“What was that?” gasped Alice her hands to her ears.
“It was the cannon, my dear,” Harry explained. “Those over there. Can’t you see them? They’ve just fired a salute for the king and ‘is wife. My, that was loud. My ears are still ringing.”
“So’s mine,” said Tom, removing his own hands from the side of his head. “But she’s not ‘is wife yet, y’know.”
“Well, it’s too late for ‘im to get out of it,” Harry said, unknowingly echoing the words of the chancellor’s officials. “He won’t be able to wriggle out of this one, will ‘e? But, then why should ‘e want to? Especially after all this.” And he swept his arms over the large crowds, the still-smoking cannon and the decorated courtyard.
“Ssh, be quiet, you two,” Alice hissed. “Look, the king’s holding ‘er. Oooh look. He’s giving ‘er a kiss. Oh, I do love weddings, don’t you?”
“Er, of course I do, my dear,” smiled Harry. “Where else can you get your ‘ands on all that free ale? But look,” he said, craning his neck. “Where are they going now? They’re walking off over there, there to the right. I wonder why?”
“Aye, and she’s taken ‘is arm.”
“Ah, don’t they look nice and ‘appy?” Alice said, wiping a tear off her cheek. “I’m telling you, I do so love weddings,” she repeated. “There’s nothing like a couple about to be married, be they rich or poor. Ooh, I do ‘ope it all works out well. But why shouldn’t it? It’s time we had another queen on the throne and hopefully, one for more than a couple of years. So all I can say is good luck to them both.” And she blew a kiss in the direction where she had just seen her king kiss his future wife.
Just a few hundred feet away, the king’s chancellor, now alone in his office, was still pacing up and down echoing Alice’s sentiments. Oh let this marriage work, he said to himself as he looked out of the window on the joyous scene below. If not…well, I don’t dare think about that. It just doesn’t bear thinking about.
Chapter Twelve - “I like her not!”
Cromwell was lucky. The fine weather that had greeted the king’s first official meeting with his wife-to-be continued until their wedding day. Tuesday, 6 January,
1540 dawned bright, clear and crisp as the king and his retinue entered the gallery next to the hall where the ceremony was to take place. The king looked magnificent. He was wearing a rich gown of cloth of gold, trimmed with black fur and decorated with silver flowers. In addition, his satin coat was fastened with large diamond clasps which sparkled in the morning sun.
Clad in such a grand style on his imposing frame, and topped with an equally impressive fur-trimmed hat whose jewels shone in all directions, King Henry the Eighth indeed looked like the majestic ruler he set out to be. But all of this was for external show. Within himself, the glittering king was not at all happy. If he could have found any cause, great or small, to annul this forthcoming marriage to ‘that Cleves woman,’ as he had recently described Lady Anne to his chancellor, he would have gladly done so. Pointing his finger at Cromwell, he indicated that his chief minister should leave where he was sitting at his favourite window seat and sit next to him. Cromwell hurried over. What now? he thought. An hour earlier he had left the top Clevean officials, Olisleger and Hochsteden, poring over some documents, together with Sir Anthony Browne and the Duke of Norfolk. Had they, he prayed, found any reason to cancel the wedding before it was too late?
Henry crooked his finger to show that he wished him to sit even closer to him. “Listen, Thomas, and listen well,” he whispered conspiratorially into his chancellor’s ear. “If it were not to satisfy the world and my realm, I would not go through with what I must do this day for any earthly thing.”
Cromwell said nothing. It was the safest reaction.
“Now, where is the woman and why are we waiting here?” the king hissed quietly to his chancellor. “I thought you said she’d be here by now.”
At that moment, in another room, the woman in question, together with some of her Clevian and English attendants were making the final adjustments to her wedding gown.
“Milady, please stand still for a minute. I’m trying to sew on this button.”
“Lady Anne, please allow me to fasten this belt.”
“Yes, and let me close this collar. If you keep moving, I cannot do so.”
“Please turn your back to me, Lady Anne. I haven’t yet finished brushing your hair. It is so long and I must say, the colour really matches this cloth of gold.”
“But isn’t my hair supposed to be curled up inside my cap?” Anne asked.
“Oh, no, milady. For your first and, we hope, your only marriage, tradition says that you must wear it loose, down your back.”
Anne looked at her attendant quizzically. “Why?”
“This style is said to symbolise your virginity, milady.”
Anne did not look impressed with this answer but said nothing.
“Please lower your head, milady so I can put on your coronet. There, it must be straight and fit tightly so let me pin it on securely. We don’t want it falling off in the middle of the ceremony now, do we?” asked the maternal Lady Suffolk as though she were talking to a small child.
“May I see what I look like now?” Anne asked a few minutes later. “Does anyone have a mirror here?”
One of her Clevean attendants produced a jeweled mirror and Anne studied her reflection critically in the polished metal surface. She liked what she saw. Staring back at her was a woman wearing a splendid long-sleeved gown in the heavy German style. On her head she was wearing a gold coronet, while large jewels sparkled around her neck and waist. Fortunately, she was so busy admiring what she saw that she did not hear one of her English attendants whisper that although the Lady Anne did indeed look very impressive, the German style with its many layers and heavy skirts certainly looked much less delicate than the French style that the king liked. The king would have been the last one present to admit it but it had been Anne Boleyn, his second wife, who, with her French upbringing, had introduced the elegant and lighter French styles into his court and made them the fashion of the day.
Just as Anne was returning the mirror, one of the king’s messengers appeared at the door. Mistress Gilmyn asked him what he wanted.
“His Majesty would like to know when the Lady Anne will be ready.”
“Very soon, young man. Now go and tell the king she’ll be out within a few minutes.”
And so she was. Several minutes later, the door of her dressing-room opened and Anne, accompanied by Lord Wirich of Dhun, Lord Overstein and John Dolzig, the Saxonian envoy, led the procession of ladies to the palace where the wedding was to take place. The stout Henry Bourchier, Earl of Essex, who had arrived late, then took up his position at the front of the procession and he, together with the three Clevean nobles, led Lady Anne, now walking slowly and demurely to meet her husband-to-be. On entering the hall Anne’s retinue stepped aside and the king took his place on her right hand side. Apart from a brief glimpse, neither of them looked at each other or smiled.
Just as they were both standing there, their eyes determinedly fixed ahead, Archbishop Cranmer intoned the traditional question whether they were at liberty to be wed. First he asked the king. “Have you come to this solemn occasion with deceitful intentions?”
“No,” muttered Henry.
“Lady Anne. I must ask you the same question. Have you come to this solemn occasion with deceitful intentions?”
“Nein, er, no,” she answered quietly.
“In that case,” continued the archbishop in his deep voice, “I must warn you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost that if you know of any impediment to this union, you must immediately declare it now.”
Still looking straight ahead at the decorated wall behind the archbishop both Henry and Anne replied in the negative as soon as he had said the words. Then Cranmer turned to face the assembled lords and ladies. “You, who are here today to witness this union between this
man and this woman, do any of you know, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost of any legal objection to this union? If you do, then I charge you to reveal such an objection immediately.”
No-one moved. The only sound to be heard was the slight rustle of several of the ladies’ gowns as they turned around in vain to see if such an objection had been raised. Then the archbishop turned to face the royal couple again. “Henry Tudor, King of England, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together under God’s ordnance in the holy state of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in sickness and in health; and in forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
No-one seated in the front row looked more intently at the king at this point than Thomas Cromwell, the Chancellor of England as his royal master cast his eyes around for a second as if he were looking for an escape. No, there was nothing more that either the king or his faithful chief minister could do to change this situation. Then looking straight ahead, Henry answered in a quiet or, possibly, resigned voice, “I will.”
Then, on hearing these same words of affirmation repeated by Lady Anne in a subdued tone, Henry slipped the wedding ring on to his wife’s finger. The ring bore the words ‘God send me well to keep.’ Henry was now a king and a husband – ‘for better or for worse’ - to his fourth wife, Anne of Cleves. This was the lady who would be known to posterity by her dignified portrait showing her pleasant face, in her heavy Dutch style cowl and gown, standing there looking smiling at her portrait painter, Master Hans Holbein, the Younger.
“Where are they going now?” one of the Duke of Suffolk’s pages asked his friend.
“To the chamber to the right, to hear the Mass of the Trinity,” his friend Guy answered. “And look, George, the king’s holding her hand.”
“Well, of course he is. That’s the way it should be, isn’t it? Don’t you ever hold hands with your Margaret?”
Guy blushed and turned away for a moment. “I didn’t know you knew about that.”
“How could I not know? Haven’t you learned yet that there are no secrets at court? Everyone knows everyone else’s business here.”
Guy Harrison had arrived at court only a few months earlier from Trowbridge, Wiltshire. His family had close connections with the powerful Wiltshire Seymour family, and he now saw that indeed he had a lot to learn if he were to make his way in the world.
“So now, do we just have to wait here?” he asked.
“Yes, Guy, but it won’t be for long. My lord, the Duke of Suffolk, will be escorting the Lady Anne…”
“Queen Anne, you mean.”
“Aye, that’s right. They’ll be escorting Queen Anne to her privy chamber and later we’ll all be going to the wedding feast.”
“Well, Richard, I hope the food’s hot this time. That’s the trouble with all these palaces. The kitchens are so far away from the halls that by the time the food gets to us, it’s cold.”
“Oh, stop complaining. You can always go back to Trowbridge if you want. Me, I prefer eating roast duck and capons - even if they are cold - to the bread and pottage we used to eat all the time back in Lincoln.”
“I suppose you’re right, Richard. So let’s go and find our places in the Great Hall.”
“Aye, and don’t forget that after the meal there’s going to be a special masque. I overheard my mother talking about it with the Duchess of Norfolk.”
“Do you know what it’s going to be about?”
Richard shrugged his shoulders. “The usual things, I reckon, Guy. Something taken from the Bible or about love and chastity. At least, that’s what my mother said.”
“You mean something like they had last year in memory of Queen Jane? Just after I arrived here?”
Richard looked around and put his finger to his lips. “Sssh, Guy, don’t talk about her so loudly. The king is now married to Queen Anne. You don’t want everyone overhearing you, do you? Come, let’s go. All this waiting about has made me hungry.”
And the two young men set off in the direction of the Great Hall. After pushing their way through the throng of well-dressed lords, ladies and court officials, Richard and Guy found their places towards the lower end of the table and waited.
“How many courses do you think there’ll be?”
“Oh, about ten, I suppose. You know, soup, fish, swan, capon, meat and stuff like that.”
Richard was right. But in addition to his list there was also roast goose, partridge and pheasant as well as rabbit. And then came the fruit and a wide variety of pastries. All of this was washed down with wine and ale. It was several hours later that the king rose, belched and took the hand of his newly wedded wife and left the banqueting hall. Accompanied by his closest advisors, the royal couple then made their way to the king’s private chamber.
There everyone stepped back from the bed as a priest stepped forward to intone a blessing over it. “O Lord God, watch over your servants as they sleep in this bed and protect them from all demonic dreams.” Then after adding a few words against infertility and impotence and sprinkling a few drops of holy water on the royal couple, he bowed and indicated that the assembled company should now leave the chamber. They should allow His Majesty and his queen to fulfill their duties as man and wife with no further interference.
For a full five minutes after everyone had departed, Henry and Anne lay there stiffly parallel and silent in the wide royal bed. Each one lay there, stretched out, alert, hardly breathing, not touching and waiting for the other to make the first move. At last Henry could stand it no longer. Slowly rolling his vast body over to her he began to move his hands about under his wife’s fine shift. Anne lay there frozen. She did not and could not move a muscle. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Her mother had not told her what to expect on her wedding night.
Henry’s hands were hot and sweaty. What should she do now? What’s he doing to me? she thought. As she looked up in the candlelit chamber she could see the faint outline of the carved angels on the ceiling, but here below on earth she could feel the king’s sweaty hands reaching up to her breasts and pinching her nipples. But his fat fingers were there for only a few seconds as he slid his hands down over her stomach and down to her smooth thighs. Pushing her legs apart, he briefly felt in the moist place between them and then rapidly withdrew his hand. He then rolled back over and muttered “Good night” and soon snored himself into a noisy, dreamless sleep.
Anne lay awake for some time afterwards. Is this what married life was about? she asked herself. Was it about this that the village girls who worked in the castle at Cleves used to giggle about, especially after one of their number had been married? It was really too puzzling for her. Was this the romance that all the troubadours and poets had described? This grunting and groping? Before falling into a troubled sleep, she too rolled over, turned her back on her husband and muttered a short prayer as her mother had instructed her to. Her last thought that night was that she’d discuss the whole situation with several of her closest ladies-in-waiting on the morrow.
Early the next morning an apprehensive Cromwell was summoned for a special audience with his royal master. Entering the king’s private chamber, he saw him sitting in a well-cushioned chair, his oozing, ulcerous leg resting on a footstool. His face told the whole story.
“Good morning, Your Majesty. I hope that…” he began lightly, fearing the worst.
“It is not, Thomas! It is not a good morning and I did not have a good night!”
“Why, Sire, how does Your Majesty like the queen?”
“I don’t,” Henry shot back at his shocked chancellor. “I did not like her before our wedding and now I like her even less. She is nothing fair, and evil smells float about her body. Her breasts are soft and I’m not really sure from the other parts of her body that I touched that she is indeed a maid, despite what you or her brother or even the woman herself may claim. I tell you that I found her so unpleasant, Thomas,
that I had no appetite for her and left her as I found her. If she were a virgin beforehand, she is still one now. If she wasn’t, and I think that is quite possible, then surely she is not one now.”
Even if this were the answer that Cromwell had half-expected, he was taken aback at the vehemence with which the words were was shot at him. The chancellor was already seeing the future. Did this mean that His Majesty had already made up his mind to rid himself of his fourth wife? And if so, how could this be done? By divorce? By annulment? And what would this mean for England and her relationship with the Protestant countries on the other side of the Channel? And, the Chancellor suddenly thought, feeling beads of sweat breaking out on his brow as his hands grew cold and clammy, what does all this mean for me? And was His Majesty’s disappointing and frustrating night merely the result of ‘first night nerves’ or was this to be a permanent situation – permanent that is until a solution could be found? And if so, Cromwell’s brain raced ahead, what form of solution would that take?
Keeping his head bowed low, the chancellor waited a few more minutes pretending to study the chamber’s dark oak panelling.
“Surely,” he began slowly. “As married men, Your Majesty, both you and I well know that sometimes the, er, how shall I phrase it? er, the act of love does not always occur as we would wish. Sometimes, Your Majesty, the reactions…”
“Sometimes, nothing, sir!” Henry hurled at Thomas. “There was nothing. Nothing I tell you. No act of love and no reactions! Nothing. Her flabby breasts and belly did nothing for me. It is true that her skin was soft, but I tell you, it felt soft like an old woman’s: soft and wrinkled. She could do nothing for me. Absolutely nothing! And if all of that weren’t bad enough, just listening to her speak was torture to my ears. That heavy German accent and the way she pronounces her words. Yes, I know English is not her native language, but to hear her say ‘Good night’ which sounds more like Goote nacht is not the way to make me feel lusty or anything close to such feelings - feelings that should exist between a man and his wife in bed. And that is especially so when it’s their wedding night, no?”
Anne of Cleves- Unbeloved Page 15
