“They went at once to the king with what they had seen, what had been birthed into their waiting hands. It was not a child born before its time, not a normal child. It was half fish, half beast. It was a monster with a face cleaved in two and a spine flayed open like something they might show pickled in a jar at a village fair.”

I tear my hands from hers and cover my ears. “My God, Nan... I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear this.”

She pulls my hands away and shakes me. “As soon as they told the king, he took it as proof that she had used witchcraft to conceive, that she had lain with her brother to get a hell-born child.”

I look at her blankly.

“And Cromwell got him the evidence to prove it,” she said. “Cromwell could have proved that Our Lady was a drunk; that man had a sworn witness for anything. But he was commanded by the king. The king would not let anyone think that he could give a woman a monster.” She looks at my horrified face and presses on: “So you think on this: if you miscarry, or if you give him a damaged babe, he will say the same about you and send you to your death.”

“He can’t say such a thing,” I say flatly. “I’m not another Queen Anne. I’m not going to lie with my brother and dozens of others. We heard of her even in Richmondshire. We knew what she did. Nobody could say such a thing of me.”

“He would rather believe that he was cuckolded ten times over than admit that there is anything wrong with him. What you heard in Richmondshire—the king’s cuckolding—was announced by the king himself. You knew it, because he made sure that everyone knew it. He made sure the country knew that she was at fault. You don’t understand, Kateryn. He has to be perfect, in every way. He cannot bear that anyone should think, even for a moment, that he is in the wrong. He cannot be seen as less than perfect. His wife has to be perfect too.”

I look as blank as I feel. “This is hog swill.”

“It is true,” Nan exclaims. “When Queen Katherine miscarried, he blamed it on God and said it was a false marriage. When Queen Anne gave birth to the monster, he blamed it on witchcraft. If Jane had lost her baby, he would have blamed it on her, she knew it, we all knew it. And if you miscarry, it will be your fault, not his. And you will be punished.”

“But what can I do?” I ask fiercely. “I don’t know what I can do? How can I possibly prevent it?”

In answer she brings a little purse from the pocket of her gown and shows it to me.