by Alison Weir
It could not be long now before she came face to face with the King her husband!
* * *
—
The next day, Anna left Canterbury for the small village of Sittingbourne.
“We will not linger long here,” the Duke of Suffolk said as they passed along a street lined with pretty cottages. “There is no royal house nearby, so your Grace must be accommodated at an inn. It is an excellent one, though, and many kings and queens have lodged there in the past, on their way to or from Dover.”
Anna thought the Red Lion very pleasant, with its low, beamed ceilings, brick floor, and genial innkeeper, who was most anxious to please. He served her a hearty supper of juicy roast beef and apple tart, washed down with two mugs of local ale, which she asked to try and much enjoyed. Heaven knew where all her retinue and the English contingent were staying. They must be billeted in houses for miles around!
After dinner, she invited Dr. Wotton to join her in the parlor set aside for her, and offered him some ale, which he gratefully accepted.
“Your Grace will be pleased to hear that the King will greet you formally at your official reception four days hence, at Blackheath,” he told her, as her heart began to thump with anticipation. Soon she would see him, that handsome man in the portrait. She would be counting down the hours…
That night, in the cozy bedchamber under the eaves, with its carved tester bed, she examined her reflection in her mirror. Would the King like what he saw? Did he prefer ladies of a more diminutive stature, and like them buxom? She was hardly that—she had lost weight in the past weeks, and feared she was now thin rather than slender. The weeks of travel and the bad weather had done nothing for her. Her nose looked longer, her chin more pointed. Oh, to perdition with it! She was all but married now, and there was no turning back. The King had seen her picture and been enchanted.
* * *
—
On New Year’s Eve, Anna left Sittingbourne for Rochester. Two miles outside the city, on Rainham Down, she was greeted by the Duke of Norfolk, a martinet of a man with a face like a wall and a brusque manner. Behind him, bowing low in the icy rain, were two other lords, several ranks of horsemen, and a large company of gentlemen in drenched velvet.
“Your Grace, the King bids me greet you and escort you to your lodging,” the Duke barked. “You will stay here for the next two nights, to give your Grace a chance to rest, and on New Year’s Day there will be entertainment laid on for you, and a feast in the evening.” He sounded begrudging.
Riding through the Rochester crowds, who were muffled up against the weather, Anna put up the blinds and waved as she passed, braving the icy chill. At length, she was handed down outside the cathedral priory, which, by some miracle, had not yet been closed down by the King. Here, she was shown to the Bishop’s Palace. It was not lived in, Cranmer explained. The last incumbent to stay there had, ahem, committed treason and been justly punished.
In the great chamber, Anna found a lady waiting to greet her. Lady Browne stared hard at Anna as she rose from her curtsey, seeming, like Norfolk, to emanate distaste. Anna wondered if she had committed some faux pas in dress or courtesy, but Lady Browne’s manner, if cool, was perfectly correct as she informed Anna that she had been appointed to help supervise the new maids-of-honor who would join them at Dartford, the last stopping place before Greenwich. Anna thought it strange that the woman would act so disdainfully toward her Queen. Maybe, she thought, in charity, she is unaware of it. Well, Mother Lowe would deal with her. She too would have charge of the maids, and Anna could guess who would soon have the upper hand.
The Bishop’s Palace was a fine old house, and well furnished, although it had a forlorn look, as if preserved as a memorial to its late unfortunate occupant. Yet in the bedchamber stood a rich bed with gorgeous hangings, which eclipsed everything else.
“It is one of his Majesty’s finest beds,” Lady Browne informed Anna. “He ordered it to be brought here for you.”
“How very kind of him,” Anna said, touched again by his care for her.
Part of the bedchamber had clearly been a study, with a desk and shelves, all now bare. The late Bishop must have been a man of great learning, for there were two separate studies, and two galleries lined with shelves full of books, some with chains attached, just like a library. Anna’s rooms were ranged around a three-sided courtyard, with a garden behind it. The palace had probably been splendid in its day, but that day was evidently long past.
“It’s cold here,” Anna said, shivering in her cloak. Yet there was a lively fire crackling in the hearth, and thick curtains covered the windows. Even so, that night, the sheets felt damp. Susanna, lying on a pallet bed at the foot of Anna’s, felt it too.
“It’s the situation of this place, Madam,” she murmured in the darkness. “The sea is near and the shore is muddy.”
Anna huddled into a ball under the bedclothes. “What happened to the Bishop of Rochester?” she asked.
Susanna hesitated. “Bishop Fisher? He was beheaded, Madam, for refusing to acknowledge the King as head of the Church, and his Grace’s marriage to Queen Anne. He was put to death around the same time as Sir Thomas More, five years ago.”
Anna had heard much about More from her father and Wilhelm, for he had been a great friend of Erasmus and a universally respected scholar. She, like all Europe, had been shocked to hear of his dreadful end.
“They would not accept Anne for queen,” she murmured, “yet within a year, the King had her beheaded too. How the wheel of Fate does turn.” And pray God it does not turn that way for me too!
She sighed. “This does not feel like New Year’s Eve. In Kleve, they will be having feasting and music.” Her quiet supper with the two dukes and Cranmer had been a little strained. The three men, one quiet and scholarly, one bluff and blunt, and the other haughty and gruff, had not made for congenial company.
“As we do here, normally, Madam,” Susanna was saying. “But what with our late arrival and the weather, it would not have been easy to arrange. There will be feasting tomorrow.”
“It’s hard to believe it will be 1540,” Anna said. “Let us hope that the new year will bring us joy.”
* * *
—
In the afternoon of New Year’s Day, it was dry for once, and there was a bull-baiting in the courtyard below Anna’s window. She watched through the greenish glass, her gentlewomen crowded behind her. The central area of the court had been roped off, and many of her retinue were standing behind the cordon, or at other windows, anticipating the coming fight. She saw money changing hands. They would be taking wagers on the winner.
The bull, decked in colored ribbons, was paraded around the arena before being chained to an iron ring attached to a stout post in the center.
“The aim is for the dog to take the bull by the nose and not let go,” Susanna explained. “The nose is the most tender part. The bull will try to throw off the dog, of course. Many die in the process.”
“This is a popular sport in England?” Anna asked, feeling rather sorry for the bull, and for the dog, a great mastiff that was brought into the courtyard to loud cheers. It looked very fierce, and was slavering at the mouth.
“It certainly is, Madam,” Susanna said.
Just then, a page announced Sir Anthony Browne, Lady Browne’s husband. A tall, hook-nosed man with heavy-lidded eyes entered and made his obeisance.
He seemed to hesitate momentarily when he stood up and stared at Anna. What was wrong with her? she wondered, dismayed.
However, he was affable enough, unlike his lady. “Your Grace, a gentleman of his Majesty’s Privy Chamber will be arriving shortly with a New Year’s gift from the King.”
“That is most gracious of his Majesty,” Anna said, smiling.
Sir Anthony withdrew, and she turned back to the window. The dog was circling the tethered bull,
making ready to leap. As it did so, there was a collective gasp from the spectators at the windows. But the bull butted the dog and tossed it aside. It stood up, bleeding yet undaunted, and made ready to pounce again.
“Madam,” Susanna murmured in her ear. “There are some gentlemen here to see you.”
Reluctantly, Anna dragged her eyes away from the sport and turned around to find eight gentlemen, all dressed the same, in glossy mottled hooded coats, bowing to her. What pleasantry was this? And why did she sense an air of excitement among them? Why was Susanna looking dumbstruck?
One of the gentlemen, a tall, massively fat man with thinning red hair, ruddy cheeks, a Roman nose, and a prim little mouth, was appraising her intently. Without warning, he stepped forward and, to her shock, embraced and kissed her. She was outraged. How dare he treat her so familiarly! The King would hear of this!
Recoiling from the sour, sickly smell of sweat and something worse, she was astonished to see that the other gentlemen had taken nothing amiss, but were beaming broadly. She glared at the fellow who had insulted her, but he had turned away and was taking from one of his fellows a small ivory casket.
“A New Year’s gift from the King, Madam,” he said, presenting it to her with a flourish. His voice was strangely high-pitched for such a big man.
She opened the casket. Inside was an ornate gold pendant adorned with two rubies, a sapphire, and a pendant pearl. It must have cost a king’s ransom.
She closed the box and clasped it to her breast. “Pray thank his Majesty, Sir,” she said in her halting English. “Tell him I will treasure this always.”
“I will tell him,” the fat man said. There was a pause, in which his narrowed eyes continued to scrutinize her.
“Have you come all the way from Greenwich, Sirs?” she asked, trying to engage with the other gentlemen.
“We have, Madam,” the fat man replied, as she tried not to breathe in the stench of him. “We had a good journey by boat, only four hours, and then an hour’s brisk ride from Gravesend.”
“Well, Sirs, I wish you a good journey back,” she said, hoping they would know themselves dismissed. But they just stood there, looking at her, so she turned again to the window to reinforce the message. The dog was lying broken on the cobbles, while the bull had a bloody nose and was bellowing out his anger. Behind her, she heard the door close.
“Oh, what a rel—” she began, but Susanna silenced her with a look. Turning round, she saw that the rest of the gentlemen were still standing there, but that the fat man had gone. Well, that was something! Anger still simmered in her.
“Is there anything else you wish of me, Sirs?” she asked.
“Your Grace might ask if there is anything we can do for you,” replied a young man standing at the far side of the group. She had seen him before, in Calais, and disliked him on sight. Now she remembered: this was Mr. Culpeper, one of the King’s favorite gentlemen.
Before she could answer, the door was thrown open again, and there, to her astonishment, was the fat man, now resplendent in a coat of purple velvet. When the lords and knights knelt, doing him reverence, Anna realized, to her horror and disbelief, that this—this monstrosity of a man—was the King himself.
Astounded, she fell to her knees, feeling her cheeks grow crimson with embarrassment and confusion. This could not be the man in the portrait she had seen at Calais! He had been in his prime, attractive and smooth-featured. He bore barely any resemblance to the man standing before her now. Why had no one thought to prepare her for the reality? For the King looked far older than a man not yet fifty; his face was stern, and bore the marks of temper and ill health. And he was huge! His coat had massive puffed shoulders and bulky sleeves, to boot, making him appear almost as wide as he was tall, and there were bulges under the white hose encasing the trunk-like legs below his bases; were they bandages? Was that where the smell was coming from?
And she was to be married to this man, and share his bed, and endure the stink of him! She felt faint at the prospect.
She was quivering with shock as the King raised her and their eyes met. His were steely blue, beneath winged brows that made him look as if he was permanently scowling. He bowed courteously. Mortified that she had not guessed who he was, and at the dismissive way she had behaved toward him, she did her best to put on a loving countenance, which she feared might look more like a grimace. Bowing her head, she sank again to her knees, but he gently raised her up, and once more embraced and kissed her. She tried not to flinch.
“I trust your journey here has not been too arduous, Madam,” he said, “and that everything has been to your comfort?”
Anna looked helplessly at Susanna, who hurriedly stepped forward and translated the King’s words. Anna was grateful for her support.
“It was a long journey, Sir,” she faltered, “but I thank your Majesty for your care for my comfort. Sir, I am sorry for my rude receiving of you, but I did not know it was your Grace.”
The King gave a short laugh. “I was ever fond of disguisings, Madam,” he told her, “and risking the consequences!” As Susanna translated, he held out a hand laden with rings. “If you will do me the pleasure, shall we go in to supper?”
Anna put her hand in his, signaling to Susanna to follow as interpreter and chaperone, and the King led them into the parlor, where a table for two had been set up in front of the fire. Unobtrusively, Susanna seated herself in the chair he indicated, by the fireside.
“You were expecting a feast, Anne—I may call you Anne?” the King asked.
“It is Anna, your Grace,” she corrected him.
“Ah!” For a moment, his face was pensive. “I like that.” She wondered if he was thinking of another Anne, of whom he probably did not wish to be reminded.
“Instead of feasting, I thought we could become acquainted in private,” he said.
Anna was in such a turmoil, she did not know if she was equal to becoming better acquainted just now, and at the thought of what that might ultimately mean, she felt faint, but she made herself accept a goblet of Rhenish. Soon, her veins infused with its warmth, she felt herself relax a little. The horror was still there—but it was at a distance.
The food set before them was lavish. Roast swan, served in its plumage, a great Christmas pie full of meat and spiced dried fruits, pickled brawn, white meat called turkey, which was delicious, and a great venison pasty. No wonder the King was fat! Yet, for all the rich, tasty food, she could eat little. She was put off by the smell of him, and too distressed to be hungry.
His table manners were exquisite; despite herself, she found his conversation entertaining. He spoke of pleasant things, telling her how Christmas was observed at his court, and about the magnificent reception being planned for her two days hence, near Greenwich. He told her their marriage would be solemnized on Sunday, the day after the reception. Only three days away, she thought, in something like panic.
“I must apologize, Anna, for surprising you today,” the King said. “I wanted to meet you in private before I welcome you officially. My ancestor, King Henry the Sixth, did much the same thing at the coming of his bride, nearly a hundred years ago.”
Anna relaxed a little at this sign of a romantic side to him. She liked his respect for history and tradition. It made for a common meeting ground. “I shall be interested to hear about your ancestors, Sir,” she said.
He beamed, and proceeded to tell her of the rival royal houses of Lancaster and York, from which he had sprung, and of the red rose and the white, their emblems, which had been combined in the Tudor rose badge of his family, a device she had already seen emblazoned everywhere in the royal houses and on the royal livery.
She tried, in vain, to get the measure of him, and his opinion of her, as the conversation wore on. The English, she had heard, were a reserved people, and of course Susanna was present; conversation through an interpreter
was always stilted. Yet Henry did not seem to be behaving like a man enchanted with his bride. She imagined that the thirty long years of his rule had toughened him, so that he would not wear his heart on his sleeve and was used to keeping his inmost thoughts and feelings to himself. Maybe he was as disappointed in her as she was in him, but was exerting himself to be good company. She had to concede that he was unfailingly courteous and solicitous. Even so, there was about him the air of a beast waiting to pounce. For all his courtesy, he frightened her, and she could not imagine ever being intimate with him. She tried not to shudder at the thought.
At the end of the evening, he kissed her hand and bade her good night. “I will be able to dine with you tomorrow,” he told her. “I have to wait for a favorable tide to carry me back to Greenwich, and that will not be until the afternoon.”
She curtseyed low as he left, and when his footsteps had died away, she took one look at Susanna and threw herself into her arms.
“Oh, God!” she cried. “Oh, God, help me!”
* * *
—
In the morning, Sir Anthony Browne arrived with more gifts from the King.
“These are for your Grace, with his Majesty’s compliments.”
Anna wondered why Henry had not brought them himself, but was distracted by the sumptuous furs that were laid out with a flourish for her to admire—a partlet furred with sables, sable skins to wrap around her neck, a muffler, and a fur cap. He could not have chosen anything more welcome in this wintry weather.
She wore the partlet to dinner, over which she thanked him fulsomely. He seemed less affable today, and again she had the impression that he was brooding or angry about something, so the meal was eaten with awkward silences. Finally, the King’s cloak was brought. After he had escorted Anna downstairs to the door, and kissed her hand in farewell, she stood in the porch with her ladies, waving him off, relieved to see him go.
If only, if only, she could pack up and go back to Kleve and all she held dear! If only he could have been like his picture! Tears blurred her eyes, and she stumbled indoors, unheeding of Susanna calling after her, and desperate to find Mother Lowe and blurt out her misery on that comforting bosom.
