glance from her dark eyes, and then the back of her head.

‘I suppose she did not believe a prince would come in secret. Maybe Duke Wilhelm goes everywhere with trumpeters and drums.’

Even to nourish love, he thinks. There is talk that the Emperor has offered Anna’s brother the Duchess Christina as his bride, if he will hand back Guelders without a fight. He thinks, if I were the Duke of Cleves, I would not give my sea coast for her dimples.

‘The king bowed low.’ Gregory takes a gulp of his wine. ‘And addressed her, but she did not turn. I think she took him for – I do not know what – some Jolly Jankin dressed up for the festival. And so he stood, his hat in his hand – then her people swarmed in, and someone called out, “Madam,” and a phrase to alert her …’ Gregory falters. ‘And then she turned. And she knew who he was. And as Christ is my Saviour, Father, the look in her eye! I will never forget it.’ Gregory sits down, as if at the end of his strength. ‘Nor will the king.’

He picks Bella up, and begins to feed her a pastry, crumb by crumb. ‘Why should she be astonished? I made no false representation.’

‘You did not tell her he was old.’

‘Am I old? Is that what you would first think of, if you described Cromwell? Oh, he is old?’

‘No,’ Gregory says unwillingly.

‘She knew his date of birth. She knew he was stout. Surely, enough gentlemen from her court have passed to and fro? And Hans – Hans could have described him. Who better?’

‘But Hans will never get himself in trouble.’

That much is true. ‘What did the king do?’

‘He fell back. Any man would have been stricken. She flinched from him. He could not miss it.’

‘And?’

‘Then she recovered herself. She dissimulated marvellous well. And so did he. She said in English, “My lord and my king, welcome.”’

It was for him to say, welcome. ‘Go on.’

‘She made a smooth curtsey, very low, as if nothing had occurred. And the king smiled and uplifted her. He said, “Welcome, sweetheart.”’ What it is to be royal, he thinks. Gregory adds, ‘His hand was trembling.’

In his imagined hall at Rochester, the light is failing. Below the queen’s window, soundless, the bull-baiters roar. The dogs hang from the bull’s flesh. Slow gouts of blood patter onto the paving. ‘And the king’s gentlemen? What did they do?’

What he means is, did they see it all?