Anne Gainsford and I had been taking a stroll through the gardens several days later, when she said, “Anne, did you know while you were at Hever there was a mighty row between the King and the Cardinal?”
At this, she had my undivided attention.
“No I did not, and you simply must tell me! What caused it, do you know?”
“I was told it concerned the appointment of a new Abbess of St Edith’s in Wilton.”
At this announcement, my curiosity knew no bounds although I tried to disguise my avid interest for she was unaware of my earlier request to the King.
“Well,” Anne continued, lowering her voice to a covert whisper, “… apparently, while His Grace had decreed that a broad constituency of women were to be considered for the position, Wolsey went ahead and appointed his own selection - Dame Isabel Jordan - in direct contravention of the King’s wishes. I was told His Grace flew into a rage, ranting against Wolsey in the presence of a number of courtiers. They said it was unlike any exchange anyone had previously seen or heard between His Majesty and Wolsey.”
I took her arm. “Anne, I am so glad you told me about this! What a scene that must have been! What you do not know is that I recommended a woman to Henry for that very position, and though she was not selected, Henry promised me the appointee would not be Wolsey’s choice. Yet the Lord Cardinal went ahead and did exactly as he intended, anyway.” I lowered my voice further. “That wretched cleric acts as if his power is fully equal to the King’s.”
“Oh, how I do agree with you, Anne,” she said with a shake of her head. “I cannot help but dislike the man, hard as I try otherwise.”
“I have felt that way since I first met him. And now he insists on directing the plans to have Henry’s marriage annulled. I know he distrusts me as much as I do him, and there is nary a chance that he is truly applying himself to finding a solution. Yet still the King depends on him.”
We both fell silent, then I added, “You know, this is a very delicate situation for me, Anne. I am attempting to align myself with Wolsey’s decisions - I have even written him several times expressing my commendation and support. I wish I could feel confident about his intentions but, as it happens, I do not. It would not surprise me at all if he were secretly supporting Katherine.”
“Do you really think so?” My friend stopped walking and turned to face me, shocked. And then, in a whisper, “If he were found to subvert the King’s efforts, it would be seen as treason. Surely he knows this?”
I nodded, and distinctly replied, “Arrogance is a dangerous vice, Anne. And Wolsey is an arrogant man. I think it will be his downfall.”
We turned the final corner of the maze and headed back to the house.
The cool, shorter days of autumn had arrived, always my favourite season. My situation had changed so greatly since last autumn. Life, even with all its new advantages, was proving to be quite complicated. While I enjoyed my temporary residence in Durham House, I often went by barge to hunt with Henry at Greenwich. Whenever I appeared outside the gates of the house, I could not avoid the conspicuous stares of the townspeople. It had become common knowledge that I lodged in Durham House, and everyone, it seemed, wanted a look at the King’s paramour. It soon became obvious that the curious looks and whispers were often not supportive or friendly ones. I must admit this bothered me considerably, although I hid my dismay. Although I placed great value on my ability to appear self-confident, still, I had always cared very much what others thought of me. I did sincerely view myself as a kind and considerate person. But now I realized that my position – my relationship with Henry – had created a view of me which was distasteful.
I longed to enjoy simply my days and evenings with Henry and my friends and companions with carefree abandon. Reflecting on what both my mother and my father had told me, I saw the plain truth. Coexistent with my presumed position as the King’s courtesan, that privilege was gone. The envious schemers were many; the advocates few. No longer could I allow the tenderhearted, trusting aspects of my true nature to drive my thoughts and actions. I must be on guard, must plan and contrive for my fate using every shred of cunning God had given me.
On the morning of 2 October, I was informed that, finally, Cardinal Campeggio had landed in Dover.
The crossing had been difficult, and his health so precarious that he had been forced to take up residence at Bath Place, where he was to recuperate. This meant we would not gain any significant information until he was well, but I was at least relieved he was in England. Perhaps when he and Henry were face to face, the legate’s opinion would match the King’s, and he would persuasively represent that argument to Pope Clement, thereby gaining the Pope’s agreement.
There was always hope.
But then again - there was also Cardinal Wolsey.
The Isle of Dogs
East London
October 1528
I watched Henry stand at the prow of the barge as we were rowed east along the Thames. I never tired of looking at him, especially when he was unaware of my gaze. He was the finest man I had ever seen, and I allowed my admiration to show as he turned back and caught me staring. He returned a broad smile, and my heart turned over as I motioned for him to come and sit next to me on the cushioned bench, which he did. I nestled into him and linked my arm with his. I was looking forward most keenly to our outing this morning, headed as we were for the royal kennels on the Isle of Dogs at Stepney Marsh. Henry had established a small, specialized breeding kennel at this isolated location to ensure purity of the strains. The dogs kept and bred there were primarily his most prized greyhounds, the very elegant harthounds, and some mastiffs. A new litter of greyhounds had been whelped a few weeks ago to one of Henry’s best bitches, sired by a favourite hunting hound. I looked forward to the prospect of seeing the pups.
As we disembarked and began walking the path toward the kennels, I said, “Henry, do you have any idea when you and Cardinal Campeggio will meet? Have you had word from him?”
“No, I have not. Yet Wolsey has already met with him on several occasions. Anne, would you believe Campeggio had the audacity to suggest that Wolsey should convince me to reconcile with Katherine?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Thus far, that has been the sum total of his advice on how best to resolve the matter.”
I felt as if the wind had been knocked from me. “Oh, Henry - no! What can that possibly say, then, about how skewed Campeggio must be in representing our case to the Pope? This is so terribly disappointing!”
I found myself struggling to keep my emotions in check. I wanted to cry - nay, to scream - in vexation!
“Sweetheart, do not upset yourself,” he soothed in an attempt to comfort me. “I have instructed Wolsey to tell Campeggio I will not entertain any such discussion. And when we do meet, by God’s blood, that damnable Italian best have a real solution, or his time in England will not be a happy one.”
My silence spoke volumes. It amplified the sound of our feet, which crunched as we walked, wordlessly, on the gravel pathway.
Master Rainsford showed us to the whelping shed in which the bitches with new litters, or those about to deliver, were kept. Every dark, anxious thought escaped me when I looked into the pen which held the beautiful hound Gracieuse and her three-week-old brood. There were four soft, round, adorable greyhound pups, crawling and bumping all over themselves in a pen filled with hay and soft blankets. Gracieuse looked up at us with her soulful eyes as the pups climbed on her. There was a dark brindle pup, two which appeared fawn coloured, and then there was the white one.
That little white pup, though slightly smaller than the others, kept pushing its littermates aside to secure the best spot next to its mother and be well positioned for the next meal. With an inquiring glance at Master Rainsford, who nodded, smiling, in return, I leaned in to pick up the white puppy. The only female in the litter, she strained toward me. I was completely smitten! Her l
ittle belly was round as a pumpkin and soft pink, with liver coloured spots. Her ears were a fawn colour, as were two symmetrical markings on her back and a sweet round spot on the very top of her head. The rest of her was milky white. She squirmed and made puppy grunting squeaks as she fought to get close enough to lick my face.
“Henry, I am in love! I can’t possibly give her back,” I looked at him imploringly.
“Well, Mistress, since I have apparently been displaced by another for your affections, we best have her around so I can keep an eye on my competition,” Henry smiled at me with that roguish look I loved. “Would you like to have her for your own?”
“Oh, that I would, Your Grace! But I would not want to keep her in the kennels with the other hounds; I want her for my companion. Does that meet with His Grace’s approval?”
He came close, kissed my cheek and said quietly “Of course, my Mistress Anne. For you, anything. As I hope you rightly know.”
I gave my pretty pup one more cuddle, stated that henceforth she would be called Jolie, and placed her back in the box next to her dam. Promptly she wriggled her little self back into the prime nursing position she obviously felt was her right. In a strange way, she reminded me of myself!
Master Rainsford said that Jolie could join us in another four weeks, when she would be weaned. Henry and I thanked him kindly, and after inspecting the remainder of the whelping barn, headed back to the barge to return to Greenwich. I was already anticipating the day when Jolie would be delivered to me and become the canine version of my trusted friend and confidante.
After all, the way events were setting against us, I was going to need all the support I could get.
Durham House
Autumn 1528
I thoroughly enjoyed my stay at Durham House. Though I wished it were a bit nearer to Greenwich, which was where Henry spent much of his time, it was close enough by river transport, and Henry had made sure I had a barge at my constant disposal, waiting for me at the wharf. Having a separate residence from Katherine was a blessed reprieve. At that point, I would have found it well nigh impossible to maintain a civil manner in her company. My frustration with the lack of progress in gaining any accord with the Church, coupled with Katherine’s obstinacy, incited my temper and encouraged my attitude toward her to vary from disdain to outright contempt. Perhaps I had no right to feel as such, but it could not be helped. I did my utmost to keep my thoughts to myself, however, though I was not always successful.
On 22 October, Henry, accompanied by Wolsey, met with the Pope’s Legate, Cardinal Campeggio, at Bridewell Palace. I wished I could have been witness to the meeting, but it would have been unseemly. As a consequence, I depended on Henry to provide me with a detailed account. That he did, with all of the animation he must have displayed while pacing and arguing with Campeggio and Wolsey themselves, first describing how he had begun the meeting with an explosive outburst of displeasure at the two cringing clerics. Oh, how I would have liked to have been privy to that most satisfying curtain-raiser!
As the meeting progressed, Campeggio had apparently done his best to mollify Henry’s anger with an assurance that the Pope intended nothing but good feeling to be conveyed on his behalf. Campeggio then reported that contrary to Henry’s bleak expectations, the Pope had indeed suggested there be a unified effort to convince Katherine to disengage from the marriage. If she could be persuaded to go to a respected abbey, the Pope had suggested, Henry might assure her that she would be well cared for, and her daughter, Mary’s interests, would be protected in every case. Campeggio, with supreme satisfaction at his success in acquiring this agreement from the Pope, said if Katherine agreed of her own free will to retire to a nunnery of her choosing, the Holy Father would be willing to dispense of Henry’s marriage, thereby allowing him to wed again, with all hope for a son as the fruit of the new union.
Henry talked on, relating this discussion to me. I saw how truly optimistic he was that Katherine just might, in fact, agree to this alternative. After all, she was inordinately pious, was she not? If the convent were to be of her choice, how could she object? His idealism was apparent - too apparent. With a flood of tender feeling for his ingenuousness, I hastened to embrace him and reassure him he had done well with Campeggio. I even told him I felt sure we would have our hoped-for answer soon.
Privily, though, the commonality of sentiment God gave all women afforded me insight to the more likely truth: the prideful Spanish Princess would never willingly leave court, her husband, her daughter and her position as Queen of England to live out her days in a nunnery whilst a younger woman replaced her as her husband’s consort - and bedmate.
One evening late in October, I hosted a party of games and cards in my apartments at Durham House. I had pleasingly discovered how much I enjoyed planning entertainments and small parties. Members of the court, friends of Henry’s - and, I believed - mine as well, made frequent visits to Durham. It had become á la mode to do so, as Durham House, recently redecorated, was very beautiful as well as much more comfortable and intimate than the large gatherings of court. And, of course, most evenings the King was at Durham with me.
The guests, in addition to the King, were to include Charles Brandon, Sir Frances Bryan, Sir Thomas Heneage, Anne Gainsford, my uncle the Duke of Norfolk and his lady, Bessie Holland, whom I liked very much. We would have a light supper, then move to my well-appointed gaming room for cards and dice. I had arranged to have some excellent musicians play for us during supper and the rest of the evening. Of course, refreshment would be served throughout. I had asked the kitchen to prepare an arrangement of good cheeses, along with fine white manchet and marmalade, and a selection of fruits, pastries, and marchpane. We would be drinking spiced ale and French wine.
Outside, a blustery autumnal wind whistled around the corners of the house: inside the room was warm and the hearth burned brightly. I checked on preparations as ushers hurried about, setting tables and arranging the buffet. I was instructing the musicians where they should be positioned when I felt a hand caress the small of my back and turned, startled momentarily, to find the King behind me. The yeoman ushers all bowed and quickly moved aside so Henry and I could inspect the buffet laden with food for the evening’s supper.
“What a wonderful hostess you are, darling,” Henry said warmly. “I expect this will be a special evening.”
He was so becoming - so suave - I was hardly able to breathe sufficiently to reply.
“I am deeply honoured, Your Grace, to have you as a guest in the home which you have so generously supplied for my use. The very least I can do is to provide hospitality befitting Your Majesty.”
His purple doublet, slashed and lined with cloth of gold surmounted by the thick golden chain about his broad chest, afforded his strong features a glow of health and virility surely unmatched by anyone else. He smelled wonderful, of fine soap and expensive masculine scent. I prayed he found me as desirable as I did him that evening. The look in his eyes as his gaze devoured me from head to toe confirmed his yearning.
For my part, I wore a midnight black velvet gown, with the bodice cut provocatively low. My sleeves were black velvet as well, but the fore-sleeves were red fox fur, glossy in the firelight. The fur set off the ginger tones in my hair, as did the bodice outlined in gold braid and seed pearls. My hood was black velvet edged in pearls, which had been gifts from Henry. My perfume was a seductive blend of patchouli and bergamot.
Abruptly Henry took my arm and pulled me from the chamber into a side common room which was, at the moment, deserted. I was startled by his roughness and wondered if something had upset him. He steered me around the corner, and once out of the sight of others, his face came close to mine, and I saw the smouldering light in his eyes. My heart pounded against my chest, and I held my breath.
“By God, Anne, I can’t be without you! When you are near me, I cannot think clearly. I adore you, and long to spend the night with
you. S’il vous plait? Voulez-vous me laisser entrer dans votre chambre?”
His expression had softened to one of longing.
Frantically, my heart and head waged war. He wrapped his arms around me, and I felt his strength and warmth, and then I surrendered, and whispered, “Oh Henry, I cannot resist you. Yes, yes, you may join me in my bedchamber tonight.”
He kissed me, so softly, and with a look that left me weak, released me and led me back to the reception room which was by then beginning to fill with guests.
We ate, drank, laughed uproariously and thus made merry throughout the evening. Anne won at cards, Brandon and Bryan sang and, all the while, I felt Henry’s eyes on me, his heat radiant next to me. Betimes I nervously wondered what would transpire that night, but I returned to the laughter and gambling, and simply indulged in Henry’s nearness.
When the evening’s entertainment had drawn to a close, and my guests had dispersed, Henry dismissed Sir Edward Bayntun, thanking the chamberlain for his evening’s service. It was late, and the house quiet and shadowed as Henry and I walked arm in arm through the hallway ‘til we came to the door of my apartments. I opened the door motioning for him to enter. My chambermaid was stoking the fire in the hearth. She had lighted candles around the room and had sandalwood incense burning, which I loved in the evening. She looked up at me, then Henry, and dropped into a low curtsey and asked if there was anything I required of her. With a smile, I told her she would not be needed for the rest of the night. She discreetly bowed and left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.
Henry came to me and turned me around, so my back was to him. He carefully removed the pins which held my hood and lifted it from my head. He then loosened my hair, enabling it to tumble unfettered down my back, and stroked it softly. He hesitated for a minute but then untied the laces on my bodice. I turned to face Henry and unbuttoned his doublet, pushing it from his shoulders and arms to fall to the floor. He stood before me in his white linen shirt, the deep opening at the neck revealing his chest, broad and muscled, with red-gold hair exposed. Silently he watched me remove my bodice, then undo the laces of my French gown and smock. I snuffed most of the candles and went to him. Slowly and deliberately, his hands and lips explored the whole of me: delicious and, oh so long-awaited.
Struck With the Dart of Love Page 15