Mary, Bloody Mary

by Meyer, Carolyn, 1935-

  Susan sighed. "Replaced with Anne's. She has taken her white falcon, crowned it, and placed it on a bed of red and white roses. Anne stayed in the Tower for two days, while the rest of us amused ourselves."

  "With the earl of Chichester?" I asked slyly.

  Lady Susan frowned, but Lady Winifred burst out laughing. "You should have seen Lady Susan, doing everything in her power to outwit him," said Winifred. "Her look was so stern that I think poor old Chichester was taken with a fit of ague."

  "I watched Anne's procession to Westminster Abbey," said Lady Winifred, pouring more hippocras for us all. "She rode in an open litter, and her knights carried the canopy embroidered with her motto. La Plus Heureuse—'The Most Happy.'

  "But when Anne passed by in her ruby crown, the crowd just stared. Her long hair was worn loose as a virgin's, and her silver gown was cut full over her six-month belly. The people didn't even remove their caps as a sign of respect. And listen to this: All along the route of the procession the king had ordered red-painted wooden shields with the gilded letters H and A intertwined, for 'Henry' and 'Anne.' The crowd was silent and sullen, until someone pointed at the wooden shields and shouted, 'Look! H and A, HA-HA!' And all along the route the people heard about it and took up the cry, 'Ha-ha!' as Anne passed."

  "And you. Lady Winifred? Did you also cry 'ha-ha'?"

  Winifred stared at her lap. "No, madam, I did not. I was with my father's people and I could not."

  I nodded. "I understand. I don't fault you." I turned to Lady Susan.

  "And the ceremony?" I asked. My head was throbbing with another blinding headache, but I couldn't stop myself.

  "It went on for hours," Lady Susan said. "Very boring."

  I closed my eyes and imagined myself riding in the royal barge and then in the open litter surrounded by my knights. Someday, I thought, it would be my turn. The streets would not be silent; there would be cheers: "Mary, Beloved Mary!" they would cry. Hats would be thrown high in the air, flowers would be tossed before the white horses bearing my litter....

  I came to my senses on my couch, the anxious faces of Susan and Winifred and Salisbury floating like moons above me.

  "You are ill, madam," said Salisbury, applying wet cloths to my forehead and wrists. "You have been upset." She held a cup to my lips. "This will help you rest."

  I slept. Sometimes I saw my own mother's face and heard her tender words. Sometimes it was my father's stern eyes and his voice, harsh and unforgiving. Sometimes it was the ugly, distorted mouth and shrill cry of Anne Boleyn.

  I awoke, but the pain in my head had not relented. The royal physician was called. The cause of the pain was determined: a rotting tooth. It must be drawn, he said, and produced a pronged instrument with which he extracted a molar from my upper jaw, ignoring my screams.

  MY FACE WAS still swollen and discolored when Chapuys came for one of his rare visits, looking thinner and very pale. "You have heard all you care to hear about the coronation of the Great Whore?" he asked.

  I nodded grimly. "You were in the procession, of course?"

  "I was, and entirely against my will. I had been quite ill, but that was no excuse. I shall not trouble you with tales of the king's excess in the celebrations, except to say that he was forced to take out loans to pay for them. Now he expects the people to pay. But the people hate Anne—they don't want her as their queen, and they do not want to pay so much as a shilling for her coronation. Henry tries to keep people from speaking against Anne, but he cannot muzzle the whole country! They say that she's a harlot and they're prophesying doom. The people are terrified.

  "There's more bad news for the king," Chapuys continued. "The pope has again refused to grant a divorce and has declared Henry's marriage to Anne invalid. In the eyes of the church the baby to be born in less than three months will be illegitimate."

  I suppressed a smile. "Another bastard," I said.

  CHAPTER 13: A Royal Birth

  By order of the king, you, the present heir to the crown are required to witness the birth of the new heir. Leave for Greenwich Palace at once. The countess of Salisbury is not to accompany you.

  Twisting her handkerchief this way and that, Salisbury paced my bedchamber, getting in everyone's way while Cromwell's messengers waited for me below.

  "Your worry is useless," I told Salisbury. "What can Anne do to me in front of all those people? At least he still recognizes me as the heir."

  "You don't understand, madam," Salisbury cried impatiently. "You'll be in danger every moment you stay at Greenwich. What if Anne should order her henchmen to force themselves upon you.f*"

  "Rape me? Why would Anne have me raped?" My hands began to shake so that I nearly dropped the gown I was holding. A servant took it from me and folded it into a wooden trunk.

  Salisbury threw herself down on her painful old knees and lifted her hands imploringly. "Please pay heed, Mary! Once your virginity is lost by whatever means, Parliament will declare you 'corrupted,' and you'll be forbidden ever to inherit the throne, no matter what happens—even if the king changes his mind and declares you legitimate again. That will make the crown even more secure for the little bastard about to come into this corrupt world."

  I sank down beside her. A trickle of cold sweat made its way down my back.

  "You don't seem to realize that Anne is like the king himself—she will stop at nothing," Salisbury wailed. "Oh, I'll worry myself to death until you're safely back here."

  I must not give in to my fear, I told myself. "There is not a thing you can do, dear Salisbury," I told her, helping her to her feet. "Nor I. We must have courage." But at that moment I felt anything but courageous.

  I TRAVELED TO Greenwich Palace with only one manservant and two of my maids, Lady Lucy and Lady Barbara, both of whom I considered rather stupid. I would have chosen Susan and Winifred, but I had been instructed that they, too, must stay behind at Beaulieu. Furthermore, I had been ordered to travel in a plain, closed litter so I would not be recognized. This was not to protect my safety but to make sure that none of my loyal supporters in the countryside would rally to my cause.

  This was my first time in the palace in nearly five years. It was a shock to realize how far I had fallen! Five years earlier I had still been Princess of Wales, still accorded all the honor and privilege of my rank. Now I was nothing, nobody, no better than a servant myself. I had not been invited because I was wanted but because tradition required it. And it was an opportunity for Queen Anne to show her power over me.

  When we arrived my ladies and I were given poorly furnished chambers in a remote part of the palace that I had never seen before. I inspected the small bed with its rough coverlet and thin, lumpy mattress. The candles in the plain pewter candlesticks were of smoky tallow rather than clean-burning beeswax. I was hungry but had no chance to send for some bread and ale because I was summoned to the queen's chambers.

  "I shall call upon Lady Anne when I've had a chance to refresh myself," I told the messenger.

  "Her Majesty the queen commands you to pay your respects at once," the servant insisted.

  I followed the servant to the queen's chamber of presence.

  Since the beginning of her eighth month of pregnancy, Anne had been required to stay in these chambers with a few waiting women whose unhappy duty it was to keep her entertained. Tapestries and hangings covered every window and even the ceiling; the chamber was oppressively dark and stifling. Anne reclined awkwardly on a couch piled with silk pillows. Behind her a pair of wide oak doors opened to an inner chamber, similarly draped and darkened. In the midst of that second room stood a magnificent bed. I recognized it at once—it was my mother s bed, given her by my father at the time of my birth. Now it would become the bed of estate where the next royal birth would take place. My mother's bed! How dare Anne? How dare my father! From the looks of Anne, bloated and sallow, the birth was imminent.

  "So," Anne said in a shrill voice, "Lady Mary has arrived."

  I stood stock stil
l. Lady Mary! Not "Princess Mary" or at the very least "madam," but a tide that was no tide at all, as though I were the daughter of the lowest, most impoverished baron instead of the daughter of the king of England.

  Anne's onyx black eyes glittered in her pallid face. "Have you no manners?" she demanded. "Then we shall have to teach you some! Kneel!"

  I hesitated. This was the first time Anne and I had come face-to-face, the first time Anne had spoken to me directly since the night of my betrothal to the French king. I had been only a child of nine then and had understood nothing. My greatest fear at that time was that I might one day be forced to marry the ugly King Francis. At the mercy of this wicked woman, I wondered now if my life would not have been better had I been married to the Frenchman after all.

  Slowly I sank to my knees.

  Anne glared at me. "I have only contempt for you. Mistress Mary. You and your wretched, scheming mother. You are nothing but a bastard, you know— di mistake! The king's mistake. But now the king has corrected his error. His one true heir lies here, with me"—she stroked her huge belly—"and within a matter of days the future king of England will be brought forth. And you shall be his servant. I think that will be a good lesson for you, changing his napkins and cleaning up his messes. It will teach you your place in the world."

  "And if it is a daughter, madam?" I asked. Immediately I regretted my boldness. I knew it was a mistake as soon as the words had left my mouth.

  A silver goblet that had stood on a table at Anne's side flew past my head and clattered to the floor. Red wine splashed everywhere. I scarcely blinked.

  "It is a son! It is a son!" Anne screeched, and a golden pomander sailed by and struck the wall. "The physicians have predicted it, the astrologers have studied the stars and know it's true! The king has consulted his soothsayers, and all are in agreement. I shall bear the king his son and heir!"

  I remained on my knees, jaws clamped shut against any more imprudent words.

  "Get out of my sight!" Anne cried. Behind her couch the ladies-in-waiting shifted slightly, their petticoats rustling. I rose, trembling, and turned to leave. "Do not turn your back on the queen!"

  Pain held my head in a tightening vise. Slowly I pivoted to face Anne and backed out of the room.

  SPRAWLING EXHAUSTED ON the uncomfortable mattress, I asked God again why He was punishing me. I'd sent a message to my father, the king, announcing my arrival at the palace, in case no one had bothered to tell him. There had been no reply. Later I had found my way to the chapel royal to hear mass, but I was barred from entering by the king's guards, who didn't recognize me.

  The guard simply laughed when I told him who I was. "Be on about your business now," he said, as though he were addressing some scullery maid who had turned up at the wrong place.

  I passed the night restlessly, fearful that someone might enter my room in the darkness to do me harm and tormented by another of my fierce headaches. Beside me on crude trundle beds, my two ladies tossed and groaned in their sleep.

  Before dawn as I prepared to recite my morning prayers, I thought I heard a light tap on the door. I scrambled to my feet and waited—nothing. Cautiously I crept to the door and flung it open—no one. My imagination, I thought, but another idea also occurred to me: Anne was deliberately setting out to taunt me, to pluck at my nerves.

  Every day Anne sent for me and commanded me to stand behind her couch; sometimes she ordered me to kneel until I thought I would collapse. When she wanted her goblet filled with hippocras, I was the one who must pour it. When she wanted a book, I fetched it. When a cushion had to be rearranged, I did it. The most disgusting moment was when Anne insisted that I help her to her pewter chamber pot—and then carry out the slops. The only thing that allowed me to endure these insults was my burning hatred, which gave me strength when I thought I would faint.

  All this time I saw my father only once; he entered the presence chamber as I was leaving, dispatched on another of Anne's offensive errands. I was stunned by his appearance. He had grown fat since I had last seen him; his blue eyes seemed to have shrunk, surrounded by flesh. He startled me by greeting me warmly. "Ah, Mary, my pearl!" he said, embracing me and kissing me on the forehead.

  Immediately Anne's imperious voice could be heard calling from her chamber. Instantly the king's demeanor changed; his smile vanished, and he thrust me away. He left me hurriedly, and I noticed that he was limping. I did not return to Anne's chamber until I was certain that the king had gone. A lump of anger sat hard in my stomach—^anger at my father, anger at Anne, anger even at God.

  I RESUMED MY old habit of spying. At first I was offended that few in the palace recognized me in my poor old kirtles and petticoats, but then I found that anonymity gave me a measure of freedom. I could roam the palace nearly at will. But Anne demanded my presence for long hours, and I was often too tired to spy.

  One day I stumbled upon the chamber where the king's courtiers passed their time at drinking and cards. They paid me no attention as I pretended to trim the candlewicks and listened to the rumble of their voices:

  "The king has wearied of her. She's no longer his concubine—she's his shrew."

  "The queen accuses him of having another mistress."

  "Is it true?"

  "The king denies it."

  "But is it true?"

  I could hear them laughing as I left the room.

  AFTER THREE WEEKS of this horror, I was awakened before dawn and summoned to the lying-in chamber; the queen's labor pains had begun. I dressed hastily, rushed through my prayers as Anne's maidservant yawned noisily, and hurried along the poorly lit passageways to the room that had been prepared for the birth.

  In the inner chamber Anne lay on my mother's magnificent bed under a canopy of white satin embroidered with pearls. There was an air of festivity and excitement. Rows of frightening metal instruments had been carefully laid out, and several physicians lingered nearby. The queen's ladies-in-waiting hovered about the great bed, bathing Anne's brow and giving her sips of sweetened wine and herbs. Someone plucked a lute. With each pain Anne grimaced and groaned, but as it subsided she cried, "Tell the king his son is coming!"

  The day wore on and Anne's labor continued. Everyone was weary, and Anne's ladies began to take turns slipping out for rest. I was not permitted to leave Anne's apartments but slumped on a chair, dozing occasionally, as the hours passed and Anne's cries continued. Throughout the night members of the nobility gathered in the antechamber to await the announcement of the birth.

  At first light on Sunday, the seventh day of September, anno Domini 1533, Anne's aunt. Lady Shelton, shook me roughly. "On your feet, lazy! The queen is giving birth to the king's son."

  Aching with fatigue I followed Shelton into the inner chamber. Anne lay surrounded by physicians and midwives; Shelton shoved me into a place near the foot of the great bed. I was shocked by what I saw. There was blood everywhere and Anne's sweat-drenched hair spread out on the white pillow like a dark stain, her onyx eyes glazed with pain. "Tell the king his son is born!" she shrieked, and with one last heave the baby, slimy with blood, slipped into the world.

  "The next king of England," Anne murmured. "I have done it at last."

  I had only a glimpse of the babe as it was handed immediately to a nurse to be cleaned and swaddled. That one glimpse was enough to tell me all I needed to know: The baby was a girl.

  Except for the mewling of the newborn, the room had fallen silent as physicians hurried to tend to Anne. The others exchanged worried glances.

  Exhausted as she was, Anne seemed to sense that something was amiss. "Why are you silent?" she demanded. "Why are there no cheers for the future king?"

  "Madam," ventured the head physician. "The infant is a girl. You have given the king a new princess. A fine healthy daughter."

  I stepped back from the bed, away from the wrenching sobs. Anne had risked everything, and she had lost. But the game, I knew, was not yet over.

  Midwives bustled around, r
emoving the bloody linens, arranging Anne's hair, dressing her in a special gown, and placing her in the freshened bed with the swaddled infant tucked in the crook of her arm. Aromatic herbs perfumed the air.

  I stepped wearily into the outer passageway. From the hubbub I knew that the king was on his way. Having no wish to encounter the king himself at this moment, I slipped back into the antechamber and lost myself among the crowd of courtiers. Word had spread of the birth of a girl, and anxious whispers rippled throughout the room.

  "I was present when Cromwell gave him the news," I overheard the king's friend Lord Garrett say. "The king is threatening to execute the physicians and soothsayers who promised him a son."

  "The king had already prepared announcements of the birth of a prince that were to be sent to all the courts of Europe," murmured another friend, Lord Norris. "Now he must prepare new ones."

  "He'd planned a grand tournament to celebrate the birth of a son," whispered a third. "Now he will cancel it."

  Nerves were on edge. Everyone—myself included—feared becoming the target of the king's disappointment and fury. I moved to the back of the crowd.

  "The king is coming. Make way for the king!"

  King Henry strode in. All dropped to their knees, but the king brushed past without acknowledging our presence. I recognized the rage behind the set of his jaw and the pinch of his mouth. He stalked into Anne's chamber, and the door closed behind him. The nobles resumed their worried murmuring, and I escaped back to my gloomy quarters. I lay down on the bed still dressed in the same petticoat and bodice—Lucy and Barbara having been summoned to Anne's chamber, there was no one to undo the laces and help me remove it—^and drifted in and out of troubled sleep.

  When later that day I went down to the Great Hall for my supper, the gossip had spread among the lesser courtiers and waiting maids, at whose table I was seated.