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It was the same scaffold that Anne had climbed, and More, and Fisher, and Buckingham, and Neville and Carew. Some fancy had arisen among the common people that “indelible stains” marked the spot on the flints below. This was nonsense; I myself had inspected the flints and they were ordinary enough, and nothing remained on them. As for the scaffold, it was still serviceable, and building another one because of squeamishness would serve no purpose.

Nights in February are also cold. This night in particular was damp, with the damp that paralyses you. It was worse than the clean cold of snow and ice. I could scarce move my limbs, even underneath all the furs mounded to warm me. The blazing fire did nothing to aroint the cold. What did Catherine feel, in the ancient Tower? She had always been so sensitive to cold. I remembered how she had sent those furs and blankets to Reginald Pole’s traitorous mother, the Countess of Salisbury, in the Tower, lest she take cold. I had chided her for being softhearted. Aye, softhearted she was, toward everyone—the aged, traitorous Countess; the unemployed former secretaries and relations of the Duchess, her accomplices in sin. Toward anyone in need she was melting. She stopped not to question whether they had brought that need upon themselves.

It lightened somewhat in the east—a poor excuse for dawn. Outside my chamber window the vexed Thames slapped more furiously. I could not imagine how chilling those waters must be.

So: it was come. The day of the sentence, the day another Queen of England must die.

I had done my grieving, and arose determined to spend the day with my children. They were the only comfort left to me, the only things I had produced that nothing could mar or sully.

CXI

I had notified them by way of their governesses and chamberlains that February thirteenth was to be reserved for me, their most royal father. They were to spend the entire day in my company, doing what they most loved doing. For I would fain k day ano>They were to come to my chamber at eight o’clock, prepared for this day of recreation.

Mary arrived as the very stroke of eight began. She brought a large satchel, and I assumed it contained books. But I was delighted as she pulled out a viol, a viola da gamba, and a recorder. “My greatest pleasure,” she said, “is to play music all day long with no one to tell me ’tis time to attend to other things.”

Music. I, too, would have music all the day long. I grabbed Mary and kissed her on both cheeks. “You cannot know how that pleases me!” And I spoke true.

Mary pushed herself away and began to ruffle through her music-notes. So much like Katherine ... I found, to my astonishment, that my fond memories of Katherine had resurrected themselves. Mary was twenty-six now. A woman, four years older than my silly, false wife. She had never liked Catherine, and I had resented that, but brushed it aside as an old maid’s envy of a young wife. But Mary had evidently seen things I had not....

Edward now came, brought by his nurse. The sweet-cheeked boy waddled in, so swathed against the cold he was as bloated as a man four days in the water.

“And what would you like to do this day?” I asked him.

“Faith, he has a puppy he loves well,” started his nurse.

“I would have the snake,” he said quietly.

“A serpent?” I asked.

“He has collected them, Your Majesty,” she apologized. “In the fields near Hampton. He seems to have ... to have a way with them.”

He nodded. “Yes, fetch my snakes!”

The nurse brought in a large box. Now I became curious and lifted the lid. Inside were many dark shapes, which did not stir.

“They are sleeping!” cried Edward. “They have no eyelids, so when they sleep it must be dark, and they tuck their heads down, so.”

“He found some eggs,” said the nurse. “And is trying to hatch them.”

“And I shall succeed!” he said.

“Good boy.” I chuckled. “I should like to see you succeed.” I touched his golden hair. He was so delicate. The fat of the previous autumn had melted away, leaving