by Alison Weir
Anna felt embarrassed. She turned to Dr. Wotton. “I think there has been some misunderstanding. Please repeat my invitation, and explain to my lord that it is the custom in Kleve for an unmarried lady to invite gentlemen to table, and that my father and mother encouraged it.”
After Wotton had translated, the Admiral graciously accepted the invitation, and brought with him to supper eight other gentlemen. Anna enjoyed playing hostess. She had never entertained so many guests before, and set herself to charm them. The meal was excellent, and, with Susanna’s help, the conversation, like the wine, flowed.
Later, as the Admiral made to depart, Anna detained him. “My lord, was there in our pleasant supper anything of which his Majesty would have disapproved?” she asked mischievously.
“Madam,” he replied, “there was nothing. I shall inform his Majesty that your graciousness to us, and your excellent conduct, could not have been more commendable.”
* * *
—
Two days later, they were still stuck in Calais. The wind had returned, but with such force that it was now too dangerous to put to sea.
“There is nothing we can do but hope for its abatement,” the Admiral lamented. “Some foolhardy masters are setting sail in it, much to their peril. I heard today that a Dutch hulk has been lost near Boulogne.”
“How dreadful.” Anna sighed. “At this rate, I will not be married before Christmas. I hope the King will not be angry.”
“Not at all,” the Admiral assured her. “He would be far more angry if we risked your life by putting to sea. Fortunately, the wind is better in the other direction, and a messenger from England has been able to get here, although at some peril. His Majesty has received my letters. Though he desires your Grace’s arrival, he takes the delay in good part, and heartily desires me to cheer you and your train.”
It was more evidence of the King’s care for her. “I do thank his Majesty,” she said, her spirits lifting. “I am deeply sensible of his kindness.”
The Admiral and the Governor were prompt to obey the King’s wishes. In the days leading up to Christmas, there were feasts and jousts, all for Anna’s solace and recreation. It was on Christmas night, as spiced wine and wafers were served to her and many guests, that the Admiral arrived unexpectedly, in a jubilant mood.
“Your Grace,” he announced, “the wind is turning.”
* * *
—
At last, at midday on December 27, the Admiral conducted Anna on board The Lyon, to the sound of trumpets. It was strange, and a little frightening, to be on a ship, feeling it roll beneath her and knowing that underneath was only deep water, but she thrust down her fear. In a few hours, she would be in England, where her King was waiting for her.
The ship master greeted her respectfully and, with Susanna in tow as interpreter, she was shown into her well-appointed cabin, which was paneled in polished oak, with a wide latticed window overlooking the sea. The Admiral urged her to remain there for the duration of the voyage.
“Sailors are superstitious about having ladies on board,” he told her, but she waved her hand.
“I am a little nervous of the sea, my lord. I had rather be out on deck, seeing what is happening.”
The Admiral hesitated. “Very well, Madam. But if it gets rough, the master will expect you to return to your cabin.”
He escorted her and Susanna back on deck, where some of her party were waiting to be shown to their cabins. The rest were sailing on some of the fifty ships accompanying The Lyon to England. Anna stood by the port-side bulwark with Susanna, watching the anchor being raised. A woman wrapped in a green cloak stood a few feet away, with one of the soldiers of Anna’s escort. Seeing Anna looking at her, she curtseyed.
Anna smiled. “You were at the Lantern Gate with Lady Lisle when I was received in Calais, yes?”
“I was, your Grace,” the woman said. She was English, about forty, with dark hair and a narrow face and pointed chin.
“You were in her service?”
“No, Madam. My husband here is a soldier in the Calais garrison, but has now obtained a place at court in the King’s guard, so we are returning to England.”
“And you are…?”
“Mistress Stafford, Madam.” The woman curtseyed again. Anna noticed that Susanna, who was translating, was staring coldly at her.
“You have been in Calais long?”
“These past five years and more, Madam.”
They were casting off now. The wind billowed out the sails, and gracefully the vessel moved away from the quayside. The Admiral joined them.
“It is very gentle, the movement of the ship,” Anna observed hopefully.
“It usually is in the harbor, Madam.”
It wasn’t gentle when they reached the sea. At once, The Lyon started rolling and bucking on the waves. Anna felt sick, and frightened. She did not know how she would stand this.
“How long will it take to get to England?” she asked.
“With a good wind like this, Madam, we should be in Dover by evening.” The Admiral did not seem disconcerted at all, from which Anna understood that the motion of the ship was normal. She tried to fight down her rising panic, as she staggered and swayed, gripping the bulwark to stop herself falling over. A princess of Kleve must never lose her composure.
“Forgive me, Madam, I think I will retire to the ladies’ cabin,” Mistress Stafford said, and reeled away.
“You will get your sea legs soon.” The Admiral smiled.
Anna found that hard to believe. “I think I will retire too,” she said, and made her way to her cabin, with Susanna close behind her. No sooner had a gray-faced Mother Lowe shut the door behind them than Susanna said, “Do you know who that woman is, Madam?”
“No,” Anna replied. “Should I?”
“That is Mary Boleyn, sister to the late Queen Anne. She has a poor reputation. She left court in disgrace after marrying that soldier, Stafford. Queen Anne did not approve, for he was far beneath Mary, and penniless, and she got the King to banish them. Mary never saw Queen Anne after that.”
“It must be hard for her to live with the memory of what was done to her sister,” Anna said. “Why does she have a reputation?”
The ship bucked again. Anna hastily sat down on the bed, and Susanna grabbed the door handle to steady herself. “She was free with her favors,” she sniffed. “Your Grace ought not to be seen with her.” Mother Lowe was shaking her head, her lips pursed in disapproval.
“No, I suppose not,” Anna said. “She is not coming to court?”
“No, Madam. There is no place for her there.”
That was as well. Anna looked out of the window, watching the coast of France recede in the distance. Far behind her lay Kleve and all those she loved; but ahead was King Henry.
She lay down, praying the sea would calm a little. It was horrible being tossed back and forth, with no rhythm to it. She willed the hours away, wanting only to be on dry land, and not at the mercy of this pitiless swell. The Admiral had said she would get used to it, but she was still waiting for that to happen. All she could do was lie there and pray to God and His Holy Mother to keep them all safe.
It was dark when the Admiral appeared at the door of her cabin and informed her that they had been driven north of Dover by the wind, but would make land soon near the town of Deal. They were the most welcome words she had ever heard.
She had hoped to be on deck when she saw England for the first time. She peered out of the window, yet could see nothing but a few distant lights in the blackness.
“We had best get your Grace ready for your arrival,” Mother Lowe said, and beckoned Gerberge and Anastasia, both of whom looked green and wan. Gerberge combed Anna’s hair and re-plaited it, put on her Stickelchen, and brushed down her black velvet gown. Unsteadily, Anastasia fetched water from a barre
l, slopping it over the silver bowl, for Anna to wash her face and hands. Mother Lowe brought her jewelry and her sable-lined cloak.
Outside, they could hear the sailors shouting. Gradually, the rolling abated, bringing a blessed respite.
The Admiral came knocking.
“Madam, we have reached England!” He looked at Anna approvingly. “If I may say so, your Grace looks every inch the Queen. Pray hasten, as the boats are ready.”
Boats? It seemed she had come through one ordeal only to face another, for the master was waiting to assist her into a rowing boat that was poised to be lowered over the side on ropes. She thanked him for bringing her to England safely, summoned all her courage, and clambered in. The Admiral followed her, with Susanna and her other gentlewomen. Fortunately, the short journey was calmer than she had anticipated.
“Those hills are the Downs, Madam,” the Admiral explained, “and they make for a sheltered anchorage. Out yonder in the sea are the treacherous Goodwin Sands, where many ships have been lost. I confess I was a little worried when we were blown north, but the master steered us here without mishap.”
Anna crossed herself, thinking of what might have happened if he had not.
“Where are we?” she asked. The lights on the shore were much closer now.
“That’s Deal, Madam.” A distant church bell chimed five times. “We have made good time,” the Admiral smiled.
The sailors rowed the boat up to the beach and helped Anna out. She was utterly relieved to be on firm ground. As the men sent up flares, a man on horseback hastened toward them, followed by a rider bearing a torch. When he drew up, he almost leaped from the saddle.
“Is it the Queen’s Grace?” he asked breathlessly.
“It is, Sir.” Anna had practiced her greeting in English. “I am most happy to be in England.”
He knelt and kissed her hand, then rose. “Sir Thomas Cheyney, Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, at your service. Welcome, Madam, in the King’s name! My Lord Admiral.” He bowed again. “We thought you might put in here, after we did not see you at Dover.”
Behind him a steady stream of riders approached. Soon a great multitude was gathered on the beach to receive Anna.
“It is cold, Madam,” Sir Thomas said. “Let us not linger. Come, I will escort you to the castle.”
Anna’s chariot had now been unloaded from the ship. She climbed into it with Susanna, and was led in procession a short way along the coast to Deal Castle.
Sir Thomas apologized for its being unprepared to receive her. “It is a fortress, Madam, built by the King’s Grace to defend the realm in the event of a French invasion. But at least you may refresh yourself there before we go on to Dover.”
When Anna entered the squat, concentric building, she was struck by how spartan it was, but it was clean, and the kitchen had been busy. An inviting array of comfits and sweetmeats had been laid out for her, and, not having eaten since breakfast, she gratefully tucked in, washing the delicacies down with some spiced wine, which the English called hippocras.
She had barely finished when the Duke of Suffolk was announced. A portly, expensively dressed gentleman with a white spade beard and a prominent nose strode in, bowed and kissed her hand.
“Welcome to England, your Grace,” he said, appraising her with seasoned eyes. “I trust you had a good crossing. I am come with the Bishop of Chichester and many knights and ladies to escort you to Dover Castle.”
Anna smiled. Cloaked again, she followed him across the drawbridge. Many of her own party, including Dr. Olisleger, Dr. Wotton, Mother Lowe, and Otho von Wylich, had now made land and were waiting for her amid a throng of English courtiers and men-at-arms, all staring at her.
Again she climbed into her chariot. Would her journey ever end? They rode through the night for about nine miles, until she saw, rising up in front of her, a mighty stronghold on top of a towering cliff, overlooking the sea.
“Dover Castle ahead!” someone called.
Up and up they climbed, through a series of massive gateways, until at last they came to the inmost bailey, which was bright with torchlight. There stood the Great Tower, where the Duke had said she would lodge. Before it, another crowd had gathered. Suffolk presented to Anna more than forty lords and gentlemen, as well as his young wife, a pretty redhead with lively eyes and a retroussé nose, and other richly attired ladies.
It was now eleven o’clock, and Anna was wilting. The Duchess of Suffolk and the English ladies, with Anna’s women following, led her up a winding stair to her apartments, which had been made as comfortably luxurious as was possible in such an ancient building. Her great chests had already arrived, and her German maids swooped to unpack them.
“I think her Grace is ready for her bed,” Mother Lowe said firmly, and the English ladies stepped back to allow Anna’s gentlewomen to undress her.
“Gute nacht!” Mother Lowe said meaningfully. The Duchess took the hint and shooed the ladies out.
Anna swayed on her feet as she was robed in her night-rail. She was utterly grateful to sink into bed. She lay there, her head teeming with impressions of England, and was asleep within minutes.
Chapter 8
1539–1540
Anna awoke greatly refreshed. At Lady Suffolk’s suggestion, she climbed up to the roof, gasping at the view. It was a clear, crisp day, and far below the sun glittered on the sea. She could even see the coast of France. England lay around her, green and hilly and densely wooded.
When she was back in her chamber, having breakfast, Dr. Olisleger arrived. “I am glad to see you safely in England,” he said, smiling paternally. “The Duke of Suffolk, Dr. Wotton, and I think that you and your train should rest at Dover all this Sunday and Monday.”
Anna was glad of the respite from traveling. Even so, she was eager to press on, and the next morning, she summoned the Duke of Suffolk and asked if they might be on their way.
“Madam, have you looked outside?” he asked. “The day is foul and windy.”
“My lord,” she said, “I am very desirous to make haste to the King.”
He gave her his gruff smile. “Well, Madam, I shall be glad to escort you on your way.”
The baggage was stowed, and the great procession formed again, snaking its way down the hill and westward through Kent. The weather was truly awful. The wind was back with a vengeance, and it was impossible to keep the chariot’s blinds from flapping open. Anna endured the journey with freezing hail and sleet blowing continually in her face, the Duke and the Lord Warden riding on either side of her, their faces pinched with cold.
Ten miles from Canterbury, on Barham Downs, the Archbishop was waiting, his vestments flapping in the gale, with three other bishops and a great number of well-dressed gentlemen of Kent, who escorted Anna into the city. Archbishop Cranmer was a serious, scholarly man, with a swarthy face and a lugubrious demeanor; apart from his being a little reserved in manner, Anna could not fault him in politeness, and when the fine city of Canterbury came into view, and she leaned out of the window to gaze, awestruck, at the mighty spires of the cathedral, he seemed most gratified.
Dusk was falling as they passed through the gates; torches had been lit all along the streets, and as the Mayor and the chief citizens welcomed Anna, there was a loud crack of guns.
“Your kindness gives me great joy,” she told the Mayor in English, and was touched when Cranmer came forward and presented her with a cup full of gold sovereigns. Crowds had braved the storm to see her as she rode through the city, and she kept a smile on her face as the wind and rain whipped around her. Just beyond the walls on the far side, the Archbishop conducted her through the gatehouse of the ancient monastery of St. Augustine, where she was to spend the night.
Of course, it was a monastery no longer. Wilhelm had told her that King Henry had closed down most of the English monasteries and seized their treasure. Bu
t apparently he had kept this one for himself, and converted it into a palace.
“It is a most convenient lodging,” the Archbishop explained, “for it lies on the road between London and Dover. It has been much improved against your Grace’s coming. The works have only just been completed.” The new Queen’s Side lay at right angles to the King’s, and was built of brick and timber with a tiled roof. At the intersection, Cranmer explained, was the former Abbot’s Chapel, now the Chapel Royal. “This was one of the first abbeys in England,” he told her. “It was founded in the sixth century by the saint himself.” Anna wondered if St. Augustine’s shrine had survived the King’s religious reforms, but did not like to ask.
In the great chamber, a room of vast splendor, she encountered forty or fifty gentlewomen in velvet bonnets waiting to attend her. She greeted them warmly, confident enough now to do so in English. “I am so glad to see the King’s subjects coming so lovingly to see me that I have forgot the bad weather.”
She explored her new apartments in wonder. The fireplaces had stone mantels, the walls were plastered in white, and the mullioned windows held stained glass depicting her badges next to those of the King. Her arms had been painted on the walls of her presence chamber and her watching chamber. The rooms smelt of the charcoal burned in them to dry out the plaster and paint.
The Archbishop hosted a feast that night in the King’s presence chamber and, as the evening wore on and wine goblets were refilled, he proved unexpectedly witty. Anna enjoyed herself, and began to relax.
“Everyone is singing your Grace’s praises,” Cranmer told her. “I admit, I was a little concerned about the King marrying a lady who could not speak English, but, having seen your Grace and heard for myself how well you have progressed in learning our tongue, my doubts are banished. You have conducted yourself faultlessly.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Anna said. Cranmer was flattering her, she knew, for her English left much to be desired. Yet she felt happy, as a bride should feel.
