One afternoon as we rode our horses nose to tail on a narrow woodland path, Henry turned in his saddle and said to me, “Anne, on the morrow I wish to show you a special place. We will leave early and have a supper outdoors there if the weather is fair.”
I agreed with alacrity: intrigued to discover what he had planned.
At sunrise next morning, Charity awakened me from a sound and dreamless sleep. I was to meet Henry, and we would go to the docks, where the rowers were to take us on a barge down the Thames. We were to ride once the river journey was complete. It all sounded most enchanting.
While I stirred and rose to wash and prepare my toilette, Charity selected for me a riding kirtle of cream with a forest green velvet jacket and velvet cap trimmed with pheasant feathers. She laid out a short broadcloth cloak in case the weather turned chill. I was dressed and ready to run out the door of my chamber when, “Mistress …!” Charity called to me and hurried over to give me my leather riding gloves which I had left behind.
I met Henry just outside the tower door, and we walked through the gate and down to the banks of the Thames. There, a liveried boatman greeted us with a deep bow and assisted us on to the royal barge. We sat on soft cushions under a tented covering and listened to the music of several minstrels as we were rowed downstream. When we reached Laleham, the barge docked, and I was helped out by Henry. Raising my eyes from stepping onto the dock, I saw two horses saddled and ready for us. We mounted and set off, following two equerries who had brought an additional steed packed with supplies. We rode ‘til we came to a wooded area near the old Priory of Ankerwycke. There I found myself facing the most impressive tree I had ever seen. Its branches sprawled and reached for the clouds floating above. Its massive, ancient trunk reminded me of a wizened, but kindly old face. Certainly, this was a tree which had overseen the events of centuries.
We dismounted while the equerries unpacked leather sacks which held blankets for us to sit upon and baskets of food and ale. The blankets were laid on the ground beneath the great yew, the foodstuffs neatly laid out, then the equerries bowed to the King, remounted their horses and rode off to a respectable distance. Henry and I settled under the boughs of that incredible tree, and he poured me a cup of ale. As he unwrapped cheeses and slices of meat from several parcels, he told me that this tree was witness to events which had shaped the history of England, and of the world. He said the tree was believed to be almost two thousand years old. I marvelled that this living thing had been in existence before the time of Jesus Christ! Henry continued, saying at this very spot, King John had signed the Magna Carta in 1215. I shivered as I listened, thinking about all the history this tree had seen. It was a place steeped in antiquity; entwined with destiny. I found it to be one of the most idyllic settings I had ever experienced.
The first weeks of spring were spent thus at Windsor, and again we enjoyed some freedom, since Henry had only his riding household with him in residence, and that party did not include Katherine, much to my gratification. We hunted almost every day when the weather allowed, and I used the new saddles Henry had given me. They were beautifully fashioned from supple leather with saddle blankets made of black velvet with silver tassels and fringes. I now had my own stable of five excellent horses from which to choose when we rode. We hawked in the Great Park, and in the evenings, played cards with the friends we now shared. And, true to his word, Henry and I would often sneak over to the tennis court late at night, with torches to light our way, where he taught me how to swing the racquet, and hit the ball with aim. I thought it a great amusement, and we did share much hilarity as I did my best to deliver a series of devastating blows to the little ball. But after all, it became obvious to us both that Henry should have no fear of being beaten at his sport. I had nary a chance!
We enjoyed our idyll in Windsor, but the Matter being debated in Rome was never far from my mind, nor from Henry’s, I could tell. We both held to the hope that this latest advance, spearheaded by Masters Foxe and Gardiner, would yield a positive result. By the end of the month of March, we had received from Wolsey an early, promising summary sent by the two ambassadors in Rome. It was Henry’s intention to have them report directly to him as soon as they returned to England in the coming weeks.
The Cardinal seemed convinced that a redoubling of his efforts on behalf of the King would pay off; his conduct concerning Henry and his Matter became exceedingly attentive. I took note that his behaviour towards me had become much more prudent as well, and it was this observation which caused me to think afresh upon my personal scheme concerning the Cardinal. I decided that, as much as I instinctively disliked him, it would behoove me to appear to put this feeling aside, and instead demonstrate my support of him and his efforts. I concluded that little good could come from an open disagreement with Cardinal Wolsey.
Such charitable interpretation was to prove a distinct misstep.
Greenwich
May 1528
Court had resumed in full at Greenwich, and I was back in my previous placement, as a maid of honour to the Queen.
It took all my will to assume an appropriate demeanour in Katherine’s household. It was by now apparent that I featured foremost in the King’s desire to have his marriage annulled, and it was evident who were my allies, and who were Katherine’s. Katherine and I said little between us and did our best to avoid each other. One afternoon, however, she and her ladies were assembled in the Queen’s presence chamber, since she planned to receive visitors. I was seated before her, and it was almost impossible not to look at one another. I raised my eyes to find her staring at me. She did not bear an expression of anger or enmity; instead, she purposefully looked at me, or should I say through me, with an air of hauteur. In that instant, I decided to return her gaze measure for measure. We spent what seemed like minutes staring at each other, unblinking. Then I raised my chin almost imperceptibly. I knew she understood.
With that subtle gesture, I had thrown down the gauntlet.
On the first Sunday in May, after dinner, Cardinal Wolsey arrived to meet with the King. They retired to His Majesty’s Chambers, and I, since it was raining, to mine. Henry had removed my lodgings from the royal gallery, where many of the Queen’s ladies were in residence, to one nearer the tiltyard and adjacent to the banqueting house. Several of the ladies-in-waiting had been stricken with smallpox, and, never having had the pox, I had no wish to be exposed to its ravages. I remained in my chamber, reading, when a knock sounded, and Charity opened the door to reveal Bishop Foxe, newly arrived from Rome.
Flustered but thrilled to see one of Henry’s ambassadors unexpectedly arrived at Greenwich, I mistakenly chirped “Master Stephens! How excellent to see you! Please do come in …do please sit and partake of some wine.” In my elation at the potential of receiving some long-awaited good news from Rome, I had confused Foxe with Gardener, and he politely overlooked the error.
“I thank you heartily, my lady,” he said with a bow and seated himself before the fire. “I have sent word to His Majesty that I’ve arrived, and was informed that he wished to meet me here in your chambers as soon as he could finish his meeting with the Cardinal.” Taking note of the fact that Wolsey was not to be included in this debriefing, I handed Foxe a cup of wine, but even as he took his first sip, I couldn’t contain myself a moment longer.
“So, Master Stephens, what news do you bring from Rome and His Holiness as regards the King’s Great Matter? What are the opinions of the Pope and the clerical scholars? And the lawyers - what was their view?” The Bishop again very kindly did not embarrass me by correcting my error.
“Mistress, His Holiness the Pope was well inclined to have sympathy with His Majesty’s written opinions on the Great Matter. He was intrigued by the study which supported the proposal that a papal legate be named to decide finally on the Matter in conjunction with Cardinal Wolsey. He also expressed his confidence that the King’s integrity was well represented in his argume
nt.”
“And what of it, then, Sir?”
“His Holiness has requested that the legate be Cardinal Campeggio, the Cardinal-Protector of England.”
I was pondering the value of such an appointment, when another knock at the door heralded the arrival of His Majesty the King, who entered, beaming.
“Your Highness,” I offered with a low curtsey. Foxe leaped to his feet, and bowed to the King, who clasped him by the shoulders with a warm and hearty “Foxe! Welcome home. Do sit, have some refreshment and tell me how you fared.”
I poured wine for both, and with a quick curtsey, backed from the room to leave the men to their discussion, when I realized how often I had called the Bishop ‘Master Stephens’. Shaking my head at my folly, I retreated, closing the door behind me.
I was not gone but a few minutes, when Charity came running to find me, to say that the King wished me back in the chamber with him and the Bishop. I hurried back, and sat by the King’s side, as together we questioned Foxe and heard him recount the entire mission, beginning to end.
When finally the exhausted Foxe was permitted to depart, Henry lingered with me in my chamber. He gushed with excitement: obviously feeling that we were finally on the correct path and that Campeggio and Wolsey together would provide him with the formal support he needed to move forward and finally rid himself of his vexing marriage to Katherine. I was, as always, swept up by Henry’s enthusiasm, and demonstrated my joy by sitting on his lap and covering him with kisses.
Richmond
June 1528
The warm and fragrant breezes of a fine June morning floated into my bedchamber through the open casement. Charity was helping me unroll several bolts of silk, given to me by the King, to determine which I would use for new gowns. I was admiring the colours spread before us and glanced up to ask Charity which she liked best. With a shock I saw that her face was pallid with a yellow cast, and her hands were trembling.
“Charity, what is wrong? Are you ill?” I asked, alarmed.
“Mistress, I am not feeling at all well,” she whispered faintly before sinking to the floor. I quickly helped her to the bed, loosened her bodice and removed her cap. Her face had broken out in sweat, so I ran to the pitcher of water, snatched up a linen towel, dipped and wrung it out, and wiped her face. I rinsed and wrung it out again, then placed it on her forehead while instructing her to keep it there while I went for the physician. Rushing from the chamber, I ran panic-stricken to the hall in search of Lord Sandys, to see if he might locate a court physician for me.
With one look at my agitation, Sandys went in search of a physician to send to my chamber. As quickly as I could, I returned to my room, and was aghast to find Charity only partly conscious, sweating profusely, and burning with fever. Her breath came in sharp rasps. Wiping tears from my eyes, frantically I applied cool cloths to her head, then lifted it to give a sip of water, but she could barely swallow.
A single rap on the door preceded Master Cuthbert Blackeden’s rushed entrance. The King’s Chief Apothecary, he quickly strode to Charity’s bedside, and pushed me away, his expression grim.
“Mistress Anne, please keep your distance. You must already be aware there is little we can do for your chambermaid. I will offer what help I can, but she has the sweat, a bad case it appears.” Turning back to Charity, he said over his shoulder, “I am sorry to tell you it is likely that she will be dead within the hour.”
Stunned, I paced back and forth while he had her drink a concoction he had made. He wiped her face as I had done, and we waited. Charity’s breathing grew more and more shallow, and finally, it barely raised her chest. Eventually, even the rasping slowed, and then it stopped. My sweet Charity had slipped from life, into the arms of our Lord God.
My tears flowed unchecked as Master Blackeden covered her with a sheet.
“Mistress, this poor soul is the third person in the palace who has succumbed to the sweat this day. The King is preparing even now to leave court for St Albans, where he will stay at Tyttenhanger briefly before moving again. May I suggest that you, too, depart Surrey and the London environs as quickly as you can? This epidemic will grow.”
He looked at me with concern, but repacked his bag and hurriedly left, having others to care for.
I was in utter shock, not only grieving for the abrupt loss of my dear friend but further stunned by the disclosure that Henry was preparing to leave and had not contacted me! Feeling as if the wind had been knocked from me, I mindlessly grabbed a few random trinkets from my chest, stuffed them in a travel sack, and with one last, unutterably mournful glance at Charity’s shrouded, lifeless body, fled the room.
Even as I did, the porters were coming to remove her corpse. Running heedlessly through the hallways I grabbed one of the guards near the King’s chambers, asking if he knew whether my father was in the vicinity. My near frenzy startled him, but he steered me toward the Chamberlain’s offices. I found Father there and, sobbing, relayed what had happened. He told me to wait for him just outside the entrance to the building. Within minutes, he returned with a coach and pulled me in.
Amid a thunderous clatter of panic-urged hooves, we set off for Hever.
Hever
Summer 1528
I continued to weep copiously as the cart lurched and rattled over bumpy roads on the way from Richmond to Edenbridge while Father sat across from me, staring fixedly from the small window although, at one point he did reach across and take my hand in his. It was not a gesture I would have expected from my father, but it was needed, and I clung to him for a while. I do not know what was worse: the dreadful impact of what had occurred so unexpectedly, or the ache of loss for my Charity, who had become, in a way, my most intimate confidante. After all, though I rarely spoke of my personal feelings about the King, it had been impossible to keep the truth from such a close personal servant. Charity had been utterly discreet, yet encouraging and excited for me in her special way. I would miss her more than I could imagine.
I was fraught with worry about whether my own time was measured as well. I had touched her, bathed the sweat from her face - slept in the same chamber all in the day of her death. What could that possibly mean for me? And if I were to come down with the contagion, would it spread to Mother? My father? And what of Henry? He, too, had been subjected to those who had come near to the contamination. I was desperately hurt that he had not been in contact with me, and instead planned to leave London with Katherine. I tried to create a rationale in which I believed he did exactly as he should have done. After all, I was neither his wife nor a member of his family. I was still only his unofficial sweetheart: a position not sufficient to gain me access to the royal family he would move from place to place to ensure their health and safety. This reasoning only served to make me throb with misery. At that moment, I felt completely abandoned and more like a fool than I had thought possible.
My relief at arriving home was immeasurable. Exhausted, I kept to myself in my chamber, falling into an uneasy sleep early, tossing and turning till dawn. The instant I awoke, I was forced to relive the shock and pain of Charity’s loss. I arose, dressed listlessly, and meandered about the house and garden all day with little purpose. At least I had not yet been felled by the fearful illness, nor had Mother or Father. I went to bed the second evening, feeling hopeful that the country air of Hever would be our defence against the sweat.
The following morning upon awakening, I felt a strange tightness in my head and my throat. Convinced that my overactive imagination was in control, I dressed and went in search of Mother. No sooner had I stepped outside the house into the bright daylight than I was stricken with a blinding headache. Within minutes, my entire body felt as if it had been run over by a wagon. I ached everywhere and desperately sought a bench to sit on, calling weakly for one of the kitchen boys passing by. He took one look at me and raced to fetch my mother. She came running, along with her maid. Together they helpe
d me return to my chamber, laid me on my bed, and undressed me to my shift. I shook violently with a chill and was covered with a blanket. Distantly I could hear Mother’s voice, tremulous with concern, giving instructions to summon a physician. I fell into a dark, dreamless, and fitful sleep.
Time passed – I knew not how long. At intervals I became vaguely aware of my surroundings, and recalled various people administering to me with cool cloths, sips of water and other bitter concoctions which must have been medicinal; sometimes spooning broth into my mouth. I alternately sweated, then became chilled ‘til my teeth chattered in my head. Finally, I woke from sleep, looked about, and knew I was in my bed, in my chamber at Hever. Slowly coming to consciousness, I realized that not only was I alive, but the heaviness in my head and limbs seemed to have lifted. Very tentatively, I drew myself up in bed, and at that moment, Mother walked into the chamber. When she saw me awake and sitting up, she ran to me with a cry and hugged me to her and would not let go.
“Oh Anne, my child! I thank God you have recovered.” Her voice was thick with tears. “I have feared so many times that you were lost. I am so relieved and so very grateful!”
“Mother, for how long have I been sick?” I asked, and was surprised at how weak I sounded.
“Four days hath passed since you collapsed, Nan. You drifted in and out of consciousness for the first three, and then you slept. We did not know if you would awaken, or pass from life in your sleep.”
Struck With the Dart of Love Page 13