“Hush, hush,” he says. “Hush, my love. It was a dream. Nothing but a dream. You’re safe now.” He holds me gently against his fleshy comforting side, soft as a pillow.

“My God, what a dream! God help me, what a nightmare!”

“Nothing, it was nothing.”

“I was so afraid. I dreamed I was dead.”

“You are safe with me. You are safe with me, beloved.”

“Did I talk in my sleep?” I whimper. I am so afraid that I said his name.

“No, you said no words, you just wept, poor girl. I woke you at once.”

“It was so terrible!”

“Poor little love,” Henry says tenderly, stroking my hair, my bare shoulder. “You are safe with me. Do you want something to eat?”

“No, no,” I give a shaky laugh. “Nothing to eat. Nothing more to eat.”

“You should have something, for comfort.”

“No, no, really. I couldn’t.”

“You are awake now? You know yourself?”

“Yes, yes, I do.”

“Was it a dream of foretelling?” he asks. “Did you dream of my ships?”

“No,” I say firmly. Two of this man’s wives were accused by him of witchcraft; I’m not going to claim any sort of second sight. “It was nothing, it meant nothing. Just a muddle of castle walls and feeling cold and afraid.”

He lies back on the pillows. “Can you sleep now?”

“Yes, I can. Thank you for being so kind to me.”

“I am your husband,” he says with simple dignity. “Of course I guard your sleep and soothe your fears.”

In a moment he is breathing heavily, his mouth lolling open. I put my head against his bulky shoulder and close my eyes. I know that my dream was the dream of Tryphine, the maid who was married to a man who killed his wives. I know it was the smell of dead wife on my own fingers.

SOUTHSEA CASTLE, PORTSMOUTH HARBOR,

SUMMER 1545

It is a most delightful day, like a painting of a summer day, the sun bright on the blue waters of the Solent, the brisk wind scuffing little white caps on the waves. We have climbed to the top of one of the defensive towers overlooking the harbor, and now that they have hauled the king up the stone stairs and he can see everything, he is delighted with the world, standing astride at the seawall, hands on his hips, as if he were an admiral on his own ship, the court around him abuzz with excitement and anxiety.