by G Lawrence
One afternoon, I was sat at my window in the apartments, reading and sewing with my women. Margaret was reading aloud to us from the Epistles of St Paul and the rest of us were making a new hanging for Henry’s Privy Chamber; a glorious creation with roses and honeysuckle embroidered on fine cloth with gold fringes. I was planning it as a surprise for Henry. I hoped to render him speechless with happiness when he saw what I had been hiding from him.
It was a fine afternoon at the end of May and the gardens below were bathed in light. Blossom had started to emerge, and the braver flowers were singing in the welcome of summer. Roses were getting ready to bloom, and violets, late primroses, columbines and lavender were breaking into life, making the breeze rich with floral perfume. Through the window, I could see striped green and white poles dotted through the gardens. On their tops were heraldic beasts, the sunlight winking off their snouts and heads. The knot gardens were warm, with the heat of the sun trapped within their orange terracotta tiles, reflecting onto the shrubs and flowers woven about each other into geometric shapes and symbols. An armillary sphere glinted from a small courtyard, and in the distance I could see arbours of branches and trellises of flowers set against the palace walls. Henry had started to introduce statues, like the ones I had known well in France, of classical gods and nymphs, who stood proud, shining marble-white near to the ponds. Henry loved his gardens. They were one of his favourite places to talk to his ministers, and to me.
I sighed with a languid feeling of pleasure looking on the fine gardens. Birds were winging through the air, collecting food for their offspring, and making nests in the trees. In the distance I could see captive warrens of rabbits, ringed by wattle fences, being tended to by busy maidservants. The trees bent and swayed in a balmy breeze, their leaves murmuring, and I heard the ring of a song on the air. A kitchen maid with a sweet voice was singing as she gathered herbs and wild onion leaves from the gardens at the side of the tower.
“Summer is a’coming in, summer is a’coming in. Sing good news, sing good news,” she sang. Her voice was beautiful; high and sweet. I smiled at Nan Gainsford who was also listening to the melody. To the surprise of all the others in the room, who had been unaware of the music outside our four walls, I took up the tune.
“Sing good news!” I sang out of the window. The surprised maid laughed and curtseyed as she kept up the refrain with me.
“Sing good news!” sang Margaret and Bridget as they, with Nan, joined me at the window. Together with the maid, we sang the merry tune through to its end. My heart had been heavy of late, but it lifted as our voices entwined in this sweet tune of hope. That was all I longed to hear… Good news for Henry and me, good news of the annulment, news of the imprisoned Pope’s support.
“Good news will come,” my sister said as the song ended and the maid retreated to go about her business. Mary always could read my mind.
“Of course,” I nodded. “I am sure. God teaches me patience every day,” I smiled ruefully. “But I am a poor pupil.”
“No woman is good at patience,” interjected Jane. “The only time we know patience is in waiting for a child, and that is only because we know the joy that is to come at the end.”
She turned her head from us and I saw her blink back tears. Jane had lost the child she was carrying a month ago. It had not gone more than two months in her womb before it died and there was not enough of the babe made to tell what sex it might have been. I rested a hand on her shoulder and she composed herself quickly. When she turned back, I could see her thrusting her feelings to the back of her soul. She went swiftly to her work again, pushing her needle through the fabric and chatting gaily to Nan.
I watched Jane continue as though nothing had happened. So often, I felt as though I hardly knew her. Jane only ever allowed glimpses of her true self to be known, but it was clear she was distressed for the loss of her child. This was not the first babe she had lost; there had been another. In one of those rare moments of honesty, Jane had confided in me when I had found her crying in private, over the death of this last child. And it seemed to me that these lost children had brought not only sorrow, but hardness to Jane’s heart.
There were few she would allow to comfort her. After I had found her weeping, and she had confided in me, she had seemed suddenly uncomfortable and rushed off. I had not known what to do for her. George was no help at all. He was rarely with his wife, except in my presence. I wondered if Jane had asked become one of my women in order that she might be near George. They shared rooms at night, but apart from that he avoided her. My mother was concerned. Mary had a fine son and daughter. Although they were likely the offspring of my future husband, they were still recognised as Carey’s and as such, legitimate heirs to the Boleyn fortunes. But what of George and his wife? Only two failed pregnancies in all these years was unfortunate, indeed, but then George spent more time with his mistresses than he did with his legal wife. He was growing increasingly cold towards Jane. When they were together, she fawned on him, clinging to his arm and flattering him. He did not like it.
Although I pitied Jane, I often cringed to see her so helpless and pathetic around him. George had no respect for her. He found her cloying and unpleasing when she crept about him, grovelling for his attention. But Jane had another side as well. At times, when they were alone, she screamed and shouted at him, upgrading him for his infidelity and cruelty. They had blazing arguments which were well known of at court.
It was a marriage of unrequited love; the worst possible kind. Poor Jane… In some ways, she was like Katherine, who sought to regain Henry’s love by hanging on his arm whenever she was able, and reproaching him for unkindness when he rejected her. It was good for me that Katherine did not see that this combination of sticking fast to her husband and then berating him did little to help her… but Jane did not see she was doing the same to George. And just as Henry fled from Katherine, so George ran from Jane.
I wondered if I should tell Jane to act as I did with Henry. Whenever Henry was furious or disgusted with his wife, he came to me. With me he found a woman who was strong, outspoken and bold; a woman who called him to her with her courage and fire. But then, I was confident in Henry’s love, and these two women were not. When Henry and I argued, I always waited for him to come to me. I challenged Henry. I made him work for me, rather than being a quick and easy conquest. But Katherine and Jane were not made of the same mettle. They drove the men they loved away with their desperation. I beckoned Henry with my confidence.
I was thinking on this as we returned to our work. A knock sounded on the oaken door of the chamber. One of my servants, a distant cousin on my father’s side, also named Thomas Boleyn, entered bringing a great surprise, he said, from the King. Bridget looked up with expectant eyes. “See, Anne?” she said happily. “Good news perhaps comes at last!”
I smiled, expecting to see yet another brilliant jewel or fantastic piece of cloth draped over the arm of the messenger. But Thomas stepped aside and behind him was Edward Foxe, one of the two men Henry had sent to Rome that February to petition the Pope. I let out a cry of surprise and rose, rushing to greet him in a most haphazard fashion. I was overcome by impatience and demanded to know what had happened before the poor man had even got through the door.
“My lady,” Foxe said, bowing. “I come with wondrous news for you and the King. The Pope has agreed that the King’s Great Matter will be put to Wolsey’s Legatine Court. Clement will send a delegate who will preside over the trial and decide on the matter in his stead, for the Pope is still held in his citadel by the Emperor Charles. But, despite this, he assures us that his delegate will decide in good and true judgement.”
I was smitten with almost hysterical laughter. At last! My voice rang in my head, exulting. At last! In the excitement my ladies thronged around Foxe, twittering and flattering us both. Margaret pulled me into her arms and laughed. Bridget was smirking knowingly and I turned to her, my eyes damp with tears. “I will begin to think that you are a
seer, my lady!” I crowed, as she, too, wrapped her arms about me.
“I told you all would be well, Anne,” she said warmly into my ear.
I untangled myself from the many arms wrapped about me. In my excitement I forgot myself and started calling Edward Foxe, “Master Stephens”, confusing him with his fellow envoy, Stephen Gardiner. Then, overcome, I dropped into a chair. All the pressures of the past months dropped onto my shoulders at once. All my hopes, fears, love and despair crashed upon me. I had been holding so much in and this release was almost too much. I could not speak. I was undone. For a moment, I could do nothing but gulp in air, striving to control the hammering of my heart.
“Please tell me more, Master Stephens,” I breathed eventually, not noting the twitch of his jaw as I called him the wrong name. “Please tell me everything!”
Foxe knelt by my side. “Be of good cheer, madam,” he said. “The waiting will soon be over and you will be our lawful queen.” He spoke quietly, but there was such honest concern for me in his face that I felt suddenly supported by this man. I groped for his hand and squeezed it, laughing and weeping at the same time.
The door banged backwards, almost shattering its hinges. Henry and his attendants, including George and Tom, burst through the doors with a great shout, making us all scream with alarm. I started from my chair and Margaret even grabbed at a fire poker, wielding it like a sword. As soon as we realised who it was, everyone broke into laughter. I was a mess. I did not know whether to laugh or cry, and settled for a mixture of the two. Henry beamed at me, elated to have taken us by surprise. Obviously, he had been planning this whole scene. He roared with delighted laughter to see me thus, quite overcome with emotion. He plucked me from the ground and kissed me with vigour.
Henry dismissed my ladies who scurried from the room like mice and there was not even a second glance for my sister. I wondered later whether I wanted Henry to take any notice of Mary. It was callous of Henry to utterly ignore her, and yet it would be insensitive to give me any indication that he still had feelings for her. Complicated, is life, at times.
But for now there were more important matters at hand. “You are pleased with my surprise, sweetheart?” he asked. I could do nothing for a moment but nod and smile through my tears.
“It was the best of surprises, my lord!” I assured him. “But you see how you have undone me? I am all tears and laughter, my lord… I know not which to obey!”
“Obey the laughter, sister,” my brother chuckled. “Always follow laughter when you are in doubt. It is the merrier companion!”
Henry clapped George on the back and George winced slightly at the power of the blow. Henry was over-exuberant when excited. “Indeed, sweetheart,” Henry crowed happily. “Obey the laughter, as your brother says, for all now is well! We are at the end of our troubles!”
I saw Tom smiling at me from amongst the throng of Henry’s attendants. Once there had always been want, hunger, in his eyes. Now there was friendship and courtly love in his gaze, but no longer the long look of desire that had haunted my steps when I first came to court. I dipped my head to him and he bowed. I had not time to think more on Tom, as Henry stole my attention.
Henry wanted to question Foxe about everything that had happened in Rome. I asked him to wait, for a moment, so that I could collect myself. Henry agreed and I left for the chamber where my women were, only to be called back by Henry, barely half a minute later. Henry sent his men to join my ladies so that he and I could pepper Foxe with questions.
“I may have needed a full minute, my love,” I laughingly reproached my eager beloved as I returned. “I am hardly fit for your company.” I held a gold-trimmed lace cloth to my eyes, trying to stop them from flowing like a raging river.
Henry put his hands to my face, cupping it. “You are never anything less than beautiful, Anne.”
Henry fell upon Foxe, getting him to describe every meeting with the Pope, every discussion, and outlining all Clement had said about the Great Matter. When I was in full control of myself, I joined in.
Foxe said that when they had managed to gain an interview with the Pope, Clement had been already aware the King wanted to separate from Katherine, and had been informed this was due for his lust for “an unworthy lady”. Our suspicions that Katherine had sneaked word to the Pope about the annulment were therefore confirmed. Who else would have slandered me thus? Although… it did occur to me that Wolsey could have told the Pope I was unworthy… It would have been far easier for him to get a message to Clement than for Katherine, after all. Upsetting as it was to hear this, I was warmed by the overtures our men had made on my behalf. Gardiner had defended me as a lady “animated by the noblest virtues” and said rumours had been made up about me by the Queen’s supporters, who, although acting from loyalty, were wrong in their condemnation of me. They had defended both me and the King’s case ably, and Clement had agreed to send a delegate to England to judge the Great Matter alongside Wolsey.
It took the rest of the day to satisfy Henry’s curiosity. By the end of our questioning, Foxe was exhausted, but he was not allowed to rest yet. Once fortified with wine and food, Foxe was sent forthwith to Wolsey at the Cardinal’s seat in London, York Place, to deliver his report. I imagine Foxe woke the fat bat from his sumptuous bed, probably stealing Wolsey from the arms of his portly mistress. The notion made me laugh. I felt as though nothing could ever make me sad again. Foxe assured us that the Pope was deeply sympathetic to Henry’s plight, and understood what was needed to secure the future for England. Soon, Katherine would be no more, and Henry and I would be married! I burned with eagerness for the trial to begin.
That night, in my private chambers, I allowed Henry to unlace my gown and bury his head between my naked white breasts. As I heard his groans of pleasure and felt his tongue upon my rose-scented skin, I smiled, putting my hands to the back of his head to draw him closer. I closed my eyes and sighed happily.
There could be no harm in these small pleasures now that we were so close to becoming man and wife. As Henry’s hands and tongue slipped over my supple skin, I put my head back, sighing with satisfaction and happiness. I thought all our troubles were over. I thought we had won.
I was wrong.
Chapter Twenty
Greenwich Palace
Spring-Summer 1528
The Pope’s chosen envoy was a Cardinal named Lorenzo Campeggio. When Foxe returned to us in May, we thought Campeggio would follow close on his heels, but we swiftly realized this was not the case. The Pope’s envoy, it seemed, was in no particular hurry to leave, and apparently required an extraordinary amount of time to prepare for the voyage. Spring turned to summer and I wrote angrily to Wolsey, asking him why Campeggio was taking so much time. Wolsey sent missives full of apology and possible reasons for the man’s dawdling.
“I know Cardinal Campeggio a little, my lady,” the Cardinal wrote. “He is an old and wise Cardinal, and has visited England before, so he already knows, reveres and loves our King, as we all do. I have no doubt that when he comes, he will be the best man for this task, but some concessions must be made, for Cardinal Campeggio, although hale of mind and strong in spirit, is not a young man. He suffers vastly from bodily afflictions, and therefore may well require greater time to travel to our shores and to prepare for the long journey ahead.
Rest, in the assurance, my lady, that if this Cardinal takes longer to arrive, he will however prove more useful to our cause once he is here. A younger man may not possess such wisdom, or take such care to honour, protect and satisfy our beloved King, as I know this Cardinal will.
Written with the hand of you most devoted servant, and friend,
Cardinal Wolsey.”
I handed the letter to my father who was visiting me and he read over it with a scowl. I was frustrated again, not only with the delay of Campeggio’s departure, but also with my position at court. I was almost a prisoner in this tower. I could go little about the court, as we were trying to keep me sepa
rate from Katherine. I could not attend court entertainments unless she was absent. It made me feel, for the first time, like a hidden mistress; a sin thrust into the shadows. Being cooped up, a captive bird in a gilded cage, was not pleasing. I was almost a queen and yet not quite the Queen. I was a badly kept secret. I was the other woman, the mistress who was not a mistress. I was floating in purgatory, unable to free myself.
Never had I felt this way before. My dreams were so close, and yet so far away at the same time. I was not at liberty to do as I wished. Henry had also made the suggestion that I return to Hever when the papal envoy arrived, so he would not think the King wished to be rid of his wife in order to bed me. I had rejected such a notion, saying I would leave when Campeggio actually arrived in England. That, it seemed, was not about to happen soon.
“What do you think?” I asked my father and he grunted.
“I remember Campeggio myself…” His eyes scanned the parchment as he spoke. “He came to England some years ago as a papal envoy, trying to persuade the King to join a crusade against the Turks. He is a worldly man as well as a Cardinal, for he was married before taking his orders, and has five sons.” My father’s lips curled. “An unusual distinction for a man of the Church… to sire sons before putting on his Cardinal’s hat…” He grinned slyly, enjoying his own jest and shrugged. “Campeggio was weak and sickly, even then, so perhaps what Wolsey says is true.”
