Struck With the Dart of Love

by Sandra Vasoli

  The royal courier was thanked and sent on his way, and I flew through the great hall, up the staircase, and into my chamber. Firmly closing the door, I sat on my bed, cracked the seal, and smoothed open the parchment.

  There was no formal greeting: in its place at the top of the sheet was a splatter of dark brown ink, the droplets smeared by his large hand. The letter was written in French and a full page long, while, at simply a glance I could discern the fervour with which it had been written. The large, bold, well-spaced writing was in stark contrast to his previous letters, which had been closely and elegantly transcribed.

  I began to read:

  En debatant d’apper … On turning over in my mind the contents of your last letters, I have put myself into great agony, not knowing how to interpret them, whether to my disadvantage, as I understand them in some places, or to my advantage, as I understand them in some others, beseeching you earnestly to let me know expressly your whole mind as to the love between us two. It is absolutely necessary for me to obtain this answer, having been above a whole year stricken avec du dart d’amours –with the dart of love …

  I stopped reading, startled, and reprised the past months in my memory. I recalled in vivid detail the moment when we encountered each other on the hunt field in late November – just over a year ago! - and my clumsiness caused us to come into such close contact that an exchange of looks left me breathless. Long had I wondered how he felt at that moment. Written here was the answer - right before me!

  … and not yet sure whether I shall fail of finding a place in your heart and affection, which last point has prevented me for some time past from calling you my mistress; because if you only love me with an ordinary love, that name is not suitable for you, because it denotes a singular love, which is far from common. But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give up yourself body and heart to me, who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant, (if your rigor does not forbid me) I promise you that not only the name shall be given you, but also that I will take you for my only mistress, casting off all others besides you out of my thoughts and affections, and serve you only. I beseech you to give an entire answer to this my rude letter, that I may know on what and how far I may depend. And if it does not please you to answer me in writing, appoint some place where I may have it by word of mouth, and I will go thither with all my heart. No more for fear of tiring you. Written by the hand of him who would willingly remain yours,

  H. R.

  It took me but an instant to decide that I would, after all, reply to King Henry. And more -that I would reply in person. I called for Charity to begin packing to return to court for Christmas.

  Greenwich

  December 1526

  “How do you think this looks, Anne?” Maggie asked, holding a bodice and kirtle against herself while squinting at the mirror.

  We were in her chamber at Greenwich. How content I felt, being in her company again! I sat on a stool near the hearth and watched her while she busily moved about the room, gathering items which would comprise her attire for the Christmas banquet. She had wanted my opinion of her choice of gown, headpiece, and jewellery. It was a great relief to feel completely at ease, finished with my duties in service of Queen Katherine for the evening.

  Mon Dieu! What a burden it had become to serve the Queen and pretend to care about her daily needs. I had no idea whether Katherine was aware of the King’s attentions to me, but I certainly hoped not. The situation was proving difficult enough without having to endure her retributions if indeed she did suspect there to be something between her husband and me.

  As children, both Maggie and I had loved to run wild outside on long summer evenings, doing our best to keep up with our brothers. We had, somewhat disapprovingly, been called ‘tomboys’ and would much rather have been outdoors, romping in the fields than learning how to embroider or manage a household. Neither of us had cared a fig for our clothes then, or how we’d looked. All that, of course, changed for me during my stay at the fashionable French court, whereas Maggie had not been afforded such opportunity and, as a consequence, was now possessed of much less confidence than I when it came to assembling attire to complement her looks.

  The gown she held up was a becoming shade of deep green, with sleeves trimmed in gold. It would look beautiful against her dark blond hair. I had finally convinced her to wear a French hood rather than a bulky gabled one. That way, enough of her lovely hair would be uncovered to be seen as an asset.

  “I adore that gown for you, Maggie. It is such a festive colour and green looks well on you. I think you should wear it, and you can set it off with the emerald necklace.”

  “Oh Anne, it just gives me some extra certainty when you approve. Thank you, my friend. And what will you wear? Have you decided?” she asked, sitting down in the chair across from me, rubbing her hands together to warm herself by the fire.

  “Not yet. I am the indecisive one, it seems,” I shrugged. “Maybe the indigo blue brocade which just arrived from the dressmaker? Do you think that would be a good choice?”

  “Indeed. Its colour will look splendid on you.” She gave me an impish little smile. “You will have at least three specific pairs of eyes riveted on you in that!”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, pretending to be piqued. “I hope there will be lots of eyes on me, because why spend so much time and effort getting ready if not to be admired?”

  “Undoubtedly you will be the object of attention, Anne, but there will surely be three in particular. Those of Lord Percy, my brother Thomas and, most significant of all - the King’s …!”

  She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “My dearest Anne, I am aware of the attraction between you and His Majesty. It is not my business to know anything more than that. But I will say this - when the two of you are together, the radiance you emit is unmistakable. You are similar to His Grace in many ways, and you both shine brightly. In truth, Anne, you would make a formidable twosome … or formidable foes, for that matter!”

  She fell quiet for a moment just watching the flames, and I was thinking about what she had said, when she added, “My poor brother Thomas. He is so in love with you. You know that, do you not?”

  I nodded slowly as she continued, “Thomas is a wonderful man, Anne; handsome and so accomplished. Fortunately, he was able to leave behind that misguided marriage to Elizabeth Brooke, but I fear his hopes will never be fulfilled. He pines for you, yet I know he will never be able to compete with the likes of our King.”

  The approaching twilight deepened the shadows in my chamber, and I was engrossed in preparing for the Christmas celebration. I had decided to wear the deep blue gown. Its sleeves were lined with a gold tissue, and the hood edged with gold embroidery. I had borrowed a necklace from my mother, a circlet of gold links studded with three sizable sapphires. I stepped into my satin slippers and sat before the mirror so Charity could arrange the hood far back on my hair which was how I preferred to wear it. I stood then and tugged at the bodice to lower it a bit while frowning at the mirror to study the result. All seemed satisfactory, and I finally permitted myself a smile, pleased with my choices.

  Hurrying through the torch-lit gallery, I headed for the Royal Chapel, where I was to sit with the Queen’s ladies for Evensong. A celestial beauty filled the chapel as the slanting light of late afternoon illuminated the stained glass, spilling pools of vibrant colour across the stone and dark wood. I slid into my seat while glancing covertly along the pew, past the other maids and ladies in waiting, to observe Katherine. She looked drawn and tired. Gowned in dark crimson, the colour of oxblood, the tone accentuated the lines etched on her face. I felt a twinge of compassion - indeed, guilt - as I observed her melancholy. Even as Mass began, I continued to muse. Guilt was not warranted, I concluded. I had done nothing overt to encourage the King’s attentions. Compassion, however, was something else again. I did feel pity for Kat
herine, who had endured so much sorrow with failed pregnancies and stillborn children, and whose anguish over aging must not be limited to her waning beauty, but surely for the demise of her fertility.

  I wondered what would become of the three of us. I had not yet permitted myself any conjecture on my prospects with Henry. In so many ways, our affinity seemed to me a chimera. My fascination with him was undeniable, but despite his letter I was not at all certain that his for me would endure.

  My reverie was interrupted as the congregants began to file forward to receive communion. The Cardinal progressed through the rest of the Mass without delay; he likely anticipated the awaiting feast, as did we all.

  The Great Hall at Greenwich, bedecked and aglow for Christmas of 1526, was an incredible sight. It had been said that the King wished to have a special celebration this year since last year’s Christmastide he’d spent away from court, and as a result, the Lord Chamberlain and his staff had outdone themselves. Gleaming silver candelabra, placed on every table and buffet, held tall, flickering white candles. The chandeliers were ablaze. Astonishingly beautiful new tapestries, which King Henry commissioned from artisans in Brussels, hung on every wall: their Old Testament stories depicted in brilliant colour, shot throughout with threads of silver and gold. The spectacularly carved and gilded beams of the ceiling high above were festooned with boughs of pine, holly, and English ivy. Entwined throughout those boughs were silvery branches. The musicians played merry French chansons and traditional carols while the guests entered the Hall and mingled, greeting each other and sipping spiced wine from silver and golden goblets. An entrancing fragrance filled the air from censers which smouldered with frankincense and rosemary. And at the center of the room, the great Yule log blazed. I roamed through the crowd, offering Christmas wishes, and unawares, turned to find myself confronted by the King. He squeezed my arm with a warm grasp then, lowering his head so he could speak closely to me, whispered, “Be certain to dance with me, Mademoiselle. I will await that moment.”

  I smiled up at him, filled with happy anticipation for the evening ahead.

  As it turned out, Thomas Wyatt was my dining partner. I took note that, this time, my place was in full view of the King and Queen, and I had been positioned upboard, much closer to the dais. Wyatt paid me continuous attention throughout the evening, keeping his face close to mine when he spoke. As soon as the dancing began, he steered me to the floor, and we danced the first galliard while the King watched, his eyes piercing and his features peculiarly devoid of expression.

  The evening became ever merrier, and I danced often. The King, however, had yet to approach me. He kept a close watch, though, even while he talked and laughed with his many guests, all manoeuvring for a private moment in which to wish the King and Queen a happy Christmas.

  So many courses were served that I lost count. Midway through the feast, there arose an audible gasp from the guests, as brought to the table was an immense roasted boar’s head – likely one of the ill-fated boars sent to us by François. In its mouth was an apple, and its curved tusks gleamed fearsomely. I did not intend to eat any of that beast. Instead, I would await my favourite dish, ‘Christmas Pye’, which the baker concocted of neat’s tongue, eggs, sugar, flour and many spices, raisins and orange peel. So very delicious!

  A hand on my shoulder caused me to look up to see King Henry. He had wedged himself between Thomas and me and was offering his arm. I laid my hand atop his jewelled sleeve, and he led me to the dance floor where courtiers were assembling for a pavane. The King and I assumed our places at the head of the formation. Master Taverner, conducting the musicians that evening, announced that the piece we were about to hear had been composed by His Royal Majesty. I smiled up at Henry while the guests applauded, and the music began. It was an enchanting melody, played well - indeed, he was a most able composer - and Henry and I danced as if we had been partners all our lives. I knew we were the centre of much interest, but I could pay attention to little else than the thrilling sensation of dancing with the King. Never had I encountered anyone so skilled. He was graceful and strong all at once, and our steps were in perfect cadence. When we faced each other, his pleasure was evidenced by his shining eyes and broad smile. The dance concluded, there came more applause - and it was clearly intended for us both.

  As midnight approached, the King was handed a lute. He positioned himself where all could see. He began to play, and the clear notes of the eloquent and moving piece resonated in the room which had quickly stilled: the captivated assembly silent. As the final note sounded, then faded away, there arose a burst of genuine acclaim. Gracefully, Henry bowed to his audience, telling them he had titled the piece ‘If Love Now Reynyd.’ I, along with others in attendance, marvelled at the many talents possessed by this magnificent man.

  Along with the midnight chiming of the clock, my heart beat rhythmically. All present began to sing ‘Gloria, Gloria in Excelsis Deo!’ and I sang too, the words more meaningful to me than I could ever have imagined. For – at long last, and for the first time in my life - I had fallen boundlessly in love

  The endless winter was so confining. I hated being constantly indoors, but the thick shelves of ice which coated the ground and covered the pathways around the palace prevented any of us from venturing out. The physical limitations imposed by those coldest and darkest months gave rise to an increased interest in gossip and speculation amongst members of the court. I had begun to notice curious glances and delicately probing inquiries from the other ladies when we were together. Many of them were now aware that I was the object of the King’s affection. While nothing was asked of me directly, it was easy to detect their change in attitude. They were more cautious around me – and more deferential. While as for Katherine herself? I would say that when we were in the same company, there were no obvious signs of discord between us.

  Yet, unmistakably I sensed her uneasiness and realized that in truth, she knew.

  Hampton Court

  January 1527

  On a frigid morning in January, the Queen’s ladies and I huddled in her apartments at Hampton Court, where we did our best to stay warm near the hungry braziers being continuously fed logs by the servants. Thinking it better to move about, I walked to the window and idly watched particles of sleet and snow pelt the leaded panes of glass. The tree branches in the orchard laboured under the accumulated weight of ice. Sighing, I warmed my stiff fingers near the brazier, then returned to my seat and worked at my piece of embroidery awhile, listening to the conversation. The political discussion had been especially lively in recent weeks. There was a great deal of debate concerning the marital prospects for Princess Mary, and, since the King was inclined to ally with France and ensure the favour of François, some predicted that Mary might become betrothed to François I himself, although there was a diversity of opinion. Many thought she would be wed to François’ son, the Duc d’Orléans. For Mary’s sake, I hoped it would be the young Duke, for I could not fathom the naive and inexperienced princess becoming a wife of the libertine François. I had observed how badly he had treated poor Queen Claude. She was constantly with child, and even though the pregnancies took an enormous toll on her already frail health, it apparently caused him no concern whatsoever - worse, it was as if her condition gave him open license to lasciviously entertain himself elsewhere. Placed in Claude’s position, I could imagine myself humiliated, and it would no doubt prove that much worse for a young foreign bride.

  The discussion then turned to the imminent departure of Thomas Wyatt and Sir John Russell for Italy on an extended diplomatic mission. The conflict between the Emporer Charles V and the Italian monarchs had become a topic of some concern. It was Charles’s great desire to subjugate and rule all Italy. Thomas and Sir John were instructed to monitor the situation and provide regular reports to His Majesty. This assignment did indeed provide a sound rationale for Thomas’s extended absence from court although I suspected the truth was rather
more material: Henry had specifically arranged Thomas’s removal to ensure there could be no further distractions between the two of us.

  The winter months were made bearable only by the diversion of organized pastimes. No one surpassed Henry in making sure there were activities available which could be enjoyed by all. In fact, though I may have been mistaken, it seemed to me as if there were events planned which enabled Katherine’s ladies to mingle with the King and his coterie more often than usual. We watched matches of tennis which the King often won in his inimitable style. There were games of shovel board, which I enjoyed because women were permitted to participate, and they afforded me a physical outlet for my competitive spirit. And of course, in the evenings, there were masques and plays, music and dancing, and games of cards accompanied by fierce wagering.

  And thus, it was that a group of us, the King’s favourites, were seated in the library around his polished card table on a February evening while the wind moaned about the eaves and flailing tree branches scraped relentlessly at the windows. It felt secure and comforting to bask in the warmth of our surroundings with the lambent flames from the hearth dancing against the dark wooden wall panels, and the thick carpet soft beneath our feet. Candlelight illuminated the faces of the players: the King, my brother George, Charles Brandon, Francis Bryan, Anne Gainsford, and me. The Queen had played the first two or three hands but then had retired to her chambers for the night. We played Prime, laying down money on each round, and I was even with the King on winnings. I thoroughly relished matching wits with him, although I weakly attempted to disguise my desire to win. I rather enjoyed giving the King a run for his money and did not feel that I should arrange a loss to preserve his dignity. It was my turn as dealer, and I placed cards in front of each player. When I came to Henry, I looked directly into his eyes. His lips curved in a subtle smile and with an almost imperceptible lift of his eyebrows, he silently questioned me. I understood clearly. I had not yet addressed the query he posed in the letter I received before Christmas.