Struck With the Dart of Love

by Sandra Vasoli

  Henry leaned into me placing his lips against my ear and whispered “My darling, you are a woman of rare beauty and even rarer talent. I am the envy of every man present, whether they wish to concede it or not. I am so proud of you, Anne.”

  My heart swelled with elation at Henry’s approval. Nothing was quite so intoxicating as his extravagant admiration. I knew I would happily go to the ends of the earth to please this man.

  As the music began, guests turned to each other in pleasured surprise. The esteemed virtuoso Alberto da Ripa played and conducted his musicians to produce a sound so superb that it lifted the soul. Signore da Ripa, from Mantua, was a famed lutenist and composer of enormous talent. King François I had persuaded him to join the French Court, but to our great pleasure, he decided to spend some time in England before leaving for Calais. At my personal request, he agreed to play for the King and our guests for the evening. He performed some of his lute fantasias, which were sublimely beautiful, and so apropos for the setting. He also, with several of his musicians, played the four-course guitar, which was uncommon, and greatly enjoyed by all.

  Bessie Holland and I had conferred exhaustively with the head cook, and together we had devised an extensive formal menu. In the grand tradition, we agreed upon three courses of meats: suckling pig, then venison and bittern, and finally rabbit and snipe. At the conclusion of the meat service, the pastry cook provided a whimsical dish called a ‘soteltey’. This was a sweet, artfully made into an elaborate shape or design. The first soteltey of the evening was a marchpane in the shape of a snowflake, glistening with a shiny egg wash and sprinkled with minute flakes of silver. After the snowflakes had been consumed, an intermission was called during which the guests danced or simply mingled. We then began the fish course, once again made up of three dishes: spiced lampreys – a favourite of Henry’s, roasted salmon, and flounder and sturgeon. The soteltey concluding the fish course was a golden jelly moulded to appear as a lion rampant.

  Finally, the liveried ushers swept about the room, clearing food left from the previous courses and readying the tables for the sweets course, which was brilliantly executed by the pastry baker. Paraded in on silver trays held high overhead, they comprised a large sweetcake in the shape of a crowned eagle and sprinkled with gold shavings, a fruit and spice pie fashioned like a running greyhound, and a cake shaped to look like the sun, iced in lemon yellow with fruit and raisins studding it and, finally, dusted with gold.

  When the fish courses had begun to arrive in such abundance, I’d caught the attention of Margery Horseman, and when our glances met, we completely gave way to fits of giggling. She rolled her eyes and mimicked a stomach ache, and at that we shrieked with laughter. So much food! But of course, we ladies could have scarcely more than a few bites, else our snug bodices would squeeze us like devices of torture.

  The drinking and eating went on for some time until, eventually, my certainly replete Henry rose, not without a little effort, to signal the end of dining. He held his arm out to me, and I laid mine on his and we went to the dance floor to commence a galliard. I squeezed his forearm tight while we stepped and skipped, and winked at him each time he cast an admiring eye.

  It was truly a most gratifying experience to watch the lords spinning with their gorgeous ladies, whirling brocade, gold, and jewels glinting in the firelight.

  I danced with Ambassador de la Guîche and told him in French how grateful Henry and I were of his efforts and goodwill on our behalf. He reassured me that his support was mine alone, and he told me this as he gazed into my face with that fervent look I had come to know so well. I wondered if Henry had noticed the Seigneur’s obvious devotion!

  The dancing began to ebb, and we resumed our places at the table to sip some of the hippocras which had been served. I decided this was a good moment to amaze Henry with one more surprise I had awaiting him.

  We sat at the table draped all around in white and silver cloth, talking with courtiers who were seated close by. I reached for Henry’s hand under the table and placed it on my thigh. He glanced uncertainly at me from the corner of his eye, but I kept my attention focused on the conversation. Inevitably, Henry’s hand began to stroke my leg. I guided his fingers upward and inward until they found the secret split in the fabric, carefully designed and sewn, hidden in the folds of my silver petticoat. My breath came quick with anticipation, yet I kept my attention on my guests. Off to the side, I saw Henry perilously navigating the boundary between regal behaviour and abandoning all sense of composure in full view of his subjects. More guests approached us as the hour drew late, expressing their gratitude for the spectacular evening. All the while, Henry’s fingers slowly explored the extent of the split, only to realize that the thin silk chemise I wore as my undergarment also had an open seam. Beneath that, he discovered nothing but skin. Henry’s face became ever more flushed. To be certain, the guests with whom he spoke thought it was from the abundance of wine. I knew otherwise.

  It was no surprise that Henry could hardly wait to call the celebration to an end. He bid good night to his courtiers and other guests, as did I, and we left the hall to return to his privy chambers.

  Once we were alone, his velvet cap came off, and I helped him shrug from his stiff doublet. He removed items of clothing and jewels until he remained in his hose and soft linen shirt. He looked at once so strong and masculine, yet tender. Oh, the way his eyes glowed with love and desire for me! He knelt before me, looking for the openings in my gown, and once found, his fingers, and then his tongue explored what he sought. I repaid him as best I could, but that beautiful evening in January belonged to me, from beginning to end.

  Whitehall

  Hampton Court

  Windsor

  Spring 1531

  My enchanting reverie of early 1531 was short-lived. Another winter melted into spring and although the love Henry and I shared was as tender and beauteous as the snowdrops which dotted the April hillsides, we were no closer, in actuality, to being married than we had been the previous spring. By the beginning of May, my ever-changing mood had shifted from discouragement to hurt and despair, then to full-blown rage as more and more of those who we’d assumed to be Henry’s closest advisors and friends defected and displayed support for Katherine. Sir Nicholas Carewe; Henry’s cousin Reginald Pole; the Earl of Shrewsbury who was Henry’s Lord Steward; and - unbelievably - Henry’s closest friend and companion, the Duke of Suffolk, all took the opportunity to convey their objection to a divorce which was yet to be sanctioned by the Church.

  Henry’s elder statesmen had made another visit to Katherine, during which they tried one more time to plead with her to accede. After hearing that the result was as futile as expected, I received additional news which made my blood boil. I was informed by one of my ladies that Sir Henry Guildford was overheard saying he wished all those involved in arguing the King’s great plan could be bound in chains and carted off to Rome. Not since before Wolsey’s death had I experienced such a flare of fury at the brazen disloyalty of a man who owed his bountiful life to his sovereign - the King whose greatest desire he had just summarily dismissed. I rushed to find Henry.

  “Have you heard what was said, Henry?” I felt as if I were choking. “Do you realize how many are against us? How can you tolerate it? If the decision were mine, I would sink every one of them to the bottom of the sea – starting with all Spaniards!”

  At the ferocity of my approach, he eyed me imploringly, and not a little fearfully. “Anne, we simply must have patience. We will triumph in the end, and then we will surround ourselves only with those who have been loyal; this I promise you.” He took on the soothing tone he used in an attempt to stave off the frenzy he knew was near.

  In a shrill, reedy voice I heard myself say “Patience? That is your response? I have had the patience of Job, and it has proved of absolutely no use, Henry! None at all! I am thoroughly exhausted and sick of the entire issue. I simply can no longer
abide it.”

  And then, precariously balanced on the very edge of hysteria, I spat, “This time there will be no reconsidering: our contract is broken!” I whirled about and strode from his chamber without a backward glance.

  Once through the door I sagged against a wall. Oh, what had I done? God’s wounds but this time I should have bitten my cheek until I fainted with the pain. Now my runaway emotions and overly sharp tongue had at last led me to ruin. My heart ached, and my spirit was crushed as I accepted the raw truth - I was a kept woman, and nothing more. My youth was gone and I did not know if I would be able to conceive a child even were I to be married on the morrow, much less months – or years – from now.

  In anguish at the termination of our relationship, and of my life as I had known it, I went to my chamber and remained there in grievous seclusion all the next day.

  That following evening, I was told that Father wished to see me. He arrived at my apartment, took one look at my forlorn, tear-stained face, then came to my side and put his arms around me to hold me as if I were still a child needing comfort from a hurt. I began to lose control, and the tears again rolled down my cheeks unchecked. I cried in my father’s embrace for what seemed a long time, yet only when I was finished, did he release me.

  “Anne, I have just come from the King. He is as full of sorrow as you are – perhaps more. I have never seen him weep, Anne, yet he laments for fear that you have abandoned him. You have not done so, have you?”

  Lo, his voice was kind! So unlike what I would have expected from my father, and his gentleness towards me began to thaw my resolve.

  “Oh Father, how can I be expected to withstand the defiance and condemnation of so many who are close to the King? All I yearn for is to marry the man I love - and I cannot. I feel as if I am juggling many balls, each one bearing spikes. One wrong move and I am sliced to the quick. I do not have the constitution to withstand any more!”

  “Anne, my Anne. You are a special woman and a strong one. You are a match – the only match – for the King’s courage. He needs you. And he loves you more than I ever thought to see him love anyone. You cannot forsake him! He has given up much for you, Daughter. Trust your feelings for him, and see this battle through standing firmly by his side. I promise you; he will be devoted to you forever.”

  An inconsolable, ragged sigh escaped me as I considered his words. I had been in this wretched place countless times before. What surety did I have that things would ever turn our way? I thought on my adamant decision, years ago, to never assume the role of Henry’s maîtresse. Now, I could hardly remember why I had been so cock-sure that my situation would be different than Mary’s, or Bessie Blount’s. How naïve I was! Here I stood, as sorrowful as I had ever been, with nothing to show for my stubbornness but a wardrobe full of clothes and a chestful of jewels. The gnawing in the pit of my stomach felt unbearable.

  Father looked into my eyes and softly said, “You are still young enough to have a son … many sons. Go to him, Anne, and tell him you remain his loving consort.”

  For minutes, I remained immobile. I knew him to be in the right. And what else was I to do? Separate from Henry, yet ache with longing whenever I thought of him or was in his company? Leave England forever? He had not been the only one who’d been struck with the dart of love those six years ago. Whatever potion had tipped that dart had infused me as well, and in truth, I could no longer fathom life without him. What that meant regarding my destiny, I did not know, and I realized that I did not care. There was little else I could do but to place the matter into the hands of God. So, with a heartfelt, soul-centred prayer, that is precisely what I did. And, thanks be to Almighty God, I was answered with a rush of renewed hope and strength.

  I dried my eyes, squared my shoulders, and stepped forward, determined to resume my relationship with Henry – and leaving the need to control behind.

  My renewed love and commitment was honoured by yet another dazzling gift from Henry. He had his goldsmith, Master Cornelis Hayss, create a jewel which could be worn on a necklace, on a belt, or as a brooch. I was dumbstruck when I beheld a cluster of golden roses intertwined with hearts, set with 21 perfect diamonds and 21 deep crimson rubies. Of the torrent of beautiful gifts Henry gave to me, this one was a favourite, and I treasured it.

  Shortly after that, I caught sight of Guildford in the Gallery at Westminster. Even with my newfound sense of quietude, I could not let the opportunity pass.

  “Sir Henry!” I called sharply to him. “May I have a word, please?”

  Uncertainly he approached me and was just within earshot when, even before he could afford me the conventional bow, I lashed out furiously, “How dare you!”

  He gave me a confused look. “Milady? To what do you refer?”

  “I refer to the comments you have made which show a complete disregard for the King’s greatest desire. I refer to your brazen disloyalty when it comes to repaying your Monarch – the man who has given you your position and your wealth! Not to mention his lifelong friendship! Have you no allegiance whatsoever?”

  “Lady Rochford, I am as loyal to my King as any man living. You misunderstand my position. It is not that I disapprove of the King’s desire for a new marriage and hence the chance to beget a son, it is that in all conscience I cannot accede to his intent to do so without the consent of the Pope.”

  “On the contrary, I am in complete understanding of your position, Sir Henry, and I think it wrong and narrow-minded. You can see as well as anyone that the Pope has no concern whatsoever for the English King’s need for a son. Clement’s obdurate stance serves his desires and no other. This is the type of circumstance which demands what I term loyalty – providing unconditional support to your Monarch when it becomes difficult, no matter your private beliefs. Yet you have made it plain that you have no intention to do so. That said, Mr Guildford, you can be assured that when I do become Queen - which I will - there will be no official appointment for you! Loyalty works both ways, does it not?”

  But his answer only served to emphasize further the depth of disapproval many of Henry’s court harboured for me. I admit I felt a bit deflated when, almost without hesitation, he’d replied, “Lady Rochford, I will graciously save you the trouble, for I am happy to resign my post as of this very minute.”

  With a perfunctory nod in my direction, he turned on his heel and walked through the gallery and toward Henry’s presence chamber.

  Guildford did indeed resign after a struggle with Henry, who wished him to remain. He retired to his family estate in Kent. I was not a bit sorry about my altercation with him. Was I to smile prettily when I saw him and pretend all was well? That was not my way.

  And thus, my curious lifestyle continued. Construction at Whitehall became so disruptive that Henry and I went to Hampton Court, where Katherine and some of her ladies were in residence. I kept myself as separated from her as I possibly could, and at no time did I look directly at her or meet her gaze. I did my best to pretend she was invisible. We never spoke to one another.

  I observed that Henry’s patience with Katherine had run its course. She, on the other hand, appeared to assume that since they were cohabiting once again, his position was softening. Playing into that misguided hope, she suggested that perhaps it would be pleasing if their daughter Mary might spend the month of May with them, as a family. Henry flatly refused, and replied that Mary might visit her mother, but it would not be at Greenwich while he was in residence. On hearing this, Katherine quickly recanted, and replied that she would forego a visit with her daughter if only to remain with Henry. She proudly stated that she would never wish to give anyone the idea that she was separated from her husband.

  These infuriating behaviours of Katherine’s caused Henry to writhe in vexation. Yet she persisted with them.

  From Hampton Court, the three of us – Henry, Katherine, and I - moved to Windsor. Spring was in full flush, and I kept Henr
y completely occupied by losing ourselves in the hunt. He had acquired several new horses, and we rode out daily.

  The domestic situation had by now become intolerable. Continuously frustrated by all previous attempts, I determined to put an end, once and for all, to the awkward and embarrassing sight of Katherine and I both accompanying Henry from location to location. I asked Henry if we might hunt Ditton Park, which was well stocked with deer and had a lovely, rolling landscape. He agreed with enthusiasm whereupon he and I set out - without Katherine - to stay at Chertsey Abbey, our home base for almost two weeks. We took with us only the smallest of retinues: Nicholas Carew to manage the horses, William Brereton, and William Compton. We had a wonderful time; the weather was fair, and we brought down deer and other game which were prepared for dinner the following day.

  It was at supper one evening that a courier from Windsor delivered a letter to Henry. As soon as he opened it, I knew it was from Katherine. Henry read some of it, the colour rising from his neck to his hairline. Finally, he exploded in a tirade of anger, throwing the letter on the table. Growling that he needed air, I let him stalk from the room, thankful I would not be in his proximity while he cooled his temper. Once he was gone, though, I picked up the letter, and after only an instant’s hesitation and a glance about began to read. Like Henry, I could scarce believe the tactics this … this crone… had now resorted to in her vain attempts to gain his attention. Her whining was nothing but self-serving. She complained that he had left her without saying goodbye. She asked why she could not accompany him. Why had he not given her even the most basic consideration of allowing her to bid him farewell? Finally, she had the gall to ask solicitously after his health just as if all were fine between them!