Boleyn And His Bloodline

by J P Ceark

  March 1539

  Maidstone

  The scenery was familiar; Mary could sense the presence of her past consuming her peace of mind. It wasn’t a longing for her memories but a familiarity that somehow caused a haunting sensation. A significant place of laughter and despair.

  ‘The path can continue on to Hever. I can persuade him to venture on,’ attempted Amy, though in vain.

  ‘I’ve lost all conviction of spirit to do so. We can stay the night though, there is an inn not far. I oft stayed there when coming from France.’

  Amy merely nodded, believing her mistress would change her mind.

  The cart came to a stop and they once more descended, walking from the market and carrying their satchels. It was only a mile or so on foot. Mary’s mind reflected on her father. Courage had long left her but she thought on times when she exhibited her arrogance, her selfishness. Though angered by his impetuous and juvenile actions, she too could indulge in the same characteristics.

  ‘Is this it?’ enquired Amy, breaking Mary from her deep thoughts.

  Mary recognised the inn: its white washed walls and low beams were as she remembered it. The name had changed to The Queen’s Head, a macabre reminder of Anne’s short stops there. Mary nodded to Amy and they walked into the establishment.

  She knew it well. Even the smell of it brought back a familiarity long forgotten. There was a young woman by the barrels, speaking with the men in a harsh and coarse turn of phrase.

  Mary approached the landlady to engage her time. Once a few pleasantries had been spoken, the woman felt at ease to speak. ‘Husband died not three years past. My daughter is of a courting age but I fear her life be like mine.’ Mary pulled a sympathetic face but the landlady smiled with dismissive intent. ‘Business is good, I should much prefer her to remain single than give all this to someone. I doubt she could marry above her class. ‘Tis hard to be a woman. The moment you need a man for protection, there is not one to be had; the moment you live independently a man claims his property.’ The sensation of guilt churned within Mary. Her father had never hindered her independence. ‘What can I do for you two?’ the landlady then enquired.

  ‘A room if you have one?’ asked Mary.

  ‘Aye, half a crown a night and two groats for fire and water.’

  Mary nodded and slipped her hand into her satchel to take her leather pouch. She knew of the men about her and tried to surreptitiously offload the funds. Yet she could feel the weight of their glare. Instinctively she knew one of them to be moving closer to her. Panicked, she hurried away her pouch and kept her eyes down, not daring to look upon the intruder.

  The barwoman thumped the barrel in front of her. ‘Back off, old boy! No trouble in here!’

  ‘Trouble?’ called the man. He gave a raucous laugh, exposing his toothy grin. ‘I know this lass! ‘Tis me, William Cobbel!’

  Mary turned sharply to recognise the voice and then the face. ‘Father’s steward!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Aye, that’s right. Well, missy, it’s been a time since you been round these parts.’

  ‘Word reached me that Father is unwell …’ she explained.

  ‘Aye, I’ve heard it myself. Most of the servants have been let go, I’m still overseeing his estates and rents but it won’t be long before that is over with. I hope I can petition the King to keep my position but …’ He shrugged with hopeless defeat. ‘He’s lost his mind I hear. Speaking of all such nonsense, none sense can be heard.’

  ‘Father?’

  Cobbel bowed his head as if to apologise. ‘Didn’t mean to cause upset, miss. He’s a good man, no one would speak badly of him, even when down on his luck,’ the old man whispered. ‘He was good to us and good to the men of Kent. Pass on my prayers. We’ll all pray for his soul.’

  Mary nodded and bade him farewell. She retreated to her shared room with Amy. Mercifully, Amy did not speak.

  February 1524

  Newhall Palace

  Her hands smoothed over her round form as odd sensations came from within her. ‘Are you contented, My Lord? With the arrangement … as discussed?’ Mary asked, but he stalked their chamber with coldness.

  ‘And I’m expected to knowledge the bastard as my own?’ William paced, his wide shoulders hunched up to his ears with tension, tightening through his back.

  ‘This is of your devising,’ Mary defended. ‘Preach not to me now!’

  ‘Your defence was lacking, Madam.’

  ‘I was pressured!’

  ‘Save your excuses for God, woman. Though no woman has ever risen from Eve’s fall!’

  Mary felt the panic rising within her. She clutched at her stomach as though to protect the child, but she feared more for herself. ‘You will acknowledge the child … as agreed … please, William?’ Mary begged tearfully, but her emotions were of such an intensity that phrasing her anguish was difficult.

  ‘Whose seed?’

  ‘The King’s!’ she cried violently. ‘You know it to be the King’s!’

  ‘Should the devil be among you, you’d bed him too!’

  Her emotions, being of an unstable nature, reached from control. She slapped him across the face. The burning impact weakened her but he stood firm, stunned by her violence.

  ‘If you had been any worthy husband, you would’ve stayed at court! Refused the King his inducements! Why turn from me? Why surrender me to him? You could’ve voiced an objection!’

  ‘And defy your uncle’s tormenters! I loathe your family … I loathe you more so.’

  She fell to the ground, defeated. ‘You have your advancement, your wealth and your reputation. Many have ill-used me and benefited from my ruin and yet not even you, who have profited most, will raise me up from it. I have nothing.’

  ‘I’ll acknowledge the child,’ he promised, himself defeated. ‘But for reasons of appearances and none other.’

  He was as humbled and as hurt as she was. She sobbed softly, attempting to conceal her heartache. ‘Aye, My Lord,’ she agreed. ‘Am I to return to court?’

  ‘Aye, the King will not look at you now.’

  March 1524

  Hever Castle

  Thomas braced himself on his own calculations for the castle. It was in disrepair and some parts needed immediate attention and new decoration. His outgoings, however, were already vast and taxes were rising. Perhaps another honour would come his way: a grant of land or a high position in office. He calculated again, column after column of figures and theoretical profits. Until then, he could not improve the castle.

  Thomas vacated his musky room full of chimney smoke to find his wife in the Great Hall, singing to herself as she sewed.

  ‘Much needs to be done to this place. See here the cracks, the plaster is falling and the paint fading,’ he spoke, but she did not look up.

  ‘Aye, My Lord,’ came her disinterested reply.

  ‘I’m thinking to improve all rooms for our comfort into old age … this hall, our private rooms, our bedroom.’

  Elizabeth glanced away from her work. ‘It’ll be expensive …’ she began, but halted from weariness.

  ‘Aye, I should be at court more, petitioning the King, making myself known other than a diplomat.’

  ‘Aye, My Lord. That will suit us well.’

  Thomas dejectedly bowed his head, her meaning known to him. ‘When I travelled to Spain and I thought I would die at sea, my thoughts were for you alone.’

  ‘Kindness is not in my nature, Thomas, nor sentiment in yours. Let us not attempt to be people who we are not.’

  ‘Our marriage is flawed yet still we should strive to make others honour us. Was that not our purpose? To be of wealth and status?’

  ‘It was yours, Thomas. I married beneath me.’

  ‘And never have you allowed me to forget it, Elizabeth.’ He walked heavily towards the window, surveying the knot garden beyond it. A sense of unworthiness heavy in his heart. “I thought to be a husband worthy of your respect.’

  ‘If I loved yo
u once, I may love you again … but not at this present time.’

  March 1524

  Greenwich

  It had been a strangely warm day. The sun had brightened the green of the gardens into a vibrant paradise and the birds were singing as if life had been renewed. The Queen had kindly given permission for Mary to join her and her ladies. Anne had informed Katherine of Mary’s fear of pregnancy and as such Mary was invited within with all kindness and sympathy. It only then became apparent the Queen knew nothing of her husband’s mistress.

  ‘Anne, what cheers you so?’ enquired Katherine. She had regarded her with some interest for her manner had greatly changed from a few weeks before. She was haughty, flirtatious and bold, not the pleased-to-please type she was when she first arrived; she was displaying conceit.

  ‘The salvation of spring, Your Majesty. It’s glorious outside.’ She sat upon the window seat and looked out over the garden below.

  ‘I thought a love affair was the reason for the pink in your cheeks,’ Katherine smiled weakly.

  ‘There is no one of interest,’ Anne replied. ‘Many ask for my hand but I shall refuse them all, none shall know me.’

  ‘Why condemn yourself to suffrage, Mistress Anne?’

  ‘‘Tis not my suffrage, Your Majesty, ‘tis theirs,’ Anne stated, causing Katherine to laugh gently. ‘I believe women are too compliant to men’s dictation. What have I need of a husband? I earn my keep, my father provides housing. What purpose do I have to marry?’

  ‘Anne, be kind to your heart, and be kinder to those who love you,’ she spoke softly.

  ‘Once her heart and mind are one, she’ll not be persuaded to think otherwise,’ interrupted Mary.

  ‘Name me a happy marriage?’ Anne taunted them, causing Jane to laugh at her.

  ‘Marriage is an exercise in making another person happy to make yourself happy, often causing a paradox situation, when doing things that make you unhappy in order to make them happy, in order to keep yourself happy!’ Jane explained.

  ‘Don’t look towards me, I have little wisdom,’ admonished Mary, forcing Anne to turn her dark eyes upon the Queen.

  ‘Marriage is the most wonderful union. Two minds motivated by the same wants, two hearts given to the other for eternal salvation,’ Katherine explained.

  The group of women remained silent after the Queen spoke; all looked about with pleading eyes as not to break the Queen’s illusion.

  ‘Well, it’s Jane’s turn to be married next,’ Mary voiced to end the tension. ‘Perhaps you can test your theory after her and George are wed.’

  Anne said nothing; she looked upon her embroidery and made a few stitches.

  * * *

  Later, as they progressed through the corridors towards the chapel for Mass, the King’s men could be seen approaching from the other side. Cloth of state was hurriedly brought forward and Katherine joined Henry. She curtsied to him but he looked ahead, unmoved, unflinching. He wouldn’t acknowledge her. She straightened, her back ridged with determined dignity.

  Mary regarded the scene with interest, which prompted Anne to whisper, ‘There is satisfaction to be felt, to see her publicly shamed; she is so unattractive.’ A wave of surprise rippled through Mary. ‘Her conceited arrogance is intolerable, and her undisputed, unmoving belief of her husband’s love and loyalty is an irritation too far.’

  ‘Anne …’ Mary began but caught the King glancing over and paused to acknowledge him.

  Further down the procession of men was George. She bowed her head to acknowledge him but he looked beside him to Thomas Wyatt. Anne eyed Wyatt with playfulness, a sweet smile settled on her lips, and he responded by doffing his cap.

  They followed the other ladies in waiting into the chapel. Cardinal Wolsey entered under his own canopy.

  After Mass had been taken, the Queen would normally need attending to, yet she had convinced Henry to walk with her and for them to be alone. Anne rejoiced and hurried away, leaving Mary to sit alone in the chapel.

  With the chapel now hollow of people, Mary knelt, her rosary dangling from her clenched hands. Her thoughts consumed with piety prevented her from noticing another person beside her. Her first recollection was when she opened her eyes to look upon the cross and glanced the fine velvet of another sleeve and then her white fingers.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ Jane spoke while placing her hand over Mary’s.

  ‘It’s fine, honestly, I pray through fear rather than devotion and then that adds to my fears … Jane, there is no need to aid George in his schemes. He can be like bad fruit at times: rotten to the core.’

  ‘It is the only way I can be involved in his life. We’re to be married and that means surrendering yourself to your keeper. As you know yourself … we must follow our husband’s schemes regardless of how it affects us. Anyway, there is much comfort to be had, I’m gaining you and Anne as my sisters. I adore Anne.’

  ‘Do you think she is happy?’

  ‘I believe she has come to accept what cannot be and she is occupied with her duties to the Queen.’

  ‘And what news of the Queen?’

  ‘She has admitted to the King she is no longer having her course and is effectively barren. Last night he was sore with rage, spoke every insult imaginable. To the point of paranoia, frightful emotions, the like of which no one had seen from him. He is a weak man, in truth. He actually suggested she had refused to give him a son for Spanish gains. A charge refuted by the Queen but no rational person can defend themselves against an irrational person.’

  ‘Her dogmatic beliefs are an issue though; often her loyalties can appear to be against that of her husband.’

  ‘Ah you listen to the King’s complaints. You would indeed understand his perspective better,’ said Jane smiling.

  Mary gave a defeated nod, but with good humour, and began to lift herself from the pew. Jane aided Mary’s weighty body. ‘I think I’ll return to my rooms.’

  ‘A moment, Mary, perhaps a walk, some air?’

  Mary paused to note Jane’s slight raised voice. Her suspicion was instant.

  ‘Is there a reason why I shouldn’t return?’

  ‘No …’ said Jane. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Aye, then I will return … I’m tired.’

  * * *

  The conversation was so strange. Why did Jane preoccupy her time? At times Jane’s presence could create a foreboding sense. It remained heavy within her as Mary paced through the palace towards her rooms. She opened the door slightly, expecting to see her servants but none were there.

  She gently closed the door and sat down on the stool nearest the dying fire. She stared at the fire, willing it to stoke, but it crackled gently. She was too weary to rise again.

  From the silence, however, came whispers. All of a sudden she realised others were near to her, in the room next to her. At first the voices were unrecognisable but then Anne spoke. Mary wondered if this was the reason behind Jane’s strange insistence to stay away. Mary listened carefully but struggled to guess the other voice.

  ‘… Anne, come to me tonight, a private room will be found,’ he promised while his urgency increased.

  ‘Foolish poet,’ she laughed while the sound of his kisses could be distinguished to Mary. ‘I share a room with three other ladies, I couldn’t escape … even if I wanted to.’

  ‘Refuse my attentions?’ he stated with indignation. She laughed, full-bodied and cruelly.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Mistress, how am I to keep my sanity? From a distance you’re encouraging, yet close you are cold. Insincere actor of men’s passions …’ He thumped the wall behind her to cool his arousal, causing Mary to jolt.

  ‘Good Sir,’ she breathed close to him. ‘I only wish for a discreet rendezvous. Is it so, your country house is not so far from Hever?’

  ‘Indeed, but would you meet me and not leave me unsatisfied?’

  ‘Promise.’ Mary heard another kiss between them. Finally they moved into the
room where she sat listening.

  Anne’s eyes lingered on her sister’s, the pair being locked in suspicion of the other, while Wyatt attempted to excuse himself.

  A heavy sensation of raw resentment rested within. The wording at the time of her disgrace, the shame vented towards her frailty. Anger burned but still Mary could not voice her contempt of Anne.

  ‘I thought Jane had delayed you?’ spoke Anne displaying her irked mood.

  ‘Oh, she is doing your bidding now as well as George. She’ll not be loyal, Anne. Her character is one of desperation and neediness – to be liked and approved of by those she considers above her. Anyway, am I not to come to my own rooms?’

  ‘Aye. I was just speaking to Wyatt,’ she explained.

  ‘Aye and involving yourself in a love affair.’

  ‘I knew you would judge me as you judge yourself, but I’m not as weak as you,’ Anne stated while eyeing Mary’s full belly.

  ‘By association, all will think of you as I have done and your reputation will be ruined. I can return to my husband — what have you? Only Mother and Father, and he will banish you as he did me.’

  Anne’s stern features darkened further, her duplicity exposed. She turned from her sister without a single utterance of defence.

  If only Anne had shown some empathy, an identification with human fallibility, rather than protesting a discipline far from her character, perhaps an amity could be crafted. As it was, Mary now detested her sister.

  May 1524

  Hever Castle

  Her whole body was heightened to every sensation. The musky smell of the settled rain offended her nostrils and the damp humidity irritated her skin. Her foreboding nervousness continued to increase.