The Twilight Queen

By Jeri Westerson

Court jester Will Somers is drawn into another gripping and entertaining mystery when malevolent forces strike again at the court of Henry VIII – and Anne Boleyn is the target.

1536, London. Anne Boleyn, Queen of England, is in peril. In the mid of night, court jester Will Somers is summoned to an urgent assignation when she discovers a body in her chamber. The queen wants Will to find out who the man is and how he ended up there. Is someone trying to frame her for his murder?

Queen Anne has many enemies at court, and to make matters worse, Henry VIII is lining up his next conquest and suspects his queen of treason. Has the formidable Thomas Cromwell been whispering vile lies in the king’s ears, and could the queen be the target of a Catholic conspiracy? As further attacks plague the court, Will is determined to uncover the truth behind the plotting and devilry, but he will need to keep hold of all his wits to do so!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Severn House
• Release date: Jan 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9781448310913

Jeri Westerson

Jeri Westerson was born and raised in Los Angeles. As well as nine previous Crispin Guest medieval mysteries, she is the author of a paranormal urban fantasy series and several historical novels. Her books have been nominated for the Shamus, the Macavity and the Agatha awards.

Book preview

ONE

Greenwich, Palace of Placentia, April 1536

This poor Fool, having lived through the Great Matter and survived, had at last married Marion Greene, bastard child of the king’s Yeoman of the Records, Lord Robert Heyward. But my Marion, my wife these last two years … alas, miscarried on that dread day that Queen Catherine was buried, a day full of ill portent.

She was never quite the same after her miscarriage, and she never conceived again. Poor Marion. My poor wife. Wife of the court jester. She held her own when she was mocked for it, though those mocking tones came from gentles of higher estate, in whose company she now would never reach. But her father adored his bastard daughter, the only family he had left.

Save for me. Son-in-law. Fool-in-law?

He had finally agreed to our wedding, for he saw that she would not yield to the approach of any other swain. In truth, there were no other suitors after a time for she had refused too many. And he at last had to acknowledge that she loved me and that I loved her.

She should have been a wonderful mother, for she mothers me well enough … in my customs. For I have not changed my sinful ways and still seek out the company of men to my bed. But she does love me and looks the other way, as she is wont to do. For men are creatures of habit and do not change, whether tethered to a wife or not.

I spent my day as usual entertaining Henry and the court and though he was not as enamoured of Nan Bullen, his lady wife and queen, as he had been in their sometimes secret, sometimes clumsy courtship whilst he was still married to Catherine, he was often in a foul temper, and all of court looked on me anxiously to cool the king’s erratic wrath.

And so I did, with song, quip and riddle; my quiver of tools. On this particular night, Henry sat in his dining chamber with his cadre of privy men, courtiers, ladies and a few musicians that he favoured. Whilst I, the most foolish of fools, capered about making merry. Then I posed this question. ‘Harry,’ said I to the king.

‘Will?’ he answered.

‘Tell me this. There were five women sitting in a room. In the same room there was a basket with five apples in it. Each woman took an apple, but one apple still remained in the basket. How could this be?’

He rubbed at his fiery red beard, eyes darting here and there in thought. As his gaze fell on each courtier, they politely shrugged, for they did not wish to appear wittier than the king, and in God’s truth, some were not even as clever as a codfish and could not make their way out of the garderobe without help.

But then the light came to his eyes and he smacked the arm of his chair. ‘One of the women took the entire basket with her!’

I bowed low to Henry. ‘Right you are, Uncle. You are the Master of the Riddle.’

‘Your poor riddles, yes. Oh, let me eat my supper in peace. I’ve no more need of you this night, Somers. Take yourself where you will.’

‘As a Will myself, wherever I go, I always take my Will, Harry.’

‘Get out, Jester!’ He threw a gold sovereign at me, and I scooped it up most willingly. ‘A sovereign from my sovereign. I bid you good night, sire!’ I kissed the coin, saluted with it and then dropped it into my money pouch. I gathered my basket of foolery, slung my cittern over my shoulder by its strap and bowed my way out of the chamber, travelling through several more to leave his donjon wing of the castle.

Relief! The evening was mine and it was yet early. Perhaps I would spend it with Marion, no doubt hard at work before her embroidery frame. But as I exited the dining chamber and entered the presence chamber, some courtiers still lingered in hopes of seeing the king. I stood at the entrance and announced, ‘Good men of England, the king is now at his supper and will not see you this night. Away with you to await him in the morning.’

There were some bowed heads, disappointed. Some had waited all day. Some had waited still longer. Some would wait till Eternity, for they were not arrayed as Henry liked it. Indeed, a man could pauper himself just to be garbed in finery of cloth and fur, for Henry would not abide the poor of England about him. Even his jester, who was never garbed as a jester anymore, had better clothes than such as these.

They began to disperse, mumbling and wandering away into the shadows of the unlit chandlers and beside the guards who stood as statues. One man in the centre of the room remained with hands at hips. God’s crown, I thought it was Henry again, young and virile and in that familiar posture of his … but it was not. Though familiar the silhouette was.

‘Will Somers!’ he said, his voice ringing across the emptying hall. ‘By the Rood!’

He walked in measured strides and finally fell into a halo of light.

‘Master Richard!’ I ran headlong and crushed him in an embrace. My long-ago master! I never thought to see him again. The wool Staple, Master Richard Fermor, mostly worked in Calais, where I worked for a time with him, and that most opportune time when Henry was there, Master Richard introduced me to the king, and he bore me away with him to the court of England. From Shropshire to Easton Neston to Calais and then to court. What a roundabout route I took to my destiny!

‘Well met, Will.’ He hugged me back and then set me at arm’s-length. ‘Just look at you. You’re not any handsomer.’

‘Ah, but you should see my purse. It is handsome indeed!’

He laughed. ‘I’ll wager it’s fatter here in the king’s court. Ah, Will. I have thought about you for many a day. How fare you here? Did I do right, sending you to the king?’

‘It was the fairest thing you could have done for me, master. I am important here. And being a paid fool is much better than an unpaid one. And I am married now to a wonderous creature who loves this ugly face of mine.’

‘Well now! That’s a fine thing indeed. Any children?’

I could barely hold on to my smile, but I managed, making light of it. ‘Alas, no. And I fear there shall be none. Ah well. God has blessed me so much in so many ways, I suppose I shall not need them.’

‘Now that’s a pity. Your children should have been … interesting.’

‘What need I of children when that comment is pregnant with possibilities?’

He laughed again. ‘I miss you and your humour, lad.’

‘But not my poor showing in your business.’

‘Now that is a fact. But look at your clothes. The king must favour you.’

‘He does. Harry laughs heartily and loves me well. I couldn’t ask for more. But here! Have you tried to get in to see the king this day? Tut! Let us see if he will see you now. For I can bring you to him. At least let me do that.’

‘I will take your offer graciously.’

I motioned him to follow and marched back the way I had come, carefully opened the door to Henry’s dining chamber and stuck my head in.

‘Uncle. You have a visitor.’

‘Somers, I told you to begone.’

He had some of his privy men about him, drinking wine, playing cards, and supping from plates of meats, dainties and cheese.

‘But, sire! I bring you the man who brought me to you. Surely you would wish to thank him … or to curse him.’

‘Eh?’

I pulled in my master and pushed him forth. He bowed.

‘Richard Fermor,’ I said. ‘The Wool Staple of Calais.’

Thank Christ Henry broke into a wide smile. ‘So it is. You are welcome, dear sir. Come forth. Have some meat with us. Giffard, get him a chair.’

Thomas Giffard, one of his Gentleman Ushers, rose and took a chair from its place along the wall and set it before my master at the table. He poured wine for him.

‘This is very gracious of you, Your Majesty.’

‘Not at all. I want you to tell me about this knave of yours, that uneven die that you foisted upon me.’

‘Foisted?’ I said in exaggerated incredulity. ‘Foisted?’

‘Well,’ said Master Richard, sliding a glance toward me, ‘when he was but a small lad, he did the most outrageous things. I am a wool merchant by trade, Your Grace, as you know, and this fellow just couldn’t seem to learn anything about it. He’d spend his time entertaining my workers and, as a consequence, we lost money because they were too busy laughing at his antics to do their own work. I remember this one time he dyed his hair with the wool dye. He looked frightful with blue hair. He had to cut it to the quick – as he does now, I see – before he looked normal again.’

Henry laughed as I sat back, arms crossed over my chest, feigning offence.

‘Blue hair, was it? You must have looked like a sorcerer, Somers. Or a fool.’

I slapped the table. ‘And that I was, Harry. A Fool.’

‘But here. You cost this poor man money.’

‘That’s why he got rid of me … to you.’

‘Ah, but Master Fermor, he has more than paid his way to me all these years now. Despite hair the colour God granted him,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Will keeps me in good humour, but he is also a loyal friend.’ He reached over and patted my back. ‘And I would not give him up for all the gold in Europe.’

‘Aww, Harry. My heart. And I would not give you up for all the same. You bloated bladder of a man.’

He cuffed me, though gently.

We drank, we talked; Henry was well pleased and agreed to talk business with Master Richard on the morrow. I had accomplished my task.

We left the king’s company when the moon was high. Master Richard bid me farewell as he was staying at an inn outside of the palace. Ah, it was good to see him. I would introduce him to Marion on the morrow. She should know him, the man whose generosity made me what I am today.

We parted ways in the corridor, he vowing to find me and see my wife, and me wishing him a good night.

The palace was dark and shrouded in shadows. Guards stood here and there like ghosts haunting the hallways. It was a safe feeling to know they were there.

As I passed the king’s donjon chambers, I saw a lone courtier standing in the corridor, cocking his head at me. I recognized him as a lord of lowly outpost but a useful man – for Henry liked useful men who knew how to dress and eventually, perhaps, steal themselves into his favour. I had noticed him earlier when I had entertained the king since he laughed out loud at my foolery, and a merry smile he had, framed by a dark beard close-cropped to his face but not hiding the deep grooves on either side of that smile when he laughed. He was young, perhaps as old as I, or perhaps younger. I was thirty now and feeling content in my place at court.

He watched me from some feet away before he sauntered forth. I slowed, gathering m’self. I wondered what he would want of me. Sometimes I made good coin from some fellow hiring me for entertainment to impress a woman. Faith! I made much in this manner that I was proud to bring home to Marion.

But he had a different look in his eye. One that was familiar from the servants’ hall from men and women alike. Edward for one, a servant and a regular visitor to my privy quarters when he wanted a tumble. And from some of the laundresses that I also used to tumble with … but that was before Marion. Once under her spell, no other woman would do.

Men, on the other hand …

But here was a courtier, not a servant, and they never looked at me thus. Not as this man was looking at me now. He was new here.

‘My lord,’ I said, pretending busyness at my sleeve, fiddling with the laces. ‘How can I serve you?’

‘How indeed.’ He leaned his arm against the pillar and observed my doings with pointed interest. ‘I’ve been watching you, Jester.’

‘Have you? Then I have done my job well, for it is to entertain His Majesty and then his court. In that order.’

‘You do seem by all accounts to be a merry fellow. And unusually witty. I have seldom seen such quips from other Fools and so much enjoyment from the court.’

Was that all it was? I breathed a little easier. ‘I thank you for the compliment, my lord. Then you are well served.’

‘I am.’

He said nothing more and still he lingered.

Of a sudden, his hand was on my chest and he pushed me against the wall. I looked down at that hand and then raised my gaze to his eyes. There was no anger, no villainy in that gaze. In fact, I noted that he had long lashes and they gentled his steady but piercing gaze. ‘I overheard something about you,’ he whispered.

‘Oh?’

He drew closer. My cod twitched in interest and my breath quickened. And yet, I darted a glance both ways down the corridor. No one there. Not this late.

‘Yes. It was something passing strange. In the servants’ hall. For this unusual jester who wears not bells or hood … likes to tumble with male servants. In the bedchamber.’

Edward! Beshrew you, you varlet, you carry-tale! I’ll beat you soundly for this when next I see you!

All this passed through my head … when I noticed this courtier’s face quite close to mine. His eyes darted cursorily about the passage before he leaned in and pressed a sweet and hasty kiss to my lips. ‘I do hope,’ he whispered, ‘that what I heard was true.’

I licked where he’d kissed me. It tasted of sweet wine. ‘Well … ’tis true. For the right man.’

He pressed his body against mine. His cod – and unless his codpiece was stuffed hard with more than buckram – was keen indeed. ‘Am I the right man?’

‘What is the hour?’ I replied breathlessly. ‘For it seems the time for the right man is right now.’

He kissed me full then, leisurely exploring, all the while grinding into me. God’s mercy, but I was hard. And then he drew back and smiled. ‘Know you where my quarters are?’

I shook my head, for I could not speak just then. He gave me instruction. I knew those corridors well. And of a sudden I recalled his name – Nicholas Pachett, son of some baron or marquis or some such. He resided at the other end of the palace. ‘Meet me there tonight. Give me a few moments to leave first.’

He looked down at my cod. And so did I. The evidence of my interest was plain.

He chuckled and then strolled away into the shadows.

I gave him a moment. I gave him two, and then I walked a little too fast down the winding corridors, upstairs and down, and finally found the corridor, saluted the various guards I passed, and they acknowledged me with a smile but did not stop me, for they knew who I was, and I knocked gently upon the door.

No groom answered. No doubt he had sent his groom away for the night. And there he was, in the doorway. He had doffed his doublet, gown and coat, and leaned on the jamb with his shirt open down to his hose. A tasty dish was Nicholas.

He looked me over with the same idea, that Will Somers might just be happily devoured. He said nothing, and neither did I. But I moved forward anyway, brushing against him as I left the corridor and entered his outer chamber.

I unlaced my doublet and let it fall to the floor. ‘Clumsy of me,’ I said, my voice hoarse.

‘Not at all,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘It is most convenient, this sudden clumsiness. For I am certain you will soon find it hot in here.’

‘I’m sure I will.’

He didn’t stand on ceremony. He pushed open my chemise and pressed his face to my chest and bit; gently but with enough pressure to cause a gasp to escape my lips. And then we fell upon each other with sighs and gasps, and the pushing aside of clothing, too impatient to take them all off. Our grunts and moans and soft cries filled the chamber and behind the soft sanctuary of the bed curtains.

It was a while that we were at it, he at me and I at him, before we could relax against his bedclothes. Like any kind and solicitous courtier, he brought me wine and we shared a goblet, and he tried to feed me broken meat and fruit from a plate, but I declined.

He chuckled, a deep sound from beneath a dark, hairy chest. ‘I fear I have failed to properly introduce myself. How disgraceful of me.’

‘But I know you, nonetheless. You are Nicholas Pachett. Some lord of some such.’

‘You know me?’

‘I know everyone worth knowing at court.’

‘So.’ He leaned in and kissed and nipped at my neck. I angled my head so he could reach it better. ‘I am worth knowing?’

‘You are now.’

He laughed and shifted down under the bedclothes. ‘So I see.’

I couldn’t help but run my hand over his beard and up through the hair at his nape. I myself was clean-shaven, for I needed to be able to wear masks and wigs and all manner to make a proper fool of m’self.

‘And why in God’s good grace did you seek out a silly-faced fool as a lover?’

He lay back, an Adonis amongst the pillows. Surely he knew how beauteous he was, all lean sinews and muscled belly. A sculptor couldn’t have done better in marble. ‘I … like you.’

‘You like me. Now there is poetry.’

‘You want me to compose poetry to you?’

I smiled. ‘Can you?’

‘Now let me think.’

I watched his face with delight as his eyes searched the heavens for inspiration:

‘I saw a Fool across the hall,

and looked he fair to one and all,

as he merrily began to jest …

and thrummed my heart in my poor chest!’

I pushed at said chest. ‘You didn’t just rhyme that!’

‘Oh? Do you think that it’s only a fool who can make verse extemporaneously?’

‘Maybe you are a bit of a fool. Are you trying to take my job?’

‘Never!’

‘Good. Let me tell you about a man who tried.’ I settled in, wrapping the sheets and quilt over me to stave off the chill, but my finger loitered over him, running down his chest, then up his arm as I spoke. ‘There are many an entertainer who overstay their welcome at court, losing the interest of their masters and becoming a nuisance rather than an entertainment. I had dealt with such a fellow some months ago. Thomas, the king’s juggler, had designs on my post, thinking to overturn me from my rightful place at Harry’s knee.’

‘Not really,’ he said with a guffaw.

‘I must have silence, Master Nicholas, to tell my tale.’

Chastened, he lay back again with a wide grin.

‘Well, one day I interrupted Thomas as he juggled. I came into the room carrying a jug of milk and a manchet. I set myself down on the floor to partake of my repast, thus vexing Thomas the Juggler. Making a show of setting my table, I asked the king for a spoon. Perplexed, but sensing something saucy about to transpire, Harry answered that he had none.

‘Angry now that I had interrupted his performance, Thomas told me to use my hands and away with me. But I rose and took my bread in hand, and with the jug of milk nestled under my arm, I proceeded to tear bits off the bread. I went first to the king. This bit, Harry, I give to you, and I handed him a piece I had torn from the loaf. I took another piece and popped it into the pouch at my hip and said, And this next bit must serve for me, which I’ll eat apace. I trotted forth to Queen Anne and handed her yet a large piece. This bit, madam, unto you. She took it with a smile and a bow. I stepped away with a deeper bow, and took up the last morsel left and raised it to my mouth. And this bit I myself eat now, and with that, I ate it. I then took the milk jug from under my arm, raised it as the cup is raised at mass to shew one and all, and said, And the rest upon your face, and tossed the whole lot into Thomas’s visage. White milk dribbled from his chin, from his brows and on to his doublet. And all the court laughed and made such sport of him and humiliated him that he never returned.’

He laughed and rolled from side to side. ‘Remind me never to be foul of you!’

‘And never shall you be, if you behave yourself.’

He looked up at me through those gorgeous lashes. ‘And … have I behaved myself?’

I lifted the sheets and gazed at him in the candlelight. ‘I’ll let you know anon.’

It was the dead of night when I rose at last from his bed, kissed him good night and vowed to return if he would have me.

‘Oh, dear Jester, I will have you,’ he said sleepily.

Such a satisfying evening. And we would meet again. I liked his company, this Nicholas Pachett, and he, in his sweetness, seemed to equally enjoy mine. Poor Edward. Methinks it will be a long time till we satisfy one another hurriedly behind pillars and in horse stalls if I have me a courtier to bed.

My mind flitted on such things that might occur between me and my courtier. My bawdy wife would be pleased to hear of our escapades, and I might even re-enact them just for her—

But just as I turned at the corridor to my lodgings with Marion, I heard the slapping steps of someone running. That