Put me on trial, but let me be judged by a jury who is not composed only of my enemies. If the trial is open and fair, then justice will be evident and my name will be cleared or my guilt proclaimed.
But if you have already decided that my fate is to die so that you may find happiness elsewhere, I pray that God will pardon you and the enemies who helped to construct my demise. Final judgement is with God, and we all will soon enough stand before Him. I have no fear of this, because I am innocent.
My only hope is that I alone will pay for this; that you will pardon the innocent men accused alongside me. If you ever loved me, I beg Your Majesty to grant this request. I pray that God keep you well and aid you as you make your decisions. I write these words to you from my sad and dreary prison cell.
Your Most Loyal and Ever Faithful Wife,
Anne Boleyn
9 MAY 1536
The Tower of London
The Queen’s Lodgings
I have asked to see my almoner that I might take Communion and make my confession, but Lord Cromwell denies me. Even the spiders that spin about my chamber find this to be callous and unfair.
“Why would he not wish Queen Anne to confess to her almoner?” Mrs. Stonor asks Lady Kingston. “He could use a confession against the Queen at her trial.”
Lady Kingston shrugs.
“Even lowly and common criminals are afforded the right to repent before their execution,” Lady Boleyn says. “I shall petition Lord Cromwell on your behalf, Queen Anne.”
“I would be grateful.” I try to smile at my aunt, but it is a limp smile. I have not been able to eat or sleep much the past several days.
“You look poorly,” Lady Shelton says with apparent concern.
“J’ai le cafard.” My teeth feel like cannonballs. I struggle to speak. “It means I have the cockroach, that I have melancholia. I haven’t felt this low since my miscarriage four months ago.”
“You must pray, and ask the Lord for strength.” Lady Boleyn takes my hand.
I am not used to such kindness from these women, and start to cry. “I have lost the words.” I swipe at my eyes. “Have any of you had children come too soon?”
Every woman in the chamber nods.
“Then you understand how wretched it feels. And this last death for me was the most painful because I lost the King’s son. I would not be here had our baby lived.”
“The death of children hurts all mothers,” Mrs. Stonor says. “But the death of the King’s son is the greatest loss.”
I pound the arms of my chair. “And yet there was one who attended me who delighted in that death. The Lady Jane Seymour.”
“That cannot be true,” Lady Shelton says.
“Oh, but it is,” I say. “Never having been with child, she had no understanding of the emotions one feels when carrying a life within. That wench took up with my husband just after I became pregnant with my last baby. Whatever unkindness you all think I did to Katharine, I never was with Henry when she was still able to conceive. But Jane flaunted her affair with the King in my face. She and her best friend, Nan Cobham. And I could do nothing, for she had the favour of the King.”
“But didn’t you humiliate the girl?” Lady Shelton says. “I heard a story in which you put her to shame.”
“You mean the time she blatantly defied me?” I wear anger now as I would a beloved hat. And it is much more fetching than sorrow. “I remember it well.”
* * *
—
It was the summer of 1533, just after my coronation, when I was quite pregnant with Elizabeth. Every day my ladies and I collected items for the poor—scraps of materials, boots, leftover food from the kitchen, the ends of tapers, and coins from those more fortunate. In my court, I promoted charity, piety, and education among my attendants, not just embroidery and gossip. I kept an English Bible in my privy chamber and encouraged my ladies to read it. I believe firmly that a woman’s mind is as capable as a man’s, but it must be cultivated lest it go fallow. Henry has always been an enlightened king, and he valued my discourse on many subjects, especially theology. So I would read Bible passages and discuss them with my ladies to clarify my thoughts before sharing them with the King.
One morning I asked my lady Jane Seymour to select a passage and read it aloud.
She looked at me blankly.
I waved my hand impatiently for her to “read any passage of your choice.”
But not only did she fail to move from her chair, Jane turned away from me and sought out Nan Cobham, as if this woman commanded my court.
I shook my head and said to Lady Rochford, “Is the girl stupid or defiant?”
Lady Rochford shrugged, as perplexed by Jane’s behaviour as I was. Quickly the room filled with whispers.
Jane saw that her behaviour was inappropriate and scurried up to the Bible. She flipped through several pages, but held each by the corner as if to touch the page might give her the sweating sickness.
I waited, but Lady Seymour spoke not a word.
I was now quite frustrated, and my tone became less kind. “Vous avez un chat dans la gorge?” It took a moment before I realized that no one, not even Lady Rochford, understood me. I translated, “Do you have a cat in your throat? Can’t you speak?”
Still Jane said nothing, but her pale skin inflamed.
I leaned over to Lady Rochford and my cousin Madge and said, loudly enough that all my attendants could hear, “You don’t suppose this girl cannot read? That I have a lady in my court of no education?”
Laughter erupted and Jane Seymour started to snivel like a child.
She pled to Nan Cobham, “I can’t. An English Bible is against God’s law.”
“Stupid and vile creature, do you now dishonour the King and his religion?” I pointed my finger to my side and commanded, “Come here!”
Jane approached, even cowered before me, yet somehow maintained a judgemental eye.
I considered slapping her indignant cheek so she’d wear my handprint to dinner, but my dear baby Elizabeth kicked inside me for the first time. “Oh, how remarkable!” I cried with glee. “Feel that!” I placed Lady Rochford’s hand on my womb.
“It must be a boy! Such a fearsome kick,” my sister-in-law crowed, delighted.
“Lady Seymour,” I ordered with a quick wave. “Leave my sight. And pray that I say nothing of your behaviour to His Majesty.”
* * *
—
Lady Shelton shakes her head. “No, I speak of a different incident, one in which you ripped a necklace from Jane Seymour and then slapped her on the face.”
“Oh, I happily admit to that,” I say. “She deserved more than a slap. I tore that locket Henry gave her from around her neck so violently I injured my hand. That happened but a few months ago, soon after I lost my son. I was so miserable. I came to see the King, but he offered me no comfort. His only remark was ‘I’ll have no more sons by you!’ So when Jane had the indecency to gloat in my privy chamber by twirling her locket, I snatched it from her throat and slapped her.”
All the women look at one another, mortified.
“But I’ve met Jane Seymour. She is sweet and harmless,” Lady Boleyn says. “And weak, as if one could crush her with a stare.”
“Perhaps she appears harmless.” I cross the room. “But to survive at court, one must be cunning. Beware the quiet ones, my mother always said. They are the greatest deceivers of all.”
I press my hands against the window. A flock of blackbirds lifts off the lawn. I wish I could break through the glass and fly away with them. “I can admit when I have been outplayed with my own hand.” I return my gaze to the women in the room. “Jane now unseats me in almost the identical manner in which I dethroned Katharine.”
The bile rises in my throat. “The one difference being that Jane wants to take my head and the heads of five innocent men. She’s not content to have only my jewellery, titles, sceptre, and crown.”
“You are impossible, Queen Anne. The mome
nt I start to feel sympathy for you,” Lady Boleyn huffs, “you say things so utterly preposterous.”
“I do, don’t I?” I agree with a bitter laugh. “And I shall pay for them all.”
POOR JANE SEYMOUR
It’s a shame you’ve behaved so obscene.
I have wisdom could pass us between.
But I loathe you, will offer no keen
Advantage to Henry’s next queen.
11 MAY 1536
The Tower of London
The Queen’s Lodgings
By the King’s merciful order, Lord Cromwell allows me to meet with my almoner, John Skip. It has been an immeasurable blessing to have John’s guidance and comfort.
Reading this morning from the Book of Hours that Almoner Skip brought me, I found my mind wandering back to a time before Henry and I were married. We used to send each other secret love notes in a Book of Hours much like the one I cradle now. At the beginning of our romance, Henry and I found many ways to express our passion. We would sneak away on picnics and dance in secluded corners of the garden. We played cards until dawn just to be together. Henry would follow my trail of dropped handkerchiefs around the palace, then attack me with kisses.
I remember a certain afternoon when we were playing chess. I took out Henry’s queen with my bishop and trapped his king. Anywhere he moved, my queen would now defeat him. I smiled and announced, “Checkmate.”
Henry pushed away from the table. “Enough of chess.” He yanked me out of my chair with great enthusiasm. “I have a surprise for you.”
“I thought you had a meeting with your Privy Council this afternoon?”
“Posh, those things are so tedious. Lord Cromwell will manage without me. What did I make him Lord Chancellor for if not to attend to such matters so I might do as I please?” Henry gently kissed my neck, then whispered into my ear, “And it pleases me to spend the afternoon with you, my love, so fetch your cloak.”
We raced on horseback through fields and forests, down dusty, deserted paths, until we reached Henry’s newest palace at Hampton Court. Cardinal Wolsey, before his death, had spent years building himself this luxurious estate. Completed, it was grander than any palace the King possessed. When Henry first toured it, his eyes had flamed with jealousy. The cardinal immediately made a gift of the house to his sovereign and stifled his own discontent.
“You must see what I have done!” Henry boasted. “It will please you greatly, ma chérie.” He dismissed all attendants and pushed open the ballroom door.
Every eave, every beam was etched with our entwined initials.
I gasped with delight. Henry squeezed my hand, then twirled me around the room in a lively gavotte. At the end of the dance he pulled me so close I could feel his heart beat against my chest. We kissed until we were breathless, our bodies aching to do more. Quickly he led me into his new privy chamber. A velvet jewellery box sat on the bed. He put his arms around my waist and guided me towards it. “Open it, my love.”
Inside was the most beautiful sapphire necklace I had ever seen. “C’est si belle. Merci, merci, mon amour.”
Henry pushed aside the box. Before I could protest, he rolled on top of me, hard with desire.
“We cannot—”
Pressing a finger against my lips, he said, “I know. We will wait until you are Queen, and then I will fill you with sons.” He kissed my neck, my breasts, and panted as he slid my hand inside his breeches. “But there are other ways to satisfy me.”
When I hesitated, he whispered, “I will tell you what to do.”
I was more than eager to obey.
* * *
—
What Henry taught me to do that day sustained him for seven years.
But how quickly things change.
Henry had always given up his mistress as soon as he could bed me again. But when I recovered from my last miscarriage, Henry kept Jane. Something had shifted in him. In his eyes I had become like a snake, poisonous and cursed by God. I lost my usefulness. I lost his heart. He showered Jane, not me, with gifts. I became a tempest of jealousy, and that pushed Henry even further away.
I raged and stamped my foot the last time I caught Jane curled around his feet.
“You are selfish and cruel to torment me like this, with her!” I yelled at the King as I kicked Jane’s skirt.
“Remember to whom you speak!” Henry raised his voice so loud it echoed through the halls.
The wicked strumpet smiled at me.
“You would do well to act as did the one who came before you. She knew how to be Queen!” Henry thundered, then ordered his guards, “Take her out of my sight!”
I could not breathe to speak. But before the King’s guards could drag me off, I stormed of my own will out of the room.
I probably should have accepted Jane; that might have spared Elizabeth the pain of what befalls me now. But then, Katharine knew how to be Queen and she ended up poorly, separated from her daughter, the Lady Mary, and dying destitute and alone.
But at least Katharine kept her head.
Henry wants always the rose and never the thorn. I thought he wanted it all, a partner of a more equal nature. But he does not. Or he does no longer.
Jane is now the King’s tender rose petal, and I have become only that which stabs and causes him pain. But perhaps Henry forgets that a rose without thorns, a flower severed from the branch, smells sweet and looks pretty but withers fast.
My dear King, pas d’amour existe sans douleur. No love exists without pain.
12 MAY 1536
The Tower of London
THE TRIAL OF THE FOUR
The axes turned towards them, four men will pay,
All sentenced to die in five short days.
Their trials were doomed, not a chance had they.
When Henry said guilty, all jurors obeyed.
Mark Smeaton, I hope the devil will flay
You body and soul. No words can convey
My utter remorse for letting you play
Your music at court. I rue every day.
Dear Henry Norris, for you I shall pray.
The Groom of the Stool now cast away.
Loved so by Henry they had to belay
His servant and friend with claims you betray.
Good Francis Weston, your future is grey.
A fine partner in sport, a mate most gay,
Quite highly esteemed, so thus they portray
Their possible foe as lewd and risqué.
Will Brereton, you were there at Calais.
We’ve hunted together, but I must say
I know you least well. Perhaps you fell prey,
Opposed the wrong someone, got in the way.
My fate was sealed by the verdicts today.
But I’ll beg of the King, let Anne alone pay,
And plead that these innocent men he stay.
13 MAY 1536
The Tower of London
The Queen’s Lodgings
“She has been in the privy since before dawn,” Mrs. Coffin complains. “And not for need of it.”
“Queen Anne, come out, have some tea, and let us take off your nightgown and wash your face,” Mary Orchard coos outside the door.
“I am going to die,” I say. I swing open the privy door with great force, then collapse into the chair beside my bed.
All five ladies bustling around the bedchamber freeze.
“There is always hope of a reprieve,” Lady Boleyn offers, but the slant in her eyes reveals what she truly thinks and what we all know: Henry will never stay my execution.
The room is warm; still I shiver. The accused men were found guilty and sentenced to die yesterday. My brother and I will suffer the same fate in two days.
“I searched my soul last night and discovered why it is God’s will that I should die.”
“Queen Anne, perhaps you should rest.” Mrs. Orchard tries to brush back my hair.
I push her hands away. “I shall rest soon enough. You must u
nderstand this—in God’s eyes I owe retribution, not for a crime I committed against the King, but for an injustice I did to another.”
Lady Shelton, Lady Boleyn, and all my attendants surround me with cloths, a blanket, nourishment, and other items of comfort. But I want none of it.
“God is punishing me for my ill-treatment of the Lady Mary.”
Mrs. Coffin’s eyes widen. “Then the rumours are true. You tried to poison Princess Mary?”
“What? I did no such thing!”
Lady Shelton sets down the basin of water to cleanse my face, then separates from the rest of the group. “No, but what you did to Mary, the way you forced me to discipline her—poisoning the girl might have been kinder.”
I feel as if something caged inside me breaks out of my chest. “I once said Mary will be my death, and I will be hers.”
Lady Boleyn looks confused. “You cannot mean that Lady Mary is responsible for your death?”
I take a deep breath, then explain. “You all know that after I was crowned, Henry demanded that his subjects sign an oath which declared that he held supreme authority over both church and state in England, and that I was his only legitimate wife. Everyone either signed the oath or was hauled to the Tower. Lady Mary and Princess Dowager Katharine refused to sign it. However, unlike all others, they were not imprisoned. But their failure to do what Henry wanted infuriated him.
“He stormed around Westminster, so livid at Mary he punched his hand through the back of a chair. ‘She is disrespectful, disobedient, and more stubborn than her mother!’ he cried. ‘She won’t sign the oath? Then she will be made to understand her place!’ ”
Lady Kingston gasps.
I look down. “I hate to remember what happened next.”
Fatal Throne: The Wives of Henry VIII Tell All Page 10
