Anne the Warrior

by Leigh Jenkins

  “You haven’t seen her majesty,” Edward answered.

  “Then perhaps he should,” Anne said, cutting into the conversation late. It was a tactic that I mostly used, allowing my courtiers to play their hands and then decide what to do. Not only did it show me what my courtiers thought, it also gave me more authority, being the final word on a subject.

  “Perhaps the Duke of Norfolk should remain here in England,” she continued. “And assist me with the army. Though the Spanish have fled, the Scots are still threatening our northern border, and they have received funds from France. They could be a greater threat than before.”

  “I could not dream of leaving His Majesty,” the duke answered, nodding toward me.

  “His Majesty has a great force in France,” Anne replied. “He will have the Duke of Cleves, who will learn from his mistakes and lead his own men. And we all pray that the Duke of Suffolk will be returned to His Majesty’s side soon, ready to fight again.”

  “If I could be of service,” Edward added. “I would be glad to travel to France.”

  “There are only two dukes in all of England,” Norfolk argued. “And one is in the hands of the enemy.”

  “Then one should remain behind to protect his people,” Anne countered.

  The duke looked to me, obviously out of arguments.

  It would be foolish to leave the Duke of Norfolk, one of my strongest commanders, behind in England when the rest of the season would be fought in France. And for him to remain merely to watch Anne would be ridiculous. But Anne had made one good point. Time and again I had lamented the absence of a strong leader in England. It would be reckless to leave my home unguarded once again, relying on a woman, even the queen, to lead them.

  Personally, I felt there would be little fighting for the rest of the season. Already August, word from Guînes was that Francis was almost in hiding, it seemed the French were also weary of war. This year would be the time to raise fresh troops, to call men to arms in numbers we had not yet conceived of. If this war was to be won, then it must be won swiftly, and with superior numbers.

  “The Duke of Norfolk would be most helpful in recruiting more men,” Cromwell offered, his trail of thought following my own.

  “Very well,” I said finally. “The Duke of Norfolk shall remain here to assist the Queen; while here, he will raise men and see that they are trained for next spring.”

  I turned to look at my pale-faced brother-in-law and sighed.

  “And the Earl of Hertford will join me in France,” I said. Edward Seymour smiled, pleased with this post, even if I did not share in his enthusiasm. After a moment I knew what would take the pleasure out of his assignment.

  “And order your brother, the Admiral Thomas Seymour, to join us as well,” I added. “His military expertise could be useful.”

  Edward Seymour’s face immediately took on an expression as if he had bitten a sour lemon, but he nodded.

  “Then let us be prepared to sail out by the week’s end,” I ordered, standing carefully. The rest of the table quickly leapt to their feet, waiting for me to exit first. Slowly, I turned toward Anne.

  “May I walk you to your chambers?” I asked.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, taking my arm. As we turned the corner into the corridor before us I could hear the men’s scraping chairs and shuffling papers as they prepared to leave. Edward Seymour’s high voice could be heard as we left my unpleasant compatriots behind.

  We passed only a few servants in the hallways but still we did not speak. I waited until we reached the door of her chambers and I made sure we could not be overheard before turning to speak with her.

  “Anne, I wished to thank you,” I began.

  “Ah,” she said, making her usual guttural noise. “I wanted to thank you for allowing me to take part in the council.”

  “No,” I said. “Not for the council. I wanted to thank you for keeping my children safe when I could not.”

  Here Anne blushed and looked down at her feet, but I was determined that she would know that I could now see the value in her.

  “And I wanted to thank you for loving England as well,” I said, holding her hand close to my chest. “I see this land now as much your home as it is mine.”

  At this Anne looked up at me and smiled. I could hardly believe the change in her, I could now see how beautiful my compliment made her. I was at last starting to glimpse what the other men of my court saw in my queen.

  “I hope to see your Majesty before you sail for France,” she responded after a moment.

  There was something about the way she said this, or perhaps the slight tilt of her head that made me think she was asking for more than my company. So one of her ladies had explained what was needed to make a prince.

  I looked down at my wife but could only think of the lady I had been with while in France. No one noble, perhaps not even gentry, but not one of the many prostitutes who hung about an army, either. In truth, I did not know where Owaine had procured her. But now, with Anne gazing at me so sweetly, I could only think of how hard that lady had worked for such little results. Thinking of her frantic efforts and the dissatisfaction that had settled over the bedchamber afterward, I leaned in to Anne and kissed her cheek. I could not imagine putting this sweet girl through such an ordeal.

  “Unfortunately, I will be most busy,” I said, watching some of the light leave her eyes as she heard my words. “And I am afraid there will be little time for merriment.”

  “I understand,” she said, casting her eyes downward. “I only wish to please Your Majesty.”

  And with that she curtseyed low and backed away into her chambers.

  Chapter Thirteen

  April, 1542

  I sat astride my horse Phillip, gazing out over the troops who worked diligently to build fortifications now that the weather was fine. Though I had been in France since February, the weather had blown so fiercely that little progress had been made.

  Behind me I heard Owaine give a sharp order to a member of my guard before the two men trotted away, only to be replaced by two more nameless men. I could tell that Owaine was in no hurry to return to camp himself, though, even he had to admit that the day was perfect.

  With the pretense of studying the workers, I leaned forward in the saddle, lightly resting my hands on the neck of my horse. He tossed his thick chestnut mane about a few times and I leaned back again, running my hands along his neck as I did so. A cool wind picked up and rustled the oak leaves, carrying some of the songs the workers sang as they dug a ditch or prepared the long spikes that would protect our current position.

  The previous fall had seen plenty of movement. The Earl of Hertford had shown his worth, commanding battles and my men as if he had been leading them his entire life. Though he did not connect with the troops as the dukes did – he could never bring himself to be familiar with a man he saw below his station – he was young and brave, two things that my army had been lacking in a leader.

  It was thanks to this young man that we now sat within sight of Paris. In the past frost Francis had retreated to just outside his capital city. We had advanced as far forward as was prudent and had decided to build up our own strength, to prepare for a final battle before laying siege to Paris. Even if we could gain no ground with this battle, I was determined we would not lose any, either.

  It was the Earl of Hertford’s brother who had caused problems within the camp. It did not take me long to remember why I had sent Thomas Seymour from the court to begin with. Proud and boasting, I had heard of three brawls before returning him to his post of admiral, a decorative commission.

  The only regret that still pierced me was our inability to secure the Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon. Francis knew he held a great card with him and could not seem to set a price for his freedom. The Duke of Cleves, far from helping with my friend’s release, had only agitated King Francis and worsened our cause. I had not been sad to see the back of him last November when he returned
to Cleves for the winter, promising to rejoin us in March and to send a large chest of plate with which to help pay the men. The plate had arrived, even if he had not.

  But I found twice the worth of the Duke of Cleves in his sister. Cromwell had been correct – Anne had been worth her weight in gold while calling out recruits. Between her and the Duke of Norfolk the size of my army had swelled, allowing us to leave half of our numbers in England to fight off the Scots in the north while the rest traveled to France to assist my standing army here.

  Behind me I could hear my guards changing once again, signaling to me that I had been on this hill longer than I had thought. Beneath me Phillip shifted restlessly and I knew better than to tire out my horse this close to another battle. But already I could feel the change when I was in the saddle. I was still larger than any other man, but I could now sit comfortably, could walk among the men without growing fatigued, and could easily wear my suit of armor.

  With a soft kick I called Phillip to retreat down the small trail that had led us to this vantage point. I heard the men fall in behind me, Owaine’s sharp cry calling them to order, but knew that I could talk to none of them. By leaving the Duke of Norfolk behind, I had cut myself off from my trusted advisors – there was no one here I could talk to frankly.

  I thought back to Anne’s most recent letter and her delight in having the Duke of Norfolk respecting her opinions on the army in England. Neither wrote to me what had transpired between them during the grueling training they had overseen in the weeks leading up to Lent, but whatever it was had led to a greater amount of respect between these two. I was sure that she was also pleased to have someone who would be strong enough to fight for her, someone who would not run away when the Spanish or Scots arrived at England’s door.

  And they had both been so impressive while raising the troops. Norfolk, speaking eloquently over the loss of his son, had moved almost every one of his tenants to join my cause. And as for Anne – it seemed that Englishmen were happy to have a queen who seemed to care about them. I had received reports of Anne riding out into fields to talk with farmers, of visiting a now-overflowing orphanage at Dover, and even giving a large donation to a house for wounded soldiers. There had been no queen before her who knew so intimately her own people.

  As we rode back into camp, I took in the two cavalry officers waiting for me outside my tent. Both mud-splattered and looking longingly at the cook’s tent, I could still see the anxiety in their eyes and knew that this could only mean one thing.

  We were once again on the eve of battle.

  ***

  It was another morning, still dark and slightly cold, but yet so changed from any previous battle. For the first time I was down by the men, riding along the ranks, not saying any words but encouraging them merely with my presence. In the distance I could see the lights that outlined Paris, the torches that burned throughout the night on their barracks. We would not reach them today, but if we took this battle, Paris would be our next objective.

  Behind me I could hear Owaine calling out to the men we rode past. I could still hear the anger in his voice, and I remembered the passionate argument he had made the night before, imploring me to remain on high ground and not risk riding into battle myself.

  But I knew what the men must be thinking, what the French must be saying about me. Anne had led an army in England, had encouraged my men to fight on her behalf. I was suddenly a less valuable asset to the war than my wife was – a fact I was not fully comfortable with. Beyond which, the Earl of Hertford, who had until now been the only noble of consequence in the field, had been spread too thin in the skirmishes we had seen thus far. He was now free to lead the infantry as I led the cavalry, a position better covered by my archers and deemed safer.

  Within only a few moments I reached the head of the cavalry, pulling Phillip up to turn and look at Owaine.

  “I will not force you to put your life at risk,” I said to him lightly. “You do not need to accompany me unless you wish.”

  Owaine, who had been a cavalry officer before joining my guard, pursed his lips.

  “I am pleased to ride beside Your Majesty,” was all he said. I laughed at the young man’s frustrations, smiling at him as I took my place at the head of the men.

  “I imagine you are as happy to finally fight the French as I,” I responded.

  “While I still worry about Your Majesty’s safety,” Owaine countered. “I will not deny that this fight will please me.”

  Still smiling, I turned to my men who had overheard much of this conversation. Faces that had before seemed sleepy or perhaps worried now smiled, men turning to tell their neighbors of how the king had indicated that the great knight Sir Owaine might not want to participate in battle. It was the type of belittling that the men loved best. I gave them a moment of laughter before standing in the stirrups and calling out over the men, reciting the speech I had written the night before.

  “My good knights! Today we fight once again, not only for ourselves and our honor, but for the honor of England. We fight in the name of our wives and children, for those who are even now facing the threat of the vile Scots and for those who have lost their lives and property to the Spanish. We fight so that our great country may be free of these foreign influences, and so that we may rise, as a phoenix does, to soar above the other countries of Europe. My men, I have come now amongst you, to live or die as you do, and to lead you to a victory that will honor us all!”

  With that, Owaine sounded a large cry before me and I turned to look back down onto the field of battle. To my right, the archers, hearing the cry of the cavalry, began to launch their arrows onto the battlefield, striking down the French cavalry before us, some even reaching the infantry on the far side. To my left, the Earl of Hertford gave out a great cry and led the men, with no words of encouragement beyond his own courage, onward to the enemy.

  With blood pounding in my ears, I pulled on Phillip’s reigns and led the men toward the advancing French. I used the lance in my hand as I had in my youth, raising it above my head and calling the men forward into a charge. As we tilted down the hill, I thought suddenly of how different this was, leading the men instead of watching them. I felt none of the cool detachment watching a battle brought; instead, I could hear nothing but the roar of my men and feel only the hard pounding of Phillip’s footsteps below me.

  Owaine, for once showing no deferential treatment to me, quickly passed Phillip, and so it was he that first hit the line of French cavalry, his heavy lance hitting the man directly in front of me under the armpit. The man flew from his mount and into several of his compatriots, giving me a clear entrance into the melee and a chance to send off my own lance into another knight. The lance sunk deep into his body, deeper than I had anticipated, and I lost my most valuable asset to my first opponent. As soon as the lance left my hand, I felt Owaine place a sword into my palm, force my fingers around it, and turn to fight. As I looked over I saw that Owaine had already readied his own sword, and had turned to fight the approaching noble, digging his blade into a chink in the opponent’s armor.

  I was not sure if my lance had killed its target when I turned to the ferocious man next to me, seated upon a golden horse. He recognized me, and in the moment it took his eyes to widen, I thrust my sword out, aiming between the breast plate and armor behind, severing the leather strap that held the two together. My sword sank deep into the man’s side.

  He was not dead at that moment, but he would not be long for this world, especially as I then pulled out my sword and used the hilt to knock the man to the ground. The golden stallion reared, and from the screams and clash of horseshoe on armor I was certain the man had just been trampled by his own horse. As I pulled my sword back, now swathed in blood, I felt the pounding in my ears grow louder. I had never, not even as a youth, struck a man down before.

  There was no time to dwell on this, however, as I urged Phillip deeper into the fray. I had lost sight of Owaine, or he had lost sight of me
, and I felt as if I was surrounded by nothing but Frenchmen. Noting one fancy rider, his French coat of arms well displayed, I reached and struck the man’s arm where it met his torso, severing the appendage. He fell from his horse with a cry, and I knew he would no longer be a threat.

  I could see the sun rising above the trees, breaking onto the battlefield in fragments, better revealing the carnage before me. I continued riding toward the forest that had hid the French army, wielding my sword into the surprised faces of French cavalrymen. Only once did a sword rip toward my left arm, but I managed to lower my shield in time. Though blood began to flow I could not feel the wound. Four more men fell to my sword before I turned Phillip slightly to the left and recognized one of my own men. Before me, I could see the back of Owaine’s horse as he chased two Frenchmen from the field, which seemed to be the last of them, except for the dying.

  The English cries of success rose from all around me, the “huzzahs” echoing through the valley. I smiled and allowed myself to slump into my seat, flush with success, watching with contentment as many of my cavalry continued to chase the French through their own camp.

  Within moments Owaine returned to my side, his head lowered.

  “Your Majesty, I hope you will not think me overly bold —“

  I patted him on the back, silencing him with my move.

  “This is a day of victory,” I said to the young man, aware he had exposed his life to better secure my own. “There will be no reprimands today.”

  Together we rode down to where the Earl of Hertford was organizing the infantry, raiding the field and tending to the wounded as well. We rode up just as two older men were approaching the Earl, dragging a Frenchman between them.

  “Sir, what should be doing with this one?”

  “Put him in line with the others,” Hertford said immediately. My brother-in-law looked flushed, and sweat coated the neckline of his shirt, a disgrace I had never seen him give into before.