Boleyn And His Bloodline

by J P Ceark

  ‘We parted with hope …’ She began to cry but William refused to comfort her. She kept forcing herself to be appeasing.

  ‘I knew the contract your uncle intended. I agreed … but when I met you, you seemed devoted, innocent even. I trusted you had manifested some affection for me … ah, my belief was false … I come to give my assurances to you, to look after you and the child. To acknowledge her as my own.’

  Relief and gratitude rushed over her. ‘You humble me, My Lord.’

  ‘Aye, the King did reassure me that his interest in you is at an end.’

  Her expression held a false smile, her eyes wide with conciliatory agreement, but her heart broke; she saw before her a dull existence with dreaded company. ‘This makes me most pleased, Husband.’

  He relaxed his smile and narrowed his eyes upon her face. ‘I think I’ll stay with you this evening.’

  She thought how to refuse him, to make excuses that she had given birth, but it had been three months. She feared to ruin the only prospect of security given to her. Her mind could not think fast enough.

  ‘Aye, Husband,’ she agreed.

  December 1524

  Windsor Castle

  People crowded the tracks to catch a glimpse of the King and he responded with jubilation and a commanding presence. The horse was as highly decorated in regalia as he was. Gold and red damask swelled around them, gold glinting off them in the daylight. Mary could only see from afar, riding on a pony. The lavish spectacle continued on; even when entering the gates of Windsor, the cheers continued for hours afterwards. Henry brought pride and joy to his people.

  ‘To be so beloved by people!’ Mary said breathlessly.

  ‘Aye,’ spoke Anne, also in a dizzying frenzy, trying to navigate around the people and activity. ‘Come along, I must disembark and go to the Queen,’ she told Mary as they went through the gates and into the quadrangle.

  ‘Come find my rooms later, Anne!’ Mary shouted after her, but Anne didn’t acknowledge it.

  The bell for Mass was rung and Mary dashed about the castle to find a long procession of people filing into the chapel. The Queen was far ahead and without many of her attendants. Mary then noted Anne was also not with her. She stood at the back of the chapel, looking about her and repeating Amen.

  Later when taking communion, she saw Anne in the queue behind her. Mary stood back where she was before and witnessed Anne’s interruption of the other people to join the Queen’s ladies. The determination to take her place brought attention to her. Anne smiled with amusement as others scowled with disapproval from her conceit. Mary regarded her with suspicion and noticed how she had also caught the King’s attention.

  Henry had long before returned to his seat, above the alter chapel, after taking the bread and wine of Christ, and had knelt to pray when the disruption happened. Cardinal Wolsey glared with an air of petulance and insult. The Queen joined her husband and gesticulated for Anne to sit.

  Henry noticed the delay and opened his eyes to view the back of the Cardinal. His eyes then kept flicking onto Anne. Mary observed him with growing frustration.

  * * *

  Outside the chapel, Henry turned to the Queen. Though not in the best of company, he appeared jovial enough to everyone. ‘A joust is to be held next week, my lady wife, will you accompany me and support your Sir loyal heart?’ he asked while looking around him.

  ‘Your Majesty will find no support more strongly felt than my own,’ she replied with resolute conviction.

  It was the wrong thing to say. Henry glowered and hotly whispered, ‘Only if I’m allied to your nephew … Madam.’ He continued onwards but halted when he saw Mary. His whole face lightened with cheer and she responded with the same happy emotion.

  Henry motioned for Will Compton to come alongside him and whispered in his ear.

  Mary had observed him the whole time and prayed her presence would once more be required. She returned to her rooms to notice the door slightly ajar. Her stomach leapt with anticipation.

  Compton appeared at her door as he had done many times before to escort her to the King. Excitement and pleasure erupted within her.

  ‘You’ve been summoned,’ he spoke, jesting of something more sinister.

  She didn’t stop to question it; she longed to be in the King’s company again.

  * * *

  ‘Majesty,’ Mary said on seeing him walking about the parkland. He smiled warmly, his attraction strong but his interest noncommittal.

  ‘I thought you would like to join me in my hunting lodge … but perhaps you are unwell?’

  ‘Sire, I am in fine health,’ she reassured him. ‘To prove it, I will race you to the hunting lodge!’

  Henry smiled with sly amusement. ‘Is that so? You’ll have to hold up your skirts while you run,’ he suggested practically.

  ‘Just as well I like holding my skirts up for you.’ She ran without delay, though he was soon upon her and enjoying her company once more.

  ‘How I have missed your kisses,’ he whispered. They moved seamlessly together, as familiar lovers do.

  ‘I feared you had tired of me …’

  ‘Not you,’ he breathed lightly. ‘My wife, Wolsey, Charles, Francis … but not you. Have you heard? I’ve given the Manor of Grimston to your brother George as a wedding present.’

  ‘Aye, I heard they had wed.’ She kept her reservations to herself. ‘What was the day like?’ she asked in between kisses and attempts at undressing him.

  ‘As though he was walking to the block!’ answered Henry laughing. ‘A day much like yours,’ he finished.

  ‘That happy!’ she replied sarcastically. ‘Grimston!’

  ‘Aye, I thought it clever,’ he laughed again.

  The fire was lit as they entered into the lodge. Mary hurried over to warm her hands but Henry was quick to be beside her. He held her close, pulling at cords to undress her.

  ‘How is your husband taking to fatherhood?’ he enquired while noticing the plumpness of her body.

  Her surprise was evident. She remained silent for a moment. ‘He has acknowledged his daughter, Sire.’

  ‘She is well? Your daughter?’

  ‘Aye, strong and well cared for at Hever,’ Mary explained as Henry nodded.

  His hand moved around the swell of her stomach. He paused to search Mary’s face.

  ‘I’m with child again, Sire,’ she admitted.

  He let her go as if repelled by an unknown force. ‘So soon?’

  ‘Aye,’ she answered but without looking at him.

  ‘Well … give my heartfelt congratulations to my cousin. If it be him to whom I congratulate,’ he added, stingingly.

  ‘Aye, Sire,’ replied Mary. Henry moved away. He sat alone, quiet and solemn. ‘Do you wish me gone, Sire?’ Mary asked, fearful at his sudden coldness.

  ‘Aye. Be gone. I’ve been betrayed — by all of you.’

  March 1539

  Gravesend

  Mary could smell the stench of salt and shit and it became headier the closer they got to the river. They had passed the opportunity to go to Hever and Mary now regretted it. It was late after a full day of travel and it had taken her further from her father.

  Several bargemen sang, swore and jested as the riverside torches lit their faces.

  ‘Would any of you take two travellers to Greenwich Palace?’ called Mary. She refused to step close to them until safe passage was agreed.

  ‘Up river and against the tide, missy,’ one yelled back. ‘Not for another four hours.’

  ‘I pray of you! I must hold council with Archbishop Cranmer, regarding my father’s death.’

  The bargemen shifted their feet, another nodded and stepped onto his boat.

  ‘Step on!’ he shouted over to them.

  Amy walked tentatively behind Mary but the men were now quieted. Mary’s features had made them uneasy. She said nothing and pulled her hood up around her face.

  She rested herself at the end of the barge and looked up ri
ver. It would take some time until they were in London but the travel would be quicker than horse or mule.

  ‘The river gets busy early parts of the morning. We’re alright for another hour or two but it won’t be a cheap sail.’

  ‘I realise that,’ Mary said mildly, while speaking to his back. ‘Here’s a gold half crown.’ She held the coin over his shoulder and placed it into his hand to quieten him. He momentarily stopped rowing, put the coin away and then carried on speaking.

  ‘Aye, knew you were of wealth despite your cloth … I know who your father was. You look the spit of your dead sister,’ he shouted over his shoulder.

  Amy moved closer to Mary as if to protect her. She feared his questioning but he carried on rowing, cheering himself that it was the sister and not the headless queen. ‘I had only started rowing when I saw Anne Boleyn fleeing from a small group of angry women, yelling all sorts at her. She must have known then what a sorry mistake she’d made.’

  ‘I’m sure they rejoiced when my sister shivered her way onto the scaffold,’ Mary added bitterly.

  He bowed his head suddenly, feeling his words to be inappropriate. It had only been three years.

  Mary shook her head as if to shake free from guilt.

  Amy then questioned it, her brow creased with confusion. ‘Why did Anne pursue the King? Why was she content to take your place? It seems far removed from her character.’

  The bargeman threw a look over his shoulder again and glared at Mary. He tried to hide his excitement but it was the first time he had hushed to listen to someone else speak.

  Mary smiled but said nothing; instead she viewed the houses becoming grander as they rowed deeper and further into London. The question, however, lingered and in her mind the memory of those sad events flowed as effortlessly as the water beneath them.

  January 1525

  York Place

  Hard frost outside caused many to wrap their furs tightly about themselves. Inside the palace, the glorious fires could do nothing to thaw the frost between husband and wife. A crisis was upon them. The King’s mood had not improved during Twelfth Night and he had brooded on his upset for long enough. The Privy Council was summoned and the rotund Cardinal tentatively paced into Henry’s presence along with the others.

  ‘Sire?’ Wolsey began.

  ‘Cardinal, as I understand it, the poll tax will have to be abandoned?’ Henry announced.

  ‘Not as yet, Sire, I work to persuade still,’ Wolsey attempted to placate. ‘But if we should have to abandon the tax, it is no bad thing, for peace with France would offer lucrative endeavours, turning our current loss back into profit.’

  ‘Sire, we cannot abandon our goal to capture France! It’s for the glory of England and you, Sire. Do you wish your name to be forgotten in History? Or alike with that of Henry the Fifth?’ the Duke of Norfolk began, but Wolsey stared him down to silence.

  ‘A futile war, Earl Surrey!’ Wolsey declared.

  ‘Duke of Norfolk!’ he angrily replied. ‘You heard of my father’s death!’

  ‘I’ve been troubled with the King’s interest, Duke, your domestic changes concern me little!’

  ‘Enough of this!’ yelled Henry.

  ‘Norfolk is right, Brother,’ spoke the Duke of Suffolk. ‘To take France, to expand the English realm. Scotland to lose their ally and open for further gains. We must think long term plans … to hold the ultimate victory, your victory of an English-conquering realm.’

  ‘Boleyn,’ Henry turned to Thomas, his face full of tension, ‘can we fund the venture in France without the additional tax?’

  Thomas held his stare. In that moment he hated Wolsey as never before. Wolsey could have argued the lack of military competence or that the Spanish alliance was humiliating or that war would bring nothing to enrich England politically, but the only thing Wolsey fought for was his own favour. It came down to Thomas to disappoint the King.

  ‘Sire, your funds would not stretch to military action without a very unpopular poll tax.’ He saw Wolsey deflate with relief. ‘And I believe the poll tax should also be abandoned. The people in Kent support Your Majesty’s ambition but their poverty is something beyond our understanding. There has been riots and we shouldn’t underestimate the harsh realities of their condition; desperation can cause major events.’

  ‘What is this?’ Henry questioned. ‘I cannot go to war! I cannot make peace! I cannot have a son! We by God’s Grace be the King! Do you not understand that?’

  Thomas remained silent, full of his own rage against Wolsey for turning the King against him as well as the other noble men. Wolsey hid his pleasure.

  ‘Sire, the ambition to expand the realm of England need not be forgotten, just put aside for a moment.’ Wolsey attempted to gain favour.

  ‘Are you to tell Katherine we’re forging a peace with France?’

  ‘If that is your wish, Sire?’

  ‘Aye, it is … and I’ve another wish.’ Henry stood the full height of himself, making a shadow loom over Wolsey. ‘For my son, Henry Fitzroy, to be named my heir. To have his own household and titles enabling him to command the role that he has been born to.’

  ‘Forgive me, Sire, this cannot be,’ the Cardinal replied directly. ‘It is an affront to God. That bastard cannot inherit the crown.’

  ‘A low-born bastard such as yourself became Cardinal — my authority commanded it. I could lower you once more,’ Henry threatened.

  ‘Sire, my advice is through loyalty and devotion to your success and benefit as King. It is not to deny you or object to your wishes but to affiliate them with success from all factions of the political divisions. Should you make your illegitimate son an heir to the throne, the Spanish would protest on Princess Mary’s behalf and Rome would side with Emperor Charles the Fifth. He’s not only Spanish but Holy Roman Emperor. He has the Pope’s influence, and with such an unchristian act of anointing an out-of-wedlock child, discrepancies and moral judgement will be placed upon you and England and all of Christendom. It is unjustifiable to go against God in a bid to soothe our own sufferings. It is the will of the Lord for Princess Mary to rule after you.’

  Henry had remained silent and observed his minister with cool disdain. Wolsey could see his master’s blue eyes alight and intense, searching not for rational solutions but rebelling against his Cardinal’s weaknesses. ‘I look to no one’s approval or allowances. And God may deny me much but he cannot deny me this! Henry Fitzroy will become Duke of Richmond, he will have his own court and he will be raised as a future king. Cardinal, I do not request your advice, I order you to take action!’

  ‘Sire, we must think of the cost in these matters. The Princess Mary does not have her own household. Should the Queen know that Henry Fitzroy is to be given his own court, she will demand the same for Princess Mary and it must be given to appease the Spanish alliance.’

  ‘Boleyn, make it so,’ Henry ordered sternly.

  Again the Privy Council was silent waiting on Thomas’s reply. ‘Aye, Sire. It will be done.’

  Wolsey shrank back as if wounded. Thomas held his nerve, determined to justify the cost. But the Cardinal was defeated. Thomas regarded Wolsey with terror running through him.

  The King stomped away from them. Wolsey retained his dignity by adjourning the Privy Council with its correct procedures, but all sensed his outrage.

  Others were quick to leave the council chamber but Wolsey halted Thomas’s stride.

  ‘I can justify the cost, Your Grace,’ Thomas tried to reason.

  ‘Justify it to God, Boleyn. Justify to those wanting war with France. Politics is the weighing scale of reason. Even when your objective weighs in your favour, expect reprisal, all must be balanced. That means the King, the nobles, the peasants, all balancing out by the weight of the other. Do you understand, if one defies the rules to gain, then another faction will do the same and another, until eventually all control is lost.’ He glared at Thomas.

  ‘I see your sly endeavours to keep favour with
the King. To throw faithful servants of His Majesty under the horses for your own council to be rewarded. It’ll not always be so …’

  ‘Your popularity is at an end, Boleyn. The King has grown tired of your daughter,’ Wolsey stated.

  ‘You’ll see me dismissed?’ Thomas asked directly, to which Wolsey nodded.

  ‘You’re an interfering nuisance, like your brother-in-law and I balance the scales.’

  February 1525

  Greenwich Palace

  Mary had requested to see Henry again and again but each time she had been denied. Her rooms at court remained empty of his company and she could only mourn the memories of their time together. Life became a dull existence of court routine.

  Anne came by, insisting she join her in the Queen’s rooms. Though Mary protested, it was half-hearted and she longed for company.

  ‘I’m going to return to Essex soon,’ she informed Anne as they walked through the corridor of Greenwich. ‘The King has deserted me, as well as Father.’

  ‘Aye, ‘tis a world of bargaining and trade, you should always ask for the highest price. Am I to travel with you?’

  ‘No, remain here, I believe Father has returned to Kent. I’ll write to him, perhaps I can persuade some sympathy?’

  ‘I thought Father was at court?’ Anne replied with puzzlement.

  ‘Not so, I went to find him but his rooms were taken by another.’

  ‘Occupied by another?’ Anne queried again. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘The King’s love for me has gone …’

  ‘Would that reason expel Father? I think not.’

  ‘I protected him against Wolsey,’ Mary explained.

  ‘Just by being companioned to the King?’ Anne queried.

  ‘Aye, I requested nothing from him. He did so through his own actions, he had consideration for me. Not now …’

  ‘If his heart was that easy to direct, Father should’ve asked more of him when he had the chance.’