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

royal bastard! No, I could not face a fate like Mary’s. So I tried to create something different. I tried to find a way where there was no way,” the queen said as she lay down on her side so Madge could rub the whole of her back and a bit of her belly, too.
    “I know, Your Grace. You have achieved greatness. But I fear to tread on the path you’ve carved out. I fear where it leads,” said Madge.
    “All our paths lead to death, cousin. Mayhap mine will come in a scarce two months when I’m brought to bed with the child. The prince could easily be my end,” said Anne.
    “Think not these thoughts. Look instead to the king’s proud face as he holds his long-awaited son! Think how his love for you will flow then,” said Madge. She said these words, but in her heart, she did not believe the king would ever love her cousin as he had before he had come to her bed. It seemed to Madge Henry loved the hunt evermore over the kill.
    *   *   *
    July turned to August and Madge found herself enjoying the warmth, though the light didn’t linger in the heavens as long as it had in July. Already, she sensed the change of seasons. Fall was coming and with it, the birth of the prince. The king had continued his romance with the mysterious lady, though Her Majesty said nothing more about it. However, Madge noticed the queen was more and more complaining with the king, concerned with the loss of her figure, worried that he no longer loved her, fussing about her ladies and how they vexed her at every turn. The king laughed and smiled with the queen, but Madge noticed his eyes did not light up the way they had in the past. He was humoring her because of the child. Madge feared what the queen had said was true—the king no longer loved her.
    Madge tried not to imagine what the loss of the king’s great affection would mean. Instead, she put all her efforts into pleasing the queen and easing her burdens. As the time for her confinement approached, Her Majesty seemed to need Madge more and more. Often, days passed before Madge was allowed to walk in the gardens or join the rest of the ladies for supper in the Main Hall where she might laugh and talk, live easily in the freer air of the court rather than always breathing the stale air of the queen’s apartments. Mostly, Madge did not mind being with the queen when Henry was not around. After supper, the queen would clap her hands, call her musicians, bring the ladies and gentlemen into the privy chamber, and all would frolic, kicking up their heels and leaping. The queen often made up her own steps and those jigs would soon become the most popular in court. Though she was large with the child, Anne still enjoyed the attentions of the king’s men: Sir Brereton, Norris, and the rest. She could move them with a laugh or a flash of her dark, dark eyes.
    One evening, Madge sat near Mistress Seymour, who looked more dour than usual.
    “Lady Jane, why so glum?” said Madge kindly.
    “I have no heart for music. Such a waste of time. All I can think of is how the king has betrayed the true church as well as the true queen,” whispered Lady Jane.
    “You know such talk is treason … why not enjoy the singing and the dancing? You are yet young. Look there at Master Smeaton—how handsome he is as he plucks the lute,” said Madge.
    “Humph. A pretty boy, I’ll give you that,” said Lady Jane.
    “See how he gazes so adoringly at the queen. He sees much to love in our esteemed sovereign. Perhaps you could learn to love her, too,” said Madge.
    “You truly are without insight, Pretty Madge, as I’ve heard you called. Smeaton’s gaze is filled with ardor but not for the queen, ” said Lady Jane.
    “What mean you, milady?” said Madge.
    “I mean that if the priests of old could have their way, dear Mark would burn like a faggot of wood,” said Lady Jane.
    Madge turned away from Lady Jane and stared at Master Smeaton. She did not understand what Lady Jane was talking about. Mark