Having eaten little, Henry stared moodily into the depths of his wine, seeing the afternoons drama reflected therein. Then without warning he leapt to his feet, flung the goblet wine and all hard against the fireplace and stamped from the chamber. Catherine continued with her meal, the only sign that she had witnessed anything out of the ordinary was one eyebrow slightly raised.
The King went straight to Anne’s apartments and without observing any of the niceties, flung open the door of her bedchamber. As her ladies scampered from the room, he barely waited for the door to close before thundering “Well?”
Anne cowered against a wall, white and shaking. He was agreeably surprised at this for he had expected to find her hard faced and arrogant. As he took a few steps towards her, she flinched, as though expecting a blow. In a trice he was beside her, gathering her small body to his massive chest and smoothing her tumbled hair with his great hands. “You should know that I would never strike you” he soothed. “I have upset you with my unsporting behaviour this afternoon; please forgive me!”
Crushed uncomfortably against him, her face suffering from the sharp edged gems which studded his surcoat, Anne’s lips twitched into a smile. This was going better that she had even dared hope; perhaps with Henry, attack was not always the best form of defence. Another valuable lesson learned.
As he released her slightly to look down into her face, she resumed her terrified expression. “I feared to lose Your Grace’s regard” she whispered appealingly.
“Nay” he told her, tickling her under the chin and being rewarded with a tiny smile. “It will take more than Wyatt’s clowning to make me forsake you”.
“Then you are not angry with me anymore?”
“I was never angry with you” then his voice hardened “I am however greatly displeased with Wyatt”. He looked carefully at her as he spoke to judge her reaction to his words.
Frantically she forced her almost paralysed facial muscles to assume a light hearted devil may care expression, knowing that if he were to guess how deeply she cared for Thomas, her poet would quickly find himself in the Tower on some trumped up charge.
“How does he come to have your token Anne?” There it was, the forthright question she had been dreading. A question to which he had every right to demand an answer.
“Well?” He was waiting.
Hoping that he would not see the lie in her eyes, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I did not actually give it to him” she began, “it was whilst I was at Hever last year. When I came to retire one evening I noticed that the tablet no longer hung from its cord at my girdle. I assumed I had dropped it somewhere in the gardens but no doubt Wyatt filched it merely to tease me. However when I made no mention of the loss, perhaps he kept it to save face”. Pleased with her explanation, off the cuff as it was, she looked up at him hopefully.
Not entirely convinced, the King said slowly “But that does not alter the fact that instead of keeping it amongst his possessions, he wore it next to his skin”.
Truthfully she replied “I do not know why he chose to wear it thus. Maybe to surprise me he had it put on a gold chain to replace my meagre silken cord and was set to return it to me after the game”. It did not sound overly convincing, even to her ears, but Henry broke into a smile. Anne felt herself begin to relax a little and tried to mirror his doting expression as he said “Then your distress when Wyatt produced the thing was because you did not know he possessed it rather than fear that an attachment to him was revealed through a love token?”
Her insides felt as though they were melting and her knees began to shake but she forced herself to look him squarely in the eye and say in the most determined voice she could muster “Of course!”
The relief on his face was obvious. “Then all is right between us again. Whilst there is no doubt that Wyatt thinks highly of you I should remember that you grew up together and no doubt he looks on you as a sister”.
Again she had escaped with grace from a seemingly impossible situation; however as she looked into her monarch’s benign, smiling face, she asked herself for how much longer would he be so anxious to believe her every story?
Chapter 17 – The Decision
The King’s restlessness at having no male heirs was escalating. Worse still, the physicians had told him that it was unlikely Catherine would be able to have more children. His sole legitimate heir was his daughter, eleven year old Princess Mary.
He confided his worries to Cardinal Wolsey during one of their thrice weekly conferences and concluded lamely “I wish there was a solution to this problem!”
Had the King but known it, Wolsey had been aware for some months that the matter was playing on his sovereign’s mind and had been racking his fine statesman’s brain in order to produce a solution. And he had found one.
Sidling up to the King, his red silk robes rustling like a lady’s skirt he said “No doubt Your Grace has already considered the grave fact that your marriage to the Queen could be invalid?” As Henry’s mouth dropped open in surprise, Wolsey continued smoothly, “invalid because Queen Catherine was first the wife of your brother, the late lamented Prince Arthur”.
“Ah!” exclaimed the King. He turned away from Wolsey and walked to the great window, forefinger caught between his teeth, his thoughts racing. Looking down he saw several of the Queen’s ladies playing with bats and ball beneath his window. Anne was there; she saw him and waved. Snatching his hand from his mouth, he waved back, then turned back to the room and saw Wolsey waiting patiently. Uncomfortably Henry cleared his throat and dragged to mind the very exciting possibilities which were opening up before him. “Ah!” he repeated.
Having given his King a few moments to mull over the portent of his words, Wolsey continued “As Your Grace well knows, the bible clearly forbids any man to take his brother’s widow to wife…”
“Or else they be childless!” the King finished for him gleefully. Then clapping his elder statesman so hard on the back that Wolsey feared for his internal organs, cried “You have hit the nail on the head, my friend! God frowns on our marriage which is why we have no son! We have been living in sin” he finished piously.
One matter however stuck out a mile and Wolsey felt obliged to bring it to the King’s attention. “There is of course the Princess Mary” he began hesitantly, “she is undoubtedly a child of the marriage”.
But the King had seen a glimmer of hope and was undaunted “She is sickly” he reminded Wolsey. “Although she has survived babyhood, she may not outlive me. Our union would therefore be childless”. The King regarded Wolsey expectantly and Wolsey was instinctively aware of the words for which the King waited.
Clearing his throat, he addressed his sovereign in his most pompous tones “As a member of Your Grace’s privy council I beseech you to consider putting aside our dearly loved Queen with whom you have enjoyed an incestuous relationship for many years and choose a successor who will bear legitimate male heirs”. Here Wolsey paused, then as Anne Boleyn’s abandoned laughter floated in through the open window, continued hastily “preferably a princess of the blood royal who will bring Your Grace a handsome dowry”.
Delighted at the thought of a new wife, Henry asked “Is there such a princess?”
Wolsey thought carefully. “Princess Renee of France would be eminently suitable, Your Grace; and it may be that at the same time we could also marry Princess Mary into France”. Feeling Henry’s eyes boring into him, he added hastily “should she live to a marriageable age, that is”.
Wolsey winced as a jubilant Henry gave him yet another clap on the back. “Commence discreet enquiries Thomas“, the King was saying. “Let me know as soon as you have news”.
Once alone Henry rubbed his hands together gleefully, thinking of a comely French wife and the strong sons she would give him, not to mention the piles of French gold which would top up his coffers. A gentle tap on the door startled him from his reverie “Come!” he cried.
Anne’s head appeared round the
door. “Come in Nan” he told her. “How is the bat and ball coming along?”
She curtsied to him, replying “Very badly, I fear. I was hoping that Your Grace might find time to give us ladies some tuition. Your tennis prowess would prove invaluable. You are not busy?” she peered around the chamber as she spoke.
“I cannot think of anything I would rather do” he told her, taking her hands and squeezing them gently, “however I would talk with you first”.
Her face was alive with interest as they sat together upon the window seat. “It must be good news” she commented lightly. “I have not seen you so happy after a meeting with the Cardinal for months”.
Unable to keep it to himself any longer, Henry burst out “Wolsey is working for a divorce between me and Catherine!”
“A divorce?” she repeated incredulously. “To what end?”
“In order to procure for me a rich French bride!” he told her joyfully.
At once, her face hardened. “Another foreigner!” she spat. Henry drew back, amazed by her reaction.
“I thought you’d be pleased” he said in a small voice.
“Pleased?” she exclaimed. “Pleased? Mother of God!”
“Such oaths do not become you Anne” he told her primly, “and anyway, why should you of all people have any objection to a French queen? You are all but French yourself!”
Her temper thoroughly roused, she leaned towards him and with venom on her tongue replied “I had a French education certainly, but I am English born. I would have you remember that; English born! And why, pray, should I be pleased to welcome your French wife? She will no doubt be younger than I, more beautiful and more accomplished. Once you have a young wife to take to your bed, your much talked of, much professed love for me will be forgotten. I thank God I never yielded to you, tempted though I was, for you would have dropped me as soon as the marriage contract was signed!” Exhausted from her furious outburst, she tore away from his restraining arms and turned her back on him, one hand resting on her pounding heart.
“Had I known it would so upset you, I would not have told you of it” he said sadly.
“No doubt you would have carried on the negotiations behind my back!” she snapped, still facing away from him. “If you want more girl children to go with that half-Spanish daughter of yours, you are going the right way about it!”
“Anne. Sweetheart”. Gently he turned her to face him. “What else would you have me do?”
“You want sons?”
“Most certainly!”
“Then take an English wife!”
He thought for a moment, face creased in concentration. “But there are no English princesses available”.
“And why must she be a princess?” she countered. “Think back to your maternal grandfather Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville. He married that English girl for love and she bore him fine sons”.
“And a lot more daughters” he reminded her.
“But she was fruitful and most of her children were born strong and lived” Anne argued.
She was beginning to win him over to her way of thinking. “Perhaps you are right sweetheart”, he said slowly, making her more than a little suspicious by the way he looked at her, as though assessing a brood mare. “After all, then my son would be wholly English, like me!” He tapped himself proudly on the chest as he spoke.
“You are half-Welsh” she reminded him teasingly.
He looked at her and laughed. “It seems I can never win when I argue with you!”
Her dark eyes were warm as she disentangled herself from his arms and made for the door. “You will never get the better of me” she told him proudly. Then, a little anxiously “You do not think I have too much spirit Henry?”
Crossing to her, he slapped her lightly on the buttocks and cried “Not you! I like a woman to have spirit!” Then the smile left his face as he formulated his thoughts and looked searchingly at her. Softly he asked “Will you be my Elizabeth Woodville, Nan?”
It seemed as though the question hung in the air between them. Silently she looked at him, trying to read the thoughts hidden behind his intense expression.
“You are actually asking me to marry you?” she voiced the hitherto unspoken words a little timidly.
“Yes”.
Confused, she ran her fingers through her unbound hair, for she was hoodless due to her energetic tennis play. “I don’t know what to say!” For once she found herself truly speechless for never in her wildest dreams had she expected a serious proposal of marriage from the King of England. She didn’t even like him that much, did she? Covertly she looked at him from beneath downcast lashes, playing for time. She had certainly done her best to dislike him; to use him. But despite everything, there was something about him; something about the power he exuded. She could suddenly see why her sister Mary had been so loath to give up her position as King’s favourite.
He interrupted her thoughts, referring to her last spoken words. “How about just saying yes?” he suggested, a half smile about his lips.
What was there to lose? “Yes!” she cried, flinging herself into his arms. He caught her around the waist and swung her round like a child in his jubilation.
When they had calmed down a little, she said “But Wolsey would never work for a divorce if he knew you wanted to marry me. He despises me. He believes your love for me to be mere infatuation”.
“Infatuation!” exclaimed her husband-to-be. “He wouldn’t know true love if it were to punch him on the nose. What does a priest know of love?”
Casting her mind back to a recent rumour that Wolsey had lived secretly with a common law wife for many years, she murmured cynically “What indeed?”
However she was immediately forced to return her attention to the King, whom she decided was caressing her just a little too urgently. “Do I really tempt you Nan? Is it true what you said earlier, that you find it hard to resist me?”
“I would be a cold creature indeed if I were oblivious to your nearness” she retorted. Then seeing his whole expression smacked of lust, warned “And although I have agreed to marry you, I will not anticipate our wedding vows!”
His face dropped and assumed a sullen expression. Knowing she had to divert him before he fell into a rage, she whispered ”Think of our son, Henry. He must be unquestionably legitimate; we must be married before he is born. It is not worth the risk my love; the divorce could take many, many months”.
“You are right sweetheart” he concluded reluctantly. Then, grimacing “I shall respect your honour, although God knows it will be difficult!”
“Good!” she kissed him gratefully. “Now, I think my fellow ladies may be becoming a little impatient at our continued absence!”
Chapter 18 – Wolsey’s Quest
As much as they were inclined to shout it from the rooftops, Henry and Anne had to keep the news that they intended to marry, a secret. For one thing, the Queen was unaware that they intended to make their liaison permanent; for another, Henry like Anne, believed that Wolsey may not work so diligently for the divorce if he knew in advance that Henry had chosen a commoner for his future wife.
Wolsey had announced his intention to travel to France to have talks with the French King about the proposed marriage alliance. From France he intended to send messengers to the Pope, explaining the English King’s dilemma and requesting the divorce.
Anne was deeply concerned over Wolsey’s activities. “This document Wolsey hopes to persuade the Pope to sign, what if it has the French princess’s name on it?” Anne asked Henry one evening.
Henry was perplexed. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”
“What if Wolsey presents the annulment papers to the Pope and they state that once the annulment is granted, you will marry the Princess Renee? Surely if Clement signs such a document then you will be obliged to take her to wife because the terms will not permit your marriage to any other?”
The King regarded her thoughtfully. “Do you think that it is Wolsey�
�s plan to force me in to this French alliance?”
“I would not put such a thing past him!” she replied vehemently. “Securing a successful contract with Francis will no doubt line his coffers a little more and he has always seemed hell bent on moulding you to his priestly will”.
Inferring to Henry that he was easily led, which on occasion he could be, was as deadly as waving a red cloth at a bull. Rapidly his lowered eyes flickered back and forth as though he were reading a document at speed; Anne knew it meant he was thinking quickly.
“I have it!” he exclaimed at last. “Once Wolsey is safely in France, amusing himself at court, we shall send another envoy to him, supposedly to assist his messengers in reaching the Pope. In reality this envoy will carry a paper signed by me, countermanding Wolsey’s orders. We will provide the envoy with an annulment paper to present to the Pope which will give me the right to marry any woman I choose. Even one who is related to me by the first degree of affinity. There sweetheart! What think you of my plan?”
“Excellent!” she clapped her hands joyfully. “But why the affinity clause?”
“It is necessary because I am related to you thus as your sister was my mistress” he told her comfortably.
Her face expressionless, she replied, “Oh, yes”.
Moth To The Flame Page 12
