by V. E. Lynne
The game seesawed back and forth, both men taking and then losing the advantage, and the queen could not decide whom to bet on. When Weston finally won, his shout of triumph echoing around the court, Anne was vexed with herself. “I should have placed a bet on him,” she said. “He has always had good luck.” The crowd was still applauding his victory when a gentleman messenger entered and walked up to the queen.
He bowed swiftly and delivered his message without delay. “Madam, you are commanded, by order of the king, to present yourself before the Privy Council at once. I shall conduct you there forthwith.”
Anne glanced about Bridget uncertainly and said to the man, “Why must I go?”
But he offered no explanation, merely repeating his original message. “Please, madam, you must come with me now.”
“Very well,” Anne replied firmly. “If the king orders it, then I must obey. Bridget, you will accompany me.”
“Your Majesty, the presence of the maid is not necessary,” the messenger protested, but Anne silenced him with an icy look.
“It is necessary to me. Come, let us go.”
The queen and Bridget followed the man through the palace towards the Privy Council chambers. This must be the point that Cromwell had been working towards, the disgrace of the queen, Bridget thought. For witchcraft? For lack of a son? For whatever crime Smeaton had “confessed” to under torture? It was impossible to say. Whatever the case, Bridget feared that they had spent their last night in the comfort of Greenwich Palace.
They reached the chamber door and the messenger announced Anne’s arrival. “Her Majesty the queen,” he intoned, then he stepped aside to allow her to enter. Anne exhibited no nervousness, except for her action of grabbing Bridget’s hand and pulling her into the room with her. The queen’s palms revealed her true state of mind. They were slippery with sweat.
Within the room, three men were seated at a wide table. They immediately stood and bowed as one. Anne curtseyed in response and said, “Good day, my lords. I must say I am annoyed to be called here at such short notice. I was enjoying a tennis match.”
The men did not reply. All three of them were unsmiling, their faces hard. Bridget recognised two of them—the queen’s uncle, the hawk-like Duke of Norfolk, who was no friend these days to his niece. His eyes glittered with resolve and with another emotion . . . was it regret? It was there and gone so quickly that Bridget barely caught it. The second man was Sir William Fitzwilliam, treasurer to the king and brother of the Countess of Worcester. He looked immensely pleased with himself, and Bridget’s mind jagged back to the conversation she had overheard between Fitzwilliam and his sister, wherein she had said that her behaviour was no worse than the queen’s and he might ask Mark Smeaton about it if he liked. Perhaps he had taken his sister’s rash advice. In Bridget’s head a little piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
The third man Bridget had only ever seen at a distance, and now she recalled that Catherine had pointed him out to her as the king’s comptroller, Sir William Paulet. His face was set in lines as serious as the others, but his eyes betrayed him. They were kindly. He was the only one who looked sorry to be there.
The Duke of Norfolk spoke, “Madam, by the powers granted to us as the king’s commissioners, you are accused of evil and infamous behaviour and you are charged with having committed adultery with Sir Henry Norris, Mark Smeaton, and one other. Both Norris and Smeaton have admitted their guilt.”
Bridget let her mouth fall open in astonishment. Adultery with Norris and Smeaton? And “one other” who was not named? So this was what Cromwell had been driving at all along—the talk of witchcraft had been a mere diversion, a clever tactic to distract Anne from his true intentions. Bridget racked her brain for any incident she had witnessed, or heard of, that could lead anyone to think that the queen had actually slept with either of those men. Yes, she had flirted, especially with Norris, but Anne was never alone. She was always being watched, which would make the act of committing adultery very difficult. Yet Norfolk had said that the men had confessed, and Bridget wondered whether the confession had been tortured out of Norris, as it had probably been tortured out of Smeaton. She thought of Will and shuddered.
The duke delivered his dread words and the queen stood as if thunderstruck. Visibly shaking, nonetheless she rallied quickly to defend herself. “My lords, these are shocking accusations and utterly untrue! I have never played the king false. I have been completely faithful to him, and anyone who says otherwise is a liar bound for Hell. Tell me who has made these accusations against me!”
Fitzwilliam sighed heavily and regarded the queen with scorn. “Madam, you are in no position to demand anything, so I suggest you hold your tongue. I can assure you that our intelligence is impeccable.”
Anne stared hard at him until he dropped his eyes and looked away. “What say you, Uncle?” she said, shifting her attention to Norfolk. “You give credence to this nonsense?”
The duke scoffed. “Niece, I have had long acquaintance with your faults and have often feared that you would come to ruin. But even I could not have imagined a calamity such as this. To lie with other men, to lower yourself to sleep with that baseborn musician Smeaton, I thought you would have had more sense, or at least more pride in yourself and your station. But obviously your wicked nature has had its way and look where it has led you. I fear for the health of my sister, your sainted mother, when she hears of this. I really do.” He scoffed some more.
Sir William Paulet looked at the duke with not a little evident displeasure, and then he spoke to Anne. “Majesty, we do not need to say anything more to you right now. You will be conducted back to your rooms where your dinner will be served.” He smiled at her, a sad little smile, and indicated to the guards at the door that they should escort the queen back to her apartments.
Anne walked behind them in silence and arrived back to find that a cheerless, slapdash meal had been prepared for her. Clearly, word that something terrible had happened had travelled fast. Catherine and Joanna sat together, wide eyed, and Lady Worcester and Madge Shelton appeared to be fighting back tears. Mistress Marshall had arrived and was looking about the room in dread. Even Lady Rochford looked sombre, with no light of triumph shining in her eyes.
The serving men and women came in, some plainly upset, and set about serving the queen’s dinner. Bridget sat next to Joanna, still stunned, and whispered the news to her. Joanna leant across and passed on the tidings to Catherine, whose face when told went a pure white. “Where is the king’s waiter?” Anne asked one of the servitors, who did not answer. “He always brings His Majesty’s good wishes to me.”
The queen distractedly ate a small mouthful of her food and barely chewed it before swallowing it down. Nobody spoke. Eventually, she pushed her plate aside with most of the meal still untouched. The servitors sprang into action and began clearing the dinner things away and removing the cloth of estate that Anne had sat under. They were still in the act of doing so when heavy footsteps could be heard approaching the chamber door.
It was pushed open and in strode a contingent of hatchet-faced men. Norfolk was in the lead, flanked by Fitzwilliam and Paulet, as well as the Lord Chancellor, Thomas Audley, and several other figures whom Bridget did not know. Towards the middle of the group stood the Master Secretary, Thomas Cromwell, his hands behind his back, his countenance deliberately impassive. His eyes found Bridget and they briefly flickered with a burst of emotion. Then he concentrated his full attention on the queen.
Anne had stood up at the entry of the group and she faced them as calmly as she could. “Gentlemen,” she said, “I did not expect to see you again so soon. I thought our meeting was over. Why do you come here?”
The Duke of Norfolk, his hands shaking ever so slightly, took out a scroll of parchment and gazed at it intently before raising his head to look at his niece. “Madam, I have here the warrant for your arrest. By the king’s command, you are to be conducted to the Tower, there to abide during His M
ajesty’s pleasure.”
Anne took hold of the edge of the table to steady herself. She took one long breath before replying. “Gentlemen, if it be the king’s pleasure then I am ready to obey. I only ask for some time to gather my possessions and I would like to see my daughter. Also, my ladies will need—”
The older man, Kingston, courteously said, “Madam, you need have no concerns. Everything you require will be provided for you at the Tower.”
“Kingston is right, Majesty. Your needs will be well taken care of,” Paulet chimed in.
Norfolk looked irritated and glared at his niece. “Yes, yes you need have no fears in that regard. In any case, there is no time for you to pack your things or to speak to the princess. You must come with us now. Your ladies are also not needed. Attendants already await you at the Tower.”
Anne looked about her, at her chamber, at the members of her household, and for the first time her panic showed through. “I am allowed to have nothing of my own, Uncle? None of my own possessions, or my own ladies, not even a word to my daughter?” Norfolk stared straight ahead, his features unbending. “I am more than happy to obey the king of course,” Anne went on, her voice controlled, “but I will have one of my own women with me. Mistress Marshall perhaps? No. I shall have Mistress Manning accompany me.”
Anne nodded to her, and Bridget went and stood beside her mistress. Norfolk finally lost his temper. “Niece, you have been told the conditions of your confinement, and we are not here to negotiate with you! It is no good to try and delay your departure. You are coming with us now, we must not miss the tide, and Mistress Manning,” his lip curled contemptuously, “is—”
“Welcome to accompany, Your Majesty” Cromwell interrupted smoothly, his eyes darting to Norfolk in warning. “After all, one little maid can be no bother to anyone.” The Duke and Kingston, whom Bridget presumed must be the Constable of the Tower, appeared annoyed but made no further protest.
Anne smiled in gratitude and moved out from behind the table. “That being the case, then I shall delay you no longer. I am ready to go, gentlemen.”
The knot of men parted and let Anne and Bridget leave the room. Before departing, Bridget threw a last look at Joanna and Catherine, both of whom were distraught. Joanna managed a little wave of farewell.
Outside the chamber, a contingent of halberdiers awaited, there to conduct their royal prisoner to her barge, along with a delegation of councillors. They walked wordlessly along, through the quiet palace, their rhythmic footsteps echoing off the bricks. They reached the privy stairs, the grey stone beasts at the top standing sentinel on either side. Anne ran her hand over the head of one of them as she passed.
The queen and Bridget were ushered onto the barge with due ceremony, a smaller group of councillors joining them on board—Lord Chancellor Audley, the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Cromwell, and Kingston. Anne sat down, her back straight, her eyes staring dead ahead. She did not look back at the palace as the boat pulled away from the stairs.
It was a journey that had all the hallmarks of a nightmare. It was normal practice for a prisoner of rank to be taken to the Tower by night, the darkness covering their terrible voyage from prying eyes. But no such privilege had been extended to Anne. She travelled in broad daylight, an increasing crowd of people gathering along the riverbanks to gawp at her, as word spread of her arrest.
Norfolk had stationed himself opposite his niece and never ceased berating her for the duration of the trip. “You may as well confess now, Anne. Your paramours have already done so. The king may look more kindly upon you if you admit your guilt than if you insist upon obstinately denying it. But, I must say, that any man would struggle to be merciful to a wife who has behaved as you have. Why, you have cuckolded the king with his closest attendant, dare I say it his friend, and you even stooped to tupping with a common lute player!” Norfolk clicked his tongue in disapproval. “I could hardly believe it myself when I heard and I have long known that your true nature was base and wicked. I must admit though that I thought you had more intelligence than this! I mean to say, whatever were you thinking, Anne? Did you so despair of having a son with the king that you sought to place a little pretender in the royal cradle? Or was it your unbridled lust that caused you to invite Norris and Smeaton into your bed? I certainly hope they had some pleasure of you, for they shall surely die for it.”
Norfolk continued on and on, an unceasing tirade that Anne stubbornly ignored. Bridget, seated behind her mistress, tried to focus on the passing river scene in order not only to drown out the words of the duke but to keep her own anxiety under control. The waters of the Thames sparkled in the spring sunshine and the air was pleasantly warm. It would have been an enjoyable journey for any other reason than the one it was being undertaken for. The queen was a prisoner, bound for the Tower of London, a place that had witnessed torture and executions before, though never of a queen. Norfolk spoke of the men dying as a foregone conclusion, but he said nothing of Anne’s fate. The thought that the king might intend to kill his wife, as well as her accused lovers, flitted through Bridget’s mind, but she could not allow herself to believe it. It was far too frightening to contemplate.
Cromwell was seated behind her, and she could feel the barge creak as he leant forward, his sturdy body just inches from her back. He whispered in her ear, his breath warm upon her neck. “Do not say anything, Mistress Manning, just listen. You are sitting here purely on my say so. That means you work for me now. I recommend you do not argue with me on that, lest you find yourself thrown out of this barge and left to your fate. Please, do not test me on this point. Nod if you understand.” Bridget nodded.
“Good girl,” Cromwell said. “I would have hated to have to toss you overboard. You would have no doubt bitten and scratched like a wildcat, and, what is more, Will would never have forgiven me. Now then, I have let you accompany the queen for two reasons—firstly, because I am not quite the villain you take me for, and secondly because you are close to Her Majesty. She will confide in you. You can then report these confidences to Sir William Kingston, who will in turn report them to me. I will be at the Tower from time to time also, so I may receive your accounts first hand.”
Bridget broke Cromwell’s instruction to say nothing and turned to him. Her eyes met his unflinchingly. “I am sure you already have attendants waiting there, carefully selected by you, to act as your informers. You praised my loyalty once, so you know I cannot do as you ask. If that is unacceptable to you, sir, you may as well throw me over the side right now and have done with it. I am no man’s spy.”
Cromwell chuckled, an unfeigned smile spreading over his face. “For a maid of not yet nineteen summers, you have more spirit and much more constancy than many people thrice your age. It is most worthy, but it is also very foolish. Your mistress is almost undone, that much must be clear to you now. Where does that leave you? You have no abbey to return to and precious little family to speak of. Your Boleyn connections will avail you nothing very soon; in fact, they will count heavily against you. So, with all that in mind, what shall you do, little Bridget? Beg in the streets? Sell yourself to the highest bidder? I think not, although you are pretty enough to attract interest. But you would never do that.”
Cromwell stopped talking as the oarsmen guided the barge off the river proper and turned it towards the Tower by the Gate. The queen was obviously going to enter the great, hulking complex by a private entrance. “You are not a stupid girl,” he said, as the barge pulled up to the mossy stairs. “Use your head. You are on your own now and you need someone. You need a protector. I have the power to protect you.”
The boat was quickly and firmly secured to the side of the little wharf, and Sir William Kingston, along with the guards, was the first to alight. The constable offered his hand to the queen and helped her ashore, and he then did the same service for Bridget. The councillors duly followed them.
Anne looked around like a woman in a daydream. A booming sound filled the air and everyone jum
ped. “What is that?” Anne asked anxiously, and Kingston sought swiftly to allay her nerves.
“’Tis only the guns, madam, nothing to fret over,” he replied. “They are always sounded when a prisoner arrives here.”
“Of course, of course,” Anne said. “I knew that.”
A man stepped forward and Kingston introduced him as his deputy, the Lieutenant of the Tower, Sir Edmund Walsingham. He greeted Anne perfunctorily as though there was nothing unusual about the Queen of England coming as a prisoner to his fortress. He informed Kingston that all was in readiness for the queen’s arrival in her designated chambers.
“Thank you, Sir Edmund,” Kingston answered in a pleased tone. “Follow me madam,” and he set out, with his royal charge and the rest of the party following, along a thoroughfare that ran beside the river, past the rear of a large, important-looking lodging, and up to the entrance of the Tower itself.
“Madam!” Bridget noticed that Anne had started to sway, but she was too late to catch her. The queen fell to her knees on the cobblestones. The men looked at her in astonishment, and Kingston darted forward to assist her to her feet but she angrily waved him away.
“My lords, I am not guilty, I swear it before God that I am innocent of these charges! Please,” she beseeched them, “you must speak to the king and tell him. I have never played him false. Please tell him . . .” Her voice broke and she began to cry.
