Madge shaded her eyes to get a better view of the men. She recognized Sir Churlish’s confident stride as the men made their way to the edge of the green wood. Part of her wanted to run deeper into the shade of the forest while another part seemed unable to move. The men covered the distance quickly and before she knew it, Madge found herself in a deep curtsy to the duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon.
“Your Grace,” she whispered as she stared at the weeds and brambles at her feet. She noticed the fine leather of the duke’s boots.
“Lady Margaret. Please arise. You as well, Mistress Cate. Marvel not that I know your name—my son has told me much of the Lady Margaret and her lovely nurse,” said Brandon as he gently took Madge’s hand and helped her to her feet. He was handsome with dark hair and eyes, the same coloring as his son. Though a little older than the king, Brandon retained much of his fitness and youthful manner. His eyes gave no hint of the sorrow he must have felt after losing his wife, the king’s sister. Madge had not known Lady Mary, but the whole court talked of her beauty and how Brandon seemed lost without her.
“The day is full of sunshine and the bushes fat with berries. The queen has a taste for these, I suppose?” said Sir Churlish as he reached for one and popped it into his mouth.
“Yes. Cate and I are almost finished here. We must return very soon as Her Majesty may have need of me,” Madge said. She couldn’t help but remember his kiss on May Day, though she had not seen him since.
“But lady, your pail is not half full,” he said. “Methinks you seek to deceive.”
Madge had no response and felt her cheeks begin to burn. Cate quickly dumped the contents of her own bucket into Madge’s.
“’Tis full now, sire,” she said and grabbed Madge’s hand, pulling her toward the downward slope. “We must be off!”
“Wait but a little, Mistress Cate, I beg of you. I would you walk with me and help me fill your bucket. I will happily pay for the berries,” Brandon said as he guided Cate by the elbow, taking her toward a large hedge filled with blackberry canes. Cate had no choice but to release Madge’s hand and allow herself to be drawn away.
“My father is at a loss without his wife. He must have company from any fair woman he meets,” said Sir Churlish, smiling.
“My Cate is still fair, though no longer young. But she will have no truck with any man, no matter how high he has risen. She has told me thus,” said Madge, plucking a berry almost as big as her thumb.
“You, milady, are fair and young. What say you to men?” he said.
“To my friends, I say much. To scoundrels, nothing,” said Madge, turning away from him.
“Then I would be your friend, mistress,” he said. “Now, to other matters. The whole court awaits the birth of the prince. How does Her Majesty?” He plucked a handful of berries and ate them, one at a time.
“Well enough. She will soon go into her confinement, I’ll warrant,” said Madge, still turning away from him.
“She has already made merry much longer than most queens. Many wag their tongues, saying she takes no care for the babe she is about to birth. Queen Catherine went to her confinement a full six weeks before the babes came,” he said.
“Such care did her little good. My mistress will be delivered of a prince, one she has done all she can to protect and love, in spite of His Majesty’s doings,” said Madge, her voice tight, full of anger. “And she has not waited longer than any other anointed queen—the babe will not come yet for weeks.”
“His Majesty’s doings? Ah, I see,” he said, smiling gently at Madge. “You cannot think the king would not take his pleasure while the queen is with child! He has always done so,” he said.
“Then he has always done wrongly, Sir Chur—” Madge caught her tongue. She did not want Arthur to know she thought of him often enough to have had his pet name stick in her mind. Though she had called him by that name several times, he might imagine he heard a fondness when she said it to his face after their kiss, which she could not get out of her head.
“So, you still think me Sir Churlish, eh? Madame, I am your friend and defender. I wish you could see that,” he said, staring intently into her eyes.
“How so? I need no defender. I am safe enough in the queen’s company, her chamberwoman, no less.” Madge gazed up at him, daring him to disagree.
“Madame, no one is safe at court. I fear for you if the queen does not bear a son,” he said.
“Best look to yourself, sir. You will not go far on the coattails of your father,” Madge said. Just then, she heard Cate’s girlish giggle and saw Brandon and Cate hurrying to them, blackberries spilling as they ran.
“Tell your Cate to watch herself. My father is noted for his ways with women. And Mistress Margaret, will you please call me Arthur? I long to hear that name upon your lips,” he said.
Madge was appalled at the look of Cate, for her hair had come undone and her bodice was stained with small droplets of purple juice. Charles Brandon’s hands were also purple, sticky with blackberries.
“Oh, Maddie—I am worn out with running! His Grace has tried to eat all the berries in my bucket—a hungry rascal he is,” she said, her face pink and covered with a light sheen of sweat.
“That I am, madame, hungry indeed!” replied the duke and there was no mistaking his meaning.
“We must away at once, Cate! Her Majesty will be expecting us. Come, quick now!” Madge said, pulling at Cate’s hand just as Cate had so recently pulled at her own.
Before she could object, Cate found her feet fairly flying down the hillock, the men standing above them, laughing and yelling.
“Good-bye, fair Cate! I’ll see you anon!” shouted the duke.
“Lady Margaret, remember me as your friend,” shouted his son.
Madge and Cate continued toward the castle, their hair blowing free and their hearts pounding.
* * *
“Good Cate, you must know the duke is a rogue! And newly a widower! And as close to His Majesty as a flea,” said Madge. She and Cate sat in a nook on the far side of the knot garden, hidden by a surrounding hedge of boxwood.
“Maddie-girl, I have not had so much fun these many months at court as those few moments with the duke. He made me laugh,” said Cate, reaching down to pet Shadow, who curled at their feet.
“But you are my nurse! My maid! And I must be above reproach! The queen has told me thus many times,” said Madge. She felt her heart beating against her frame. She had never imagined she would have to give instruction to Cate; since childhood, Cate had helped her navigate the world.
“I shall be more circumspect, Lady Margaret. You will have no need to reproach me or my conduct,” said Cate, her face serious and full of anger.
“Cate, dear Cate. I am only worried for your sake. They say the duke had three wives at once before he married the king’s sister—and only much later did the pope grant dispensation. He got Sir Churlish on some poor maid; God only knows how many more there are with his blood. I wish only your good,” said Madge.
Cate looked at Madge and smiled. At that, Madge took Cate’s hand in her own.
“We tread dangerous ground, good Cate. Many would do us harm. The queen’s enemies surround us, as well you know. Have a care,” Madge said.
“Ah, Maddie, fear not. I know what Brandon is—but he awoke something in me I did not know was there. With you secluded in the queen’s apartments so often, I am lonely,” said Cate. At this, Shadow sat up and licked her hands. “You understand, don’t you, Shadow? You miss our Maddie, too,” she said.
“After the babe is born, I shall have more time for leisure,” said Madge.
“I shall keep His Grace at arm’s length—of that you may rest assured,” said Cate.
“Good Cate,” said Madge as she leaned her head against Cate’s shoulder.
Fourteen
“Your Grace does me great honor to sup with me privately this night,” said the queen as she sat across a small table from His Majesty. Madge stood behind
her, waiting to serve as was needed. Sir Henry Norris stood behind the king, keeping his eyes on Madge’s every move. They were the only people in the queen’s apartments. The king had sent the rest scurrying away.
“Where else would I be, sweetheart? On the morrow, you travel to Greenwich for your lying-in. After the procession to your rooms, when next we meet, I hope to see you holding our bonny boy in your arms,” said the king.
“Pray God it shall be so, my husband. Has the dowager princess sent the christening robe for little Prince Edward?” Anne asked gently. Madge was surprised the queen would mention Catherine at such a time. She knew how the former queen, now referred to as the dowager princess since her marriage to the king had been annulled, hated to part with anything that once proclaimed her his “lawful” wife.
“I fear she has not, my sweet. But do not worry—I have ordered the finest of my silkwomen to stitch our boy a gown for all time,” said the king tenderly. Madge was glad the queen’s remark had not upset him. She wanted the queen to enjoy her time with His Majesty, untroubled by the obstinacy of her predecessor.
“I hope the apartments will be to your liking, lady. I have had the tapestries replaced and have placed several beds within for your ladies. The groaning chair has been prepared and there is but one window to be opened, so no evil airs will enter to sicken you or the child,” said the king.
“Thank you, Majesty. I am grateful for all your care,” said the queen, smiling. She motioned for Madge to refill her wineglass.
“Won’t you have more meat, lady? The pheasant is quite tender,” said the king, his mouth dripping with grease.
“I have little appetite these days, my lord,” said the queen.
“Humph … too early for that sign. You have at least another month to feed our boy, bring him fat into the realm.” Henry patted his own belly, which had grown a bit along with the queen’s.
“He will be fine, fat, and fit, husband. I have taken every care, as well you know. I long to return to your arms,” she said.
Madge glanced at Henry Norris and blushed. He smiled at her, then licked his lips.
* * *
The procession into the queen’s lying-in chambers in Greenwich was impressive, with many prayers said for her health and the safety of the little prince. Madge and the other women knew the dangers of childbirth and an air of anxiety filled the apartments.
Every dignitary from the realm crowded into the rooms to pray for the queen and to hear the blessings for the new prince. Madge saw her uncle, Thomas Boleyn, now Lord Wiltshire, the queen’s father. Beside him, his son, George. Norfolk, Cromwell, Sir Nicholas Carew, Brandon, Norris, and other members of the privy council all jostled for space as the king knelt at Anne’s bedside, holding her hand, tears in his eyes. Madge stood on the other side of the queen’s enormous bed with her own pallet laid out on the rushes.
“God bless you, sweetheart. And pray God give us a prince,” whispered the king as he brushed his lips across the queen’s cheeks.
“I shall do my best, my husband. God willing, I shall see you again,” she whispered back to him. He smiled, took his big hand, and cupped it around her face. He shook his head back and forth, put his finger to his lips to shush her, then knelt to receive the prayers and blessings of the archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer.
“If it please God, bring this realm a hearty prince and a speedy return to health for our good Queen Anne, she who loves the holy Gospels and has helped bring our land to the truth. Long live our beloved sovereign, King Henry the Eighth. Amen.” The archbishop then spoke soothing words to the queen and took his leave. One by one, the dignitaries left their good wishes and blessings with the queen. Her brother kissed her on the cheek and Madge saw him wink his eye at her.
As the men withdrew, the queen’s women entered the chamber. Madge followed directly behind the queen. It would be perhaps six weeks before the birth of the prince, then another thirty days before the queen would be churched. None of the women would be allowed back into the world for as long as nine weeks.
* * *
“I shall go mad, methinks! How can it be that I should wait in these stuffy rooms until he is born! No wonder queens die in childbirth! Who can abide this … this tedium!” the queen whispered to Madge as she made her toilet in the private chamber pot.
“Your Grace, it has been only three days—do not despair so. There is much time to pass yet,” said Madge as she faced the tapestry to give the queen her privacy. She thought the queen looked pale and the hot August air pressed upon them both.
“You are right, cousin. I must endure everything. All depends upon it. I fear to think what may befall me if I do not deliver a prince. Henry does not hesitate to rid himself of those who thwart him. He has already strayed—I cannot hold him as I did before we were wed,” said the queen quietly. “I tire of the chatter of the others, Margaret. I shall send them into the outer apartments. But I would you stay with me.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. It shall be my delight.” Even though Madge tried to say the words as if they were true, she could not hold back her laughter. The queen laughed, too.
“No one’s delight, my girl! Would that it were!” chuckled the queen. “Ah, dear Madge. How heavily this child weighs upon me! I do not know how I can carry him another few weeks.”
“You will do it, my queen. You must. Would you like for me to sing you a ditty? I can strum the lute a little now, thanks to Master Smeaton. Your brother believed me hopeless but I have improved since then. Mayhap it will lull you to sleep,” said Madge.
“Begin with ‘Greensleeves.’ ’Tis the song the king made for me—very long ago,” said the queen.
* * *
The next day, Madge found herself once more alone with the queen in the queen’s innermost room. Madge could feel sweat roll down her sides, in spite of the ivory fan she used to keep herself and her queen as cool as possible.
“Your Grace, tell me a story of love. I hear of love at every turn. But alas, I have never loved,” said Madge, hoping to distract the queen from her wretchedness.
“Love will find you, of that you can be sure,” said the queen with a little laugh.
“But how will I know when I am truly loved? I know graceful words fill the mouth of Sir Norris when he speaks to me, but there is something else there as well. Methinks it is not love at all,” said Madge.
“How right you are, girl. Norris is filled with filthy lust for you—as most men would be. Men are not governed by anything but such lusts, it sometimes seems. Yet, there can be love between men and women,” said the queen, the familiar faraway look again crossing her features. Her face seemed to relax.
“Tell me, Your Grace. Tell me about love,” said Madge.
The queen lay against the pillows of her bed, surrounded by sumptuous satins and silks. Madge wished the king could see her as she was this moment: serene, gentle, and filled with warmth.
“I shall tell you a tale that does not end well,” said the queen quietly. Madge continued to fan her as the queen spoke.
“Once a young girl came to court—she was just a little older than you, Margaret, when she arrived. But unlike you, the English court did not frighten her, for she had been brought up in the finest court in the world. While there, she became fluent in French and Latin, and was taught to read and write. Many learned men spoke with her. She heard Erasmus lecture and actually met Leonardo da Vinci, the great artist and thinker. She danced with much grace and played the virginals and lute,” said the queen.
Madge noted the queen seemed to be in a dream, her voice low and soft as a butterfly wing.
“Her father wanted to give her every advantage, so she could rise in the world,” said the queen. Then, she paused.
“What then, Your Grace? Did this young girl rise? Did she make a good match?” asked Madge, unable to contain her curiosity.
“Some would say so, yes. But that part of the story is for later. You asked of love, did you not?” said the queen.
“Yes, Your Grace,” said Madge.
“Then listen,” said Her Majesty as she turned on her side, her back to Madge. “Rub a little, will you, child?”
Madge began to knead the flesh and found it supple and warm. She waited for the queen to continue.
“She was not a beautiful maid but handsome enough. It was her style, her wit, her laughter that drew the lords of the court to her. And there was one, a great lord, who took her heart,” said the queen.
“What was he like, Your Grace?” Madge imagined such a young man and when she did so, a picture of Sir Churlish appeared in her mind.
“He was kind and gentle, not much tall and pale. His eyes were as blue as the petals of the cornflower and when he looked at the young girl, his eyes seemed to catch fire with love. He was from a great family in the north of the country, serving an evil priest who had risen far beyond his station. When this same priest came to see the king, the lad would get him to the queen’s apartments to see the young woman for whom his eyes were ablaze.” Again, the queen fell silent.
A long while passed and Madge thought her royal cousin had fallen asleep, so quiet were they together. Then, as if awaking from some dream, the queen continued.
“The lady and her knight walked often in the gardens, learning of each other, stealing a kiss now and again. It was near the great wood when this brave knight asked for her hand in marriage and she gave it. They were plighted, though neither had breathed a word of it to anyone. Their secret—their secret delight,” said the queen.
“And did they marry, Your Grace?” said Madge.
“No. Their love was found out. The great cardinal of days gone by discovered the betrothal and snatched their love away as if it were but a fly he could catch in his fat hand. She was sent packing to her father’s house and the young lad, he was married immediately to someone of the cardinal’s choosing. They never spoke a word together thereafter,” said the queen.
At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Page 9
