Page 97 of Six Wild Crowns

“Why not? It isn’t their fault.”

“Of course not. But I think it would say something about my love for you. It might make you feel that my love was light.”

“Do you doubt my love?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

He offers her his hand. “Is it time for my gift?” she says.

“Yes. Come with me.”

He leads her from the table, out through the banqueting hall so that everyone can see them.

“Follow us!” he calls out.

The plague is coming for her. Her skin prickles with hidden white hair. George and Mary flank them. Mary puts a hand on Boleyn’s spare arm, steadying her.

Out in the courtyard, on the cobbles, a stage has been erected from the same dark wood as the mahogany trees in the forest around Brynd. Standing on it, their hands cuffed, are three people: Boleyn’s maidservant, the one with the pretty voice who led her to thesunscína; a young boy, the dirt of a hard day’s work upon him; and Oswyn.

“There have been troubling rumours spreading about you, my love,” Henry says loudly. “They say that you caused Queen Seymour’s miscarriage, and the mine collapse. They even say you are planning a rebellion against me. I don’t like it. I don’t like false rumours. All three of these people have spread such rumours. My present to you, therefore, is one of their lives.”

“That’s not necessary, my love,” Boleyn says, her voice hoarse.

“Of course it is. I won’t brook gossip around my beloved queens. IfI don’t punish them, then people will think I believe the rumours. They will believe that the rumours are true. You don’t want that, do you?”

“But to execute them, Henry…”

She takes his arm and tries to make it seem like a loving gesture, rather than a way to stay upright.

“It is always necessary to punish treason, Boleyn. We must be a country united. You’re an intelligent woman. You know this.”

“But do you have proof that they are responsible, Henry?”

“I do.”

“May I see it?”

“Do you believe me capable of sentencing innocents to death?”

“No, of course not, Henry. Of course not.”

“So which one would you like to see punished? The other two will go free, to show my generosity.”

A gift indeed. A poisoned gift, to keep her in line, and to spread the rumours further. Because she will be the one blamed for this death. A child, a young woman or the man she is certain has only ever defended her. How can she possibly choose which life means the least?

“May I have a moment to consider who deserves death the most?”

“Of course.”

It’s an impossible choice. She cannot talk herself into justifying any one of them dying, and yet she must choose, or Henry will accuse her of all the rumours. He is making a murderer of her. She looks each of the accused in the eyes and sees only weariness there. God knows what they have endured since being taken by the king’s men. Then she realises one more thing: the stage is bare.

“How will they be executed?”

“Well, since I am only executing one, it must be a show of strength. They will be hung, drawn and quartered.”

Boleyn cannot stop the laughter from bubbling up through her throat. She turns blindly to her family, who step back instinctively. They cannot share this guilt. It must be hers alone.

“Who would you advise me to choose?” she asks Henry.

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