Jane the Confidant
The Six Lives of Henry the VIII
Leigh Jenkins
Dedicated to the Brinker’s Writing Group
For all their encouragement and advice
Prologue
May 1, 1536
“Sir Henry Norris is doing well, Your Majesty.”
I turned away from the joust and glanced over at Queen Anne, masking the disgust I felt with a tight smile on my face. I allowed one eyebrow to rise in acknowledgment of what she had said but refused to answer, instead turning back to the joust. The woman who had once held such power over me looked down at her hands which were clasped together tightly, her bony fingers turning white with fear at my silence.
There had been plenty of jokes along the streets of London; people laughed at the thin, drawn queen compared to my increasing girth. My latest suit of armor was the largest yet and — most humiliating to me — larger in the waist than in the chest. My bulk was another result of the woman next to me; in the past years, she had turned such tricks that I had not noticed the gradual increases.
But that was not all she had done. Three years of marriage and all I had to show for it was a tiny red-headed princess, who looked too much like me to deny. Anne had promised me a boy, but so far all she had produced were failures; first in the form of Princess Elizabeth and then with a series of miscarriages.
Before us the two men faced off once again, their horses charging down the lane towards one another. A terrible clash followed and soon Sir Henry Norris had broken another lance. I watched as he rode off the field victorious. I nodded to Cromwell, who discreetly followed the man back to his tent.
As he did so, I turned back to Anne.
“And who are you favoring in the joust today?”
Anne squinted up at me before putting on a strained smile and replying.
“Whomever Your Majesty wishes for me to favor. Surely you are the most knowledgeable about whom is said to win.”
A courtier’s answer and from Anne that only meant one thing — she was afraid. I smiled.
“Now surely you have your own opinions,” I answered.
Anne smiled her tight-lipped smile once again.
“I am Your Majesty’s wife. Your opinions are my opinions.”
I laughed at that, but let the matter drop.
A new set of competitors came to the list and we clapped at an uneventful first pass. I looked out at the tents and saw Cromwell exit with Norris and nod at a set of guards.
I had been surprised when Cromwell had appeared in my chambers without summons two weeks ago. He had sent my pages out of my room and had turned to me with serious eyes, his arms loaded with papers.
“Your Majesty, I have heard some disturbing comments on the conduct of the Queen.”
He had proceeded to explain to me the rumors surrounding Anne. That she had taken on lovers in an effort to conceive a son. That she had said I was unmanned. That she had used witchcraft to convince me to love her.
Looking at the woman now, that was not hard to believe. Since becoming my queen, Anne had grown thin, her once-beautiful face now pointed and cruel. Her eyes, which I had once called bewitching, now only seemed accusing. It was easy to look at this woman, who had become more ruthless and even harsher with each miscarriage, and wonder why I had ever loved her.
We already had her musician, Mark Smeaton, in custody and Cromwell was convinced he would confess. Her brother, George Boleyn, had been taken in earlier this morning. Cromwell was fetching Sir Henry Norris now. As soon as one of the young men confessed we would be able to take Anne herself into custody.
My breath caught as I thought of these young men who had been so close to me. They had conspired together for my downfall and planned to rule England once I was gone. These companions of mine had seen me not as a king, or lord, only as a means to an end.
Sir Henry Norris now sat atop a saddle between two guards; Cromwell nodded to me. I stood, even as the joust continued, and turned towards them.
“Your Majesty?” I heard Anne ask as I began to walk away. She dared not follow me. But as I walked down the steps I could hear her desperate sharp cries.
“Your Majesty? Your Majesty! Henry?”
I ignored her familiar call and instead mounted my horse and turned towards the Tower.
Chapter One
May 1536
The blasted thing was finally finished. Standing on the waterfront, I could hear the cannons from the Tower of London telling me that, after two weeks of delays, Anne was gone and I could move forward.
I stepped onto my barge and motioned for the captain to take us up the Thames. I stretched out in a hard, wooden chair under my thick canopy as the dozen oarsmen started to stroke in unison. Even though it was only May, the air was already warm and stale and it felt as if the entire city of London had stopped in the heat. Now that my business in the city was finished, we could move out into the countryside and escape London.
As we traveled the other barges shifted aside, moving amongst the clutter that is the Thames River. London had become so large and prosperous that it was nearly impossible to travel through its streets. Those who could afford it traveled by way of the Thames; a much less congested means of transportation.
It did not take long to reach Whitehall Palace; I had chosen this residence for its convenience. Soon after arriving, I was able to exit my barge and stand on solid ground again.
I brushed past the servants, who had all backed away into a bow until I had passed. I was in too much of a hurry to be bothered with pleasantries. It was to be today that, after so many years, I was to finally receive my heart’s desire.
In my rush, I entered the great hall before I could be announced. Sir John Seymour was standing before the fire, his hunched back twisting towards me.
“Your Majesty!” he exclaimed, obviously surprised to see me. He waved at a servant who had frozen near the staircase and the girl suddenly jumped up and scurried up the stairs.
“We did not expect you until this evening,” he explained by way of apology, bowing as deeply as he could manage. Laughing, I motioned for him to stand.
“I am sorry to appear unannounced,” I said easily. “But today is quite a special day.”
“It is, it is,” Sir John said with a smile. “May I offer Your Majesty some ale, or perhaps a glass of wine?”
“A cup of ale, if you please,” I said, turning to pace along the great hall. I was too anxious to sit. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sir John gesture at another servant. He then reached out to the cool stone wall and picked up his gnarled wooden cane, the piece of wood bending with his weight.
I was trying to determine a suitable line of conversation when movement on the stairs stopped me.
“I am sorry to keep Your Majesty waiting.”
Jane Seymour had already sunk down before me into a curtsy, her light blue dress catching the rushes that lined the floor. As a sign of her maiden status, her gold hair spilled down her back, pulled away from her face with a gabled hood, like Catherine used to wear. With her small face and pointed nose, no one would ever mistake her for a beauty. But beauty I had in abundance. Jane offered me something more.
“My love,” I said, crossing the room to take her hands in mine as I raised her up in front of me. “It has been too long.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty,” was all she replied. She gave me a soft smile as a gentle blush ran across her cheeks. This one movement told me everything I needed to know about her — while Catherine would have balked at the sentiment and Anne would have made some witty remark about having me in her bed, Jane simply blushed. It was all I wanted.
“Jane, my love,” I began with a smile. “We are now prepared. You must set a day.”
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“A day?” Jane asked in sweet confusion.
“A day for our wedding, of course,” I answered with a smile which only grew larger as Jane let out a sharp “Your Majesty!” and dropped back into her curtsey.
“It should be as soon as possible,” I instruct, glancing over to Sir John. I am glad to see him blinking back tears of happiness, as he comes to stand next to his daughter.
“Whatever date suits Your Majesty the best,” he says, placing his hand on his daughter’s still hunched shoulder. “I believe my daughter is too overwhelmed with gratitude to speak.”
I laugh, pleased with their response.
“Then it shall be the thirtieth of this month,” I say easily. “In the Queen’s Closet here at Whitehall. Sir John, you and your wife will be present. However, I see no need for a large crowd.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the old man says with a bow of his head. Jane is still next to him in her curtsey, her small hand still grasping mine. I smile down at their heads bent in supplication. This is how it ought to be.
“Now,” I say with satisfaction. “I presume there is some dinner?”
******
This was the third time I had waited patiently for a woman to join me in marriage. As I stood there I prayed that it would be more successful than the last two. Though my object of affection had changed, the prayer had not.
“A son,” I thought over and over, my head bowed as I stood next to a priest. “A son, Lord, to keep this kingdom safe.”
The same simple ceremony was planned for this wedding, as it had been before. My life held enough public spectacles that I saw no reason to draw this private matter into scrutiny as well.
Suddenly the doors behind me were opened and a herald entered with a cry of “Lady Jane Seymour!”
And behind him, there she was. Jane Seymour, the woman who would at last be my lawful bride. After so many disappointments, surely she would ring true.
Her father had bought her a new dress of blue silk for the occasion and it hung loosely around her, her lean frame never ready to support the full dresses of the court. As always, her sharp nose was the most prominent feature on her face and her dark eyes held the same droopy view as they always had, heavy lidded and with slight darkness under her eyes.
I smiled as she approached, pleased that her blond hair hung loose down her back — only virgins and queens could wear their hair as such. Soon this woman would cease to be one and would become the other. Although there had been plenty of speculation about my bride’s virtue — especially from the Spanish ambassador — I knew her piety had kept her from any improprieties before her marriage. Unlike the women who had come before her, this one was pure.
I took her small hand in mine as the minister began the ceremony. I knew the words well enough and allowed my mind to wander, recalling the many ways Jane had already pleased me and proved her worth to me.
There had been one moment when I had realized that Jane was the one that I should marry. My relationship with Anne was quickly deteriorating and she had just lost our most recent child—a boy, my doctor had informed me. What should have been my boy.
I had sent presents to Jane before — a bolt of cloth, a pretty necklace, and once a miniature portrait of me on a chain, which Anne had ripped from around her neck. But I had been pleased with Jane’s conduct and had sent her a letter.
Inside the letter I had explained to her that I was pleased with her and her virtue, the fact that she had reached the age of twenty-five a virgin, which I knew was an accomplishment at the court. I had let her know that rooms were being reassigned for her; Cromwell’s rooms, which were connected to mine privately. She had played the game, and played it well, but it was now time for her virtue to come to an end.
Along with the letter I sent a bag of 100 gold coins — more than I had ever presented to a mistress before. I knew that Jane, though virtuous, was still a courtier and would understand the significance of what I was paying her.
So it came to my great surprise when the page boy returned with both the bag and the letter.
“Your Majesty,” he said, a small tremble in his voice. “Lady Jane has returned the money and the letter.”
“And the letter?” I asked, cutting right to the heart of the matter. “She did not agree with its contents?”
“No Your Majesty, I mean, yes Your —“ The boy trailed off before starting again. “She never saw them, Your Majesty.”
“Explain,” I demanded, angry that this boy had obviously failed in his duty to me.
“I presented the letter and the pouch to her as you instructed,” he said, his voice growing more and more afraid. “But when Lady Jane realized what the purse contained, she handed it back to me, kissed the letter you sent her and returned it as well. She bade me to tell you that she would not accept a purse from you except on her wedding day.”
I had been taken back at this. No other woman at the court would have hesitated to take the purse. Or a place in my bed. Even Anne had yielded her virginity to me before marriage.
But I quickly saw that this would not be enough for Jane. She was different from every other woman at this court — where they were bold, she was mild. Where they copied Anne and wore revealing dresses and French hoods, Jane had remained demure. And this gave me hope that where Anne had failed, Jane would be able to succeed. She was exactly what my court — and I — needed.
Cromwell’s apartments were still provided for Jane, but with a caveat — her brother Edward and his wife shared the quarters, so that a chaperone would be provided for Jane at every moment. Her piety and virginity remained intact. I bowed to her wishes and she had remained pure to this very day.
The ceremony was concluded quickly and I turned to kiss my wife and England’s new queen. The same shy smile that had always greeted me now adorned Jane’s face and I gave her a chaste kiss that hopefully promised more for that evening. I took her hand and led her out of the small chamber, bowing slightly to her father. Jane’s mother had been ill and unable to attend the ceremony. The fact that she missed her daughter’s marriage to the king did not bode well for her survival; I knew of no woman in the kingdom who would willingly miss such an event.
I led Jane to my private chambers to dine, knowing the court would think nothing suspicious of this. I had not dined in public since the incident with Anne, and I planned to change all that tomorrow when I introduced the court to its queen.
******
The following morning found me in bed much later than usual. Even during my nights with Anne I had always awoken at eight to attend to the business of the day. But I had felt that with Jane I deserved more time and had warned Cromwell that I was not to be disturbed. The evening before, I had been glad to see that he had cleared my room of the usual groom and page boy that remained with me throughout the night.
When I rolled to my side I discovered that Jane was no longer in the bed with me, but had instead moved to the window, her muslin gown wrapped around her. She was turned away from me, but I could see her sharp profile in the sunlight. With her hair down and blowing from the soft breeze along the Thames, she looked more enchanting than I had ever seen her.
“My love?” I asked, opening my arms to indicate she should return to bed with me. While the church forbade it, I saw no reason we should not take our pleasure in the morning as well.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” she answered softly, slowly climbing back into the large bed. I smiled, glad she would return to my arms. She had been afraid the night before and I had hurt her — there had been no way to avoid that. But in the morning light she seemed stronger, bolder even.
“Come now, Jane,” I said, pulling her toward me. “You must call me Henry, as you did last night.”
The blush climbed prettily up her face.
“Yes Henry,” she whispered. I pulled my hand up to play at her collar, attempting to pull it down about her shoulders.
“Is there anything I may do for you this morning, my love?” I as
ked, turning my head to kiss her.
“Yes Your — Yes, Henry,” she said. “I wished to speak of a matter of great importance with you.”
I pulled away from her, not expecting such an answer.
“And what is that?” I asked a little more properly. I could not imagine that his girl knew how to ask for anything in bed.
“I wished to discuss the Pr — the Lady Mary that is, Your Majesty.”
This time I did not correct her.
“And why would you wish to discuss her?” I asked, pulling away completely and turning to face her. “You should be focused on the children that we shall have together,” I admonished. “Not those that have come before.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Jane replied, turning her head to look up at me through batted lashes. “But she is still your daughter and I am sure she has missed your presence. I know any child would miss their father, especially one such as you, Your Majesty. I had hoped that since her mother had passed away she might now be allowed back at court.”
I looked at Jane long and hard, her earlier prettiness seeming to have slipped away. So she could play this game too — just not as well as most of the girls. Every woman I had in my bed had looked at me like that, with their head cocked to the side and their eyes fluttering, asking for a piece of lace or a bit of money or an earldom for their husband.
And I could almost see the picture of Jane and her mother, the old Lady Seymour, whose health had gone from the birth of her ten children, explaining to her most precious daughter that the best time to ask your husband was in the morning, after everything had been done the night before. I imagine the ladies of the court had talked enough and that Jane had listened enough and to know how to try to play me; it seemed that every woman at court did.
But as my anger rose I thought of something. Jane had asked nothing for herself, or indeed any of her family. All she had requested was for her step-daughter — my own child. For her to do nothing more than come to court. It had been rare in my time as king to encounter a woman who would ask for something for someone other than themselves.
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