Struck With the Dart of Love

by Sandra Vasoli

  I replaced the letter just as Henry returned from his fulmination. He groaned as he sat down heavily in a chair across the table from me. Slowly and pointedly, I looked at the letter. Then I raised my eyes and met his gaze. We said nothing, yet I knew Henry understood. And I knew he agreed.

  The Vyne

  Windsor

  Autumn 1531

  In early August, Henry suggested we visit the home of William Sandys, his Lord Chamberlain. Lord Sandys’ beautiful estate, The Vyne, lay southwest of Windsor in Hampshire.

  The elegant brick structure was nestled adjacent to the flowing Shir tributary in Sherborne St John. Little expense had been spared in its recent refurbishment which had been completed by this, the third William Sandys. The current Lord had added elements to enhance the graciousness of the house and had improved its gardens and grounds to a level of astonishing beauty. It was surrounded by thick woods, rife with game. The wetlands bordering the Shir were home to flocks of cranes, whose shrill, piercing cries were to be heard when they took to the air. Ducks and waterfowl were plentiful and had become a specialty of the Vyne’s chief cook. It was an estate to be envied, and I was so very pleased to have been invited.

  We had a most enjoyable stay; Lord Sandys’ hospitality was unequalled, and we met and were entertained by many of the wealthy landowners in the vicinity. Above all, I was relieved and quite elated that everyone was cordial to me and respectful of my place beside Henry.

  Refreshed by our excursion, and also well bolstered by such support, we made preparations to return to Windsor. We were both acutely aware that Katherine remained there. I had no wish to see her ever again, so concerning the subject, I merely said to Henry, “What do you plan to do, Your Grace?”

  With an impassive expression, he replied, “She will be gone before we arrive.”

  Indeed, upon Henry’s command, Katherine was removed to the Manor of the More without delay. The More was Wolsey’s former residence near St Albans. Katherine’s daughter Mary was ordered to go to Richmond, separating the two.

  Henry’s conduct made it abundantly clear, perhaps for the first time, that his marriage to Katherine was well and truly over.

  The political and theological churn created by Henry’s open challenge of the Church had become turbulent. Strident speeches were the norm. The most learned, the most prestigious, the most respected of Henry’s advisors and councillors were locked in a battle over that which each side felt was morally right. Personal bitterness became ever more the emblem of what had previously been scholarly and erudite conversations. Thus was the backdrop against which Henry and I waited – and continued to proclaim our love to the world.

  My mother visited Windsor in early November. We spent the afternoon with the dressmaker, Master John Skut, and ordered several new gowns each, with a hoped for delivery before the Christmas season.

  Once Master Skut had wrapped up his patterns and designs along with samples of silk, lace, and satin and taken his leave, Mother and I sat for supper. We were alone, and I was glad because I needed her supportive ear and her wise advice.

  I could feel the tension threatening as if it were a band gripping my forehead. “Mother, my thoughts are so entangled I hardly know how to sort through them. My life is anything but straightforward. As well you warned me.”

  “That is a truth which cannot be overstated, surely.” Mother reached across the table and patted my hand with hers. Her touch comforted.

  “I strive to maintain composure, yet there are many times when I am anything but. I must hide my uncertainties from Henry. Also from Father, and even dear George! They expect me to be strong and have foresight when all I want to do is curl up and pull the blankets over my head like I did as a child on summer nights when booming thunder rolled across the Eden Valley, and I was so frightened.”

  Her concern was apparent. “Anne, I do so want to help. Are you completely unhappy, then?”

  “No, no, that isn’t it! Not really. I am not unhappy – on the contrary, Henry and I are so very content together. My love for him grows and knows no bounds, while I truly believe his does for me, too. No, it is more about what the love we share portends for England – and even beyond. There are so many whose lives are being turned askance by the decisions Henry is taking. John Fisher, Sir Thomas More, Archbishop Warham, Henry Guildford, and scores of others who were a part of Henry’s trusted circle now have become akin to enemies because they threaten his plan. And the separation of Katherine from her daughter Mary? I well know they pose a great danger to me, especially when they are permitted to commiserate, yet I cannot help but take pity. I can only imagine how I would feel were I not permitted to see you or speak with you. All this - to simply marry a man I love and who loves me …” I paused, considering what I had just said, then added, “… but then I guess Henry is anything but a simple man!”

  At this, my mother and I looked at each other and dissolved into laughter at the thought.

  We continued our talk long into the evening. By the time I watched my candlelit reflection in the mirror, the maid brushing out my hair and readying my chamber for bed, my soul felt restored. My mother had, as usual, buttressed my resolve. Again I was prepared to ignore the cynics, and step confidently forward into my future with Henry.

  We kept a quiet, reverential Christmastide at Greenwich. I did not miss the celebrations this year; it was contentment enough that Katherine and Mary were banished from court, and I did not worry about having to see them.

  Out of sight must surely mean out of mind.

  Greenwich

  1532

  The beginning of the new year found me looking eagerly ahead. During the Christmas season, my thinking had begun to shift. At thirty-one years of age, I found that all I wanted was to savour every aspect of my relationship with Henry. In accord with my surrender of the matter into God’s keeping, I relaxed my watch over every detail of the proceedings and felt much happier as a result.

  New Year’s gifts were distributed, and though the entertainment had been more reserved this year, Henry’s generosity abounded. Silver and gold cups, goblets, bowls and larger vessels were common gifts for his courtiers and their ladies. Several days after New Year, a messenger arrived at Greenwich to deliver a package to the King. He inspected it, and I knew from his look of dismay that Katherine had sent it. The package contained a gold cup accompanied by a short note. Henry had forbidden Katherine to communicate with him and was infuriated that once again, she had tried to insinuate herself into his daily life, using a traditional gift as the guise. Waving it away, he instructed that it be returned post-haste.

  For me, though, Henry could not do enough. My New Year’s gift was unsurpassed. In Greenwich, Henry lodged me in the Queen’s former apartments. He’d reconditioned the chambers completely. New furniture had been ordered, featuring a magnificent bed, and he had provided draperies and bed hangings of cloth of gold, silver, and crimson satin. The walls were hung with precious tapestries which I took great pleasure in studying. My reciprocal gift was much more modest and certainly not as spectacular. I had commissioned, some months prior, a set of elaborately carved boar hunting darts from the Basque in France. It was always difficult deciding upon a gift for Henry since there was little he did not already have. I hoped the spears would provide him an enjoyable challenge on the hunt field.

  George grinned triumphantly at the King and Sir William Compton, both of whom he had just bested in a game of shovelboard. “Your Grace,” he bowed reverentially to Henry, “My Lord,” nodding to Compton, “If you gentlemen would be so kind, I shall collect my winnings now.” Then, clearing his throat, “of course, should you find it a personal hardship to empty your pockets at the moment, I would prove most amenable to affording you credit.”

  I thought how saucy George had become with Henry. They did like each other so much and had a grand time competing and betting with one another. I believe Henry looked forward t
o having a brother-in-law, a younger male sibling of sorts. As George collected his winnings, I interjected, “I am returning to my suite, my lords, to ready myself for the supper this evening.”

  Henry looked up, “I look forward to seeing you later then, my darling. A ravishing sight I know you’ll be, as always.”

  I met Honor Lisle as I headed back to my chambers, and she walked with me along the privy gallery. “Look at you, Anne! You look radiant. Anyone can see you are a woman in love – in love with a special man. I truly am so glad for you.”

  I placed my hand on her arm and gave her an affectionate squeeze. There was something about Honor which was so affirming – quite reassuring. I felt as if everything she said must be true because she was so sensible.

  “Thank you, Honor, and you are most perceptive. I am happy, and indeed, I am in love with an extraordinary man. I feel quite blessed, and am doing my best to dwell on the happiness Henry and I share, instead of being weighed down by the travails of the politics surrounding us. At times, it is anything but easy, but I am doing better at remaining at peace.”

  “You deserve tranquillity, my dear. And now we will enjoy ourselves this evening at the welcome banquet for Monsieur de la Pommeraie. I cannot wait to see what you will be wearing.”

  With a cheerful wave, Honor left me at the entrance to my apartments and continued on her way.

  My maids assisted me in finalizing my toilette and fastening my jewellery. I spared one final look at my reflection, assessing the allure of the deep blue silk gown with its gold embroidered bodice and kirtle - the hood set with blue sapphires - and sapphires and diamonds about my throat and on my fingers. One glance at my face was enough to confirm what Honor had seen that afternoon. I did indeed appear radiant. My eyes sparkled, my lips curved sensually, my skin glowed, and my brow was as smooth as a baby’s. Love certainly provided its enhancement to beauty!

  I went to the presence chamber to meet my ladies. Giggling and chattering, we proceeded through the Queen’s Watching Chamber, down the staircase, and into the hall. The court crier announced us, and we approached the banqueting table where I took my place next to Henry at its head, with Monsieur de la Pommeraie on his left. The new French ambassador rose to bow charmingly, taking my hand and placing upon it a most delicate kiss.

  Seated amongst the nobility that evening was Thomas Cromwell. Cromwell had been Wolsey’s lawyer, and perhaps his closest advisor. Through planful, bold contriving, his career had remained intact after Wolsey’s fall from grace. He had the growing reputation of being both diligent and adept, and now he was a Member of Parliament for Taunton. I had been told that Cromwell was a talented negotiator and shrewd spokesman who supported Lutheran ideology. This intrigued me, and I found it even more compelling that he openly supported Henry’s right to supremacy, and thereby his right to dissolve his first marriage. Quite a departure from the position taken by his former patron! The Parliamentarian had shown himself to be solicitous of me, and courteous to my family. It became increasingly evident that his beliefs, and aptitude for detailed hard work, made him someone of great potential value to Henry. In fact, Henry had appointed Cromwell to his privy council just before Christmas. He was, though, a person whom I would watch closely, and consider well before trusting completely. But it did seem possible we might have a clever ally in Master Cromwell.

  Our guest of honour, Monsieur de la Pommeraie, was an important player in the political arena and was not to be left to the devices of our adversaries. I paid him considerable attention - we danced, conversed in French, and toasted François and Henry with French wine. I invited the Monsieur to join us at the hunt as soon as grass season commenced, and he was delighted. By the end of the evening, I believed I had him firmly in my camp.

  The month of May was tumultuous. A collection of petitions filed against the clergy were being used to leverage their agreement to Henry’s position as Supreme Head of the English Church, but there remained peevish resistance from some on whom he’d formerly depended.

  Two of Henry’s previously most trusted advisors refused to accede to the supremacy. When the King was informed that, after all his service on behalf of the Great Matter, Bishop Stephen Gardiner stood staunchly in support of the Pope and his determination, Henry was consumed with anger. Perhaps more hurtful yet was the unwavering refusal of Thomas More to align with Henry’s position. This decision was not taken without obvious personal anguish on More’s part, since it was plain the two held each other in high regard. Even so, More refused to relinquish his stance on the side of the Church; never to agree that Henry’s marriage was invalid, nor that the Monarchy reigned supreme in all matters of state and of theology. With sorrow, he recognized the breach which existed between them was irreparable, and he resigned his position as chancellor. Gardiner, not the most daring of men, proved less confrontational, quickly removing himself from Henry’s sight and keeping as low a profile as possible.

  But things had changed for me, too; about this, there was no doubt. I had somehow become able to watch such proceedings as if from afar. I remained passionately, delightfully entangled in a love affair and, with the onset of spring, I could not bring myself to care about the legalities of Henry’s marriage to Katherine, or even about the Church. I did not care if I was wicked or impious. All I wanted to do was to take pleasure in my love for and with Henry, and I did it for all to see.

  And because of that new-found calm, I had come to yet another decision …

  Of late there had been much discussion about the marriage prospects for the young Henry Fitzroy. He was now in residence at Hatfield House in Hertfordshire and made appearances at court on occasion. These occurrences gave me the opportunity to observe him closely. A Knight of the Garter, Fitzroy was Earl of Nottingham and Duke of Richmond and Somerset, with precedence over all other dukes of the Realm. At thirteen years of age, not only did he bear all of these illustrious titles, but he was also Lord High Admiral of England, Wales, Ireland, Normandy, Gascony, and Aquitaine, and then he received the commission as warden-general of the marches of Scotland. He had certainly been endowed with great riches, and several years ago, Henry had awarded him the lord-lieutenantship of Ireland, with the intent to some day make him king of Ireland. His prospects for an impressive marriage union were bright. He was excellently educated and had grown altogether pleasing and well-mannered.

  Looking on this handsome young man as he made his way about court, my thoughts then rested on his mother, Henry’s former mistress, Elizabeth Blount Talboys. She was a baroness, with sons and rich lands. Her husband had died two years previously, and since that time, it was said that she had been consistently wooed by Lord Leonard Grey. Bessie, however, chose not to become Lady Grey, and gossip revealed that she was instead in love with the handsome younger Baron Clinton, her neighbour, Edward Fiennes. Henry had ensured that Bessie’s life - the life of his former mistress - after bearing him a son, had been one of peaceful wealth and comfort.

  Why, I wondered, had I been so adamant? So staunchly inflexible? Was the life of the King’s mistress, and her fair son, so abhorrent after all?

  So, on a soft, fragrant evening in late May, I awaited Henry’s arrival in my chambers at Whitehall. I had thrown open the casement windows, allowing the perfume of lilac to drift into the room on the light breeze. The flames from the candelabra fluttered and flickered, and the fire in the hearth was softly reflected in silver vases holding bunches of spring blooms placed about the chamber.

  Full of nervous expectancy, I picked up a silver-backed brush and played with the ends of my hair for the tenth time. On hearing the sound of Henry approaching, I quickly replaced the brush and turned to face him as he dismissed his esquires at the door and entered the chamber. Once within he blinked, then ever so softly closed the heavy door behind him. He looked at me without speaking, his gaze traveling the length of my body.

  I allowed him to look for as long as he liked. It was the rea
ction I craved, for, on that evening, I wore something special for Henry alone. It was meant to be a part of my trousseau, but I chose not to wait for him to see it: a black, liquid-satin nightgown, simple and close to the body and only partially concealed by a black satin cloak edged in deep black velvet. My dark hair flowed to my waist, and about my throat hung only a fine chain with a single diamond.

  He came to me, encircling me in his arms. All nervousness banished, I moulded my body to his as we kissed. His touch was gentle as he slipped the cloak from my shoulders then stood back to study me in the gown. I breathed thankfully, unencumbered by bodice, stomacher, or undergarments. The satin felt wickedly smooth against my skin. I sensed it slide transparently over every curve. It was a fabric made to be touched, and Henry’s fingers most urgently conformed to its sensuous invitation … our time had come.

  I helped him undress, snuffed the candles and, in the ebbing light, let the satin gown fall to the floor. We came together, and he led me to the bed, soft with pillows. We lay together, wordlessly looking into each other’s eyes.

  I was ready: I would wait no longer to consummate the love I had known for seven long years. And just as I hoped and dreamed, our union was exquisite; boundless. I was transported as if I shared Henry’s mind and soul, as well as his body.

  I lay in his arms, my breathing deep and steady, not having experienced such serenity in as long as I could remember. I nuzzled my face beneath his chin and pulled him even closer.

  Nothing, now, could draw us apart.

  My bliss was complete.

  Greenwich

  Summer 1532

  In the lush fullness of early summer, no two lives could have been more entwined than were ours. I knew his moods: the changeful look of his eye and the sinuous curve of his mouth foretelling his every action. He knew me as well; knew that his intrepid glance would fill me with courage when I grew uncertain and that his warm grasp on my arm would palliate my most irascible moments.