by Alison Weir
She was not so delighted that her stiff-necked receiver general, Wymond Carew, was to replace Dr. Olisleger as her official interpreter, although Susanna Gilman would continue to act for her in that capacity in private. She had disliked Carew’s manner on sight. This big-set man with his calculating eyes and long, bushy beard was too correct, too aloof, too intimidating—but apparently a brilliant administrator. She must try to get on with him, as was her duty. She smiled with genuine pleasure when he told her that he had been charged by the King to purchase gifts and rewards for all those returning to Germany. She had offered to advise him on what to choose, only to be rebuffed, politely yet firmly. But today, as she stood in her presence chamber waiting to bid farewell to her people, she had to concede that he had done her proud. The lords and ambassadors of Kleve and Saxony were greatly impressed with their rich gifts of money and plate. The cost of such presents must have been immense!
It was time to say goodbye. As she stood on the dais, her eyes lingered on all those who must now depart, looking fondly on Dr. Olisleger, Grand Master Hochsteden, the Baron von Oberstein, and Franz Burchard, good men all, who had served her and hers loyally; and she feared that her grief might burst forth uncontrollably. Yet the King’s wife must maintain her composure. The impression they would take back with them to Kleve was of a queen who was serene and happy in her exalted station.
One by one, they came forward to take their leave. As Dr. Olisleger bent to kiss her hand, she was almost overcome. “May God go with you, dear friend,” she said. “I owe you so much.”
“May He watch over your Grace,” he replied, looking a little emotional himself, “and bring you the greatest good fortune.”
Watching the procession of her countrymen passing out through the great doors, Anna was seized with the need to ensure that her family would not worry about her. She hoped that no one leaving here today had heard those horrible rumors, but if they had, and repeated them in Kleve, she was determined to give the lie to them.
When Lady Keteler came up to say farewell, Anna detained her. “My lady,” she said, “I ask you to say to the Duchess, my mother, and the Duke, my brother, that I thank them most heartily for having preferred me to such a marriage that I could wish for no better. No other would content me so well.”
“I will tell them, Madam,” Lady Keteler promised. Then she too was gone.
* * *
—
Anna was in her bedchamber, writing reassuring letters to her mother and brother for Dr. Wotton to take with him when he returned to Kleve, and Susanna was making up the fire, when the King was announced. They had been married for three weeks now, and still he had not made her his. She supposed that this night would be like all the others. He would come to her bed, lie beside her, trying to make conversation for a while, then fall to snoring or suggest a game of cards. He was always pleasant and courteous, but he made no move to touch her.
Tonight, he was in a good mood. “I have sent for the Prince, Anna, to come to court to meet his new stepmother.”
“Ach, I am so pleased!” Anna exclaimed. “I have wanted so much to meet your children.”
“You will meet Mary and Elizabeth soon. Mary has been unwell, but is much amended, praised be God. Edward is in excellent health, which is a great comfort to me. He is a most forward child, as you will find.”
Anna laid down her quill. She was already in her night robe. Susanna doused the candles and left, as the King sank heavily into bed. Presently, when she had sealed her letters, Anna joined him. Maybe it was the remembrance that he had only one son, who could be struck down any day by some childish ailment, that made him reach for her. Tonight, she prayed, she might become a wife in truth.
But no. As Henry held and kissed her, it was clear that nothing would happen. Soon, he gave a little sigh and released her. They lay there, silent, in the firelight.
“I like you, Anna,” Henry said at length. “I like you very much, but it seems God does not intend that I should love you.”
“There are more ways than one of loving,” she whispered.
“Yes, but a king needs heirs, and my mind will not be stirred to do what gets them.”
“Are you ill, Henry?” she ventured.
“My leg gives me much pain,” he admitted.
“Can it be made better?”
“The doctors do their best. I am sorry, Anna.”
“I am sorry for your suffering.” Her hand reached for his. She was still holding it when they fell asleep.
* * *
—
The Prince was very fair, blond-haired and solemn-faced, with grave blue eyes, chubby cheeks, and a pointed chin. Anna’s heart turned over, for he reminded her so much of Johann. Not yet two and a half years old, he swept off his feathered bonnet, made a perfect bow before the assembled court, then toddled from his governess and knelt before his father.
“Edward, my son!” Henry cried, lifting him up and kissing him. “Anna, this is England’s greatest jewel. Edward, greet your new stepmother.”
He set the child down, and Edward bowed to Anna, then looked up, regarding her in an almost imperious manner. Anna would have liked to draw him onto her knee, but did not feel she could. This was no ordinary child. This little boy had been worshipped and deferred to from birth, as the precious heir to a great prince, and already, it appeared, he was conscious of it. So she curtseyed to him, wishing that his eyes were not so cold. Maybe, like many young children, he was shy at first with newcomers—but she doubted it. This was a king in the making.
“And here is the redoubtable Lady Bryan,” Henry announced, presenting the Prince’s governess to Anna. Lady Bryan was getting on in years, but gave the impression of being capable and dedicated. As Henry questioned her about his son’s progress, Anna tried to make headway with the little boy, who stood in his long skirts of red damask, looking impassively at the sumptuous decoration of his father’s privy chamber.
Anna held out a ball she had bought for him, a pretty thing, gaily painted, the kind of toy she would dearly have loved to give her own son.
Edward took it as if it were his due. “Thank you, my lady,” he said formally. She wondered if he knew what to do with it, so she showed him how to bounce it before tossing it gently back to him. He dropped it, of course, for he was too young to catch it with dexterity, but then picked it up and threw it back. Soon, he was laughing, especially when Anna missed the ball. She made a big show of pretending not to see where it had rolled.
“There! There!” he cried, pointing, just like any normal child. Poor little boy. He had never known his mother, and his father, with his great height, and his bulk clad in velvet and furs, must seem an awesome figure in the eyes of a small child. Anna hoped she could play a mother’s part to Edward. It would do her as much good as it would him.
The King and his courtiers were watching them. “Go on, Edward, catch it!” Henry encouraged. The Prince eyed him warily. Henry bent down, taking his turn with the ball, and Edward chuckled with delight.
“Do you ride on the hobby horse I gave you?” his father asked.
“Yes, Sir,” the boy lisped.
“Good, good,” Henry beamed. “Soon, you will have a real pony to ride. You will like that, won’t you?”
Edward looked dubious. Horses, like kings, were clearly daunting to him.
“And then we will teach you swordsmanship!” Henry was running away with himself. The child was two! And yet, Anna thought, gazing at them together, perhaps the King had reason to want his heir to grow up quickly. Anyone with eyes to look could see he was ailing and might not live long enough to watch his son grow to adulthood. Maybe he himself was aware of it.
When Edward tired of the game, the King sat down, with his son on a stool at his feet, and called for music. Music was one of the joys of this court. Already, Anna had engaged some musicians, and they had been summone
d to play today, so that Henry could hear for himself how well they performed.
“Bravo!” he cried, as they struck up a ronde, which, at his nod, had the courtiers up and dancing. The Prince sat staring at them. Henry leaned across to Anna. “My Lord Cromwell tells me there are accomplished Jewish musicians in Venice who are hiding from the Inquisition. I am of a mind to offer them asylum in England. They are skilled recorder players. Will you take them into your household, Anna?”
“Willingly, Sir,” she smiled, marveling again at the kindness in him.
* * *
—
Anna was becoming used to the English way of doing things. Her life was settling into a pattern. She spent much of it sitting in her privy chamber, plying her needle, or gambling with cards or dice with her ladies and gentlemen. The best games were those she played with Otho, for then she could legitimately enjoy his company. Sometimes she summoned entertainers to divert her attendants, like Will Somers, the King’s fool, whose droll jests drew much laughter, or the acrobat who had them all gaping at his triple somersaults. Hanna von Wylich, who acted as an occasional lady-in-waiting, gave her a parrot, which drew much attention with its exotic plumage, and amusement when it repeated things it was not supposed to say. There was a heart-stopping moment when the King was visiting, and suddenly, from the gold cage hanging by the window, there came a cackle, “Harry’s a bad boy!”
Anna felt herself go crimson as Henry jerked his head around, then roared with laughter.
“Forgive me, your Grace!” she cried. “The parrot is called Harry, in your honor. We tell him he’s a bad boy when he bites us.”
Henry grinned. “At least I don’t bite!” The ladies all giggled.
Anna still devoted time to mastering English. She could make herself understood, in broken sentences and with gestures, and hold a stilted conversation, but was by no means fluent. It was as well that she was living quietly, for it gave her a chance to become more proficient before she must play a larger public role. Next month, she would be crowned, then spring would come, and with it Easter and the great court festivals of which her ladies had spoken. Her English must be more polished by then!
Henry was patient with her. He took the time to understand her, especially when she searched in her mind for words. Gradually, her vocabulary grew. Growing too was her concern that the time for her coronation was approaching and so far no word had been said about it, or preparations made. She reminded herself that the late Queen had never been crowned.
* * *
—
At the end of January, the King came to sup with her, which he had taken to doing two or three times a week. He was in an ebullient mood.
“The Emperor is falling out with the King of France!” he announced gleefully. “I always said they would make sorry bedfellows. They have both begun suing for my friendship. Not many months ago, they were uniting to make war on me!”
Anna smiled brightly, but her mind raced, thinking of the possible consequences if Henry made a pact with either ruler.
“The Emperor especially is showing himself interested in renewing our friendship,” Henry went on. “Charles was so sanctimonious about my being excommunicated, but now, evidently, it doesn’t matter, so long as I side with him against that fox François! My dear, this places me in a very strong position indeed!”
Anna was not skilled in politics, but she knew that, if he concluded a new treaty with Charles, Henry would no longer need the alliance with Kleve.
She could not stay silent. “Sir, you will stay a friend to Kleve, I pray? The Emperor is threatening Guelders.”
Henry raised his eyebrows. “I did not know you were a politician, Madam! Well, well. Rest assured, I intend to remain a friend to your brother. An alliance with the Emperor is by no means a certainty, and if I decide on it, safeguards will be put in place. I dictate my own terms!”
He leaned back in his chair, downing his wine, well pleased with himself. “Next week, you are to be officially welcomed to London,” he said.
She was to be crowned after all! Lady Rochford had said that kings and queens always went in procession through London before going to Westminster Abbey for their crowning. “And there are pageants in the streets, and free wine runs in the conduits,” she’d told Anna.
“We will leave Greenwich by barge on Sunday next,” Henry was saying. “Anna, wear an English gown.”
“Of course, Sir,” she agreed. “I have had one made up in cloth of gold, which I will wear for my coronation.”
There was a pause.
“That is deferred until Whitsun,” Henry said, carving more roast beef. “The weather will be better then.”
She bit back her disappointment, and the suspicion that something was wrong. It had persisted all the while she had known Henry. She had never been sure of him or fathomed what was really going on inside that kingly head. She would fret about it, then it would seem that all was going well until something—like this—gave her pause to wonder.
“Then I will keep the gown until then,” she said, forcing herself to smile.
Chapter 12
1540
Crowds lined the banks of the River Thames, all the way from Greenwich, to see Anna sail past in her barge.
“They are all wearing their best clothes, Madam,” Margaret Douglas observed. She, Mother Lowe, Susanna, and the duchesses of Richmond and Suffolk were squeezed in beside the Queen in the luxuriously upholstered cabin—which the English called a state house—toward the back of the vessel. In front of them, eighteen oarsmen rowed in unison, speeding them toward Westminster.
Anna’s barge was fourth in the magnificent flotilla of gaily bedecked boats. Immediately ahead was the vessel carrying the King’s guard, and in front of that sailed Henry’s own barge, with another carrying his household preceding it. She had expected that he and she would be together, side by side, as she made her entry into London, and had been disconcerted to discover that they would be traveling separately. It sparked another attack of the anxiety that had become a part of her life, but she made herself smile at the people and wave to them.
Banners and pennants whipped in the breeze. Behind Anna’s barge came others containing her ladies and servants, the Mayor and aldermen, and all the London guilds, their boats richly decorated with shields and cloth of gold. After them, in a fleet of smaller barges, followed the nobility of England and the bishops. It seemed that every ship they passed shot a salute as they sailed by. The air was thick with gunpowder.
The Tower of London loomed ahead, standing sentinel on the edge of the City. Anna suppressed a shudder, remembering that Queen Anne had been imprisoned and beheaded there—and Sir Thomas More. Had Anne shrunk in terror at the sight, knowing that she might never leave it?
Suddenly, as they neared the great fortress, the air was rent by the crack of guns as the cannon on the wharf shot off a thousand chambers of ordnance in salute. The noise was louder than thunder, and Anna clapped her hands over her ears.
Thankfully, the Tower was soon behind them, and now they were skimming the rapids under London Bridge. To Anna’s right was the City of London itself, with great houses and gardens lining the shore, and numerous church spires rising behind. She could hear the bells pealing joyfully, and the cheers of the citizens crowded along the banks.
The boat rounded a bend in the river, and ahead lay Whitehall Palace and the great abbey of Westminster. The barge pulled in by Westminster Stairs, where the King was waiting for Anna. She alighted to rousing applause from the crowds, and curtseyed to her husband, who led her through a great gatehouse and so to the palace itself.
And that was it. No pageants, no procession through the City, no formal welcome by the Mayor. Maybe, Anna thought, as Henry brought her to her lodgings, that too had been deferred until her coronation. But it was not long till Whitsun: May was less than three months away. At least Londo
n’s welcome had been warm.
She marveled at the rich decor of Whitehall, the fine galleries, the glorious tapestries, the luxuriously appointed rooms. The palace was so large, and so rambling, that it would be easy to get lost in it. Her rooms overlooked the river and the privy garden below her windows. It felt exciting to be here, on the doorstep of London. She was seized with a sense of elation. Perhaps all would be well, after all, and she would be crowned before she knew it.
* * *
—
They had been at Whitehall for five days when Henry, kissing Anna farewell one morning, informed her that he would not be visiting her that night.
“It is Lent, Anna,” he explained. “I must abstain from your bed.”
She nodded. “Of course.” She realized they would not sleep together again until Easter, in six weeks’ time. In some ways, she would miss Henry’s massive presence beside her at night. The intimacy of their shared bed had brought them closer in mind, if not in hearts or bodies.
She thought he looked a touch relieved, glad perhaps to be spared the nightly humiliation of lying with her to no effect. He had not tried to make her his since that embarrassing night at Greenwich. If she were honest, she too was feeling some relief, yet she was sad they had not consummated their marriage, and that the joy she had looked for had eluded her. By now, she had hoped to be carrying the King’s son. Soon, she feared, people would begin to believe the rumors to be true.
When Henry had gone, she lay listlessly, already feeling lonely. She wondered if all devout couples refrained from loving each other during Lent. She could not imagine Otho von Wylich deserting the bed of his beloved Hanna for so long a time.