He is laughing so much that he cannot speak. For a moment I fear that he is having a fit. The tears squeeze out of his puckered eyelids and run down his sweating cheeks. He is dangerously flushed, and as he holds his shaking belly he chokes for air. Long minutes pass as he hoarsely cackles before he can steady himself. He opens his little eyes and wipes his wet cheeks.

“Lord,” he says. “Lord.”

He sees me standing before him, still frozen with shock, and my ladies blank-faced, waiting.

“What’s the title of the play, Kate?” he pants, still laughing.

I shake my head.

“You who are so clever? So widely read? What is the title of my play?”

“Your Majesty, I cannot guess.”

“The Taming of the Queen!” he shouts. “The Taming of the Queen.”

I hold my slight smile. I look at his sweating scarlet face and I let the sound of his renewed laughter break over me like the hoarse cawing of the ravens at the Tower.

“I am the dog master,” he says, abruptly abandoning his joke. “I watch you all. I set you all at each other’s throats. Poor curs. Poor little bitch.”

* * *

The king sits in the garden till the shadows lengthen along the smooth green grass and the birds start to sing in the tops of the trees. The swallows weave along the curves of the river, swirling above their own silvery reflections and dipping into the water to drink. The courtiers come in from playing games and they walk languidly, like happy children with flushed faces. Princess Elizabeth smiles up at me and I see a scatter of freckles over her nose like dust on marble, and I think I must remind her maid to make sure that she wears a sun bonnet whenever she goes out.

“It’s been a beautiful day,” the king says contentedly. “God Himself knows what a wonderful country this is.”

“We are blessed,” I agree quietly, and he smiles as if the credit for the summer and for the weather and for the sun sinking over the glassy river is somehow all due to him.

“I shall come to dinner,” he says, “and after dinner you may come to my room and you must talk to me about your thoughts, Kate. I like to hear what you have been reading and what you think.”

He laughs as he sees me suddenly go pale. “Ah, Kate. You need fear nothing. I have taught you everything you need to know, have I not? It is my translations that you read? You are my dear wife, are you not? And we are friends?”

“Of course, of course,” I say. I bow as if I am delighted at the invitation.

“And you may ask anything of me. Any little gift, any little favor. Anything you like, sweetheart.”