“I suppose I must deal with this?”
“Yea. Perhaps ’tis best that you do. Poor Marc looks a picture of absolute misery.”
So Anne walked over to the window embrasure where he stood, and said to him: “Marc, why so sad? Tell me what afflicts you, and perhaps I can offer you some solution to your trouble.”
Marc glanced at Anne with his too-pretty eyes, and blushed.
“Your Grace, please do not disturb yourself on my account.”
“But I cannot have my servants looking so glum and unhappy. Surely you can tell me the cause?”
“It matters not, my Queen.”
Anne looked sadly at him, and touched him lightly on the front of his doublet.
“Then let me tell you what afflicts you so. I know your life at court is not always easy, Marc. How can it be when you have been brought up to be a gentleman, but know that for you the status of gentleman is forever beyond your grasp. Poor Marc Smeaton! You would wish for my friendship, like I have with my cousin Sir Thomas here, but know that your low station grants not that desire.”
“No, no, Madam,” Marc replied stuttering. “A look satisfies me, and thus you fare me well.”
“Yea, Marc. I understand. All life is not as we would hope or want it to be.”
Anne gave a final sad smile to Marc, and returned to where I was standing to resume our conversation.
“Poor lad! He was taken from his family because of his talents, and raised here at court. Thus, he is neither one thing nor another. I am pleased that dear George has made something of a friend with him.”
I could see that Anne forgot Marc at the mention of George’s name, and she smiled gently at her private thoughts. If it was at all possible, these tragic days had only served to strengthen the bonds that bound them to one another. George rarely left her side now.
It was clear that George’s dislike of the King had increased with every wrong done against his sister. I could not avoid my own thought that George was often unwise in his remarks concerning the King. In sooth, sometimes his behaviour could only be described as downright petty, which surprised me greatly because George was rarely, even when we were children, ever petty. He mocked the King’s dress, and his attempts at poetry, but worse of all George lashed out at the King’s treatment of Anne in the bedchamber. It appeared to me that Anne, unwisely in this case, had shared some of the confidences with George as she had with me. Though he would speak only of these matters when he was alone with me, nevertheless, it made me very nervous. One never knows where a spy may be lurking.
My cousin loved his sister so much—perhaps too much to be truly understood by this carnal world—and it was evident that he was breaking his heart over where these events had led her. I felt, too, that his spirit was further darkened with guilt that he had encouraged her in those early days to pursue the King. Thus, George now thought himself partly responsible for his younger sister’s dire and tragic predicament. It was also very clear to me, who loved them both, that Anne and George were struck by the same fever, living their lives frantically as if their next breath might, in fact, be their very last.
Verily, as George appeared to be throwing discretion to the wind by speaking his thoughts aloud to me, so likewise appeared his sister. I remember one time in special when I heard Anne speak to Henry Norris, who often formed part of the company that surrounded and supported the Queen. Anne went up to him and said, “Henry, do you not think it was time that you were wed? Five long years have you been lacking a wife, and my own cousin Madge grows paler and paler every day from her devotion to you. Why wait any longer? Why not wed the poor girl and put her out of her misery?”
I saw Norris glance with surprise at Anne, and heard him reply: “Madam. You should know that my heart has been long given to another.”
Anne stared at him, and then laughed as if suddenly struck mad. She raised her hand to the side of her face, and said: “Oh, Harry, you look for dead men shoes, for if anything was to happen to the King, you would look to have me!”
Harry openly stared at the Queen, and began sputtering: “No, Madam. That is not what I meant! If I have any thoughts of that kind, I swear to you, my Grace, I would deserve to end my life here and now on the executioner’s block.”
But Anne laughed again, and walked away before he could make further reply, leaving poor Henry standing alone. He looked completely dumbfounded by both her actions and words.
I went up to him, and put my hand upon his sleeve.
“Take no notice of her. I cannot believe the Queen knows truly what she has been saying.”
Henry turned to me.
“Yea, Tom, that I already realise. The Queen is a good woman, who feels herself totally rejected by the King, her husband. But, Tom, what if she was heard—what would the King think or do?”
He glanced around the room, and I glanced around the room too, to be abruptly made aware that people were watching us closely. A chill crept over my skin and I knew what it was like to be a trapped hare aware the hungry fox would in any second pounce upon.
Henry looked panic-struck at me.
“Tom! What should I do?”
I thought hard, and came to a kind of solution.
“’Tis best to snap this in the bud before it becomes any worse. Go now to the Queen’s Almoner; swear to him what you and I know true: the Queen’s a good woman. The King will believe your oath, even if he is tempted to use her words as a way to seek reprisal.”
“I suppose there is nothing else I can do to help protect my Lady Queen. Yea, I will do as you say.”
Henry then rushed out the chamber in search of the Queen’s Almoner.
But these matters were difficult to smooth over so simply, especially when the King was willing to believe every evil of his Queen. Thus, when the King heard of the fracas that had taken place in Anne’s chambers, he made his anger known to all the court.
Anne was frightened enough of where the future was taking her, now she was driven to an act of sheer desperation. Anna called for her daughter Elizabeth to be brought to her, and then took the child into the gardens. The King was engaged in a meeting of the Privy Council, and Anne knew in her heart of hearts that it was her future that would be discussed this day.
Thus, she went to an open window, where she could clearly see the King, and entreated him to forgive her for the sake of their child. The King just stared at her, and then turned his back on his now weeping wife. Elizabeth too began to cry, and Anne, not wishing to distress her young child any further, decided she could do no more. Anna returned, with her still crying daughter, to her chambers.
CONTENTS
* * *
Chapter 6
“It was no dream, I lay broad waking.”
The weather remained hot that last week in April, but the atmosphere at court seemed as icy as the coldest winter’s day. Since Anne’s last miscarriage in January, the King’s attitude to her had grown more and more hostile. The only time they now talked was when the King could no longer avoid the duty of doing so.
And it was in the closing days of April, George sought me out, incognito, at my London lodgings. My cousin entered my room, after the barest suggestion of a knock, while I was busily engaged writing my latest poetry. I was delighted to see him and rushed, after flinging aside my papers, from my chair to embrace him. I then quickly cleared away the pile of books and pages of scribblings from my spare chair and sat my clearly exhausted cousin down in it. I returned to sit in the chair that directly faced him.
“Thomas,” George bent forward, looking closely at me as he spoke, “l had to come to see you… I am so worried, Tom.”
“About what, George?” I asked, though I had strong and grave suspicions of what worried him. I too was extremely worried for what I easily guessed were the same reasons that had driven my cousin to my door. This was confirmed by George’s next words.
“There are moves afoot. I am not sure but… I think the King has now a plan to rid himself of Anne. I
am so frightened for her, Tom.”
I got up and walked over to my small window. There I looked out at the brightness of the day. The pleasant spring scene I beheld before my eyes mocked the fears that began to clamour for expression within me. I turned back to George.
“Are you sure, George?”
“Yea… I believe so. Did you know that Marc Smeaton has disappeared? Three days ago… dear Jesus… was it only three days ago? I feel I have lived an eternity since I became afeared about the true cause for his absence. Three days ago, Tom, Marc told one of my servants that he had been invited for dinner at Cromwell’s house, and that is the last thing we know of him.”
George too arose from his seat and began to stalk up and down in my chamber; this made me even more concerned. George rarely—and only under very extreme conditions—displayed the same nervous energy that sustained his sister. At length, he turned back to me.
“Cromwell is up to something, Tom. I feel it like I have never felt anything before. I know I am being followed by one of his spies.”
I started at that, and George smiled reassuringly at me.
“Do you think I would be stupid enough to come here with the fellow following my lead? (I shook my head at that.) I had one of my most trusted men distract him and then went out the servant’s entrance in disguise. I would enjoy this cat and mouse game, Tom, if Anne’s future did not weigh so heavily in the balance.”
George smiled wryly after these final words, and I similarly laughed, knowing what he meant. We had occasionally, as young youths, disguised ourselves to explore the darker side of London.
“Have you any idea of what the plot could be?” I asked.
He shook his head slightly, and returned to his chair, leaning his head against his hand as he did always when he was thinking.
“I wish I knew, Tom… By all the saints, I wish I knew. At the moment, it is like I am fighting shadows. Anne will no longer talk sense to me about what is happening. I never knew her so unwilling to go into battle for herself. She believes her doom looms before her and will only talk to me of that. Anna has even asked her priest to care for Elizabeth, when she is no longer here to care for her daughter herself.”
At this George crumbled and tears began to run down his cheeks to soak into his beard. As quickly as he had begun to cry, his body straightened savagely, and he jumped out of the chair shouting: “God rot the King!”
At that I went from the window, and opened my door and looked out, thanking all the saints I could think of that the corridor outside of my chamber was completely empty of people. I closed my door and went to George, gripped his shoulders firmly, shook him and said: “George, be very careful, man; there are spies enough without you giving them something to run home to their masters about.”
George looked at me and sighed deeply.
“I am sorry, Tom. We are all living on our nerves at court. The black clouds have gathered. We only now wait for the storm to begin. If only I knew what type of storm it will be, I would know then what weapons to fight it with.”
We were both silent for a moment. I knew exactly how George was feeling. I too churned inside with so many dark thoughts and fears.
Finally, I turned back to George to ask him: “In what ways could the King end his marriage to Anne?”
George went and sat back down on the chair. He leaned his head back on top of the chair and looked up at the ceiling.
“My greatest fear is that he may accuse her of adultery,” he whispered so quietly that I could barely comprehend what he was saying.
“What!” I rushed over to him to be more near to hear.
He sat up, glancing at me, and then looked down at his feet.
“He wishes to rid himself of a marriage that all parliament recognised and declared valid. He wishes to rid himself of a Queen anointed. I believe the King also wants to make sure of revenge… Thomas, I have thought hard on this and have concluded that to accuse Anne of adultery would be one sure way of achieving all his ends. You know, as I know… ’tis treason for a Queen to be found guilty of adultery.”
“But surely he would require evidence. As you say, Anne is a crowned and anointed Queen of England, George. The King could not put away his marriage to Anne without convincing proof.”
“Yea, Tom, I know. But during these last months I have been wondering how it could be done. Tom, my sister is too friendly with those men she has around her. ’Tis all in innocence. You and I have long known that Anne has always preferred a man’s friendship to that of a woman’s. Who knows, Tom, perhaps it is because she grew up so close to us. But, nonetheless, I believe a plot such as I fear could make much of these friendships.”
“How do you mean, George?”
“I can easily think of two examples, Tom. You recall how Anne thoughtlessly said to Norris about waiting for dead men’s shoes? That was really stupid of my sister, but you know what mood she has been in since her last miscarriage. I’ve begged her to watch her tongue. But I was also there recently when she was teasing Weston about not loving his wife, and you know what the fool said? He told Anne, in the presence of many, that he loved her better than he did his wife or mistress. Of course Anne tried to quickly turn the subject to something else, but it was said; and worst, Tom, it was heard.”
“God’s oath, George… What a bloody idiot! But surely they must have solid truth, not some ill conceived flattery that had got out of hand?”
“Truth, Tom? Tell me, what is truth? A man who is tortured until he would sell his soul to the devil, does he speak the truth or does he make known what others wish for him to make known? Where, Tom, oh where in God’s good name is Marc Smeaton?”
I could see now another reason why he was here today. His thoughts regarding the disappearance of Marc must have driven him to distraction. But now it was not only George who trembled at what he could not see. I too could feel an abyss opening rapidly at my feet.
I am a fanciful man, I freely and without hesitation admit, but there has long been an image or waking dream in my mind that I feel now such a powerful urge to describe. I see in this vision a music room where Anne, George and I are making music, like we often did when we were children. One of us—in this waking vision ’tis I—stands slightly apart from the other two, holding the paper on which the sonnet is written, and sings while the other two play upon their lutes. There is an open door to this room. Out of this door, a large glass window lights up a hint of corridor, but through the door, and into this chamber, there also invades a shadow, a shadow dark and threatening, touching all three of us. Nay, more that. The shadow blocks out the bright sunlight and shrouds the seated forms of Anna and George. This shadow has the unmistakable shape of the King. I felt I was seeing within myself some type of premonition.
I shivered and mentally shook myself and returned back from my vision to that of this world. George was now looking out my window.
“Do you think that is what’s happening, George? That they have Marc somewhere and are torturing him?” I quietly asked him.
George turned around to look at me once more. Never have I seen him look like he did that day—like a man who is haunted by things that are too terrible to even express.
“Yea, Tom. That is what I greatly fear.”
“But why Smeaton?”
“Because he is a commoner, thus ’tis easier to do with him what they will. Because he is close to my sister… Alas, Tom, because he is the weak link in the circle of men who love Anna. Remember, Tom, that a classic tactic of war is to discover the weak link and use it for your own ends… Do you remember when we were boys, Tom, and Anne was sent to France? Do you remember how we could only stand by, too helpless to stop it? I feel now exactly how I felt then. Bloody, bloody helpless!”
“Aye,” I answered him. “I remember too well that time. I also remember that we were only children then; now we are no longer boys but grown men. Surely that changes matters this time… Surely we are no longer helpless?”
George looked
at me with agonised eyes.
“In this, we are.”
Since my thirteenth year, it has long seemed to me that my life had been a long battle against things I could not change. That I remained as powerless to change the currents of my life as a drop of water is powerless to change the direction of the currents of the sea. God’s oath! If there was anything that I wished to change most, it was the direction that these currents were now taking us!
I then remembered back to my childhood, when Father Stephen would tell us that life in this world was a series of battles, shaping us, forming us to the glory of God. Perhaps… But, there comes a point when you feel you can battle no more, when all you want to do is curl yourself up like a hedgehog, protecting yourself from any further hurts. If it was not for the fact that I felt I had to remain steadfast and be ready to do battle for my girl, I believe, at this point, I would have easily turned hedgehog.
I invited George to stay with me the night. He readily accepted my invitation. It struck me that he needed the comfort of my company. For certes, I needed the comfort of his. We went together to the local tavern to eat a simple meal of beef, cheese, and fresh bread. While we ate we spoke no more about the events at court; rather we dwelt long upon our boyhoods, remembering only humorous times. Like the time when we had climbed up an old oak tree to shake down the autumn leaves on the dozing form of our good priest, and he had woken up to shake his fist at us before splitting his sides with laughter.
It was as if we wished to escape through happy memories the immense unhappiness we saw looming before our eyes.
I have always been fortunate in my friends, but especially in my long friendship with George. Though our adult lives had often separated us, we, even so, had been always aware that if one ever needed the other that need would instantly be answered. Thus, there we sat talking, lost in times long gone, taking no note that evening was fast drawing to a close and soon it would be time for the sun to make a beginning to a new day. Never could I have realised that this evening and morning in George’s company would be the final time that I would ever spend with my life’s long boon companion.
Dear Heart, How Like You This Page 28
