The hall was lit by dozens of shimmering white tapers flaring in silver wall braziers and chandeliers above, and the floor was strewn with sweet green rushes. In spite of the massive space, the room was filled with the scent of food and unwashed flesh. The music, a volte, was upbeat, played by musicians placed above them in the gallery. But the sound did not suit the king’s mood. Norfolk sat beside him, Henry in his massive carved throne beneath the canopy of state, the collection of silver plates before them catching the lamplight. The duke watched from the corner of his eye as the king swallowed goblet upon goblet full of wine, never once turning to his other side to acknowledge his queen. Henry was in a particularly foul mood, and he had been since the morning, when he had relented to his wife’s request to attend Mass with the German ambassador and her brother, the Duke of Cleves. Norfolk watched Henry chew with the intensity of a goat.
