Page 111 of Six Wild Crowns

Queen Parr enters shortly afterwards, in a dazzling gown made entirely of pearls that sounds like rainfall on glass when she moves. The courtiers gasp, and the nobility of Mathmas smirk with pride as though they themselves created the dress. She is not wearing the overgown.

Seymour wanders over to Parr and gestures at her dress. “This is a marvel,” she says.

“Thank you. You look very well too,” Parr says, her body angled away from Seymour.

Seymour checks to make sure the king hasn’t arrived, then says, “You did not care for our sister’s gift?”

“It is beautiful. I simply did not realise we were supposed to wear it tonight.”

“Oh. The note telling you as much must have been lost.”

“Yes. It must have been.”

Parr’s stare is impassive, and she so still that her dress is silent for the first time since she entered. Yet in her eyes Seymour senses a torrent, and she feels a strange kinship with this woman, despite her refusal to play Boleyn’s game. She dips her head and moves away.

“Queen Seymour…” Parr says.

Seymour stops.

“Your brother – I thought he would attend the Moon Ball.”

Seymour points out Edward, who is lording it over some of his friends.

“He never misses a party, believe me,” Seymour says.

Parr seems about to say something, then swallows and inclines her head graciously. Seymour has been a fool, again.

“Unless…” Seymour says. “I did not know you knew Thomas.”

“We met once or twice before my marriage. I think he went abroad some years ago?”

And there it is – the tremor in the pearl dress. Seymour reachesfor Parr – if this is what she suspects, then perhaps this is her way to persuade Parr to join them – but before she can speak again, a herald bangs his spear against the floor and announces the entrance of the hosts.

The king looks even taller than usual, if that is possible. He is resplendent in a cloth of gold doublet and hose, and the divine magic swirls around him, stronger than ever. But if people gasped in admiration at Queen Parr, they fall silent and press their hands to their chests at the sight of Queen Boleyn. Her dress is of rich green velvet beneath the same shimmering overgown that Seymour, Cleves and Howard wear. Stitched across the bodice and kirtle is a twist of ribbons, each one a different shade of grey. The effect is of storm clouds over a forest. A collar of diamonds encircles her neck, and from it falls a cascade of gems – diamonds, crystals, glass and the occasional garnet. When Boleyn is still, she is stunning. When she moves, she is a goddess, for the cascade glances in the dragonlight like lightning. She is the storm, she is the rich earth, she is the bolt to tear the world asunder and make it afresh.

The curtain that had been fixed at one end of the hall is swept open to reveal the wooden frame of a stylised castle. A banner hung across the castle’s portcullis reads “Elben”. At the helm of the castle stands a masked actor wearing an oversized crown. Boleyn has cast him perfectly – he is muscular and well-shaped, and his hair is hazelnut red like the king’s, but there’s something about his pose that smacks of pretence. The assembled guests applaud, recognising Henry in this portrayal of what everyone knows must be Aethelred, the first king to create the bordweal. Boleyn whispers something in Henry’s ear, and he smiles gloatingly. He doesn’t see the cleverness of what she’s done.

With a bang, the doors at the other end of the hall burst open and an enormous ship is wheeled in amidst thick smoke and the sound of cannon fire. At its helm are a troupe of actors and actresses, all masked and wearing red doublets to signify evil. They each wear a badge affixed to their doublets, naming them. This was always going to be the trickiest part of the masque, for Boleyn couldn’t suggest they were from Capetia, Quisto, Uuvek or Ezzonid, givenher allegiance to the former and Aragon and Cleve’s heritages. Instead, she has chosen to name them after sins – Greed, Lust, Tyranny, Disloyalty, Treason and so on.

As the ship bears down upon the castle, the cannons firing symbolically, puffs of flame and coloured smoke erupt from each of the turrets. From inside the castle, actors shift the wood to make it look as though the cannons have blown holes into the structure. The actor playing Aethelred waves his sword ineffectively, then raises his hands to the sky pleadingly.

At this point in the masque, Cernunnos should appear, his antlers proud and fierce. There’s a long history of such plays around the kingdom, where Cernunnos brings with him six bosomy queens, handing them over like glorious chattel. It’s the centrepiece of the traditional masque, usually accompanied by rousing music. Seymour once watched her father be so moved by this moment that he actually shed a tear.

The crowd quells, awaiting the expected reveal. Some of them look at the ceiling, wondering whether Boleyn has rigged an actor to fly in.

Instead of the rousing pounding of Cernunnos’s entrance, the music quietens. The harpist and violinist, silent until now, pick up their instruments and begin to play. Their duet is so gentle it forces the audience into silence. And the audience wants to hear, because the music is overwhelming in its delicacy. It makes Seymour’s heart stretch, like some hibernating creature waking up after a long sleep.

A further curtain, draped across the top of the hall, is wound up into the ceiling, revealing six acrobats in shimmering gowns. Each of them is posed in seemingly impossible positions above the mock castle, and each of them wears a headdress bearing the names of the six castles of Elben – the names of the original queens. The actor playing Aethelred bows, accepting their help. As the queens are lowered to the castle floor, there is no ceremonial handing over of women to man. The queens take their rightful places along the castle’s parapets. There is no moment where the king urges his power through his consorts – instead, he steps back, arms wide, honouring the queens as they get to work.

The acrobats fly from the castle walls, over the heads of the audience and straight at the enemy ship. Fireworks spark from their hands. The crowd coos at the masqued battle, as Daven arcs above, lifting Greed into the air and hauling him away. As Cnothan descends upon the ship, twirling impossibly fast so that the tulle of her gown becomes a tornado. As together, the queens land amidst emerald silk that is flurried to create a sea. Together, they place their hands against the ship’s hull, and push it back, out of the hall, the actors inside flailing helplessly.

The guests clap, but they all now understand that something is missing. The role of the king has been removed – he stands on the castle still, a strong light shining down on him, casting him heroically. Usually this would be expected, except that he has done nothing heroic. In previous masques he would be the one doing most of the fighting, while the queens stand stately and elegant on the battlements. Now, the king looks as he truly is – a thief of glory.

The real queens stand frozen. Their eyes are all on Henry – as is the entire court’s. They are wondering whether he will shout treason now or whether he has, for some inconceivable reason, approved this change to the well-worn story. Boleyn whispers something in his ear again, but even though he smiles and nods, there is no warmth behind it now. He understands what Boleyn is doing. But he can’t do anything about it at the Moon Ball. Boleyn was counting on his sense of courtly propriety, and once again she was right.

Each of the actors playing the queens approaches their real counterpart, offering them a flower. A single, white blossom. The Queen’s Kiss. Seymour accepts hers with a docile nod and affixes it to her gown.

Edward eyes it beadily, his gaze flicking towards Boleyn. To anyone who didn’t already understand what Boleyn is trying to do, it is the natural flower to offer to Henry’s queens – it is, after all, a symbol of their history. But to those who can see the ulterior meanings at work, it is a symbol of unity, for the Queen’s Kiss only ever offers up six flowers, all stemming from a single tree. Every queen understands what is being offered, and what is being asked. Seymour is the only one to fix her flower so readily to her gown.

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