At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn by Anne Clinard Barnhill Page A

figure was pressed up against him, a woman. Madge could not see who she was. Madge hurried through the chamber into the queen’s inner rooms. Her head spun.
    Could Cate’s gossip be true? Could the king have tired of the queen so quickly? And the queen, ready to give birth to the prince? Madge could feel the heat rush to her face. He was a monster! A beast!
    When she arrived at the queen’s bedchamber, Madge was glad Her Majesty was asleep. How small she looked in that massive bed of hers! Even grown heavy with child, the queen seemed no bigger than a young maid. Madge crawled into her truckle bed and pulled up her coverlet. She would not speak of what she had seen. Best for the queen to rest easy until the young prince arrived.
    *   *   *
    As the court frolicked during the warmth of summer, though the weather was never so warm as to be without one’s overcoat, lords and ladies staved off boredom with various sports and games. After a brief day of mourning for the death of Lady Suffolk, Brandon’s wife and sister of the king (who had died on the day of Anne’s coronation, though weeks passed before the king got word of his sister’s demise), the frivolities resumed easily. Almost daily, the king and queen attended jousts at the tiltyard, with the king often participating. His favorite jousting partner, the excellent Sir Nicholas Carew, broke many a shield and suffered various cuts and bruises. The king wore green and white, the Tudor colors, and carried his wife’s token as he strove valiantly against Sir Nicholas.
    Like Catherine before her, the queen watched as the king performed his wondrous feats of skill in various sports. His Majesty was particularly good at tenes and the joust. He loved archery so much he made it a law that every man in the land should own and practice with a longbow in case of foreign invasion. Wrestling and hawking amused him, especially hawking, which he had just started to enjoy in his midyears. Of course, the hunt was everything for the king. For indoor entertainments, which Henry could play with the queen, games of dice such as Hazard, Trey, Gobot, and Quenes were the favorites. Her Majesty and Madge loved to play at cards together and Madge had become especially good at Primero, a game for which the king cared nothing. The queen excelled in All Fours and gambled much money, which the king supplied.
    “Come, Lady Margaret, let us go to the lists and watch the king, my husband, unseat that long-legged, dour-faced Nicholas Carew!” said the queen as she clapped her dainty hands together, the long lace of her sleeve fluttering like a tiny flag.
    “Must we, Your Grace? I tire of the king’s breaking of lances. Would you not rather stay here for a quick game of Noddy or Trump?” said Madge as she stood at the queen’s gaming table and shuffled the gilded playing cards.
    “I tire of the king’s mock battles, too, little one,” the queen whispered in Madge’s ear. Then she said loudly, “Tire of the king’s fun?! How dare you even voice such a thought, you slovenly wench,” the queen said as she slapped her hands together so it would seem as if she had disciplined Madge severely. It was a frequent charade played out by the queen when the two cousins were alone in the bedchamber. To the court, Her Majesty had one face; but to Madge, the queen was more of her true self, much as she was when her brother, Viscount Rochford, came to court.
    “Yes, my queen,” said Madge, smiling at Her Grace.
    Madge picked up the queen’s train and together they proceeded from the bedchamber. Madge knew the king, though he visited his wife nightly in her private rooms, no longer shared her bed. The queen had explained that such behavior was seemly because both she and the king desired the birth of the young prince more than anything. Neither would risk jeopardizing a smooth, timely delivery. Madge imagined the king knew his wife’s temperament well enough to realize she must be shown great