Struck With the Dart of Love

by Sandra Vasoli

  “‘Mistress Anne, are you as accomplished at cards as you seem to be in so many other endeavours?” Henry asked.

  “I would wish to be, Your Grace,” I nodded demurely.

  “Then you intend to win this hand?” followed the droll question and the crinkle at the outer corners of his eyes. The innuendo was clear.

  The others paid little attention as they organized their cards, and had not a clue to what Henry referred. I, however, understood precisely.

  “Your Grace, it will depend on the hand I am dealt and whether it will be an advantage to me, or a detriment,” I responded pertly, smiling back.

  Cheeky witticisms aside, I was acutely aware that I must give him an answer in some fashion, soon. And I needed a strategy - a good one - because I was in love with him.

  London

  February 1527

  The ruts along High Oldbourne Street caused the carriage to rumble so viciously that Charity and I nearly finished the journey with mouthfuls of chipped teeth. We were glad to step down and walk quickly along toward Ely Place. Nestled next to St Etheldreda’s Church stood a small timbered building. We entered, welcoming the opportunity to step in out of the biting cold. The moody grey sky had begun to spit snow, and I wanted to take care of the business at hand and return to the cart which waited for us well around the corner, out of sight. The intent of my errand was exceedingly private.

  “Master Phenwolf, it is a pleasure to meet you,” I greeted the small, wiry man seated behind the worktable. He stood up and came toward me, and I was surprised to see that he was younger than I had anticipated for a master goldsmith of his renown.

  “The pleasure is, of course, mine, Mistress Boleyn,” and he offered his hand, which was rough and worn, and discoloured from his metalwork. “Please come by the stove to warm yourselves, and do show me the drawing of the piece you wish me to make for you.”

  I sat down and took a paper from a small bag I carried. I smoothed it on the table, and we scrutinised it together.

  “I wish for the piece to be made from a very fine gold – Welsh gold if possible. I would like you to depict a ship listing in the waves as if in a storm. On the deck of the ship, there must be a lady. And fixed between the two masts, I would like you to place a diamond. Are you able to create such a jewel, Master Phenwolf? The quality must be of the highest order,” I said, searching his face for reassurance that he would create a masterpiece. “This is a very important ornament.”

  “Mistress, I would not accept the commission if I were unable to do it justice,” he said simply. “You will be most pleased. I will begin tomorrow and will contact you as soon as it is ready to be collected.”

  “Thank you, Master Phenwolf. And please remember that discretion is paramount.”

  Charity and I hurried down the street and around the corner to our waiting coach as the snow swirled thickly, and deepening twilight veiled us.

  Hever

  March 1527

  I did not know what to do.

  The enigma caused me great agitation. I admired decisiveness, yet my mind continuously sought a way forward, and nothing came. I knew the King wanted me - but what was the true nature of his heart? Of that, I could not be certain. I longed to be his – a desire greater than I had imagined possible for any man. My determination to avoid becoming his mistress, though, was at war with my yearning for him. While the role of mâitresse would fulfil my need to be with him, I feared that in the very briefest amount of time the lustre would fade, and the relationship cheapened in a way I could not tolerate. Hence, there seemed no possibility of anything more between Henry and me, since the Queen, although ageing, still appeared healthy and strong.

  Around and around ran my thoughts ‘til, in an effort to seek some peace, I decided to ask permission to go home to Hever for a while.

  As always, my lady mother was there for me; a support and friend when one was needed most. I held my mother in great esteem and hoped that I had inherited at least a few of her fine qualities. She was an elegant woman, now forty-two years of age, and in good health. This was somewhat surprising, considering she had withstood so many difficult pregnancies in succession, and endured the heartbreak of several children’s early deaths. She was nobly born, having been a daughter of the Duke of Norfolk - my grandfather, Thomas Howard - and was descended from 13th century English royalty. As a girl, she had served in the court of Henry’s mother, Elizabeth of York, and then had spent considerable time as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Katherine. It was through these experiences that she’d adopted the grace and poise for which she was known. She carried herself with an aristocratic air and great dignity, no matter the circumstances, and I admired this attribute greatly. Her features had a delicate beauty, with enviably smooth skin. It was a face I loved very much, and nothing in the world could replace the comfort and reassurance I felt when I looked upon it.

  While the cold rains of March fell, I busied myself with the daily tasks of helping to run the large household at my parents’ estate. My father was not present, being one of a diplomatic envoy recently departed for France. The King was in pursuit of a treaty which might pave the way for the marriage of the Princess Mary to the Duke of Orléans, and there was much to do to achieve that objective. So my mother and I had time to ourselves, and I leaned on her to listen and to give me her advice.

  “Mother, I am in a predicament from which I see no apparent way out,” I lamented, letting out a groan as we sorted and organized linens for the bedchambers. The weather was utterly dreary, raw and chill, and I felt the same way. “I may as well remain here for the long term, and not return to court at all because it is simply too trying when I am in the company of the King. And, oh, it is even worse when I am near the Queen! She has turned very sharp with me, and there is such tension between us. It is clear she suspects an affair is taking place behind her back … yet the irony of it is that her suspicions are completely unfounded. Here I am at Hever while the King is at Greenwich, and there is nothing - nothing at all - taking place between us.”

  My mother allowed me to twaddle on, patiently tolerating my inclination to unload all my imagined troubles. I grant this tendency sometimes got the best of me. It seemed especially rife at certain times of the month, between my monthly course. I do not know why, but when the headaches came upon me, and I felt awful, it was almost impossible for me to keep my mouth closed and my peevish reflections to myself. I tried to contain those impulses but was all too often unsuccessful.

  “Anne,” she hurried to interject during a brief pause in my grumblings, “all I can tell you is that you need to be honest with yourself. You must do, as concerns the King, what your true heart and your conscience tell you. You know I would not say such a thing in earshot of your father, but I firmly believe that women must do whatever they can to assert their rights. Discreetly, yes - but do their best to live a life which will be meaningful and gratifying to them.”

  “Mother! I know you have a mind of your own, but had not realized you were quite so progressive in your thinking!”

  “For me, that opinion has become stronger with age, my daughter,” she said ruefully. “Women have so much to offer, yet very little of it is ever allowed to be expressed. My talents might have served to accomplish more than just the management of this house, but there was no opportunity for me to exercise them. Perhaps it will be different with you, Anne. Your intelligence and accomplishments are prodigious.”

  “What high praise indeed, Mother.” I was touched by her generous compliment. It served to banish quickly my grumpiness. “You know that your advice means a great deal to me. I will take it to heart, I promise. And I could not agree with you more – in my reasoning, there is no validity to the perception that a woman cannot govern a city, a country … even an empire if she possesses the wit, courage, and desire to do so. I am keenly interested in what goes on at court. I do not mean the idle gossip and uninformed speculation. No,
I find myself more intrigued by the political complexities, and the debates and decisions which result. The important decisions! The ones which affect not only England but the entire world. I find the intrigue fascinating. Oh, how I would welcome the chance to express my opinions on matters of such consequence.”

  Deliberating further, I glumly concluded, “Sometimes I think I should have been a man! Life would have been so much easier.”

  One of the King’s couriers arrived the next morning, with a parchment to be delivered directly to me. Simply the sight of the royal messenger caused my heart to beat rapidly in anticipation. I made a hasty exit to my chamber to open it:

  A ma mestres -To my Mistress - Because the time seems very long since I heard concerning your health and you, the great affection I have for you has induced me to send you this bearer, to be better informed of your health and pleasure, and because, since my parting from you, I have been told that the opinion in which I left you is totally changed, and that you would not come to court either avec madame votre mere -with your mother, if you could, or in any other manner; which report, if true, I cannot sufficiently marvel at, because I am sure that I have since never done any thing to offend you, and it seems a very poor return for the great love which I bear you to keep me at a distance both from the speech and the person of the woman that I esteem most in the world: and if you love me with as much affection as I hope you do, I am sure that the distance of our two persons would be a little irksome to you, though this does not belong so much to the mistress as to the servant.

  Consider well, my mistress, that absence from you grieves me sorely, hoping that it is not your will that it should be so; but if I knew for certain that you voluntarily desired it, I could do no other than mourn my ill-fortune, and by degrees abate my great folly. And so, for lack of time, I make an end of this rude letter, beseeching you to give credence to this bearer in all that he will tell you from me.

  Escrit de la main du toute votre serviteure,

  Written by the hand of your entire Servant,

  H. R.

  It was thus clear that Henry was suffering as much inner turmoil as I.

  I went to the locked chest I kept in my chamber, the one that held Henry’s letters, and from within it, I removed a pouch of black velvet. Releasing the drawstring, I spilled into my hand the jewel which had been crafted by the goldsmith Morgan Phenwolf, upon my commission. It was unique – astonishing, really. The artistry demonstrated in fashioning a ship tossed about by waves of gold with a lady on its deck was inspiring. To set off the piece, the diamond fixed between the two masts was both stunning and significant.

  When a January snowstorm had us all housebound, I had pulled from the library shelf a copy of Roman de la Rose, the French epic poem written in the thirteenth century as a dream- induced homage to courtly love. My first encounter with this literary work had been confusing – its poetic meaning had eluded me. This reading, though, due perhaps to the maturity I had attained since my initial translation as a girl of eighteen years, I found memorable. I’d become fixated on a particular passage:

  Although he chastice thee without

  And make thy body vnto hym loute

  Haue herte as hard as dyamaunt

  Stedefast and nought pliaunt

  In prisoun though thi body be

  At large kepe thyne herte free

  A trewe herte wole not plie

  For no manace that it may drye

  If Ielousie doth thee payne

  Quyte hym his while thus agayne

  The thought of somehow sharing these lines with Henry had captured my imagination: the lyric verse with its intriguing symbolism. While dozing, just before drifting to sleep one night, the perfect idea occurred to me – what if I was to commission the making of a jewel representing the sentiment in the passage? I’d jumped from my bed, and drawn a ship adrift in a stormy sea, with a lone woman aboard desperately seeking a port. I knew Henry would, were I to present him with such a piece, understand the question it posed: would he be my harbour in the storms of life? The diamond, glittering and hard, supporting the masts swaying in the gale, represented my steadfast love were we to commit to one another.

  I held the ornament, turning it about; feeling its weight in my hand for what seemed a long while, deep in thought as daylight faded. I stripped bare the personal façade I had learned to maintain so carefully and forced myself to explore the depths of my heart. I was a woman of twenty-six years, now well beyond the age most suitors desired. I had neither money nor land as a dowry. I was unproven when it came to the ability to bear children – forsooth, I was yet a maid! I stood and went to the mirror. Its reflection revealed a face with a proud, high forehead, glittering, dark eyes which spoke the truth, and a distinct chin unaccustomed to trembling. Not beautiful, but by God’s blood, strong and fearless! A face which was loved - no, adored - by one of the most powerful men in the world.

  I pushed aside the mirror, lighted a lantern against the gathering gloom, and took up parchment and pen.

  My most noble Sir: I hope you will accept the gift I respectfully send, and be mindful of its genuine meaning and sentiment. You shall see I am but a maiden in the heart of a storm, a maid who seeks refuge. My greatest desire is that you will be my harbour, and if you agree, you will find my dedication to you as resolute as the diamond is hard, never to waiver. I send this token praying for your health and happiness and that you wish to see me as I do you; I send it, also, with the most sincere feelings of love and loyalty.

  A.B.

  Once written, I did not hesitate. I sealed the letter with wax, found a ribbon with which to bind both the folded letter and the velvet pouch, and called for our head steward to have it delivered with all haste and great care to His Majesty, the King.

  As the steward hurried away, I muttered aloud, “Well, Anne, there you have it… your die has just been cast.”

  I will not deny I was unsettled that evening and found I was in just as much distress throughout the next day. I moved from room to room restlessly, unable to concentrate on anything at hand. As we sat to supper late in the afternoon, a loud rap at the door was answered, revealing a messenger, bedraggled from having ridden hard from Greenwich, bearing a letter for me from the King. He handed me the roll containing the parchment, and I took it, bemused by the fact that my missive must not have been delivered more than twenty-four hours previously. Perhaps our respective letters were written independently and had merely crossed paths?

  Scraping my chair back clumsily in haste, I excused myself from the supperboard, ignoring the questioning glances, and fled to my room. With trembling hands I cracked the great seal and removed its covering. The fine parchment slipped free, and smoothing it before me on the surface of a table under the dancing flames of candlelight, I exhaled softly, breathing an ‘Ohhh’ at the sight of it. Before reading even a single word, its poignant message spoke to me. It was exquisitely inscribed: no smears or smudges on this page. The first letter of the first word, “D”, was black and dramatic and scrolled with a fine edge, as if it were the first letter in an illuminated manuscript. The deep ink against the stark, pale sheet made a formal and very decisive statement. The letters themselves were each distinct: sharp and close. My eyes dropped to Henry’s signature and widened in utter amazement. There, oh so carefully drawn, was a heart which encased my initials!

  Delaying no longer, I read:

  De l’estrene si bel que rien plus (notant le toute) je vous an marcy tres cordiallement - For a present so beautiful that nothing could be more so (considering the whole of it), I thank you most cordially, not only on account of the fine diamond and the ship in which the solitary damsel is tossed about, but chiefly for the fine interpretation and the too humble submission which your goodness hath used toward me in this case; for I think that it would be very difficult for me to find an occasion to deserve it, if I were not assisted by your great humanity and favour, which I have
always sought to seek, and will seek to preserve by all the kindness in my power, in which my hope has placed its unchangeable intention, which says Aut illic, aut nullibi.

  The demonstrations of your affections are such, the beautiful mottoes of the letter so cordially expressed, that in vos lettres

  … here he had scratched out ‘in your letters’ – I wondered what he had intended to say? …

  they oblige me forever to honour, love, and serve you sincerely, beseeching you to continue in the same firm and constant purpose, assuring you that, on my part, I will surpass it rather than make it reciprocal, if loyalty of heart and a desire to please you can accomplish this.

  I beg, also, if at any time before this I have in any way offended you, that you would give me the same absolution that you ask, assuring you, that henceforth my heart shall be dedicated to you alone. I wish my person was so too. God can do it, if he pleases, to whom I pray every day for that end, hoping that at length my prayers will be heard. I wish the time may be short, but I shall think it long till we see one another. Written by the hand of that secretary, who in heart, body, and will, is,

  Vostre loyal et plus assure serviteure

  Your loyal and most assured Servant