to stand aside and let his inferiors amuse themselves with his wife. I accuse you of adultery with the Queen!”
“Sir . . . this is a joke . . .”
“This is no joke, Norris, and well you know it!”
“Then it is the biggest mistake that has ever been made.”
“You would dare to deny it?” foamed the King.
“I deny it utterly, Your Majesty.”
“Your lies and evasions will carry little weight with me, Norris.”
“I can only repeat, Sir, that I am guiltless of that of which you accuse me,” said Norris with dignity.
All the rich blood had left the King’s usually florid face, showing a network of veins against a skin grown pallid.
“’Twill be better if you do not lie to me, Norris. I am in no mood to brook such ways. You will confess to me here and now.”
“There is naught I can confess, my lord. I am guiltless of this charge you bring against me.”
“Come, come! You know, as all in the court know, how the Queen conducts herself.”
“I assure Your Most Gracious Majesty that I know naught against the Queen.”
“You have not heard rumors! Come, Norris, I warn you I am not in the mood for dalliance.”
“I have heard no rumors, Sir.”
“Norris, I offer you pardon, for you know that I have loved you well, if you will confess to your adultery.”
“I would rather die a thousand deaths, my lord, than accuse the Queen of that which I believe her, in my conscience, innocent.”
The King’s fury almost choked him. He said no more until they reached Westminster. Then, calling to him the burly bully Fitzwilliam, whom Cromwell had chosen to be his lieutenant, he bade the man arrest Norris and dispatch him to the Tower.
Anne, sitting down to supper in Greenwich Palace, felt the first breath of uneasiness.
She said to Madge Shelton: “Where is Mark? He does not seem to be in his accustomed place.”
“I do not know what has happened to Mark, Your Majesty,” answered Madge.
“If I remember aright, I did not notice him last night. I hope he is not sick.”
“I do not know, Madam,” said Madge, and Anne noticed that her cousin’s eyes did not meet hers; it was as though the girl was afraid.
Later she said: “I do not see Norris. Madge, is it not strange that they should both absent themselves? Where is Norris, Madge? You should know.”
“’He has said nothing to me, Madam.”
“What! He is indeed a neglectful lover; I should not allow it, Madge.”
Her voice had an edge to it. She well knew, and Madge well knew that though Norris was supposed to be in love with Madge, it was the Queen who received his attention. Madge was charming; she could attract easily, but she could not hold men to her as her cousin did. Weston had been attracted to Madge once, until he had felt the deeper and irresistible attraction of the Queen.
“I know not what is holding him,” said Madge.
Anne said: “You know not
It was a strange evening; people whispered together in the corridors of the palace.
“What means this?”
“Did you see the way His Majesty left the tiltyard?”
“They say Norris, Weston and Brereton are missing.”
“Where is Mark Smeaton? Surely they would not arrest little Mark!”
The Queen was aware of this strange stillness about her; she called for the musicians, and while they played to her, sat staring at Mark’s empty place. Where was Norris? Where was Weston? Why did Brereton continue to absent himself?
She spent a sleepless night, and in the early morning fell into a heavy doze from which she awakened late. All during the morning the palace abounded in rumor. Anne heard the whispering voices, noted the compassionate glances directed at her, and was increasingly uneasy.
She sat down to dinner, determined to hide the terrible apprehension that was stealing over her. When she did not dine with the King, His Majesty would send his waiter to her with the courteous message: “Much good may it do you!” On this day she waited in vain for the King’s messenger; and as soon as the meal was over and the surnap was removed, there came one to announce the arrival at Greenwich of certain members of the council, and with them, to her disgust, was her uncle the Duke of Norfolk.
Her uncle looked truculent and self-righteous, pleased with himself, as though that which he had prophesied had come to pass. He behaved, not as a courtier to a queen, but as a judge to a prisoner.
“What means this?” demanded Anne.
“Pray be seated,” said Norfolk.
