by J P Ceark
‘No, Sire,’ she repeated, still amused by her disobedience.
‘A man’s ego is delicate,’ he informed her while reaching out to take her in his arms. ‘Perhaps a few kisses …’ Mary turned her head from his, making her decision stubbornly clear to Henry. ‘Aye. As you wish,’ he said as he let her go. ‘I will win you over,’ he told her with resolute determination.
‘I think not,’ she teased, her playful smile remaining, confusing him more. She pulled him towards her and kissed him. His eagerness was apparent, as now she was ensnared by him. She pushed his broad chest away from her again.
‘I can give you gold, titles, furs, land; name your desire and I’ll make it so,’ he bartered.
‘Sire, you’ve nothing to give me that I would want. Win my heart and then I would be yours.’
‘You’ve won mine own heart … is that not enough?’
‘But I put small value on it,’ she spoke brutally.
‘That’s wounding!’ he bellowed.
‘Goodnight, Sire,’ she uttered, smiling while removing herself from his grip. She looked back at Henry to see him chuckling with good humour.
She hurried out of the King’s presence chamber, past the gentleman who she had played cards with, and passed a stunned George. He ran after her.
‘Uncle will hear about this. Refusing the King is ruin!’
‘I am not governed by Uncle or by you! Did you stupidly believe I would surrender to your schemes?’
George reached her, his breath quickening with rage. ‘Your marriage was made for this purpose …’ He took her arm and made her face him. ‘I can make life very difficult for you at court. Ruin your reputation, speak of slander and insults upon your character, see you ruined by immoral acts. Why defy us? Why ruin yourself? This is just an easy way to advance ourselves. Look how well the Cardinal provided for Bessie Blount. You too can capitalise.’ Mary shook from her brother’s grip.
‘The King deserves better than all of you about him, self-serving and deceitful. He is a good man, kind and honest. I dread your corruption; you’ll make a tyrant of him.’
A sneer returned to his lips. ‘Nay, he is a fool to be mocked. A susceptible knave to be used. You’ll see it eventually … he deserves his abuse.’
March 1539
Hever Castle
Thomas awoke to the sound of bird song. He listened with a serenity that had come over him of late. Robson stoked the fire on seeing his master move. ‘What be the time?’
‘Early, My Lord, sunrise has just been.’ He watched Thomas nod and proceeded to help him sit up in bed. ‘Some nourishment, I think?’ he suggested.
‘I’m sated but bring the pot to me, I will take a piss.’
Robson did as he was bid. Holding Thomas close to him, he could feel his master’s warmth through his thin chemise as he supported his light body weight.
Thomas waited for a time until he could urinate. When it came, it was short spurts and blood still mingled with the water. Robson placed the pot with the others, covering the contents with linen and keeping it in order of hours for Dr Butts to inspect.
‘Dr Butts will come today,’ reassured Robson, though it was more to comfort himself. He noticed his master’s cheeks were a little flushed as he aided Thomas back into bed.
‘I thought of marrying again, only a few months ago,’ Thomas suddenly said. ‘Now I know of my death, the wheel of fortune has spun for the last time.’
‘You have survived other illnesses, My Lord …’ ventured Robson.
‘Aye, but I’d had the will to live then, I haven’t this time … most of mine are dead and, in truth, as the days continue on, it gets harder to not live in the past. I question what could’ve been done differently, for us to survive, but it is futile, we all die, Robson. When first I married, I had but fifty pounds to my name …’ He felt himself tingle with memories and sadness. ‘Yet I invested my small amount of money and saw gains, the most lucrative in iron ore production. I prided myself on being a self-made man, as my grandfather had been … oh and blessed it be when King Henry raised men of talent and ability up. I was such a man to be honoured with his patronage, without nobility but of dedicated service … I furthered my fortune. And my children would benefit. I sent Thomas to Oxford, Anne to Austria, Mary and George to the French and English courts, they were given the opportunity to carve out fine careers. They were educated to be higher than myself … I did think of them, I thought of their futures; financial reward was motivating but not solely for myself … I hope that is known.’ He looked upon his servant as if to seek belief. ‘My ambition was not for myself but to see us all prosper, the whole country — to have a golden age of wealth and security. Isn’t that what we all wish for our countrymen? A golden age? A boy for the King … to secure the future of our lands, but I should not have given Anne … if Mary had not seduced the King first. It was she who put that wheel I speak of into motion. I told her not to, I warned her of my shame … not just my shame … my condemnation …’ He was feverish, a confusion had taken his tongue and thoughts which had long been put aside were now being voiced. ‘Aye, she condemned me to suffer the court’s scorn. I, who had prided myself on good service to the King, was now condemned as one who whored his own daughter to elevate himself. I loathed Wolsey, for it was he who brought prosperity to the Blounts. Every dog then made a concubine of his daughter. The King knew it and I began to loathe him, as I loathed her.’
‘Try not to relive what has been gone,’ Robson soothed.
‘Don’t you see? The shame I felt when Mary became his whore! How every ambassador in every European court knew the infamous dishonour of my child and judged me as an ineffectual diplomat, man and father … I forced Anne to spurn the King. I condemned her …’ Every muscle strained in his body as he tried to move from his bed. ‘O Lord! Remember not! Why didn’t I abandon my daughters!?’
Sweat was building on his forehead. He made to get out of bed but Robson fought his master’s weakening body to lie still.
‘My Lord, the past is gone. Be calm.’
‘I need to know, Robson, I need to know!’
‘Know what, My Lord?’
‘If I did wrong. Should I have been a brutal father? Should I have beaten them? Loved them less? Are their faults mine?’
‘Sleep now, My Lord. Your thoughts are tangled.’
March 1522
Greenwich Palace
Thomas
We’ve docked at Hampton and waiting to sail as soon as the order is given to escort the Emperor and his ambassadors through the English Channel. I have written to the King and Cardinal on several occasions requesting beer, meat, fish and biscuits. It takes a great deal of begging and it is becoming tiresome. I request that Mary speak on my behalf and implore the King to send supplies to the English fleet for it would be a great pity to miss any opportunity that may present itself to attack the enemy, for a simple lack of substance.
Aboard this day the Mary Rose
Mary put down the letter and searched her father’s face. His cheeks were flushed as if a slap had reddened them. ‘I neither care to raise his predicament nor attempt to ascertain the importance of it, but why on earth should it concern you?!’ he asked with rage.
Mary had held her breath as if being held under water. ‘He thinks I’m the King’s mistress. But this is not of my creating,’ she hurried to explain. ‘Uncle Howard has encouraged the King of my affections, as has George. I’ve protested against their schemes but none will aid my rejection of it.’
Thomas could barely contain his rage. ‘What has George to do with it all?’ he enquired.
‘I suppose he is in Uncle Howard’s pay.’
Robson ran towards the smashed ink bottle before it had even made contact with the wall. ‘Damn him!’ Thomas yelled, launching the ink pot across the room. ‘Exploits my trust! Uses my bloodline as commodity to advance his endeavours!
‘What is to be done? What am I to do?’ she asked hopelessly.
He s
wallowed with pain as if hot bile rested in his throat. ‘I care not …’ He turned his face away from her and thought aloud. ‘Why have I lacked the skill to foresee his cunning? You’ve been used for trade!’ He turned back to her. ‘My property that I had entrusted to him, bargained over, weighed within his hand and calculated to lessen my value and increase his!’ She went to protest but he stopped her. ‘Enough! That is why he is now head of the English fleet! He knows the King has had you!’
‘I’ve not been with the King!’ Mary protested.
‘I know of your fallen character, my girl! Your dishonour is known to me!’
‘But Father! I opposed!’ She begged for him to listen but he would not.
‘Opposed? You’re too weak for the flatteries.’
‘I care little for the King or his attention! But perhaps Uncle Howard may well persuade me to lie with the King. I can speak on the Cardinal’s behalf. His loyalty and his honest council. I can advance my husband to be an adviser to him, form a new faction around the King.’
‘Deceitful whore!’ he cursed her dulled mind. He felt the physical effects of wounded pride and disappointment. ‘Your callous nature is known to me; if you should ever suffer misfortune, it’s deserved.’
‘Rest assured, Father, I should never come to you if misfortune befalls me, but unlike you, I don’t act out of hate. Divine judgement weighs my sins lighter than yours, for I am warm hearted where as you are cold bloodied.’
* * *
The cheers from the other side of the palace could be heard to reverberate around the rest. The public were entering the grounds for the jousting tournament. A warmup between the King’s men was exciting the crowds before the main attractions took to the ground.
Thomas gathered himself; life as a diplomat was always to hide frustrations and irritations. It was a practice he had to perform in his personal life as well as his public. Yet the men he had to charm, persuade and reassure could easily delight in mocking him. A mark upon himself and his representation of origin resulted in his authority being diminished within the courts of European power. His livelihood, pride and aspiration lost because of his daughter’s artlessness and ignoble gratification.
‘I should have kept her exiled,’ he said to Robson.
‘My Lord, you will be expected at the joust, time you were on your way.’
Thomas nodded his agreement and made his way through the corridors, taking brief moments to calm his irritation.
He entered into the waiting area for the Emperor’s ambassadors, each in their finery and yet failing to hide their indifference to the food and wine on offer to them.
Wolsey mingled around them, his red robes bellowing over his well-nourished stomach. ‘Master Boleyn!’ Wolsey called as if an old friend had arrived. Thomas grimaced.
‘Your Grace,’ Thomas bowed. ‘I believe you know these men, ambassadors to his supreme Holy Emperor Charles the Fifth.’
‘Aye, Your Grace. I have explained I shall be joining them on the sun-drenched lands of Spain.’
‘Aye, with my leading diplomatic, Sampson.’ Wolsey lowered him in status and respect. ‘Our aim is to avoid war with France by securing and advertising our friendship between our realms.’
‘We are gladdened to have England’s accord,’ began the Spanish ambassador. ‘My good Cardinal, your words and treaties suffice our friendship. Should war come, as we all suspect it will, it brings comfort to know that France will soon be ruled by his Imperial Majesty’s uncle, Henry the Eighth of England,’ his Spanish accent soft in contrast to the chilling words.
Wolsey beamed at first but quickly gathered his thoughts. ‘It should not come to it,’ he dismissed. ‘Long as the French are not provoked!’ he laughed, carefree, but Thomas detected the hint of concern.
The ambassador turned away, seating himself with his other companions behind the Emperor.
‘Rome instructs us to keep the peace, is that not right, Your Grace?’ queried Thomas to Wolsey. ‘Not for England to aid Imperial domination.’
Wolsey grimaced. ‘War with France is coming, Boleyn, accept it. The Emperor wants his lost dominations in Italy that Francis took and King Henry and those around him want war to gain territories in France. If there is a small chance of that victory, I must endeavour to make it so.’
‘This is folly, their motives are as plain as the day. Chancellor Gattinara is seeking power in Italy for Emperor Charles and expanding their rulership. This be a vain exploit.’
‘There are rebels in France, fighting against King Francis. It’s believed the Swiss will also join us against them. If we don’t participate, land could be further lost to us.’ Wolsey signalled the end of the conversation but Thomas persisted.
‘What of the Scottish border?’
‘I have plans to send the Duke of Suffolk or Earl Surrey to fight to protect the border … Be at peace, Boleyn, I know the minds of all those around me.’
‘Your Grace, I would support any notion you would bring to dissuade the King from war …’
Wolsey smiled with falsehood. ‘It’s never that simple, don’t concern yourself with matters far beyond your understanding, Boleyn.’
Thomas could only bow to Wolsey. ‘Speaking of Earl Surrey, he is currently docked at Hampton and is ready to sail, but supplies are low and he writes requesting of replenishment,’ Thomas mentioned to observe Wolsey’s reaction.
‘Aye, I know of his schemes too!’ he whispered hotly. ‘It would be wise to caution your daughter against the Earl. He will abandon her as soon as the King does.’ Thomas nodded. ‘That reminds me …’ continued Wolsey as he began to walk over to the guest ambassadors and other dignitaries who took their seats overlooking the jousting field. ‘The King and I have assented to the match between your daughter, Anne, and James Butler. It is a good match and will end the dispute of the title of Ormond; it will pass to James’s father, Piers, and eventually be given to James and then the male descendant of James and Anne. The Earl Surrey also suggested that Piers Butler, with the authority of his granted title, could become Lieutenant of Ireland. Though I dislike to support the Earl, it is a good outcome he has manipulated. Would you make haste and agree upon conditions for the marriage?’
Thomas swiped sweat from his brow, a gesture the Cardinal disapproved of. His distaste registered.
‘I’m against the match,’ stated Thomas, now agitated. ‘I’m against the match because the title of Ormond is mine, not Piers Butler’s, not Anne’s descendants — mine. As for the Earl Surrey, should he be posted as Lieutenant of Ireland again, may I suggest you keep him there?’
The cheer went up as the King appeared, his suit of armour reflecting the sun, dazzling the onlookers. He smiled out from his visor, joyous among the adoration. His horse stopped before the Queen and her nephew, the Emperor, but his gaze turned to a lady seated some distance away from her. Thomas looked in the direction the King was looking and saw Mary, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. He read the banner the King was holding. Not a dedication to the Queen but a private declaration. ‘She has wounded my heart’ it read.
‘Ah, and another bit of information for you,’ spoke Wolsey, turning around to view Thomas once more before taking his seat beside the Emperor. ‘The King will appoint you Treasurer in the coming weeks. Take what is given while it lasts, Boleyn. For it will not last long.’
March 1522
York Palace
Mary began her journey towards the Queen’s chamber and felt the excitement for the night ahead. ‘Ah! My seven virtues are all here,’ said Queen Katherine as she looked upon each of the girls dressed splendidly to impress the court.
The gold and silver gowns shimmered in the candlelight and the voile revealed the warm flesh beneath. Gold leaves were pinned into the crown of their heads and their hair was worn down, cascading in gentle waves. Anne motioned her sister forward, her dark hair matching that of her sister’s. ‘How now, Sister?’
‘I hear you are to be married; His Grace has accepted th
e proposal.’ Mary repeated a rumour she had heard.
‘I am attempting to hide my happiness,’ stated Anne, but enveloped her sister and pressed her towards her. ‘I am the happiest I have ever been.’
‘Will he be there this evening, our cousin James?’
‘I do believe so, though George said Father had rejected it. I can’t reason why,’ Anne mentioned but quickly dismissed. ‘This gown is splendid; I’ll capture his attention. It’s in the air this evening, I can feel it, a night of destiny.’
The Queen led out the procession of ladies, the light material of their dresses catching in the drafts and floating around them. As they got closer to the Great Hall, the heavy beat of music caused the heart to thump with tension; the energetic atmosphere was intensifying. Each of them then concealed their faces with a gold mask.
The guards swung open the heavy wooden doors and they progressed in as the court looked on. Outside was a black night, yet inside the Great Hall candles burned, illuminating the revelry and high spirits. The Queen took her place beside her husband’s empty throne. Her nephew stood for her as she sat beside him. Cardinal Wolsey sat the other side of the young Emperor.
The ladies entered into a looming castle set in the centre of the Great Hall. Below, the choirboys of Wolsey’s entourage surrounded the mock dwelling. Each lady moved with grace and demonstrated which of the virtues she was representing. They could feel the eyes of the court upon them and savoured the attention and admiration. Mary instinctively knew the King’s eyes were upon her. She looked at the hidden faces below, but knew the King’s build; he was close to her. She returned his gaze again and again through their concealed disguises.
A proclamation was read for the ladies to be set free from the castle but the small boys refused; they began to threaten the walls and run upon the stairs, causing the women to scream. Masked men entered forward and began to sword fight with wooden daggers held aloft. Katherine managed to smile throughout. Food began to be thrown by one overexcited boy, causing the men to grab handfuls of nuts. The laughter raised but the boys were defeated. The music livened once more and the girls invited the men of the court to partner them. Henry applauded and revealed his face, taking his sister, the Duchess of Suffolk, as a dance partner while George hurried beside Mary.
