“Your majesty spoke of the chase,” she said impatiently. “But perhaps you have found other pastime more diverting?”
“Not so — not so, sweetheart,” he replied hastily.
“There is a hart royal in the haye,” said Gabriel Lapp. “Is it your majesty’s pleasure that I set him free?
“It is, good fellow — it is,” replied the king.
And as Gabriel hastened to the netted fencework, and prepared to drive forth the hart, Henry assisted Anne Boleyn, who could not help exhibiting some slight jealous pique, to mount her steed, and having sprung into his own saddle, they waited the liberation of the buck, which was accomplished in a somewhat unexpected manner.
Separated from the rest of the herd, the noble animal made a sudden dart towards Gabriel, and upsetting him in his wild career, darted past the king, and made towards the upper part of the forest. In another instant the hounds were un coupled and at his heels, while Henry and Anne urged their steeds after him, the king shouting at the top of his lusty voice. The rest of the royal party followed as they might, and the woods resounded with their joyous cries.
The hart royal proved himself worthy of his designation. Dashing forward with extraordinary swiftness, he rapidly gained upon his pursuers — for though Henry, by putting his courser to his utmost speed, could have kept near him, he did not choose to quit his fair companion.
In this way they scoured the forest, until the king, seeing they should be speedily distanced, commanded Sir Thomas Wyat, who, with the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, was riding close behind him, to cross by the lower ground on the left, and turn the stag. Wyat instantly obeyed, and plunging his spurs deeply into his horse’s sides, started off at a furious pace, and was soon after seen shaping his rapid course through a devious glade.
Meanwhile, Henry and his fair companion rode on without relaxing their pace, until they reached the summit of a knoll, crowned by an old oak and beech-tree, and commanding a superb view of the castle, where they drew in the rein.
From this eminence they could witness the progress of the chase, as it continued in the valley beyond. An ardent lover of hunting, the king watched it with the deepest interest, rose in his saddle, and uttering various exclamations, showed, from his impatience, that he was only restrained by the stronger passion of love from joining it.
Ere long, stag, hounds, and huntsmen were lost amid a thicket, and nothing could be distinguished but a distant baying and shouts. At last even these sounds died away.
Henry, who had ill brooked the previous restraint, now grew so impatient, that Anne begged him to set off after them, when suddenly the cry of hounds burst upon their ears, and the hart was seen issuing from the dell, closely followed by his pursuers.
The affrighted animal, to the king’s great satisfaction, made his way directly towards the spot where he was stationed; but on reaching the side of the knoll, and seeing his new foes, he darted off on the right, and tried to regain the thicket below. But he was turned by another band of keepers, and again driven towards the knoll.
Scarcely had Sir Thomas Wyat reined in his steed by the side of the king, than the hart again appeared bounding up the hill. Anne Boleyn, who had turned her horse’s head to obtain a better view of the hunt, alarmed by the animal’s menacing appearance, tried to get out of his way. But it was too late. Hemmed in on all sides, and driven to desperation by the cries of hounds and huntsmen in front, the hart lowered his horns, and made a furious push at her.
Dreadfully alarmed, Anne drew in the rein so suddenly and sharply, that she almost pulled her steed back upon his haunches; and in trying to avoid the stag’s attack, caught hold of Sir Thomas Wyat, who was close beside her. In all probability she would have received some serious injury from the infuriated animal, who was just about to repeat his assault and more successfully, when a bolt from a cross-bow, discharged by Morgan Fenwolf, who suddenly made his appearance from behind the beech-tree, brought him to the ground.
But Anne Boleyn escaped one danger only to encounter another equally serious. On seeing her fling herself into the arms of Sir Thomas Wyat, Henry regarded her in stern displeasure for a moment, and then calling angrily to his train, without so much as deigning to inquire whether she had sustained any damage from the accident, or making the slightest remark upon her conduct, rode sullenly towards the castle.
CHAPTER IX.
By what means Sir Thomas Wyat obtained an Interview with Anne Boleyn — And how the Earl of Surrey saved them from the King’s anger.
The incident above related gave new life to the adherents of Catherine of Arragon, while it filled those devoted to Anne Boleyn with alarm. Immediately on Anne’s return to the castle Lord Rochford had a private interview with her, and bitterly reproached her for endangering her splendid prospects. Anne treated the matter very lightly — said it was only a temporary gust of jealousy — and added that the king would be at her feet again before the day was past.
“You are over-confident, mistress!” cried Rochford angrily. “Henry is not an ordinary gallant.”
“It is you who are mistaken, father,” replied Anne. “The king differs in no respect from any of his love-smitten subjects. I have him in my toils, and will not let him escape.”
“You have a tiger in your toils, daughter, and take heed he breaks not forcibly through them,” rejoined Rochford. “Henry is more wayward than you suppose him. Once let him take up a notion, and nothing can shake him from it. He has resolved upon the divorce as much from self-will as from any other consideration. If you regain your position with him, of which you seem so confident, do not consider yourself secure — not even when you are crowned queen — but be warned by Catherine of Arragon.”
“Catherine has not the art to retain him,” said Anne. “Henry will never divorce me.”
“Take care he does not rid himself of you in a more summary manner, daughter,” rejoined Rochford. “If you would stand well with him, you must study his lightest word, look, and action — humour him in every whim — and yield to every caprice. Above all, you must exhibit no jealousy.”
“You are wrong in all but the last, father,” returned Anne. “Henry is not to be pleased by such nice attention to his humours. It is because I have shown myself careless of them that I have captivated him. But I will take care not to exhibit jealousy, and, sooth to say, I do not think I shall have cause.”
“Be not too sure of that,” replied Rochford. “And at all events, let not the king have cause to be jealous of you. I trust Wyat will be banished from court. But if he is not, do not let him approach you more.”
“Poor Sir Thomas!” sighed Anne. “He loved me very dearly.”
“But what is his love compared to the king’s?” cried Rochford. “Tut, tut, girl! think no more of him.”
“I will not, my lord,” she rejoined; “I see the prudence of your counsel, and will obey it. Leave me, I pray you. I will soon win back the affections of the king.”
No sooner had Rochford quitted the chamber than the arras at the farther end was raised, and Wyat stepped from behind it. His first proceeding was to bar the door.
“What means this, Sir Thomas?” cried Anne in alarm. “How have you obtained admittance here?”
“Through the secret staircase,” replied Wyat, bending the knee before her.
“Rise, sir!” cried Anne, in great alarm. “Return, I beseech you, as you came. You have greatly endangered me by coming here. If you are seen to leave this chamber, it will be in vain to assert my innocence to Henry. Oh, Sir Thomas! you cannot love me, or you would not have done this.”
“Not love you, Anne!” he repeated bitterly; “not love you! Words cannot speak my devotion. I would lay down my head on the scaffold to prove it. But for my love for you, I would throw open that door, and walk forth so that all might see me — so that Henry might experience some part of the anguish I now feel.”
“But you will not do so, good Sir Thomas — dear Sir Thomas,” cried Anne Boleyn, in alarm.
“Have no
fear,” rejoined Wyat, with some contempt; “I will sacrifice even vengeance to love.”
“Sir Thomas, I had tolerated this too long,” said Anne. “Begone — you terrify me.”
“It is my last interview with you, Anne,” said Wyat imploringly; “do not abridge it. Oh, bethink you of the happy hours we have passed together — of the vows we have interchanged — of the protestations you have listened to, and returned — ay, returned, Anne. Are all these forgotten?”
“Not forgotten, Sir Thomas,” replied Anne mournfully; “but they must not be recalled. I cannot listen to you longer. You must go. Heaven grant you may get hence in safety!”
“Anne,” replied Wyat in a sombre tone, “the thought of Henry’s happiness drives me mad. I feel that I am grown a traitor — that I could slay him.”
“Sir Thomas!” she exclaimed, in mingled fear and anger.
“I will not go,” he continued, flinging himself into a seat. “Let them put what construction they will upon my presence. I shall at least wring Henry’s heart. I shall see him suffer as I have suffered; and I shall be content.”
“This is not like you, Wyat,” cried Anne, in great alarm. “You were wont to be noble, generous, kind. You will not act thus disloyally?
“Who has acted disloyally, Anne?” cried Wyat, springing to his feet, and fixing his dark eyes, blazing with jealous fury, upon her— “you or I? Have you not sacrificed your old affections at the shrine of ambition? Are you not about to give yourself to one to whom — unless you are foresworn — you cannot give your heart? Better had you been the mistress of Allington Castle — better the wife of a humble knight like myself, than the queen of the ruthless Henry.”
“No more of this, Wyat,” said Anne.
“Better far you should perish by his tyranny for a supposed fault now than hereafter,” pursued Wyat fiercely. “Think not Henry will respect you more than her who had been eight-and-twenty years his wife. No; when he is tired of your charms — when some other dame, fair as yourself, shall enslave his fancy, he will cast you off, or, as your father truly intimated, will seek a readier means of ridding himself of you. Then you will think of the different fate that might have been yours if you had adhered to your early love.”
“Wyat! Wyat! I cannot bear this — in mercy spare me!” cried Anne.
“I am glad to see you weep,” said Wyat; “your tears make you look more like your former self.”
“Oh, Wyat, do not view my conduct too harshly!” she said. “Few of my sex would have acted other than I have done.”
“I do not think so,” replied Wyat sternly; “nor will I forego my vengeance. Anne, you shall die. You know Henry too well to doubt your fate if he finds me here.”
“You cannot mean this,” she rejoined, with difficulty repressing a scream; “but if I perish, you will perish with me.”
“I wish to do so,” he rejoined, with a bitter laugh.
“Wyat,” cried Anne, throwing herself on her knees before him, “by your former love for me, I implore you to spare me! Do not disgrace me thus.”
But Wyat continued inexorable.
“O God!” exclaimed Anne, wringing her hands in agony. A terrible silence ensued, during which Anne regarded Wyat, but she could discern no change in his countenance.
At this juncture the tapestry was again raised, and the Earl of Surrey issued from it.
“You here, my lord?” said Anne, rushing towards him.
“I am come to save you, madame,” said the earl. “I have been just liberated from arrest, and was about to implore your intercession with the king, when I learned he had been informed by one of his pages that a man was in your chamber. Luckily, he knows not who it is, and while he was summoning his attendants to accompany him, I hurried hither by the secret staircase. I have arrived in time. Fly — fly! Sir Thomas Wyat!”
But Wyat moved not.
At this moment footsteps were heard approaching the door — the handle was tried — and the stern voice of the king was heard commanding that it might be opened.
“Will you destroy me, Wyat?” cried Anne.
“You have destroyed yourself,” he rejoined.
“Why stay you here, Sir Thomas?” said Surrey, seizing his arm. “You may yet escape. By heaven! if you move not, I will stab you to the heart!”
“You would do me a favour, young man,” said Wyat coldly; “but I will go. I yield to love, and not to you, tyrant!” he added, shaking his hand at the door. “May the worst pangs of jealously rend your heart!” And he disappeared behind the arras.
“I hear voices,” cried Henry from without. “God’s death! madam, open the door — or I will burst it open!”
“Oh, heaven! what is to be done?” cried Anne Boleyn, in despair.
“Open the door, and leave all to me, madam,” said Surrey; “I will save you, though it cost me my life!”
Anne pressed his hand, with a look of ineffable gratitude, and Surrey concealed himself behind the arras.
The door was opened, and Henry rushed in, followed by Richmond, Norfolk, Suffolk, and a host of attendants.
“Ah! God’s death! where is the traitor?” roared the king, gazing round.
“Why is my privacy thus broken upon?” said Anne, assuming a look of indignation.
“Your privacy!” echoed Henry, in a tone of deep derision— “Your privacy! — ha! — ha! You bear yourself bravely, it must be confessed. My lords, you heard the voices as well as myself. Where is Sir Thomas Wyat?”
“He is not here,” replied Anne firmly.
“Aha! we shall see that, mistress,” rejoined Henry fiercely. “But if Sir Thomas Wyat is not here, who is? for I am well assured that some one is hidden in your chamber.”
“What if there be?” rejoined Anne coldly.
“Ah! by Saint Mary, you confess it!” cried the king. “Let the traitor come forth.”
“Your majesty shall not need to bid twice,” said Surrey, issuing from his concealment.
“The Earl of Surrey!” exclaimed Henry, in surprise. “How come you here, my lord? Methought you were under arrest at the guard-house.”
“He was set free by my orders,” said the Duke of Richmond.
“First of all I must entreat your majesty to turn your resentment against me,” said the earl. “I am solely to blame, and I would not have the Lady Anne suffer for my fault. I forced myself into her presence. She knew not of my coming.”
“And wherefore did you so, my lord?” demanded Henry sternly.
“Liberated from the guard-house at the Duke of Richmond’s instance, my liege, I came to entreat the Lady Anne to mediate between me and your majesty, and to use her influence with your highness to have me betrothed to the Lady Elizabeth Fitzgerald.”
“Is this so, madam?” asked the king.
Anne bowed her head.
“But why was the door barred?” demanded Henry, again frowning suspiciously.
“I barred it myself,” said Surrey, “and vowed that the Lady Anne should not go forth till she had granted my request.”
“By our lady you have placed yourself in peril, my lord,” said Henry sternly.
“Your majesty will bear in mind his youth,” said the Duke of Norfolk anxiously.
“For my sake overlook the indiscretion,” cried the Duke of Richmond.
“It will not, perhaps, avail him to hope that it may be overlooked for mine,” added Anne Boleyn.
“The offence must not pass unpunished,” said Henry musingly. “My lord of Surrey, you must be content to remain for two months a prisoner in the Round Tower of this castle.”
“Your majesty!” cried Richmond, bending the knee in supplication.
“The sentence is passed,” replied Henry coldly; “and the earl may thank you it is not heavier. Richmond, you will think no more of the fair Geraldine; and it is my pleasure, Lady Anne, that the young dame withdraw from the court for a short while.”
“Your majesty shall be obeyed,” said Anne; “but—”
; “But me no buts, sweetheart,” said the king peremptorily. “Surrey’s explanation is satisfactory so far as it goes, but I was told Sir Thomas Wyat was here.”
“Sir Thomas Wyat is here,” said Will Sommers, pointing out the knight, who had just joined the throng of courtiers at the door.
“I have hurried hither from my chamber, my liege,” said Wyat, stepping forward, “hearing there was some inquiry concerning me.”
“Is your majesty now satisfied?” asked Anne Boleyn.
“Why, ay, sweetheart, well enough,” rejoined Henry. “Sir Thomas Wyat, we have a special mission for you to the court of our brother of France. You will set out to-morrow.”
Wyat bowed.
“You have saved your head, gossip,” whispered Will Sommers in the knight’s ear. “A visit to Francis the First is better than a visit to the Tower.”
“Retire, my lords,” said Henry to the assemblage; “we owe some apology to the Lady Anne for our intrusion, and desire an opportunity to make it.”
Upon this the chamber was instantly cleared of its occupants, and the Earl of Surrey was conducted, under a guard, to the Round Tower.
Henry, however, did not find it an easy matter to make peace with the Lady Anne. Conscious of the advantage she had gained, she determined not to relinquish it, and, after half an hour’s vain suing, her royal lover proposed a turn in the long gallery, upon which her apartments opened. Here they continued conversing — Henry pleading in the most passionate manner, and Anne maintaining a show of offended pride.
At last she exhibited some signs of relenting, and Henry led her into a recess in the gallery, lighted by a window filled with magnificent stained glass. In this recess was a seat and a small table, on which stood a vase filled with flowers, arranged by Anne’s own hand; and here the monarch hoped to adjust his differences with her.
Meanwhile, word having reached Wolsey and Campeggio of the new cause of jealousy which the king had received, it was instantly resolved that the former should present to him, while in his present favourable mood, a despatch received that morning from Catherine of Arragon.
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