Why was her heart racing? she wondered as she hurried along. She was a happily married woman. Yet still, she had been half in love with him once, and she suspected he might have loved her had his duty not interfered. What was it with men and their duty? It was the excitement of the court and her surprise at meeting him so precipitously, she decided as she reached the garden wall. Seeking the key, she opened the little door and stepped through. The scent of roses reached her nose. Nothing had changed here, and then she laughed at herself. Of course nothing had changed. It was May again, and the last time she had been here it was May. Entering the house, she called for Nancy.
While the court watched in amazement, newly confirmed Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Cranmer had convened an ecclesiastical court at Dunstable on the tenth day of May. Katherine of Aragon might have attended it, for it was near where she was currently staying. However, she ignored it, as she had most of the king’s proceedings in this matter. In Katherine’s mind she was Henry’s true wife and queen. The mother of his heiress. There was nothing further to discuss. The session was a short one. On the thirteenth of the month a decision was reached. The marriage of Henry Tudor to Katherine, the princess of Aragon, was declared to have never been, never existed. It was null and void. The king had been a bachelor on January twenty-fifth when he had married Anne Boleyn. She was his legal wife and England’s true queen. The child she carried now would be legitimate. Many in England had wept when that verdict was pronounced. Katherine, of course, did not accept such a decision, and fretted for her daughter, Mary. If Mary was bastardized then the kind of marriage she needed to contract would not be at all that to which she was entitled. Katherine would fight on for her daughter.
It had been decided that Anne would go by river up to London on the twenty-ninth day of May. Her first destination was to be the Tower of London, where all kings and queens awaiting their coronation stayed until a crown was placed upon their heads. And nothing would do but that the royal apartments be refurbished beforehand. For days craftsmen had been busily working to make everything perfect. The ancient walls were replastered, and then repainted with several fresh coats of paint. Windows were freshly glazed, with new leading separating the glass panes. New carpets were brought in, and new tapes-tries hung. Furniture was regilded. And now the royal apartments awaited the monarch and his soon-to-be queen.
The lord mayor of London had had fifty barges from his own guild of haberdashers gathered to sail downriver to Greenwich. Beautifully decorated and flying multicolored flags, banners, and streamers, they would meet Anne’s barge and escort it to the Tower. Preceding the lord mayor’s own vessel was an open flat barge called a foist. Upon it was the great red Pendragon of Wales to honor the king’s house of Tudor. There were savages in skins and particolored silks dancing with fanciful and colorful monsters who roared and belched clouds of fire. To the lord mayor’s right was a barge known as the bachelors’ barge, upon which were a dozen trumpeters and other musicians all playing merrily. To the lord mayor’s left another foist floated, this one containing a great display of red and white Tudor roses, and rising from amid the roses was Anne’s own personal device, a white falcon, beautifully carved, painted, and gilded. Around the roses a bevy of virgins garbed in white silk robes sang sweetly and danced together.
Reaching Greenwich this grand procession anchored and waited. At three o’clock in the afternoon Anne appeared dressed in cloth of gold, her long black hair streaming down her back. She was attended by a great crowd of ladies, but only she would ride in the royal barge. Her ladies would be crammed into several barges that would join the procession. Several noblemen had brought their barges downriver to join the procession. They included the Duke of Suffolk, the king’s brother-in-law, the Marquess of Dorset, and even the queen’s estranged father, Thomas Boleyn, the Earl of Wiltshire and Ormonde, who did not want to be viewed publicly as being at odds with his daughter now that she was about to be crowned.
The Bolton House barge carried the Countess of Witton, her sister, the lady of Friarsgate, and three other court ladies of Philippa’s acquaintance. They were most grateful for the transportation, and for not having to be jammed into the other barges containing the queen’s ladies. Anne had wanted Elizabeth to travel with her, but Elizabeth’s wisdom had prevailed in the matter.
“I can be companionable to you only if you do not offend my betters,” she explained to the queen. “There will be enough jealousy over your favoring me as it is. It would be dreadfully insulting to everyone if I were in your barge. You know they would find ways of keeping us apart, and perhaps even appeal to the king to send me home.”
“He would not do it!” Anne cried. “Not now!”
“But your behavior would embarrass him, Anne. Do you truly wish to embarrass the king? He has been very good to you, and stands by you against all,” Elizabeth said. “Philippa and I will travel in our own barge.” And so they had. It was hung all over with tiny bells that tinkled in the light wind and bobbing waves. Anne remarked afterwards that she had thought the decor on the Bolton House barge most unique and charming.
The procession made its way back upriver. Many merchant and military vessels lined the banks of the Thames. Each offered a gunnery salute to the new queen as she passed by. The air was filled with smoke and noise. The loudest boom, however, sounded as Anne’s barge, flying its white falcon pendant, reached the Tower. Here the Lord Chamberlain and officer of arms greeted her and helped her from her vessel. For a brief moment Anne savored the day, which was a perfect one. Then she allowed the Lord Chamberlain to escort her to the king, who awaited her atop the quay. He greeted her with a kiss, murmuring in her ear, “Welcome, sweetheart!”
Anne relaxed, and for the first time in months she felt safe. Everything was going to be all right. Henry loved her. The child within her was healthy. She had her friend to keep her company and raise her spirits. Turning, she smiled more broadly than anyone had ever seen Anne Boleyn smile. “My good liege, my lord mayor, members of the haberdashers’ company, my lords, and ladies, good citizens, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for this most gracious welcome. God bless you all!” And, raising her hand, she waved. A small cheer arose from the crowds watching. Anne, however, did not notice the paucity of the cheer, for she had already taken the king’s arm and was being escorted inside.
Behind her the great barge in which Anne had ridden bobbed at anchor, its twenty-four oarsmen having disembarked. The vessel had previously belonged to Katherine of Aragon. It was probably the finest barge in England. Katherine would have no further use for it, Anne reasoned, and ordered her chamberlain to confiscate it and have it refurbished for her.
Chapuys, the ambassador from Katherine’s nephew who was both king of Spain and the holy Roman emperor, complained to Cromwell. Cromwell soothed the ambassador’s ire by assuring him that the king would be distressed by this knowledge. Chapuys then brought his complaint to Anne’s uncle, the wily Duke of Norfolk. Thomas Howard smiled his cold smile, and agreed that his niece was the cause of everyone’s distress and responsible for all the misery now afflicting the court. A rebuke was issued to Anne’s chamberlain, but Katherine’s arms were removed from the barge, and Anne’s were added despite the king’s alleged unhappiness over the matter.
But the real distress over Anne’s now-public union with Henry was among the people. They had loved the princess of Aragon, and did not wish to accept this wanton witch who had cast her spell over their beloved king. In the churches of London, when the time came to pray for King Henry and Queen Anne, many in the congregations walked out. Furious, the king called for the lord mayor of London, and told him in the strongest terms possible that such a thing was not to happen ever again. The guild heads were to be told this, and they were to tell their workers and their apprentices. And they were to admonish their wives as well. Criticism of any sort against Queen Anne would from this moment on be considered a punishable offense.
The streets of London were cleaned and freshly
graveled, with special places barricaded off so spectators might watch the procession in safety. And pageants were to be prepared for Anne’s coronation by the various guilds. The lord mayor did as he had been bidden, even ordering the foreign merchants to take part in the festivities and prepare tributes to King Henry’s wife. Most did so reluctantly, but now all was in readiness.
At the Tower the king and the queen and a few chosen guests had gone to the newly redone royal apartments. There had even been a new door made for the entrance into the garden. A feast was to be served. There was the freshest fish brought up from the sea this morning into London. Fat prawns broiled in white wine. Icy oysters. Creamed cod. There were venison and boar. A swan stuffed with a goose stuffed with a duck, stuffed with a small capon that was stuffed with tiny songbirds, roasted and set amid a sauce of dried cherries. There was bread, butter, several kinds of cheeses, and a great charger of the king’s favorite, artichokes. Finally there were cakes soaked in marsala wine, jellies, candied violets, spun-sugar subtleties, and the first strawberries of the season, with freshly clotted Devon cream.
Elizabeth had not been asked to the banquet. She was not important enough, but she waited in the queen’s apartments as she had been asked for Anne to return. When she did Elizabeth found Anne in a foul mood. She pushed away her serving women and shouted at her ladies to leave her be. “Elizabeth will attend me. Go find your beds, you group of gossips. Bride, you are to wait outside,” she instructed her tiring woman. Then she slammed the door behind them. “Bitches!”
“What has distressed you, Anne?” Elizabeth asked her.
“Mistress Seymour,” Anne replied. “Meek, mild, mealymouthed Mistress Jane Seymour! If you had seen her making eyes at my husband, Elizabeth. The little virgin was just asking to be breached by the king. He’s getting restless, Elizabeth. My belly is not a pretty thing, I fear, and his lusts must be satisfied. Why can he not leave me be now, and restrain himself?” Anne flung herself onto her bed.
“Sit up,” Elizabeth said, “and let me loosen your laces and get your shoes off.” She helped Anne to sit, and removed her bodice. Then she undid the tabs of the queen’s skirts, unlaced them, and drew them off. Rolling Anne’s stockings from her slender legs, she shook her head. The queen’s ankles and feet were swollen. She slipped her shoes off.
“You are so good to me,” the queen murmured as Elizabeth laid her slippers and garments aside. “Your very presence soothes me.” Then she brightened. “Was not today a triumph? The weather is so wondrously fair. It is as if God is smiling down on me. How clever of you to put those darling little bells all over your barge.”
“ ’Twas Philippa’s idea,” Elizabeth said. “She knows how much you appreciate originality and novelty.”
“Indeed,” Anne said. “Are you certain she was not trying to steal my thunder?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Do not be foolish, Anne. No matter her love for the princess of Aragon she would not dare such behavior. Philippa is far too correct in her manner to do so.”
“Do you like your sister?” Anne wanted to know. “I don’t like mine. When we were in France her reputation was vile. She looks like an angel, with that halo of blond hair and her blue eyes, but she was the biggest whore at the court. King Francis called her his English mare, he rode her so often,” Anne said. “Now she is married, and so prim and proper, as if I or anyone else would forget her previous behavior.”
“Family is everything, Anne,” Elizabeth said. “You should try to make peace with the lady Mary now.” She propped several pillows behind the queen, and several more beneath her feet. “Would you like some wine?”
“Water it,” Anne instructed her. “I am very thirsty now.”
The door to the queen’s bedchamber opened, and the king strode in, an eyebrow lifting as he saw Elizabeth. “Good evening, Mistress Hay,” he greeted her.
Elizabeth curtseyed. Then she handed Anne her goblet. “Good evening, sire. Would your majesty like to be alone with the queen?” she queried him.
“Aye,” he said.
“I don’t want Elizabeth to go,” Anne said petulantly.
“Your highness, you place me in a difficult dilemma,” Elizabeth gently chided her friend. “It has been a very long day for you, and you need your rest. If I am to remain by your side tomorrow, so do I. And the king, your husband, would speak with you privily.” She curtseyed politely to the royal couple. “I was taught that it is a wife’s duty to obey her husband. Forgive me, but I must accommodate his majesty wishes.” She curtseyed again, and backed from the bedchamber.
“A wise young woman,” Henry Tudor said, “and one who knows her place.”
“Why do you always scold me these days?” Anne began to sob.
“Now, sweetheart.” The king sat down on the edge of the queen’s bed. “I do not mean to chastise you. Did I not give you a perfect day?”
“Aye.” Anne sniffled. “But the people don’t like me.”
“They will once our son is born. How can they not love the queen who gives them a prince?” the king wanted to know. He laid his hand on Anne’s belly and felt the child stir strongly beneath his touch. He smiled broadly. “Our child will be one of England’s greatest monarchs,” he told her. “I just know it.” Then, leaning over, he kissed her gently. “Elizabeth Hay is right. You need your rest.” He stood up.
“Where are you going?” Anne wanted to know. She was suspicious of him.
“To join my companions and play cards,” he told her.
“Send Mistress Seymour to me,” Anne said. “I shall have her read to me until I fall asleep. And she will sleep on the trundle, so that should I need something in the night she will be here to fetch it for me.” She smiled her little cat’s smile at him.
The king chuckled. “You have sharp eyes, Annie,” he told her. “But rest assured that I love you best, and will love you even more when you birth our son.” Then, with a bow, Henry Tudor left his wife.
Chapter 18
On the day following the queen’s entry into London there was little official activity. The queen, in her sixth month of pregnancy, spent her time resting and playing cards. There was to be a banquet given for the eighteen noblemen being created Knights of the Bath the following day. The queen, however, did not attend this menonly function. Sixty other gentlemen would also be knighted, but in the usual way. Later in the evening the eighteen were bathed and shriven according to ancient custom. They would have honored places when Anne formally entered the city, and then later at the coronation itself. The king wanted to make the occasion of his wife’s coronation one that would always be remembered.
The next day, Saturday, the traditional coronation procession to Westminster was to take place. Although little time had been allowed for London to prepare, the streets were as decorated as they had been when Henry had been crowned over twenty years earlier. The queen’s litter would be carried along Fenchurch and Gracechurch to Ledenhall to Ludgate to Fleet Street and down the Strand to Westminster. Every house along the route was ordered to be hung with flags and buntings.
Philippa and Elizabeth were to ride among the queen’s ladies. Special cloth-of-gold gowns had been provided for them. Philippa was astounded when she was told she might keep her gown as a remembrance of this day. “Such generosity!” she bubbled, her elegant hands smoothing across the fabric of her skirts.
“You can have mine,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “I will have no use for it at Friarsgate. It is beautiful, though.”
“You will have to ride like a lady, and not astride,” Philippa warned her sister.
Elizabeth laughed. “I believe I can manage it,” she said. “I can hardly gallop through the streets in such finery.”
“Why do you think I was asked to ride in the procession?” Philippa wondered.
“I told Anne, the queen,” Elizabeth amended, “that while you would always love the princess of Aragon, you were a loyal subject of the king and queen.” Elizabeth chuckled. “I did not, however,
name the queen, Philippa, so ’twas not really a lie.”
“I should not be here,” Philippa fretted.
“Your husband and your sons are here,” Elizabeth said. “Besides, you love spectacles such as this will be.”
“The Duchess of Norfolk will report to my lady Katherine everyone of any note who has attended. She will be so hurt and disappointed in me,” Philippa said softly.
“Blame Crispin,” Elizabeth said airily. “The princess of Aragon believes a woman should obey her husband. Your husband insisted you attend. He said you must put your own feelings aside and think of your sons.”
“That’s exactly what he said!” Philippa exclaimed. “How did you know it?”
“Because Crispin is a man of eminent good sense,” Elizabeth responded.
“The Duchess of Norfolk is not obeying her husband,” Philippa said.
Elizabeth snorted derisively. “In my brief stay at court I have learned that the Howard family are a lofty lot. They consider themselves better than those who sit on the throne. I will wager the duke did not order his wife to the coronation. He is in France on the king’s business and is excused. She does not go because she chooses not to go. A foot in both camps, sister. One day they will outsmart themselves and fall. And his old dowager mother will be in a fine litter following after the queen. Nay. The Howards will not be considered disloyal, and neither should you.”
“You have become so wise,” Philippa said. “Yet when we last saw each other you were a foolish girl who showed neither respect nor manners.”
“I am just a country woman, sister,” Elizabeth said. “And I miss my home, and I want to be there. I am so lonely for Baen. For our little son. But I have promised the queen I will stay by her side until her son is safely delivered.”
They had been walking in the tower gardens, but even so Philippa lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “What if it is not a son?” she said.
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