We ride in silence for a while, and then two or three of Katherine’s friends kick their horses forward to ride beside her and chatter to her about Ampthill and the greeting we are certain to have, and whether Katherine has finished with her yellow gown and will give it to Katherine Tylney. In a moment there is a quarrel breaking out because Katherine had promised it to Joan but Margaret is insisting that it should go to her.

‘You can both hold your peace,’ I rule, dragging myself back to the present moment. ‘For the queen has worn that gown not more than three times and it will stay in her wardrobe until she has had more use out of it.’

‘I don’t care,’ Katherine says. ‘I can always order another.’

ANNE, RICHMOND PALACE,

NOVEMBER 1541

At church I enter, cross myself, curtsey to the altar, and take my place in my high-walled pew. Thank God that no-one can see me in here; the high door closes behind me, the walls guarantee my privacy, and even the front of the pew is panelled with a lattice so I can see but not be observed. Only the priest, if he is standing high up in the choir stalls, can look down on me. If I glance away from the Host, or fail to cross myself at the right time, or use the wrong hand or do it the wrong way round, I will not be reported for heresy. There are thousands in this country who now guard their every movement because they do not have my privacy. There are hundreds who will die because they got it wrong.

I stand, and bow, and kneel, and sit, as I am bidden by the order of the service; but I can take little pleasure today from the liturgy. This is the king’s order of service, and in every rolling phrase I hear the power of Henry, not the power of God. In the past I have known God in many places; in small Lutheran chapels at home, in the great soaring majesty of St Paul’s in London, and in the quiet of the royal chapel at Hampton Court when I once knelt beside the Princess Mary and felt the peace of heaven descend around us; but it seems that the king has soured his church for me and for so many others. I find God now in silence: when I walk in the park, or beside the river, when I hear a blackbird calling at midday, when I see a flight of geese arrowing overhead, when the falconer releases a bird and I see her mount up high and soar. God no longer speaks to me when Henry allows it, in the words that Henry prefers. I am in hiding from the king and I am deaf to his God.

We are on our knees praying for the health and safety of the royal family when to my surprise there is a new prayer inserted without warning into the familiar words. Without a flicker of shame, the priest bids my court, my ladies and myself to give thanks for the king’s wife Katherine.