by Kris Tualla
Avery washed quickly, using the cold water in the pitcher rather than ring for a servant to bring anything warm. She donned her linen nightdress and climbed into her bed. Sleep danced around her awareness, carried to her by a tennis player with blue eyes.
“Get out of my head, Jakob Hansen,” she growled, her eyes tightly shut. “I banish you from my thoughts!”
“Your thoughts perhaps, but not your dreams.”
Avery gasped and bolted upright in her bed.
She was alone.
No other person stood in her room, and yet the Norseman’s voice was as clear and strong as if he was lying beside her.
With a groan of frustration, she fell back on her mattress. “I refuse to dream about you, you insolent knight. Now get out.”
She waited, her heart pounding, half expecting a response.
Of course, none came.
“You are losing your grip on reality, Averia,” Avery mumbled.
She turned on her side and resettled on her large mattress. She tucked the goose-down pillows under her head until no lumps threatened her comfort.
Pulling a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes again. “Now think of something else and go to sleep.”
As she drifted off, the annoying sound of tennis balls echoed in her head.
Chapter Nine
May 31, 1518
Jakob lowered his sword when he heard his name called. He put up a palm and Percival lowered his blade as well, halting their fencing practice. Both men turned toward the approaching servant.
“Yes?” Jakob swiped a sleeve across his sweating brow. The fencing rapier was much thinner and shorter than his battle sword, so his arm was not as tired as it might have been; but because he was closer to his opponent, he needed to be quick and light on his feet. That aspect was exhausting.
He experienced a moment of satisfaction, seeing that the younger Bethington was breathing harder than he was. And that man did not have an injured leg.
The servant stopped in front of Jakob and gave a little bow. “The Duke of Suffolk has requested your presence, my lord.”
Jakob nodded and handed his sword to Askel, who stood nearby. “I shall come.”
The servant’s gaze traveled over Jakob’s linen shirt, knee-length breeches, and scuffed boots. “His Grace suggests you appear in suitable attire.”
Percival huffed a laugh behind Jakob’s back, and Jakob shot him a look over his shoulder. “Do not be jealous, Bethington. I am certain His Grace favors you as well.”
Percival doubled over in laughter at that. Even the stoic servant cracked a smile. Askel scrubbed a hand over his mouth, his eyes twinkling.
Jakob addressed the servant once again. “I will go to my chamber and change. Please come for me in one half hour.”
The servant knocked his heels together and bowed. “Very good, sir.”
Percival stepped to Jakob’s side, sheathing his own blade. “I’ll buy your supper later, and you can tell me everything.”
Jakob clapped his partner on the shoulder. “Of course.” Right after I let them pull out my fingernails.
Though he liked and generally trusted Bethington, there were lines that would not be crossed. If the duke told him something in confidence, or asked a service of him in the same vein, Jakob would take the secret to his grave.
Part of being a knight was being trustworthy and honorable. He promised Henry to serve him as if he were Jakob’s own king, and unless he was asked to do something which undermined Christian or Denmark, he would keep his word.
“What do you want to wear today?” Askel pulled two tunics from the trunk and held them up.
“I don’t want to wear the velvet or the brocade.” Jakob rewet his washcloth and continued to scrub away sweat with the refreshingly cool water. “What about the dark green silk?”
Askel laid the two garments aside and lifted out the requested item. “Not too ornate, then?”
“Exactly.” Jakob brushed a hand over his buff breeches. “I shall wear these, and my calfskin boots.
Askel handed Jakob a clean shirt and hose, and then helped him into the tunic. Jakob sat on a low stool and donned the fresh hose and ankle-high boots, while Askel brushed his damp hair and tied it with a leather thong.
A knock sounded at the door.
Jakob stood and faced his valet. “Am I presentable?”
“Yes, my lord. You make me proud.” Askel grinned and crossed to the portal, opening it.
“Sir Hansen is ready,” he stated in accented English. It was one of the few phrases Askel had memorized early on.
Jakob followed the servant—a different one than the man who initially summoned him—through the Tower’s myriad of hallways.
The path was unfamiliar to him; Jakob had not been presumptuous enough to explore the entire ancient fortress. He was a guest, not a resident, and to do so would be not only unacceptable, but suspect.
The men reached a doorway, and though the servant knocked, he did not enter. Jakob clasped his hands behind his back and waited.
Charles Brandon opened the door himself.
“Thank you,” he said to the servant. “That will be all.”
Jakob stepped into the room. Brandon shut—and latched—the door behind him. His initial curiosity now battled with an intensified sense of concern. Though Jakob didn’t believe himself to be in any actual danger, something important was clearly about to transpire.
Henry stood and turned his chair around. Jakob had not noticed the king’s presence. Now he was certain beyond any doubt that this would not be an ordinary meeting.
He gave a single bow to both men. “Your Graces.”
“Please take a seat, Hansen” Henry gave him a disingenuous smile. “Would you care for a cup of wine?”
“No thank you, your Grace.” Jakob understood that he must keep sharp for this interview; he only wished he knew why. He lowered his frame into the proffered chair, his posture erect.
Brandon pulled another chair close, so that the trio sat in a rather intimate triangle. He did have a glass of wine, as did Henry.
Jakob watched both men closely. Neither seemed disturbed, and that was either the best situation, or the worst. Men with power, about to execute such power, were usually cold as steel.
He couldn’t stand the waiting any longer. “How may I help you, you Grace?”
Henry chuckled. “Straight to the point, then?” He shook his head. “No, I need to tell you a story first.”
Jakob leaned back in his seat and waited.
“How much do you know about my marriage?” Henry began.
This was dangerous ground, indeed. A light step was crucial.
“It is clear to all that you love Queen Catherine, and Princess Mary,” Jakob began, deciding that to claim he had no knowledge at all would not be honest—or believed. His gut told him that this particular conversation required as much honesty as he could safely put forth. “And another child is expected in… November?”
“Yes.” Henry’s gaze shifted to Brandon’s and back. “Is there anything else?”
“No, my lord. There is nothing about your marriage, which I am told.” Jakob gave a small shrug. “Nor should there be.”
Henry ran a finger back and forth under his lower lip, a calculating habit which Jakob had noticed in earlier dealings with the king. “Well stated, Hansen.”
Jakob bowed his head and returned his steady gaze to Henry’s.
“Before I ask you my questions, I want you to understand my position regarding Queen Catherine.” Henry made a dismissive gesture, and looked at Brandon. “Of course, everything which transpires here this afternoon will be held in strictest confidence, isn’t that so, Charles?”
The duke faced Jakob. “Under penalty of death, your Grace.”
As a knight, Jakob’s life had been threatened many times over. But this time felt very different. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.
“I am only called honorable, my lords. To the last end, at times,”
Jakob assured them.
Henry frowned. “I hope that’s not a problem.”
“Tell him your story, your Highness,” Brandon urged. “We shall make a determination afterwards”
Henry drew a long breath through his nostrils, held it, and then let it out slowly. His blue eyes pinned Jakob’s.
“You do know that Catherine was married to my older brother, Arthur?”
Jakob decided to speed up the exchange. “Yes. And that he died only months afterwards.”
“He did. But I was also enamored with Catherine, even more than my brother was. So when my father died and I took the throne, I married her.”
Jakob allowed a small smile. “She is a beautiful woman. You are blessed, your Grace.”
Henry’s expression clouded. “And are you aware of the children she has born?”
Jakob shook his head. “Only that Mary is first to live.”
Henry lifted a hand and began to tick off the unsuccessful offspring on his fingers.
“She had daughter born just thirty-three weeks after our marriage, who could not live. A year later, she had a son, Henry, who lived less than two months. Eighteen months after that, she had another boy. Stillborn.”
“I am sorry, my lord.” Jakob didn’t know what else there was to say.
“A year later, she had yet another stillborn boy.” Henry heaved a sigh tinged with anger and frustration. “And finally, my daughter Mary was born and survived.”
“And now we pray for a healthy birth,” Jakob murmured. “A son.”
“Yes.” Henry’s eyes cut toward the silent duke. “And that is where you, Hansen, are involved.”
Jakob blinked, confused. He glanced at Brandon. “Forgive me, your Graces, but how?”
Brandon’s light ice-blue eyes met Jakob’s. “Are you married, Hansen?”
Jakob swallowed, his throat gone dry at the understood, yet inevitably despised, query. “No.”
The duke flashed him a conspiratorial grin. “But you have experience with women?”
Jakob forced a hearty chuckle past his personal pain, matching Brandon’s mood. “Of course. I am a knight.”
One of Brandon’s shoulders lifted. “So I am certain, in that case, that you understand the strain of abstaining from such pleasant physical activities?”
This was clearly not the moment to mention that he had, indeed, abstained for nearly eight years. “I do, yes. Any man with health and strength desires such activity.”
“Not only desires, but requires,” Henry interjected. “For his continued health. Don’t you agree?”
Jakob understood what answer was expected, whether he actually agreed or not. “Yes. Of course I do.”
Henry leaned back in his chair. “What do you want, Hansen?”
Jakob was thrown sideways by the question; what did that have to do with the pregnant queen? He stared hard at Henry. “I—I do not understand, your Grace.”
“Every man wants something in his life. What do you want in yours?”
The list of agonizing regrets in Jakob’s life threatened to swamp him and drag him straight down to the black bottom of the North Sea. He took a slow breath to try and still his suddenly-pounding heart. A film of sweat formed under his clothes.
“There is nothing that can be undone, your Grace. Not even by a king so powerful as you.”
Henry tipped his head in acknowledgement and gave him an empathetic smile. “That may be, Hansen. But looking forward, what do you want more than anything?”
Jakob steepled his fingers and rested their tips against his lips.
It seemed as though the king was about to offer him something in exchange for a service. He wanted to give a measured answer, and not forgo this unexplained opportunity.
The problem was, there was only one thing looming in his future that distressed him, and Henry had already alluded to helping him. Perhaps if he claimed that one thing again, Henry would be grateful by his lack of greedy demands, and extend another sort of favor at a later date, should Jakob request it.
This appeared to be the wisest path at the moment. Jakob hesitated a little longer, waiting for any objections to arise. When none did, he spoke.
“I am a simple man, your Grace, with one weakness.”
Henry’s chin dipped. “Go on.”
“As we talked once, I do not like ships. Our journey to Barcelona weighs on me.”
Henry gave him a lopsided grin. “And it must, Hansen, as I have already offered my help.”
Jakob spread his open palms. “To have comfortable ride and nights through France and Spain is all I want.” A prompting thought made him add, “Going and returning.”
Henry looked at Charles Brandon, his brow raised. “This is an easily accomplished request, is it not?”
“Travel to and from London, then?” the duke qualified.
Jakob waggled his hands and upped the stakes a bit. “Return to farther north after, for shorter sailing to Denmark.”
Henry nodded. “Agree to do my bidding and I’ll see you to Barcelona and back to London. Do it successfully, and we’ll take you to England’s northernmost port.”
Jakob drew a deep breath; he did not yet know what Henry wanted him to do, but he was too far gone to back out now—unless the task proved too onerous for him to consider. “I agree. This is fair.”
“Excellent.” Henry clapped his hands together. “Are you sure you don’t want a cup of wine?”
“No. Thank you.”
Henry turned to Brandon. “I shall have another.”
Jakob waited while the duke refilled Henry’s cup as well as his own. Once Brandon was reseated, Henry faced Jakob again.
“Now we get to the heart of the matter.”
Jakob shifted in his chair and gave the king his polite, yet curiously intense attention.
Henry affected an expression of concern. “Because of my wife’s unfortunate ability to carry children well, I have chosen to abstain from her bed during her delicate time.”
“I understand,” Jakob offered. He felt a flush of embarrassment warm his face; this conversation had taken an uncomfortably intimate turn.
“But as a virile male, I cannot go for so many months without a release.”
Hence the previous questions.
Jakob nodded. “I still understand.”
Henry leaned forward. “I love my wife dearly, and she loves me. However, women do not truly understand that, when a man occasionally strays from the marriage bed, that physical act has nothing to do with their husbandly affections.”
Jakob did not agree with that particular viewpoint, but in this case he was forced to do so, if he was to discover what Henry wanted of him. “No, women do not.”
“Four years ago, when the queen was anticipating the birth of her fourth child, I engaged in a brief and unimportant dalliance with a woman, Jane Popincourt.” Henry features twisted a bit. “Catherine discovered the situation, and subsequently her son was born dead.”
Jakob was still unsure what the king wanted. He glanced at Brandon, and then back at Henry, not able to discern anything from either man’s expression. He waited, having nothing to say to them as yet.
Henry leaned back in his chair again. “I do believe that the queen’s inability to understand my deep physical needs as a man precipitated the death of her child.”
Jakob could not help looking hard at Charles Brandon then, wondering if the duke held the same odd conviction.
The duke’s expression was carefully blank. “We have confirmation from several physicians. All have upheld that specific possibility.” He cleared his throat. “When a woman becomes unreasonably distressed, the life of her unborn child is threatened.”
Jakob chewed on his tongue to keep from blurting the obvious: if that were actually true, then any young girl finding herself in a difficult condition needed merely to become hysterical, and she would miscarry the unwanted babe.
“I held back my desires at a great physical cost when Catherine conceived
again,” Henry continued. “And when I did so, she successfully birthed the Princess Mary two years ago.”
The king obviously expected a response. All Jakob could think to say was, “Yes, your Grace. But I still do not understand what you ask of me.”
Now Charles Brandon leaned forward. “The king wishes to be able to release the immense pressures of his royal existence through this physical outlet, and has found a woman willing to assist him.”
Jakob clenched his jaw, again to keep from laughing. What woman would not wish to bed the young and virile King of England? He nodded, unable to trust his voice.
“But the queen must not find out, you see,” Brandon continued. “Or she may lose this babe as well.”
Jakob faced Henry straight on, his patience wearing thin. “What does this do with me?”
Henry lowered his voice, though Jakob was certain none of their quiet conversation could be heard through the heavy door five yards removed from their seats.
“I want you to pretend to be me.”
A shock jolted Jakob’s frame. He recoiled in his seat, astounded at the unorthodox idea, and certain he had misunderstood the English words.
Henry waved a hand over Jakob’s form. “You look enough like me that, from a distance, you might be mistaken for me.”
The suggestion was so unprecedented, that Jakob didn’t grasp what the king was proposing. “Am I to visit this woman?”
A laugh burst from Henry’s chest. “No, of course not!”
“You are to appear in public as the king, while he visits Miss Blount.” Brandon smiled pleasantly in Jakob’s direction, as if he had just made the simplest of requests, and took a sip of his wine.
Jakob sagged in his chair, feeling the wind knocked from him, and disbelieving the ridiculous proposition placed before him. His regard ricocheted between the two men and he shook his head.
“This will not succeed.”
“Oh, but it will!” Henry’s eyes brightened. “You shall wear my clothes, and ride in my carriage during appointed times. After you wave and smile at the people who stand along your path, they will return to their homes and tell everyone that King Henry the Eighth waved and smiled at them.”
