by Jean Plaidy
I said: “Did not Your Grace think the scene was well done?”
“Yes…yes… that was Wyatt, I dareswear.”
“And the nymphs…they were charming, were they not?”
“I saw only one of them.”
“Your Grace!”
“Have done. You know my heart.”
“I can add nothing to what I told Your Grace at our last meeting.”
“We'll see,” he muttered, his lips tightening—the spoiled boy, I thought, who has been told he may not have another sugar plum.
We gave our attention to the dance. People stood apart from us. I was more than a little uneasy. He had already shown his preference for me by choosing me from among the nymphs. There would be a great deal of talk now. I imagined the sly comment: Off with the elder sister; on the with younger.
No, I told myself vehemently. It shall not be.
But I knew in my heart that this passion of his was something which could not be lightly thrust aside.
I was aware of the Queen. She was watching us and there was an expression of infinite sadness in her eyes. I knew that she took little pleasure in occasions of this nature, but for this one she must put in an appearance.
I was remembering that she had been married to him for many years. Her youth was over; she looked years older than the King. I thought of all she must have suffered through those miscarriages which had failed to produce the longed-for son. And now she saw him pursuing one of her attendants—myself—and at an entertainment given in honor of her nephew's enemies.
From what I knew of her, her heart was still in Spain. When she spoke of her mother, it was with reverence. I knew she thought often of her childhood, which must have been happy in spite of that stern Spanish Court, because of the love she bore her mother. She had suffered because of the madness of her sister Joanna who had been Queen of Spain and had grown madder when her handsome husband had died. He had cared little for her but she had loved him in her wild, mad way to such a degree that she had his dead body put into a glass case and she carried it around with her wherever she went. Then with the ascendancy of her nephew Charles—a man meant to become a great monarch if anyone was— Katharine felt that her fortunes were going as her mother, Queen Isabella, would have wished. And with the betrothal of her daughter Mary to him, she had been content. But how quickly life changed. Friends of today were enemies of tomorrow. Those whom men loved one day they wanted to be rid of the next.
I felt very sorry for the Queen and I wished it were any but myself whom she must watch being pursued by her faithless husband.
I was glad when the dance was over.
The entertainment must not stop. There would be singing and perhaps we would dance again.
I sang a song, the words of which had been written by one of the Court poets and set to music by another. I knew the King's eyes never left my face as I sang.
He led the applause and then declared he would sing.
“Your Grace,” cried someone, it might have been Norris or Weston, I was not sure. “I crave your pardon, but might I ask a favor?”
The King was all smiles, knowing what was coming. It had happened so often before.
“Could I make the plea that Your Grace will sing one of your own songs?”
Henry appeared to be reluctant. There was a chorus: “Please, Your Grace…on such an occasion.”
“There is a little thing I have recently composed,” he said, smiling happily, and again I felt that twinge of gentleness; his childish vanity seemed so incongruous with all the pomp and ceremony which surrounded him.
He had a pleasant voice and he accompanied himself on the lute which he played with excellence; if we had not had poets at Court like Thomas Wyatt, his verses would have aroused genuine admiration for their skill. Of course they were declared the finest in the Court, but even he must know that it was the aura of royalty which made them so.
I felt again that rush of tenderness. In spite of everything, he looked a little vulnerable, as though pleading with the Court to like his song.
He was singing for me, and the words sent a shiver through me.
Does not the sun dazzle the clearest eyes
And melt the ice and make the frost retire?
The hardest stones are pierced through with tools
The wisest are with Princes made but fools.
The song finished, he laid his lute on his knees and looked ahead of him—his usually rosy cheeks a deeper shade, a special shine in his eyes.
The applause rang out. People were talking all at once.
“A new song, Your Grace. It was beautiful. The music…”
“My own,” said the King.
I did not join in the applause. I sat wondering about the intent behind those words.
“The wisest are with Princes made but fools.” What did he mean? That I was a fool to think myself wise enough to resist him? Did he mean that he would force me into the position he had chosen for me? I could not believe that. I was beginning to understand a little of his character. I knew of the boyish vanity and that strong streak of romance. If I clung to my determination, surely he would never threaten me.
Others sang. Thomas gave them one of his latest poems set to music. A love song which had also been written for me. I wondered if the King knew. He did not look very pleased. Was that because he knew it was for me or because the verses were so much better than his own?
Now there was dancing. The King would be the first to select the lady of his choice, and others would follow.
He was making his way toward me. I closed my eyes and when I opened them I was looking into those blue ones.
My first thought was: God help me. This is serious. He is making his preference known.
He held out his hand. I put mine in his and he held it firmly, smiling at me.
He said: “This night I shall dance with none other.”
I did not answer.
“I want all the world to know that it is you I honor,” he went on.
“It is gracious of you…”
“Oh, Anne,” he said, “have done with this game. I know you are not like the others. I know you hold yourself dear… but not more dear than I do. You have but to ask and whatever it is shall be yours. Only love me as I love you.”
“Your Grace, I cannot. I have explained. I am still of the same mind, and shall remain so.”
“Didst like my song?”
I was silent and he pressed my hand more firmly. “The company did,” he said, almost pleading with me to compliment him.
“The company will always applaud Your Grace.”
“You did not like it?”
“It scanned well. The rhyming was excellent.”
“Then what?”
I would be bold. It might well be that I should offend him and that he would be done with me forever. Perhaps a return to Hever would be preferable to what he was insisting on.
“I do not think the wise can ever be made fools,” I said.
“And the sun does not dazzle?”
“The sun dazzles but it does not change opinions.”
“You would instruct us then?”
“I crave Your Grace's pardon. I thought you asked for my opinion, otherwise I would not have presumed to give it.”
“I am grieved that you did not like my song.”
“There was much that I liked in it.”
“Oh … have done. There are matters of which we two must talk. You know for long I have loved you…ever since you were a saucy girl in your father's garden, you have plagued me. I find little satisfaction in others. And now there is no peace for me at all, and there will not be until you give me that which I crave.”
“Your Grace must forgive me. I am only a simple girl.”
“You… simple! Oh no, Mistress Anne Boleyn, not that. You are wise, are you not? One of those who will not be made fools by princes?”
“Not wise, but I am as I am, and no one could make me other.”
“Yo
u are determined to plague me.”
“I would I could please you.”
“Oh Anne, my Anne, it would be so simple.”
“Not for me, Your Grace. I think the Queen needs me. She is looking my way.”
“But I need you.”
“I am one of the Queen's ladies, Your Grace.”
“You are my subject. Forget not that.”
“It is a truth I cannot forget.”
“Come, come. You have been shy long enough. By God's Holy Mother, I love you. None other will do for me. I want your answer.”
“Your Grace, you have had my answer.”
“That you love me not?”
“That I love my honor and I would rather die than give it up. I will be no man's mistress.”
I could see the anger in his face—the spoiled boy who had rarely been denied what he wanted since he came to kingship, and I was frightened by the intensity of his desire for me.
“Think on it,” he said. “And do not be deceived. You are mine. I will not let you escape me.”
The dance could not stop until he decided that it should. It had to go on for some time. The whole of the Court, while they could not hear our dialogue, must be aware of its nature.
I stopped in the dance and bowed to him. He led me back to my place. Although I might appear cool, I was trying to control my trembling limbs.
I lay in bed thinking about everything that had been said. The Court was now aware of the King's passion for me. It was unlike him to make such a public display of his amours; before he had always been discreet. It was only the case of Elizabeth Blount which had become common knowledge, and that had been the most serious of all his love affairs. And now he had recognized her son as his.
I could imagine the gossip. “Not since Elizabeth Blount…”
What could I do? I was afraid. There was a certain anger in his passion. I must remember that he was all-powerful. He could ruin my family just as quickly as he had built it up. I appeared to be in a position to carry on the tradition of the Boleyn women and bolster up the family fortunes. Mary had done it. The honors which had come to my father and George had clearly been due to the King's affection for her. How much more could I do for them?
I should be once more in disgrace. My father would never forgive me. His lands, his appointments at Court, the King's favor, his rising riches were all very dear to him. He despised Mary for her lack of acquisitiveness and her humble marriage to Will Carey, who was as spineless as she was. But he had not hesitated to take the spoils she had brought to him.
I wondered what the King would do. It was clear that he would not lightly accept my refusal. In fact, I had an idea that my reluctance made his desire more urgent. He was a great hunter. He was indefatigable in the chase. It was said that in a day's hunting he never failed to tire eight or ten horses. The joy of pursuit was great, and that evening he had shown me that my reluctance to give way to his wishes only made him more determined to bend me to them.
I did not know what I should do, and I determined on flight.
The next day I asked for an audience with the Queen.
There was no change in her attitude toward me. This proud daughter of Spanish kings would not betray the fact that she was even aware of her husband's infidelities.
I knelt before her. I said: “I wish to leave the Court, Your Grace, and return to my father's house for a while.”
There was a faint flicker of interest in her pale, almost expressionless face.
“When do you wish to go?”
“At once, Your Grace.”
She did not ask the reason. She knew and she applauded my decision. She could not fail to see how hotly the King was pursuing me, and she thought that was the decision of a good and virtuous girl.
“You will take your maid with you?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Then leave when you will.”
“I thank Your Grace.”
She gave me a sad little smile. “I hope you will find a solution to your problems, Mistress Boleyn.”
“I thank Your Grace.”
I was dismissed.
And so I returned to Hever.
MY STEPMOTHER WAS AMAZED to see me. There had been no time to warn her of my coming.
I threw myself into her arms and clung to her.
She said: “Anne, you should have let me know. How are you? Are you well? My dear, what does this mean?”
“It means that I am home. I will tell you later on.”
She bustled about. My room must be prepared. She must go to the kitchens. I told her I wanted little to eat.
“Something is wrong,” she said. “I know it.”
Soon I was telling her.
“It is the King,” I said. “He has cast his eyes on me…as he did on Mary…”
“My dear… dear child.”
“I'll not have him,” I said. “I have told him so.”
“And you have been sent from Court?”
“I left of my own free will.”
“You will be out of favor for it.”
“I hope so, Mother.”
“It is so sad. If only they had let you marry Henry Percy, you would have been happy.”
“Yes,” I said. “I was determined to be and I should have been… just as now I am determined to be no man's mistress.”
“Well, you shall stay here, my child, and we shall be together as we were. And one day perhaps there will be some man whom you can love.”
“Oh, it is good to be with you.”
“You must eat and sleep and then we shall have lots of talk. You shall tell me everything.”
I lay in my bed.
This could be the end of my Court life. Perhaps I could go to France. What was happening there now? Marguerite might help me. She was a widow now but she had never had any great love for her husband. If I wrote to her, I could tell her how I had followed her sorrows and been very sad for her. I wondered what the Court of France would be like now … with François no longer the splendid figure of his youth. But Marguerite would be the same. I would be able to talk to her of Henry's passion as I had once talked of that of François. She would understand and help me.
It was like a raft to cling to in a stormy sea.
The next day I talked to my stepmother. I told her of my conversations with the King; she listened intently and sympathized with me. I was glad my father was not there. I knew he would be eager to throw another daughter of his into the arms of the all-powerful dispenser of honors to the families of his mistresses.
I watched her at her sewing and she told me of the trivialities of life at Hever which were so important to her—how the wine had matured, how the herb garden was growing, how one of the servants was with child by a stableman.
I listened half-heartedly and thought: This is how my life will become.
But it was not to be.
The following day I was in my room when I heard the clatter of horses’ hooves and I thought at once: It is my father sent to upbraid me, or a messenger from Court perhaps.
I looked out of my window. The King, with a few attendants, was riding into the courtyard.
My stepmother, in a state of extreme nervousness, went out to greet him.
I heard his loud booming voice. “Lady Rochford, good day to you. It does me good to see you in good health. And Mistress Anne, I hope, is in like case.”
I leaned against my door. So he was not going to let me escape. I would be firm, though. I should need all my skill to withstand him.
My stepmother was coming up to my room to tell me that he was here, commanding me to appear before him.
The door opened. My stepmother stood there, looking frightened.
“Anne …” she began.
And he was there behind her. He was smiling, boyish again, proud of his achievement. See, here I am!
He stood looking at me for a moment, his blue eyes tender, yet burning with passion. I flung back the hair from my face for it was loose and un
kempt.
He said: “You may leave us, Lady Rochford.”
My poor stepmother, bewildered, hesitating but overawed, dropped a curtsy and departed.
He came into the room.
“My Anne,” he said.
I said: “Your Grace, we are unprepared for the honor of this visit.”
“That matters not at all,” he replied. “This is not a state affair. This is a lover come for his lass.”
“Your Grace, the honor is great, but…”
He was beside me. He had taken my hair in his hands and was pulling me toward him.
“Did you think I would let you run away from me?” he said. “I will never let you leave me.”
“You find me… unprepared.”
“I like it,” he said. “I find you delightful in any guise.”
“I must help my stepmother. She is overwhelmed by this visit.”
“Nay…no need. I came for you… not a banquet.”
“But my father will be most upset if we do not treat Your Grace with due respect.”
“Treat me as I would be treated, Anne. I ask nothing more.”
“My lord…I am in great distress.”
“I would cause you no distress. I would bring you only joy.”
“Then, my lord …”
“Don't say it again,” he said. “I know your mind. I know you love your honor and I respect that in you. Dost think I am some satyr who would force myself upon a reluctant maiden? That is not so. You have been in my thoughts for a long time. I have tried to put you out of them but when you came back to Court, I knew that was impossible. Now we must act. I have much of importance to say to you.”
“Your Grace, I cannot change my mind.”
“I have thought of that. I will speak long with you and tell you what is in my mind.” His eyes lighted with a touch of mischief. “We will go to that garden. Do you remember, the scene of our first meeting? There I shall tell you what I plan for us. We will go there. Come with me.”
“I must comb my hair… make myself worthy of your presence. I must change my gown.”
“It is not your gown I came to see, sweetheart. To me in any guise you are all that I need. But this is serious talk. It can mean so much to us two. How long shall I wait for you in the garden?”
