Alys shot a quick look at Hugo from under her eyelashes. 'Yes,' she said. 'May I go now?'

Hugo smiled, his eyes resting on her, his look thoughtful, and nodded her away. Alys, her eyes on the floor, her face pale, went out of the heavy door and closed it quietly behind her.

'Not long now,' Morach said, watching Hugo's eyes following Alys to the door. 'Not long now,' she said with malicious satisfaction. 'What?' Catherine demanded impatiently. Morach's grin was irrepressible. 'I said, not long now. I was thinking of a game I know.'

Sixteen

The old lord kept Alys with him after dinner, he had a letter by messenger from his cousin in London. The man had come slowly, overland up the Great North Road, travelling with others delayed by snowdrifts. The news he brought was a week old. But gossip and rumours have a long life. Lady Jane Seymour had been given her own apartments at Greenwich Palace – as grand as those of the Queen. Rochford, the Queen's brother, was not to be elected to the Garter. That honour was given elsewhere. The King had danced with Lady Jane Seymour all evening. The King and the Queen were to watch a May Day joust together but the court was seething with stories of a quarrel between the Queen and King when she had stripped the baby Princess Elizabeth naked and thrust her at him, demanding if he could find a flaw, a single flaw, on the chubby little body. Another perfect child would follow the first, she swore. But the King had turned away.

Alys read the letter to him and then burned it when he nodded to the fire. There was also a letter from the College of Heralds. Lord Hugh wanted to add a quartering to his shield to greet his new grandson. There was a precedent for the honour in Catherine's family and the old lord and the college were haggling about the justice of the claim and the price that would have to be paid for the added lustre to Hugh's name. He shook his head at their demands. 'I must watch my ambition,' he said. 'See what ambition is doing to the Boleyns, Alys. The safest place to be is halfway down the hall. Not too near the top table.'

There was a lease sent from the Bowes manor for his inspection. A tenant was resisting a change of his holding from entry and occasional fines to an annual rent. He wanted to pay his fines in goods but the castle was hungry for cash. Alys read the medieval Latin of the lease slowly, stumbling over the archaic words. Lord Hugh watched the flames in the fireplace, nodding first with concentration and then with weariness, and then his eyes slowly closed. Alys read on a few sentences more and then softly laid down the parchment and looked at him. He was fast asleep.

She rose quietly from her chair and went softly to the arrow-slit in the westward wall and looked out. Below her on the far side of the river-bank she could see Lady Catherine walking awkwardly, wrapped in furs, one hand on Hugo's arm. He was leaning towards her so that he could hear what she said above the rushing of the water. Even at that distance Alys could see Catherine's adoring gaze up at Hugo and her smile.

The old lord was dozing behind Alys, the fire crackled in the grate. Alys watched how Hugo leaned towards Catherine and how he helped her across the muddy parts of the path. At a distance Morach followed, with a basket on her arm and Eliza Herring walking at her side. The other ladies must have stayed indoors. Behind them were two armed servants on horseback. Hugo was taking no chances with the safety of his wife and unborn son.

Alys felt her hands hurting and looked down. She had clenched them into fists and her nails had marked four deep red sickles into each palm. 'Oh God, this jealousy is my crucifixion,' she whispered, but she stayed watching, unable to leave the window. Catherine slipped a little on the mud and Hugo caught her with one arm around her waist. Alys could almost hear her laugh as Hugo held her, then she turned her face up to him and his dark head came down and he kissed her.

Alys felt her cheeks burn. Somewhere, from the back of her mind, came the memory of the doll which she had thrown in the moat. The three dolls were hidden in the purse on a piece of string dangling out of the garderobe, waiting for the time that they could be buried. Alys had kept her mind away from them with the same disciplined blindness that she stopped herself thinking of the nunnery, of her mother, or of fire.

But when she saw Catherine slip, so near to those deep icy waters, she thought again of the little doll of Catherine which she had thrown far out into the green waters of the moat and which had bobbed and turned its face to her, and then smiled at her and nearly drowned her from its own power and malice.

'Oh, but I'm safe now,' Alys said aloud. 'I'm safe here indoors, while you are out there.'

She glanced back into the room. The old lord was snoring, his cap askew, his head on one side. The warm glow of the firelight flickered red on the stone walls. The deerhound dozed before the fire, paws twitching now and then in his dream.

'Nothing could hurt me here,' Alys said. She looked back out of the window. 'But you…' she whispered to Catherine. ' You are very near the water. And the spell on the dolls was very potent. So potent that your husband went to you and loved you with such passion that he has forgotten all about me. It was my power in the dolls that drew him to you. It was my power in the dolls that put that baby in your belly. And the doll for you was drowning, Catherine. Your doll was drowning.'

Alys was silent for a moment, her bewitching whisper falling into the quietness of the room.

'I had a Seeing of Hugo and me together,' she murmured. 'Perhaps that meant you died, Catherine. Perhaps you're going to die. Perhaps you're going to drown. Perhaps you're going to drown now.'

Walking a short distance behind the couple Morach paused and put her head on one side as if listening to some distant noise.

'Perhaps it will happen now,' Alys whispered. She was pressing up against the window-sill, leaning her whole body against the cold stone, forcing her will through the very walls of the castle.

'Perhaps now, Catherine,' she said. She started humming, very deep in her throat, a powerful sleepy noise like a swarm of toxic bees. 'Perhaps now,' she whispered yearningly. 'The water is very deep and very cold, Catherine. The rocks are very sharp. If you slip and fall now, you will be swept downriver and by the time they get you out, "your lungs and your belly will be filled with icy water. You nearly drowned me. I know how it feels. And soon, you will know it too.'

Morach was standing as alert as a hound listening for the horn. Then she whirled towards the castle and stared towards it, raking the arrow-slits with her stare as if she were looking for Alys, almost as if Alys had called loudly and clearly towards her. She looked straight towards the narrow slit of window in the great tower where Alys stood. For a moment the two women stared towards each other and Alys knew that – despite the distance, the narrowness of the arrow-slit and the darkness of the room – Morach was looking into her eyes and reading her mind. Then Morach yelled a wordless warning and started running towards Catherine.

Hugo turned at the shout and his hand went to his sword. Catherine swung around and lost her footing on the mud of the path, stepped backwards, and with the awkward misbalance of pregnancy stumbled on the very edge of the path. Her arms flailed like a helpless child. Alys, watching with burning eyes, was humming louder and louder, deep in her throat; and it was as if the power of the sound was pressing down on the little figure, wrapped tight in bulky furs. Catherine clawing helplessly at the air, her mouth wide in a scream, fell slowly backwards. Then she was gone – head over heels, clear over the rocks at the edge of the river, into the deep pool and down into the fast flooding waters.

Hugo tore at his sword and flung it aside, yelled at the soldiers for help, and jumped down on to the rocks and boulders at the river's edge, throwing himself towards the water. But Morach was quicker. In an instant she dived out over the rocks, deep into the pool, and went down below the water like a questing otter. She came back up and duck-dived again.

'Get out of the way, Morach,' Alys breathed through the window, shaking with dismay. 'You're my kin, not hers. You're working for my interests, not hers. Leave her, Morach. Leave her be!'

Morach shook her head, as if to rid herself of a voice in her ears, and dived. There was a flash of white as her feet kicked in the air and then a flurry of colour of drowned cloth as she surfaced with Catherine in her arms. Hugo waded in, waist deep in the water, and grabbed Catherine. Alys could see that she was limp, perhaps stunned. She knew the woman was not dead. It would have been a rare piece of luck if she had broken her neck or staved in her head on a rock. Hugo gathered Catherine into his arms and then reached out a hand for Morach. One soldier jumped down and passed the two women up to his fellow on the bank. Alys watched it all, dry-eyed, white-faced. She watched Hugo scoop Catherine back into his arms for a stumbling run towards their horses. She saw Catherine grab the pommel of the saddle with one limp hand as she was handed up on to the horse, and Morach was tossed up behind one of the soldiers. The little cavalcade moved out of sight around the curve of the tower and Alys guessed they would hurry back into the castle by one of the sally-ports. At any moment now there would be an alarm and people running, and everyone worried about Catherine and praising Morach.

Alys pushed herself stiffly away from the window and pulled out a footstool to sit at Lord Hugh's feet and watch the flames of the fire. She shivered a little as she remembered the icy greenness of the moat. Then she leaned forwards and put her chin on her hands and stared with blank, unseeing eyes into the very heart of the redness – and waited for the noise and the shouting to start.