by Karen Harper
She darted from the overhanging yews toward the barge landing as the rains began lightly again. Her seat by the king awaited her, although he had put Anne on his other side. Will gazed off at the far Thames bank while pretty Maud Jennings had her lap full of roses.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
October 17, 1525
Eltham
All during that summer, while the dreaded sweat stalked the narrow streets of Tudor London, the great herds of roe and fallow deer fed and grew among the leafy boughs of Eltham forest. At morning and evening some became bold and walked the orchards and green swards on their spindly, graceful legs. Unknowing, they awaited the bow and the packs of the king’s hounds and his nobles who would hunt them bloodily, lustily in the months the court hid from the sweating sickness in the Kentish countryside.
King Henry had been at Eltham for nearly a week on this trip, stalking deer, riding merrily to the horn, and feasting off the groaning tables under the massive hammerbeam roof of his rebuilt hunt lodge. The queen was absent, sequestered as she had been throughout the long, dangerous summer at Beaulieu, but the gentle slopes of elm, ash and beech rang with shouts of His Grace’s favorites.
Mary rode to the hunt in the king’s private party as did the ever-present and laughing Anne. But each time His Majesty dispatched a huge roebuck or cornered a brown-red doe for the kill, Mary recoiled more into herself and the lusty scenes of blood no longer excited her. At first she had believed her queasiness meant she was with child again, but she knew it was not true. Her revulsion at their lusty killing of the gentle deer was somehow tied to the fact that Will Carey grew increasingly cold to her and that the king no longer sought her bed. Mary and the whole court knew full well that Anne kept tantalizingly out of the king’s reach and bedded with no one. Mary told herself she was glad to have Henry Tudor gone, but her feelings of oppression grew.
The day was brisk, very brisk for a mid-October sunlit day. Mary was content to ride sidesaddle far back in the hunt party where she could see Staff’s green cap and broad shoulders several riders ahead. His powerful body rose and fell rhythmically as he rode his huge stallion, Sanctuary. “A strange name for a horse, but a wonderful hunter,” Mary said aloud to comfort herself. Thinking of the hunt two days past when Staff’s catch had been far greater than the king’s, she added. “Only he would dare.”
“Dare to flaunt Anne that way with you here too, Mary?” Jane Rochford asked, and Mary was instantly annoyed that the ever-present girl had heard her and thought she was speaking of the king.
Why are you not tagging along behind Anne? Mary wanted to taunt, for even the wife of her brother could see the way the royal wind blew toward the younger sister. But she said only, “Why do you not ride with George today or with Mark Gostwick, Jane?”
The slender woman seemed to tense at the mention of the man she now favored openly. “I thought, perhaps, you needed my comfort and solace since none of your men have paid you the slightest attention lately. Do not tell me you do not fear for your position, dear Mary, or fear your father’s wrath at the trends of the times.”
Mary wished she could strike Jane’s smug face as they cantered close together, to shove the ingrate, Rochford, from her horse, for her continual gossiping and mock concern drove both Bullen sisters to distraction. But Jane spurred her palfrey ahead and wedged into an opening near Mark Gostwick in complete defiance of what the Bullens thought. At least George did not care. He rode far ahead with His Grace and his beloved Anne.
Mary cantered beside Thomas Wyndham of Norfolk now and his new and starry-eyed bride Alice from the vast Darcy family. Another rare love match—fortune had blessed them since their parents had long ago arranged their marriage, yet they truly loved each other. “I do not belong next to them or anywhere here,” she said half aloud to her chestnut mare Eden, a gift from His Grace last year whom Mary had named for the gentle river near her home. Only Eden heard, and flicked her alert ears sharply in understanding. Then she heard it too, the horns, the baying of the pack, and their canter accelerated to a gallop through the halfbare trees. The clatter of forty horses’ hoofbeats seemed to echo thunder off the huge trunks of the deep woods.
As the pursuing party spread out in the heat of the chase, Staff turned his head swiftly for a glimpse of her. She caught the movement and smiled broadly though he was too far ahead to tell she had noticed. He did care. Always she saw signs of it in his calm or teasing words if they had a fleeting moment alone. How she wished they could be really alone with no servants to stare, Will far away and the king himself gone, gone forever. But he was right to be safe and secure, though she herself would throw caution to the winds whatever wrath befell them. She shifted her weight forward on her horse. Like all women, she rode sidesaddle, though unlike most of them, she had ridden astride unseen by others at Hever and she liked it far better. That would shock them all. That and her knowledge that the great Henry really intended to bed the younger sister of his five-year acknowledged mistress.
The yelping and baying of the hounds was much louder now. Perhaps they even now surrounded their terrified prey cornered or disabled. The king would be first to the deer, and his steaming bloody knife would drip with the blood of the kill.
She reined in and dismounted in a cluster of stamping, snorting horses since those ahead of her had done so. It was good to stand on firm earth, to feel solidity and not the rhythmic constant swaying in the saddle. She dropped Eden’s reins and stepped forward around Weston’s huge stallion. Staff came from nowhere to take her arm firmly at the elbow. She smiled tremulously at him at the impact of his sudden proximity.
“I have not seen Will, Staff, not for a long time. And do you know why we got such a late start this morning?”
“No and yes, lass,” he said in her ear over the shouts of the crowd nearest the action. “One thing that never ceases to amaze me is how your sweet female minds dart about with at least two or three concerns at once. It quite tires me to attempt to keep up with you.”
“Please do not tease, Staff. I am not in the mood. And I have never noticed that I tire you.”
He leaned even closer. “If I ever get my way with you, my love, I promise you I will not tire—ever. And I meant not to upset you. I know times with Will, your father and even your dear little Annie are tense. For some strange reason, Will has attached himself to your brother this morning. And as to why we got a late beginning, I cannot say except that His Grace had some kind of personal business. I am afraid it may have had something to do with the little ice woman with the looks of fire—your sister—but I may be wrong. He can hardly attempt to bed her with you and Will about, and evidently still in favor.”
She did not answer, though months ago such advice and words about her sister, brother, Will or father would have drawn her anger. They stepped high over the crushed thicket as they approached the cluster of people. The smell and sounds of death permeated the chill air.
Staff loosed her arm, and they moved separately around the groups of standing courtiers. The king with his boon companions, Norris and Weston, behind him had slain three deer and their slender bloodied limbs still convulsed in sporadic shudders. The great Tudor stood astride a massive twelve-point buck, his crimsoned hunt dagger raised aloft while the crowd applauded and cheered and murmured. The other two were does, much smaller, both turned away from the slaughter of their master-buck as though they could not stand to see his sleek brown body on the leafy turf.
And then Mary’s eyes took in the import of the whole scene—Anne standing stiff between George and Will Carey and His Grace offering her his victorious dagger the way he had offered it to Mary Bullen these past five years. But Anne shook her head, took a step back, and the king turned to stone. Then he half-motioned, half-shoved Will aside with quick words and turned his back on the obviously dismayed man while the circle of observers waited and studied their sovereign’s every move. The huge reddish head bent to Anne again in earnest conversation. He ignored George, poor discomfitted Ge
orge, as though he were not there.
It was like some play on a trestle stage with a dark forest setting, or some terrible nightmare come to life. Anne’s slender cloaked form was blocked out by Henry’s massive back, but Mary instinctively feared for her. Something was very, very wrong. Anne had evidently refused the offer of the dagger, a foolish affront before the court, no matter what private disagreement she had with her king.
Will Carey suddenly grabbed Mary from behind and pulled her several steps behind a gnarled tree trunk. His face was deathly pale and he could not speak at first. Mary turned her head to stare at the king, disbelieving that Will could have come away so quickly. His fingers bit into the flesh of her arm.
“Damn your little bitch of a sister,” he groaned. He glared at the rough bark behind her head and pushed Mary against the tree. “She will ruin everything. She will be the end of us all.”
“Please, my lord, what is happening?”
“You fool. You cannot mean you do not know. Why did you not head her off? She has taunted and flirted and led him on these months for her own selfish ends. And now, when she reaps the obvious rewards of such sluttish behavior, she draws back, she refuses.” A strange, strangled sound came from deep in his throat and he raised his wide eyes to her shocked face at last.
“His Grace has asked Anne to bed with him?” she got out in a half-choked voice. “Here? At Eltham? With me along?” Her knees began to tremble and she felt as though she still rode the bouncing Eden careening along dark forest paths to some bloody destruction.
“He asked her first last night and told her to think about it until this morning. He just offered her the dagger of his kill, and she refused it thinking it would be as good as her compliance later in his bed. Her father will kill her! Or if he does not, perhaps I shall.”
Their conversation was no longer private as others of the hunt party streamed back to their grazing mounts whispering and shaking their heads. Over Will’s shoulder Mary noted the smirk on Jane Rochford’s face as Mark Gostwick helped her up astride her palfrey. Mary caught Jane’s sharp eye and turned away as she nearly dry-heaved with the sudden impact of reality. Many hated the Bullens; she knew that. Even Jane and maybe Will, ashen-faced and grim-lipped before her.
Then the stunned Careys saw Anne and George ride by only a stone’s throw from where they stood, as if transfixed. Anne had taken to wearing tiny bells on her saddle and bridle, and the gentle tinklings drifted foolishly in the chill air.
Will glanced around the tree and pulled his head back jerkily. “I knew it. Doomed, doomed. He stands there, livid with his fist clenched and Norris, Weston and Stafford stand around like great wooden dummies at the quintain. We had best flee. I will not face his narrow-eyed wrath again for the stupidity of a Bullen wench, any Bullen wench.” He strode off, and she wondered if he meant to leave her here alone.
She took a few steps in the direction in which she had left the untethered Eden. To her surprise, it was Staff who held her horse as she crunched through the crispy brown leaves, and Will was nowhere in sight.
“I thought you were with His Grace,” Mary said, as though nothing had happened.
“I was. Will has gone to fetch his horse. I think, Mary Bullen, the time is finally come for your graceful exit from the king’s august presence. I only hope that somehow, through Will’s tenuous position or your father’s craftiness, you are both able to come back.” He seized her waist and hoisted her to her lofty perch above him before she realized the full impact of his words.
“Leave court? Leave Eltham, you mean. Is Anne to stay? Is she in disgrace?”
Staff’s dark eyes swung swiftly in a wide arc around the clearing in which they stood, she astride, he leaning his chest against her knees as if to reassure her shaking limbs. “I am afraid I mean leave court, Mary. Has Will not told you? That foolish slip of a sister of yours has overstepped and badly. She led him a merry dance, and then hit him square in the face with a refusal. Twice. She is no innocent. She knows better than to tempt a rutting boar, and then try to ward it off with a child’s stick. And, unfortunately, you and Will—and I—must suffer, Mary. I had not thought it would happen this way. By the blessed saints, he ought to just rape her and have done with it, but he has never had his pride stuck full of lances by a lady he desired before. He is hardly a mortal man in that respect and his wrath may fall on you all out of proportion.”
“And has some lady stuck your masculine pride full of lance points?” she heard herself ask foolishly, as though they were just passing a sunny afternoon and in no danger at all.
“Some lady used to, but I think she has come to see the error of her ways with me. If it ever comes to it that I can ask her to be mine after all these years and she tries to gainsay me, I shall force her to my will. She owes me too much and in such circumstances she would never escape me.”
Mary opened her mouth to reply but the words would not come. They stared deep into each other’s eyes, unblinking, and her pulse began to beat a nervous patter which no danger from the king or even her father could ever bring on. “Staff, you must know that I...” She jerked her head up at the crashing approach of a single horse through the nearby brush.
Will emerged and walked his nervous steed close to them. “Where in the devil is your horse, Staff? You said you were coming with us.”
“Yes, Will, I ride clear to Richmond with you,” Staff said, never taking his eyes from Mary though he addressed her husband.
“Richmond? Clear to Richmond—today?” she asked in the sudden hush of the forest.
“We can hardly stay here where we will bump into His Grace, of course,” Will said while Staff turned away to get his horse. “Thanks to your sister’s meddling, we may have to leave Richmond, too, and hide out for a time at my country house. Poor Eleanor will take this very hard.”
Damn Eleanor, Mary thought. “His Grace said we are to go?”
“He told all the Bullens to get clear from his sight and he shoved me out of the way as he said it. His passion is for Anne, not you, Mary. We have to face that now. Staff thinks if he pursues Anne, you must necessarily be put out of his path as a stumbling block to Anne.” Will turned away as he saw Staff canter from the path behind them. “I am sure His Grace would have no real objections to bedding with you both, mayhap together,” he concluded bitterly, half to himself. But she heard and the words stung.
How stupid she had been, she realized, to once believe this king would be her escape from the lust and cruelty of Francois. Staff had been right, always right. He had seen the dreadful face behind the jovial mask when she had not. She began to cry soundlessly, tearlessly, for herself and poor Will and for her little Catherine who depended on her, and for five-year-old Harry who could well be the flesh and blood of this fearful king. And for Staff whom she loved and would never have but for stolen moments which just made the pain of pretending all the worse.
“Buck up, wife,” Will’s words floated back to her. “We must pack quickly and be in Richmond before nightfall. We will take Staff and two grooms with us. I hate to admit it, but we need your father’s crafty skills before we decide what to do. I cannot wait to see his face when he hears that this time the wench who draws his king off from his golden Mary is his own Anne! I cannot wait to see him try to worm out of this predicament! And when he hears she refused him before half the court and that she and George are banished to Hever and all the Bullens are to keep out of his sight, ha!”
His shrill laughter pounded on Mary’s ears and caused chills along her spine. She dropped back slightly to ride abreast with Staff, for that was her only security now. She detested Will and feared the king. And the coming interview with her father made her grow numb all over. She turned her face to Staff as they clattered swiftly toward the wooden facade of Eltham, set among the dying brown leaves of the Kentish weald.
The pounding of Mary’s tumbled thoughts and the pounding of the horses’ hoofs on the long, bleak road to Richmond were as one. The golden forests
of the weald and the clear sunshine on Eden’s flowing mane could not lift her spirits or comfort her. Perhaps Anne and father would get what they deserved, for Anne had dared to believe she could lead the king on and then throw him off at her will. Yet, the girl had only wanted power as she had been taught—power to fill the void of a lost love, power of revenge through the king over the hated cardinal who had sent her lover away to marry someone else. And father—well, he was as he was. Over the years, through the pain her love for him had caused, she had come to see him clearly. He loved his children only as a prideful possession, as his means up the royal ladder of riches and influence from which others whispered his mean birth would keep him. Now the Bullen dream was over and he dared not blame his daughters as much as himself.
The closer they got to Richmond through Weybridge, Chertsey, and Staines, the further her security of her love for Staff slipped from her grasp. The closer she came to exile with Will to his country lands she had never seen, the more the pain of loss and separation cut like broken glass in the hollow pit of her stomach. She tried to sit erect in the hours of the hurried ride, but her shoulders slumped lower and lower as did her heart.
They rested once at a tiny thatched inn near Chertsey for bread, cheese and hot wine. She wanted to throw herself into Staff’s arms and never see the court again at all, but she sat properly wedged in against the wall by a silent Will Carey. Little Catherine waited at Richmond with their servant Nancy and, for Catherine, she would ride on.
It was late dusk when they clattered into the vast stable block at Richmond. Will helped her dismount, and she stretched her weary, cramped limbs gratefully. They hurried up the gravel path past the formal railed gardens where the massive new marble fountain sprayed its tiny flumes into fluted basins. Mary and Will went to their rooms while Staff went to inquire on the whereabouts of Lord Bullen.
Nancy was surprised to see them, but Will sent her off to sleep in the common hall without any answers to her earnest questions, and Mary went directly to see Catherine. The child slept soundly, curled up crushing her pillow to her to replace her lost doll, Belinda, as though the world would quake should she not have the ragged face beside her in the dark. Mary kissed the untroubled forehead and smoothed back the golden curls. The regular sound of the child’s breathing comforted her greatly. She would make Catherine her life away from court, away with a husband who did not love her, away from her family and from Staff.
