Struck With the Dart of Love

by Sandra Vasoli

  “Wolsey’s behavior has been shown to be no less than that of a man guilty of praemunire,” added Father solemnly with George nodding in agreement. “We must ensure His Majesty the King sees it as such.”

  The late spring and summer had brought a significant changing of the guard arguing the Matter in Rome. Following the failure of Dr William Knight, a now frantic Wolsey sent Stephen Gardiner for the second time to try his luck with the immovable Clement. Gardiner, upon his arrival at the Vatican, promptly positioned himself to curry my favour and wrote eagerly to me several times, reassuring me he was totally dedicated to my cause, and that he would stop at nothing to gain the end Henry and I most desired.

  While I liked Gardiner, and was certain he would do his utmost, by then, I had lost all faith in the Papacy. I harboured few expectations that it would provide a way forward for Henry’s and my union. In what I believed was a futile move, Henry dispatched his lifelong friend Suffolk to Rome, knowing he could be trusted to work in the Crown’s best interest. All well and good, yet I had predicted the outcome before it arose.

  I received word from Henry to meet him at Grafton at the Nativity of our Lady to accompany him on Progress for the remainder of September. I could not wait to see him and to spend a month hunting, laughing, and loving. It had been too long since we’d been granted any carefree time together. Indeed, we would have important matters to discuss, and critical plans to make, but I would make sure there would be plenty of merriment between us, in sharp contrast with the past two painful, dour months he had spent with Katherine.

  Durham House

  August 1529

  In August, I returned to London from Kent, wishing to order new riding habits and pack certain books to take with me when I went to Grafton to go on progress with Henry.

  The city was stifling but had remained relatively free of the sweat this summer, a blessed relief for which we were all thankful. I enjoyed walking down by the banks of the Thames and had found a spot under some willow trees which seemed to catch the cooling breeze coming off the river. I sat there, with royal guards nearby yet not too obvious, reading my copy of the French translation of the New Testament by Jacques Lefévre d’Ètaples. I read and re-read other papers which had been smuggled to me at Hever over the summer, including a pamphlet of Lutheran writings which I found quite convincing. How completely logical it seemed to me that man answers directly to God, with the singular intervention of Jesus Christ. It rang true that God alone could determine the vindication of sin, forgiveness and salvation. Such profound principles of life and hereafter were certainly not appropriated by clerics who were appointed by man; it was well known that many were corrupt, sinners of the highest order.

  I could not wait to discuss these concepts with Henry. In my heart, I believed this thinking could provide the answer we had been seeking.

  I gathered the final items I wished to take with me for my stay at Grafton, and for the remainder of the autumn. Henry had promised I would travel with him as he moved about the countryside before ending up, most probably, back at Greenwich for Christmas, and it was quite a task to ensure I packed all I would need for the autumn months.

  As I moved from chamber to chamber in my Durham apartment, Jolie followed me. There were times I forgot she was so close on my heels, and I would step back and almost trip over her but her sweet, soft face and brown eyes looking to lure me into frolic always melted any momentary irritation. I could never be angry with her. She had been with me at Hever and had learned to be a well-behaved house dog. I now had a wonderful companion to whom I could tell anything I chose without fear of judgment. She was the perfect friend. Except for her penchant for stealing my shoes!

  Jolie and I went around the corner from my bedchamber and into the adjacent sitting room. There I nearly fell upon Anne Gainsford and one of the equerries of my household, George Zouche … they had been locked in a passionate kiss. We all stumbled apart, apologizing to one another, with the colour of Anne’s face beginning to resemble a ripe strawberry.

  “Oh, my Lady, I am most sorry!” she blurted. I looked uncertainly from Anne to Zouche, never having realized there had been anything between them before that awkward moment.

  George however, and quite unrepentantly, grinned in my direction, then at Anne. “Mistress, I do wish I could say that I am sorry, but in fact, I am not. My crime was well worth any consequence.”

  There was a momentary silence, then all three of us fell out laughing, with Jolie’s tail wagging joyfully.

  “Anne, you’d best attend to the packing, and allow Sir George to ready the horses. If our departure is delayed, I will not be so cheery. It is now my turn to be caught kissing my love, and no one dare stands in my way!”

  Curtseying, Anne left the room, but not before tossing Sir George a significant look. I was happy for Anne. She was a friend, and I had found that because I was in love, it was easy to wish that same good fortune for my friends.

  Anne busied herself gathering the remaining items on my travel list. The trunks holding my clothing and other belongings were being placed in the centre of the chamber. When all was assembled, we would call for the porters to load them onto the carts. I was sorting my hoods and headwear when I registered a sudden cry from the bedchamber.

  Instantly I recalled sweet Charity, and that moment of horror - so many long months ago, now - when the poor child had succumbed to the sweat.

  “Anne, what ails you?” I called in considerable alarm.

  “Milady, please come!”

  I hurried into the room where Anne was standing before the large wardrobe. “Milady, did you move the coffer which holds your private belongings?”

  “I did not. Why?”

  “If this is where it had been, then it is here no longer.” Her distress was evident.

  Hastily she stood aside while I searched the wardrobe, though no searching was necessary. The coffer was gone. I could see the evidence because the area where the box had previously been was dust free while surrounding its former outline was a fine film. My heart was pounding, and the blood rushed in my ears. In the coffer I had kept my fine kid gloves, a brooch or two, linen handkerchiefs … and Henry’s love letters.

  I rushed to the desk in which a secret compartment held the key to the coffer. The key remained in its place. We looked at each other in disbelief. Very few people knew what was contained in the coffer, and fewer still about the secret drawer: only Anne Gainsford, my mother, and my trusted friend Maggie. I was mystified. My breath came shallow as I thought of the implications of the box’s theft. I treasured those letters and thought I had most fastidiously kept them from view.

  As I began to grasp the enormity of what had happened, I searched my memory to identify anyone else who may have been aware of their existence, apart from my closest confidantes. Almost immediately I thought of a recent situation. My uncle’s wife, Elizabeth Howard, Duchess of Norfolk, was aware I was in need of a personal maid and had contacted me to say she knew of an excellent lady’s maid who was seeking a position. Even though I did not have a close or particularly warm relationship with my aunt, I had agreed to a trial period with Agnes Graeme. I recalled how intently observant Agnes was. She had an uncanny, almost unnerving ability to anticipate my every need, and made herself familiar with my belongings so as to provide me with the best possible service.

  All in all, she had proved a skilled maid to be certain, yet there had always been something about her I could not quite identify. It made me ill at ease. I felt she was overly solicitous, almost scheming, and so after a few weeks, I dismissed her - but not before a then-seemingly innocuous event had occurred.

  I had returned from an afternoon out, and upon removing a diamond brooch from my bodice, placed it back in the coffer. While it was unlocked, I had seized the opportunity to re-read one of Henry’s early letters. Absently I had settled in a chair and pored over the letter while Agnes busied herself in
the chamber, straightening and brushing my discarded clothes before hanging them back in the wardrobe. Upon reflection, it seemed certain she saw the letter with the royal seal, slyly observed the open coffer and from whence it had come and saw that there were other letters within.

  After I’d finished reading, I’d replaced the note in the box and locked it again, never suspecting she had been watching me so carefully. I had not returned to the coffer since that day, and Mistress Graeme left my employ one week ago. She was to return to work for the Duchess of Norfolk, who would create a place for her at Kenninghall. With a sickening feeling of violation, it now made sense. I just knew she must be the offender.

  … she was a spy! And my aunt, Elizabeth Howard, must have been the instigator.

  I went directly to my writing desk to pen a scathing letter to the Duchess. I called for a courier to stand by to take the message directly to Kenninghall, but as I sat at the desk with quill in hand, I stopped short. I realized that the whole ugly business must be revealed to Henry first. My anger bubbled and sputtered, and I itched to vent it on the Lady Norfolk, though I was filled with remorse at my stupid oversight in allowing a veritable stranger to observe the location of my most treasured possessions. My regret was matched by a growing consternation. Was it she who had them, indeed? If so, what did she intend to do with them? And what trouble might the letters cause in the pursuit of an annulment?

  I was furious with myself for having been so careless and was heartbroken at their loss. They documented our love affair from its very inception until now. With just a glance I had become able to read into the heart and soul of the writer. I had valued them, and it made me physically sick to think of anyone else reading what had been written for my eyes only. I knew I must talk with Henry about what to do at the very first opportunity.

  We set off for Grafton Manor, planning to stop twice along the way, staying for a night in St Albans and once at Grevel House in Chipping Campden. Anne Gainsford was to join me on progress with Henry, and I was glad to have her company as we rode toward Worcestershire. But although we talked and laughed along the way, even that distraction could not distance me from the anxiety caused by the missing letters.

  Grafton Manor

  September 1529

  I was a bedraggled sight when we arrived on Tuesday 10 September. It had rained all morning, and so Anne and I rode in the cart, but I was still dirty and in no state to be received by Henry. I was relieved to learn that he and his retinue – minus Katherine – was not due to arrive until later in the afternoon. Hastily I had my belongings unloaded from the wagons and delivered to my chambers. I left a message for Henry that we had arrived, and then took advantage of the time to unpack, bathe, and prepare a toilette which would remind him of what he had missed while we were apart.

  A small group gathered in the hall that evening for supper. Lords Suffolk and Norfolk were present, along with Henry Norreys and a few others. Anne Gainsford was not joining us, so I was the only woman at the table. I had staged my entrance most precisely. Knowing Henry was longing to see me, I certainly was not going to let such an opportunity catch me unprepared.

  As I glided into the hall on the arm of my uncle, Norfolk, all heads turned. I knew the deep yellow satin of my gown reflected the candlelight, and the fit of my bodice, laced almost unbearably tightly, would afford me an impossibly slender waist - and Henry a surge of manly desire. I wore a small, black velvet hood trimmed in pearls, and left my hair to tumble free. Loosened hair was unusual for a woman of my age, but since it was deemed acceptable for young unmarried women to do so, I intended to invoke that rule as often as possible until the day I uttered the vows of matrimony. That evening it cascaded all the way down my back, accenting the black velvet trim on my gown. As a final touch, I wore the emerald betrothal ring and a set of emerald drop earrings given to me by Henry.

  Henry was in conversation with Norreys when my uncle and I entered the chamber. He looked up in mid-sentence, ceased talking, and followed me with his gaze. He sat motionless while absorbing every detail, then slowly and deliberately rose and walked toward me. Instead of an embrace, which is what I wished for, he took my hands in his and held them to his lips for a very long time. When he raised his eyes to mine, everyone else in the room faded away, and I felt the communion between us. Its intimacy caused me to flush, and in response, the curl of his lips told me how much I had been missed.

  I sat next to Henry, and supper was full of wine and jovial spirits. There was a palpable relief now that Katherine had returned to London. We all looked forward to a month of fine hunting and hawking, taking advantage of the September weather which we hoped would be warm and dry. The conversation remained lively, but I knew Henry held the same thought as I; we could not wait to be alone.

  When finally, the last goblet was drained, all excused themselves from the table. Henry and I strolled regally, arm in arm, through the hallway to the stairs which led to his chambers. From his pocket, he took an elaborate brass key and fitted it into the ornate, sturdy lock which kept his privy chambers free from unwanted visitors. Once within, we dissolved into each other’s arms and kissed for an eternity. My world spun about: the sweet exhilaration of that reunion only emphasizing how wrenchingly I had felt his absence from me. I knew then I could not endure such misery again.

  Only eventually could we bring ourselves to draw apart.

  “My Hal, I have missed you so much, so very much! Please don’t send me away from you again. I cannot do this any longer! I simply cannot abide being without you.”

  His cheek against my hair felt warm as his arms encircled me yet again. “Anne, you are my angel, and I promise you we will not separate anymore. I ached for you as well. My mind and body are incomplete without you by my side: indeed, there is no greater comfort known to me as when I am with you. Only then do I feel as if I am myself, with never a worry about what I should or should not say or do. With you, I am the man I was meant to be – the ruler I was born to be. We will be together, sweetheart, no matter the cost.”

  I delighted in the sheer strength of him as he lifted me and carried me to his bedchamber. Only by the greatest act of will would I maintain my virginity that night, but I ran my hands over his body, and allowed him to do the same with mine. I kissed and teased, then satisfied him in my special way. I guided him to do what I longed for. We loved one another, but we would save our most intimate lovemaking for our wedding night when, I felt certain, we would conceive a son.

  For a glorious fortnight, we remained at the hunting lodge at Grafton. Indeed, the weather was perfect, and we rode out into the surrounding countryside to the chase almost every day. It was the end of summer, and my face had taken on a golden hue from the warm sun, the glorious inheritance of having spent a great deal of time during the past weeks hunting and riding. Henry told me he loved it when I looked that way. My colouring, especially at the height of summer, was so different from the pale, delicate ladies who populated court. I knew how to enhance my allure, though, and would no sooner give up hunting, hawking, and outdoor sport than become a nun.

  It was late afternoon, and the mellow amber light deepened the green of the trees surrounding a meadow near the manor. We had come out hawking, and this was my favourite time of day to do so. The sun, lower in the sky, caused no glare, and one could more easily follow the soaring hawks as they sought their prey. Henry and I were met by Sir Robert Cheseman, the master falconer, and his assistants. They had brought with them several birds, transported in their crates.

  As the yeomen falconers removed the birds from their crates, Henry said, “Well, Milady, since you have proved yourself to be as skilled at hawking as you are with most everything, I felt it time to gift you with a special bird.”

  He proffered his gloved wrist upon which sat a breathtaking white gyrfalcon, hooded in white doeskin. “She is yours, my darling. Her name is Pilgrim. She is young, but well on her way to becoming a prized hunter.
I wanted you to have a bird which would hunt with mine.”

  As Master Cheseman handed Henry his magnificent male gyrfalcon, Senator, also brilliantly white, I was well aware of the implications of Henry’s generous gift. White gyrfalcons were reserved for royalty. He wanted to convey to me that my elevation to royal status was practically a fait accompli.

  The field we stood in was known to be a nesting place for grouse, so we set Pilgrim and Senator upon the perch which the cadger had hammered into the ground, and removed their hoods. I was pleased to see that Pilgrim had been carefully ‘manned’: that is, she was very calm being close to me, and to Henry. Her sharp, intelligent eyes appraised me and scanned her surroundings. One of the assistant falconers mounted his horse and headed out into the field to flush grouse. I pulled on a leather gauntlet and extended my arm so Pilgrim could climb on my wrist. Holding her jesses, and moving out into the open space, I saw her become quickly attentive, with a piercing, scanning gaze, indicating she was keen to hunt. Henry stood alongside me with Senator. We removed the jesses from both birds, raised our arms, and they spread their impressive wings and soared into the sky. At that moment, the falconer gave a Halloo as he flushed several grouse from the brush. The birds circled and wheeled above, emitting their keening, whistling cry until they gained a wider perspective of the field and their prey. Without warning, one falcon - I could not tell which at such a distance - dropped from the sky like a stone, followed by its companion. A moment later and each had hit a grouse with a burst of feathers, and had its prey firmly grasped in sharp talons. With a call from Henry, followed by one from Master Cheseman, Senator and Pilgrim returned to us. At a command, the grouse were dropped, the birds landed on their perch, folded their wings and preened, and were forthwith fed choice morsels of raw meat and sweet comfits. They both looked about as they ate, and seemed quite pleased with themselves. I fed Pilgrim a sweet while stroking her softly, all the while marvelling that this magnificent bird was truly mine.