Hilary Mantel - The Mirror and the Light

Mary Howard, his daughter, married to Fitzroy, the king’s illegitimate son.

Thomas Howard, his half-brother, known as Tom Truth.

Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, old friend of Henry, widower of Henry’s sister Mary.

Thomas Wyatt, friend of Cromwell: poet, diplomat, supposed lover of Anne Boleyn.

Henry Wyatt, his aged father, an early supporter of the Tudor regime.

Bess Darrell, Wyatt’s mistress, formerly a lady-in-waiting to Katherine of Aragon.

William Fitzwilliam, later Lord Admiral and Earl of Southampton: initially an ally of Cromwell.

Nicholas Carew, prominent courtier and supporter of Mary, the king’s daughter.

Eliza Carew, his wife, sister of Francis Bryan.

Francis Bryan, known as ‘the Vicar of Hell’, an inveterate gambler and undiplomatic diplomat: brother-in-law to Nicholas Carew.

Thomas Culpeper, gentleman attending the king.

Philip Hoby, gentleman attending the king.

Jane Rochford, lady-in-waiting, widow of the executed George Boleyn.

Thomas Boleyn, Earl of Wiltshire, father of Anne Boleyn and George Boleyn.

Mary Shelton, cousin of Anne Boleyn and former lady-in-waiting.

Mary Mounteagle, lady-in-waiting.

Nan Zouche, lady-in-waiting.

Katherine, Lady Latimer, born Katherine Parr.

Henry Bouchier, Earl of Essex.

The household of the king’s children

John Shelton, governor of the household of the king’s two daughters.

Anne Shelton, his wife, aunt of Anne Boleyn.

Lady Bryan, mother of Francis Bryan and Eliza Carew: brings up the king’s daughters, Mary and Elizabeth, and later the child Edward.

At the convent in Shaftesbury

Elizabeth Zouche, the abbess.

Dorothea Wolsey, known as Dorothea Clancey, illegitimate daughter of the cardinal.

Henry’s dynastic rivals

Henry Courtenay, Marquis of Exeter, descended from a daughter of Edward IV.

Gertrude, his wife.

Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, niece of Edward IV.

Henry Lord Montague, her eldest son.

Reginald Pole, her son, abroad: proposed leader of a crusade to bring England back to papal control.

Geoffrey Pole, her son.

Constance, Geoffrey’s wife.

Diplomats

Eustache Chapuys, London ambassador of Emperor Charles V: a French-speaker from Savoy.

Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, an envoy from the Emperor.

Jean de Dinteville, a French envoy.

Louis de Perreau, Sieur de Castillon, French ambassador.

Antoine de Castelnau, Bishop of Tarbes, French ambassador.

Charles de Marillac, French ambassador.

Hochsteden, envoy from Cleves.

Olisleger, envoy from Cleves.

Harst, envoy from Cleves.

In Calais

Lord Lisle, Lord Deputy, the governor, the king’s uncle.

Honor, his wife.

Anne Bassett, one of Honor’s daughters by her first marriage.

John Husee, member of the Calais garrison, the Lisles’ man of business.

At the Tower of London

Sir William Kingston, councillor to the king, Constable of the Tower.

Edmund Walsingham, Lieutenant of the Tower, Kingston’s deputy.

Martin, a gaoler. (Invented character)

Cromwell’s friends

Humphrey Monmouth, London merchant: formerly imprisoned for sheltering William Tyndale, the translator of the Bible into English.

Robert Packington, merchant and member of Parliament.

Stephen Vaughan, Antwerp-based merchant.

Margaret Vernon, an abbess, formerly Gregory’s tutor.

John Bale, a renegade monk and playwright.

Frères humains qui après nous vivez

N’ayez les cuers contre nous endurciz.

Brother men, you who live after us,

Do not harden your hearts against us.

FRANÇOIS VILLON

Look up and see the wind,

For we be ready to sail.

Noah’s Flood , A MIRACLE PLAY

Once the queen’s head is severed, he walks away. A sharp pang of appetite reminds him that it is time for a second breakfast, or perhaps an early dinner. The morning’s circumstances are new and there are no rules to guide us. The witnesses, who have knelt for the passing of the soul, stand up and put on their hats. Under the hats, their faces are stunned.

But then he turns back, to say a word of thanks to the executioner. The man has performed his office with style; and though the king is paying him well, it is important to reward good service with encouragement, as well as a purse. Having once been a poor man, he knows this from experience.

The small body lies on the scaffold where it has fallen: belly down, hands outstretched, it swims in a pool of crimson, the blood seeping between the planks. The Frenchman – they had sent for the Calais executioner – had picked up the head, swaddled it in linen, then handed it to one of the veiled women who had attended Anne in her last moments. He saw how, as she received the bundle, the woman shuddered from the nape of her neck to her feet. She held it fast though, and a head is heavier than you expect. Having been on a battlefield, he knows this from experience too.

The women have done well. Anne would have been proud of them. They will not let any man touch her; palms out, they force back those who try to help them. They slide in the gore and stoop over the narrow carcass. He hears their indrawn breath as they lift what is left of her, holding her by her clothes; they are afraid the cloth will rip and their fingers touch her cooling flesh. Each of them sidesteps the cushion on which she knelt, now sodden with her blood. From the corner of his eye he sees a presence flit away, a fugitive lean man in a leather jerkin. It is Francis Bryan, a nimble courtier, gone to tell Henry he is a free man. Trust Francis, he thinks: he is a cousin of the dead queen, but he has remembered he is also a cousin of the queen to come.

The officers of the Tower have found, in lieu of a coffin, an arrow chest. The narrow body fits it. The woman who holds the head genuflects with her soaking parcel. As there is no other space, she fits it by the corpse’s feet. She stands up, crossing herself. The hands of the bystanders move in imitation, and his own hand moves; but then he checks himself, and draws it into a loose fist.

The women take their last look. Then they step back, their hands held away from them so as not to soil their garments. One of Constable Kingston’s men proffers linen towels – too late to be of use. These people are incredible, he says to the Frenchman. No coffin, when they had days to prepare? They knew she was going to die. They were not in any doubt.

‘But perhaps they were, Maître Cremuel.’ (No Frenchman can ever pronounce his name.) ‘Perhaps they were, for I believe the lady herself thought the king would send a messenger to stop it. Even as she mounted the steps she was looking over her shoulder, did you see?’

‘He was not thinking of her. His mind is entirely on his new bride.’

‘ Alors , perhaps better luck this time,’ the Frenchman says. ‘You must hope so. If I have to come back, I shall increase my fee.’

The man turns away and begins cleaning his sword. He does it lovingly, as if the weapon were his friend. ‘Toledo steel.’ He proffers it for admiration. ‘We still have to go to the Spaniards to get a blade like this.’