Above All Others

by G Lawrence

  Tom frowned. “Anna,” he said. “The Queen has asked a commission of me.”

  Whatever I was expecting to come from his mouth, it was not that. I was confused, wondering why he would ride all this way to tell me such a thing. “That is good for you, is it not?” I asked carelessly, sipping my warm, spiced ale. “A commission from the Queen can only add to your standing at court, and in scholarly circles?”

  Tom’s brow furrowed deeper. “She wants me to translate part of a work of Petrarch,” he said. “Part of the De Remediis Utriusque Fortunae.”

  “Concerning the Remedy for Every Type of Fortune,” I translated. A tremor of trepidation ran through me. “I know the work, of course. I read it whilst with Princess Marguerite in France.”

  “Katherine wishes it known publicly that she has commissioned it from me, and she wants it to be dedicated to her,” Tom continued. “She told me it was because the work spoke to her of her present misery… but there is more to it than that, as I am sure you understand.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. I did understand. The text he spoke of was a collection of hundreds of dialogues in Latin, written some two centuries before our time. They were highly regarded for their wisdom. Many of them showed how thought and deed could bring happiness or sorrow, advised humbleness in times of prosperity… and courage in times of adversity. The significance of Katherine’s choice of commission was not lost on me; she wanted to publicly demonstrate her present distress, but also show her resolve to fight on. Nothing could have spoken more keenly of Katherine’s determination not to accept Henry’s judgement on his Great Matter. This meant trouble.

  I swallowed uneasily. “And will you accept her commission, Tom?”

  Tom gazed at me, and then stared into the flames of the fire, as though they held an answer. “It is a good offer,” he noted quietly. “It would show that I enjoyed royal favour and that I was respected… and the money she offers is also good…” He looked back at me, the flames dancing in his eyes. For a moment I thought of our first meeting when I came to England from France… how I had been lost in the mists and winds of England, and somehow found a friend, who brought me to his fireside, and protected me from both the weather and the ills that assailed my spirits. My heart ached as I thought on the friendship I had once enjoyed with Tom… Would such grace ever be ours again?

  “But I will not do this for her,” he said.

  “You will not?” I was surprised. It was a good offer, and an honourable one.

  “The Queen seeks to use me, Anna,” he said softly. “To use me to harm others… those who have been precious to me. And no matter what has passed between us in this difficult year, I will not turn on those I love, or have loved. I am not made of such mettle. The piece that she has chosen is on the theme of inconsolable sorrow… It speaks of how the heaviest grief is beyond reason or philosophy. Were it to be published with a dedication to her, it would engender sympathy for her of the like I can barely imagine, amongst the courts of Europe and the people of England. It is trouble she is looking for, Anna, and I will not be her agent in this. ”

  Colour sprang to my cheeks and my heart leapt with hope. “I would be most grateful, of course, Tom, if you chose not to take this offer from Katherine.”

  “Katherine wishes to use this translation as a weapon against you and the King,” he said. “I will not do it, but I cannot afford to insult the Queen by refusing.”

  “What will you do, then?”

  In his eyes I saw a touch of his old impishness. “I will accept the commission.” He paused and drank from his goblet. “But once undertaken, I will present the Queen with a different work, and inform her, regrettably, the translation she asked for was beyond my skill. I will complete, instead, a translation of a work by Plutarch, The Quiet Mind. This text emphasises the comfort of reason and the acceptance of fate. It speaks of the futility of seeking to oppose one’s destiny… I have thought long and hard on it, and have spoken to the King. We have agreed that this is the work I will dedicate to Katherine.”

  “You have spoken to Henry about this?” There was astonishment in my voice.

  “All that I have comes from my King,” Tom said. “He paid my ransom when I was captured in Italy, and since my return he has shown himself only warm and accepting, despite our past. He had good reason to act otherwise, as well you know. When Katherine asked this of me, I knew what she was up to. I went to the King, and told him my thoughts. He approves of the plan… Actually, that is why he sent me here, to you.”

  “Henry sent you here?” I was vaguely disappointed Tom had not come on his own stead.

  Tom cleared his throat. “The King said that you should know all that was happening… He said you had insisted whether good news or bad, that you be kept informed. He sent me to explain the situation.”

  “But this is good news!” I exclaimed. “Do not look so dour, Tom! I am so pleased that you would decide to work for Henry and for me rather than Katherine.”

  He smiled softly and inclined his head. “Good news in one way, Anne, but forget not that Katherine’s request spells ill for you and the King. Katherine does not wish to be set aside. She does not want to leave Henry. Every day she requests to see him, but he only appears with her when he must. Although Wolsey has men watching her, we suspect that she has got word to her nephew, Charles V, on what is occurring in England, and if she has managed that, then she may, too, have got a personal message to the Pope.”

  He heaved a sigh. “People constantly underestimate the Queen because she has acted with dignity and humility for so long as Henry’s wife. But forget not that she comes of a dynasty that fought for its place on the throne. Forget not who her mother and father were. Katherine is hurt, and she is angry. She will not simply allow another to take her place.” Tom stared gravely at me. “She will not go down without a fight, Anne,” he warned. “And this commission is but one indication that she intends to fight for the man she loves and the position she believes she was born to hold. She says God is on her side, Anna, and she will not be persuaded otherwise.”

  My blood ran cold. Although I had, of course, suspected such a thing, it was a shock to hear someone say it aloud. And Tom was right. If Katherine was attempting to spread propaganda about the King’s Great Matter then she was preparing for war. Katherine was a popular Queen. In the past she had petitioned to stop rebels being executed and had been regent of England. Katherine had commanded forces to fight off the Scots when they invaded and she gave generously to charity and to the poor. The people loved her. And she had powerful friends in Europe, too, her nephew not the least of them. She could be a formidable opponent. Misery swept over me like a snow-storm.

  Tom saw my face fall and reached forward to take my hand. His eyes were kind and sympathetic. “Do not look so downcast, Anna. Remember, whether this marriage is invalid or not is not up to Katherine. No matter what she might protest, the decision belongs to the Pope. Many at court believe the only way to bring stability to the realm is for Henry to take a new wife who can bear him children. Since it is increasingly obvious that Henry adores you, you have many supporters and you also have the love of the King firmly in your grasp. No matter if Katherine spits and hisses, if the Pope agrees with Henry, you will prevail.”

  “But the Pope is the prisoner of the Emperor,” I whispered sadly. “And if Katherine has got word to Charles…”

  “Many are the struggles in life,” said Tom sagely. “But remember that once we push through our hardships and look back from the other side, our troubles seem much smaller than they did when first we faced them. He looked earnestly at me. “Thus it was in Italy, for me,” he said. “When I was captured, I thought I would never see England, or my family, or my son again. And yet soon enough, I was a free man, standing on the green grass of my homeland and relishing her thick fog and endless rain.”

  I laughed. He had managed to tickle some humour from my breast. I squeezed his hand. “You bring me comfort, my friend.”

  �
�And know that I am your friend, Anna,” he said in a more serious tone. “Friend to you and to the King. There was a time… a time when I thought it could never be so again. But that was another time, and another me. You have made your choice, and I… I am happy for you. Or at least I am trying to be.”

  “I hear that you have a mistress,” I murmured.

  His cheekbones kindled with a dull flame. He released my hand and sat back. “She is a good woman,” he replied. “She reached into my heart when I thought that there was nothing left within but tattered scraps. She found ways to stitch those strands back together, and I find I have a heart, after all.”

  “I am sorry, Tom…” I said, lifting my eyes to his. “So sorry that I hurt you.”

  He looked away, and for a moment there was a spark of that old jealousy and anger in his face, but then it was gone. “I hurt myself, Anna,” he admitted gruffly. “I heard you speak and yet did not listen. I threw myself at your feet when you were unable to be mine. I know now, looking on Henry’s love for you, that I was a fool to think I could compare to him. You have made your choice. I will love and honour you as my Queen, and serve you with loyalty and devotion as a friend.”

  His eyes stole back to mine. I could see, despite his words, that there was still pain there. Pain he wished to hide from me, but could not. He was trying hard to put the past behind us, to become friends once more. Choosing to come to Hever, to offer his friendship and loyalty, had taken a great deal of courage and strength. Never was a better man made, than Tom Wyatt.

  “I will always be your friend, Tom, if you will have me,” I murmured. “But my heart was made for Henry alone. I have always loved him, although I never allowed myself to consider such a destiny could be possible. It was not that I could not have loved you. Had I been made of another spirit, I would have. But now I know that Henry is my only love.” I sat back. “I will never forget this moment, Tom,” I said. “I am humbled by your goodness. Many lesser men would act in spite to hurt me as I have hurt you, and yet you do not. You are a great man, Master Wyatt, and one of true nobility.”

  A rumble of laughter emerged from his lips. “Do not seek to make a poet into a saint, Mistress Boleyn,” he chortled. “You will come up short, I assure you of that!” He breathed out through his nose. “Many were the times I considered doing otherwise,” he said. “I considered being your enemy. But a better part of my conscience prevailed.”

  “I will be grateful, always, to that part,” I said. “You have demonstrated courage and strength of character to come here today, Tom. I shall not forget this.”

  “Tom!” A cry from the hallway interrupted me. I twisted in my chair to see my mother striding towards us, her hands outstretched and a great smile on her beautiful face. “Why did my daughter not inform me that my favourite neighbour was here?” she scolded, kissing Tom and shaking a finger at me.

  “I am sorry, my lady mother, there were things we needed to speak of together.”

  “And are you done now, that I might talk with Master Wyatt as well?” she jested.

  I looked at Tom and our eyes met. There was warmth there, friendship. Something in me sang to know that even if all was not mended between us, we had at least begun to forge friendship once again. “Yes,” I said. “I think that we have said all that needed to be said.”

  “Good!” my mother exclaimed, sitting herself on a stool beside Tom. “Then tell me, Master Wyatt, how does your father and sister? And when are they coming to visit us? Your father spends too much time with his cat and those brown pigeons he loves so dear. He forgets to spend time with actual people.”

  Tom laughed. It was a good sound. The sound of a friend. The sound of company and companionship. I had missed that sound.

  Tom’s book was presented to Katherine later that winter. She was not best pleased to find that he had changed the text, but she accepted his dedication to her. She did not, however, work to promote Tom or his work. It was obvious that the Wyatts had chosen a side, and that side was mine.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hever Castle

  Winter 1527-1528

  That winter Henry finally sent Stephen Gardiner and Edward Foxe, both secretaries in Wolsey’s pay, to the Pope to ask for a decision on his Great Matter. It was a mark of Henry’s eagerness, and my persistent urging that Gardiner and Foxe left in the midst of that harsh winter. Henry accompanied the two men to Hever, so we could see them off together and wish them well on their mission. They had a hard task ahead of them, not only to travel through the snows and storms of winter, but also to navigate through war-torn Italy to reach Rome.

  Of the two men, it was Gardiner who struck me the most. In his early thirties, he had a swarthy complexion with a long, hooked nose and brown hair. His face bore a continual expression of annoyance, as he had an almost permanent frown set between his deep-set eyes. His hands were huge, far larger than would seem necessary for this form, and he sought to hide them, which only drew attention to them more keenly. He had clever eyes, and there was a shrewd sense about him as though he missed nothing. Foxe had sandy-coloured hair and a thin beard, but he paled in comparison to his companion, and not only in his looks. There was something about Gardiner which made me pour my hopes into him. He had an air of confidence, and duplicity, both of which I believed would work well for us. In time, I was to find them both useful allies.

  Although the chill, still air at Hever was calm, I doubted the passage from Dover to Calais would be tranquil. Foxe and Gardiner left loaded with Henry’s gifts to the Pope and also with letters, requests, pleas and our eagerness too. As we watched them ride out, Henry put his arm about my waist. “Soon, my love,” he said with excitement. “Soon the Pope will decide in our favour and you and I shall be married.” Henry grinned, his sharp blue eyes sparkling. “Soon we will be man and wife.”

  “I long to be your wife, Henry.” I kissed him happily. We watched Foxe and Gardiner until they disappeared from sight. The afternoon air was sharp and cold. I could hear creatures rustling as they hurried to their beds in the undergrowth, and the call of robins as they sought out warm places to sleep in the branches of the trees. It was going to be a cold night, but I was warmed by hope and love.

  Henry smiled indulgently. “We need also to start planning your coronation, my love.”

  I blinked. The thought had not occurred to me. I had been so busy thinking of marrying him, I had not had time to consider truly becoming the Queen; anointed in the eyes of God. Henry chortled at my expression. “You thought that the rightful Queen of England would go uncrowned?” He squeezed my hand tightly. “You are a fool for all your wisdom sometimes, my Anne.” He loved to surprise me and the fact that I was humbled before his generosity pleased him.

  “I had never thought I would have such a husband as you,” I said. “You are the most generous lord and master I could have imagined. I had not even thought of a coronation.”

  “What were you thinking of, then?” he asked teasingly, his eyebrows raised as he ran one rough hand over the edge of my breasts and sought to cup my buttocks with the other.

  I chuckled and cuffed him, batting his hands from me. “I was thinking of being married, Henry,” I protested. “I was just thinking of getting married, of being married to the greatest prince in Christendom and that was quite enough to fill my mind with wonder.”

  He kissed me. Then, drawing me under the circle of his arm, he led me inside. The warmth of the great hall was pleasing and mulled wine was brought to us by servants. We sat by the fire through the afternoon and into the night, and he told me of the grand and stupendous plans he had for my coronation. We ate that night with Henry at the head of the table and my mother and I on either side of him, spooning delicate fish broth and baked oysters into our mouths. When we had finished eating, my mother went to speak to the kitchen servants, and Henry and I returned to the fire. I listened to him talk, lulled into a pleasant state of sleepiness by fire, food, wine and happiness.

  Henry left for cour
t the next morning, and as he rode off, my worries resurfaced. I had to convince myself not allow the dull grey light of dawn to tempt me away from the happy dreams that had so comforted my night.

  Henry wrote to me often from court that winter. He sent letters written in French, sent me love poems and presents, and wrote of his ongoing work for our cause. He told me of headaches he suffered, brought on by hours of reading theology, philosophy and canon law in preparation for a trial, should it be required. Sometimes, he wrote, he was unable to do anything but lay in a darkened room to quell the ferocious pain in his head. I worried for these headaches. They had grown more frequent of late and I was sure that they were created by the worry and pressure of our situation. I wrote to him, blaming his headaches on the stubbornness of Katherine and her supporters at court, constantly barring the way to our happiness and love. A faction of supporters loyal to Katherine was growing about her as the King’s Great Matter was increasingly whispered of at court. Her loyal servants such as Margaret Pole and others were gathering their families to aid Katherine. My furious pen wrote of my frustration and fears; that, my love, the King, would forget me and cast me aside to the ruin of our love and his realm. Henry wrote gently to me of his never-ending love; he would never abandon me, he said.