“Dear child, I am still a woman, still your cousin. You may embrace me but only when you cannot help it—as just this moment! I’ll have no hugs that aren’t genuine—but I think yours will always be so, good coz,” said the queen.
“Now, let us discuss the coronation and where you will be placed and what you will wear, shall we?” said the queen. She took Madge by the hand and dropped Purkoy to the ground. He followed, steering clear of the many skirts that surrounded him.
The queen led Madge outside into the gardens, shooing away the other ladies-in-waiting and telling the guard at the door not to allow anyone else to join them, unless, of course, it was the king. The sky was clear of clouds and the queen bent to smell the wild roses that climbed the arbor, beneath which a stone bench perched conveniently for intimacies and perhaps a kiss or two. Madge watched as the queen hummed a lively tune, lifted her skirts, and began to dance gently. She looked so young and beautiful that Madge almost forgot Her Majesty was six months with child. Her dark hair hung loose and swayed back and forth as she moved. She seemed to be, at that moment, every good thing a woman could be in this world. Madge sighed.
“Good Margaret, why such soul-rendering sighs on this sunny May morn? I would have thought becoming a lady of the bedchamber would have brought a blush of pleasure to your cheeks,” said the queen.
“Oh, such an honor has made me very happy, Your Grace. I sighed because you look so lovely, so like the roses here in the garden—beautiful and wild and free,” said Madge.
The queen laughed that coarse, low-throated laugh of hers.
“Free? Oh my child, I am anything but free! I have never known a moment of freedom in my life, except, perhaps, when I was young, your age. And at the English court for the first time.” Madge watched as the queen hugged herself, her hair almost black under the shade of the trellis.
“What was it like for you, Your Grace—your first time at the English court?” Madge said as she plucked a rosebud for herself and inhaled the still-tight fragrance of it.
“After the French court, there was little excitement for me here, dear coz. I served the princess dowager Catherine and she knew nothing but sewing the king’s shirts, mending clothes for the poor, and reading her Bible, in Latin, of course. It was dreary, I can assure you,” said the queen, laughing.
“You were on everyone’s mind, I’ll wager. You must have seemed so wise and full of good graces that all the lords must have wanted a betrothal with you,” said Madge, sitting at the queen’s feet on a little stool set there for such a purpose. The queen had motioned for her to sit and Madge was glad; one more minute on her feet and she would have almost had the nerve to ask for such a favor.
“I did have suitors,” the queen said, a sudden sadness moving across her face.
“Oh, do tell me, Your Grace! I am so anxious to learn of love and court and how to behave. There are two bothersome fellows I’d like to know how to handle—and you are so good at managing the king in all his moods,” said Madge.
“Hush, child! I do not manage the king. Nor let anyone hear you say such a thing! His Majesty wouldn’t like to think himself managed by any lady. He is the master here!” said the queen.
“I am sorry, Your Grace. I meant it as a compliment to your charm and beauty only,” said Madge with her face downcast.
“Let me tell you how to succeed here, my gentle girl. If you will but follow these laws, engraving them into your heart and mind, you will do well. First, never forget the king is our sovereign lord and holds the power of life and death over us! Second, don’t show your true heart to anyone unless it be your queen. Finally, turn to the Lord God for succor,” the queen said, suddenly serious, her brown eyes arresting Madge’s once again.
Madge broke the lock on her own green eyes, lowered them, and bowed to the queen.
“Your wisdom is as great as your beauty, my queen. I shall do my best to obey you in all you desire,” said Madge.
“Well, enough of such talk. I shall tell you about Lord Henry Percy, the love of my youth, and you shall learn what a young girl should never do,” said the queen, laughing again.
Ten
Two days prior to the coronation itself, the traditional festivities for the rare anointing of a queen were observed. Madge had ridden with the queen as part of her entourage on the royal barge that had once belonged to the former Queen Catherine, up the Thames to the Tower where the king had appointed sumptuous new apartments for just this occasion. The river was filled with gaily decorated barges and music floated through the air in celebration of the new queen. The queen’s own barge was hung with cloth of gold and heraldic banners. The king greeted Anne at the Tower with a welcoming kiss and there they spent two nights. However, on the day of the coronation, Henry kept his royal person hidden; this was Anne’s day and he did not want to steal any of her glory.
The day before the coronation, when Anne would receive God’s own anointing, making her the chosen representative of God on this earth, a queen no one could question or dislodge, Madge marched in the parade following the queen’s litter, watching in awe the pageants set before the queen on Saturday as she processed through the City of London dressed in a surcoat of white cloth of tissue and a matching mantle furred with ermine. Her thick black hair hung loose down her back, a stark contrast to the virginal white of her clothing. She rode a litter of white cloth of gold drawn by two palfreys caparisoned in white damask, and on her head, a coif and circlet set with precious gems. Madge stared as the entire City of London came out to gawk at their new queen and her entourage, which extended over half a mile, filled with the most noble persons in the country. Most citizens were quiet, with a few shouts of “Whore! Great Whore!” reaching Madge’s ears. However, the queen wouldn’t have heard such harangues because her musicians surrounded her on foot. Madge noticed Master Smeaton walking very close to the queen and singing out in a strong voice. She could not help but watch him, his face like an angel.
At various posts, the assemblage stopped to see a pageant or to hear a choir. Anne followed the same route that Queen Catherine had followed twenty-four years earlier. The pageants, which were very costly events to the citizens of the realm, followed the traditional themes, proclaiming the queen’s virtue, chastity, and fecundity. Wine ran free throughout the city and people drank their fill. Madge was surprised to see all the houses of Cheapside had been hung in cloth of gold and red velvet. Gracechurch Street displayed arras, tapestries, carpets, and tissue. Madge particularly enjoyed the pageant of “The Progeny of St. Anne” performed at the Cornhill by Leadenhall. There, a series of children spoke verses, the first child comparing the queen to St. Anne, grandmother of Christ. The queen rewarded the children by tossing gold coins to them.
After a long day of presenting and exchanging gifts and receiving the homage of her people, the queen finally arrived at Westminster where the king greeted her with looks of great affection. Madge stood close to the royal couple as they surveyed the city with the throngs of people still watching the parade and enjoying the wine that flowed freely from the king’s pipes.
The queen reached out her hand to Madge in order to bring her beside herself and the king. Madge looked out into the crowd. Just below her, a young man waved at the queen with his hat in his hand. His dark hair stood out among those with their hats still on. His large frame was well-formed and his face, though not clear at such a distance, appeared quite handsome. The queen and king walked a little farther onto the balcony but the young man didn’t follow them. Madge continued to stare at him. Finally, she realized he was waving and shouting at her, not the queen. And then she realized who he was—Sir Churlish! She turned on her heel and fell in pace a few steps behind the queen.
“How liked you the look of the city, sweetheart?” Madge heard the king say.
“I liked the look of it well enough, but I saw a great many caps on heads and heard but few tongues!” said Anne, sounding a bit disgruntled.
“Ah sweetheart, such things take t
ime. The people must get used to your kind ways, that’s all. And once you’ve given them the son we all long for, you’ll hear shouts enough so that you shall have to plug your dainty ears,” said the king. Madge turned away as he kissed Anne full on the mouth.
* * *
“Must I ride and then sit and then eat with Sir Norris, Your Grace? I like him not,” said Madge as she folded Her Majesty’s coverlet back so the queen could crawl into her lavish bed. Her large belly made climbing into the bed difficult, even with the little stool the king had sent to her for such purposes. When she was finally settled in, Purkoy in her arms, she answered.
“It is the king’s desire, Margaret. I’ll not brook the issue with him, not tomorrow. Nothing shall mar my day of becoming an anointed queen. Who could have dreamed such a thing would happen? Oh Madge, it seems so unlikely that I, daughter of a lowly ambassador, should tomorrow become queen of all the land!” Her Majesty hugged Purkoy and the little dog licked her face.
“I would not wish to ruin your day, Your Grace. I only hoped to ride with my friend, Sir Wyatt,” said Madge, pulling the coverlet over the queen’s belly and much-risen bosom.
“Tom leaves for France soon and shall ride with his wife. He is married, you may recall. I’ll have no scandal among my ladies,” the queen said.
“Your Grace! I have no such ideas about Sir Thomas! He is my friend and that only. But I’d prefer his company to Sir Norris’s—that’s all,” said Madge.
“And what is wrong with Henry Norris?” said the queen.
“I like not the way he looks at me. And I like not the way he talks to me. Cate says he visits the bawds at least once every week and I see how he tries to touch the ladies of the court, a sneaky sort of touching,” said Madge. “I like him not!”
“I know, dear Madge. He is that sort of varlet—you have judged him well enough. But he is the king’s boon companion. You and I must learn to be friendly with him, you more than I. You have caught Sir Norris’s fancy, I fear,” said the queen.
“What shall I do, Your Grace? I cannot encourage him in his suit. Please intervene for me, my queen,” Madge felt her cheeks burn as she spoke so boldly.
“I shall do what I can, dear coz. But some things are beyond my power. Let us wait until the little prince is born—I shall be able to ask anything of the king then,” Anne said as she patted her belly and smiled.
“Thank you, Your Grace. And now, to bed,” said Madge as she pulled out the truckle bed from beneath the queen’s own and covered herself. She tried to ready herself for the long Coronation Day to come, made even longer by her proximity to Sir Henry Norris.
* * *
“How fortunate for me that His Majesty, in all his wisdom, hath yoked us together, Lady Margaret. You could not be more lovely—much more of a beauty than our new queen,” Sir Norris whispered as he circled his horse close to Madge’s steed. They rode side by side in the queen’s procession into Westminster Abbey.
“Kind sir, the queen is our sovereign as well as my own dear cousin—say nothing to her detriment, I beg you,” said Madge in what she hoped was a haughty voice. All morning, since they were paired together, Henry Norris had pawed, pinched, and otherwise tried his best to touch Madge in a variety of inappropriate places. Her patience was wearing thin. But there was little she could do or say in such an esteemed company. Almost every important person in England was gathered to celebrate Anne’s coronation, with a few exceptions: Lord Stafford had paid a fine rather than attend; and the marquess of Exeter, the king’s first cousin, was absent primarily because he had been rusticated from court for his support of Queen Catherine. But most of the nobility were present, making it impossible for Madge to cry out or complain just because she couldn’t control a frisky companion of the king’s.
Of course, Henry Norris was well aware of his opportunity and was not dissuaded by her discomfort at his advances.
“I did but whisper my appraisal of your beauty, Lady Margaret. I do not believe any could hear but yourself,” Sir Norris said as he reached over, putting his hand upon her knee.
“Sir, we are supposed to be marching behind the queen in a dignified manner. Do not place your hand on me,” said Madge, trying to dislodge him without making too much of a movement. He disengaged and laughed.
“I think you like me not, my lady. How have I offended, pray tell?” Norris kept a smirk on his face, a look that told Madge he did not care a fig whether he had offended her or not.
“I would like you well enough if you did not try to paw me at every point! And if you did not look at me as if to eat me alive! And if you could do more than chatter about my beauty!” said Madge in a huff. She realized she may have gone too far in reprimanding this randy fellow, but she had not been able to stem the tide of words that flowed from her mouth.
“Ah, you prefer a more subtle approach—wooing with poetry and flowers and declarations of eternal love? Much like our vaunted queen, I suspect. Does that mean you wish me to marry you and take you up a step higher than you already are, my scheming Margaret?” said Norris.
“I prefer not to be wooed at all. And no! I care not to marry. As for raising me, sir, I am cousin to the soon-to-be anointed queen of England. I need no further height,” said Madge as she tried to ride faster to avoid further conversation. He grabbed the reins of her horse.
“You may not care to be wooed, my lady, but I will woo you. And, God’s blood, I’ll win you,” Norris said, his arm firmly around her wrist.
At that moment, Madge heard a scuffle behind them and turned to look. A man was approaching their steeds on foot.
“Lady Margaret, may I have a word?”
It was Arthur, his face flushed and his rich velvet doublet, a deep turquoise, stretched to show his robust chest as he reached for her hand.
“Certainly, my lord. If you’ll excuse me, Sir Norris? I shall meet you inside at table,” said Madge as she gave Henry Norris a short nod.
“But … but you are to pair with me, my lady. The king commands it…” mumbled Norris.
“I shall be with you anon,” said Madge.
Norris shrugged his shoulders and continued on his way. Madge dropped back to allow Arthur to catch up with her.
“I never would have believed I would be glad to see such as you!” said Madge.
“What a kind sentiment, lady. I have rescued you from a true rascal and all you do is insult me. Little repayment for my trouble,” said Arthur, grinning up at her.
“If you expect payment for chivalrous deeds, you are no better than Norris,” said Madge, turning her face from him.
“You misunderstand me. I expect nothing. What else could I expect, given my parentage? I can neither expect nor offer … anything,” Arthur said with downcast eyes.
Madge hadn’t expected to feel regret for her harsh words, but that is exactly what stabbed her heart as they progressed toward the great door of the abbey.
“Forgive me. I am truly grateful for even a few moments away from Norris. I must spend the entire day with him and I can only hope to escape with my honor intact,” said Madge as she scanned the lane ahead, looking for Norris.
Arthur touched her slightly on the arm. She turned her face down to him as he whispered, “Should you need help in protecting your honor, you have only to send for me. I am in earnest, my lady.”
Madge looked into his eyes and knew he meant what he said. Perhaps Arthur, too, could be a friend. She smiled at him and said nothing. Then, she caught a motion from the corner of her eye—Sir Norris waving his arm to her.
“I must go. Thank you for your kindness,” said Madge as she dismounted her horse, handed the reins to a stableman, and made her way to the place Norris had saved for her. At that moment, the trumpets began to blow and the ceremony began. Madge could barely see the queen dressed in her crimson gown, rich velvet edged in ermine. Her long black hair hung freely once again to her waist and a caul of pearls covered her head. She marched in beneath a canopy of cloth of gold, followed by a
great train of lords and ladies. Madge and Norris walked in at the end of this line and moved solemnly to their places. Next came the Yeoman of the King’s Guard, the bishops and abbots, and finally, the children of the Chapel Royal and the two archbishops. All processed upon red carpet, which extended to the raised platform where Anne sat at the high altar enthroned in all her glory.
The ceremony seemed to last forever as each man of import acted his part. The solemn high mass was sung by the abbot of Westminster but it was Archbishop Cranmer who anointed Anne with holy oil and then placed the crown of St. Edward upon her head, a scepter of gold in her right hand, and a rod of ivory in her left. After the Te Deum was sung, the crown of St. Edward was replaced with one of lesser weight. Anne then took the sacrament and prayed at the altar of St. Edward.
Sir Norris kept stealing glances at Madge and tried several times to hold her little finger. She thought she could not remain standing for another minute, as she had been on her feet for at least three hours, when, finally, it was over. The trumpets played their fanfare and the entire assemblage prepared to return to Palace of Westminster, where a sumptuous feast would take place. Madge noticed how silent the lords and ladies were through these events. Even the London crowds outside gave no shouts or cheers for their new queen. Few hats were tossed and even fewer calls of “God save Your Grace,” as were heard every time old Queen Catherine appeared in public, even now, when she was merely the dowager princess.
Madge and Sir Norris marched outside into the warm June air. Madge gazed into the sky and noticed what had started as a balmy, clear day had turned overcast. She felt a sudden sense of danger for herself and the new queen.
“Tired, Lady Margaret? Shall you to bed?” said Norris with a leer.
“No. I am hungry. It is a long time since we supped,” said Madge, not wishing to share anything as private as a feeling with Norris.
At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Page 6
