by J P Ceark
‘What do you speak of, Sir?’ asked Mary.
‘Ah, you are unaware? Your father has invited the King for a day. I had supposed the reason and the cause.’
‘Father wishes to regain his position at court, that is why the King is coming, not for Anne,’ Mary ventured, trying to convince herself more.
‘Oh to be left alone without interference!’ Anne voiced, ignoring Mary.
‘What choice do you have but to surrender?’ Wyatt continued, amused by Anne’s frustrations. ‘I should be pleased to see another being led by the nose as you did me.’
‘Really?’ she asked with some surprise and maliciousness. ‘I thought it would be a painful sight to confront the fool you once were.’
‘Devil,’ he breathed.
‘Idiot,’ she replied.
June 1526
Hever Castle
Thomas regarded Anne. She had remained by the window for over an hour, staring out in the hope of seeing a disturbance of dust or a brightly-coloured banner appearing in the distance. As yet nothing appeared. Her body was full of excitement, anticipation, and she cursed the blessed feeling with frustrated sighs.
She must strengthen her resolve, thought Thomas, for others had experienced what she now experienced. Her mind appeared in turmoil, switching from excitement to despair. He thought to her future and knew it could not include Henry; he knew she would have to flee from his affection and from her own.
Another hour had passed, then another as Anne began to come close to tears. Mary encouraged her to disappear for a while to the long gallery in order to see the landscape above.
Then the bugles could be heard, faintly but growing in strength. ‘He has come,’ Anne whispered softly to Mary as she followed behind her. She rushed from the long gallery, down the dark oak staircase and into the Great Hall. Thomas could hear their footsteps patter in a hurried rhythm.
‘Eager, girl?’ he taunted Anne.
‘Had you word they were near?’ she enquired.
‘Aye, stay with your mother, I shall greet His Majesty.’ He rounded on the servants. ‘Get outside, salute the King! Cheer his arrival! Take them wine and meat! Quick!’
Thomas placed a heavy gold chain, studded with rubies and pearls, around his neck. He smoothed his fur-lined coat and walked with triumph. Henry had stopped some distance away and had to make pleasant with the villagers who continued to follow his progression.
‘Where is Her Majesty, Sire?’ they shouted. ‘Queen Katherine!’ they yelled with disappointment.
‘She has gone on pilgrimage to pray for us all. Be assured, I shall tell her of the love you express.’ A cheer went up. Henry pushed on through the crowd, handling the horse with such skill, its movements relaxed despite the chaos.
Thomas remained waiting in the courtyard; he would not sacrifice his dignity to stand by the moat. Henry was coming to him for one purpose, his daughter, and for that reason it would be Henry’s dignity that would have to suffer.
Elizabeth joined Thomas. Once the King was seen ahead of them, the servants were around them like dogs, holding up plates of food and goblets filled with wine.
‘Tell Anne to go to her room, she is not to see the King today,’ Thomas ordered of Anne. ‘Mary can see to him.’
‘Consider, My Lord. The King is here for Anne, no other reason … and just for today.’
‘Aye, and I will make him ask for her. If he is to insult another one of my daughters he will have to lower himself for the privilege. Go now, woman! Hide her!’
Elizabeth hurried back to the Great Hall where Anne waited both pale and flushed. Elizabeth approached her agitated daughter. ‘Anne, return to your room … go now, do not delay yourself.’ Elizabeth forced her away, pushing her from behind, out of the Great Hall and shutting the door behind her. ‘It’s your father’s command. Mary will greet the King.’ She tried to resist and ask why, but with long-held obedience Anne remained hidden.
Mary saw the door close behind her sister. Her mother turned to stare at her, her eyes full of guilt.
Thomas turned back to his wife when he heard Elizabeth come beside him. The King was dismounting from his horse. ‘She has gone to her room?’
‘Aye, My Lord.’
‘By and by, Sir Boleyn! You keep a fine dwelling, good lands and so forth …’ Henry began but was distracted already, searching for his dark-eyed beauty.
‘A symbol of my lifelong service to your father and yourself. Had I not served loyally or well I should not have prospered as I did. It grieves me not to be of service to you now!’
‘Indeed it is so!’ Henry returned, looking wildly about the courtyard as he was led into the Great Hall. ‘Is your daughter about?’
‘Which one, Sire?’ enquired Thomas with an air of innocence.
Henry paused.
Thomas held out a hand directing Henry to Mary; humiliation ran through her.
Thomas remained silent, enjoying the indignity of the King. ‘I enquire after Anne, I believed I would have her company for a moment.’
‘She is about the castle, Sire. Elizabeth will find her, should you wish for Anne?’ He again made the King speak his desire out loud. Henry could sense all the gentlemen around him move closer to hear his disclosure.
‘If you could, My Lady,’ he answered politely to Elizabeth.
‘Come, Sire, I wish for you to meet my granddaughter, Catherine Carey. She is a bonny child, quick of wit as well.’
The little girl was brought before the King; she curtsied low, her head bent and no coif to cover her red hair. She recited a poem. Henry applauded and suddenly felt happier again. He picked up the child and kissed her cheeks. ‘She is a handsome child!’ He held her aloft, as if a prize won from the joust. The men laughed. Catherine reached for Henry’s stubbled face; he kissed her hands as she did so. Anne came upon the endearing scene and stood observing the love and affection Henry held for his daughter.
‘She is our joy, Sire,’ Anne approached to take the child in her arms. ‘Children are the greatest blessing.’ The way Anne held the small girl affected Henry. He physically trembled, overcome by emotion.
‘I believe so,’ he smiled, though pain could be heard in his voice. ‘I am pleased to see you … all of you,’ he added as Elizabeth took Catherine from Anne and Henry tried to acknowledge Mary with better manners than before.
‘Perhaps I could walk you about the castle or grounds? Or both?’ suggested Anne.
The gentlemen knew better than to follow; they remained in the Great Hall to drink and eat, but Thomas pushed Mary to stay with them.
Anne led Henry upstairs towards the long gallery. Mary held back but walked close enough to witness the affection and, in the quietness of the long hall, hear their affectionate words.
‘I have thought on nothing but you,’ Henry began.
‘I too have been thinking …’ Anne stated.
‘Of me?’
‘Of this situation.’
‘What situation?’
She pushed him away, irritated by his lack of concern for her. ‘I am unmarried. I shall not risk my reputation, my youth.’
‘What is to be done, woman? Am I to surrender you and let another take my place?’
‘Aye, that is to be done.’
He walked a little along the gallery, looking out upon the landscape. Each window brought a new viewpoint of the same scene. Anne followed and Mary wondered what they thought about so intensely.
‘Sire, if the situation be different,’ Anne began. ‘But it isn’t … like these windows: the angle of the view changes but not the scene. Whichever way we look at our desire, it cannot be.’
‘If we were but peasants, with nothing to be won or lost,’ Henry ventured.
‘I would give my whole self to you — body and soul …’
‘I accept it,’ he said, taking her hand and looping it through his arm. ‘I can live without seduction but I cannot live without friendship.’ He then laughed, carefree once more. ‘To think I wish
to be a peasant so I might toil in the field and return to you at night.’
‘And I would sweep the rushes and nurse the children,’ she laughed.
‘Happiness would be ours,’ he whispered.
‘No, Sire, we romanticise. Life would be hard, we would not understand the priest or know how our souls may be condemned. We would be cheated of our money from corrupt characters of the Church, not educated enough to know exploitation. It is a hard life but I suppose we must all suffer, to prove we are worthy of God’s love.’
‘There have been laws to keep the clergy away from parliamentary matters, though they do persist. It is not all bad, the people have their advantages as well. It is the clergy that own the land, dredge the rivers, trade in wool and feed the poor. As Wolsey explains it, it’s only natural they would want to impose their will.’
‘Aye … to unbalance the scales, to see power in their favour to make themselves richer. It’ll be us enslaved to them and not one person will be able to challenge it. I fear for the poor, for a rich organisation to offer the crumbs of his plate and say ‘be thankful’ is not Christian charity, it’s an offensive gesture. The Church must do more for them, to lessen the burden of sin without payment.’
‘I agree with you … in principle. But the Church offers salvation to so many. The organisation isn’t faultless but it spreads the word of God. It would be a cruel remedy to disrupt the way of life for thousands of people.’
‘Forgive me, I shouldn’t speak of these things that burden my conscience. My brother and I often speak on such matters without consideration for the consequences. You’re far wiser than myself …’
‘You offer credible musing and are torn between pity and piety. I’ve yet to find fault with you.’ He kissed her hand as they reached the end of the long gallery.
‘Shall we move towards the garden?’ she asked.
Mary followed them, silently haunting them.
* * *
The garden was smelling sweet in the afternoon heat. Henry kept looking upon Anne; his revolve to leave her alone weakened. ‘Travel with me on progress? I promise my intentions are good. Your father can join us, or your brother.’
‘There are no ladies joining you?’
‘Could your sister accompany you?’ he asked while turning back to view Mary. ‘William can also be a part of the progress. A family of sorts,’ he added with real optimism.
‘We will join you if Mary agrees.’
He smiled broadly. They then noticed Thomas peering through the window. He took Anne by the arm again and led her back, brushing the herbs as they went and releasing an aroma of heady scent. She took out the small gold gift Henry had given her and proceeded to cut a red rose from the rose bush. ‘A red Tudor rose … a parting gift,’ she said while handing it to him.
‘If you are not with me by the time this rose withers, I shall know your heart to be lost to me.’
‘Sire …’ she began.
‘Be with me as hurriedly as the moon appears after the sun,’ he pressed as she bowed with submission.
Thomas was once more lingering before them. He paced up to the King and bowed with reverence. ‘The horses have been refreshed, Sire,’ Thomas informed Henry, making Henry put a heavy muscular arm around him, throwing etiquette away. Though it pleased many when the King showed familiarity, Thomas felt belittled and irked.
‘You wish me gone, Boleyn?’
‘I wish for you not to dally, Sire. Nightfall will be upon you. As it is …’ he whispered while walking Henry out of his castle into the courtyard.
‘You’re in possession of a beautiful, intelligent daughter.’
‘Aye and should any rumour sully that good reputation, the value of my property is diminished. Anne is not Mary …’ he tried to explain.
‘I shall give you gold, titles, lands be as you wish, Sir,’ Henry promised, but Thomas shook his head.
‘I would need greater reassurance of a good marriage for her. She wanted to marry Henry Percy, future Earl of Northumberland. I should very much like to see her succeed in a good marriage. It is how I have groomed her all her life, she expects it.’
He noticed Henry’s mouth purse, his arm drop from his shoulders. ‘I shall think upon it. She cannot expect so much. Aren’t you from a family of merchants?’
Thomas now smiled with sly knowledge. ‘Indeed, Sire, you could say there is a talent within our blood, of exploiting what the purchaser desires and of charging the highest price.’
‘Henry Percy is married to another, what am I to do?’
‘Find another earl, duke or foreign prince,’ he added finally. Henry mounted his horse, expelling air as he did so. ‘I suppose if you do not consider her marriage, I must revisit the future Earl of Ormond — his son is still available.’
‘Return to my court, Sir,’ spoke Henry, now wearied from his visit. ‘You’re to come on progress with your daughters. We can discuss the matter then.’
‘Good day, Your Majesty,’ spoke Thomas, doffing his hat and bowing low. ‘Blessing upon you and Queen Katherine!’ he added.
March 1539
Greenwich Palace
The palace had been transformed; new work and different designs were now on the once familiar walls. Where Anne’s insignia was once carved, now a hollow void existed. A new queen to replace the three other deceased ones. Their memories chipped from existence.
‘Amy, through there is the Great Hall, our names will be on the court register. Food is served at ten and four; if it starts without me, just eat. But while you wait, ale will be placed about the benches, and a warm fire. Go there and wait for me while I meet with Cranmer,’ ordered Mary.
Amy agreed in haste. The palace was a daunting, intimidating arena. Stern men stomped up and down the corridor in fits of frenzied talk. Concerned diplomats and their associates, dressed in rich cloth and little time to look about them.
Mary sensed Amy’s discomfort but she could not reassure her; her nerves were also at the surface of tension. Anything could shatter it.
The King’s presence chamber held two guards. She exhibited Cranmer’s seal and they gave her admittance. The room was unusually quiet; a few men waited beside a long dark table, none that she recognised.
‘Are you to see the King?’ enquired one of them.
‘No!’ exclaimed Mary as if surprised by the suggestion. The man screwed up his face with confusion. ‘No, I’m here to see Cranmer … his Grace Archbishop Cranm …’ She tailed off. It dawned on her the King was about to come.
‘Oh aye, he be here soon. What’s your business?’
‘My father’s estate.’ She had turned pale. Her heart thumped rapidly with weight, the beat pounding in her ears.
‘And who is your father?’
‘Earl Wiltshire,’ she whispered.
They recoiled, the doors opened with an echo about the room, and King Henry emerged with gentlemen and Cromwell beside him. Mary dropped into a low curtsey, wondering how long before Henry’s eyes would rest on her. The room remained silent. She lifted her head to view the King staring at her.
August 1526
Petworth Palace
Thomas had ridden in the saddle for some time and ahead of the other members of his family but as they neared their destination, he slowed to speak his concerns. ‘This is a precarious time,’ he said while rubbing his neck. ‘Remember your duty to the family,’ he told them all.
‘Why did you bring both your daughters to the King? Do you believe a better post can be begot with two of them?’ retorted William, angered by his father-in-law’s insistence that he and Mary be there.
‘Don’t preach, pretender! Surely you could’ve objected to your own cousin rodding your wife! But lo, advancement instead by bartering,’ snapped Thomas.
‘I expect rich reward for this,’ William added. ‘Be not mistaken by my complicity.’
‘Aye, I understand it well,’ resolved Thomas. ‘You’ll profit, if you remain at my bidding.’
William nodd
ed his agreement while Mary felt her face burn with humiliation. Thomas laughed with satisfaction but tears were brimming about Mary’s eyes. She thought of knocking her father off his horse and trampling on his face. The image at least stopped her tears.
‘Look, we are close,’ spoke Anne while looking in the direction of the glorious palace of Petworth, its red brick and timber frame dominating the scenery. A huge fountain gushed water before it and a pang of regret wounded Anne deeply. This was the country seat of the Earl of Northumberland and would one day belong to Henry Percy. ‘I would have been happy here,’ she said to her father.
‘Blame Wolsey,’ Thomas replied.
‘I do,’ she retorted
They galloped their horses into the courtyard. The servants hurried around them and were apologetic that no one else was around to receive them as the King was away. Thomas spoke with indifference but Anne went towards the garden to ease her disappointment.
Mary and William went to their rooms, readied for them by their own servants who had travelled before them on mules.
‘Why must you be here?’ William enquired with rage still on the surface of his countenance.
‘Why must you question it?’ Mary argued back.
‘I’m the one who must endure this, the whole court is aware I had been cuckolded!’
‘Why involve yourself? This whole affair is of your making!’
‘The benefits were enticing and this time it is Anne who is put forward,’ he justified.
‘And what is my reward?’ she queried. He had sought his recompense. ‘I feel only degradation, from all who disown me.’ She glanced out the window below, over the wide garden. Though the scene be a little blurry, Mary could make out Anne walking in the distance. ‘I’ve never felt any affection for you,’ she confessed suddenly. ‘Only pity, you being inferior to your cousin.’ He ran at her, ready to box her senseless but she avoided his fist and taunted him further. ‘A poor excuse for a man! Cannot even cause damage.’
