The Lady Rochford Saga Part 2: Tourmens de Mariage

by Danielle Marchant

  “What does what mean, Jane?” Anne asked.

  “The King’s emblem. Declare I dare not. Declare what exactly?” I replied.

  “Who knows?” Anne replied, with a wry smile. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

  Then, on the field, Anne’s cousin, Sir Francis Bryan was next. He took up his position, facing one of the King’s team, raised his lance, then, both opponents fiercely rode towards each other. Then, the opponents lance, which was too high, hit Francis, knocking him from his horse. There was a moment of shock and everyone held their breath. Anne stood up, suddenly concerned. “I hope he is fine.” For a moment, he lied still on the ground, but then thankfully started to move, but there was a lot of blood on his face, particularly in the eye area. Some attendants helped him off the ground and into a nearby tent. Thomas and Elizabeth were very concerned, particularly for his mother. “Lady Bryan needs to be informed,” Elizabeth said. Despite this moment of drama, however, the King allowed the games to continue. He wasn’t going to let a minor incident like this spoil his fun.

  A magnificent banquet followed the joust, only this time, the King decided to wait on Catherine and all her ladies. Anne and I sat near Catherine, slightly amused by this role reversal. We all laughed as Henry came up presenting dishes and filling our glasses with wine. I noticed that he hovered for slightly longer around Anne, attempting any idle chat. “I apologise what happened there today with your cousin,” He said to her.

  “Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty,” Anne replied. “No need to apologise – it wasn’t your fault!” I slightly gawped at her reply. Sometimes she never failed to astonish me. She couldn’t speak like that to the King!

  Henry laughed at her response, then, added more seriously “I hear that he has lost an eye? The spear shattered so hard that it hit him in the eye. I’m sorry for what has happened at my tournament. I wouldn’t dream of upsetting you like this!”

  “Your Majesty is very kind for being concerned,” Anne replied.

  “To make up for it, may I have the next dance with you?” He replied. Anne pondered for a moment, almost deliberately delaying a response and then, to Henry’s noticeable relief, agreed. Cheerful like a little boy who had got the sweets, he then disappeared back to his table.

  Declare I dare not? Was Anne the King’s new love interest? I looked over to Catherine who hadn’t noticed any of the conversation, or maybe she just chose not to notice. After all, so what if he now liked Anne? For how long would he like Anne? Who would he move on to after Anne? She was just another Bessie Blount. Another Mary Boleyn. Once he had tired of her, he would be back with Catherine before spying on another of her ladies. Just as long as it wasn’t me, or my mother. “You do remember what happened to Mary?” I then said to Anne.

  “Yes, I remember very well, Jane,” Anne replied. “And I intend not to forget – or to let him forget either! I am not like my sister.”

  “How are you going to handle him?” I asked.

  “It’s fine, Jane, I’ll just faint like you did!” Anne replied. “No, seriously, it’s fine. I know how to handle him.”

  I looked over at George, who was now dozing on the table from drinking too much. What an interesting day, so far. “Declare ie nos” from Henry, “Tourmens de Mariage” from my husband. Two French phrases, one declaring love, the other making a mockery of it. George caught my eye, but then turned away before falling asleep on the table next to Francis Weston who appeared to be still giggling over yet more jokes from his male friends.

  That night, George and I didn’t even speak to each other; we slept on opposite sides of the bed as far apart from each other as possible. As the days went by, we spent even lesser time together. He spent more time with Anne and Thomas, while I was preoccupied with serving Catherine. Attempts to try to conceive became few and far between. One afternoon, I sat in the chapel behind Catherine and couldn’t stop the tears. Catherine understood silently my pain and let me cry. Where did it go wrong? How did I let this happen? As a woman, I had failed in my duty. Catherine, as if reading my mind, turned and gave me a small hug. “Trust in God and he will give you the answer,” she said. I believed her and alongside her, continued to pray in hope.

  September, 1526, Hever Castle.

  Anne and I quietly sat in front of the fireplace. She was clutching a letter. It was a letter from Henry and its contents were starting to give Anne a headache. I was right that she was the new focus of Henry’s affections. She kept telling me, she knew how to handle it. However, now Anne was tired of Henry’s continuous pursuit of her and was now retiring at Hever for a little while, until he possibly finds another focus.

  However, going by the contents of this letter, this plan was not working; it was in fact increasing his ardour towards her.

  I held out my hand to look at the letter again and she passed it onto me. “It is absolutely necessary for me to obtain this answer, having been for a whole year stricken with the dart of love,” the love letter read. “Give up yourself, body and heart to me, who will be and have been, your most loyal servant,” it read. These were the words of a man tortured by his love. “What on earth did you do to him?” I asked her.

  “I don’t know!” Anne replied. “To be honest, I don’t like it either! I refuse to follow in the footsteps of Mary!”

  “So, how do you intend to handle this situation?” I asked.

  “She intends to handle it by staying at Hever for as long as possible.” Thomas had just entered the room. “You will learn child that you need to stay in the King’s favour and we will all benefit from it!”

  “I disagree father,” Anne replied. “William Carey did very well on his own in spite of the King being interested in his wife.”

  “Anne, you forget that you tried – and failed - to forge an illustrious marriage of your own,” Thomas replied. I caught Anne’s face and in her eyes could see the pain still there over Henry Percy and her father had just twisted the knife. “If you stay in the King’s favour, who knows? Later on he may help to match you with a Duke!”

  “After he has tired of me, like he did with my sister and Bessie Blount!” Anne replied.

  “Well, if you have better idea, Anne, you better come up with it soon! It may just help your brother to have his place restored.” Thomas replied before leaving the room. Anne and I sat in silence. The irony of the situation – here was Anne fighting off the King’s attentions and yet, I was becoming even more starved of affection from George. Since losing his place at court, he had become withdrawn from me, spending less time with me and more with his father and his friends. I found myself in a dilemma here. On the one hand I hated seeing this love letter and hated to think what Catherine would feel if she saw this. I would always be loyal to Catherine and her daughter, Mary, whatever happened. They didn’t deserve this. However, on the flipside, if I follow what Thomas has said, this could lead to better things for Anne. After all, I was now also a Boleyn and had to be loyal to their ambitions too. This could bring the family into favour and restore my husband back to court.

  It could save my marriage.

  “I do think your father has a point here.” I then told Anne. “Just go along with it. Play the game. Don’t take it too seriously and we may hopefully reap the rewards afterwards.”

  Anne for a brief moment gave me a scolding look. She then said “Yes, I will go along with this – but it will be on my terms.”

  The love letters continued to arrive. It was astonishing – they were written by a man that hated writing letters. Anne did reply, but they were often brief and vague. She toyed with his emotions, kept him at arms’ length and this only increased his pursuit of her. He chased her like a Butterfly. He even sent her a buck that he had killed while hunting:

  “I send you, by the bearer of this, a buck killed late last night by my own hand, hoping that when you eat of it, you may think of the hunter.”

  The family was also beginning to reap the rewards. Despite
the Eltham Ordinances, many of those sent away from the Privy Chamber did gradually start to return – including George. He was so happy to be restored and as soon as he heard the news, he hugged me so tight for the first time in a while, that I thought that I would cry with happiness. With George restored, he was increasingly spending more time at the King’s side -“I must end my letter, written by the hand of your servant, who very often wishes for you instead of your brother.” The King was now her “servant”? This is unbelievable! I still couldn’t tell Anne’s feelings on this – was she still playing this game, or was there a part of her that was touched by all of this? “The longer the days are, the more distant is the sun, and nevertheless the hotter; so is it with our love, for by absence we are kept a distance from one another, and yet it retains its fervour, at least on my side.”

  I looked at the King’s lovelorn words and then looked at Anne. “So, is the fervour on your side too?” I asked her smiling.

  “I wonder if I am the only woman he writes these letters too,” Anne replied. We were sat under a tree out in the gardens at Hever looking at the latest letter. “How do I know that he doesn’t have other mistresses at the same time?”

  “Would it bother you if he did?” I asked.

  Anne was thoughtful for a moment and then, replied “I think it would a bit.”

  “Ah-ha! So, you do return some of his feelings?” I replied, teasing her. As with Henry, she kept coy on this.

  October 1526, Greenwich Palace.

  I followed the Queen out of the chapel and then, she turned and started to walk beside me. “How is Mistress Boleyn? Is she feeling well?” She asked me. For a moment, I wasn’t sure how to answer. Was she just playing ignorant? Did she have some idea on why Anne was being made absent from court.

  “She is very well, thank you Your Majesty,” I replied. “All the fresh air and rest has been a great benefit to her.”

  “That is good to hear,” She replied. “The King was starting to become concerned.” I already knew this – I had read about his concern in his last letter to Anne. I wonder if the Queen knew of its contents:

  “My uneasy qualms regarding your health have much troubled and alarmed me. I beg of you my wholly beloved to have no fear or to be uneasy at our absence; for wherever I may be I am yours. I wish you between my arms that I might rid you somewhat of your unreasonable thoughts. Written by the hand of him who is, and always will be, your Un H Rex changeable.”

  The King was besotted. Anne was slowly beginning to return some of his feelings, but was still unsure and worried about the nature of their relationship and if she would just be discarded. He had even made visits to Hever to see her. George would bring him to her room, where they would spend some moments alone in each other’s arms.

  I wonder if Catherine was aware of all this? She did, however, seem genuinely oblivious to it all, or maybe simply didn’t want to acknowledge what was going on. To her, Anne was just another mistress. Once he had tired of her, he would move on to someone else.

  However, he wasn’t tiring of her.

  Her secret? “I will not give in fully to his desires,” Anne told me recently. “I will not be one of his many mistresses!”

  “But what do you want?” I asked her. “You cannot expect anything more from him than this. He is with Catherine and you will never be anything more than his mistress.”

  “That is not good enough for me!” Anne had replied and had left it at that. I continued to walk with Catherine towards the Watching Chamber pondering on this. It then occurred to me, is Anne seriously thinking about usurping Catherine? I felt a chill at the sudden realisation. This was dangerous thinking. It was almost treasonous. Anne could not possibly hope to oust the Queen, the daughter of Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile. What if this went wrong? Would the King take out his wrath on my family? Would I suffer the consequences? We were then stopped and greeted by a young lady. It was Catherine’s daughter Mary and her Governess, Lady Margaret Pole. Catherine’s face lit up and she hugged her daughter, now ten years old and growing fast. I felt touched by this scene and for a moment despised Anne and the Boleyn family’s plan. How could she do this to Catherine and to Mary? Mary walked beside Catherine and I walked beside Margaret. “How are you?” I enquired.

  “Oh, you know, still alive!” She replied, joking. She was now well into her fifties and had seen many dramas in this court. Being the niece of Richard III, her family had always been very close to the throne. Some would even claim that her Plantagenet family had even more right to the throne. I often wondered what the King really thought of her and her family. Did he constantly look over his shoulder? I did admire the way she had managed to survive in this bear pit.

  “What is the secret to long life then?” I asked her joking.

  Giving a shrewd smile, she replied “Don’t always say what you think. Always agree with the King. Remember that you are His Majesty’s most loyal servant, at all times. Forget who you are. Forget your ancestry and your nobility. What the King gives to you, he can take away.”

  “Thank you very much, you are full of wisdom,” I replied sincerely.

  “And please pass on this advice to your sister-in-law. I know exactly what she is doing. We do not need another Elizabeth Woodville,” Margaret said.

  March 1527, Greenwich Palace

  “I really don’t know what he sees in her. She isn’t a typical beauty,” Jane said. Jane Seymour, who was the daughter of John Seymour and Margery Wentworth of Wolfhall in Wiltshire, was our latest arrival at court. She helped me to put away Catherine’s gowns.

  “So, what would you describe as the ideal woman for the King?” I asked her.

  “A woman who is kind, courteous, humble and gentle,” She replied. “My mother always taught me that that was how a lady should behave.”

  “I think Anne has some of those qualities,” I replied, teasing her.

  “She does not! How could she? She spent some time in the French court!” Jane replied. I tried not to laugh at her fit of rage. She was such a little thing – small, thin, with dark blonde hair. I was frightened that she may get swamped by one of the Queen’s gowns. Anger didn’t suit her. As I gradually got to know her though, in a strange way, I felt some common ground. She was Catholic for a start, something that I understood. George and Anne’s ideas and beliefs still frightened me – with Jane, I knew where I was in terms of religion. We still appreciated the old ways, with Mass and prayers in Latin, not cheapening the word of God by translating it into the language of the common man. Mary Boleyn didn’t like Jane – whenever they were both in the room, they didn’t speak to each other. I think Jane looked down at Mary, maybe because she didn’t think that she was “virtuous”, like all ladies should be. Jane, like me, also had much respect for the Queen and her daughter. “Anne is just playing the game. Her father is encouraging her to further our family’s ambitions.”

  “It’s a disgrace!” She replied. “Doing this just to further the family ambitions.”

  “So, you don’t believe your father would ever use you in any way for the Seymours’ ambitions?” I said.

  June 1527, Surrey shore

  George and I enjoyed a rare afternoon off and headed down the Thames on a boat. We sat in the back of the boat while the oarsman rowed the boat upriver and we watched life in London go about its usual business. It was a brilliant, sunny day, the market traders shouted at their deals of the day whilst many other boats carrying goods and people sailed past our boat. It had been a while since George and I had had a laugh and conversation while we observed everything that was happening on the shoreline. It was almost ten years since I had arrived into this city – I arrived as a young, scared, naïve, little girl. Now I was well-established at court, lady-in-waiting to the Queen and married into the Boleyn family.

  We were three miles of St. Paul’s when my eyes were drawn to an interesting site on the shoreline. “Oh, I see you have just discovered Cuckold’s Haven,” George told me.

&n
bsp; “Cuckold’s what?” I replied.

  “It’s a well-known spot on this part of the shoreline,” He replied. When I looked at it, I could see why it attracted some attention. There stood an eye-catching pole and on its top, were animal horns. “According to local folklore, it has spiritual significance. It was raised in honour of Lady Fortune, a spiritual force threatening the institution of marriage and representing cuckoldry.”

  “Well, that’s hardly something to celebrate!” I replied.

  “I don’t think it’s about celebration, it’s more of a warning, especially to the rich men who could easily lose their beautiful wives if they get too complacent.” George replied. I looked out to the river and as I looked at the ships sailing by, my thoughts went back to a few days ago, when Anne showed me her response to Henry’s latest love letter. It was a jewel in the form of a small ship with a diamond on its bow. There was a woman on board, on her own. I asked her what did this mean, but Anne did not respond and just smiled back coyly. In that moment, the full meaning of the trinket hit me. The damsel on the ship was Anne, ready to brave a long, tempestuous voyage on stormy seas. The destination – to be at Henry’s side.

  Anne was accepting his proposal of marriage.

  I suddenly felt the chill of the breeze on the river and became fearful. George caught my glance, but couldn’t understand what was wrong. “Jane, are you well?” He asked concerned. I tried hard to hold back the tears, but became overwhelmed and began to cry. “Oh, Jane! What’s wrong?” He asked and rummaged to find a handkerchief. He found it eventually and gave it to me before hugging me close to him. “This is your time off! There shouldn’t be any tears on your time off!” He said, trying to joke. Thankfully, the oarsman continued and didn’t pay any attention to this small scene in the back of his boat.