Truth Endures

by Sandra Vasoli

  “And you to me, Anne.”

  The words reassured … but his tone? I wanted it to envelop me with warm certitude.

  It did not.

  As he rose to depart, he took my hand and pressed it to his lips. Quietly he said, “So be it, then. We can only hope that our love last evening has conceived us a son.”

  He let go of my hand, turned and went from the room, leaving me to wonder.

  Greenwich

  Autumn 1533

  My physical strength returned as the colourful days of the harvest ebbed. I delighted in again riding out with the hunt, and though my once bold recklessness on the field - a powerful attraction to Henry – had been tempered by a concession to safety now that I was a mother, still, we enjoyed many afternoons on horseback. Henry and I did also spend some goodly time hawking in the fields adjacent to the palace. Never again would I take for granted the ability to breathe deeply of fresh, cool air and look heavenward to gaze on eternal, celestial blue skies!

  I rambled through the gardens and woods, sometimes with Jolie and a few other hounds trailing, oft-times with Maggie, who, true to her word, had stayed to walk with me once I had recovered.

  As for Henry and me? Our love affair regained its passion, and mostly we were merry together during the day while at night he came almost always to my bed where we would share the intimacies of husband and wife. That is not to say, however, that we never quarrelled. Oh, truly we did so! And when embattled in disagreement, neither of us retreated. We were so like each other - stubborn, and proud! At times, we bickered over the simplest of things while, at others, our rows had as their source more weighty matters.

  I had begun to sit with Henry in his Presence Chamber when he heard reports about matters of state, having taken advantage of one of his more indulgent moments to ask if I might learn by listening to the dispatches and requests made by ambassadors and other statesmen: a request to which he agreed. Thus, it was that, together, we read official letters and documents delivered by Cromwell and composed replies. All in all, Henry was gracious and lenient in allowing me to participate in a more active way than had many previous queens, including Katherine, although at times my views and my outspokenness seemed to strike a raw nerve in the King, and I would feel him bristle next to me. This was fair warning for me to contain my eagerness. Often, though, I took no heed. It would be my folly as I continued speaking, expressing my opinion, and suddenly he would turn on me and snap a sharp command for me to hold my tongue and sit silently.

  I did not take well to those incidents. Oh, I never forgot that he was King - had he not made that eminently clear? But my nature and our familiarity provoked me to assert what I intended: what I hoped to develop as my right as Queen. I fiercely wanted to have a voice, and by God’s blood, believed that I would make it happen.

  As the year waned, life took on a deliciously turbulent pace. I describe it as such because I found, ever more so, that I enjoyed being fully absorbed in the day’s many and varied activities. I became immersed in the requests of the realm’s subjects; the decisions to be taken; plans being devised. I confess to relishing the effect of the power I had achieved. I recalled the meeting to which I had been invited at Hampton Court some years past, when – as the only woman in a room full of learned men – we convened to discuss the political and theological implications of Henry’s demand for a divorce. At that time, I had had to struggle to create an opening in the debate in which I might insert my personal views. And at that time, I had quietly determined, should I marry the King and become his Queen consort - not knowing, then, that I would be crowned and anointed as a Queen in my own right - I would work toward advancing a setting within the English domain which would encourage women to speak their minds.

  And so my daily routine became ever more meaningful and varied. I oversaw the goings on in Elizabeth’s nursery: indeed, would visit her frequently, conferring with Lady Margaret Bryan, who had been appointed my daughter’s nurse and head of her growing household.

  I sat in while we were advised about the deepening discord between Henry and his nephew, James V of Scotland, over Henry’s position with Rome. I also listened, but judiciously did not offer comment, while the portly and somewhat pompous Bishop of London, Edmund Bonner, briefed Henry on his meeting with Pope Clement VII.

  In that context, Henry had sent Bonner to Marseilles to discourse with the Pope while simultaneously visiting King François. The intended purpose of the meeting had been to encourage Clement to convene a general council which might review the divisive situation existing between the Pope and the King of England as a result of Henry’s decision to dissolve his first marriage and marry me, thus asserting his supreme authority. Henry, despite everything which had transpired, still saw the wisdom of improving relations between himself and the Pope.

  In addition, he had tasked Bonner, while in Marseilles, to assess the current attitude of the ever fickle François. Henry and I had, on many occasions, discussed his mistrust of François, and were both agreed upon the criticality of maintaining a good rapport with the man even if only to glean intelligence enough to guard our backs. I daresay, though, that there were many times when Henry would have wished damnation upon such diplomacy and, instead, provide the haughty François with a solid thrashing.

  In his droning voice, Bonner described at length how the Pope, instead of listening statesmanlike, had persisted in interjecting during the reading of the official document, loudly proclaiming his belief that Henry held no respect for him. The bishop then described how François, ever the splendid one, had made an entrance during the meeting, bowing and scraping before His Holiness to ensure his continuing good favour. The Pope and François then caused Bonner to wait aside, humiliated, while they chatted and laughed together for three-quarters of an hour, nigh unto six o’clock, when they finally parted with great cordiality.

  Only afterwards had Clement permitted the conversation with Bishop Bonner to resume, again continuing to pepper the topic with disapproval and patronizing comments. Worse, and most insulting: after all was said and done, when Bonner returned at the Pope’s request the following morning, he was informed that the effort was to be denied anyway.

  How I seethed at this account! While I did not warm to Bonner in the first place – he had been a loyal aide to the late Cardinal Wolsey and, in truth, reminded me of him; overly large and self-important - neither could I stand for anyone contriving to make Henry out a fool. My loyalty, even though I had a strong affinity for France while François affected a great fondness for Henry and me, was to Henry and Henry alone. However, I continued to do my best to learn from my esteemed sovereign, who, somehow, maintained his comportment during this, and other frustrating reports. I had to admit that my response to such resentment, were I to be the sole source of governance, would be much fraught with irascibility.

  It was an unusual day – and a delightful one. Grey, heavy December skies did nothing to dampen our spirits as my brother George, and I rode far out into the woodland beyond the palace. It was an exceptional opportunity because George, as one of Henry’s most devoted and trusted diplomats - he having apparently learnt well from our father - was rarely on English soil these days, much less at the same location as I. My daily schedule had also become increasingly committed, affording me little chance to escape the confines of the palace for an entire afternoon. Thus did we both grasp that special moment of freedom to distance ourselves from inquisitive ears, anxious to talk privately and apprise each other of the goings on in our lives.

  No one, except perhaps my lady mother, knew and understood me better than George. I loved him so much, even though he had always been my vexatious little brother. Although a few years younger than I - he on the cusp of reaching thirty years of age and I being thirty-two – now we were adults the difference mattered little. Mind you, there had been times during our youth when that unruly child’s relentless teasing and jokes made me want to box his
ears. Nevertheless, throughout the years we had spent together: growing up and running free at Hever - from being tutored by our schoolmasters and bickering amongst ourselves and Mary when we played cards and games at the manor during long winter’s nights, to thrilling over our attendance at the first glittering court events when I returned from France - through all that, I had always been aware of George’s devotion to me. It was plain on his face and had been so even when he pulled my hair as a child. I was his older sister, and he saw me as wonderful, smart, strong and capable.

  I, for that matter, observed him with equal admiration as we rode from the stableyard and out into the fields. It was as if a slip in time had occurred. I could hardly believe I was looking at my little brother, now a man’s man, tall and splendidly attired in a way that showed no effort: strictly with a casual charm, an affectation probably perfected by interacting with stylish European courtiers while abroad. Handsome; square-jawed, with a thick crop of dark brown hair and bright blue eyes he was, above all, engagingly witty. George had always had a quick tongue and a capacity for creating innuendo which was uproarious. He drew people to him and was thoughtful and courteous to all - or, that is, all of those we considered friends and allies: a quality which made him a sought-after companion in the most fashionable circles.

  But what probably roused the most envy amongst certain courtiers was the fact that he had become a boon companion to Henry. They kept company whenever George was at court, talking, laughing, and invariably competing. Often when they were together, playing tennis or primero at the card table, their familiarity and jocular ribbing would seem as if they were merely conventional brothers-in-law – not King and subject. Henry appreciated George’s friendship greatly, awarding him choice assignments, and paying him generously for his diplomatic work as well as those regular winnings George wrested from his sovereign while betting on their respective prowess at sport.

  It afforded me great contentment, knowing we had both achieved remarkable places, representing England to the world in the year 1533.

  I glanced at him as our horses negotiated a stream, picking their way between the rocks in the flowing water.

  “George, did you hear of the latest demand Katherine has made of Henry?”

  “You mean the one with which she has continued to perfect her already excellent skill of groaning and grumbling?” he grinned. “Demanding of the King that she be moved to more suitable quarters? Yes, I did hear about it. In fact, I’ve also heard tell that Brandon is laying low, keeping well out of Henry’s line of vision because he fears that he will be sent to Buckden to haggle with Katherine about where she will go, and what and whom she might take with her. I’m only thankful that task won’t be assigned to me.”

  I smirked. “Yes indeed, you’d best be enormously grateful for that, brother. She is not someone you’d want to argue with.”

  “Obstinada, no?” he laughed as our horses scrambled up the bank.

  “Obstinada, most assuredly! And worse, she has taught her half-Spanish daughter well. So well that I know not which one drives Henry into a greater frenzy. Mary is at that horribly fractious age anyway - seventeen and totally convinced she knows all. It doesn’t help that her father can also be one of the most intractable men I have ever met when he sets his mind. Their letters and messages to each other have been dreadful. She has been planted there, at Beaulieu up in Essex, mostly alone with her small household, for months. She has not seen her mother in a very long time and, as far as I know, Henry has rarely stopped by either - yet she still refuses to relinquish her stance that she is the true royal Princess, and my Elizabeth the bastard.”

  He afforded me a sideways glance. “Don’t you feel at all sorry for her, Anne?”

  I thought about that for a moment. “Strangely enough, I do in a certain way. Now I’m a mother I have a different view of the forced separation under which they live. It must be impossibly hard to be forbidden to see your child. But they are so unreasonable, George! Especially as their situation could so easily be rectified.”

  “Yes, one would think at this point, that Katherine would give in. It is painfully obvious to all that she will not ever re-establish her position as Queen, and most assuredly, Henry will never, ever return to her as her husband. All she need do is recognize you and Elizabeth, instruct her daughter to do the same, and I am certain the King would willingly allow them both to dwell together in a much more comfortable house, with plenty of servants to see to their needs.”

  I turned in the saddle to face him. “I have thought of soliciting Mary’s friendship if only she will acknowledge me. Do you think I should? Will it make me look weak?”

  “On the contrary, Anne, such a generous act would only demonstrate your kind nature. I hope you do so. Somehow I feel that the overture will not be received well, but you should try, anyway.”

  “I will think on it. Thank you, brother … and now, to change the subject, just try to guess what I am giving Henry at Christmastide.”

  “A bevy of scantily-clad dancing girls, perhaps?” he chortled.

  “You are just as incorrigible as you always have been, Lord Rochford! But as much of a jester as you fancy yourself, you are not far from the truth.”

  He looked at me blankly while I explained, “I have had Master Holbein design a gorgeous table fountain. It is being smithed right now by Heyes and his apprentices. It will be very large with several tiers, made of gilt but with rails of gold, and strewn with diamonds and rubies.”

  “It sounds stupendous – just like our King.”

  “Oh, it is. But the best part? Into the bottom basin will spray scented water – from the nipples of naked nymphs!”

  I giggled with glee, and George joined me with a boisterous laugh. “Henry will love that gift, with certainty! You are such a minx, my Queen. And you know how to keep your King intrigued. Bright girl.”

  I gave him a wink. He spied the open field spread out before us. “Anne, let’s have these splendid steeds stretch their legs. We have rambled all afternoon: now let us have a real gallop.”

  He looked over to check if I was ready to spur my mare for a race but instead saw me shake my head definitively.

  “Sorry, George, I cannot do that.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  We were immediately children again: urchin siblings squabbling, but with great love.

  “YES, you can!”

  “No, I can NOT, George!”

  “Well, of course, you can. Have you become a milksop, Your Royal Highness?”

  “It’s impossible.” I cut him short emphatically. “Because, dearest George, I am again with child!”

  And so December unfolded as both the best of months, and also the most difficult. I truly rejoiced in my pregnancy. I had conceived so quickly after having given birth to Elizabeth, that both Henry and I felt fruitful, and young – just as he had predicted. He was elated at the news and resumed his loving behavior. He cared for me and fussed over me, ensuring my wellbeing. Our relationship had resumed its firm footing, and for this, I was very happy.

  My contrasting sorrow arose from the inevitable: my baby daughter would be taken, with her governess Lady Bryan, her devoted nursemaid and cradle-rocker Mistress Parry, and the other household we had so carefully selected, miles away to Hatfield House in Hertfordshire. There she would live and grow, being cared for by a large retinue, to be quarantined far from the potential disease-causing air of London and its environs.

  Certainly Hatfield was a lovely, solid and comfortable house surrounded by rolling hills and beautiful, fresh countryside. Its security was undeniable, and would be paramount. Those individuals who would be admitted to the property would first be thoroughly scrutinized. No hint of sweat or plague would be allowed to penetrate the estate. The disadvantage was that, while I intended to visit her as much as I was able, she would no longer be under my roo
f, in her cheery nursery just a short walk through the hallways. I would not be able to rush to her cradle and sweep her up in my arms, kissing her sweet little face whenever I chose. I was proud of her, and knew the establishment of her important household was right, but oh, how my heart ached!

  I was only too glad I had the expected baby to think and dream about.

  Christmastide was merry at Greenwich. We had much to celebrate and to give great thanks for. Henry was mightily pleased with his audacious table fountain, and in exchange, he bedecked me with jewels.

  So, 1534 gave promise to a marvelous year. We were in good health, the state of the realm was stable, religious reform had taken a firm foothold, Henry was at last ruling independently of the Pope, and my proponents were at least as numerous and as powerful as my detractors. Most importantly, Henry and I were closely united as we awaited the birth of what would surely be our son.

  Whitehall Palace

  Early 1534

  I was surprised to find this pregnancy entirely different from my first, even though I had been well advised by my midwives that it was often such. Whereas not much more than a year ago I had scarcely suffered from queasiness, and thought it only to be poor digestion, now in the harsh deep winter I tired easily and was constantly nauseous: so much so that the nasty puke basin accompanied me everywhere as I moved about my chambers, especially in the morning hours. In fact, I had to change my morning routine quite drastically, finding that I often vomited without much warning. So, I stayed in my rooms until at least noon, nibbling on dry bread and sipping very weak ale, the combination of which sometimes helped to settle my unruly stomach.

  It was cold – very cold – this winter, and I was told that there was a thick sheet of ice covering the Thames some miles below Gravesend. Domestic goods and all communications had to be sent by land across Kent and Essex as the frozen Thames was impassable. Thankfully, my chambers were warm, the hearths and braziers being continually fed by house stewards, but I constantly worried about Elizabeth, and demanded regular updates on her wellbeing. I harped on Henry to ensure that there was firewood aplenty at Hatfield. He humoured me and offered reassurance that his tiny Princess would not be cold.