by G Lawrence
We did not go too far, however. If this trial was to go ahead, then Wolsey had to be a part of it. But the Cardinal had many reasons to sweat as time dragged on and Campeggio still had not arrived in London. Henry was growing angry, and his anger came to rest on the shoulders of his most trusted advisor.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Hever Castle and Suffolk House
Autumn 1528
“You must go to Hever once more, my love, for the sake of appearances.” Henry’s face was a mask of suffering as he spoke to me. “But it will not be for long, and you will not be left without news…” Seeing my face fall, Henry rushed on. “Campeggio will quietly visit with you at Hever as he travels to London. I will arrange it. Then he can see you for the virtuous maiden you are, and understand my reasons for wishing you to be my wife.”
Campeggio was preparing to move towards London, finally. As he did so, Henry was going to have to spend more time with Katherine and less with me. He needed to maintain the appearance of the dutiful husband. With my ladies in tow, I left court for Hever, my temper fragile and agitated.
Despite Henry’s constant urging, the gout-ridden Cardinal tarried and dithered, protesting ill-health and the need for long periods of rest. Although I had expected him to stop at Hever on his way to Greenwich, Campeggio did not. An outburst of suspicion and paranoia caused me to write angrily to Henry, who replied in calm and somewhat weary language that he had spoken to Wolsey, and they both believed Campeggio could not visit me if we were to maintain our respectability. I answered his letter with humility; something that did not come easily to me in those days, may God forgive me. But I was sure Wolsey wanted me kept from Campeggio for other reasons. Perhaps he worried that my powers of persuasion, which so obviously had worked on his King, might prevail over his brother Cardinal as well. Henry, however, was delighted by my acquiescence to his request for patience and my calm in the face of this, the final challenge and barrier to our marriage.
I was too nervous, too anxious to remain at Hever. I could not bear to be so far from the proceedings. I demanded that Henry allow me to return and he agreed. I could not come to court, but was installed at Durham House on the Strand soon after Campeggio’s arrival in London. I found, there, that my restless pacing and high-strung nerves were not due to Hever and her so-familiar walls. Jane, Margaret and Bridget began to grow dizzy, watching me pace about my apartments like a lioness of the Tower menagerie.
I was desperate to be near Henry, to keep him strong throughout the trial, to keep his mind set on our goal, to prevent Wolsey from poisoning his mind… After receiving an anxious and strained letter from me, Henry moved me to Suffolk House, which was closer again to him. Though it was their own house, the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk were ordered not to visit whilst I used their property. That her house had been commandeered by her brother’s latest strumpet was enough to turn Mary Tudor against me for good. Although her husband supported me, Mary turned to Katherine. I cared little now for those who stood against me, and despite my foreboding about the trial, I began to hold court at Suffolk house. Courtiers arrived in droves to pay court to me. Henry ordered my rooms refurbished at great expense, and suffocated me with jewels, furs, and rich materials for gowns. I was drunk; with both new power and terror. Would this trial usher in the happiest time of my life, or would it see me fall, discarded, from the heights of royalty to disgrace where no man would ever touch me? For, after all, most people believed I was Henry’s mistress. They believed that he had known me carnally. This meant I was in the same position as my sister, even though I was still a virgin. My reputation was suspect. Only Henry’s love… only making an honest marriage with him would save my reputation.
I was elated by my new power and terrified by my restless imaginings and that combination brought reckless flights of fancy to my head. When Henry and I met we quarrelled often; about Wolsey, about Katherine, about Campeggio and the Pope. But, after, I would be crushed in his fervent arms as we reconciled. I felt as though I might fly apart. Never had I felt such pressure weighted upon my slim shoulders.
Henry was closeted with Campeggio and Wolsey every day. They pored over our Matter, and Henry sent me messages at all hours, trying to appease my changeable temper, assuring me, with obvious relief, that Campeggio was keen to keep the matter out of court if possible. Campeggio wanted to prevail upon Katherine to enter a religious order. This, Campeggio believed, would be the ideal solution for it would save public embarrassment for the King and Queen, and allow Henry to marry again swiftly.
When I saw Campeggio from afar as he travelled to Westminster Abbey one day, I was not impressed. He was an old man. A prince of the Church, he was, but still an old man, riddled by gout and infirmities. He wore a long, ratty beard, stained by his food and drink, and George informed me he complained long and often about the trials God had sent to him with his ill-health.
“It is his favourite subject,” George said dryly one night as he visited, making me chuckle. “In all honesty, sister, I believe the man could go all night listing his many and various complaints… and then go on to say he faces them all with patience, silence and humility!” George snorted. “It is the patience of all those forced to listen to the old gouty goat which is tested!”
My brother was a balm to my fractured spirits. In his company, my heart lifted and my humour returned. But when he left me, when I was alone, I found no rest. Sometimes at night, Henry would send secretly for me and I would slip, by barge, across London, pad down dark passages by candlelight and into his chambers where we would talk. I would let him kiss and stroke my soft skin, reminding him always of the still-greater pleasures we should have together once we were man and wife. It was important, now more so than ever, that Henry keep in mind the rich rewards that would come by seeing this through. I could not let him falter.
We talked of our children, this vast brood of sons and daughters that we were both eager to meet. I took it upon myself to remind Henry of why he so desired this annulment. Henry hated open confrontation, especially with women. Battle, he could face with boyish joy. Trouble in his realm he could hand to others, such as Wolsey, to deal with. But he did not want to face Katherine in the upcoming trial. I had to keep his mind centred. We were so close now, so close to achieving everything we wanted. We had endured so much already. We both longed for the end to this suffering and limbo.
Soon, we said, soon… It cannot be long now.
The common people understood what was happening now, too. When I went hunting, people in villages hissed curses at me. They saw me as an evil upstart seductress who had turned their beloved King against their wonderful, saintly Queen. I was nothing but a whore leading the King astray. They did not understand, none of them, that this had to happen, that the marriage in which Henry was trapped was unlawful and immoral. They hated me, they blamed me for the trial, and I cannot deny that their hatred cut me. But they would understand soon enough, I hoped.
I stayed inside, hiding from the harsh words and accusing eyes of the people. For Katherine, however, there was nothing but cheers and tears. She had been their Queen for almost twenty years and they respected and adored her. But it was not only their love for Katherine that turned them against me. It was their own fears. Wives especially, hated me, for if the King set a precedence, husbands may be able to leave their wives if they tired of them. What would that spell for wives but abandonment and disaster? I knew this was not what was happening. But that was not what the people saw… They were enraged, they blamed me for all of Katherine’s woes, and she was more than clever enough to play their sympathy for all it was worth. Oh yes, I was frightened then. I told Henry there was nothing in this world that could protect me but his love.
“You shall always have it,” he assured me. “You and no other, Anne.”
“When we are married they will all forget,” I said, as much to assure myself as him. “When our sons are born, they will see God smiles on our union.”
I sat on his great, stron
g lap and he stroked my arm. “It is true. Our sons will be the vindication of all of this, Anna,” he agreed. “When you become large with my child, all will see that God smiles upon us and on England once again. We will see right prevail, my love… and the people will rejoice to see our boys! I cannot wait to see them myself!”
“I cannot wait to start making them, Henry.” I giggled as he swept me onto the window seat to kiss my breasts. In amongst all my fears, when I felt him close, I knew that I could not lose him. No man had ever wanted a woman as he wanted me.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Suffolk House
Christmas 1528
That Christmas, I held my own celebrations at Suffolk House. I ordered great entertainments for the twelve days of Christmas, to end with a most grand celebration on Twelfth Night. My servants went out into the park around Suffolk House and gathered in holly, mistletoe and branches of greenery. The scent of fresh, green leaves filled the air in Suffolk House, along with the delicious scents rising from the kitchens. On Christmas morning, my ladies and I attended Mass in the private chapel, marking the end of the fast of Advent. Henry was at Greenwich. He had to be seen with Katherine on Christmas Day, but he promised to come to me as soon as he could.
When Henry joined us on Christmas night, his face was lined with frustration. Before Mass that morning, Katherine had taken the opportunity to berate him again on his Great Matter; squawking on that she was his true wife and I was leading him into sin. Although he had remained dutifully at her side during the day, he was relieved to escape. The court celebrations had been uncomfortable, to say the least.
Katherine, for all her wisdom, was a fool when it came to Henry. She could not see that the way she approached and reproached him only drove him further from her. Henry admired women who were strong and independent. I knew that Katherine, for all her dutiful manner and loyalty, was a strong-minded and stubborn woman. Perhaps he saw the same spirit in me that once he had loved in her… But their love was done now, if ever it had truly existed. Katherine could not accept this, nor could she see that alternately screeching at Henry like a crazed harridan and then begging and weeping was not a winning combination. That night, Henry left a wife he was starting to loathe, to join a love who welcomed him with entertainment, flirtation and wit. What would any man have chosen?
I had ordered a late feast on Christmas night, knowing that Henry would be busy during the day and early evening. The feasting would go on into the night, and then we would dance until the dawn approached. As he arrived, rubbing his head, I put my cool hands to his face and kissed his cheek. “I have missed you,” I said, standing on tip toes to reach him, even though I was not a short woman. He put his huge arms about me.
“As I have missed you,” he sighed. “I thought that woman was never going to stop. I wager I will hear her voice echoing through my mind all night.”
“Then we must play the pipes, flutes and drums loudly, my lord,” I smiled naughtily, “to drown out the sound of the harpy who clings by her claws to your rock.”
He chuckled at that and allowed me to lead him into the great hall where my assembled supporters broke into wild cheering to see him arrive. We moved through them together, arm in arm. We sat at the head of the top table and Henry breathed in a great sigh and let it out again, as though he had finally found release from Katherine.
“You will feel better after some wine and food, my lord.” I rose and poured a goblet of wine for him myself. He was touched to see me serve him. There were, after all, plenty of servants to do such tasks. I put my hands to his forehead and kneaded his brow softly. He relaxed under my hands, and then took them in his, kissing them.
“None looks to my comfort as you, Anne,” he said gruffly. I sat down again, and Henry ordered that the feast be brought in.
Outside the night was already old. Stars shone in a clear sky over the icy streets of London. Everywhere people were celebrating at their firesides, or sleeping in their beds. But we had only just begun our celebrations. They were to go on through the night and into the next day.
The traditional boar’s head was brought out to huge applause, decorated with bay and rosemary. The scent of its sticky, rich flesh made my tongue tingle with anticipation. We ate pottages of mary bone and carrot, French mutton pottage with herbs, almonds and winter greens, and leek and oatmeal broth. On the lower tables, the great cups of ale were passed around, each diner wiping his mouth carefully before taking a sip. At the higher tables we each had our own goblet of silver or pewter, and these were replenished with ale, beer or wine as the diner preferred.
Roasted geese, fat, golden and plump sat beside stews of mutton and onion in wine broth. Stuffed pancakes filled with kidney, ginger, saffron and cinnamon lay piled on silver trenchers. Roasted sides of venison were served in thick slices upon saffron-bright frumenty. Rump of beef stewed with cabbage and dove flesh bubbled still red-hot in its dish. Hog sausages packed with meat and pepper let out little pops as their skins were pierced by knives. Bones from the meat were placed on voider platters at the elbow of each diner, and in between serving themselves, our guests wiped their knife or spoon clean with pieces of bread which were collected by servants to give to the poor who waited at the gates of Suffolk House.
Whole roasted pig with apple preserve was carved carefully by the young lads of Henry’s household, earning high acclaim from the King when they did their task well. Spit-roasted rabbits glistened in parsley and verjuice sauce and white pudding and black pudding were sliced and passed around on pewter platters. Fried mutton balls glistened in a sugar-rich sauce. Capons boiled with imported oranges were set beside pigeons in savoury rice pudding. Chicken and gooseberry stew steamed next to baked crane. Lamprey, Henry’s favourite dish, was served three ways; stuffed, roasted and boiled. Whole roasted peacock, with its feathers spread out behind it, was brought in to applause from the diners. Seethed mussels with vinegar and garlic wafted delicious scents of salty, sweet flesh. Lobster was boiled and broken apart to be dipped in a simple but delicious lemon and oil sauce. Gammon was stuffed with hard boiled eggs, cloves, pepper and mace. Crayfish tarts were served alongside vinegary cod pie and roasted hare.
Pies of buttered, roasted gourd sat proud beside baked parsnips in honey and butter. Boiled and salted turnips, and cowcumbers and mushrooms potted in sweet vinegar graced our tables. Quince preserves, rich, bright marmalades and sweet pies of conserved fruits released puffing steam of overpowering sweetness. And at the banquet of sweets afterwards, I brought out a grand sculpture of the King himself, crafted from marchpane and sugar, with roses and dragons entwined at his feet. On his arm was a falcon, my own personal badge. Henry cried out with appreciation, and insisted on feeding me the falcon himself.
“None other should have it but you, my love,” he said, popping another bit of sugar fondant into my already-full mouth. I put my hands to his sleeve, giggling, begging him to stop for my mouth was full, but he playfully continued.
His eyes were a bloodshot with wine and weariness, but he was so merry and playful, so different to how he had looked when first he arrived, plagued by Katherine’s shadow, that I kept swallowing and opening my mouth for another morsel. By the time we finished, I felt as though I might grow wings and fly for all the sugar coursing through my blood. We danced that night with gay abandon, our feet flitting about the room, our hands clapping in time with the flute and the drum. We drank more wine, feeling it heat our senses, and eventually, as the grey dawn approached, we made for our chambers. Many of the company were unsteady on their feet and more than a few gentlemen, my brother included, had to be carried to their rooms.
That night I took Henry to my chamber, but we did little more than embrace and talk. He was exhausted by his time with Katherine, and then his exuberant celebration with me. It was past six of the clock by the time we said goodnight and went to our beds. I have to admit that rising at all the next day was hard. My head hurt and my mind was dull from the wine, food, and the small slee
p I had enjoyed. But that afternoon we rode out into the country, not to hunt, but just to take the air, and that revived my spirits greatly.
I found George later, suffering greatly. He was taking a bath when I arrived in his rooms, trying to steam out the wine that festered in his blood. Then he had to take to his bed, as was necessary when one bathed in winter, lest the bather catch a wandering illness. I waited and scolded him when he emerged, ashen-faced and clutching yet more wine in a goblet in his hands. “You should have drunk more sparingly, brother.” I nodded to the cup. “That will only put off the inevitable, you know.”
He lifted the goblet to his lips and drained it. “It is the only thing that will revive me now, Anne,” he said drolly, and then grimaced, rubbing at his belly as though he were our uncle Norfolk. “Jane was in my ear all night, gossiping. A man can only take so much before he is driven to drink.”
“If you were kinder to her, she would not gabble so at you,” I said, running a hand over one of the glorious tapestries with which Henry had furnished the rooms of Suffolk House. “She prattles at you because you listen so little to her, so she feels she must fill the silence.” I took my hands from the tapestry and toyed with a tablet of gold with inlays of enamel which hung at my waist.
