I could see the toll my illness had taken on my mother. She looked pale and thin: it was evident that she had eaten little, if anything, nor slept at all.
I took her hand and said “Thank you, Mother, for not giving up on me, and for doing all you could to save me. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, my Nan. As does your Father for all his seeming callousness. It was fortunate that we had the King’s physician, Dr Butts, who arrived at His Grace’s instruction to attend to you at a vital moment. Dr Butts was very able in providing you the best care possible. We have been instructed to send a message without delay to the King to let him know your condition if it were to change. I will have the kitchen send up some meat broth for you, and then perhaps we will prepare a warm bath. In the meantime, I will bring you the two letters which arrived from the King’s messengers while you were so ill.”
I was surprised that Henry had sent letters to Hever, but was not at all sure whether that news pleased me. I bitterly recalled how distressed and forsaken I felt when I had been told - by a member of his staff, no less - that he was taking his family and departing for a different location.
With a sense of misgiving, I unrolled the parchment which had been delivered first.
No greeting met me, just a dark smudge where his palm had smeared the first application of ink to paper. He expressed immense relief that I had not come down with the illness as yet. The small page was splattered throughout with droplets of ink, and they appeared to be byproducts of an anxious hand. The words did not flow artfully. Instead, they were cramped and slanted sharply toward the top right of the page. It looked very much a letter written in haste. He mentioned that he, Katherine, and a few others had been at Walton and there several people, including my brother George, had fallen ill but had recovered. Thanks to God for sparing George’s life! I wondered how my mother had possibly coped with the illness of both George and I. Henry then added that they had travelled to Hunsdon, and everyone there remained well. He reassured me, saying fewer women than men were succumbing to the sweat. Finally, he ended with:
For which reason I beg you, my entirely beloved, not to frighten yourself nor be too uneasy at our absence; for wherever I am, I am yours, and yet we must sometimes submit to our misfortunes, for whoever will struggle against fate is generally but so much the farther from gaining his end: wherefore comfort yourself, and take courage and avoid the pestilence as much as you can, for I hope shortly to make you sing, la renvoyé. No more at present, from lack of time, but that I wish you in my arms, that I might a little dispel your unreasonable thoughts.
Written by the hand of him who is and always will be yours,
Im- H. R. -muable
‘Immuable?’ The French word for ‘enduring’, or ‘abiding’… Lying abed at Hever having been so near to death, with the letter-writer ensconced with his family miles away, such a presentiment seemed as preposterous as did a fire-breathing dragon. Henry and Katherine, his wife and Queen, were safe and sound at Hunsdon, along with his children. I, on the other hand, was banished to Kent to get along as best I might.
How I did feel sorry for myself! I heaved a great, pitiful sigh, then unfolded the next letter.
I was stunned by the sight of it. Before me was a page that had certainly been written with the greatest urgency. The quill had jabbed at the parchment, frantically grabbing ink from the well every few strokes. Blotched, scratchy and smeared, it was unmistakably rendered in terror. I translated the French, reading aloud in my hoarse voice:
There came to me suddenly in the night the most afflicting news that could have arrived. The first, to hear of the sickness of my mistress, whom I esteem more than all the world, and whose health I desire as I do my own, so that I would gladly bear half your illness to make you well. The second, from the fear that I have of being still longer harassed by my enemy, Absence, much longer, who has hitherto given me all possible uneasiness, and as far as I can judge is determined to spite me more because I pray to God to rid me of this troublesome tormentor. The third, because the physician in whom I have most confidence, is absent at the very time when he might do me greatest pleasure; for I should hope, by him and his means, to obtain one of my chief joys on earth – that is the care of my mistress – yet for want of him I send you my second, and hope that he will soon make you well. I shall then love him more than ever. I beseech you to be guided by his advice in your illness. In doing so I hope soon to see you again, which will be to me a greater comfort than all the precious jewels in the world.
Written by the secretary, who is, and for ever will be, your loyal and most assured Servant,
H R
Tears welled and slipped down the sides of my face to soak the pillow. His pathos was real, and one didn’t even need to read the content to see it writ large on the page. I ached to be near Henry’s strength, to draw from it and to be cared for by him, as he had promised he would do. I desperately wished myself in Katherine’s place.
The very sad news arrived that my sister’s husband, William Carey, had succumbed to the sweating sickness. We were grief-stricken because we were all so fond of William. He had been a good husband to my sister. Poor Mary and her children mourned his loss, and we longed to be with her to comfort her, but she did not come to the manor house at Hever lest the disease be further spread by her travel.
I spent the next weeks slowly recovering from my illness. Realizing how close to death I had come, I repeatedly prayed, spending time at devotions clutching my favourite Book of Hours, the one made in Bruges, which I brought with me from France. I loved it – it had always comforted me; it was a beautiful book, and one I treasured. The prayers within were simple and heartfelt, and they seemed fitting as I thanked God for sparing my life.
I also spent restless hours contemplating the reality of my situation and my relationship with Henry. I was candid to the point of harshness and cruelly forced myself to face the truth. In spite of the desire we held for one another, it appeared that nearly insurmountable odds stood in the way of my becoming Henry’s lawful wife. Not only was the Pope resistant, but there were many people at court and elsewhere about the realm who were now aware of Henry’s wish to supplant Katherine with me, and they were quite openly opposed to it. And, in my heart of hearts, I knew that Henry had convinced himself of the logic and soundness of his argument – that he and Katherine had never been legally wed. But did he truly believe this to be a justification which would stand under the scrutiny of canon law? I thought not. And that was bitter medicine, indeed. If this be the case, he would needs resort to the only approach which might, in the end, succeed: the sheer brute force of his will.
Katherine had a committed following; she was a princess of the blood and had been Henry’s beloved, respected wife and pious Queen for these many years. I, on the other hand, was seen as a usurper, and a commoner at that. In the opinions of naysayers, only a princess royal would suffice as a fitting consort for their King, and if not Katherine, it was certainly not to be me. In their eyes, I was but a scheming wench, conspiring to gain access to the crown.
I became ever more filled with despair and a deep sense of hopelessness while my ragged thoughts and emotions held me in their ugly grip during that long recovery. But the days slowly passed and as my moods varied, a persistent notion flickered like a tiny flame in the darkness which grew slowly but steadily brighter; its reassuring glow gradually penetrating the surrounding gloom, and finally blazing forth with an insistence not to be ignored: my love for him. My devotion to Henry had crossed a boundary from which there could be no return.
As my strength returned, my attitude rallied; I found that I looked forward to going back to court, and being with Henry again. The period of deliberation had left me with the hope that together, Henry and I were possessed of an uncanny strength - far greater than the sum of each of us alone. I prayed to God to show us the way, and one afternoon, I turned to a favourite page in my
devotional– the one with a beautiful illumination of Jesus, his hand extended in a blessing. Under the illumination, I wrote:
Le temps viendra
Then signed my name and drew an armillary sphere, a symbol which I knew implied wisdom.
Je Anne Boleyn
The time will come
I, Anne Boleyn
I sent a message to Henry, confirming that I was getting better day by day, and wished nothing more than to be with him again. I told him I missed him greatly and constantly prayed that his health remain strong. Then, after considering for a few moments, I chanced to ask on behalf of the family of my deceased brother-in-law, William Carey, that his sister Eleanor Carey be considered for an appointment to the newly open position of Abbess of St Edith at Wilton. Dared I ask a political favour of Henry? The request certainly represented a new perspective in our relationship, and I had no idea how he would react.
Promptly, I received in return a long letter from Henry, this time neatly written with well executed script. It appeared almost businesslike as if he had written it while he was overseeing and signing the many documents which made up his daily routine.
Since your last letters, mine own darlyng, Walter Welsh, Master Browne, Thom. Case, Urion of Brearton, John Coke the apothecary be fallen of the sweat…
But, it continued, somehow they had all recovered, and he was hopeful it would yet pass him by. Concerning my request, he wrote, Cardinal Wolsey had looked into the matter and had discovered that Dame Eleanor Carey had borne two children by two different priests. Even worse, that she had also been intimately involved with a servant of Lord Broke. These unfortunate facts obviously rendered Dame Eleanor unfit to hold the position but, in order to please me, he offered his assurance that the other candidates under consideration would not be selected by Wolsey alone, but instead they would search for a ‘good and well-disposed woman’ not affiliated with the Cardinal or any other political ties. What was most important to me was that Henry had accepted my suggestion with credence, and did not chastise me for speaking beyond my station.
While, as for Dame Eleanor? With such a scurrilous background, she had best find a new patron …
Following this letter of Henry’s, in rapid succession came three further missives, each bemoaning the fact that we were still apart, and promising his efforts on the Great Matter to be unrelenting.
I felt well enough by the beginning of August to send word to Henry of my hope to return to London by the end of the month. In quick reply, I received a page covered with a light scribble:
Myne Own Sweetheart,
This shall be to advertise you of the great elengeness that I find here since your departing; for, I ensure you methink the time longer since your departing now last, than I was wont to do a whole fortnight. I think your kindness and my fervency of love cause it, for otherwise, I would not have thought it possible that for so little a while it should have grieved me. But now that I am coming towards you, methinketh my pains be half removed; and also I am right well comforted in so much that my book maketh substantially for my matter; in looking whereof I have spent above four hours this day, which causes me now to write the shorter letter to you at this time, because of some pain in my head; wishing myselfe (specially an evening) in my sweethearts arms, whose pretty dukkys I trust shortly to kyss.
Written by the hand of him that was, is, and shall be yours by his own will,
H. R.
Ha! I laughed aloud with delight at this letter. I knew well how Henry disliked spending long periods of time bent over his desk writing, and I could only imagine the headache he had developed from four hours discoursing on the Matter. His aching head may have kept him from writing a longer letter, but it plainly did not constrain him from vividly imagining me wrapped in his arms, stripped bare of my bodice!
We impatiently awaited the arrival of Cardinal Campeggio, the Papal Legate designate, as we had been assured he was expected soon. There were numerous reasons, we were told, why he had not made better time, including poor weather, poor health, poor roads, and so on ad infinitum. How disheartening this situation was proving to be. Ever more did I wish to vent my growing frustration and resentment on the great Lord Chancellor, and oh how I could think of many ways to do so. But then a more rational judgement prevailed, and I reluctantly surrendered the idea.
Henry had written to let me know he and my father had secured and renovated lodging for me in Durham House on the Strand, and it was there I was to stay upon my return to London. Seemingly it had been the cardinal himself who had suggested perhaps it was not best for Katherine and me to be under the same roof. Thankfully, I was no longer required to provide service to Katherine as her maid of honour and, instead, was to have a small household of my own. This knowledge gave me great peace of mind, and I could not wait to return to the city and become settled near to Henry. I provided an answer to his letter, expressing my most heartfelt thanks for his generosity, and importantly, to inquire about the latest status of the Matter.
A royal messenger arrived to deliver a prompt response. A fine leather wrapper protected the thin parchment which had been folded twice. Carefully I opened it and was greeted with a smudged scrawl. It began:
My darlyng
The reasonable request of your last letter, with the pleasure also that I take to know them true, causeth me to send you these news. The legate which we most desire arrived at Paris on Sunday or Monday last past, so that I trust by the next Monday to hear of his arrival at Calais: and then I trust within a while after to enjoy that which I have so long longed for, to God’s pleasure and our both comforts.
No more to you at the present, mine own darling, for lack of time, but that I would you were in mine arms, or I in yours, for I think it long since I kyst you.
Written after the killing of a hart, at eleven of the clock, minding, with God’s grace, to-morrow, mightily timely, to kill another, by the hand of hym which, I trust, shortly shall be yours.
Henry R.
I carefully refolded the parchment, held it to my heart for a moment, then locked it carefully in the coffer which held his other letters.
Durham House
London
September 1528
The steady thrum of rain on the steeply pitched slate roof did not dampen my mood one whit. I was back in London, and tonight, after what seemed like an eternity, I was finally to be reunited with my love! Even as I dressed, Henry was on his way to Durham House from Greenwich by barge, and I readied myself to greet him. We planned to have time together privily, then dine with my brother George, Thomas Heneage, who was a new appointee to the King’s privy chamber, and my good friend Anne Gainsford.
My mood was buoyant as I finalized my apparel for the evening. Despite my enduring grief for the terrible death of Charity, I felt joyful, for my dear Anne was to become a part of my household, and I was happy for this beyond words. She and I giggled like young girls while we looked over the gift of jewels Henry had sent to my new residence, in celebration of my return to court. That evening, I was to wear a gown of Tudor green silk, with white French lace adorning the bodice and sleeves and petticoat. The Flemish silk was matchless, and the design of this gown included a train which trailed as gracefully as did the sleeves. True, I had lost some weight during my illness, but the gown had recently been sewn, so it fitted me well, and I had the bodice and stomacher laced extra tight to create a greater swell of my bosom at the neckline.
I now had in my chamber a large and wonderful glass mirror before which I was able to complete my toilette. My face seemed a bit thin, with my cheekbones rather more prominent than before. But a generous flush applied artfully with ochre and soft brushes, and the accenting of my eyes, already bright with anticipation, with a generous application of kohl, allowed me to achieve the look I desired. Anne and I selected an enamelled gold chain carcanet with an emerald and pearl pendant to wear around my neck, and the gown’s c
olour was the perfect complement to my betrothal ring. My hair was woven into a long dark cascade with a green satin riband which trailed from the hood. Finally, I touched essence oil of muguet des bois to my breasts, neck, and wrists, and I was ready.
Thomas, Lord Heneage, escorted me through the panelled and torch-lit hallway to the chambers which had been redesigned especially for the King. Before we reached the door, I turned to him and said quietly, “Thank you, Thomas. I would prefer to enter and greet the King myself if you do not mind.”
He hesitated only a moment, then bowed. “Of course Mistress, I fully understand,” whereupon, with a perceptive smile, he stepped discreetly away.
I drew an expectant breath and stood alone before the entrance to Henry’s apartment.
Just as I raised my hand to knock on the heavy carved door, it opened abruptly, and Henry and I were face to face. It took but a heartbeat for me to throw myself into his arms, tears flowing down my cheeks. The intensity of such emotion took me by surprise, and Henry lifted me and carried me into his chamber, closing the door with his foot. Once inside, I looked into his face and saw that he, too, was weeping.
It was in that joyous moment that I knew I would not question the strength of Henry’s love for me again, as we desperately clung to one another, infinitely thankful we had both survived and were together once more. After a time, we were joined by Sir Thomas and Anne, followed by George. Sitting at the dining table, sipping a most delicious spiced wine and gazing upon the beloved faces before me, I whispered a prayer of thanksgiving to God for such blessings. Throughout the evening, Henry held and stroked my hand, and looked upon me continuously with adoration.
That night it became evident to all present how strongly the King of England felt about me.
Struck With the Dart of Love Page 14