by G Lawrence
It was during that tournament that Francis Bryan, our cousin, suffered a near-fatal accident as his opponent’s lance shattered on his helmet, earning the opponent high points in the joust and granting Bryan the loss of an eye. I saw and shuddered for Bryan’s bloody face, as he gritted his teeth to stop from screaming in pain. As he was carried from the field, I remembered well the accident that had seen Henry thrown from his horse with a face-full of splinters and blood.
I shivered to remember that day, for Henry’s nearly-averted disaster, and the disaster his country would have faced as a result. Although I had never seen civil war in these lands, I had often enough heard the stories of those who had lived through them. The King had nearly died that day without a male heir to take his throne. We could have been plunged back into battle with our neighbours, as had happened in the conflict between York and Lancaster; brother fighting brother, son fighting father, as different claims to the throne came from all those with a scrap of royal blood… But nothing had changed since that day. The King had promoted his bastard to the position of a prince, but there was still no legitimate male heir to the throne, and not likely to be one in the future either. What good could poor Katherine’s dead womb offer to England now? What good could a girl-child offer to the country but more years of desperation and death? As Henry rode in the joust, I could see that such thoughts were not only on my mind, but on the minds of many others around me. I could see the same fears that gnawed at my own heart on the faces of the White Sticks, the nobles who acted as the leaders of Henry’s Council. If the King were to die in a tournament such as this, then our country would fall into war and ruin.
But Henry would not be stopped from riding in the tournaments, no matter the danger to his country. He saw it as a test of his military and kingly skills, and made sure that his exploits on the jousting field were relayed to all visiting ambassadors, so that all the courts of Europe would hear of them too. He was proud of his skills in the joust, and would not hear of remaining a mere spectator. His father, Henry VII, had not allowed him to compete in the lists as a young prince, fearing for the life of his son. Perhaps this was what spurred Henry on to ride so bold, and take part in so many competitions once he was free of his father’s yoke. Henry was driven by his pride: he did not have a list as long as man’s arm of battles he had fought; he did not have the greatest army in Europe; but he was a valiant knight still. If he could not be the greatest military king in Europe, he would still show his many talents to the world. If he could not get a son on his lawful wife, he would still outshine other men in other ways. Henry wanted his people to see him as the knight and the King he wanted to be… Jousting, tennis, archery, hunting, dancing; all these feats of the physical served to show his people just how glorious their King was. I played many a part at court; I believe Henry did the same.
In truth, when Henry started to ride, it was difficult to imagine that he was not invincible. When you saw his thighs grip the horse’s flanks and heard the grinding cry of metal as his lance struck true and deep against his opponent’s body… When you heard the cries of the men who fell before him and the heavy grunt of satisfaction that emanated from beneath his splendid armour as he surveyed the damage he had wrought on each opponent… Henry was truly skilled and he looked stunning on his horse.
With each pass, there came a gasp of fear and admiration from the gathered crowds that filled the stands. The glittering eyes of the court ladies, the admiring silence of the men, the excited chattering of the common people when they were allowed entrance to an entertainment… all these would have showed you, even if you knew nothing of the sport, that Henry Tudor was but another name for brilliance on the field.
I felt rushes of passion for him as I watched his horse thunder before me. I felt the pounding beat of my heart in my ears as I watched him clash and throw men from their mounts. I sat squirming for the desire I had for him. God’s blood! I felt such desire course through me. As I sat so near to his lawful wife, I felt already as though I had betrayed her, and my own honour, for the rampant thoughts spinning in my head for the King of England.
There was such fire in him on that day; he looked like Saint George in person, a knight of truth and beauty and justice amongst us mere mortals. But somewhere still, warnings rang in my mind… my brother’s voice, Beware the dragon inside the knight.
I was sent for after the day’s entertainments. A discreet messenger bade me to come to an apartment where Henry waited for me, his face flushed by his successes in the day’s tournament.
“Anne,” he exclaimed warmly as I entered and curtseyed. There was no one else in that chamber but him. I felt immediately nervous; it was as though I could hear Marguerite speaking to me… “If you feel something is dangerous, then it is. Trust your instincts.”
“What thought you of the entertainments?” he asked, his eyes searching for my approval of his endeavours.
“Your Majesty rode well and struck truly,” I said, diplomatically. His face fell.
“What thought you of my costume?” he asked, walking to me and taking my hand.
I moved backwards, a little away from him. My heart started beating hard with fear. I did not like the enclosed nature of this meeting. I felt afraid of the look on his face. He was flushed with excitement and his eyes looked somewhat wild around the edges. I had seen a look like that before and my heart froze suddenly in my chest. I loved Henry, I loved him truly, but I did not know if I could trust him. Both these conflicting ideas were true within me at the same time. I wanted to believe in his love for me, but I had experienced the animal nature of men before, and I feared it.
“Your Majesty was most splendid, both in costume and in feats of arms,” I said, removing my hand from his and moving towards a window. I know not what I thought that would avail me… Was I intending to jump if his advances became too amorous?
“Come, Anne,” he said, advancing on me, his face flushed. “I shall show you how it is between us; you are my mistress.”
He grasped at me with strong arms and forced a kiss on my lips. As I tried to move away he pulled me closer to him and pushed his mouth down harder on mine. This was not like our encounter in the gardens. He wanted more of me now. Suddenly all before me was gone. I was in France once more with the foul mouth of the lecherous beast, Charles of Navarre, upon me. I felt the cold night air on my hot cheeks. I heard the distant noise of people who were too far away to save me, and I felt the panic and fear of that night surge through me like wildfire. Vomit shot into my throat and my heart seemed as though it should explode from inside my chest. I stiffened in the King of England’s arms as though I were frozen, as he kissed me. Then, the heat of panic threw me into action. I cried out in fear, my voice muffled and strange as I tried to scream whilst his mouth was on mine. I shook myself wildly like a hare caught in a trap, my hands flailing at his face, my body shaking in terror and confusion. I shook my head as hard as I could, trying to throw him off with all the strength I had.
He dropped me as though I were made of fire and looked upon me with the utmost astonishment. I leapt away from him the moment his hands let up their hurtful pressure on my flesh. I backed away from him, looking about me for an escape. He was standing between me and the door. I held my hands before me, shaking slightly, as though they alone could hold him off me.
Henry was staring at me, his face aghast. I am sure that he was expecting nothing of the sort of reaction I had shown to his kisses. I am sure that no woman had ever before reacted like that to his kisses. I had certainly not reacted thus the last time he had held me in his arms. But for me, this was an entirely different situation. He had called me here, alone, to meet with him. I felt trapped. I felt afraid.
I backed away from him towards the window, with my hands still up. My face was bloodless, my skin was pale and I was shaking. He looked amazed, confused, and somewhat helpless as he stood before me. His arms dropped, and hung by his sides, his face was dumbfounded and the excitement he had worn before ha
d vanished. He looked entirely miserable and stunned.
There he stood, this great King, brought so low by a mere woman. He stood staring at me from the centre of the room. For a moment, neither of us moved. And then, as though all memory of my life came washing back to the shores of my mind, I remembered suddenly that he was my king and had the power to destroy my family as well as myself. I fell to my knees before him, still shaking and terrified by the thought that once again I had come so close to the danger that I most feared. I knew my words must count and I looked up into his handsome blue eyes with tears in my own. I took hold of the end of his cloak. When my words came from my throat, they croaked with fear.
“Most gracious King,” I said, feeling tears gather in my eyes. “Most noble knight, please, for the sake of my honour, and your own, do not seek to take from me by force that which I will not offer to you freely. You are my king, and I your subject, and I am in your power as much through bonds of duty as through my own weakness as a woman. But I beg of you, to consider the offices of a knight to a lady, and to refrain from taking any action which would so impeach your good name and character, especially in the eyes of this lady, who loves you.”
Henry looked down on me and shook his head. His face was bloodless, ashen and grey. He looked entirely bemused and horrified by the suggestion that he might try to take me by force. “Anne,” he said softly, “I love you. I would never take you by force… This I swear to you. I want you to become my mistress. I thought that if we were alone, I could show you the force of my love… but I want you to return my love. I want you to be mine. I promise you that I would not force you. I would never do such a thing to you. I love you.”
He looked so hopeless, so destroyed by my dark suspicion of him. I felt my heart surge out to him, but I could not relent. To do so now would be to make all I had said before into a lie. I had to make him understand that I was in deadly earnest about my beliefs, and about my honour. I believed him now when he said he would not have taken me by force. He looked so entirely appalled by the idea that it would have been hard not to believe him. But still, I could not relent.
I swallowed. “I think, Your Majesty, that my most noble and worthy king, speaks such words in mirth to test me. Without intent of defiling your princely self, you think nothing of such wickedness, which would justly procure the wrath of God and of your good queen against us… I have already given my maidenhead into my husband’s hands.” I paused and looked up at him, holding the edge of his cloak in my hands. “I seek not to anger or to offend you, Great King, when I say that your wife I cannot be, and your mistress I shall never be. There is no office left for me to take in your life. Please hear the pleas of an honest maiden. Seek not to remove from me that which is the greatest prize I shall offer to my husband, and which is my greatest honour.”
I dropped my head and my hands from his cloak and remained at his feet with my eyes downcast, trembling. There was silence in the chamber. I saw his feet walk away from my body. I shuddered in relief.
“This is then, your final answer?” he asked, his voice gruff from the other side of the room.”
“It is, Your Majesty,”
“You can go, Mistress Boleyn,”
I rose and hurried to the door; my hands trembled on the lock. I was no confident temptress of the dance now. I was a scared girl ready to burst into tears. I had accepted him as my courtly admirer. I had been honest with him in all ways about my feelings. But he wanted more than I was willing to give. If the love that I held for him, the love that was between us, ended here and now because of my refusal, then that was how it would have to be… but the thought made me sadder than I can tell. At the same time as I thought these things though, I shuddered to think how close I had possibly come to rape once again. Would he have forced me? I wanted to think that he was, in his own estimation, too much of a knight to actually go through with such an act, but I had not been certain until now. I had appealed to his conscience, and his offices as a king and a knight and this had reached him.
But it was more than that, I thought… there was true horror on his face when he had seen my fear. Unlike the lecherous beast in France, my fear had not been pleasurable to Henry. Charles of Navarre had enjoyed my fear, enjoyed the power he had over me. Henry was made of a different mettle; he wanted me to want him, to love him, and he knew now that he could never achieve that by forcing me into something I did not want. The King of England was not like the man I had fought in France, I knew that. Although the encounter had scared me, although I was shaking, there was still a part of my heart which cried out to Henry’s. I knew that he was different to many other men.
“Anne?” he said as I reached the door. His tone was gentle, sad… and I turned feeling as though my own heart might break for the sadness I felt emanating from his.
“I am a true knight.” He looked up at me; his face was crestfallen and puckered as though he might cry at any minute. He looked like a small boy and I felt my heart break to see him brought so low. In that moment, I knew that I loved him as I had loved no other in my life.
“You are the best of all knights.” I meant it truly, for he could have disgraced me in that chamber and never been held accountable for it. Who would have stood for my honour? My father? I doubted it greatly. “And the best of men,” I added.
His face lightened with that, and then fell to confusion again. “If I were to promise that there would be no others but you,” he said desperately, “would you say yes, then?”
I opened the door and spoke quietly. “There will always be others,” I said. “You are married. There is another. And you are a king… Henry; there will always be other women ready and willing to give you all you want because of your title. But I am not made of such stock. I have made a promise unto myself, to God and to my husband; there shall be no one’s touch upon me but his. That is my promise. There is no offer that I can accept from you however much I may wish to. For you are not only dear to my heart because you are my king; you are dear to my heart because of the man that you are.”
I turned and fled, leaving the King of England looking like a little boy who has been told he can have no more sweet custard that night.
That afternoon, I was called to my father’s chambers.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Greenwich Palace
1526
My father was standing at his fireside when I came in on the heels of his servant. “Good,” he said, barely looking up at me. “Now that we are all here, there are matters to discuss.”
My mother was sat near the fire with George, who smiled at me as I came in. Mary and Will were not at court, for the King had sent Carey on some task, and Mary was still in the country with her babe Henry and her daughter Catherine. I breathed a little sigh of relief thinking that should I have to divulge the identity of Henry’s newest love, I would not have to do it before my sister.
“The King has a new object of affection,” said our father, rubbing at his head a little and looking at George and me. “Who is it?”
George looked uncomfortable. He had sworn not to reveal my secret, and yet a direct question from our father was as good as a royal command. Would he lie for me? I knew not, for the same worry was in my own heart.
“The lady’s identity is a mystery,” George lied smoothly, looking up at our father. “The King’s own motto at the tournament showed this… Declare, I dare not? Even the King cannot reveal her.”
“You must have some idea, George,” our father leaned against the fireplace, staring at his son. “You spend so much time with the King… Is there not a lady of whom he talks? Spends time with more so than others?” Our father looked at me and narrowed his eyes. “You, too, Anne,” he continued. “You spend time in the King’s circle… I did wonder at times whether…” he trailed off and looked at me piercingly with those dark eyes.
I breathed in deeply, bracing myself for what was to come. “The King is enamoured… of me,” I said. All the faces in the room turned to stare at
me with wide eyes.
“How long have you been his mistress?” asked my father, his eyebrow twitched a little, showing perhaps the slight surprise which lay beneath the surface of his ever-controlled expression. He did not look displeased, exactly, but I was more than aware that my father did not like surprises.
“I am not his mistress,” I said. “At least, not in the physical sense. He has asked to be my courtly knight, my admirer in the games of courtly love… It has gone no further than that.”
“But he wishes to be your lover?” asked my mother, her face a little pale.
I nodded. “He has asked me to give myself to him.” I blushed a little. Revealing such to my own parents was embarrassing.
“But you have not,” said our father. He did not sound either angry or amazed at the news; his mind was pondering over what to do with this knowledge, how he might best use it to his advantage.
