Struck With the Dart of Love

by Sandra Vasoli

  We took our time returning to London, staying in manor houses throughout Kent. Our merry band of travelers: Bryan, Weston, Henry and me and my few ladies, at last arrived at home in Greenwich on the twenty-seventh day of November.

  We had been away for almost two months, and in that span of time, the relationship Henry and I shared had become, we agreed, immutable – exactly as he had presaged in one of his letters to me so long ago.

  Whitehall

  Early December 1532

  Holbein stopped painting, his brush waving in mid-air. “Dame Pembroke! Sit bitte noch! Please! Remain STILL!”

  “I will do my best, Master Hans,” I said, duly chastised, and tried to settle myself on the uncomfortable stool such that I would not need to adjust myself again for a few minutes. “If only this stool were a bit more friendly to the derriere!”

  I gave voice to a hearty sigh, resuming my former pose.

  “As I have said, Dame, the stool raises you high enough that your face catches the best of the morning light from this excellent window.”

  “Your work is so extraordinary, Master Hans, that the result will be well worth my stiff back and the crick in my neck,” I chuckled, then, at sight of his expression, hurriedly rearranged my face into the serene, graceful look Holbein and I had decided upon as appropriate for my portrait. I was not very good at sitting still for any period of time, and while I was excited about the prospect of having a portrait painted for Henry, the time did drag.

  Smoothing my black velvet gown, I idly played with the pearls which trimmed the sleeves. It was a truly splendid gown, after all, in which to be immortalized. Rich, deep black velvet cut low through the bodice, edged in Belgian lace, then trimmed in an alternating row of double grey pearls and carved gold buttons. The velvet sleeves had wide, silky bands of sable fur which encircled my arms above the elbow, and my hood was simple, but elegant – a narrow French design, completely outlined in grey and black pearls with a billiment of crisply pleated gold-hued taffeta peeking from underneath. The sable fur, taffeta, and the buttons all matched the colour of my hair, which was smoothed from a centre parting to each side of my face and was visible enough to make its own statement. And, of course, I wore the pearl necklace with the “B” which had been given to me by my mother. I was to sit up straight, arms bent at the elbow but resting on my lap, and gaze at the viewer with a knowing look in my eye and just a hint of a smile on my lips. No doubt the final product would be striking if I could just manage the pose for the required length of time.

  … and if Master Holbein didn’t, in error, capture the contortions my face assumed as pins and needles prickled my stiff back!

  At last, released from my morning’s prison of sitting, I had my maid Lucy fetch me a cloak, and pulling it about me against the air’s sharp bite, wandered out into the gardens beyond my apartments at Whitehall to stretch my legs. We had been back in London for one week, and Henry was constantly occupied in meetings with ambassadors and dignitaries who had been awaiting his return and was daily rowed to the Tower to inspect progress on the construction projects. Unrest in Scotland continued, and his attention to this and other pressing matters had kept us apart for the better part of that week. His attention had begun to wander, which I disliked. As I walked, I hatched a cunning plan to remedy the situation.

  First, I sent a message inviting Henry to come to Whitehall from Greenwich for a special evening. Then I set about my preparations. I requested the cook prepare a light supper I knew Henry would enjoy, but made certain it would not be laden with heavy dishes. Spiced wine would be served, with a selection of sweets, including his favourites, lemon and orange suckets. About the privy chamber in which we would dine, I had silver lanterns placed, with candles twinkling through tracery to produce a beguiling light. More lanterns were added to my bedchamber, with a censer, ready to burn rosemary and lavender incense. As a final touch, I requested that Mark Smeaton play his lute for us as we dined. Master Smeaton, a young and talented musician, played the lute and other instruments with sensitive touch and was rapidly becoming the most admired musician at court. His was just the sound I desired for the evening ahead.

  We enjoyed a lovely supper together, and the alluring environment I created had begun to work its magic. Rarely did Henry take his eyes from me. We conversed, jested, and wittily teased one another, all in low tones as we sat side by side at the table. Smeaton’s music was the perfect accompaniment, and I flashed the young master a warm smile of thanks. He blushed, and bowed in acknowledgement.

  When I felt the moment had arrived, I excused myself, encouraging Henry to finish his sweets without haste, pay Smeaton and dismiss him, then join me in my bedchamber. I quickly slipped into my closet, where Emma assisted me in divesting myself of my constricting gown and hood. I then donned a special dressing gown which had been made according to my direction. It was of gold tissue; a free flowing gown which skimmed my body, and was held together by a single satin tie. I am quite certain it must have been thought scandalous while it was being sewn, and it amused me to think of the eyebrows raised amongst the seamstresses. Emma helped me loosen my hair and brush it out, arranging it both front and back, so it fell past my shoulders, and hid my breasts. For I was naked under the gown, and it was so sheer that all it served was to add a mere shimmer to my nude form beneath.

  Emma let out a nervous giggle at my audacious attire, but in the next breath, said, “Madame, you look exquisite. Like a golden fairy who is about to seduce a warlock in a fanciful tale. The King will not be able to resist you.”

  I gave her a smile and a wink. That was exactly my plan.

  I went to my bedchamber and arranged myself near the hearth with the fire to my back. Eyes downcast and apparently deep in thought Henry opened the door and entered the room, then glanced up and caught sight of me. I knew my body was clearly visible through the gossamer gown. He froze, dumbstruck, and I approached him, bare feet making no sound on the soft carpet. I stopped just beyond his reach and allowed him time to regard me fully. Henry was a man who was exhilarated by visual beauty, and I was not about to hasten the moment. I had carefully planned his seduction, and it was to be enjoyed.

  I waited while he removed his doublet, shirt, and hose, and stood before me, an incredibly virile sight at forty-one years. I hesitated only a moment more, went to him and, lowering his face to mine, we kissed with a heat that sent a thrill through my entire being. I caressed him, my hands softly traveling the length and breadth of his body. Quickly, then, with a single movement, Henry pulled the lacing of my gown, allowing the garment to whisper to the floor in a golden cloud. Now both flushed with desire, he lifted me so easily, carried me to the bed, and placed me upon it. He lay next to me, and I made him remain still while I continued to fondle him. When I saw he could wait no longer, I climbed atop him, and we breathed and panted together. Both my body and my mind were filled - were consumed - with Henry. His passion stoked mine, and we dissolved into a single entity, exploding mightily as one.

  At length, I tumbled from him, and we lay gasping, soaked in a sweet pool of intermingled sweat. How was it possible to conjoin so totally with another human being? As my breathing slowed and my thoughts cleared, I understood that something different – and quite profound – had just taken place between us.

  “Henry,” I said, stroking the sweat-soaked hair at his temple, “we are each part of the other, just as you have told me so many times, my darling.”

  He murmured sleepily in my ear, “I know, Nan. You are my heart and my soul. There is no height we cannot reach together.”

  He pulled me to him, and we fell asleep, entwined in each others’ arms.

  Greenwich

  Christmastide 1532

  Had I thought previously that His Majesty the King fawned over me, I would evidently have been mistaken. For in the days which followed our magical evening, he followed me everywhere, petted and kissed me constantly, looked afte
r my comfort, ‘til I felt I had never witnessed a man so idolize a woman. Neither I nor others of his close circle had ever known him to be this radiant and lighthearted. He took me with him on an inspection of the new building projects at the Tower. The great hall was noisy with plasterers and carpenters; the magnificent hammerbeam ceiling took shape as we watched.

  Eyes shining, Henry then led me to the Jewel House. I was completely unprepared for the sight which greeted me when the massive oaken doors were unlocked with the great brass key, creaking loudly as they swung open. I recalled feeling overwhelmed that morning in the library at Windsor upon viewing so many gems. Nothing, though, readied me for the imposing opulence of the Jewel House. Laid about on tables, in casks, and on shelves were gemstones in staggering abundance, stacks of gold bullion, bricks of silver, and piles of gold, silver and enamelled plate. All lent an unearthly glow to the darkly panelled room. The sharp smell of rich metal filled my nostrils, and for some reason, we all felt it appropriate to speak in whispered tones.

  While I goggled at its entirety, Henry made a sweeping motion indicating a corner in which a massive pile of treasure had been set aside from the rest. Every item had been neatly catalogued by Thomas Cromwell, and the open ledger was on a lectern sitting atop an impressive desk.

  “This will be yours, Anne, to furnish your household when you become Queen,” he said. “New pieces will be smithed especially for you, to bear your own badge and devices. I hope you approve of what I have chosen for you.”

  As if on cue, Cromwell stepped smartly to the fore. Quickly he located the pages in the ledger which pertained to me. I scanned the list:

  A gilt cup with a cover, Spanish fashion, chased with “holines leaves,” with a tower on the top

  18 gilt trenchers of Flanders touch

  A cup with a cover, of Almain making, and on the pomell of the cover a man holding the King’s arms

  A pair of covered gilt basons; one chased wreathen, the other upright with beasts

  A round bason of silver for a chamber, and a silver pot with a lid

  Three goblets chased, feather fashion, having a boy bearing a shield with the King’s arms

  A pair of flagons with roses embossed upon the sides, with plaits in the midst, and therein the King’s arms

  A pair of gilt flagons or bottles with the arms of France

  Twelve gilt spoons with half knops at the end

  2 gilt cups of assay with the King’s arms in the bottom

  A great double cup, gilte arsed, of Almain making …

  …and the sequence of costly and sumptuous items went on and on. I could not possibly comprehend owning such a mountain of valuables. Though, apparently they were now officially mine. I had just become an extremely wealthy woman!

  Stepping out of the Jewel House and into the thin December sunshine, I squinted up at Cromwell.

  “Madame, would you kindly accompany me to the apartments being constructed for you? I have some questions I wish to ask you concerning the planning of the rooms.”

  “Of course, Master Thomas. Henry, will you be joining us?”

  “No, Anne. You and Thomas resolve whatever building questions he has. I plan to meet with Suffolk for a time. I’ll rejoin you later, and we will be rowed back to Greenwich.” With that, he tenderly kissed me goodbye before setting off in the direction of the Wakefield Tower.

  I caught Cromwell’s droll look as he witnessed Henry bidding me adieu.

  As soon as Henry was out of earshot, I turned to Cromwell. “Ah, Thomas! I see you find the King’s attachment to me entertaining,” I said, dangling a bit of bait to see if he would grasp it.

  “Quite the contrary, Madame,” came the quick and artful reply. “I sincerely could not be happier than to observe the love between you two. It does my heart good to know of His Majesty’s joy. And, to be honest, I am a bit envious.”

  “Is that so, Thomas?” I raised a brow and eyed him carefully. Although it was true he had become increasingly indispensable to Henry, still it was not to be forgotten that he was Wolsey’s right arm for a long while before the Cardinal’s death. I could not help but feel wary around him.

  “After I lost my wife five years ago, Madame, it has not been my good fortune to find another woman willing to put up with my penchant for work in service of King and country. My time and dedication, I have concluded, are best spent in Parliament and handling the King’s business, as opposed to my own.”

  “I am most sorry about your wife, Thomas,” I said, meaning it. “I know Henry does indeed value your ethic when it comes to work, and especially your efforts on behalf of issues which are critical to him.”

  I paused, wondering just how far to go in probing Cromwell’s philosophy and motives.

  “It is a comfort to me to know you are a believer in the King’s authority to rule, and to determine his course of action as he sees fit - a right bestowed upon him by God,” I offered.

  “I have been of that mind for a long while, Milady. As you might imagine, it did not behoove me to express such thoughts while in the employ of Cardinal Wolsey. I am, and always have been, an independent thinker, and even while assisting the Cardinal, I avidly read and was influenced by the treatise ‘Defensor Pacis’, by Marsilius of Padua. Have you read it? If not, I have a personal copy which I would be quite happy to loan you.”

  “Thank you, Thomas. I have read it, and found it to be clear and concise in its argument that there be only one ruling power in any kingdom, and no mortal has the right to interpret or dispense with divine law. Only the body of Christian people can do so. What a brave soul Marsilius was, to openly state what was complete heresy in 1324. Would you not agree?”

  “Absolutely, Madame Marquise. I believe that we are greatly obliged to thinkers and writers like Marsilius and Tyndale for providing the fodder needed to stimulate progress.”

  We walked across the common and arrived at the Queen’s Apartments which were connected to the great hall by a series of small chambers and corridors. Cromwell and I picked our way through the building materials and arrived at the suite of rooms which would be my privy apartments at the Tower. We conferred about the number of windows to be placed in each chamber, all of which would overlook the formal gardens. As we spoke, I studied Cromwell’s fleshy face. His lips were thin, perhaps from continuously pressing them together to hold back thoughts which were better left unspoken. His eyes were small but intelligent and keen, and not altogether cold or aloof. As I had noticed before, his manner of dress was understated, usually consisting of a black ensemble, covered by a black wool surcoat modestly trimmed in fur. His complete departure from the ostentation his former master displayed appealed to me. I liked how his expression flashed warmth and humour, though he never appeared to seek to entertain nor be the centre of attention.

  I decided I would give Master Cromwell a chance to prove me his worth.

  Of a late afternoon, Anne, Maggie and I were walking and conversing in the long gallery. We needed to stretch our legs, albeit indoors, after three days of continuous rain. Deep in discussion we suddenly broke off, rudely interrupted by a frenetic scrabbling on the polished wood floor behind us. Turning, mystified and not a little put out, we saw a tiny puppy, long ears flailing and sweeping the floor, rushing headlong toward us.

  “Where in heaven did this little creature come from?” I laughed, watching the pup work his way toward us with great determination.

  Anne stooped to scoop up the silky, tawny wagging ball of fur. At that moment, Lord Westmoreland followed around the corner and into view. “Sir, is he yours?” Maggie called out.

  “No, he is not, ladies.” With a respectful nod, he added, “It seems that he belongs to all of you!”

  My friends and I glanced at each other in confusion, then with a smile, he handed me a note on parchment, with the seal of Calais affixed. I opened it quickly and read the script written on
behalf of Honor, Lady Lisle, who thought this lovely little spaniel would be enjoyed by me and my ladies, and might be a companion to Jolie. The pup was a gift to me, Anne, Maggie, Bessie, and Elizabeth!

  We giggled with enchantment as Lord Westmoreland looked on. “He has been sent to you as a gift from the Lady Lisle, Mistresses. She thought you might all take pleasure in his frolics.”

  “We are certain to do just that,” I said. “And thank you most kindly, my Lord, for bringing him to us. Does he have a name?”

  “Not as yet, Madame. That is something you can decide upon.”

  As we talked, from his vantage point in Anne’s arms the little dog looked raptly from face to face. Each time he turned to watch one of us while we spoke, he tilted his little head as if to try and understand. When he gazed curiously at me, head askew, I looked right back and blurted “Pourquoi? Why?” It seemed exactly as if this is what he wanted to say.

  Maggie chuckled with delight. “That’s it, Anne! Little Purkoy! What a perfect name for him!”

  And so Purkoy he became, and loved nothing more than to snuggle on one of our laps whenever he could.

  Life at Court was nothing if not tumultuous that Christmas. It was a joyous time – perhaps the most celebrated season I remember. In contrast, though, anxiety was high, at least for Henry and me. It was all too apparent to Henry that he simply must bring the Great Matter to fruition, and rapidly. He and I lived fully as husband and wife, and we shared each other’s bedchamber almost nightly.

  The Great Hall at Greenwich was bedecked for the Christmas banquet, preparations for which, this year, I had overseen; thus it promised to be a grand and gorgeous affair. Gold and red were the colours I chose as the decorative theme throughout the palace. We wove holly and winterberry with ribands of gold and placed these arrangements around golden candlestands burning brightly, and the rooms and hallways simply glowed with a festive light. My ladies and I planned to repeat that theme in our dress for the evening; my gown being red satin with yards of gold tissue forming a train. I had planned excellent entertainments for the guests, with the best music, a skit to be performed by an acting troupe, dancing, and of course an elaborate menu full of the most pleasing dishes. The King had received a sizable delivery of oranges just ten days prior, so the master cook was engrossed in creating a pudding worthy of such a treat. Every member of the palace staff was excitedly busy as we anticipated a glorious Christmastide.