by Alison Weir
The ranks of gentlemen before her drew back on each side, leaving a clear path between her and the King. Henry spurred his horse a little way beyond the stone cross that stood on Blackheath, and halted there. As Dr. Olisleger stepped forward to act as interpreter, the King doffed his cap and, not waiting for Anna to come to him, as was proper, trotted forward to greet her, looking—she observed with relief—pleased to see her.
“My Lady Anna, welcome to England!” he cried, so that all could hear, and he bowed in the saddle.
Anna bowed too. “Your Majesty, I am both honored and joyful to be here,” she replied in English, gratified by his warm welcome, and conscious of the hundreds of people watching. Smiling at her most kindly, the King reined in his horse beside hers, leaned over, and embraced her, to loud cheers from the spectators. He smelled fresher today, of herbs and soap.
“See how my subjects welcome you, Madam!” he said.
Anna returned his smile. She had rehearsed her words. “Sir, I mind to be a good and loving mistress to them, and a humble and loving wife to your Majesty,” she said loudly. “I thank you, and all the good people here, for this wonderful welcome.”
While they exchanged pleasantries, and Anna dared to think that the King might indeed come to like her, the members of his retinue were taking their places amid the great concourse of people on Blackheath. She saw some of the King’s guard ride off toward Greenwich, to be ready for his coming there. As she and Henry rode back together toward the pavilion, he accorded her the place of honor on his right hand, and rode so close that their arms kept touching. Everyone was cheering and rejoicing at the sight, and Anna felt that, if they did not love her yet, the people of England certainly seemed to bear her much goodwill.
In the pavilion, the King called for spiced wine to warm them, picked at the replenished banquet, and presented to Anna the Lord Chancellor and Lord Cromwell. Anna was most interested to meet Cromwell, for he had done more than anyone to bring about her marriage.
He bowed over her hand, a portly, eagle-eyed man with heavy features and a polished manner. “Welcome to England, your Grace. I trust your journey was as comfortable as we could make it.”
We? She had thought the orders for the kindnesses afforded her had come from the King. But, of course, Cromwell would have implemented his orders. Even so, she did not like the presumptuous way the man coupled his name with the King’s, as if they were a single entity. Nor did she like Cromwell’s appraising look. It seemed rude. But she had been told that he was the son of a blacksmith, so what could one expect?
She was glad when it was time to leave for Greenwich.
Outside the pavilion, there stood an empty litter, hung and upholstered with cloth of gold and crimson velvet.
“It is my gift to you, my lady,” the King said. “After we are married, you must ride in an English conveyance.”
“I thank your Grace.” Anna curtseyed. It was a handsome litter, yet she felt sad at the prospect of abandoning her magnificent golden chariot adorned with the lion of Kleve. But, for now, the King said, she could use it for the processional journey.
With the trumpets going before, and the King riding beside her, they passed through the assembled ranks of knights and esquires, preceded and followed by their joint entourages. In the chariot behind Anna’s sat six of her German gentlewomen, whose fair faces and ornate gowns drew appreciative cheers from some Englishmen watching. Then followed chariots bearing Anna’s English ladies, chamberers, and laundresses, and behind them was drawn her new litter, in the wake of which rode her serving men.
On they passed through the deer park. As the chariot crested the hill, the redbrick palace of Greenwich appeared, spread out below them on the banks of the Thames. Anna stared in wonder at the painted roofs and soaring turrets. It looked like a palace from a German legend.
“Greenwich!” the King announced. “Madam, I was born here, and it is the second of my great houses after Whitehall.”
Anna could see the citizens of London in their boats on the Thames, watching the procession.
“All the guilds of London have come out in their barges,” the King said. As they drew nearer, Anna saw that some of the barges had been painted with the royal arms of England or the arms of Kleve; she could hear the melodious sounds of minstrels and men and children singing. The King halted the procession on the wharf near the palace, so they could listen.
“Do you not think it praiseworthy, Madam?” he asked.
“It is very good,” Anna answered, fearing that her limited English could not sufficiently convey how excellent the music was.
On arrival at the palace, they were saluted by guns positioned on top of the massive central tower. It dominated the river frontage, a long range of apartments boasting a costly expanse of glass in a row of splendid bay windows. Passing through the gatehouse at the base of the tower, they arrived in an inner courtyard, where the King dismounted, assisted Anna from her chariot, and lovingly embraced and kissed her in front of their cheering, clapping retinues.
“Welcome to your own, Madam!” he said grandly, and led her arm-in-arm through the magnificent great hall, where the guards were lined up like statues along the walls, and beyond, to her apartments. They were sumptuous, with every surface painted and gilded, and again she was aware of the smells of new wood and paint—and of the distant sounds of sawing and hammering.
“Forgive the noise, Madam, but men are still working on refurbishments to my own apartments,” the King explained. “They work only in the day, and should be finished soon. They have been ordered not to disturb you any more than is strictly necessary.”
They entered her presence chamber. “Here,” he said, “you will hold court.”
Anna gazed in awe at the ceiling decorated with gilded bosses, the expensive Seville tiles lining the hearth, and the alcoves tiled in green and yellow with windows overlooking the river. At the far end of the room, a velvet-upholstered faldstool stood on the dais beneath a rich canopy of estate bearing the combined arms of England and Kleve. This was to be her throne.
They passed through to her privy chamber, the ushers opening the doors and saluting.
“This, Madam, is your private apartment,” the King explained. “Only the most privileged, those you favor, may enter.”
It was as lavishly fitted out as the presence chamber, but what drew Anna’s eye was the wood-burning stove of green-glazed earthenware that stood in a corner. It was just like the stoves in Germany! The King really had gone far beyond what was needful in providing for her.
She swept him a curtsey. “I thank your Majesty for giving me gut rooms, and that Ofen,” she said.
“I trust you will be comfortable here, Madam,” he replied. Again, she was aware of the detached, practiced courtesy of his manner. “And now your ladies are waiting to attend you and help you to settle in. I must leave you for a time, to attend to a matter of state. But I will see you this evening, for there is to be a feast in your honor.” He kissed her hand and bowed, at which she made a low curtsey.
“There!” Mother Lowe said, when he had gone. “I told you there was nothing to worry about!”
“I do hope not,” Anna breathed, sinking into a chair.
“No queen could have had a greater welcome,” Susanna told her. “There was no such fanfare for Queen Jane. The first we knew of her marriage to the King was when, suddenly, there she was, enthroned in the Queen’s presence chamber at Whitehall, with her title being cried out to the court. Of course, there had been talk that his Grace would marry her.”
“But the Lady Anna is royal!” Mother Lowe bristled. “Queen Jane was but a gentlewoman. She brought no great alliance.”
“She brought the King love, which is just as important,” Anna said.
Mother Lowe opened her mouth to protest, but was silenced by the sounds of the English ladies arriving.
“I do not think I can ever love him,” Anna whispered to Susanna, as Mother Lowe moved hastily to greet the newcomers as if she were their mistress, intent no doubt on establishing her supremacy.
Susanna regarded Anna with sympathy.
“I am dreading tomorrow more than I can say,” Anna confessed. She had tried to suppress all thought of her wedding night, but in vain. In two days, she might be in the Tower!
“There is nothing to fear,” Susanna murmured. “There might be some pain at first, but it soon passes.”
Anna said nothing; not even to this dear friend could she unburden herself.
“All will be well, I am sure.” Susanna smiled.
* * *
—
Anna’s gown was of the plushest velvet, the color of the fir trees that grew on the hills surrounding Schloss Burg. Over its long, tight sleeves, with their borders of embroidery and goldsmiths’ work at the cuffs, she wore the rich sables the King had given her. Her head was crowned with a cap encrusted with pearls and precious stones. She could feel all eyes on her as she arrived in the King’s presence chamber, followed by her long train of ladies. This was how it would be from now on. She realized she had been lucky to enjoy so much seclusion at the court of Kleve; she had resented it then, but now—how she longed for it!
The banquet was sumptuous, the King as attentive as ever, yet again she was aware of irritation simmering beneath the surface. She would have liked to ask him if all was well, and thus show him she meant to be a helpmeet as well as a wife, but she did not dare. As always, when in his presence, she found herself overawed and tongue-tied, even with the reassuring presence of Susanna, who was acting as interpreter.
“We will have to choose a motto to be engraved on your wedding ring, and for use by you at other times,” Henry said, as a huge sugar subtlety in the shape of a swan, in tribute to Kleve, was carried in by two confectioners and offered to the high table. Henry nodded graciously, beaming at the applause from the courtiers, and the men set it down at the center of the table and began to carve it.
“What motto shall I choose, Sir?” Anna asked.
“It is for you to say. What do you think it should be?”
She thought for a moment. “Something along the lines of asking for God’s protection to keep me from harm or trouble.”
Henry nodded approvingly. “Maybe this will serve—‘God send me well to keep.’ ”
“That is perfect, Sir.”
“Good. I will instruct my goldsmith. Now you must choose a badge as your emblem.”
“May I use the swan of Kleve, Sir? Or, if that does not please you, the ducal coronet?”
“You may use both, as you wish,” Henry said benignly.
* * *
—
After the banquet, Anna changed into a taffeta gown and returned to watch the dancing in the presence chamber. She sat on the dais, on a stool at the King’s right hand, praying he would not ask her to dance. She did not know how, for it had been frowned upon in Kleve. But he did not; maybe he himself could not dance these days, although she’d heard he had been skilled at it in his youth, as he had excelled at sports and nearly every other accomplishment. He remained enthroned, watching the couples before him weaving in and out of line, touching hands, then whirling away again. From time to time he spoke to Anna, pointing out this lord or that, or explaining some rule of dancing. Something still troubled him—or maybe he was as tired after the long day as she was herself, or sad that youth had flown and he could no longer participate in its pleasures.
She was glad when he stood up and called for spiced wine and wafers to be served, a signal that the festivities were at an end. She gulped down the wine, needing to quell her fears about the morrow. Despite the general air of anticipation among the courtiers, and the wedding talk she had heard in snatches, the King had not mentioned their imminent nuptials, or even told her what time to be ready. This, she knew, was not how things should be.
Her fears were confirmed when, as soon as she had returned to her apartments, Vice Chancellor Olisleger and Grand Master Hochsteden were announced, both looking worried. When they asked if they might speak with her in private, she was convinced they would tell her the King was sending her home.
“Your Grace,” Dr. Olisleger said, once they were alone in her closet, “we are sorry to disturb you so late, but we have only just come from a meeting with Lord Cromwell and the Privy Council. A difficulty has arisen that you should know about. Lord Cromwell summoned us because the King and his councillors are concerned that your betrothal to the Duke of Lorraine’s son was not properly dissolved. If that were indeed the case, it would prevent your marriage.”
For a moment, Anna was speechless. It was clear now why the King had been preoccupied. She did not know whether to laugh, cry, or slump in relief. “But it is not the case,” she managed to declare.
“No, Madam,” agreed Hochsteden. “Last summer, Duke Wilhelm’s council assured Dr. Wotton that your Grace was not bound by any covenants made between Kleve and Lorraine, and that you were at liberty to marry whom you wished. But Lord Cromwell says that at Windsor, in the autumn, the King repeatedly insisted he would not sign the marriage treaty without proof of a formal annulment. Yet, Madam, his Majesty said no such thing to us. He did not raise the matter at all. Indeed, he was more than happy to sign the marriage treaty. However, at the meeting tonight, Dr. Wotton declared that he had asked us to bring the proofs, and the Privy councillors said we promised at Windsor to do so, but we have no recollection of that. Indeed, Madam, we believed the Duke’s council had given sufficient assurances to satisfy the King, so we brought nothing in writing.”
“But why is his Majesty raising these doubts now, at the very last minute?” Anna asked, incredulous. “Is this all a pretext to get rid of me?”
“Not at all, Madam!” Dr. Olisleger was shocked. “He was expecting us to bring the proofs he says he asked for. I was told that, having entered into two incestuous unions in the past, with much trouble ensuing, his Majesty is troubled in his conscience that he might again be marrying a lady who is forbidden to him. He cannot frame his mind or his heart to love you until his doubts have been resolved.”
How could you frame your heart to love someone? Anna herself had tried to do that, and failed. You either loved, or you didn’t. No, the King’s qualms of conscience were surely born of the fact that, put simply, he did not want to marry her. She had guessed it from the first.
“Can those doubts be resolved?” she asked, foreseeing herself returning to Kleve, abandoned and shamed through no fault of her own, yet secretly relieved to be free of this man.
“I am sure they can, and speedily,” Hochsteden assured her. “There have clearly been misunderstandings, on both sides.”
“Neither your Grace nor the Marquis ever made vows, so there was no need for an ecclesiastical court to dissolve the betrothal,” Olisleger said. “We said this to Lord Cromwell, who went to the King, then told us his Majesty was not prepared to go through with the marriage. Lord Cromwell urged us to assure him that, as soon as we returned to Kleve, we would send the proofs that will put all out of doubt. Madam, it was most embarrassing. We were made to look like incompetent fools.” Dr. Olisleger’s normally urbane manner was showing signs of fragmenting.
“So what will happen now?” Anna asked, for it seemed a deadlock had been reached.
“We have said we will confer with you and give them an answer in the morning.”
“But I am to be married in the morning!”
“Madam, the King has deferred the solemnization until Tuesday to allow time for the matter to be resolved,” Hochsteden informed her. “Rest assured, all will be well.”
Anna was not so sure of that, and it must have shown in her face.
“Far better to have a happy bridegroom than a reluctant one,” Dr. Olisleger observed.
; * * *
—
Anna retired to her bedchamber, relieved to find that Mother Lowe had shooed everyone else away and was waiting up for her. Her eye alighted on her wedding finery, all laid out for the morrow. How she longed for the calm serenity of her mother’s presence.
“Is everything all right?” Mother Lowe asked.
Anna shook her head, and pulled off her cap. “No. The wedding is postponed until Tuesday. A problem has arisen.” She explained what it was. “I think the King is making an occasion to be rid of me, but Dr. Olisleger and Grand Master Hochsteden say no. I am not convinced.” She sank into her chair by the fire.
Mother Lowe began unplaiting Anna’s hair. “I am amazed,” she said. “He’s had time enough to satisfy his conscience on that score. If he had doubts, why sign the treaty?”
“Could it be that, when he saw me in person, he did not like me? That’s the only explanation I can think of.”
“Or someone has planted these doubts in his mind,” Mother Lowe suggested. “I have eyes and ears, and I can understand English better than I can speak it. The Catholics do not want this marriage. They abhor the King allying himself with the Protestant princes.”
The Duke of Norfolk’s sour face came to mind. Anna could well imagine him working secretly to prevent her marriage.
“Maybe,” she said slowly. “But what if there are no proofs? I shall forever after be known as the bride sent home by the King of England. I would never live it down. No man would want me—”
“Stop!” Mother Lowe cried. “The King needs this alliance.”
“He does as he pleases. Luther said that of him.”