I see that Edward Seymour has an empty place at his side, on his right hand, a seat of honor, and at once I am alert, wondering if he expects Thomas. The noise of the king spooning oyster broth from a golden bowl, and then dipping manchet bread and sucking it, dies away. I cannot even hear the rattle of the golden spoon as he bangs it against the golden dish to prompt the server to give him more. I am watching the door at the end of the hall and, almost as if I have summoned him, as if my desire has created a specter, Thomas, in a dark blue cape, comes quietly into the room, swings the cape from his shoulders and gives it to his page, and comes forward to his brother’s table.

He is here. I look away at once. I cannot believe it. He is here.

Edward’s warm welcome is unfeigned. He jumps to his feet and hugs Thomas, holding him tightly. The two exchange rapid words, and then hug again. Then Thomas steps away from the Seymour table and approaches the dais where we are sitting. He bows to the king, then to me and to the prince beside his father, and to the princesses, then lastly to Anne of Cleves, whom he escorted to England to be queen. His dark eyes go over us all indifferently, and when the king beckons him forward, he steps up to speak across the high table and stands at a slight angle, so his shoulder is towards me and I see his face only in profile, and he does not look at me.

I remember not to crane my head to listen to their conversation. There are some words about the ships and the winter quarters, and the king tells Thomas to take his seat and dine, and sends a dish of venison stew to the Seymour table at once, and some pastries and a pie and slices of a roast boar. Thomas bows, sits beside his brother, and still does not look towards me. I know this only because when his eyes are on me I feel a heat in my face as if I had a slight fever. I don’t even have to see that he is looking at me for this to happen. It is as if my body knows, without my knowing, as if he can touch me without touching.

But tonight I am cool and I look straight ahead as he does, so our gazes go past each other and rest on indifferent objects, at opposite ends of the hall, as if we had never been eyes locked, hands clasped, bodies entwined at all.

* * *