Boleyn And His Bloodline

by J P Ceark

  September 1532

  Hever Castle

  Sister

  I write to you now as the Marquess of Pembroke. I am but a step away from the glorified title that Henry feels is befitting of my good character. I feared at times the victory would be somewhat futile, yet now to look down upon all those that sought to diminish my happiness is the greatest sensation, the devastation for them all, come my coronation day.

  I have read through the order of becoming an anointed Queen and plan to progress through London. The tower is currently undergoing work along with my state apartment. But I speak too quickly, I go to France first with Henry. The treaty has been signed with France and Father has minimised the threat of war with Spain, and once he returns home he can persuade Dr Cranmer to take the position of Archbishop of Canterbury. Without Father’s efforts all would have been lost. Henry and I are fortunate to have a dedicated minister.

  Now I write for a reason and that is to request you accompany Henry and myself to France. I would like as many ladies in my entourage as possible to give the best impression of myself. Return to Greenwich within the next week.

  Anne Boleyn Marquess of Pembroke

  November 1532

  Calais

  Waves came up under the dark violet clouds, higher than the wall barracks across the port of Calais. A storm of momentous power, inflicting energy and tension to surge and to mount, to break and to crash upon the moored vessels. The English court would have to delay their journey home. It meant nothing to Anne and Henry; it was the sign of collision, a forging of an alliance between France and England, between Henry and Anne. They were jubilant; their time in France had been a great success.

  There were heated cheeks about the small palace; fires were roaring late into the evening. Mary had been beside Anne throughout the festivities but now Anne was gone from sight. Closeted away from the court, Henry and Anne remained in his bedchamber.

  Outside in the presence chamber, people jested and japed, ate and drank. A gaiety had infected them all. Mary walked about them, unable to partake in the revelries of indulgencies at first.

  Jane pushed a glass of wine into Mary’s hand. ‘Be of cheer, your sister is happy,’ she insisted.

  ‘Why do you entertain her so?’ Mary enquired, though Jane noted the cord of mockery.

  ‘My life is filled with other meaningful happenings,’ she protested. ‘I serve Anne because she is my sister, my friend and because it’s never enough to be happy in your own life, you must know that others are envious of it. Those who envy Anne also envy me and my influence over Anne.’

  ‘Meaningful?’ Mary repeated her sister-in-law’s choice of word. ‘I think you should re-examine the word … A pitiful existence, to live in the shadow of someone else hoping a thin ray of their light might shine on you ... I hope for Anne’s sake she always serves your self-interest because your devotion is a false act.’

  ‘I have joy in my heart; yours decays with misery of a self-inflicted, self-indulgent nature. Anne is too kind to you and you’re undeserving of her goodness. She has saved you from your father’s wrath, adopted your son for his future but still your nature is only to see her as a rival.’

  Mary made no reply. Instead she drank deeper from her glass. Jane disappeared within the crowd. Mary made to also leave, to return to her own room, to sleep away her misery.

  ‘Stay a moment, Miss,’ ventured a very young man, causing Mary to laugh at his pluck.

  ‘I think not, and to be sure, not in your company.’ She made to move but hesitated just long enough to encourage him to walk in front of her.

  ‘I can assist you,’ he suggested.

  ‘In what way?’ she enquired while making to walk around him.

  ‘Escort you to your quarters, or I could dance with you and make you smile, or if I be bold, I could talk with you and know you better?’

  ‘What option would you like for me to choose?’

  ‘Any, for they all result with me being beside you.’

  Mary laughed. ‘You’re a foolish boy.’

  ‘Choose!’ he ordered but she refused to respond. ‘Dancing it is!’ he yelled and held out his hands to cusp hers. He flung her into the rounds of steps and twirls. Mary found herself easing, her worries giving way to sheer elation, their laughter harmonised as if music. She began to tease him, her eyes dancing upon him.

  ‘And what am I to name you, boy?’ she enquired mockingly.

  ‘William Stafford, your bedfellow.’

  Mary roared with laughter. It delighted her that he thought her worthy of his attention. ‘I gather you’re a man of great titles and wealth, who is deserving of my company?’

  ‘Not so, but why question reason when you can possess love … why abuse cupid … why—’

  ‘Terrible!’ Mary laughed again.

  ‘Alright, is your room far?’

  ‘You’ll never know,’ she spoke while narrowing her eyes onto him. ‘Goodnight, William Stafford.’

  ‘Stay a moment more, it has taken all this time for me to speak with you. Can you indulge me a little longer?’

  ‘Perhaps another dance?’ she suggested.

  He took her hands again and she responded without consideration.

  February 1533

  Greenwich Palace

  Before Mary had even spoken to her sister, she knew Henry and Anne were married. The pomegranates of Queen Katherine’s reign which had been carved into the stone around the palace were being hacked off, the initials of H and K were sanded to dust and painted over. The King’s lady mistress had succeeded over the false she-wolf interloper.

  The atmosphere of the palace was very different. Where once there was a reserved cheerfulness, now the contrast was such that all abandon had been lost. Music was played throughout the corridors and the courtiers were young and impertinent.

  ‘I find the court much changed, Sister,’ Mary mentioned to Anne when she was later allowed into her presence.

  ‘Aye and for the better,’ Anne replied, smiling after.

  ‘It’s as if a dark cloud hanging over the court has been blown back to Spain,’ interrupted Anne Savage, a new lady-in-waiting and a woman aptly named.

  This caused Anne to laugh with a peculiar wildness. Mary frowned at her sister’s reaction. The door to her antechamber opened and Jane entered with a gold bowl filled with rose petals and rose water.

  ‘Mary! How now?’ Jane spoke with affection that Mary could not reciprocate.

  ‘The weather was treacherous to travel, or I would have come sooner,’ she explained. ‘If I thought you had need of me, I would have forgone the caution.’

  ‘Not necessary.’ Anne waved her hand high above her. ‘As you see I have the best of ladies about me now. There sister, your concern is at an end. I have everything I need.’

  As Mary surveyed the commotion around Anne, she realised more people had entered into her chamber. Most were servants bringing in plates of glazed meat and sugar workings. ‘We are to dine with the King,’ Jane explained.

  The door opened again and everyone turned towards it in the anticipation of the King, but it was Wyatt who entered, removing his cap and bowing low to Anne.

  ‘Wife to the King and Majesty in waiting.’ He kissed her hand and she smiled adoringly at him.

  ‘A few rumours do not make it true,’ she replied coyly, irking Wyatt.

  ‘It could not be so,’ spoke Mary with astonishment. ‘Nothing happens for years and within a week you are married! Has Rome agreed to the divorce?’

  Anne smiled smugly, ‘Papal authority will have to bend to our absolute, definite decision.’

  Mary frowned for the second time in her sister’s company but did not interrogate further as her good lady mother appeared.

  ‘Mary, you’ve come. Now my pleasure is fulfilled, my children are all with me.’ She kissed Mary’s cheek.

  More gold plates with decorative food and wine were presented to Anne and placed on the long bench before the bay window. Candles fli
ckered with people walking to and from the table. Anne glided across the room and stood before her satin cushioned chair. George and Henry Norris appeared with a musician called Mark Smeaton. Only Henry was absent.

  Wyatt observed Anne with interest, causing her to question his glances. ‘What do you linger on?’ She blushed a little.

  ‘How well you look, Marquess,’ replied Wyatt.

  ‘Who would not?’ answered Elizabeth with a pitch to her voice that made the company listen to her. ‘The treatment and care His Majesty bestows upon my daughter is goodness that can serve any soul well.’

  ‘Why such favours though, when not married?’ continued Wyatt.

  ‘Legally, the King’s first marriage is invalid,’ interrupted George while placing a hand to the back of Anne’s neck, as though to comfort her. It was out of character for him. ‘Parliament will sanction that bill as Rome’s universities have declared it so. The Pope has no power to reject or impose the matter, once Archbishop Cranmer is declared head of the English Church.’

  ‘All very neat,’ Wyatt replied sarcastically while gulping down some wine.

  The King was the last to appear, his eyes shining, his face of joyous countenance. ‘What is this you speak on?’ he queried with light-hearted interest.

  ‘They are trying to guess if we be married, My Lord,’ Anne beamed towards Henry, causing Henry to return her secret happiness.

  ‘If it be so, then it is,’ he said simply.

  ‘Oh, Wyatt pass me some apples, I have a craving for apples!’ Anne suddenly expressed. ‘What can it mean? Never have I had a taste for apples as I do now.’ Anne lent across to take an apple from the plate he offered her and then cut a segment from it.

  ‘I heard it is a symptom of early pregnancy,’ replied Henry, causing all about the table to look upon the couple with bemusement. Mary noted the pair were red with mischievous excitement.

  ‘I think not!’ laughed Anne. ‘But then again … I often accomplish the impossible.’

  March 1539

  Hever Castle

  Thomas awoke and knew himself to be invalid but swung his legs from his bed. He gathered his satin gown about him and let his feet touch the tiled floor beneath them. His legs couldn’t take the weight of him, his voice so weak not to speak. Robson heard him stir, his mind still unconscious but his intention only for his master. ‘What is it, My Lord?’

  ‘Mary,’ he whispered. ‘I heard a voice. Go to the window. Does she come?’

  ‘Aye, ‘tis her.’

  He walked about the room, with the aid of Robson. He noticed the odd sensation of moving his limbs after days in bed. He tried to urinate. The sensation was there but not the product. He felt the small lump which had appeared some months back which had now grown. ‘My member is cancerous. How ironic considering my poisonous children,’ he spoke in a sardonic tone.

  His memory of his diagnosis had set his thoughts on his children or his only surviving child. He knew his renewed energy would not last but he accredited it to Mary’s coming.

  Anne and Mary were Boleyns, his heirs as ever capable as Thomas or George had been. They were smart girls. If life had been different, perhaps the rivalry between them would never have been. There was the crux of Thomas’s resentment of his daughter; he conceded he had blamed her for everything. He blamed himself for her leaving though. In the same way he blamed himself for the deaths of Anne and George. He had played a direct part in their lives and consequently they suffered for it. His shame seared his flesh from within. What did he say to Cranmer a few days ago? It all began with Mary. It would end with her to.

  The bed in which he would die was currently vacant. He regarded it solemnly and questioned how long he could stand there with the aid of Robson before his body would collapse. He then reluctantly returned to his deathbed.

  June 1533

  Westminster Palace

  Thomas marched heavy-footed towards Anne’s rooms. He had just witnessed her coronation. The guards bowed their heads and others saluted. The people had come to see their Queen Anne. Public consent had been given, albeit without enthusiasm, but London had been busy. People jostled to see Anne, hear the choir and observe the pageantry. It had settled nerves that the coronation would take place without disruption. Thomas had risen beyond all ambition.

  The doors swung open to reveal his daughter, his creation and his reason for his greatness. She stood resplendent in the royal regalia; the jewels within her crown, around her neck and wrists caught the sun and reflected striking flashes of light as she moved. Her body wrapped in cloth of gold and her shoulders decorated with purple velvet and trimmed ermine. She lay her hands on the most important and triumphant statement of all her bearing — a swollen belly.

  ‘Daughter.’ Thomas kissed her hands. ‘And Mary, come forth.’ He beckoned Mary but continued to look at Anne. ‘I had never expected so much of you but your triumph is no surprise to me. I realise beyond this day, I no longer be your authority but I relinquished that honour with pride for who you have chosen to entrust it with.’

  ‘I give my heartfelt thanks, Father.’ She kissed his cheek but Mary stood silent as an outsider observing her sister’s achievement. ‘Let us proceed to the banqueting hall,’ Anne then smiled, not revealing the tiredness she felt within after the long days of being on show to the public, the foreign ambassadors and the court.

  Together they entered into the banqueting hall. Thomas took Anne’s right hand and Lord Talbot her left. The trumpets blasted and music followed as the procession of the Queen and ministers moved under a gold canopy held by those esteemed such as her brother George. Mary held her sister’s ermine-trimmed robe without expression. Unlike Jane, whose chin was jutting out, Mary then took her place, away from her family.

  Thomas sat beside his wife and Elizabeth smiled at those who sought her attention, but Thomas knew she was not at ease.

  ‘Why has Mary been publicly lowered?’ Elizabeth questioned.

  ‘Elizabeth, speak not to me of womanly pride and trifles, ‘tis her choice,’ Thomas explained.

  ‘Are we to return to Hever?’ she queried him again.

  ‘You are, I am to Durham House. There is work to be done on the reformation.’

  ‘What of Anne?’ she asked as she feared his neglect. ‘She still needs your guidance,’ she pressed.

  ‘She’s Henry’s concern now, she has kept him upon the hook; she knows well enough how to secure his attention.’

  ‘More politics,’ she whispered angrily. ‘Is that all you dwell upon? What of her conduct? Her enemies are still many … You have always managed her — managed her pursuits and exploits. Who shall curb her now?’

  ‘Henry is her husband, Henry shall instruct and discipline her.’

  ‘The King is in love with the girl you created. Please, Husband. Caution her. She may be Queen but she must know her place as any other woman must. It is not enough for her to give kindly to charity; she must be the embodiment of queenly virtue, she must send her flatterers away. Wyatt, Norris, Percy. Frequently I see them, and soon enough so will the King.’

  ‘Well,’ answered Thomas without concern. ‘On her head be it.’

  * * *

  Mary first observed her parents’ exchange then noticed the young man she had danced and conversed with when stranded at Calais. He would not approach her but she knew he would look for an opportunity to speak with her, as he had done so before. She decided to create it.

  Being away from Anne and blending in with the other ladies of waiting, she approached a pillar and stood behind it, away from the swell of people around the tables. For a moment she feared a voice would demand her return, but no one noticed her absent. She hurried through a door to her right which was slightly ajar, and slipped through. Again she waited for her reprimand and again no one observed her movements. She feared that perhaps William too had not noticed her leaving, so she continued, outside of Westminster Abbey. The scene was not of joyous celebration; the crowds had gone. Only a few mercha
nts with their trade moved about the street, their horses defecating as they did.

  ‘No one to trade with, I suppose they return home to their families,’ noted William as he looked in the same direction as she did.

  Mary felt her face brighten with joy, his face being the only face she wanted to view. ‘I thought you would come.’ She stared into his eyes, trying to guess his emotion. He blushed under her gaze.

  ‘Ah, you still think me a fool,’ he smiled and laughed with good nature. ‘Aye, perhaps I am,’ he confessed.

  ‘You will find another soon enough to divert your attentions,’ she admitted to herself, though it pained her.

  ‘Can I escort you back?’ he enquired.

  ‘I suppose. My sister will complain otherwise … Perhaps you could find me later … in my rooms,’ she suggested mischievously. ‘Only for friendship and company,’ she added hastily.

  He returned her mischievous grin. ‘Aye? I will.’

  March 1539

  Hever Castle

  The Great Hall was stripped bare of ornamentation and furniture; the nakedness of the room caused Mary to stagger. ‘Everything is gone?’ She looked towards Amy but she too stared with shock.

  ‘A large dwelling!’ Amy said after a time.

  ‘Aye, but it’s empty! Oh, how painfully sad.’ She put her hand to her face and remembered Cranmer held all the possessions. ‘Robson?!’ Mary cried.

  ‘A moment, Madam Stafford!’ he yelled back, but Jane had walked through on hearing them.

  She curtsied to Mary first and allowed Mary to question her.

  ‘Is it just you and Robson?’