A barge passed along the river. People on the banks turned to stare after it. In it sat the most beautiful lady of the King’s court. People saw how the fading sunlight caught her bejeweled person. Her hair was caught up in a gold coif that sat elegantly on her shapely head.

“Nan Bullen!” The words were like a rumble of thunder among the crowd.

“They say the poor Queen, the true Queen, is dying of a broken heart . . .”

“As is her daughter Mary.”

“They say Nan Bullen has bribed the Queen’s cook to administer poison unto Her Most Gracious Majesty . . .”

“They say she has threatened to poison the Princess Mary.”

“What of the King?”

“The King is the King. It is no fault of his. He is bewitched by this whore.”

“She is very lovely!”

“Bah! That is her witchery.”

“’Tis right. A witch may come in any guise . . .”

Women in tattered rags drew their garments about them and thought angrily of the satins and velvets and cloth of gold worn by the Lady Anne Rochford . . . who was really plain Nan Bullen.

“Her grandfather was but a merchant in London town. Why should we have a merchant’s daughter for our Queen?”

“There cannot be a second Queen while the first Queen lives.”

“I lost two sons of the sweat . . .”

They trampled through the muck of the gutter, rats scuttled from under their feet, made bold by their numbers and the lack of surprise and animosity their presence caused. In the fever-ridden stench of the cobbled streets, the people blamed Anne Boleyn.

Over London Bridge the heads of traitors stared out with glassy eyes; offal floated up the river; beggars with sore-encrusted limbs asked for alms; one-legged beggars, one-eyed beggars and beggars all but eaten away with some pox.

“’Tis a poor country we live in, since the King would send the rightful Queen from his bed!”

“I mind the poor lady at her coronation; beautiful she was then, with her lovely long hair flowing, and her in a litter of cloth of gold. Nothing too good for her then, poor lady.”

“Should a man, even if he be a king, cast off his wife because she is no longer young?”

It was the cry of fearful women, for all knew that it was the King who set examples. It was the cry of aging women against the younger members of their sex who would bewitch their husbands and steal them from them.

The murmurs grew to a roar. “We’ll have no Nan Bullen!”

There was one woman with deep cadaverous eyes and her front teeth missing. She raised her hands and jeered at the women who gathered about her.

“Ye’ll have no Nan Bullen, eh? And what’ll ye do about it, eh? You’ll be the first to shout ‘God save Your Majesty’ when the King makes his whore our Queen!”

“Not I!” cried one bold spirit, and the others took it up.

The fire of leadership was in the woman. She brandished a stick.

“We’ll take Nan Bullen! We’ll go to her and we’ll take her, and when we’ve done with her we’ll see if she is such a beauty, eh? Who’ll come? Who’ll come?”

Excitement was in the air. There were many who were ever ready to follow a procession, ever ready to espouse a cause; and what more worthy than this, for weary housewives who had little to eat and but rags to cover them, little to hope for and much to fear?

They had seen the Lady Anne Rochford in her barge, proud and imperious, so beautiful that she was more like a picture to them than a woman; her clothes looked too fine to be real . . . And she was not far off . . . her barge had stopped along the river.

Dusk was in the sky; it touched them with adventure, dangerous adventure. They were needy; they were hungry; and she was rich, and doubtless on her way to some noble friends’ house to supper. This was a noble cause; it was Queen Katharine’s cause; it was the cause of Princess Mary.

“Down with Nan Bullen!” they shouted.

She would have jewels about her, they remembered. Cupidity and righteousness filled their minds. “Shall we let the whore sit on the throne of England? They say she carries a fortune in jewels about her body!”

Once, it was said, in the days of the King’s youth when he feasted with his friends, the mob watched him; and so dazzled were they by his person, that they were unable to keep away from him; they seized their mighty King; they seized Bluff King Hal, and stripped him of his jewels. What did he do? He was a noble King, a lover of sport. What did he do? He did naught but smile and treat the matter as a joke. He was a bluff King! A great King! But momentarily he was in the hands of a witch. There were men who had picked up a fortune that night. Why should not a fortune be picked up from Nan Bullen? And she was no bluff, good king, but a scheming woman, a witch, a poisoner, a usurper of the throne of England! It was a righteous cause; it was a noble cause; it might also prove a profitable cause!

Someone had lighted a torch; another sprang up, and another. In the flickering glow from the flares the faces of the women looked like those of animals. Cupidity was in each face . . . cruelty, jealousy, envy. . . .

“Ah! What will we do to Nan Bullen when we find her? I will tear her limbs apart . . . I will tear the jewels off her. Nan Bullen shall not be our Queen. Queen Katharine forever!”

They fell into some order, and marched. There were more flares; they made a bright glow in the sky.

They muttered, and each dreamed of the bright jewel she would snatch from the fair body. A fortune . . . a fortune to be made in a night, and in the righteous cause of Katharine the Queen.

“What means this?” asked newcomers.

“Nan Bullen!” chanted the crowd. “We’ll have no Nan Bullen! Queen Katharine forever!”

The crowd was swollen now; it bulged and sprawled, but it went forward, a grimly earnest, glowing procession.

Anne, at the riverside house where she had gone to take supper, saw the glow in the sky, heard the low chanting of voices.

“What is it they say?” she asked of those about her. “What is it? I think they come this way.”

Anne and her friends went out into the riverside garden, and listened. The voices seemed thousands strong.

“Nan Bullen . . . Nan Bullen. . . . We’ll not have the King’s whore . . .”

She felt sick with fear. She had heard that cry before, never at such close quarters, never so ominous.

“They have seen you come here,” whispered her hostess, and trembled, wondering what an ugly mob would do to the friends of Anne Boleyn.

“What do they want?”

“They say your name. Listen. . . .”

They stood, straining their ears.

“We’ll have none of Nan Bullen. Queen Katharine forever!”

The guests were pale; they looked at each other, shuddering. Outwardly calm, inwardly full of misery, Anne said: “Methinks I had better leave you, good people. Mayhap when they find me not here they will go away.”

And with the dignity of a queen, unhurried, and taking Anne Saville with her, she walked down the riverside steps to her barge. Scarcely daring to breathe until it slipped away from the bank, she looked back and saw the torches clearly, saw the dark mass of people, and thought for a moment of what would have happened to her if she had fallen into their hands.

Silently moved the barge; down the river it went towards Greenwich. Anne Saville was white and trembling, sobbing, but Lady Anne Rochford appeared calm.

She could not forget the howls of rage, and she felt heavy with sadness. She had dreamed of herself a queen, riding through the streets of London, acclaimed on all sides. “Queen Anne. Good Queen Anne!” She wanted to be respected and admired.

“Nan Bullen, the whore! We’ll not have a whore on the throne. . . . Queen Katharine forever!”

“I will win their respect,” she told herself. “I must . . . I must! One day . . . one day they shall love me.”

Swiftly went the barge. She was exhausted when she reached the palace; her face was white and set, more haughty, more imperious, more queenly than when she had left to join the riverside party.

There was a special feast in the dormitory at Horsham. The girls had been giggling together all day.

“I hear,” said one to Catherine Howard, “that this is a special occasion for you. There is a treat in store for you!”

Catherine, wide-eyed, listened. What? she wondered. Isabel was smiling secretly; they were all in the secret but Catherine.

She had her lesson that day, and found Manox less adventurous than usual. The Duchess dozed, tapped her foot, admonished Catherine—for it was true she stumbled over her playing. Manox sat upright beside her—the teacher rather than the admiring and passionate friend. Catherine knew then how much she looked forward to the lessons.

She whispered to him: “I have offended you?”

“Offended me! Indeed not; you could never do aught but please me.”

“Methought you seemed aloof.”

“I am but your instructor in the virginals,” he whispered. “It has come to me that were the Duchess to discover we are friends, she would be offended; she might even stop the lessons. Would that make you very unhappy, Catherine?”

“Indeed it would!” she said guilelessly. “More than most things I love music.”

“And you do not dislike your teacher?”

“You know well that I do not.”

“Let us play. The Duchess is restive; she will hear our talking at any moment now.”

She played. The Duchess’s foot tapped in a spritely way; then it slowed down and stopped.

“I think of you continually,” said Manox. “But with fear.”

“Fear?”

“Fear that something might happen to stop these lessons.”

“Oh, nothing must happen!”

“And yet how easily it could! Her Grace has but to decide that she would prefer you to have another teacher.”