We lay together on my bed, and I whispered to him that we could not afford to compromise our hope for a legitimate son, so we must not have intercourse. Henry kissed me and said he agreed but did not know how much longer he would be able to wait.
Once again I valued the education I had been given by the French courtesans.
I proffered an alternative that seemed to please him greatly.
As I had expected, Katherine contemptuously refused to consider the proposition to join a convent. I was told that when Campeggio and Wolsey met with her, she proved obdurate, instead reiterating that she and Arthur had never consummated their marriage; thus, she had not been wedded to Arthur at all, but to Henry, and hence she would die the King’s wife. She must have driven Wolsey to distraction with her stubborn refusal to discuss any other options, because he ended the interview by uttering a warning to her that, for her well-being, she best comply with the King’s wishes. Obviously, he was at a complete loss in knowing how to influence this most inflexible woman.
I confess to having felt some small sympathy for my gross adversary, the Lord Cardinal. Indeed, his travails afforded me a certain insight into why he had been so tardy in acting for the King. I was certain he profoundly regretted having to be involved in the Matter at all. My empathy for him was short-lived, however.
From that point on, enhanced by the increased closeness Henry and I now shared, it became ever more difficult for the King to feign goodwill toward Katherine. He told me she constantly played to the gallery: drawing attention to herself whenever possible and thereby encouraging her subjects’ sympathy and support. Her stubborn Spanish pride had become a source of such exasperation that I was surprised Henry had not exploded in rage at her.
In his frustration, though, Henry did feel driven to lodge a formal complaint against her on the grounds of suspicious political affiliations and her unsuitable behaviour with his privy council. The council, at his bidding, wrote Katherine a letter advising her to come to terms with the King’s will, lest she be sent away and separated from the Princess Mary. Even at this, which must surely have instilled in her a great fear, she refused to obey. Whenever she and Henry met, he told me they did nothing but argue.
Still, she would not be swayed.
Oh, indeed there were times when I felt so completely perturbed that, had I been in her company, I would have wished to tear the very hair from her head! How her air of self-righteousness provoked me! But instead, I determined to play a much more cunning game.
Tit-for-tat.
I would make a very visible - and very grand - appearance at Christmas Court in Greenwich this year
By early November, the conversations amongst London’s wealthy and powerful swirled with rumour. Everyone had their opinion of Henry’s now conspicuous desire for a divorce. In an attempt to quell the tide of gossip, and upon the advice of his closest councillors Henry decided to address the city’s most influential citizens in person. Courtiers, judges, lawyers, and other officials were invited by the King to come to the Palace of Bridewell on the afternoon of 8 November. They jostled and crowded into the Great Chamber, each and every one of them possessed of a keen curiosity to hear their King discuss so private a matter quite publicly. I was positioned with an excellent, albeit hidden, view of the entire assembly from an interior window overlooking the hall.
An expectant hush descended when Henry took his place on the raised podium, and as he stood before the gathering and drew himself to his full stature, he looked every inch the most august King in Christendom.
Eloquently he began by expressing his appreciation for their attendance. With a look of significance missed by no one, he disclosed his great distress in having discovered he had been unwittingly living in sin with the woman he believed to be his rightful and true wife these twenty years past. His voice rang out strong and deep, yet touched with humble regret as he told his listeners how, although he had indeed been blessed with a fair daughter born of this noble woman - indeed, a daughter who had given them both great comfort and joy - he had been recently informed by clerks of the realm that neither was she his lawful child, nor her mother his lawful wife.
He had paused then, to allow the gravity of his words to take full effect. Henry had always been the consummate dramatist. Only when he had squeezed the last juice from that shocking revelation did he carry on, telling the crowd that although he was appalled by this realization, he had come to know it had been a most grievous, but unwitting mistake to have fathered a child by his brother’s wife. Now, he stated, he was left with little choice but to call on the greatest minds in the Church to advise him as to his course of remedial action. He went on to carefully describe how wonderful and noble Katherine was, and to assure them that his dilemma was not caused by any lack in her person.
Listening to this last comment, up in my perch above the crowd, I took spiteful satisfaction in reciting under my breath, ‘other than in her constantly gloomy expression, her never-ending, self-righteous devotions, her stodgy Spanish entourage, that greying hair and ponderous gait.’ I sniggered to myself and felt momentarily better.
Nevertheless, the impression the King’s well-edited humility had on the assemblage was quite profound, and I could see he was becoming caught up in the credibility of his performance. Continuing his theme of lauding Katherine’s many virtues, in a magnanimous gesture, he stated that were the marriage to be declared good, surely he would choose her again above all women.
At that, I rolled my eyes and loudly snorted with indignation! As his oration drew to a close, I looked about at the faces below. Most were sombre and silent. As Henry’s speech concluded, while some spoke up to express their regret at the King’s dilemma, two in the crowd, though I could not see whom, loudly offered their support and great admiration for the queen. A murmur of … was it agreement? … rippled through the assemblage.
I slumped back in my chair and exhaled. Had Henry done the right thing?
Finally, the group dispersed, swollen with their own self-importance at being privy to such personal insights: each no doubt hastening to chronicle the King’s speech far and wide before others beat them to the line.
Greenwich
Christmastide 1528
I took my leave of Durham House and established myself at Greenwich, nearer to the King, for the duration of the Christmas celebrations. My family would be together at court for the season, and I was glad to have my lady mother close by. Henry had provided me with beautiful lodgings which were, thankfully, some distance from Katherine’s, so I need not feel as if I might run into her at any moment.
I intended to play a high-profile part in the most important festivities, in spite of Katherine’s role as Queen – more truthfully, it was because she would be present. The house buzzed with activity during that exciting precursor to Christmas Eve, which I loved so much. On the day before, Maggie Wyatt, my mother, and I were wandering through the gallery and ended up stopping in the Great Hall to watch the house servants hang decorative greens and ready the chamber for the banquet the next evening. I marvelled as ever at the agility of those men who climbed the scaffolds to drape the beamed ceiling and the chandeliers in holly, laurel, and ivy. The pungent smell pervading the large room was wonderful and made it seem as if we were in a fragrant pine forest while abundant boughs of laurel accented by the red berries of holly branches were being arranged liberally in porcelain urns and silver vases.
“What gift have you planned to give to His Grace at the New Year, Anne, if I may be so bold?” Maggie asked.
“It seems silly, really, but I am having a miniature painted of me by Master Horenbolte, while I have a beautiful locket prepared in which to mount it when it’s completed,” I replied. “If it were left to me, I would never have thought to give a gift of one’s own face! But that is what Henry requested - and who am I to deny him?”
“Who indeed,” Mother interjected dryly.
; I threw her a glance of mock sarcasm, then said, “in any case, Master Horenbolte seems to be doing a superb job. Thankfully the painting, or what I have seen of it thus far, seems to flatter rather than have me appear as some troglodyte.” At that, we melted into a flood of giggles.
I gave my friend a playful nudge. “Quid pro quo, Maggie. Now you must reveal to us what gift you propose to give to the handsome Lord Lee?”
She had recently become betrothed to Sir Anthony Lee, of Burston and Quarrendon. I was very happy for Maggie. She seemed pleased with this match, and Lord Lee struck me as a proper gentleman.
“Well,” said Maggie, flushing a little, “For Anthony I have acquired a beautifully illuminated devotional which was painted in Ghent. The artwork is magnificent.”
“Then my Lord Lee is a very lucky man,” I replied fondly.
My mother looked at me questioningly. “Do you think Katherine will give the King an elaborate gift this year? Or might she be upset enough to gainsay gift-giving altogether?”
“I wager that she will give him the largest, most costly, and most personal gift her courtiers can unearth, Mother,” I quickly replied. I was aware that my voice had a rough edge to it. I felt a momentary annoyance with Mother for her comment, but I hadn’t meant to snap.
I chose not to pursue the topic, and we walked on.
As one might well have expected given the circumstances, the Cardinals Wolsey and Campeggio were guests of honour at that great Christmas Eve banquet, sitting to the right and left, respectively, of the King on the dais. Surprising to all, the Queen made only the briefest of appearances at the celebration. It was apparent that she took no joy in the occasion: her expression was pinched and unhappy. From what I was able to observe, she rarely spared a glance in the direction of the King, keeping her arms stiffly pressed to her sides as if protecting herself. I was astounded to see how much older she appeared. I had not seen her for several months, and she looked to me to be a woman of advanced age, yet I knew her years to be only forty-three. Her hair had greyed while deep crevices now ran from her nose to the corners of her mouth. What a contrast she made with Henry, who radiated like the very sun!
There were furtive remarks made by many when Katherine did not appear at all at Mass on Christmas Day, instead sending word that she was unwell and would hear Mass in her chamber. The court, almost in its entirety, was present at morning Mass, and there was audible whispering when her seat remained empty.
A small gathering of important peers and esteemed guests had been invited to the King’s presence chamber for Christmas supper. I was about to enter the room, already alive with the company, but paused for a moment at the threshold to gather an air of confidence. The opulent silk of my gown rustled as I swept into the room and approached Henry to curtsey, and greet him with a kiss before being seated in the position of honour, closest to the King at the head of the table. That evening, I had taken exceptional care with my clothing and jewellery, and my crimson silk gown with white silk kirtle, heavily embroidered with silver and gold vines, was the object of admiration. I wore a necklace of woven gold from which hung a stunning ruby given to me by Henry. At my wrist was the diamond bracelet he had gifted to me, and, as nearly always, the emerald ring was on my finger.
We ate, drank, and toasted the birth of Christ, and all the while, Henry’s eyes rarely left me. I noted the wizened Cardinal Campeggio, though old and seemingly infirm, astutely observing the interaction between Henry and me. Once the gingerbread, comfits, and Christmas Pie had been served, Campeggio rose from his chair, bowed and thanked Henry effusively, saying he would retire for the night. He made his way through the guests, speaking with many of them. When he reached me, he took my hand and kissed it, bowed courteously, then looked searchingly into my eyes. I returned an unflinching gaze, sensing I was not being scrutinized by merely a man of the cloth, but instead by a charming, calculating and crafty statesman.
“Buona notte, Signorina Boleyn.” he murmured in his heavily accented English. “May you have a most blessed Christmas.”
I curtseyed graciously in reply, knowing that, this evening, the Pope’s Legate, who would pay a considerable part in deciding my lot, had been enlightened as to Henry’s true motivation for seeking a divorce.
The banqueting was frequent during the week following Christmas, along with several masques, tourneys, and even a joust which a mild spell of weather permitted. We saw little of Katherine. I was told by friends close to her ladies-in-waiting, that she was disconsolate, especially because she and Henry rarely saw each other or spoke. Once again, I wished she would simply accede, take up a position as a respected abbess - and save all of us the grief which undoubtedly lay ahead if she remained invariant.
Henry and I decided we would exchange our presents with one another privately, after the New Year celebration which involved the annual gift giving between Henry and his entire staff and court.
Because Katherine had unexpectedly announced that she would oversee the New Year’s festivities, I avoided the formal banquet that night. Instead, I enjoyed an evening of music and had supper in my apartments, along with some of my closest companions. My mother and father were both in attendance, although George had felt it best he dine with the King and Queen. Henry Norreys was with us, along with Thomas Heneage, Anne Gainsford, Sir George Zouche, Lady Bridget and Sir Nicholas Harvey. We toasted the coming year, 1529, and all around the table expressed their conviction that it would undoubtedly be a very good year.
My guests had begun to depart once midnight had passed, and the merrymaking waned. A messenger entered the chamber and quietly told me the King had requested the honour of my presence in his privy chamber. I was summoned at last! I had so missed Henry this evening.
As quickly as propriety allowed, I escorted my remaining guests to the door and went to the large, ornately carved wardrobe in my bedchamber. Inside was a wooden coffer. Unlocking it, I retrieved two small boxes, each wrapped in soft white kidskin. I hoped Henry liked the image of me now mounted in its locket. Gathering a few personal belongings into a satin pouch, I hastened through the dimly lit corridors, accompanied by an esquire, to reach Henry’s chambers.
Once we were alone, I flung myself into his arms. We had not had much time to ourselves during the past week due to all of the activities at court, and I missed his closeness, the feel, and smell of him. I buried my face in his neck, savouring the scratch of his beard on my cheeks and forehead. We held each other silently for a time, each fervently hoping this would be the year we would wed, and conceive a child together. Finally, we drew apart and, with a kiss, I said, “I cannot wait to give you your gifts, Your Grace. I hope you love them!”
“From you, Nan, I will love anything, even the smallest token. Just as long as your heart comes with it … with your body soon to follow.” His low chuckle filled me with happiness.
With evident bated breath, as excited as a child, Henry prised apart the kidskin wrapping to find a golden hawk’s hood, garnished with six rubies and seven pearls, enclosed within. I had had this hood fashioned for his new white gyrfalcon, a bird he treasured. His eyes shone as he made to kiss me his thanks, but I held up my hand, urging him instead to open the other one.
He opened the locket slowly, then carefully studied the image within before looking up at me with awe.
“Anne, my love, this miniature of you is so beautiful, and such an incredible likeness. Master Horenbolte has indeed done himself proud. I am overjoyed that I can now have you next to my heart at all times/”
He carefully pinned the locket to his doublet so it hung against his left breast. “Thank you, darling.”
And then he did indeed kiss me.
It was my turn to open two packages. First, I untied the drawstring of a black velvet pouch, and into my hand tumbled a brilliant, weighty jewel: a ship of diamonds, with a fair hanging pearl, and then, from the second pouch of scarlet, a heart of gold, wit
h a hunter and an antelope engraved on one side, and a gentlewoman on the obverse. I looked up at Henry, once again not believing my great fortune for loving this great-hearted man. Of course, I knew that the meaning behind both glittering tokens was to reassure me that he would be mine, never otherwise, and we would be united soon.
I moved toward Henry, intent on thanking him with an embrace for such remarkable, such costly, gifts, but he stood and motioned to his esquire. His gentleman handed Henry a lute, and he settled himself on a stool, indicating I should sit directly across from him. I could not imagine what he had planned, but I was enthralled as he began to play and sing a haunting, heart-rending melody. His eyes never left mine as he sang, thus:
‘Alas, my love, ye do me wrong,
To cast me off discourteously
And I have loved you for so long,
Delighting in your company.
Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight,
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
And who but my lady greensleeves
I have been ready at your hand,
To grant whatever you would crave,
I have both wagered life and land,
Your love and good-will for to have
Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight,
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
And who but my lady greensleeves
My men were clothed all in green,
Struck With the Dart of Love Page 16