by Alison Weir
“A delicate matter, Madam. Your brother thought that, as I have known you a long time, I might be best placed to broach it.”
She guessed what was coming.
Harst handed her a letter. It was from Wilhelm, warning her not to persist in retaining those three servants who were causing so much dissension. He had heard from Franz von Waldeck that they were exerting an unhealthy influence over her, even to the extent of unbalancing her mind.
Her eyes narrowed in anger. What on earth did Wilhelm mean? What lies had Franz fed him?
“This is wicked calumny,” she flared. “It makes no sense to me, unless it is the malice of a troublemaker at work.”
“Madam,” Dr. Harst said, “the Duke believes Herr Brockhausen and his wife are driving you to despair by trying constantly to poison your mind against Herr von Waldeck.”
“They are doing no such thing,” Anna corrected him. “I have lived here in harmony with them since he left. If anyone is driving me to despair, it is him.”
“Madam, I fear you are laboring under a delusion, and cannot see what is happening under your very nose.”
“Oh, come, Dr. Harst, you know me better than that!”
“Madam, Herr von Waldeck is concerned that Frau Brockhausen has bewitched you.”
Anna gaped at him. “Clearly, it is he whose mind has been affected! Really, I marvel that you and my brother pay heed to his poisonous accusations. They are sheer invention. I think, Dr. Harst, you had better leave.”
“Madam, please!” He looked distressed. “I must talk to you, for there is another concern, about the pernicious hold Herr von Wylich appears to have on you. There has been talk in your household about a more familiar association than is seemly.”
Anna was overcome with anger and fear. The world tilted, but she determinedly gathered her thoughts, resolved to fight for the man who meant more to her than any other. “That too is a calumny,” she declared. “I resent such an allegation. He is my kinsman, and very dear to me. There is nothing unseemly between us.” Yes, it was a lie, but, if Franz could play a dirty game, so could she.
Dr. Harst rose. “I am relieved to hear it,” he said, not sounding entirely convinced. “I will return to Kleve and inform the Duke of your response to his letter. In the meantime, for the avoidance of further unpleasantness, I advise your Highness to dismiss those three servants.”
“It is out of the question,” Anna told him.
* * *
—
Wilhelm couldn’t make her get rid of them, she told herself. He was in Kleve, many miles away. He had no authority here. Always she had been obedient to his wishes, in great matters as well as small ones—but this was not his concern. It was a domestic matter, just a nasty squabble.
She would defy him if he insisted. The Brockhausens did not deserve to be laid off for no good reason. As for Otho, he was the breath of life to her, and she needed him more than ever now—especially since noticing that the lump in her breast had got bigger. She had mentioned it to Mother Lowe, who had advised her to consult Dr. Symonds. But Anna would not. She could not face the embarrassment, and she was too scared of what the doctor might say. But she could talk to Otho, and confide her fears to him. She was putting the moment off, though, because once she had told him why she was worried, there could be no more carrying on as if everything was normal.
She blurted it out that night, unable to tolerate the anxiety on her own any longer.
“You look at it,” she begged. “I can’t bear to touch it, or see it.”
Otho gently probed the place. “It is bigger. You must see Dr. Symonds.” He looked so concerned it frightened her.
“I can’t face it,” she wept.
“Anna, it may be nothing. And, if it isn’t, there will be more chance of a cure than if you seek help too late. I’m not trying to frighten you, sweetheart. I just want you to be reassured. Promise me you will see the doctor.”
Anna took a deep breath. “Very well,” she sniffed.
* * *
—
“You may lace your bodice now, my lady,” Dr. Symonds said, his voice calm and professional, giving away nothing.
Holding her breath, Anna made herself decent.
The doctor sat down. “It is a cancer, my lady, which is not a common ailment. What you have is a hard tumor. It sticks fast to certain parts of the body, as does the crab from which cancer gets its name. It is caused by a dry, melancholic humor in the veins encircling it, and sometimes by evil diet.”
“You can cure it?” she asked anxiously.
“Hopefully, Madam. I shall first try purging the offending humor by bleeding you. If you would bare your arm, please.”
Hoping and praying that this would work, but unsure if the doctor was telling her everything, Anna unfastened her sleeve, and Dr. Symonds applied leeches.
“Try to avoid pressing the part, take moderate exercise, especially before meals, get seven or eight hours’ sleep every night, and eat a good diet. Abstain from fasting, and things that heat the blood, like salt flesh, hare, venison, spices, cheese, and mustard. Eat nourishing meats such as mutton, veal, capons, and other sorts of fowl. Whey, a little ale, and white wine are good.”
It all sounded very comforting and reassuring. Surely Dr. Symonds would not be prescribing such a simple cure, rather than more radical measures, if the disease was serious?
She rose. “Thank you, Dr. Symonds. Do I need to consult you again?”
“Only if you are worried,” he said.
* * *
—
The messenger wore the Queen’s livery; the letter he brought carried the royal seal. Anna broke it open. Was this, at last, the summons to court she had longed for?
The first thing she saw was Mary’s ornate signature. Then she read the rest.
At the behest of the Duke of Cleves, the Council had been instructed to order the deportation of three alien offenders, viz. Herr Brockhausen and his wife, and Herr von Wylich. My lady of Cleves was ordered to dismiss them from her service forthwith, that they might make their way back to Germany.
“No!” she wailed, and fell to her knees, keening helplessly, bringing her servants running to find out what was the matter, and Otho, inexpressibly dear Otho, who took her in his arms in front of them all and gentled her. With trembling hands, she showed him the Queen’s letter.
By the time he had read it, he was shaking too, and passed it to Jasper and Gertie.
“I will fight this!” he said. “I will go to court and expose that bastard Waldeck for what he is. I will demand to see the Queen!”
Anna laid her hand on his arm. “I will go, Otho.” She knew she would deal more tactfully with Mary than he would. Righteous fury might get the better of him. It was more advisable to go as a sorrowful plaintiff than as an angry one.
She rode to Greenwich Palace, taking Johann for moral support. Yet, sitting in her litter, she could barely look at him, for, each time she did, she was reminded that he was at risk of losing the father he had never known as his. And she—sweet Jesus, her loss did not bear thinking about! So she would not think about it. She must be strong, and gird her loins for the task that lay ahead.
She found the court overwhelming, after so long an absence: the press of people, the noise, the never-ending scramble for advancement. An usher disappeared with her request for an audience with the Queen, and it was two hours before he returned.
“Her Majesty begs your forgiveness, my lady, but she was giving audience to the Spanish ambassador. Follow me, please.”
Mary’s presence chamber was stuffy in the August heat, and she herself looked ill and diminished, despite the gorgeous gown of cloth of gold and the sparkling jewels. As she stretched out her hand to be kissed, she gave Anna a guarded smile. “It is good to see your Highness. How can I help you?”
“Mada
m, I have come to plead for my servants,” Anna said. “Your Majesty is the only person I can turn to for help.”
“You mean the three Clevelanders who are to be deported?”
“Yes, Madam. False accusations about them were made to my brother by one who bears them malice, and whom I have expelled from my household. They are all three good and devoted servants on whom I rely heavily.”
Mary’s tired face looked vexed. “This places a different perspective on the matter,” she said, “but I am in a difficult position. I was informed that not a stone had been left unturned to have these people removed from your service, but that it had been in vain, which was why the Duke had sent a lawyer to ask me to exercise my authority to expel them from England. He informed me that Mistress Brockhausen especially was a troublemaker, and that, by spells and enchantments, she had driven your Highness to madness.”
“That is nonsense, Madam,” Anna interjected. “As you can see, I am as sane as any. Gertie Brockhausen is no enchantress, rather a down-to-earth, honest woman who has my interests at heart. Your Majesty, it is all calumny, believe me.” She recounted what had passed between Franz von Waldeck and the others during the past few years, and told her about Franz’s attempt to be named her heir. “Herr Brockhausen reported his presumption, and my brother recalled Herr von Waldeck, who then poisoned his mind against these loyal servants. Your Majesty, I beg of you, do not deprive me of three persons I love and rely upon!”
She was relieved to see Mary looking at her sympathetically.
“In view of what you have told me, I will ask King Philip what he thinks,” the Queen said. There was a touch of wistfulness in her voice as she continued, “I am expecting him to return to England soon, but he is in Ghent now, so I will send a messenger in order that this business may be settled speedily. I will ask him if, given this new information, it is compatible with my honor and his for us to do as the Duke requires. I trust that in a few days we will hear back and make an end of the matter.”
Anna could not understand why Mary was unable to make the decision herself.
“Does your Majesty need the King’s approval in this matter?” she asked, and immediately regretted it, for Mary’s smile instantly disappeared.
“You may have forgotten, my Lady Anna, that Kleve is under the protection of his Majesty’s father, the Emperor, who takes a keen interest in its affairs.”
“Of course,” Anna said. “I meant no criticism, Madam.”
“Go home now,” Mary said. “I will have the Council write to you when I have heard from his Majesty.”
Reluctantly Anna curtseyed and dragged herself away, fearing she had upset Mary and that her mission had been in vain. She went home feeling dejected, and could not shake off a sense that the worst was about to happen—and that it might be her own fault for being tactless.
* * *
—
A week later, the Council summoned Otho and the Brockhausens to come before them, with two other servants as witnesses to the proceedings. Filled with trepidation, Anna delegated two grooms to perform that office, and herself traveled to Greenwich with them all, unable to face waiting at home for news.
She stayed behind with Johann in a crowded gallery after the others had gone into the council chamber. Having been unable to eat breakfast, she was swaying with anxiety, and a worried usher had to fetch a stool for her.
When the council chamber door opened, she sprang up, every nerve taut with apprehension. Otho’s heavy expression warned her that the news was not good. Gertie was weeping.
People were staring, so, not allowing herself to think, Anna beckoned the three of them to follow her, and led them down the stairs to the gardens, where Otho took her in his arms and held her tight. He was crying.
“It is bad news, Anna,” he said, trying to master himself. “The King insisted that the Duke of Kleve’s wishes be complied with as soon as possible. We are all to leave England before All Saints’ Day.” His voice broke.
She could not speak. Frantically calculating, she realized she had just seven short weeks left with him. She could feel her heart breaking, and wanted to scream, but she saw Johann’s face working in distress and put her arms around him, not caring who saw.
“We are ordered to depart from your Highness’s house and family, and never after to enter any of your houses,” Jasper muttered. “I am commanded never more to meddle or busy myself in the administration of your household or other affairs.”
“And none of us can ever return to your service, except at our utmost peril,” Gertie sobbed.
Anna had half a mind to go straight back into the palace and demand that the Council rescind the orders of banishment, but she felt so faint and ill that she could barely stand. And what good would it do? She had already appealed to the Queen and laid her case before her. The King had now spoken, and it was unthinkable that Mary would gainsay him.
They rode back to Dartford in a somber, dejected mood. Johann wept all the way. Anna gazed out of the window, clutching Otho’s hand. It was too late now for discretion. She did not care if the whole world knew of their love. All she could think of was that he would be going from her. She could not, would not, let it happen. She would think of a plan.
That night, she clung to him as never before. “Take me properly,” she begged. “For you, my beloved, I would risk anything. All I want is to be close to you. Nothing else matters now.”
It felt wonderful to be totally possessed, after the years of abstinence and frustration, and yet it was a bittersweet joy shot through with terrible sorrow. But they must have a future together; there had to be a way to contrive it.
“I will come with you,” she said, as they lay in each other’s arms afterward.
“Anna, I could not ask it, although I too have thought of it. By myself, I have nothing to offer you. I am a bastard, and have no fortune of my own. I must go to my cousin and presume on his charity. I dare not ask him to receive you as well. Your brother would be furious; it would go ill for my cousin.”
“Then marry me now. Let us present Wilhelm with a fait accompli.”
“Darling, have you considered the consequences? I would marry you tomorrow, but I am the man whose deportation he demanded. King Philip has ordered it, and your brother will not risk offending the Emperor. I am hardly a desirable bridegroom. If we married and went back to Kleve as man and wife, he might kill us both.”
“Then let us marry and go elsewhere!”
“Where? Anna, be realistic. Don’t you think I haven’t thought this through already? If you leave England, you will forfeit all your settlement. How could I subject you to that? You have spent your life in comfort. You do not know what true penury is. And there is Johann to think of too. He is happy here, in your service. Would you uproot him from that?”
“He has his craft to fall back on.”
“Yes, but a journeyman needs premises in which to ply his craft, and money to establish them.”
Anna sat up. “I have the perfect idea. I’m sure that his foster parents would take us in, if we apprised them of the situation.”
“Anna, think what you would be asking of them. They would feel obliged to keep you in a manner befitting your estate. Even if they could afford it, they would live in fear of the Duke’s vengeance, should he discover where you were. For, be assured, all Europe would be looking for you. Princesses don’t just disappear as it pleases them. No, what I have in mind is better.” He pulled her to him, and cradled her head on his shoulder. “I will go back to Kleve, do my utmost to show the Duke that Franz was wrong, and prevail on him to request my reinstatement in your household, along with Jasper and Gertie.”
“It might mean a long separation,” she wept.
“It is the best way. I will come back to you, I promise.” His voice faltered, and then his tears were mingling with hers.
Chapter 30
<
br /> 1556–1557
The dreaded day had come. Anna and Otho had said their passionate, desperate farewells in private, and now she was standing in the outer court, with her household lined up behind her, to say goodbye to him, and to Jasper and Gertie. They were all calm and tight-lipped, having steeled themselves for the inevitable.
Otho had never looked so handsome and desirable as when he bowed to her and took her hand, his lips lingering on it for as long as was decently possible. She gazed into his warm blue eyes, praying it was not for the last time.
“Until we meet again,” she said, putting on a brave smile.
“Adieu, dear lady,” he replied, and swung himself up onto his horse.
Anna kissed Jasper and Gertie goodbye, barely taking her eyes off Otho, and then they were spurring their mounts and riding away, through the gatehouse and out of her life.
She had never felt so desolate. That very morning, she had probed the lump in her breast for the first time in weeks, and found it had grown bigger. She had not told Otho. She had not wanted him to go away worrying about her. But her heart was heavy with fear. If, or when, he prevailed upon Wilhelm to let him return to England, would it be too late for her?
* * *
—
It was more than five months now since Otho had gone from Anna—five long, dragging, miserable months, and still Wilhelm would not receive him. She was desperate, wild with her need, and so, so lonely. Time, she knew, was running out for her.
There was now a sore on her breast, loathsome to look at, sordid and stinking. Its appearance had driven her to consult Dr. Symonds again, and he had peered at it, wrinkled his nose, and frowned.
“There are various remedies I could try,” he said. “I once treated a nun who had a cancer in her breast, with a sore such as this one. I soaked a cloth in the urine of a young boy and applied it to the wound, and by this remedy, I preserved her life for ten years. I also knew a doctor who swore by the application of goat’s dung mixed with honey, which he said could kill a cancer. Shall we try the urine, Madam?”
