Moth To The Flame

by Angela Warwick

  Before she had time to protest further, he was clumping his way towards the door. As it opened to allow him out, Anne caught sight of Jane Seymour waiting for him in the chamber beyond. With a muffled oath which would have done credit to the roughest commoner, Anne picked up a precious crystal goblet and hurled it with all her strength at the closing door. As the jamb met the door frame, the goblet hit the carved panels and smashed into a thousand tiny pieces. “Shattered! Even as my life” Anne murmured bitterly.

  Chapter 32 – Impending Doom

  The obviously serious rift between the King and Queen had not gone unnoticed by the powers that be at court.

  Master secretary Cromwell, ever seeking ways to ingratiate himself still further into Henry’s royal favour, one day conceived a plan which he believed would promote his own interests beyond his wildest dreams.

  Henry Tudor was seated at his work table whilst Cromwell stood beside him, slipping various papers in turn in front of the King for the royal signature. Henry trusted his master secretary implicitly, so only gave each document a cursory glance before appending his signature, handing the paper to a clerk for sanding and looking for the next.

  When at last state matters were done, Cromwell took the documents from the clerk and sent the boy away. Flipping absently through the folio, Cromwell observed slyly “It seems Your Grace’s mind wanders from state matters this day”.

  Henry swung round angrily to face him. “You are implying that your monarch becomes senile?”

  “No, Your Grace” interjected Cromwell hastily. “I only feel concern that Your Grace appears to have problems which far outweigh the monotony of autographing state papers”.

  “Your intuition is correct” replied a glum monarch. “It is a personal problem which afflicts my heart and my conscience”. He paused, momentarily reluctant to voice his thoughts to another then continued. “I feel that my marriage to the Queen has broken down and that for the sake of my realm I should marry a younger woman who can give me children”.

  “Divorce?” suggested Cromwell glibly.

  Henry shook his head emphatically. “My people would never condone another divorce so soon after the first. No, divorce alone will not do”. He rested his elbows on the table before him musing “If only the Queen’s conduct were suspect…”

  Cromwell suppressed the crafty expression which crept across his face before breaking in. “Supposing I could prove such?”

  Henry’s mouth dropped open in surprise as he met Cromwell’s unreadable gaze. “You have information which could make us doubt the integrity of our Queen?” he roared.

  Cromwell inclined his head slightly, searching for the words with which to construct his answer. After a pause, he said slowly “I could perhaps provide written testimonies proving that Her Grace has been somewhat indiscreet”.

  Henry stood up suddenly, his chair tumbling backwards. “Tittle tattle and bedchamber gossip will not do” he warned.

  Cromwell waved his hand dismissively. “I am a lawyer Your Grace; you can trust me to sift the fact from the gossip”.

  Henry moved towards the great fireplace, hands rubbing his face thoughtfully. Suddenly he stopped and wheeled round. “Such matters must be thoroughly looked into, Master Cromwell. See to it!”

  Thomas Cromwell had been about the King long enough to know that such words signified that he should leave the royal presence at once and set about gathering his information; but he could not resist one final parting shot “Mistress Seymour would make Your Grace a meek and loving Queen” he said silkily, as he bowed himself out.

  Henry, by now back in front of his work table, set his jaw consideringly, then thumped his fist hard upon the table top, scattering quills and ink. “By God she would!” he roared approvingly.

  Since her miscarriage Anne had been shunned openly by the King and his immediate circle. Her sense of impending doom had been in no way alleviated when information had been brought to her that at the very same time she had lain in premature childbed, Catherine of Aragon had been interred in Peterborough Abbey.

  The only members of the court who visited her in her disgrace were her own family and long standing close friends. Looking about her vast chambers, peopled by only a few dozen whereas months before there had scarcely been room to stand, Anne could not help but observe that in her adversity she had at least learned the identities of her true friends and supporters.

  “You must force your way back into the King’s affections!” urged her brother George. “After all those years waiting in the wings, you cannot resign centre stage without protest!”

  “He no longer desires me” Anne replied frankly. “My brief enchantment soon lost its significance once I had miscarried a brace of boys”.

  “You have indeed flown too close to the flame” muttered George, alluding to a conversation they had shared many years before.

  “And scorched my wings beyond repair” Anne agreed sadly. “There is no way I can lure him back now, George. I have lost the power to bewitch him; he knows all my ways too well”.

  “You still have power over some of us though!” interrupted Henry Norris gallantly. “For all of us present today, you are the light of our lives! See how we dodge our duties to our sovereign lord in order to dance attendance upon Your Grace!”

  Desperate to know herself to be loved and desired still, Anne was all too ready to respond. Looking about herself, she laughed lightly. “I must admit that the majority of my adherents are male” she observed, curving her mouth into that mysterious smile which had captivated Kings on both sides of the channel. “Come Norris, Wyatt … all of you. We shall dance away the tediousness of this sheltered existence”. She signalled to her musicians to strike up a merry tune, and then abandoned herself to the arms of first Henry Norris, then her brother and finally Thomas Wyatt.

  At last she stood, breathless and laughing, within the circle of her admirers. “Goodness!” she gasped. “You gentlemen dance with such energy and ardour that it seems that you quite forget that I am your Queen!”

  Believing them to be amongst friends, William Brereton broke in “And surely if you were not our Queen, we would all be suitors for your hand!”

  Anne smiled delightedly before her face assumed a serious expression. Looking towards Brereton she said softly. “If that be so, then maybe it is better for you gentlemen not to speak of that which is in your hearts. You and I know such words to be merely courtly jest; however the King’s spies may twist it to something other than that”.

  Their faces stared back at her in amazement. “You think yourself spied on, Nan?” asked Wyatt incredulously, betraying the special feelings between them by using her pet name publicly and without rebuke.

  Curling her finger, she motioned them all closer. “I am sure of it” she confirmed. “Although I feel sure that there cannot be any spies amongst today’s gathering”.

  Mark Smeaton had left his place amongst the musicians and unnoticed by any, had crept closer to her. Suddenly, his boyish passions so aroused that he could bear no more, he forced his way through the little circle of her friends and dropped on his knees before her, “They have no evidence against you Madam!” he cried. “And even if they could concoct any, I for one would gladly die for you!” With that, he reverently kissed the hem of her gown.

  Anne looked thoughtfully down at his bent head, then leaned forward and lightly caressed his crisp dark curls. “I pray to God that you will not be called upon to do any such thing” she whispered gravely.

  Whilst Anne’s attention was diverted, Jane Rochford slipped quietly from the chamber, a spiteful smile about her lips. She had done her job well, she decided. Master Cromwell would be most interested to learn of the conversation that afternoon in the Queen’s privy chambers.

  Cromwell was indeed interested; he listened solemnly to Lady Rochford’s account then sent her away with a generous monetary reward. As the door closed behind her, Cromwell rose from his desk and pulled aside a curtain behind it to reveal a recess
, wherein sat a clerk scribbling swiftly upon a large sheet of parchment. “You recorded the Lady’s statement?” Cromwell asked shortly.

  “Indeed Sir” replied the clerk, sitting back in his chair and regarding the document before him with satisfaction. “Every word the Lady Jane uttered has been recorded and suitably embellished as per your instructions”.

  Cromwell’s tense features dissolved into a smile. “Let me have a copy as soon as possible. Then, issue an invitation to Master Mark Smeaton to dine here with me tomorrow evening”.

  Without waiting for his menial’s reply, Cromwell allowed the curtain to swing back and returned to his desk. At last I have found the weak link in the chain, he thought to himself with satisfaction. Humble Mark Smeaton would be easy to break, especially if he had not the wit to suspect an ulterior motive behind the magnanimous dinner invitation!

  And so it was that the dinner for which Mark set out with high hopes and dressed in his finest clothes, turned into a tortuous nightmare. Once the boy was seated at his table, Cromwell signed to two ruffians who tightened a knotted rope about Mark’s head until he half fainted away in agony, whilst Cromwell barked a series of unthinkable questions at the terrified youth.

  Poor Mark had neither the will nor the depth of character to bear such torture with fortitude and soon Cromwell was in possession of the desired confession. Under cover of darkness, Smeaton was transferred, broken and bleeding, to the Tower of London, from whence he could only expect to finally emerge to die the traitor’s death. Smeaton had confessed himself guilty of high treason; he had stated that on no less than seven occasions he had committed adultery with Anne, Queen of England; moreover, he had also been persuaded to implicate four others from her circle.

  On 30th April, Cromwell placed written evidence of the Queen’s indiscretions before his King. The document included the names of five men with whom Anne had apparently both slept and plotted together with times, dates and the places where the offences were committed. Also included were the results of Jane Rochford’s spying and Mark Smeaton’s personal confession.

  “You believe all this to be true?” Henry tapped the document with his finger as he spoke.

  “It is all there in black and white Your Grace” Cromwell replied smoothly. “It seems that the Queen was prepared to go to any lengths to secure an heir for England; even to foist a bastard on the throne”.

  Henry looked suitably aghast at such a suggestion, then his thoughts flew to the one child she had borne him, Elizabeth.

  He voiced his thoughts “What of Elizabeth?”

  “There is no doubt that she is Your Grace’s true daughter” Cromwell soothed. “If Your Grace will quickly read through the dates of the Queen’s offences, it can be seen that the first of these acts only took place after the child’s birth”.

  Henry was still not convinced. “These dates are only based on the information that your people were able to uncover. What if she slept with another man at about the same time as she became my mistress? She may have cleverly covered her tracks”.

  “Possibly…” Cromwell admitted dubiously. “But I believe Your Grace need not trouble yourself over the paternity of the Princess; remember that the majority of the testimonies come from Lady Rochford, wife of George Boleyn. She was a member of the Queen’s circle long before Your Grace’s marriage”.

  Henry pondered. “We are relieved to hear it” he said at last. “For despite the fact that the Queen’s only living child is but a girl, Elizabeth is a bright and gifted child and we are proud to be her sire”.

  Gathering up the papers, Henry paced uneasily about the chamber, his eyes scanning the incriminating evidence. “This testimony naming Norris as one of her lovers” he indicated the place on the document. “I cannot believe that of him!”

  Cromwell sighed deeply but silently; he had been expecting such a reaction. “Your Grace, Smeaton himself implicated the gentleman”.

  “But Norris is always in or near my bedchamber” protested the King. “As a gentleman of my privy chamber he is always in close attendance and I for one cannot remember a single occasion when a long absence was noticed”. He dropped his eyes again to the document. “Brereton though, I can well believe it of him. Weston too; I have often seen him leering in the Queen’s direction”. Henry paused and looked piercingly at Cromwell. “Smeaton surprises me though; he is very young and untidy and the Queen has always been so fastidious”.

  “There is also the question of the Queen’s relations with her own brother” Cromwell reminded him gently.

  “Incest is an ugly word and a heinous crime” Henry conceded distastefully. He lowered the document and fixed Cromwell with a baleful gaze. “I shall expect such an allegation to be fully proved, Cromwell”.

  Cromwell inclined his head in a gesture of assent. “In order that these accusations can be made clear in Your Grace’s own mind, may I suggest that Your Grace closely observe the behaviour of the Queen and her lovers at tomorrow’s May Day joust?”

  Henry considered for a moment. “A good idea, Cromwell; a most excellent suggestion. I shall watch all concerned with the utmost diligence”.

  Chapter 33 – May Day

  The brightly coloured bunting fluttered gaily in the gentle breeze; the cornflower blue sky and slight chill in the air proclaiming a typical English spring day.

  Anne had dressed most carefully for this her first public appearance with the King since her miscarriage; indeed had paid such minute attention to every detail that as she approached the royal dais with her ladies, could see that she was late in arriving as the King had already taken his seat.

  Once in front of the dais she performed the required obeisance to her monarch then gracefully climbed the three steps to her own chair, placed alongside his. All through this little ritual it had not gone unnoticed by Anne that the King had never once looked directly at her. It was only as she took her seat that she sensed his eyes upon her and only by looking up quickly did she meet his suspicious gaze before he averted his eyes.

  So he sulks still, thought Anne to herself, as with pursed lips she arranged her skirts. Then, as a little of her natural rebelliousness surfaced, she decided that if he did not want to speak to her, she would also remain silent.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Henry regarded the woman for whom he had turned his realm upside down. Anxious to condemn her in his own mind, he mistook her calm demeanour as efforts to mask her guilt. With rising anger he watched her acknowledge the combatants in the celebration joust as they filed in front of the dais; he saw her raise her hand in greeting to her brother and watched her mouth curve into a generous smile as her eyes rested upon Weston, Brereton and Norris.

  Once the joust was ready to begin, Henry got to his feet and gave the signal which sent the opening pair thundering down the lists towards each other, then sat down heavily in his chair.

  Perceptively sensing the King’s tension Anne looked at him fearfully, her hard-won composure stretched to breaking point. He was wearing, she noted, a similar expression to that he had assumed when facing Catherine across the court at Greyfriars; an expression of open dislike coupled with resentment and intense anger.

  Biting her lip, Anne once more turned her attention towards the joust, although she could not but fear that at last he was planning to take his revenge upon her for not only thwarting his ambitions for a son, but also for holding out against him in the first place and wasting so many years.

  Eventually the joust culminated in a thrilling battle between Sir Henry Norris and a lesser gentleman of the court, a battle from which Norris emerged the victor. As he approached the dais to claim his prize, Anne rose to her feet, applauding enthusiastically. Henry Norris bowed three times before finally standing in front of his sovereigns and removing his helm.

  Deprived of the stimulating conversation and interaction which she usually shared with the King, Anne, on seeing the knight’s face drenched with perspiration, playfully threw him her handkerchief. Gallantly Norris made th
e courtly gesture of wiping his brow with the scrap of silk before handing it back to her. At the very same moment as their eyes met and their hands touched, the King stood up abruptly, scraping his chair noisily across the boards. Then he turned on his heel and strode off in the direction of the palace without a backward glance. Anne had not been quick enough to see the King’s expression, but she knew by the set of his shoulders as he walked away and by the ugly purple patches on the back of his neck that he was in a high temper over something.

  Shaking her head in disbelief, she met Norris’s concerned gaze before shrugging her shoulders in a gesture displaying utter incredulity and confusion.

  With the King gone, the celebrations immediately ceased. Anne and her ladies made tracks towards the palace whilst those of the King’s gentlemen who had completed their rides hurried to get changed in order that they might rejoin their monarch.

  Anne had barely arrived in her apartments before she heard a great clatter of hooves in the courtyard below. Moving quickly to the window and looking down, she saw the King and a small party making off towards London. For the very first time in her brief marriage, Henry had left her behind.