The Unfaithful Queen: A Novel of Henry VIII's Fifth Wife by Carolly Erickson

palaces,” was all the king said—and all he needed to say. Neither of my duller cousins had captivated him, that much was plain.
    Malyn took one of the purses of coins.
    “Ah,” said King Henry. “And is it your hope to enrich your future husband, or to enrich yourself, so that you need not marry?”
    Malyn did not shrink from the king’s scrutiny, or from his frank question.
    “I hope my future husband will praise me for my prudence, in choosing what will make me more secure.”
    “Then you must marry a moneylender!” the king retorted, making us all laugh.
    Elizabeth Holland selected a heavy gold trencher from the table of gifts.
    “Beware of getting fat as you age,” was the king’s remark. “Husbands prefer slender women.” His tone was dismissive.
    Elizabeth, insulted, looked back at the king, at his thick, big-bellied body, burly and fleshy, his plump cheeks, his long swollen legs.
    “And wives prefer slender men,” was all she said, but in a cutting tone that made the king leap at once to his feet, so quickly and so athletically that one could almost forget how heavy he was.
    He glowered at Elizabeth, then summoned one of the attendant chamber gentlemen.
    “See that this woman and her trencher are returned to Lambeth. And that she is banished from court!” he said loudly. In a moment she was taken away.
    In the uncomfortable silence that followed, the king, looking angry, muttered, “Better a soft bed than a hard harlot,” but this time no one laughed.
    “Well, she is Lord Norfolk’s harlot, is she not? It offends me that he should send her here, his old, used-up whore!”
    I wished with all my strength, at that moment, that I had never come to the palace. That I could slip away, quietly and unseen. The others around me were ill at ease, shuffling their feet, looking down at their laps, fingering their chosen gifts.
    I was the only one who had not made my choice. The king was watching me. Was he still angry? I could not read his features. I sat where I was, tense and anxious.
    But he was coming toward me, his tread light. When he spoke his voice was soft.
    “And you, dear lady? What will be your choice?” I looked up at him, standing before me, dazzling in his sparkling coat, his light blue eyes enigmatic, questioning. Once again I felt many pairs of eyes on me.
    “Your Majesty,” I managed to say, “I am awed by your generosity. So many beautiful things to choose from, and all from your bounty.”
    He nodded in satisfaction, a smile on his thin pale lips.
    “But I must choose the monkey. I must free him.”
    “Well said, Catherine,” was his soft reply. “Well said.”
    He went to the table and, lifting the gilded cage, brought it to me and laid it at my feet. The monkey tilted his head back and lifted his small face to regard me gravely, sadly, as it seemed to me.
    “He is a marmoset, from Brazil. He is the only one who survived. Thirty were captured, but the others perished on the voyage home.”
    I bent down to put my hand on the gilded bars of the cage. The creature slowly put its own small hand opposite mine.
    “Catherine! Don’t let that horrid thing bite you!”
    It was Charyn’s scolding voice.
    “I don’t think he will.”
    Even through the bars I could feel the warmth of the small hand, with its delicate fingers and pink palm. Then, without warning, the creature seemed to smile, baring its teeth. Was it a smile, or a grimace?
    I pulled my hand back—and the king grasped it in his far larger one.
    He bent down to whisper in my ear. I could hear the dangling ornaments on his cap jangle as he did so. His breath against my cheek was hot—and so foul that I wanted to draw away from him.
    “I would not have this little hand be hurt—not for anything,” he whispered, squeezing my hand. Then he released it, and straightened up.
    “Now, ladies, I must return to my papers.” He clapped loudly, and his men of business came back into the room. One by one we curtseyed to King