“It’s not the sweat,” I assure him. “And it’s not a fever. It’s not something I ate, nor unripe fruit.” I smile at him, but still he does not understand. “I was sick this morning, and yesterday morning, and I expect to be sick tomorrow too.”

He looks at me with dawning hope. “Elizabeth?”

I nod. “I’m with child.”

His arm tightens around my waist. “Oh, my darling. Oh, my sweetheart. Oh, this is the best news!”

In front of the whole court he kisses me warmly on the mouth and when he looks up, everyone must surely know what I have told him, for his face is radiant.

“The queen is not riding with us!” he shouts, as if it is the best news in the world.

I pinch his arm. “It’s too soon to tell anyone yet,” I caution him.

“Oh, of course, of course,” he says. He kisses my mouth and my hand. Everyone is looking with puzzled smiles at his joy. One or two nudge each other, guessing at once. “The queen is going to rest today!” he bellows. “There’s no need for concern. She is well. But she is going to rest. She is not going to ride. I don’t want her to ride. She is a little unwell.”

This confirms it; even the slowest young man whispers with his neighbor. Everyone guesses at once why Henry has me held tightly to his side and why he is beaming.

“You go and rest.” He turns to me, oblivious to the knowing smiles of his court. “I want you to make sure that you rest.”

“Yes,” I say, near to laughter myself. “I understand that. I think everyone understands that.”

He grins, sheepish as a shy boy. “I can’t hide how happy I am. Look, I’ll catch you the sweetest pheasant for your dinner.” He swings himself into the saddle. “The queen is unwell,” he tells the groom holding my mount. “You had better exercise her horse yourself. Today, and every day. I don’t know when she’ll be well enough to ride again.”

The groom bows to his knees. “I will, Your Grace,” he says. He turns to me: “I’ll keep him quiet for you so you can just walk out on him when you have a mind to it.”

“The queen is unwell,” Henry says to his companions, who are mounting up and beaming at him. “I shan’t say more.” He is grinning from ear to ear, like a boy. “I don’t say more. There’s no more to say.” He stands in his stirrups and raises his cap from his head and waves it in the air. “God save the queen!”

“God save the queen!” everyone shouts back at him and smiles at me, and I laugh up at Henry. “Very discreet,” I say to him. “Very courtly, very reticent, most discreet.”

GREENWICH PALACE, LONDON, AUTUMN 1489

This time it is my decision when I go into confinement, and though My Lady the King’s Mother chooses the tapestries for my rooms and orders the day bed and the cradle, I have the room set out as I wish, and I tell her that I will go into confinement at the end of October.