Jane Boleyn: The True Story of the Infamous Lady Rochford

by Julia Fox

  Cranmer, now appointed archbishop of Canterbury, could be relied upon to deliver the coup de grâce. A month after Easter, he wrote to Henry from Dunstable reporting that he had pronounced “sentence in your great and weighty matter.” After careful deliberation, he announced that Henry had never really been married to Katherine. Anne was, therefore, Henry’s legal wife.

  The Boleyns had won. Jane, who had been there from the very beginning of the great gamble, was there for its triumphant conclusion. It had never been a foregone conclusion. So much could have gone wrong, but after almost seven years of waiting and scheming, Jane’s sister-in-law really was on the verge of becoming queen. Their marriage might have been conducted secretly, but both Anne and Henry were resolved that her coronation would be in full public view. No expense would be spared to make it an occasion to remember. It would be Anne’s special day. And Jane would be with her every step of the way.

  A WOMAN OF IMPORTANCE

  CHAPTER 12

  Soaring with the Falcon

  WHEN SIR STEPHEN PEACOCK, a member of the Haberdashers’ Livery Company, became mayor of London, he could never have foreseen himself escorting a former lady of the court into his city to become queen of England. On the last Thursday morning of May 1533, however, that is what he prepared himself to do. He dressed with considerable care in his best scarlet robes, his chains of office shining around his neck and on his breast. All over the town, in so many of the comfortable timbered houses inhabited by wealthy merchants and aldermen, servants were helping their employers to do exactly the same. Everything had been arranged well in advance: oarsmen were waiting to row all the dignitaries in ostentatiously decorated vessels to Greenwich, where Anne would be waiting, and then conduct her respectfully to her recently refurbished apartments in the Tower. The planning had been punctilious: nothing could be allowed to go wrong.

  The royal palace of Greenwich, a few miles along the river Thames, was frantic with activity too as harassed attendants, most of whom had been up long before dawn, rushed around helping their masters and mistresses get ready. Since this was Anne’s first public state appearance outside the court, she wanted her husband’s subjects to see her at her most regal. Her ladies fastened her glittering jewels and assisted her into her dazzling gown of cloth of gold. Image mattered. She was to be accompanied on the journey by the leading figures of the land, including the Duke of Suffolk and the Earls of Derby, Worcester, and Sussex. George was not there. He had already left for France with the Duke of Norfolk to meet with Francis, the one ally Henry believed he could count on. Except for George’s absence, it was a family party. Thomas and Elizabeth Boleyn were all set to accompany their daughter and bask in her success. And so was Jane. As she had shared in the years of frustration and suspense, so she was to share in the victory. Indeed, although the letter is no longer extant, we know that she wrote to George to tell him all that he had missed.

  Anne and her ladies, together with most of the court, were to travel in their own private barges to the Tower. Anne’s had once belonged to Katherine but Henry had requisitioned it for her supplanter. Any markings on it that referred to the former queen had been removed, indecently so, according to Chapuys. He told Charles that when Katherine’s coat of arms had been taken off, they had been “rather shamefully mutilated.” Whether the barge would satisfy Anne, however, he remained unsure. “God grant she may content herself with the said barge and the jewels and the husband of the Queen,” he wrote only half ironically, “without attempting anything…against the persons of the Queen and Princess.” In fact, Anne and her family were only too conscious that the support both women continued to command could be dangerous. Katherine was particularly defiant. To Anne and Henry’s fury, she flouted the order to be addressed as princess dowager and, according to the Venetian ambassador, had her staff “arrayed entirely in new apparel, with letters signifying Henry and Katherine.” Clearly, something would have to be done. But not on that special Thursday.

  Lord Mayor Peacock and the rest of the entourage gathered at St. Mary Hill in the ward of Billingsgate so that they could embark at 1 p.m. onto their appointed boat. There were fifty ships altogether, embellished with the arms of the various trading guilds and flying pretty flags and pennants, all done “after the best fashion.” Minstrels, who sang to the accompaniment of musicians playing trumpets, sackbuts, flutes, and drums, were on board many of them. The procession was highly regimented and three easily maneuverable ships were assigned to ensure that the set order was maintained. Right at the front was a small vessel brimming with guns, which acted as a mock wafter.*9 There was a mechanical dragon that moved and belched fire on its decks. As an added touch of theatricality, the dragon was surrounded by men dressed as monsters or “wild men” who terrified the excited crowds with their savage screams and cries.

  The mayor’s boat came next with the renowned Bachelor’s Barge on his right. The latter’s fame was well deserved. Festooned with cloth of gold and with huge banners portraying the arms of both Henry and Anne, as well as the flags and emblems of the Haberdashers’ Livery Company, and with myriad tiny pennants on which hundreds of tinkling bells were attached, this barge really was an amazing sight. On Peacock’s left was another ship, one specially designed to flatter and please Anne. Her chosen device, a white falcon, based on the Ormond family crest, was its theme. This model falcon, though, was crowned. Probably made from a sort of papier mâché, it stood on a golden tree root from which red and white roses grew and was surrounded by young girls singing softly. More and more ships followed on, their colorful streamers fluttering in the wind and glinting in the sunlight, their image reflected in the ripples on the water. The companies faithfully obeyed the royal command to put on a wonderful display for Henry’s beloved.

  On each ship, the oarsmen rowed methodically and in unison, their oars sending up flecks of foam and spray on the sunlit waters of the river. These rowers too had their part to play in the celebrations marking Anne’s triumph. Once at Greenwich, they skillfully turned the vessels round so that they could all leave in reverse order, with the mayor at the front once again. Now it was Anne’s turn. With her most intimate attendants, she entered her barge, by now redesigned with her insignia and badges. Almost certainly, Jane was at her sister-in-law’s side, a favored confidante. Soon the “whole river was covered” with brightly painted boats and the air was filled with the sounds of minstrels and music. “He that saw it would not believe it,” or so the chronicler tells us. For those who lined the banks, keen to miss nothing, it was indeed a spectacle to remember, just as Henry hoped. So it was for Anne and her family. All those years of anxiety had been worthwhile.

  The journey back along the Thames took about half an hour. As the royal barge progressed toward the great walls of the Tower, on that day a welcoming rather than a fearsome sight, guns were fired in salute from craft waiting by the shore and then from the guns of the fortress itself. The noise was deafening. And then they were there. Anne, followed by Jane and her other ladies, stepped ashore. The first to greet Anne were Sir William Kingston, in his capacity as constable of the Tower, a man with whom she was to become familiar in less happy circumstances, and the lieutenant, Sir Edmund Walsingham. Then, after the lord chamberlain, Lord Sandys, had formally received her, an eager Henry came to meet her. He gently kissed her and she, mindful of her fresh rank, turned to thank the mayor and the other citizens courteously for the honor that they had given her. With the king, she entered the royal apartments, and the show was over. At least, it was over for the moment. There was still much more to come.

  Anne spent Thursday evening and Friday settling into her lodgings in the Tower and resting. She was, after all, almost six months’ pregnant by now and the next couple of days would demand all her reserves of stamina and strength. Henry, still scarcely able to leave her for an instant, was there as well. For Jane, it was a chance to see Anne’s beautifully appointed chambers for herself. She was not to know that the day would come when she woul
d look on those imposing rooms in a very different light. It was also a chance to catch up with her own family, for both her mother and her father had traveled to London for the festivities. As a peer, Lord Morley was required to be present at Westminster when Anne was crowned, but before that there was another ceremony of more personal relevance: Jane’s brother, Henry, was one of those young men chosen to be dubbed Knights of the Bath. Creating these new knights had been part of coronation ritual for over two hundred years. Indeed, George’s father had become a Knight of the Bath when Henry himself had been crowned, so, in a sense, a family tradition was being preserved. It is possible that Henry Parker would have been selected anyway, of course, but Jane’s influence cannot be discounted. Although now a full-fledged Boleyn, she had been schooled since childhood to appreciate her obligations to her wider family circle. Those soon to be knighted served the king water or a dish from the first course at dinner on Friday, so Jane watched as her brother performed his task. She knew what lay in store for him shortly afterward when the solemn age-old rites began.

  Henry Parker and the other seventeen young men were taken to the separate, curtained compartments provided for them in the White Tower, where they were counseled and cared for by experienced governors, squires, and existing knights, themselves considered expert in knightly deeds and chivalric values. Once the postulants reached their chambers, the governors called for the barbers to prepare individual baths, with pieces of soap wrapped in clean white linen cloths. Carpets were placed on the stone floor to alleviate the bitter cold of the night ahead. Then, after a barber had ceremonially cut young Parker’s hair and shaved his beard, his governor, like those serving the other young men, went to ask the king for permission to proceed with the bath itself. The governors returned to their charges accompanied by squires of the household and the song of minstrels. The music faded away and there was silence. Jane’s naked brother lowered himself into the bath where he took the oath of knighthood. After his special knight had taken some of the water in his hand and gently poured it on Parker’s shoulder, the young man stepped out of the bath and lay in his bed to dry. Squires rushed forward to dress him warmly and drape a coarse black cloak with long sleeves and a hood, such as those worn by hermits, around him. A long vigil lay ahead.

  To the soft melodies of the musicians, his way lit by the flickering flames of tapers, Parker joined his fellow postulants as they walked slowly into the cold, stone chapel to spend the hours of darkness in prayer and meditation. As dawn broke, they confessed their sins and participated in the sacred Mass, removing their hoods briefly at the elevation of the host. Before taking the sacrament, they offered tapers, each of which had a small coin fastened to it, to the worship of God and in thanks to the king. Probably stiff with cold, they were led back to their beds for a few welcome hours of sleep.

  Parker was awakened early and, with minstrels singing quietly in the background, was ceremonially dressed again by his squires. This was a slow process, as precedent dictated every move they made. They put on his shirt, breeches, doublet, gown, black silk hose (which had built-in shoes with leather soles), sleeves, white leather girdle, red mantle, and white gloves before taking him to where his horse was ready. Even the horse’s trappings were predetermined by ancient ritual. Preceded by his squire carrying his spurs and sword, Parker rode to the door of the room in which Henry was waiting. He dismounted and walked toward his king. The knights who had acted as his counselors fastened his spurs on his ankles, while Henry buckled the sword around Parker’s waist and smote the side of his neck. “Be ye good knight,” the king ordered and then kissed him. Henry dined, while the new knights sat silently. Finally, after further prayers and, at last, refreshing food, Parker was arrayed in a dark blue robe. He was now Sir Henry Parker indeed. For Jane’s family, this was a very proud moment, but it was also one in which the benefits of royal favor were openly revealed.

  It is unlikely that Jane actually saw her brother’s few minutes of glory. She was far too busy preparing to enter the limelight again herself: later on that Saturday, Anne was to be formally taken from the Tower, through the decorated streets to Westminster, and Jane was to go with her. The lord mayor, Sir Stephen Peacock, had another busy day, for like the river pageant, this journey was minutely organized and arranged according to tradition and prescribed protocol. Visitors had been arriving over the past few days, so the always bustling city was incredibly crowded. Indeed, as far as Henry’s more influential subjects were concerned, it was wise to take the trouble to come, for the king demanded their attendance. Occasionally, Cromwell listened to and allowed excuses. One of those was from Sir William Courtenay who, in considerable pain after falling from his horse, could not face the long and arduous journey to London so prudently wrote to the minister to explain his plight, knowing the risk of incurring Henry’s displeasure on this most sensitive of issues.

  The formalities concerned with the investiture completed, the procession started from the Tower in the late afternoon. Peacock, wearing crimson velvet, and with two footmen in red and white damask at his back, arrived to give the signal to begin. He was as sure as he could be that all was in order. It had taken hours to get the roads graveled to prevent the horses slipping, to hang the streets with velvet and cloth of gold, and to shepherd the officials to their designated places behind specially erected railings. There were hordes of ordinary citizens too, leaning out of windows along the route or pushing their way to the front of the thronged streets hoping to get the best possible view of the new queen. Unpopular as Anne generally was, people were curious to see for themselves exactly what the woman who had bewitched their king really looked like. Since she was part of her sister-in-law’s train, Jane would have been gawped at too.

  Twelve French gentlemen in the service of the French ambassador were in the vanguard of the parade. In blue velvet, with yellow and blue sleeves, and mounted on horses draped with blue on which the white crosses of France were clearly visible, they looked superb. The spectators could only watch in wonder as the Frenchmen were followed by a long line of scarlet-robed judges, barons, important churchmen, earls, and marquesses. Jane’s family were well represented, for Lord Morley rode only a few hundred yards behind his son, now dressed in his knight’s pristine blue gown with its furred hood. Archbishop Cranmer, who was to perform his sacred duties in the Abbey next day, was there, along with Edward Lee of York, and theirs were not the only famous faces for the crowd to peer at. The Duke of Suffolk, resplendent as ever and constable for the day, rode with William Howard, deputizing as earl marshal for his brother, the Duke of Norfolk, who was still in France with George Boleyn.

  And then it was time for everyone to catch a glimpse of the woman they had all been straining to see. Preceded on foot by some of her servants, Anne appeared in her litter.*10 Quite simply, she shone. Her litter was covered in silver cloth of gold; the horses who drew it were swathed in silver damask. She was shielded by an embroidered silk canopy fringed with gold thread supported on gilded staves with silver bells, carried by four lords in scarlet robes. Anne herself was a vision in white cloth of gold, with a similar cloak and a jeweled circlet gleaming on her beautiful dark hair, which cascaded freely about her shoulders.

  Then, after Anne’s chamberlain, Lord Burgh, and her master of the horse, William Coffin, who led her spare horse, which was also enveloped in fine cloth of gold, came Jane. She looked stunning, a tribute to the dressmakers’ skills and the services of her own maidservants. She rode almost immediately behind Anne, her prominent place, even before Anne’s own sister and far above that to which her rank entitled her, proving her close relationship with the new queen. She rode sidesaddle with six other ladies, including Norfolk’s daughter, Lady Mary Howard, and the Countesses of Derby, Worcester, and Sussex. Her gown was sumptuous. Twelve yards of crimson velvet had been provided for each woman, along with one and a quarter yards of red cloth of gold for a border. Although Jane was accustomed to the opulence of the court by now and to the fancy mas
king costumes she enjoyed wearing, she had never had a dress like this. Nor had she ever been involved in so phenomenal an event. The watching crowds, packed behind barriers, were not the only ones who would remember this day.

  Two chariots came next. The Dowager Duchess of Norfolk was seated beside the widow of the Marquess of Dorset in the first, and Anne’s mother, with two countesses, sat in the second. Like the first group, they were allocated twelve yards of scarlet for their robes, much more than any of the other ladies who followed their new queen. After twelve ladies on horseback came a third chariot with six passengers. This completed the family party, for sitting with Lady Fitzwarren and Mistresses Mary Zouche and Margery Horsman were Mary Carey, Jane’s mother, and Lady Boleyn. They, however, were allowed a mere seven yards of scarlet for their gowns. Jane really did have a place of honor and esteem on that day.

  And still the cavalcade continued. The pretty and unmarried Madge Shelton and Kate Ashley, who would one day serve Anne’s daughter, were in the next chariot, and all of the ladies’ female servants, sporting their red liveries, rode behind them. Anne’s guard brought up the rear as the procession wound its way through the streets toward Westminster. But it all took some time since in response to Henry’s demands, the city dignitaries had prepared a series of pageants for Anne and her retinue to enjoy on the way.