Moth To The Flame

by Angela Warwick

  “You must not get yourself excited” reproved her sister gently. “The next thing to do is get a professional opinion from your physician, and then you can tell the King!”

  Anne rose and walked slowly across the chamber, pausing in front of her mirror. Spanning her tiny waist with her hands, she turned first to one side, then the other, scrutinising herself carefully.

  “There’s no point in looking for any bulges!” laughed Mary, joining her. “It will be at least another two months before there are any visible signs”.

  “That’s not what I was looking at” Anne replied, still staring into the mirror. “I was just thinking how incredible it is that I am now as slim as a reed but soon I shall be huge and rounded!” She turned to her sister. “Do you think I shall get as big as you did?”

  “That depends on the size of the baby” Mary told her. “My Henry was a large child”.

  Anne was looking at Mary’s body appraisingly. “You are much bigger boned than I” she said slowly. “What if my child grows as big as your Hal? I would never be able to give it birth, I am so narrow”. She ran her hands over her hips as she spoke, raising troubled eyes to Mary’s.

  “You worry unnecessarily” soothed her sister. “For nature will see that the child is in proportion to your own body. There is no reason for you to be afraid”.

  Anne fell silent, her fears temporarily alleviated. Mary steered her towards the bed. “Now sister, you lie down whilst I fetch Doctor Butts. Let us get this pregnancy safely confirmed so that you can begin taking the proper precautions, as I did”.

  Anne allowed herself to be helped on to the bed where she lay down as instructed and stared unseeingly at the embroidered canopy above her. Her heart felt as though it were a bird fluttering to be free from her chest and her whole body tingled with excitement.

  Soon Mary came bustling back, followed by a Doctor Butts looking even more flustered than was usual for him. He stood by her beside and regarded her carefully. “Your sister tells me that you suspect yourself to be with child, Lady Rochford” he began. “If Your Ladyship will allow, I will perform an examination to ascertain if this may be fact”.

  “Please proceed, Doctor Butts” replied Anne joyfully, then half raising herself she called to Mary. “Make sure no-one enters, sister”. Her sister nodded in a conspiratorial fashion and placed herself firmly against the door.

  Doctor Butts examined her slowly and gently, asking questions similar to those asked by Mary earlier. At last he straightened his aching back and looked down at her anxious face. “Although there are not any outward signs as yet, your symptoms confirm my diagnosis. Saying that, it is hard to say exactly how far advanced you are, Lady Rochford, but I would estimate that you should be delivered in either late August or early September”. He leaned towards her and patted her shoulder. “Congratulations, my Lady. I hope I shall have the privilege of delivering the King’s heir?”

  Smiling roguishly up at him, Anne said softly “You saved me from the sweating sickness Doctor Butts, when my life was despaired of. I would trust no other but you to help me through my labours”.

  Significantly, the physician bowed his way from her presence, as though she already wore a crown. Anne eased herself off the bed and decided to at once break the news to the royal father-to-be. The time has come for him to keep his side of the bargain, she thought to herself.

  Mary stood aside as she approached the door, a look of understanding flashing between then as Anne opened the door and turned in the direction of Henry’s adjoining apartments. “Not a word to any” she called softly over her shoulder to Mary, who nodded fervently.

  Anne calculated that the King should just have finished playing his daily quota of tennis and would therefore be either on his way up from the courts or changing in his chamber. It was the latter; Henry was standing alone in his ante-chamber, rubbing his face briskly with a soft cloth. He was still dressed in his tennis garb so evidently had only just returned.

  “Anne!” he exclaimed as she appeared in the doorway. “I looked for you in the spectator’s gallery but could not see you”.

  “Sadly I was unable to attend” she replied gravely, fighting to hold back her smiles. “I was assailed by a slight indisposition, but happily I am now quite recovered”.

  At once he ceased his towelling. “What kind of indisposition?”

  Ignoring his question, she moved closer, tapping with her finger the golden “B” which hung from her pearl collar. “It is time this “B” was replaced by an “M” Henry” she said softly. As realisation began to dawn on his face, she announced happily “Your son will be arriving in late August or early September, according to our worthy Doctor Butts”.

  Wordlessly he embraced her tenderly. As they drew apart she was touched to see that his eyes were full of tears. “We shall be married tomorrow” he told her. “It will need to be a secret ceremony; one of the turret rooms will suffice. I will arrange everything and let you know the time once it is set”. He clasped her to him again, murmuring her name over and over; such was the joy of the moment, she too was moved to tears.

  In the early hours of the following day, January 25th 1533, an uncharacteristically white and shaking Anne was helped slowly up the winding stone steps to a small attic room in one of the turrets of Whitehall palace.

  As she came slowly into the room, the King, who was already waiting, hurried forward to assist Margaret Wyatt in lowering her to a hastily provided chair. Once she was safely seated, Margaret discreetly withdrew a few paces as the King squatted on his heels beside Anne. Looking anxiously into her face he asked in a low voice “Is all as it should be sweetheart?”

  Anne gave him a small apologetic smile as she replied “Rest assured that everything is very well. I apologise for my extreme pallor and apparent weakness Henry, but you know how things are with me and this hour of the day but compounds it”.

  He smiled adoringly at her, then got to his feet and crossed the room to speak to his chaplain.

  Margaret Wyatt immediately returned to her side. “Are you all right Anne? Do you need anything?”

  “No, thank you Meg. This business should not take long”. Anne swallowed hard in an effort to suppress a rising nausea and looked about the tiny room with interest. It was about twelve feet square with a sloping roof, any daylight admitted through the tiny latticed window under which she sat. Her thoughts suddenly catapulted back to her clandestine meetings with Harry Percy; had they indeed spent time together in this very chamber? She swallowed hard again, this time with a nostalgic regret for those innocent days now long gone. Pulling herself out of her reverie, she saw that a makeshift altar had been erected in the far corner of the room, draped with a crimson and gold cloth. Dawn was only just breaking and the room was lit by flickering torchlight which projected grotesque patterns onto the whitewashed walls.

  Henry appeared by her side and assisted her to her feet. “We are ready to begin now” he told her. Unsteadily, with Henry holding her firmly, she approached the altar and stood before the chaplain. Margaret Wyatt stood a little behind Anne; George Boleyn and Henry Norris stood behind their King.

  The ceremony was brief, being merely the exchange of vows between two consenting parties. Her wedding over, the King’s new wife returned gratefully to her chair and sat down abruptly; wondering vaguely why the King and Norris were in such close discussion with their backs to her. Soon she found out.

  The two men approached her, and then the King motioned to Norris who produced a small package from the folds of his cloak. Henry placed the package on Anne’s lap and kissed her fondly on the forehead, saying “Here is a small gift to mark this most happy occasion”.

  Her sickness temporarily forgotten, Anne eagerly untied the strings and opened the small wooden box. Inside was a small, beautifully wrought mantel clock, its solid silver case engraved with the royal coat of arms. Anne smiled gratefully up at her husband, and then clasping the clock in her arms said simply “Thank you Henry. I shall treasur
e it always”.

  Formalities over, the small gathering began to break up. The altar was carefully dismantled and Norris assisted the King to his apartments whilst Margaret assisted Anne back to her bed. George Boleyn prepared to leave for Hever to inform his parents that the marriage had taken place.

  “What a very secret wedding that was!” Anne commented lightly as she sank back into her pillows. “Even yours and Anthony’s was a more public affair than mine!” Margaret had been married to Sir Anthony Lee for just four weeks, and although she did not yet know it, was already expecting a child.

  Henry did not return to his bed, but sat alone in his chamber formulating the final steps of his divorce. His first act was to pen a short note to the Pope nominating Thomas Cranmer for the vacant post of Archbishop of Canterbury. Naturally he did not mention that he had already married Anne, for Clement still believed that Henry was awaiting his final judgement on the case. Henry wanted Cranmer safely installed as Archbishop so that he could pronounce Catherine divorced, according to the rules of the newly formed breakaway English church.

  Chapter 25 - Coronation

  By the middle of February most of Anne’s sickness had subsided and she was beginning to feel extraordinarily well. Other than close friends and family, her wedding and pregnancy were still unknown to the court, although Anne was so full of herself that she could not resist dropping heavy hints.

  She was with a number of friends in her presence chamber when she called to a page to bring her a bowl of apples. Wyatt, who was sitting near her, immediately commented “But you do not eat apples; you have never liked them overmuch”

  Her eyes sparkling, she turned to him, her finger at her lips in a conspiratorial gesture. “I must confess that you are right Tom” she told him. “But of late I have had an insatiable desire for hard, juicy apples. The King tells me I must be with child!” Her voice rose. “Do you hear me, all? The Kings says I must be with child, but I have told him that I cannot be. Oh no, I cannot!” Then she dissolved into helpless laughter whilst her companions looked on in amazement.

  Throwing a concerned glance in her brother’s direction and noting his puzzled expression, Margaret wordlessly ushered Anne towards her bedchamber. But even with the stout wooden door firmly closed, Anne’s laughter could still be heard from within, interspersed with Margaret’s voice begging her to calm herself.

  Eventually, Anne did calm. “What makes me behave so?” she asked her friend.

  “It is natural in your condition” soothed Margaret. “You are the King’s wife and you carry his child. It is an exciting time for you but circumstances force you to be discreet at a time when you want to shout it to the world. For pity’s sake Anne, you must keep your secret a little longer. If the Pope’s spies should hear of it, Cranmer may well be prevented from becoming Archbishop and then it would be difficult for the English church to break away from Rome as planned”.

  “Of course you are right” Anne reasoned, sighing heavily. “I just want everyone to know because I want to talk about it! I remember Mary was the same when she was carrying her Hal. Every waking moment she wanted to discuss her symptoms, her layette… “.

  “Why not talk of such things to me?” suggested Margaret coyly. “I too like to talk of babies”.

  Anne frowned, then realisation dawned. “Meg! You too?”

  “It must be catching!” laughed Margaret happily. “Yes, I too am with child and should be welcoming my little one around the end of September”.

  “That is wonderful!” Anne got to her feet and embraced her friend. “No doubt Anthony is delighted?”

  “Absolutely” Margaret confirmed. “He says he thinks that I shall be embarrassingly fruitful”.

  “Does he, by goodness! Perhaps you should have married the King instead of me!”

  Margaret pulled a wry face. “I do not think I would have been able to hold his interest for as long as you have. Anyway, I do not think I would be a very suitable queen!”

  “I was not exactly born to such an exulted position” Anne reminded her.

  “Maybe not” Margaret replied. “But remember, you always had to be the queen in our childhood games. No-one else could get a look in!”

  Anne nodded happily, recalling those carefree days. “I hope such apprenticeship will stand me in good stead for the future!”

  Despite Anne’s indiscreet behaviour, somehow the news of her condition was contained within her intimate circle. At the end of February, the Pope confirmed the appointment of Thomas Cranmer as Archbishop of Canterbury; everything seemed to be going as planned.

  After a suitable interval, Anne’s brother George was despatched to France to personally inform Francis of King Henry’s marriage and expected heir. In April a formal announcement was made to both Houses of Parliament that the King’s marriage to Catherine was invalid and that the King had taken a new wife. With much bullying, Henry managed to get Parliament to pass what he termed as an Act in Restraint of Appeals, which denied the Pope any right to interfere with matrimonial cases in England.

  Finally, a deputation was sent to Catherine from the King, informing her that from that day forward she was to be known as the Princess Dowager of Wales. She was offered tempting bait if she would acknowledge the King’s new marriage; the company of her daughter Mary coupled with a large palace and a generous income. However her pride would not allow her to accept any of the terms and she sent word to Henry that she would never acknowledge Anne as Queen.

  Despite Catherine, preparations forged ahead for Anne’s coronation. Henry was planning the most lavish ceremony and celebrations ever seen for a Queen Consort. He deeply regretted that she had been denied a public wedding and the coronation was to make up for all the secrecy hitherto.

  The final stages of the divorce and establishment of the church in England were implemented on 23rd May 1533 when at a special court in Dunstable, Cranmer gave his official judgement that the marriage between Catherine and Henry was unlawful. He forbade them to cohabit and pronounced them both free to remarry. Five days later at Lambeth, he judged that the marriage of Henry and Anne was lawful.

  On the following day, the 29th, Anne’s coronation celebrations began. Riding in the barge that had once been Queen Catherine’s, she left Greenwich palace for the Tower. The Thames was alive with other craft, most decked in gorgeous apparel; some containing musicians, others containing actors performing various pageants for her amusement. Anne waved and smiled to the people on the boats and barges and to those lining the river banks, inclining her head graciously at the cheers. She also heard plenty of catcalls and hissing, but kept her bright smile firmly fixed in place throughout. As her barge approached the water gate of the Tower, just before 5 o’clock, a booming of guns from the ramparts announced her arrival. She alighted carefully, her flowing robes cleverly concealing her five and a half month pregnancy, and was lovingly received by the King who had arrived unannounced on an earlier barge.

  He led her to the Queen’s apartments within the Tower, newly refurbished in her honour, and then left her to the ministrations of her ladies. Despite the grandeur of her surroundings, Anne shivered as she looked about her. “I do not like this place” she confided to her ladies. “There is anguish and evil here for I feel it reaching out to engulf me!”

  “Your Grace must not fret” soothed her sister in law, Jane Rochford. “Your condition makes you fanciful; you can have nothing to fear from this place”.

  Jane’s envious eyes fastened upon Anne’s swelling abdomen, then she looked down at herself regretfully. She stood no chance of ever being in a like condition for her shrewish ways had driven George from her. Even before their marriage had broken down, George had preferred to spend his time with his sister rather than her. Jane had always been jealous of Anne’s allure and in her own mind felt that George had deserted her for his sister. This fact had turned Jane’s love for her husband into hatred; she never missed a chance to spy on them and hoped for a chance to one day pay them both back
for what she saw as their rejection of her.

  The following day, a Friday, was spent quietly within the Tower precincts. Anne needed to rest ahead of the upcoming ceremony and celebrations, meanwhile the King created and invested eighteen Knights of The Bath who would accompany Anne as she rode to Westminster the following day.

  Saturday dawned fine and bright; Anne was woken early and after breaking her fast privately in her chamber, was dressed in a sumptuous white damask and velvet gown embellished with pearls and diamonds which was cunningly cut to draw the eye away from her swelling body. Around her neck she wore a necklace composed of large pearls which she had chosen from the bulging royal jewel coffers and had previously been worn by Catherine on state occasions. Her hair was left to flow free and uncovered, with just a simple gold coronet to keep it in place.

  Assisted by her chosen ladies, she walked carefully down the stone stairs from her apartments and out into the sunshine where a luxurious horse drawn litter awaited her. With effort, for the dress was heavy and she encumbered and unbalanced by her growing bulk, she climbed awkwardly into the padded seat made for her, then allowed her ladies to drape her skirts becomingly, and to arrange her hair neatly. She was silent throughout this, thinking with some trepidation of the reception she was likely to receive once on the streets and close to the people. Despite her triumph, she felt less than safe in such close proximity to those who not so many months ago were pursuing her mob handed.