Dear Heart, How Like You This
Page 18
I remained silent. There was no ready, easy answer I could give her.
Anne then shook my hand, and gaily said: “Where is your lute, cousin? I so wish to hear you play, Tom.”
“My lute is still packed amongst my gear. Why not play to me, Anna, since you have your own lute right there upon your lap?”
“All right then, cousin Tom. A song for a song… but if your fingers cannot make music, your voice still can. Sing, Tom; sing as I play.”
“Oh, Anne! My voice cannot compare to yours. I will sing only if you do so too.”
She laughed again.
“It seems you strike the better bargain, coz. What song then?” she asked, as she began to tune her lute.
“What about Greensleeves?” I now asked her, smiling teasingly at her.
Anne looked up at me with bewildered eyes.
“But surely George…” she began.
“Yea, George wrote in one of his letters that the King composed the words of this song for you, putting it to one of the old tunes,” I finished for her. “But, I think it is the best of his songs, and I have a strange hankering for us to sing it together.”
Anne laughed, and then played the opening chords.
Thus, Anne and I sang:
Alas, my love you do me wrong,
To cast me off discourteously
For I have loved you oh so long
Delighting in your company.
Greensleeves, was all my joy,
Greensleeves, was my heart’s delight,
Greensleeves, was my heart of gold,
And who, but my lady Greensleeves.
I stopped at the end of this chorus, laying my hand on hers to stop her playing.
“Who would have thought that our King could be so inspired by my dark Lady’s green sleeves?”
Anne raised her thin eyebrows, and looked at me slightly askew.
“Tom, I do believe you mock the King’s passion for me!”
“Where you are concerned, Anna, I will mock anything in this life that seems not good enough to give you what you truly deserve.”
Anne’s eyes widened at that and glazed over with tears.
“Oh, Tom,” she now said, her voice choked by tears, “let us finish the song before you make me believe that I still have a heart to break.”
Anne’s fingers again strummed the opening chords, and we sang together these concluding verses:
My men were clothed all in green,
And they did ever wait on thee
All this was gallant to be seen,
And yet thou wouldst not love me
Greensleeves, was all my joy,
Greensleeves was my heart’s delight,
Greensleeves, was my heart of gold
And who, but my lady Greensleeves?
Thou couldst desire no earthy thing,
But still thou hadst it rarely,
Thy music still to play and sing,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves, was all my joy,
Greensleeves, was my heart’s delight,
Greensleeves, was my heart of gold,
Who but, my lady Greensleeves?
Anne then put her fingers on her lute strings to quieten its final vibrations. We sat there for a few moments, close together, in a silence that seemed to tremble with so much that would always be left unspoken.
At length, she reached down to gently stroke my cheek.
“Yea, dear Tom. I agree with you—Greensleeves is the best of the King’s songs… But I believe—and always will—that your songs are written with more and truer sincerity,” she said.
I smiled sadly up at her, and held out my hands.
“Pass me your lute, Anne. I will sing to you one of my sincere songs.”
Anna gave into my hands her lute, and I sang to her this song:
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay, for shame,
To save me from the blame
Of all the grief and grame.
And wilt thou leave thus?
Say nay, say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath loved thee so long,
In wealth and woe among?
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath given thee my heart,
Never for to depart,
Neither for pain nor smart?
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus?
And have no more pity
Of him that loveth thee?
Alas, thy cruelty!
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay!
I looked up at Anne to find that she had drawn up her knees to her chest, bowing her dark head over them, and was crying silently. My dark Lady seemed to me so broken that I regretted instantly my “essay” in sincerity. I put her lute gently on the floor and moved to embrace her. Her body went rigid in my arms; I greatly feared the harm my song may have done.
“Forgive me, Anna,” I said to her, my chin upon her dark head. “Some songs go beyond and deeper than what the singer truly desires.”
Anne gently pushed me away and stood up. She walked over to the stone fireplace, blackened by countless years of fires, and gazed down upon the burning wood.
Anna then turned around, saying: “Why ask for forgiveness when you speak only the truth? I am cruel. Yesterday showed to me how cruel I have grown… I used you. Yea, I used you like I have used, in recent times, so many, for my own selfish ends… Years ago, when we had that horrible argument, you told me that I was untrue to myself. Tom, sometimes I look into the mirror and see some terrible stranger. Only when I am with you or George do I feel that I return to what I really am. Otherwise, it is like I have told you before. I am caged, Tom. Caged by what the King wants me to be. And worse, I sicken myself by all the corruption I have allowed to flower within me. You said something to me yesterday that has preyed on my mind ever since. Power taints all that it touches, you said. Yea, cousin, I am tainted as a piece of meat left too long in the summer’s heat.”
I stood up from my kneeling position and went to Anna, gathering her in my arms.
“My darling girl, speak no more. Your words frighten me so. I am such an ungrateful wretch! You freely bestowed upon me the gift of yourself, and I stand here like a spoilt child who cries for more and more! Oh, Anne! My lovely, darling Anna! I do love you so! But, I swear to you, that no more shall I hurt you by asking for more than you can give. I swear to you, that my desire for you will be locked away forever; still my love you will always have!”
“You truly can forgive me, Tom?” she asked, raising her tear-stained face from my chest. I bent my head, and kissed her softly on the lips.
“Yea, sweetheart. Forgiven, and one day surely blessed. You have given to me a part of my dream; a dream I would never have believed could come true. But the dream comes at a cost, Anna. I do not believe that I can stay in England and watch… I cannot, cannot watch… Anna, you must understand that! I will return to the Continent as soon as I am able.”
Anne gently removed herself from my arms, pulling her loosened dressing gown firmer around her too-slender body.
“I understand, Tom… And that may be for the best… I too feel full of regrets for what cannot be. Perhaps it would be better not to prod our hurts any more than we need to.”
“Yea, Anne,” I replied, trying so hard not to break down again. “I think it would be best, until time heals what it can, to see each other as little as possible.”
Suddenly, Simonette rushed into the room interrupted our conversation.
“Lady Anne! Master Tom! Lord George is here!” she called to us.
Almost as soon as she said this, George came into the room, his thick, blonde hair wind blown all around his head. He looked both saddle-sore and weary.
“George!” Anne cried, rushing over to fling herself into his arms, bursting into fresh tears. Simonette then glanced over to me with a question in her eyes. I signalled her with my eyes to depart and leave the three of us to deal—as best we could—with the problems of our grown-up lives. Simonette was always good at receiving unsaid messages. Thus, with a final concerned glance at the three of us, she quietly left Anne’s chamber.
“Anne! What is to do? Have you and Tom been disagreeing again?” George now said, looking over Anne’s head, to search, worryingly, for me. Catching his gaze, I shook my head, walking up close to my cousins to put a hand on both of them.
“Nay, George,” I replied to him. “Anne and I are just so very pleased to see you.”
“Yea,” he said, gently removing Anne’s face from his chest so as to wipe away lovingly with his bare hand the tears flowing down her cheeks. A concerned and bewildered expression became fixed upon his face. “So pleased that my sister completely soaks and no doubt ruins my new silken doublet with her tears.”
George’s voice had become thick, as if Anne’s uncontrolled grief threatened to bring him to tears too.
Anne broke away from him and wiped her face hurriedly on her long sleeves.
“I am very sorry, George,” Anna quietly said, in a voice that showed she still struggled with the seesawing of her emotions. “I did not mean to greet you so.”
Anna hurried away from him, stopping when she stood again near the fireplace. She had her back turned towards us, her head bowed as if staring into the dying fire.
George looked long at her, and then looked hard at me. I could easily see that he was gravely suspicious of something, but was bewildered by what to be suspicious of. He lifted an eyebrow up at me, as he often would do when curious and wanting an answer to a riddle. I shrugged my shoulders in return and walked over to stand by Anne, turning back to face George.
“I have been telling Anna of my plans to leave England soon. I am afraid it made her sad.”
I hoped, in desperation, that he would accept this explanation and not go searching for deeper reasons. George’s head tossed back in surprise.
“But, Tom! You have hardly been in England during the last two years. Surely ’tis time for you to stay at home for a while, rather than go back abroad!”
“Aye, George. I know. But travelling often gives you the taste for more travel. Only a week ago, when I came to court to pay my respects to their Majesties, I spoke to Lord Henry, who was about to take on duties in Calais. The good Lordship told me that he was going for the King, and I asked if I could accompany him. He welcomed the suggestion, so back to the Continent I go!”
Actually, my conversation with this ambassador had been all in great jest, and I only had remembered it when I struggled with my torments after leaving Anne’s chamber. Now I spoke of it, trying to distract George’s attention away from the true cause for his sister’s tears. I could well imagine Lord Henry’s astonishment when I presented myself in the very near future as his companion for the journey.
“No wonder my sister cries. Both of us have missed you so much, Tom. Letters are one thing, coz, but the flesh and blood person is a different matter entirely. I have ridden hard this day because I wanted yours and Anne’s company, and now I find my best friend plans to depart again when he has just returned to us! But why, Tom? Why?”
“Oh, for a lot of reasons. Mainly, I suppose, because I can no longer pretend that the problems with my marriage are solvable. I have decided to separate forever from Elizabeth, George.”
He deeply sighed.
“I am sorry that things have come to such a pass, but I am not surprised to hear it. ’Tis bad enough to be joined in holy wedlock to a shrew, as I am, let alone a woman who is determined to play harlot while her master’s back is turned,” he said.
“And not only when my back is turned, George. I cannot help but believing that Elizabeth has deliberately set out to destroy this mockery of a marriage from the beginning… No matter; if that had been her intention, she has now achieved her ends. And if there is another cause, I no longer care. All I wish is to never see the woman again in this life.”
Anne had listened silently while I spoke to George. She now came to me and took my arm gently.
“Alas, poor Tom!” she said, and then reached out a hand to her brother, who clasped it firmly in his. “Poor George! And poor me! Life has dealt us bad cards when it comes to love. But at least we are blessed in one thing; the three of us still have each other.”
“Yea, sister. But now part of the trio has decided to absent himself again.” George released his sister’s hand, and turned his head to glance at me in an almost chiding manner.
“George!” I put my right hand firmly on his shoulder and said, “Both of you know that if you have need of me, all that is required is a message and I will come. All going well—Calais is only but a short journey away. In any case, George, you too are committed to working for the Crown, and, no doubt, will also be sent away from court to serve best the interests of the King.”
Anne laughed then and we both looked at her.
“Now I am to be made doubly sad! Not only Tom to abscond from my life, but George too!”
Both George and I bellowed at the same moment: “Never…” then looked at each other and burst out laughing.
George then pulled up a red-velvet covered stool and sat down on it.
“Yea. ’Tis pointless to upset ourselves over something which is unavoidable.”
I sat back upon the rushes on the floor near him and looked at the fire. Seeing its great need to be replenished, I picked up some firewood and tossed it in. I looked up at George.
“We three carry the imprint of one another on each of our souls. So what if our bodies linger only briefly together? Anne told me—only hours ago—we three are bound together by stronger ties than any bonds our bodies can create. The love and good fellowship which we three share is like an oasis that we can come to during the hard moments of our lives, so to refresh and make ourselves anew.”
Anne then knelt on the floor near the two of us and held out a hand. George and I each took one of her fragile, delicate hands in one of our own hands, callused by much hard riding and made strong by the virtue of our manly estate. I then turned to George and we clasped together our free hands. We looked long at one another, smiling and tightening our grip on each other’s hands.
“Yea,” George said, and his voice was thick with the strength of his emotions. “We have much in life to be thankful for.”
“Aye. As long as we have each other, we will surely withstand all the dire twists and turns that might befall us in the future,” Anne softly replied. Her grip on my hand again increased, and my eyes gazed into hers. There was so much that had been left unsaid between us three, but then, what comes from the heart is often said without the use of simple, spoken words.
“I feel we should take a cup of wine and drink to our lifelong fellowship,” I then said, releasing their hands after a final, gently increased pressure. I walked over to a small, roughly hewed oak table placed near the chamber’s window where a ceramic flask of wine and some silver goblets had been put.
I filled up three goblets, taking up two to pass to Anne and George. I then took up my goblet and returned to my cousins.
“To loving fellowship,” I said.
“To loving fellowship!” Anne and George responded together, smiling broadly.
And so we touched goblets, and drank the wine.
“So, verily,” George said, breaking into the drawn-out, heavy silence that had developed between us—a silence which, nonetheless, spoke strongly to us of our deep and abiding friendship. “I do not know about you, my two good people, but I have ridden hard this day and have not eaten since early morn. Excuse me while I leave you both for a few minutes so I can go and find myself some food.”
George then walked over to the small table, placed his empty goblet down near the jug of wine, and then went o
ut the door.
Thus, Anne and I were left alone for a few moments. Anne breathed in deeply, and sighed. She looked at me with eyes shining with unshed tears, and asked: “Do you think I should tell George what has really happened here, between you and I?”
I turned my head to glance out the window above the window seat. I could see by the diminishing light that the lovely summer’s day was rapidly passing us by. The light coming into the room reminded me of the surf upon a beach being drawn back into the sea. One moment the light was strong, the next moment weakened. The moment after that the wave of light was strong again, but not as strong, and, in the next breath, the light entering the room was further weakened. And so the pattern would be continued, until darkness in the end took dominion. I could not help reflecting that there was a pattern to all natural things and this pattern was continued even into our own lives.
I then turned my attention back to Anne, to answer her question with a question: “Do you want to tell George?”
Anne put her hand on my arm.
“Tom, I tell George everything. I have always. You, of all people, should know that.”
“Yea, Anna. I know. But grant me the favour of not telling him until I leave England.”
Anna looked hard at me, and then took my hands in both of hers.
“You do not want George to know, do you?”
“Anna!” I broke away from her, and walked back to the table to replenish my cup. I turned back to her, and furiously said: “What is there to know, Anna? You have spent hours telling me how that part of our lives is all finished. Why tell George when there is nothing… nothing at all to say?”