He bows. “My queen, Katherine of Aragon, did nothing to offend him,” he says gently. I realize that for him Henry has only ever really had one queen: the first and only Queen Katherine. “And he loved her deeply and truly. Until the moment that he stopped loving her. And then nothing would ease his discomfort but her death.”

Despite the sunshine in the garden I am suddenly cold. “But what could I do?” I ask.

I mean—what does he imagine can go wrong, what could I possibly do that would offend the king so badly that he would put me aside, as he put Katherine of Aragon aside, imprisoned her in a cold distant castle, and let her die of neglect? But the old man misunderstands me. He thinks I mean what could I do to escape, and his answer is chilling: “Majesty, when you lose his favor, when you get your first hint of it, I pray you leave the country at once,” he says quietly. “He will not annul another marriage. He has outgrown that; he could not bear the shame of it. All of Christendom would laugh at him and he could not bear that. When he is tired of you, he will end it with your death.”

“Ambassador!” I exclaim.

He nods his gray head. “These are the last words I will ever say to you, Your Majesty. They are a warning from an old man with nothing to lose. Death is the king’s preference now. He is not driven to it. I have known kings forced to execute their friends or loved ones; but he is not one of them.” He pauses. “He likes finality. He likes to turn against someone and know they are dead the next day. He likes to know that he has that power. If you lose his favor, Your Majesty, please make sure you get away.”

I cannot reply.

He shakes his head. “My greatest regret, my greatest failure, was that we did not get my queen away,” he says softly.

My ladies are watching me. I move my hand in a little gesture to invite Princess Mary to join us, and I step aside to allow them time to speak together in private. By her suddenly guarded expression I think he is warning her, as he just warned me. This is a man who has observed the king for sixteen years, who has studied him and seen him grow in his power, observed the advisors who disagreed with him dragged to the Tower and executed, watched the wives who displeased him exiled from court or executed, known the innocent men of small rebellions hanged in their thousands in chains. I feel a shudder down my spine, as if my tingling skin knows of a danger that I cannot name, and I shake my head, and walk away.

NONSUCH PALACE, SURREY,

SUMMER 1545