To Die For: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

by Byrd, Sandra

  I nodded. So far, she was correct.

  “Henry had studied Scriptures in great detail as a young man, afore Arthur’s death, and he felt compelled to go back and look at them anon to see from whence he might have turned from our Lord’s affections. With some help, he settled upon a passage in Leviticus. Come.” She stood and beckoned to me and we went to a further corner of her chamber where a great upright chest stood. She lifted the lid and I peeked in with her.

  “Books. And…. a Bible. In French. And other books by the reformers,” I said. I had spoken of the reformers with my sister, Alice, who counted herself among them. I, thus far, had remained politely disinterested. I glanced at a book by Lefevre. “This is dangerous, Anne. Should someone uncover these…. Where did you get them?”

  Anne nodded but smiled, unworried, content in the hidey-hole of the king’s protection. “Some I brought back with me from France, gifts from Marguerite, King Francis’s sister, after we’d read them together. Some are from my father. And of course, George.”

  I’d heard rumors that George was a notorious religious book smuggler. It fit with his sense of charm and daring—not to mention his faith.

  Anne lifted one of the French Bibles out and opened it to Leviticus and read aloud. “Si un homme prend la femme de son frère, c’est une impureté; il a découvert la nudité de son frère: ils seront sans enfant.”

  “‘And if a man shall take his brother’s wife, it is an unclean thing: he hath uncovered his brother’s nakedness; they shall be childless,’” I said. “But—the pope gave Henry a dispensation to marry Katherine.”

  Anne nodded. “But who is the pope, Meg, or any man, no matter how good he may be, to overrule Holy Scriptures, God’s own word, to declare what God has said is impermissible, permissible? Why else would there need to be a dispensation, except to claim that something that was wrong wasn’t?”

  I opened my mouth, shocked at her heresy and boldness. And then I closed it again. Because what she said might well be true. I well remembered my father saying that the good people of England had been aghast at the near-incest when Henry chose to marry Katherine against his late father’s desires. Henry the Seventh had loudly bemoaned that he’d sent his first son to his death by encouraging marriage, with its physical demands, upon a young man of ill health and never forgave Katherine for it, though it be upon his own head, for what could Katherine have done? It was not in her power to refuse, as I well knew.

  “How long have you thought this way?” I asked. “About Scriptures being the highest authority?”

  “Not Scripture, Meg, God, as he speaks through Scripture. A long while, since my last return from France,” she said. “I hadn’t voiced them before, but the convictions grew. And when God led Henry to me, I saw how it all fit together.”

  I opened my mouth to question whether or not God had led Henry to her, but that seemed beside the point at the moment. And then I felt betrayed in our friendship. “Why haven’t you spoken of this with me? I rather thought that, well, that we had no secrets.”

  “I did not think that conversations about faith were welcome after the situation with Will. So you’d said.”

  So I’d said. I held my hand out and ran it over the delicate leather that bound the French translation of Scripture.

  “Do you want to take it?” she asked.

  I hesitated. Then I returned to my seat and shook my head.

  She put the books back into the chest and rejoined me by the fire.

  “So what will happen next?” I asked.

  “The king has been speaking quietly and kindly to the queen for months. Years, actually, since he began considering the addition of the Duke of Richmond to the line of succession long ago, well afore he’d met me. He has asked her to have their marriage quietly annulled. He promised her a fine house and privileges for herself and Mary. Or to go to a highborn abbey, as she prefers to spend most of her time in prayer. She has rudely refused any and every suggestion.” As there was no servant present, Anne poked the fire a bit to stir up some quiet embers.

  “Which is understandable.”

  “On one level, yes. But we, as women, are always aware that our lives are not our own. The queen, even more, must realize that her own desires must be set aside for the good of the realm. If she is as devout as she professes to be, she will see the truth in the matter. But she will not. She is Spanish—now and always—and has not a care for England. She will marry her daughter to some Spaniard and England will be gobbled whole”—she snapped her fingers—“like that!”

  “And now?”

  “And now the king has asked Cardinal Wolsey to solve the matter.”

  I laughed softly. “Wolsey is no friend to you.”

  “You are right. But he is a friend to the king. And he has in mind for the king to marry a French princess and beget a son, so he is likely to be overeager to get the king’s marriage annulled.”

  We sat for a while and then I asked, “Does the king have it in mind to marry a French princess?”

  Anne smiled but admitted little. “The king has not yet shared his mind on that matter with me.”

  “Do you wish to bed him?” I asked.

  She nodded. “But I will insist on being his wife first.” She teased, “You, Meg, should understand the pleasures of married life.” We’d discussed, with relief, of course, how I’d thus far escaped fulfilling my connubial duties with the baron.

  I tossed a small stuffed cushion in her direction as we often had done as girls and she threw it right back at me.

  After she left, though, I began to grow irritated that the man who loved her was willing to literally move heaven and earth for her while the one who loved me had his eyes solely trained on heaven. I pushed the thought away before that envy could burn the edges of my friendship.

  * * *

  In June Cardinal Wolsey arranged for a play to be held at Hampton Court Palace and, afterward, a feast. I stood beneath one of the tiers of stained glass windows at the far end of the great hall as the dimming day’s light cast jeweled reflections across the room. Wolsey himself, a consummate host, circulated about the guests, a great red bird, preening himself as he pecked at others. It drew my attention, though, when I noticed him paying attention to Katherine’s ladies-in-waiting, particularly those who had served the queen for many years. I was standing next to Anne, who conversed with her great-aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, who had served the queen for many years and had been handsomely rewarded for it.

  “Good day, Mistress Boleyn.” Wolsey nodded curtly in Anne’s direction. “How does your sister, Mary? We miss her cheerfulness at the court.”

  Anne flinched at the open insult, the insinuation that Anne had taken Mary’s place and was much less pleasant. It was true that Mary was accommodating but also was true that she accommodated too often and with too many. As Anne’s friend I was tempted to ask the cardinal how did his mistress, the one hidden in the country with his two baseborn sons. But I did not, for it would not help my friend at all.

  One of the king’s men came up to Anne and pulled her away for a moment when Wolsey slipped in to talk with the duchess. I, of little import, went momentarily unnoticed by either of them.

  “Good day, my lady,” Wolsey said, his voice well trained as a social lubricant to coax secrets from among the unwilling. “I wonder, I wonder if you might help me help the king.”

  The duchess, always attentive to her own high status, smiled graciously. “Of course, Cardinal. Anything to assist His Majesty. How may I be of service?”

  “Do you recall the night the queen was married to Prince Arthur?”

  “Indeed,” she said. “It was a time of great celebration. The prince and princess enjoyed themselves, and one another, immensely. It set off a frenzy of romance among the courtiers.” She dabbed a linen to her forehead, remembering her own youth, I supposed, as cloth sponged the fetid sweat from between the deep creases in her face.

  Wolsey looked immensely pleased as he steered
the duchess to a private corner to continue their chat. I heard no more.

  It wasn’t a week later when we ladies were in the queen’s chamber sewing shirts for the poor when the king strode in. The queen’s principal lady met him with a sweet greeting. But he would have none of it.

  “Where is your mistress?” he demanded.

  “She is at chapel, Your Majesty.”

  The king roughly strode past the woman and down the hall to the queen’s private chapel. He opened the door with no care to what state her worship may be in. “Lady, methinks it is time for us to resolve this matter.”

  “Please, Your Majesty, join me in worship. And then we shall talk, and dine, and spend time together.”

  His reply was rough, certainly not that of a husband of two decades, or even a kind friend. “Our time for talk is over, my lady, and I fear that for us to worship together would be an abomination. I am sending a contingent to the pope to request an annulment of our marriage, which must be a stench before our Lord.”

  The queen stood and looked alarmed. She had a hard time regaining her balance on her feet after so long a time kneeling. I felt badly for her and wished for one of her other ladies to help her steady herself, but none dared. “Our marriage is true and pure!” she pleaded. Neither of them seemed to be aware of others listening, but that was the royal prerogative. We were to pretend not to notice, or repeat, what was said or done.

  “We have never been honorably married. You were married to my brother, Arthur.”

  “Perhaps in name,” she said, her Spanish accent getting even thicker with her fluster. “But not in truth.”

  Henry roared his disdain. “No, madam, you may convince others, or even yourself, of that lie, but who other than a husband would know if his wife was a maid at their marriage or not?”

  I glanced into the chapel and looked at his face. He was telling the truth, or at the very least believed that he was.

  He blew past us like a squall on the Thames and as soon as he left we lesser ladies hastened away.

  I tiptoed away and raced to Anne’s quarters to repeat the conversation to her.

  In June Cardinal Wolsey left for France to discuss the king’s annulment, or, at worst, divorce, with the pope. He’d told Henry he was convinced that the Holy Father would see the truth of the matter and set things right quickly. Shortly after, Anne came to my chambers.

  “I leave for Hever,” she said. “Will you come away with me?”

  I nodded and replied, “Of course. But why? Will you risk losing the king’s favor if you depart?”

  She shrugged in that most French manner. “Mayhap. But I seek to retain my maidenhood and for that, I fear, I must take my leave. I’ve told the king that my mother requested my presence and he cannot refuse without good cause.”

  * * *

  Our first weeks home I spent at Allington. My father seemed to have slipped into some kind of forgetfulness. I would ask him about accounts and he could not remember having told me the instructions he had given only hours before. I questioned the servants, but they offered little, seeming to be in fear of Edmund, and I suppose they were right. One night the three of us supped together.

  “How is the king?” my father asked politely. Age had made him smaller and more frail. I’d seen him kick one of the hunting dogs earlier, hard, in the ribs, so I knew that whilst the outward man may have been changing in preparation to meet his Maker, the inward man had not.

  “The king is in good health.”

  “And the queen?” Edmund asked with a wicked grin. I knew he went back and forth to the court on my father’s business, and some of the king’s as well, but we never sought out one another’s company.

  “It’s pleasant to serve with her ladies,” I said. Which was true, even though the queen never had a word for me herself, though I toiled long hours on her behalf.

  “I was just telling Father how expensive it must be for Lord Blackston to keep you at court,” Edmund said. “The dresses, the jewels, the gifts you’re required to give.”

  “My husband has not complained,” I answered, taking a bite of the roasted swan. I pushed the remainder around on my plate with a piece of bread.

  “He has not the occasion, Simon tells me. He is too frail.”

  Edmund seemed to be particularly well informed on my life as well.

  “Mayhap he’s taking it out of the first installment of your dowry.” He threw down the rest of his glass of wine and put the cup on the table.

  Installment of my dowry? Hadn’t it all been paid?

  With relief, Edithe and I went to stay at Hever in July. I knew she was eager to be there for a long period of time, with her Roger and her children, and I was eager to get away from my brother and father though I missed being at my family home, which had been a warm and lovely place when my mother had been alive and in good health. Perhaps when Thomas inherited it would become more welcoming again.

  We rode through the countryside and onto the long gardens that led to Hever Castle. The bushes were aflame with blossoms and the air heavy and ripe with their perfume. The grasses waved untended. I saw the priest just outside of St. Peter’s, blessing what looked to be a field hand on the way to the property. The priest was a kindly man, a godly man, and Sir Thomas kept him on though he was perhaps too old to attend to his duties any longer. As I approached the castle itself I gave a start. There was a messenger there carrying the king’s pennant, resplendent in the king’s colors.

  Anne showed me to a room just down the corridor from her own. She was wearing a rich sapphire bracelet, one I knew to be new.

  “Is one of the king’s men here?” I inquired.

  She nodded. ‘’The king has sent me a letter and his man has been instructed to await my reply.” After I’d refreshed myself she drew me into her father’s paneled library. Henry’s letter claimed concern for her health and well-being and distress whilst not understanding what her intentions were toward him. He’d signed it, “Written by the hand of your entire servant.”

  I drew close to her. “Does your father know of this?”

  “Nay,” she responded. “Not this particular letter. But we’ve talked of how I should respond should the king write.”

  “How shall you respond, then?” I asked.

  “Honestly.” A few hours later, after a cheerful dinner with her mother, Anne showed me the letter she would return to Henry in the morn. In it she reiterated what she had already told him in person afore she’d left the court. She found him noble and worthy in every capacity and enjoyed his company above all others’. But she had given her maidenhead into her husband’s hands, and there, by the grace of God, it should remain.

  We spent the next days wandering the gardens, reading Erasmus together and making plans for our future children. Perhaps our daughters would be friends, too, I mused. Anne laughed. “I am much more concerned with my sons! But yes.” She took my hand. “I would that our daughters would be friends too.” We sat down on the stone bench where we had once made our blood pledge and talked of gowns and slippers.

  Henry arrived at Hever Castle within a fortnight.

  Lady Boleyn was not, I assume, given to entertaining the king without the commanding hand of her husband but alas, he was away on the king’s business. “Lady, I require but simple fare and good company, and I know well that both can be found within your household,” the king replied. His visit was ostensibly to take advantage of the hunting in the area. He was hunting for certes. I could scarce hold back my grin, but he was kindly to me as well. He inquired after my husband’s health and thanked me for being a constant friend to Anne.

  Anne appeared to be in high spirits. She rode out to the hunt with the king; ’twas a sport they both enjoyed, and being competitors, both of them, they passed the day in good pleasure. When they returned they rode side by side, her face flushed, her eyes shining; she looked beautiful in her velvet hunting outfit of forest green. Henry’s men and her serving ladies bantered and laughed behind them. I met
them at the bridge over the moat afore they dismounted.

  “I see you were successful,” I called out, indicating the stag.

  “Aye, the lady beat me to the shot and carried the day,” Henry called back, more a young man than the king. He looked at Anne, besotted, and what was even more concerning was that she looked back at him with genuine love and affection. The king stayed for three nights before returning to court and after he left, Anne told me that, although it must remain a secret, as he considered himself an unmarried man he would soon make her his wife.

  “So Henry does not plan to marry Wolsey’s French princess?” I said in shock.

  “How wonderful! I am entirely satisfied in your dignified match and future happiness!” She reprimanded me by quoting what a woman friend would have been expected to respond with rather than what I’d offered her.

  “Your happiness is paramount to me, dear friend. But I fear for your safety too. There will be many who will not welcome you at court after this. The queen has many who are partial to her. And Wolsey wants the French.”

  “They can be partial to Katherine or to the French elsewhere,” Anne said. “Katherine has spoilt her own nest and married under false pretenses. Henry assured me. I have no desire to go awry of our Lord in this, so I looked fast into his eyes and determined that he was telling the truth. They are not truly married—and never have been. I have his word on that and the king, as you know, is the anointed of God and above deceit.” She held out her hand, upon which was set a magnificent emerald ring. “I told the king I should answer him anon in a letter. But first—to write to my father.”

  At the end of the month she heard back from her father and then returned a letter to the king, along with a gift she commissioned, one that cost her dearly: a model of a ship with a woman on board wearing a diamond pendant. As a ship meant protection and a diamond a woman’s heart, I knew, as Henry would, what her answer was. She was giving her heart to him and depending upon him, and not her father, to guard her henceforth.