by G Lawrence
During the entertainments I had remained, as befitted my place, mostly by Katherine’s side within the stands that lined the jousting pitch. I brought heated wine and sweetmeats to my mistress as she asked for them, but as Henry and the Duke of Suffolk prepared to undertake a match, Katherine sent me to refill her supply of wine from barrels in the lower stalls. As the King and Suffolk took up their positions at either end of the jousting ring, I had moved forwards, Katherine’s jug in my hands, awaiting the wine bearer to fill it from his barrel. I tapped my feet impatiently at the slowness of the man filling the leathern jug and looked up at the match preparing to begin. Each of the competitors were fine jousters. It was likely to be an exciting match and I wanted to be back in my position at the top of the stalls near Katherine, so that I could view it better.
The trumpets blasted out heavy notes which filled the stands with the ringing notes of battle. The crowds quietened their conversations and all eyes were drawn to Henry on his great horse. The huge stallion reared in anticipation and there was a cheer from the gathered crowd as the horses of the Duke and King started to ride at each other with furious speed. And it was then that I noticed something was wrong… very wrong. As the two knights thundered towards each other across the wet earth I saw that Henry had not lowered the visor on his helmet. He was in terrible danger; riding towards Suffolk’s raised lance with his face bared, naked and unprotected. Suffolk had not noted the vulnerable position his master was in; from behind the steel wall of his own helmet, visibility was much limited. Henry had not seemed to notice, either, that he was riding at Suffolk with an entirely unprotected face… Should the Duke’s lance hit the King, then he could be killed.
Others, apart from me, had seen this too. Shouts of alarm and fear broke out through the crowd. “Hold! Hold!” cried many voices, all lapping over each other, as the great horses galloped towards each other with the deafening noise of metal and hooves beating on wet earth. I shrieked in fear as I saw Suffolk’s great lance pointed squarely at Henry’s bare and unprotected face. Throwing Katherine’s jug to the floor, I raced forwards to the edge of the stalls where I grabbed a guard and screamed into his face.
“He will die!” I shouted at the surprised guard, who evidently had been snoozing in his position, and turned to stare at me with dazed eyes. I pointed at Henry. “The King!” I shouted. “His face… his helmet! The Duke will kill him!”
Just at that moment the two men came together in a great crash. Suffolk’s lance first hit Henry’s chest, but its tip, splintering into a hundred pieces, crashed upwards into his unprotected face. Henry was hit hard. Time and noise seemed to stop as I saw the stretched faces of the crowds convulse in horror. The King of England flew from his new saddle, sailing backwards through the air, and he smashed with a great crash on the dirty floor of the tournament ring.
He did not move.
I screamed and before I knew what I was doing I had ducked under the barrier and found myself sprinting over the jousting pitch to Henry’s side, my skirts bundled in my hands, my legs flying across the ground as though I were a wild hind. I fell to my knees at his side, looking with horror on his face. I was one of the first to reach him. I grabbed his hand, staring in fearful fascination at the thick, bright blood that covered his face, and the wealth of splinters that stuck out from his helmet’s visor. The helmet was pushed so far back on his head that I gave it one touch and it came off entirely, taking many of the splinters with it.
Blood and wooden shards covered his face; his eyes were red with gore. I fought back a powerful urge to vomit as I stared in frozen horror. There was so much blood that I thought our beloved King was dead. He was not moving. I pressed my ear to the plate on his chest and tried to listen for a heart beat, but I could hear nothing through the metal. I looked again at his face and down at his unmoving body. All seemed to happen around me as though time had slowed.
From around me I heard shouts and screams of shock and terror and then, it was as though time had started again. All around me there were people. A pair of hands tried to take me from Henry’s side, but I shook them off and shot a crazed, savage look at the guard who had tried to remove me. The man backed off as he looked into my demonic face and wild eyes. I did not care. I turned my attention back to Henry, to the unmoving body before me, my King, lying battered and broken on the dirty floor.
I took my sleeve of heavy green velvet, embroidered with a beautiful pattern of golden honeysuckle, and held it to the blood gushing from his handsome face. I pressed the thick fabric of my gown against wounds from which blood burbled like a stream, flowing over his face and neck, dripping to the brown earth beneath him. I thought he was dead. Tears that I had not noticed until now started to blind me as I wiped clean his face. Then, even as my heart sank in sorrow, knowing that our King, this great man, was dead, suddenly, to my relief, I saw two open blue eyes staring up at me with dazed wonder and awe.
“I knew not…” Henry whispered as he looked up at me.
“Your Majesty!” I cried out in relief. “My King!” I wept, unable to say any more in my relief at hearing his voice. Others around me seemed to sag slightly, and there were shouts from the crowd gathered about the King that he still lived… that he had spoken.
The pale face and weak body of the Duke of Suffolk collapsed on his knees at my side with a great bang and crash of metal. “Henry,” he croaked in a voice that grated with despair as he groped for the King’s hand. “Your Majesty… My friend… Henry… say that I have not killed you.” Suffolk put his head to his King’s metal-covered chest and groaned with pain and despair. As well he might, for if he had killed the King of England, he would pay for it with his own life, friend or no.
Henry was not looking at Suffolk, however; his blue eyes were fixed on my pale and weeping face. I used my sleeve to wipe more, fresh blood from the wounds on his face, and I tried to smile at him. Henry smiled up at me, his eyes dazed, unfocused, and his words slurred as they left his mouth.
“I knew not…” he repeated as he gripped my hand tighter.
“What did you not know?” I whispered back, not caring for the proper method of address as I leaned in towards his broken and swollen face.
“That angels… were so dark of hair,” Henry said wonderingly, staring at my face. His eyes were flickering strangely as though he were not quite in this world. There was a dreamy quality to his words as though he were half-asleep; his words were muffled and unclear. I felt fresh fear break out in my heart for him; he seemed already half-taken to the realms of heaven in this confused state.
Suffolk laughed at Henry’s words, almost hysterical in relief. “That is no angel, my lord, it is Mistress Anne Boleyn! You are well, Henry… you are at court… the joust… do you remember?”
Henry frowned a little, and winced, and then his eyes travelled to Suffolk. At seeing the King’s eyes focus on his face, Suffolk started to stutter at him in panic. “We charged each other in a fair joust, Majesty… You were knocked from your horse… Your visor was not lowered… I knew this not when we charged. My lance hit your face. My Lord, my King, forgive me, please.” Suffolk’s voice cracked as he spoke his last words and I saw tears running down his face. Despite my general dislike of the Duke, I could not doubt that he loved his master well, and also feared greatly for what might happen to him should Henry die of his wounds. Suffolk grasped at Henry’s metal-covered hand, banging it against the steel of his own armour, over his heart. I shook my head at the Duke, trying to remove Henry’s hand from his; bruising the King was hardly going to help him now. Suffolk seemed not to notice the fluttering of my hands at his, however, so fraught were the emotions of his heart. Henry’s other hand, removed of its metal glove, still lay in my own hand.
He blinked. Blood fell like tears from his eyes. He took his hand from Suffolk’s grip, shaking at it to remove the metal casings. We helped him, and he lifted his hand to his eyes, wiping at the bloody mess that covered them. He looked at the blood on his hand, then at the
deep stains on my sleeve and back to the Duke’s pallid face with amazement.
“The joust… yes…. I remember, Charles. I did not think until the last to wonder why I could see you so well. I remember…”
Henry looked at me; his face creased with confusion, he tried to lift himself. Suffolk and I pulled him up to the sound of armour creaking and groaning. Sitting up, Henry’s face was closer to mine and I could see the piercing ice-blue of his eyes, bright against bloodstained sockets. I felt his breath on my skin, and his hand, warm and alive, was still holding my fingers. In the sudden intimacy of the position, on the dirty floor of that yard, I felt such a strange mixture of emotions. It was not desire as I had often felt for him before; this was not a moment for such an emotion. It was more like a wave of sadness, of happiness, of protectiveness, of… love. It washed over me, born from the fear that he might have been taken from me.
I choked suddenly on fresh tears, overcome by the different emotions that were fighting for space in my heart. I fought them back, staring into Henry’s eyes as he stared at me. It was as though he had never seen me before; as though he were looking at me anew. He stared at me as though I were a cup of water and he a man crawling from a desert. My face flushed under his stare. I lowered my eyes and he reached out to take my chin with his hand. He stroked my cheek with his thumb, streaking blood and dirt upon my face.
“I thought you were an angel,” he whispered with wonder in his voice.
“Anne was the first to your side even as you fell, Your Majesty,” I heard the familiar voice of my brother say behind us, gruff with relief. “It was as though she flew to your side past us all.”
Henry glanced at George and then looked back at me; a small smile appeared on his bloody face “The first to my side?” he asked and I nodded, gulping back tears of relief. “Ahead of all my guards? Ahead of all my lords and servants… you, my lady?”
“I feared...” I choked and could not finish the words as another deep sob rose from my chest suffocating my mouth.
“Hush, my lady,” Henry consoled. The blood on his face still trickled; a light rain had started to fall that carried it in tiny streams down his face and onto his fine armour. “I am well, and with devotion such as yours, I shall live a long and happy life. I thought you an angel, Mistress Boleyn, but I am happier to find you still a woman and I still a man.”
The noise of the crowd about us grew with shouts of relief. We were packed in by a huge crowd of people gathered about the fallen form of our King. There were shouts that I recognised; voices of my circle of friends, and then of the King’s sister, Mary, who broke through the crowd with imperious cries. She saw the bloody sitting figure of her brother and sagged to her knees at Suffolk’s side.
“Sweet Jesu Henry!” she exclaimed as she took in Henry’s face and my blood-soaked clothes. “Sweet Jesu!” she said again, her face pale as she broke into tears. Suffolk took her roughly in his arms and held her as she sobbed, her face in her hands like a child.
“I am well, sister,” Henry said to her. “Fear not. I am well. Come, Charles, help me to rise, the people must see that I am fine or there will be panic, there will be rumours of my death.” He turned to me. “Wipe my face once more, Anne,” he said. “The Queen will not face my blood as bravely as you.” He smiled at me again. “But then, you are of good English stock, and your heart is like that of a lioness in the protection of your King.”
I did not feel like a lioness now, trembling and shaking. I lifted my dark green sleeve to his face and wiped the wounds on his handsome face as clean as I could, feeling him wince in pain under the stroke of velvet against torn flesh. He released his hold on my hand and as he rose, whispered in my ear words that made my cheeks flame and my heart race. I still remember the feeling of his breath on my cheek, and the way that my heart pounded to feel him so close. Refusing support from Suffolk or the others crowded anxiously around him, Henry then stood and raised his hands to the skies.
“Praise be to God!” Henry cried out in a booming voice. “Praise be to God! Your sovereign is well and unharmed!”
The crowd around him roared in frenzied, hysterical cheering. There were shouts of joy and relieved laughter bursting out from all around us. I rose shakily to my feet and saw the ashen face of Katherine as she sat down heavily on her great chair in the stalls, weak with relief that her husband was not dead. The King refused to sit down, or be tended by physicians; he was fine, he insisted. He had the splinters removed from his face and took to his horse once more, riding another six matches to prove that he was well. He could not appear weak or injured before his people; this, we understood well. To do so would create fear throughout his lands, and spread panic into the hearts of the country.
The Queen looked on as her husband rode out again and again. She tried to regain her composure and stay calm during each of the following matches, but her face remained pale and her hands shook as she clapped them each time he won. But she remained in her seat, watching her husband bravely as he knocked all other combatants from their horses. Although Henry had great skill in the joust, I doubt that the other lords he was matched against that day tried hard to best him. They had almost seen their King die… none wanted to be the man who knocked him from his horse for a second time that day.
Suffolk looked green as a frog for the rest of the day; he had, after all, almost killed Henry, and had the King died, Suffolk’s head would surely have rolled for it. As it was, Henry kept saying that it was no one’s fault but his own; he should have made sure the visor was down. Henry had emerged bloody, but victorious. He looked like a true knight on his horse. The crowds were entirely enamoured of their apparently invincible sovereign, but I, who had seen his bloody face up close, knew how much pain he must have been in, and how much strength it must have taken to ride out again. He did it for his people, to show them that he had not been harmed in truth. Henry showed strength for them. He was truly a man to be admired.
I went to change my bloody gown with the permission of the Queen who said nothing about my, perhaps, improper behaviour at flying to her husband’s side. When she looked at the blood on my gown her face fell another shade of white, looking almost grey. She had not seen Henry close up as yet, but she could guess at his injuries by the long streaks and stains of red-brown upon my dress. It must have taken a great deal of self-control for Katherine to sit there and continue to cheer for her husband, when all she could really have wanted was to tend to him in private.
Margaret came to me and put a hand to my shoulder as I left the Queen. “Are you alright?” she asked, her normally pale face even whiter than before.
I nodded, although I was by no means sure that I was fine. “I will be well, Margaret,” I whispered, feeling a little sick as I looked on the blood on my sleeves. “I need to change.”
She looked at me with worried eyes, but nodded to me.
I was still shaking with shock as I changed. I could not untie the ribbons or unclasp the pins on my gown myself. Bess had a hard time undoing my dress as I shivered and shook before her. She brought water and I shook my head at her as she went to heat the water over the fire. I wanted the blood off me. Now. I could not bear to have Henry’s blood upon my hands and my clothes any longer. It only increased the shaking of my hands and the pounding of my heart to see it there.
As Bess helped me to wash, I watched the blood of a king flow from my hands and my face with silent and detached horror. There was blood everywhere, it seemed, blood floating, brown-red in the bowl of water before me and blood smeared on the floor from my gown. Blood on my hands, blood stained on the white edges of my undergarments. The blood of the King of England covered me.
As I regained my composure, as I gulped down wine and felt my maid’s hands cleanse me, I thought that England had come close to another civil war on this day. We had almost lost our sovereign. I had almost lost him; that sudden thought brought new tears to my swollen eyes. I had to hold my chin and clench my jaw to stop my teeth from rattling
against each other.
Cleansed of the blood and changed into a dress of grey and pink silks, Bess plied me with wine until the shaking of my hands had stopped. By the time I emerged at court for the evening’s entertainments, I was mostly recovered.
A great feast had been laid on for the aftermath of the joust; Henry and Katherine were at its head. The King was cleaned, cleansed and changed into a fine purple and gold tunic. His wounds were still there, of course, but they were pink now, and bled no more. Rude, ruddy wounds ran over his face, marring his handsome visage, but his manner was utterly unchanged, as though nothing terrifying had occurred that day. He laughed and jested with his lords and complimented ladies. If he mentioned the accident at all, it was only to assure people that it was nothing, and that his wounds were mere scratches. He jested that Suffolk had better work on strengthening that arm for the next time they came to face each other.
