on one side of him, I on the other.
He was beaming, well content.
He liked my stepmother's awe of him and her anxiety that the food should be well served and to his liking. He kept reassuring her that he had rarely enjoyed a meal so much.
Then he turned to me as though to say that it was my presence that made his pleasure.
Later I sang and played the lute and he and I sang a duet.
It must have been rarely that he spent an evening without all the pomp and ceremony to which he was accustomed; but it was quite clear to everyone that he was pleased and happy.
When I retired to my room, I found sleep impossible. I had a terrible fear that in spite of my comments on chivalry he might come to me. But he did not.
I rose early in the morning. I had expected that by the light of day I should see the absurdity of what he had suggested and realize it was just empty talk to get access to my bed. But instead it seemed to me that there was a faint possibility that it could come to pass. I had made up my mind that I was going to accept him. I would let him know that if he were free I would be his wife.
Now it began to look like an exciting adventure.
He was eagerly waiting to see me.
He looked at me yearningly. Surely he loved me. He could not have been so restrained if he had not. Again I felt that tenderness toward him. I thought I could be quite fond of him; and a woman would be a fool to turn her back on such a glittering proposal.
He said: “Have you aught to say to me, Anne?”
I took the ring from my finger and gave it to him. I felt happy to see the joy which suffused his face. He closed his eyes as if in an ecstasy. I thought: He really does love me. And I experienced something more than gratification. I felt happy.
The ring was a tight fit on his little finger. Then he took off one of his rings and placed it on the middle finger of my left hand. It was too big for any other.
“Now we have plighted our troth,” he said, “and I am happy. Soon you and I will be together. I shall lose no time in bringing this about. You will soon come back to Court.”
I said that I was so overwhelmed that I needed a little time in the quiet of the country to think about what had happened.
He kissed me tenderly.
“It shall be as you wish, sweetheart,” he said. “Now and forever.”
I waved him farewell as he rode away from Hever.
I was still bemused. The prospect which had been put before me did seem incredible…almost… but not entirely so. Why should it not work out as he had said? It was true he had married his brother's wife, and divorces were granted on flimsier pretexts. So much would depend on the new Pope Clement and whom he would consider it more dangerous to offend—the Emperor or the King. And Wolsey? What would he be thinking when he knew of this proposal that a “foolish girl” was to mate with the King?
It could never happen. There were too many obstacles. I had given him my ring and he had gone away happy and confident. But could it be possible?
I was dreadfully uncertain. I could not talk to my stepmother. I was not sure what her reaction would be. She would certainly be sorry for the Queen who must be set aside if I were to take her place; but perhaps, because she loved me, she would be proud to think of me—Anne, her stepdaughter—Queen of England. Would she understand the pitfalls?
I felt as though I had set out to sea in a flimsy craft, and I wanted the King to know that I was aware of the dangerous course. I asked the jeweler to make an ornament of gold and diamonds, depicting a woman in a frail craft on a stormy sea.
I was very pleased when George came to Hever for a few days. He knew that something was afoot. He had noticed the King select me for the dance when the French ambassadors were being entertained and he would naturally presume that I was about to become the King's mistress.
He came straight to the point and said that it seemed to him that the Boleyn fortunes looked bright.
When I told him that the King had hinted at breaking up his marriage to the Queen and setting me in her place, he was astounded.
“Even the King would not dare to do that.”
“That is what I think.”
“If the Queen came from a noble English family…well, it would be as good as done. But the Emperor's aunt! He would consider it an insult and would do anything to prevent it.”
“The King says he is determined. He says that his conscience is disturbed because he married his brother's widow.”
George raised his eyebrows. “The King has a conscience, I know. Strictly between ourselves, it is a most accommodating conscience, one of his most loyal subjects and always ready to act at his command.”
I laughed. “Oh George, you will have to guard your tongue, you know.”
“You mean in the presence of our gracious Queen-to-be?”
“Don't joke. It alarms me. And I cannot believe it will ever come to pass.”
“Miracles happen, and if anyone other than God can create them, it is our powerful King. He would have to get the Pope on his side.”
“Do you think he could do that?”
“Clement is no Leo. He wavers… unable to make up his mind which way it is wise to jump. So much will depend on which one he fears more… the King or the Emperor. Popes have, of course, always been ready to give dispensations to monarchs. When you look back, you see so many cases. The King's own sister, Margaret, was divorced from the Earl of Angus on account of a pre-contract. And there was Suffolk…Not royal it's true but he could not marry his first wife without a dispensation from the Pope…and now he is the King's brother-in-law. You see, it can be done. The only obstacle, it would seem, is the Queen's relationship with the Emperor.”
“He quotes Leviticus.”
“Yes,” said George. “‘ If a man taketh his brother's wife, it is an impurity; he hath uncovered his brother's nakedness; they shall be childless…’ or something like that.”
“It fits,” I said.
“Yes, but the marriage with Arthur was never consummated. Arthur was very young and moreover sickly. He must have been on the point of death when he married.”
“George…if it should come to pass…”
“I shall enjoy seeing my sister Queen of England.”
“I cannot believe it could be possible.”
George looked at me quizzically. “More extraordinary things have happened. And I will say that you are worthy to wear a crown.”
“You think so because I am your sister.”
“I think so because you are yourself.”
I put out my hand and he took it.
“George,” I said, “whatever happens… always be there.”
He nodded, and it was like a pact between us.
* * *
The jeweler had completed the ornament. It was very beautifully wrought and clearly portrayed what I had intended.
I sent it to the King with a note telling him that I was like the storm-tossed lady in the boat.
He wrote immediately, telling me how delighted he was to have such a gift from me. He thought it beautiful and he thanked me cordially. He took it as an expression of my humility because the lady in the boat was meant to be myself. He said he would outdo me in loyalty of heart and the desire to please. He prayed daily that his prayers would be answered and that the time before we could be together would be brief. The letter was “written by the hand of the one who in heart and body and will is your loyal and most assured servant,” and it was signed “H seeks A.B. no other. R.” And around my initials he had drawn a heart.
I was very uncertain. I wanted to go to Court but I knew my presence there might make difficulties while the delicate procedure was going on.
The King was urging me to go back, so I decided I would, and return if I found the situation becoming difficult for me, which it well might. I did not know how he intended to proceed, but all now knew of his feelings for me. And there was another matter which was imperative. I should have to hold off his impo
rtunings, and now that I had given him my ring and sent him the ornament, thereby proclaiming my willingness to accept him, they could become more persistent.
But I could—in desperation—always return to Hever.
When I reached the Court, I was aware of the different attitude toward me. It was difficult for the King to take any action without someone's being aware of it, and it was known that he had visited Hever unannounced. There could be only one reason for that.
Many of them thought I was the King's mistress. They would not have believed that any woman could hold out against him and keep his attention. I often wondered whether I should be able to do this because, although I confess to having been dazzled by the prospect of a crown, I had always realized how difficult it would be to come by; and always at the back of my mind was the thought that it might be better if the whole thing were forgotten; this brought out an indifference in me which enabled me to keep my dignity and helped me to hold back. It was probably that quality in me which had enslaved the King. He had been used to surrenders—as in the case of Mary—and he had come to suspect that in his case the hunt was over almost before it began. That I was not ready to give way, set me apart and made the chase more exciting.
When I returned, a certain feverish excitement gripped me, but while I secretly enjoyed the power my position gave me, I had an uneasy feeling that there was something essentially ephemeral about the entire situation.
I was at the center of the gaiety of the Court. Already people were gathering around me. My cousin Surrey, George, of course, Thomas Wyatt, Francis Bryan, Weston… all the wits and most lively and interesting of the men. Naturally the King wanted to be with such.
He was amazingly patient and although it was his most urgent desire that I should share his bed, he liked to think of himself as a religious man, and such a one must not only respect my virtue but applaud it. I believe, as much as he desired me, he wanted me to remain virginal because he felt that was right in God's eyes. He was very preoccupied with God during this time, and I felt that helped me to evade the issue for which he so desperately longed. He was really asking God to come to his aid for now he had convinced himself that the Almighty was showing his disapproval of the marriage to Katharine by telling him—in the usual mysterious way—that he would never get sons while he was a partner in an incestuous marriage.
He cherished this thought. It soothed his conscience, and it enabled him to enjoy the entertainments and the company of the band of wits.
Thomas Wyatt caused me certain anxiety. He was jealous of my relationship with the King. Thomas had never been discreet. He was married, it was true, and therefore he could not marry me, but the King was married also. It might have been that, now everyone knew of the King's devotion to me, they could not believe that I was not his mistress. Thomas had ideas that, when my affair with the King was over, I would turn to him.
There was an unfortunate incident which I heard of through Francis Bryan, who hastened to tell me as soon as it took place.
The King had, of course, noticed Thomas Wyatt's feelings for me, and this did not please him. Wyatt was as tall as the King, and very handsome indeed with his blond looks and nonchalant charm. He had a dignity which, at times, I feared might be his undoing, for he often sacrificed subservience to wit. He was too clever to do anything of which the King could complain, but he came very near to it. He would often imply a lack of appreciation for the King's poetry, and there had been occasions when he had come near to giving offense.
But Henry was a strange mixture. He truly loved poetry and therefore appreciated Wyatt's; he liked good-looking people about him and he enjoyed wit. There were two natures battling for supremacy in Henry; I knew that much—even then, but I was to learn more of him later.
On this occasion Henry was playing bowls with Wyatt, the Duke of Suffolk—who was back at Court with his wife, the King's sister, who had once been my mistress—and Sir Francis Bryan.
There arose a little dispute between the King and Wyatt. Any but Wyatt would have glossed over the matter and accepted the King's opinions. The King had said that his bowl had passed that of Wyatt.
Wyatt protested. The King was not annoyed at this stage. He liked to talk in parables and always had done. He was very proud of the ring I had given him, and he probably wanted to stress to Wyatt that he was the successful suitor.
Displaying the ring which I had worn often and which was well known to Thomas, he ostentatiously pointed to the bowl with his hand in such a way as to call attention to the ring.
“I tell thee, Wyatt,” he said, “it is mine.”
Francis told me that Wyatt looked mildly crestfallen but only for a few seconds. Then he felt in his pocket and brought out the jeweled tablet. “I knew at once that it was one of yours,” he said. “I have seen it often. Moreover it had your initials on it.”
“I remember it well,” I said.
“What do you think Wyatt said? ‘If Your Grace will give me leave, I will measure the cast with this. I have good hopes that it may yet be mine.’”
“The fool!” I cried.
“Fool indeed, but you know Wyatt.”
“And what said the King?”
“He was very put out. He could not take his eyes from the tablet. Then he said sharply, ‘It may be so, but then I am deceived.’ The players knew not which way to look. I thought Wyatt would be sent to the Tower. He just stood there. Picture him looking pleased with himself, turning the tablet over and over in his hand and gazing at it with fond absorption. The King said, ‘The game is over.’ Then he strode away.”
I felt deeply apprehensive. He could not believe that Wyatt was my lover! But he would know that we had seen a good deal of each other all through our lives and that there was a close friendship between the two families. I wondered what action he would take.
It was not long before I discovered. A messenger came to me. The King commanded me to go to him at once. That sounded ominous.
I was taken to him almost like a prisoner. When we were alone, he said: “Anne, is Wyatt your lover?”
“I believe he has some affection for me.”
He came to me and took me by the shoulders. He shook me. I drew myself up haughtily. “Your Grace, I do not know what I have done to merit such treatment.”
I saw the fondness come into his eyes, and I marveled at my power over him.
He told me what had happened on the green. I was glad that Francis had warned me so that I was prepared.
“He had your tablet. I know it was yours. I have seen it about your person. He suggested that you were his.”
“Your Grace, I am no man's.”
“The tablet…”
“He snatched it from me when the link of the chain which held it was broken. I demanded that he give it back to me and he refused to do so.”
His mouth slackened. He was believing me. I was touched because I could see that he so desperately wanted to believe.
“And he has never been your lover?”
“I have told Your Grace that I have never been any man's mistress and I never will be.”
“Then all is well, sweetheart. And I am happy.”
He took my hand and kissed it.
“This waiting is intolerable,” he went on. “But soon now … soon.”
The incident was not over.
George told me that the King had suggested that Thomas Wyatt should retire from the Court for a while.
This Wyatt did. I heard that in leaving the Court he had met Sir John Russell, who was an ambassador at the Papal Court. Russell was on the point of returning to Rome, and Wyatt said in a characteristically impulsive manner: “Suppose I accompanied you? I could get the King's leave, for I do not think he is in the mood to deny it. Can you delay your journey for a few hours?”
Russell was delighted to have such entertaining company, and the King readily gave his permission.
So after that fracas on the green, Thomas Wyatt retired from the Court and went off to Rome wi
th Sir John Russell.
* * *
Henry had certainly decided there should be no more delay. He told me gleefully that Wolsey believed that, as Papal Legate, he could give the divorce, and all that would be needed would be the Pope's endorsement.
“Therefore, sweetheart,” said Henry, “you may set your fears at rest. The Emperor will know nothing of what is happening until it is too late for him to do anything about it.”
Then he went on to tell me what he proposed.
“Wolsey is a past master in diplomacy. There are few problems that man cannot solve. And he is giving his full attention to this matter. There is to be a meeting at York Place between myself and the clergy.” He gave a little grin of amusement. “I… I am to be summoned to appear before them. Wolsey will preside and Warham will be there.”
I eagerly awaited the outcome of that meeting. It was to be conducted with great secrecy insomuch as the people were not to know what was taking place.
The King arrived by barge at the York Place privy steps and with him were Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury, and several lawyers.
I did not greatly fear Warham, for I guessed he would go which way the King wanted him to. He had held his archbishopric since the early years of the century; he was a tired old man and no doubt longing to escape from his duties. Wolsey had, so the King told me, referred to him as “an old fool.” It seemed likely that he would raise no objections.
There were of course the lawyers and Wolsey himself. But I knew that none of these men would have entertained for a moment the thought that the King could possibly be thinking of marrying me. They would all be of the opinion that it was simply because of Katharine's inability to provide a male heir that she was being replaced, and they would be assuming that, when the divorce was completed, Henry would marry some princess—almost certainly Queen Claude's sister, Renée—as we were on such friendly terms with the French.
If any of them had known that the King wanted a divorce in order to marry me, their reactions would be very different. Of course I was not foolish enough to expect the King to tell them the truth. They must believe that all this had been set in motion because the Bishop of Tarbes had raised the question of Mary's legitimacy, and Henry felt the need to sift the matter in order to get at the truth. So the ecclesiastical court which was to assemble in York Place at the command of Wolsey must not know of the King's infatuation for me and my refusal to be anything but his wife.
The Lady in the Tower Page 24