I hesitate, wondering if I dare speak of the broken woman in the Tower, Anne Askew, waiting to hear if she is to live or to die. He has said I can ask anything of him, he has just said I am to fear nothing. “Your Majesty, there is one small thing,” I start. “A little thing to you, I am sure. But it would be the greatest wish of my heart.”

He raises his hand to stop me. “My dear, we have learned today, have we not, that there are no things, not even the smallest things, that come between a husband and wife like us? The greatest wish of your heart could only be the greatest wish of mine. We have nothing to discuss. You need never ask anything of me. We are as one.”

“It is my friend...”

“You have no better friend than me.”

I understand him. “We are as one,” I repeat dully.

“Holy unity,” he says.

I bow my head.

“And loving silence.”

* * *

“She’s dead,” Nan tells me brutally, as they are brushing my hair before dinner. The movement of the heavy brush through my thick hair, the occasional painful pull, seems to be part of her news. I don’t put up my hand to stop Susan, the maid, from grooming me as if I were a mare going to the stallion. My head rocks to one side and then the other with the harsh pulling motion. I see my face in the mirror, my white skin, my hurt eyes, my bruised mouth. My head going one way and then another like a nodding doll.

“Who is dead?” But I know.

“Anne Askew. I just had word from London. Catherine Brandon is at her London house. She sent me a note. They killed her this morning.”

I choke. “God forgive them. God forgive me. God send her soul to heaven.”

“Amen.”

I gesture that Susan is to go away, but Nan says: “You have to have your hair brushed and your hood pinned. You have to go to dinner. Whatever has happened.”

“How can I?” I ask simply.

“Because she died never mentioning your name. She took the rack for you and death for you, so that you could go to dinner and, when your chance comes again, you can defend the reform of the church. She knew you must be free to speak to the king even if all the rest of us are killed. Even if you lose us all, one by one. If you are the last one left, you must save reform in England. Or she will have died for nothing.”

I see Susan’s aghast face in the mirror behind my own.

“It’s all right,” I say to her. “You need not bear witness.”