The Other Henry VIII

A Murmuration of Starlings

21 October 1530
As the carriage from Rochford approached the palace, Leia felt a single drop of water upon her head. She glanced up at the sky and was irked to discover a large, ash-grey cloud directly above her. In a few minutes, she, and all the members of court who had come out to meet the new arrivals, would be drenched. Folding her hands over her swollen belly protectively, she whispered to her husband, "We should greet them inside. It's going to start raining any moment now."
"Nonsense," replied Henry resolutely.
"Very well. But I shall blame you if we all catch a chill."

Beside Leia stood her sister-in-law. Margaret, though she took care to conceal it, had spent the better part of a fortnight anticipating her son's arrival. They had never been separated for so long, and her heart ached to see him again. She missed the other two boys, of course, but William was like a little piece of her husband that God had allowed her to keep. Margaret did not even want to think about her future in France without him.

Presently, the carriage drew closer and came to a halt before them. Dark spots of rain were forming on the stone beneath their feet; some of the courtiers were frowning to keep the water out of their eyes. A footman scrambled hastily from his perch and pulled open the door, announcing, "The Earl of Rochford, Your Majesties."
A rather excessive spectacle, thought Leia, considering the new Earl was only seven years old. Nevertheless, she maintained a pleasant expression as the boy leapt down from his carriage. His tired face lit up at the sight of his mother, but he managed a polite bow before running into her open arms.

The King's gaze did not linger long on his nephew, for it had returned to the door of the carriage, from which two other boys were emerging. The first — tall for his age, though very skinny, with a long pinched face and dark eyes — he knew to be Diana's bastard, John. It was abundantly clear that no Tudor blood ran in his veins, but the question had always been the name by which he should be addressed. While he certainly did not deserve the royal name, Henry was equally reluctant to curse the world with another John Westerly. The footman appeared to be plagued with the same dilemma; he opened his mouth, twitched numerous times as he searched for a suitable title, then finally accepted defeat and masked his hesitation with a cough.

The third boy, however, intrigued him. A short, stocky lad, he had hair like matted hay and what seemed to be a perpetually furrowed brow. The courtiers who had not slipped inside to escape the oncoming shower were nudging one another and making remarks in hushed voices.
"Do you know that boy?" Leia asked her husband quietly.
"No, I don't believe so. He's just one of William's companions. Why? Do you know who he is?"
She could feel the blood draining from her face as realisation kicked in. "I think he is Marianne's son."
"Marianne's son?" repeated the King obtusely.
"Yes. The bastard she claims is yours."

Leia studied her husband's face for any signs of a reaction, but there were none. It was as though her revelation had fallen on deaf ears. He took her hand and guided her inside, closely followed by the rest of the group, who dispersed as soon as they reached the Entrance Hall. Then, without any prior warning, he turned to his sister and said, "Margaret, may I speak with you?"
"She hasn't seen her son in months," chided Leia, astonished that her husband could be so insensitive.
The King ignored her. "Now, please. In my presence chamber."
With a final chastising backwards glance, his wife ascended the stairs with her brother and the princesses, leaving Margaret alone beside the three boys. When she wavered, Henry said firmly, "Lady Bryan will take them. Come with me."

The King marched through the gallery, jaw clenched tighter than a Titan's fist. Over the deafening thumps of his heartbeat, he could just hear Margaret's footsteps behind him and the gentle drip of water trickling off his clothing and splashing against the floor. Fortunately this area of the palace was deserted; there was no-one about to gawk as the pair of them disappeared into his presence chamber and slammed the door in their wake.