“And the children are well and thriving,” he says, continuing to list his blessings. “And the country is at peace, though all but bankrupt. And for once I have some quiet in my court for my rival bishops have taken the summer off from their wrangling.”

“God smiles on the righteous,” I say.

“I have seen your translations,” he says in the same tone of smug congratulation. “I was pleased, Kate. You have done well to study, anyone can see how I have influenced your learning and your spiritual growth.”

I am sick with sudden fear. “My translations?” I repeat.

“Your prayers,” he says. “That’s right, it is dutiful and pleasing to have a wife who spends her time on prayers.”

“Your Majesty has honored me with your attention.” I say feebly.

“I glanced at them,” he says. “And I asked Cranmer what he thought. And he praised them. For a woman they are scholarly work. He accused me of helping you but I said—No, no, they are all her own. So you should put your name on the cover, Kate. We should credit them to a royal author. What other king in Christendom has a scholarly wife? Francis of France has a queen who is neither wife nor scholar!”

“I would only put my name on the page as a sign of my gratitude to you,” I say carefully.

“You do that,” he says, comfortably “I am a lucky man. I have only two things that trouble me, and neither of them overmuch.” He eases himself back in his chair, and I pass the sweet cakes and wine closer to his hand.

“What are they?”

“Boulogne,” he says heavily. “After all our courage in taking it, the council want me to return it to the French. I never will. I sent Henry Howard out there in place of his father just so that he will persuade everyone that we can keep it.”

“And does he convince them?”

“Oh, he swears he will never leave it, says he is dishonored by the very suggestion.” Henry chuckles. “And his father whispers to me that he is a boy who should come home and live at his father’s say-so. I love it when a father and son disagree. It makes my life so much easier if they are dancing to different tunes, but both of them played by me.”

I try to smile. “But how do you know which to believe?”

He taps the side of his nose with his hand to indicate his cunning. “I don’t know. That’s the secret. I listen to one, I listen to the other, I encourage each to think he has my ear. I weigh them as they bicker, and I choose.”

“But it puts father against son,” I point out. “And sets your chief commander in France against your Privy Council, and makes a deep division in the country.”