Chapter Nine
When the king yawns the next morning, it’s loud enough to rip me out of my uneasy sleep.
I bolt upright, looking down at the mountain of pillows I stacked between us.
Ripping the wall down, I shove some pillows under my head and hurl the others to the floor before I dive back into a sleeping position.
I close my eyes as the mattress gives under Henry’s weight. He’s inching closer to me, gently shaking my shoulder. “Catherine? Catherine, my love, are you awake?”
This is for the consideration of the academy.
I flutter my eyes open, smiling dreamily when I meet the king’s drowsy gaze. “Good morning,” I mumble, stretching against the pillows.
Henry scratches at his arm. “How long was I asleep?”
Sunlight is pouring in from the windows. It wouldn’t hurt for me to look drowsy, too. “I’m not sure,” I answer, rubbing my eyelids. “I fell asleep right after you. Maybe even before you.” I roll onto my side, propping my hand under my head. “I guess we were tired after our marital activities.”
“Our activities?” Henry’s eyes are still clouded, but he’s intrigued now, too.
I keep my voice playful as I answer him. “You don’t remember? Henry, you did things to me last night that I never even knew were possible. I just hope that I didn’t disappoint you. You have so much more experience than me.”
A prideful red blush colors his bearded cheeks. “Well, I am a bit older than you, Catherine.”
“Barely!” He rolls to face me as I go on, not wanting to miss a word of the verbal gold I’m spewing. “But you were so tender at the same time. When you held me in your arms, after I was literally shaking from wave upon wave of pleasure . . . I just felt so connected to you.”
“Wave upon wave?” he asks hopefully, even boyishly.
I sit up taller to emphasize my words. “Wave. Upon. Wave.” Henry’s eyes are sparkling. He can hardly contain his impish grin.
“I hope I wasn’t too loud,” I admit a little shyly. “I didn’t mean to be, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d be so embarrassed if anyone in the hall heard me.”
Henry sits up against the pillow and takes my hands. “Let it not trouble you. If anyone heard our cries of love, they’ll understand it was because God blessed our union and wished it so.”
“It really was a religious experience.” Henry lets out a carefree sigh. He folds his arms behind his head and looks up at the ceiling. He’s entirely too comfortable. “So how do things work around here?” I ask. “Do I get out of bed first or do you? I’m new to this queen business.”
He gives me an oh-silly-Catherine smile and sits up again, seemingly full of energy. “I will get up first, my love. Your ladies will attend to you shortly, and I’ll see you at dinner this evening.”
He slowly but resolutely makes his way off the mattress. I hop out of bed after him, helping him to put on his robe.
“I miss you already!” I tell him with a gentle shove toward the door.
He gives me a smirk over his shoulder as he knocks and waits.
The door swings open to reveal at least ten lords in the hallway.
It’s utter silence until they erupt in boisterous cheers.
Henry dives into the crowd like a returning sex hero, allowing Bessie and Cecily to sneak in behind him.
They close the doors on the frat-like vibe that’s tangibly pulsating through the hall.
“I suppose it worked, then?” Bessie asks.
“Oh, it worked,” I tell her, falling back into bed. “It worked, and I worked, and now I’m ready for a very long nap.”
Cecily rounds the mattress and pulls me up by my arms. “There’s no rest for the wicked, Your Majesty, especially when there’s a roomful of women waiting to attend to you.”
“What do you mean?”
My arms are still slack in Cecily’s hold when Lady Rochford whips the door open, stomping into the room like an inconvenienced drill sergeant.
“Good morning, Your Majesty. I see that you’re only just out of bed, so once you are bathed, fed, and dressed, we can carry on with your daily goings-on as queen.
If it pleases you, we can attend mass straightaway.
I’ve already attended twice this morning, but who’s counting.
Or, if you prefer, there’s a choir visiting from Wales that is rather good.
They’re assembled in the Great Watching Chamber. ”
I’m so tired after being on Henry-please-stay-comatose watch all night that the thought of listening to high-pitched singers sounds as tempting as a rougher-than-normal pap smear.
I rub my hands over my weary face. “I have a different idea. What if we don’t do any of that, and we decide to have a girls’ day instead?”
Lady Rochford watches me with a mixture of bewilderment and disgust. “What’s a girls’ day?”
There are now over a dozen of us women lounging around in my inner receiving room.
Blankets and pillows are strewn on the floor; we’re fully dressed but with warm washcloths on our faces or cucumbers on our eyes.
I’d like to say that the ladies are embracing the experience, but they look more like a collection of statues that have tumbled to the floor.
William and Bartholomew are providing what’s meant to be a relaxing soundtrack via a lute and flute, but they seem equally uncomfortable.
Bessie is the only one who appears somewhat at ease, but that’s because she’s leaning backwards as she enjoys a snack.
“Bessie, stop eating all the cucumbers.”
She ignores my request and munches on another one. “It seems a shame to waste them.”
“It really does, Your Majesty,” says Lady Wessex. Lady Wessex is in her mid-thirties and is never not scowling. She’s also the only lady-in-waiting who doesn’t suck up to me, and I like her tremendously for it. “And why must we all have food and cloth covering our faces when she doesn’t?”
The group turns to look at Lady Rochford, who is perched on a chair in the corner with her arms crossed. “I’m special,” she says, straight-faced.
I sit myself up from my reclining position to address the room while repositioning Theo, who’s sitting comfortably on my lap. “Okay. I admit that maybe the self-care concept is a stretch in the current sociopolitical climate, but I really just want us all to get to know each other.”
“In what way?” Bessie asks.
I give Theo’s coat a pet as my fingers begin to fidget.
“I think it would be beneficial for everyone if we could connect more. From what I’ve observed, it seems that most of us are a bit suspicious of each other, and it would be great for our mental health if we could support each other and let our guards down when we’re together. ”
“When you say ‘mental health’ . . .” Lady Wessex asks, trailing off at the end.
“I mean how we’re feeling in our minds. Our psychological, emotional, and social well-being. No one should neglect their mental health.”
The room breaks out into laughter, and it takes a good twenty seconds until they settle.
“How about this?” I try. “Let’s do a group exercise.”
“Anne of Cleves didn’t make us do group exercises,” Lady Wessex complains.
She’s referring Henry’s fourth queen (the one before me), whom he was married to for six months before he had the marriage annulled.
It was a political match, but Henry immediately deemed the twenty-four-year-old Anne too “unattractive” for him.
Clearly his self-awareness waved bye-bye and hit the Hampton Court road a long time ago.
Anne was given a settlement and then referred to as the king’s sister.
Some people are just born lucky.
“So, we’re going to play a game called Stand Up, Sit Down.
Everybody, stand up.” I hop up from my place on the floor, setting Theo down beside me.
Slowly but surely, the rest of the ladies do the same.
“In this game, one of us talks about a challenging experience we’ve faced, and then whoever has had the same experience sits down, too.
I’ll go first. I sometimes experience depressive episodes. ”
I sit down, and everyone does the same.
“See, this is great. Lady Wessex, when is one of the times that you’ve felt depressed?”
“This game is inspiring a depressive episode as we speak.”
A number of the women try to hide their laughs. “Okay, well, I’m glad you’re speaking your truth. It’s your turn now. Everyone up.”
Lady Wessex takes an exhausted breath. “Fine. I sometimes worry very deeply about my son, so much so that I make myself sick over it.” She sits down, and half the ladies do the same.
“Thank you for sharing that, Lady Wessex. Do we have any volunteers to go next?”
One of my younger maids, Margaret Sutton, speaks up. “I will. I have trouble sleeping at night for fear of being killed by an angry mob.” She sits down, though no one else does.
“Thank you for sharing that, Margaret,” I tell her. “May I ask why you have that fear?”
“On account that I watched as my entire family was killed by an angry mob.”
William and Bartholomew stop playing. The room falls wholly silent.
“I feel like I should have been prepared for that possibility. I’m very sorry for your loss, Margaret, and, if you're comfortable with it, I would be happy to unpack that with you privately in the very near future.” She stands back up with a nod, and I slowly look out at the rest of the group. “Would anyone else like to go?”
Elizabeth Norworth steps forward. She’s one of my oldest maids of honor and is also one of the quietest. “I will, Your Majesty. When I displeased my father last year, I was forced to fast for a week to show my repentance and obedience.”
Every woman in the room sits down, apart from me.
What the actual fuck?
Every woman in this room has been starved as a form of punishment at some point in their lives.
“I’m sorry you all had to go through that,” I tell them.