‘George, do you remember when we were children and one of us got into trouble? We always knew what the other was thinking and as soon as we could, we would escape together, riding out on our horses until we were both far, far away from Hever; exhausted but deliriously happy to be free?’ I took one step toward my brother. My whole countenance had changed, transported to a happy memory of a carefree childhood; the tone of my voice, I noticed, was much softer.
‘Of course, sister! How could I forget?’ George laughed out loud as he went on, ‘We were always as one, you and I. Do you remember our mother used to say that with our high spirits that we would one day be the death of her?’ For a fleeting moment, I thought of Anne and George’s demise and how their mother lived on but barely another two years before dying in obscurity.
Oh my poor mother! Now, here I am in the Tower; I can hear the Yeoman Guard gathering in the courtyard below; soon Master Kingston will come and fetch me to die, and my mother’s prophecy will finally come true; both of her children, dead and gone afore her; it will break her heart. Yet, back then, I had swept those thoughts away, as there was nothing more I wanted to do than live my childhood once more. I longed to be away from the palace, even for a couple of hours; to ride out again with my brother and to be free as the birds in the sky.
‘Then let us escape again, George. Let us taste again the freedom of our youth!’ I started to walk backwards; my arms outstretched inviting him to join me. ‘Are you coming or are you just going to stand there all day?’
‘But the King – and the investiture? Father will be furious!’ George called out after me, but I had already turned and was walking briskly towards the palace stables.
‘What of it?’ I said loudly as if challenging anybody to stop me. I heard George’s feet pick up pace on the gravel pathway behind me and I knew that the wild forest and parkland was ours once more.
I was richly adorned when I set off with my brother through the southern gate of the palace and out into the parkland beyond. I was dressed in a loose fitting, English gown of russet velvet, trimmed with fur. Underneath, was a kirtle of cream damask, whilst on my head, I sported a matching velvet cap, which was decorated with a row of pearls around the crown and a fine white ostrich feather. Wearing soft, leather boots, gloves and a fur-lined riding coat, I looked every inch a fine noblewoman. For a short while, we trotted along, passing several people who were making their way to and from the busy palace complex; mostly merchants going about their everyday business. Then, as the wide expanse of parkland opened up in front of us, I cast a conspiratorial glance at George, and a moment later, we were galloping at full tilt, as if our lives depended upon it, travelling up Castle Hill and away from the palace buildings.
The ride was truly exhilarating; the cold frosty air nipping at our cheeks and searing into our lungs. I felt alive and awed by the sheer beauty of the hoarfrost which cast a stunning display across the trees and vegetation of the Park. At the top of the hill, was a large viewing tower, dominating the skyline and looking down on the palace below. I learned of its reputation from my brother, shortly after arriving at the Palace. The King was not only known to store some of his fine wines there under lock and key, but on occasion his mistresses; with raised eyebrows, I listened as George told me that this had often included our sister, Mary. With these thoughts at the forefront of my mind, we made our way towards it, and when we reached the tower, we slowed our horses down, coming to a halt. Seated side-by-side, atop our mounts, we surveyed the full expanse of the palace precinct and the nearby village of Greenwich; it was a place that I knew so well in the 21st century. How different it looked, how peaceful! I was still not used to just how underdeveloped the surrounding land was in comparison with my modern life. From our vantage point, I could see the River Thames winding its way back towards the City of London, with only the occasional cluster of houses scattered along its banks. In the distance, lay the city itself and the Tower of London, clearly visible against the open countryside.
I was lost in my own thoughts as I reflected again on what I knew of Anne’s life and how the Palace of Placentia at Greenwich would provide the backdrop to two of the most significant occasions in her drama. In 1533, some six years on, as Queen of England, she would give birth to the future Queen Elizabeth I. Henry would put a brave face on what to him represented a dynastic disaster—the failure to produce a son and heir. How could either of them know that Elizabeth in time would prove to be one of England’s most celebrated and successful monarchs; of formidable intelligence, sharp wit, fiery temper and impeccable style, she would always truly be her mother’s daughter. Then, less than three years later, following the annual May Day joust, Henry would walk away from Anne, never to look back, never to say goodbye; the man that I personally had grown to love, who worshipped and idolised Anne, would throw her to the wolves without a backward glance. It was at Greenwich where she would be arrested on what I firmly believed were fabricated charges of treason, incest and adultery; and it would be at Greenwich that Henry would sign her death warrant. I did not for a moment conceive then that I would witness these dramatic events firsthand, in the same way that I was witnessing Henry’s passionate pursuit of Mistress Anne. At that stage, I still did not know what was happening to me. It did not feel like a dream, yet I was not able to comprehend how I had been dragged in to Anne’s life and when I would leave it again.
‘A penny for your thoughts?’ My brother’s voice brought me back to the present moment.
‘Nothing . . . It’s nothing.’ I shook my head and smiled at my brother before changing the subject in the hope that I could distract him onto a different topic. ‘So tell me, dear brother how is your wife, Jane. I do not see the two of you spending much time together.’ There was a long pause while my brother turned to look out wistfully across the parkland. After a few moments, he turned back to me, one arm resting nonchalantly on his hip, the other lightly on the hilt of the saddle. Finally, after much consideration he said,
‘Indifferent and insufferable.’
For a moment there was silence between us. I realised that my brother was mirroring my tirade about Katherine, and suddenly the perversity of our shared fate caused me to erupt into loud and raucous peals of laughter; so much so that I almost lost my balance and slipped backwards off my horse. Tears streamed down my face as I clutched my sides; a stitch from my belly laughter making it difficult to breathe. Of course, my laughter soon became infectious and George and I could not speak further for several more minutes. Eventually it died away and George spoke up.
‘Come sister, let us enjoy today before we must return and face the consequences.’ He raised an eyebrow before turning his horse about and trotting off towards the woodland beyond. I glanced back at the Palace, once again wishing, hoping for a different end for Anne, before I too turned my horse about and followed my brother into the forest.
When George and I got back to the palace in the afternoon, the tournament was underway in the tiltyard. However, from a bright, sunny morning, the day had deteriorated as dark, ominous clouds gathered altering the quality of light. It was to the great frustration of all present that the tournament had to be called off early.
Our father was indeed furious with us when we finally returned to our rooms. How could we have missed the King’s investiture? Where had we been? As a child, Anne would have to stand in front of her father and be accountable for herself, and probably severely punished. However, whilst I knew that Anne respected her father, I felt disinclined to explain my need for escape and freedom, for I knew he understood little of the stresses and strains that my situation placed upon me—and upon Anne. Whilst my poor unfortunate brother received a clip across the ear; as he must have done as a small boy, my punishment amounted to no more than a vexed stare from Sir Thomas. Like the rest of the court, even he had begun to treat Anne with circumspect deference. The Boleyn faction may well have been on the rise, but Thomas Boleyn knew as well as anyone that the King’s great favour was in no s
mall way due to the love he bore Mistress Anne.
In the evening, the entire court feasted in the Banqueting House at Greenwich. This fabulous building of generous proportions overlooked the tiltyard complex. That night it was decked out in rich tapestries, which were shot through with gold and silver thread. Fires roared in two large open fireplaces, warming the hall comfortably against the encroaching winter chill, keeping the guests in good cheer. The flickering of the flames complemented the soft light from hundreds of candles placed around the room. Such lighting created an intimate atmosphere for catching a lover’s eye, or sharing a private conversation. It was also an opportunity for all the notable lords and ladies of Henry’s court to relax, reacquaint themselves with friends or relatives that they had not seen during the long summer and, of course, to make political alliances.
The day’s celebrations culminated in a ‘Masque’ arranged by Cardinal Wolsey. The King was appointed principal participant, and I too participated as one of the six young ladies of the court. It was a splendid arrangement. We ladies hid inside a mount which was called the ‘Riche Mount.’ The mount itself was set full of flowers of silk; the branches were of green satin; on top of the mount stood a beacon which gave off a light, and all around the beacon sat the King and five others, dressed in coats and caps of crimson velvet, embroidered with flat gold of damask, set full of spangles of gold.
Four men had drawn the mount inside the hall until it came to rest before the Queen and the King’s guest of honour, Duc Anne de Montmorency, who as the Grand Master of France, was there to represent King Francis at Henry’s investiture. We had practiced this many times, and so I knew that as we came to rest, the King and his company would descend and begin to dance. After a while, the two small page boys, who were hidden in the mount with us, cast open the doors and we stepped out, helped by our gallant companions. Like the other five ladies, I was dressed in crimson satin and plunket, embroidered with gold and pearls, a French hood adorning my head.
The King and his men stepped aside and allowed the ladies to dance alone so that they could better display their sweeping, elegant and graceful movements. I found myself positioned directly in front of Katherine. But behind my mask, I felt that I could be anybody and I noticed with some mirth, how I danced particularly provocatively. In part, I must confess that I had wanted to use this rare moment to annoy the Queen; in part, I was also aware of Henry’s eyes upon me and I wanted to tempt him with the delights of my flesh. After a while, the gentlemen stepped forward once more. The King came directly over to me and took my hand as we danced only for each other, the friction of the day melting away into hot passion and unrequited sexual tension.
When the dancing was over, we were unmasked and took our applause from the guests; Henry acknowledged the appreciation of the Queen, and the Duc de Montmorency. Then, with a gesture from the King, the music recommenced as other ladies and gentlemen of the court took to the floor to dance a galliard; Henry and I among them.
‘The Queen will not be pleased with you, Your Majesty’ I said as we began to dance, the King circling about me.
‘I do not care about Katherine, as you well know.’ There was a slight edge to his voice before he came to what was first and foremost on his mind. ‘Where were you today?’ He enquired as he took my hand. Gracefully, we stepped first towards each other; our palms pressed together, our lips within a hair’s breath, before we moved away again.
‘Out riding, Sire.’ I replied as Henry came in close and held my waist, facing me.
‘With whom?’ He shot back as he lifted me high into the air.
‘My brother.’ I said as I landed gently back down on the ground.
‘I thought you might wish to see the ceremony.’ I heard the note of wounded pride in Henry’s voice as he took my hand and we hopped forward, flicking out our leading leg as was much the case when one was dancing the Galliard.
‘Your Grace must know that I longed to see you honoured so . . . and yet, I could not bear to see you any longer at Katherine’s side.’ This of course was the truth of the matter. Henry must have known it and his irritation seemed to be promptly assuaged. There was silence between us for some time, while we allowed our bodies to communicate through the dance. After a while, Henry spoke again.
‘You look beautiful, this evening, Anne. As ever, you outshine them all and I wish to behold you with a hundred eyes!’ The King moved behind me, encircling my waist with one arm and brushing lightly across my cheek with the other. I felt a tidal wave of desire wash over me and struggled to control my rising passion. As I looked up, I found myself staring straight into Katherine’s eyes. She had been watching us, her jaw set firmly. If looks could kill, in that moment I would have been dragged down to hell. As the music came to an end, swirling me around, Henry and I faced each other, as I dipped into a deep and lowly curtsey; the King responded with an elegant bow.
‘Come to my rooms later.’ Henry whispered in my ear, ‘I have a surprise for you.’ With those words, the King turned and walked back to the top table. He took his seat once again next to Katherine and within moments, was deep in conversation with the Duc de Montmorency.
I watched Henry walk away, my eyes flicking briefly over to Katherine. Her shame at the way the King had danced so intimately with me, in front of the entire court, was written blatantly across her face. I suspected that this may well have been the most public display yet of the King’s displeasure with his Queen—and of his growing love for Anne. A moment later, my father appeared at my side and voiced my silent thoughts.
‘It is becoming clear to all that the King desires no one but you.’ My father offered me his arm as he walked me back to our seating. Making our way through the crowd, many of the lords and ladies stepped aside, acknowledging us as we moved forward. Both my father and I nodded to them and smiled as we passed. ‘As you can see,’ my father said softly in my ear, ‘word of the King’s intentions is spreading, every day someone declares in our favour.’
‘Yes, and someone also declares in Katherine’s.’ I said grimly.
‘What did the King say to you, just now?’ my father enquired, as he took a goblet of wine from a passing usher and raised it to his lips.
‘He asked me to come to his rooms tonight.’ I too had picked up a gilt silver goblet, speaking from behind it as I held it close to my mouth, so that only my father could hear my words.
‘Does he want to bed you?’ Sir Thomas was never squeamish about discussing matters of a sexual nature when it concerned the King’s relationship with his daughter. I found it somewhat embarrassing at first, but had grown much used to his candour.
‘Of course he wants to bed me!’ I turned to look at my father with my eyebrows raised, making it clear that I thought that he was stating the obvious. However, I continued, ‘He says he has a surprise for me, but don’t worry,’ I added, ‘I have no intention of sleeping with him; although Lord knows it is oftentimes difficult to fend him off.’ I confess that I failed to mention to my father that it was not only Henry’s passion that was becoming increasingly challenging to keep in check.
The rest of the evening passed in a delightful, intoxicating blur. I danced with many of the King’s younger companions, who were increasingly showing themselves as admirers of Anne and supporters of the Boleyn faction. Together with my friends; Nan, Mary and Joan and some of the other maids at court, we shared an evening of flirtatious laughter with these gallant young nobles. My brother held his own court in our little group of friends, telling lascivious stories of bawdy wit and sexual innuendo, which reduced us many a time into great gales of laughter and which had brought disapproving stares from some of the older generation.
The King though, did not speak with me for the rest of the evening. However, I noticed that he was oftentimes watching me with an appreciative smile. As the evening slowly drew to a close, one by one my friends melted away. Our little group was amongst the last to retire and as we left the Banqueting Hall, only five or six of us remained
. The wine had flowed along with the music and laughter, and as I said goodbye to the remaining members of the group and made my way back to my rooms, I heard their high spirited voices as they disappeared down long, half-lit corridors, heading back towards their own quarters. I smiled to myself, as I suspected that some of the courting couples would find themselves delayed in welcome shadows, tasting the delights of their lover’s flesh and warm kisses.
As I mused on this, a well-dressed gentleman suddenly stepped in front of me. I recognised him immediately to be Sir William Compton, one of Henry’s closest companions and confidantes. I had met Sir William on many occasions as he was often at the King’s side, particularly when we had gone hunting or hawking. He had always proved himself to be an entirely affable character, gregarious (as many of the King’s closest male friends were), well mannered and valiant. H e was one of the few individuals who always seemed to go out of his way to avoid the politics of court faction. I suspect that like Charles Brandon, his enduring favour with the King was that he devoted himself entirely, and without question, to the King’s pleasure. I dipped a slight curtsey as I said,
‘Sir William.’ Sir William returned my greeting, replying,
Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Page 17
