“I want an annulment,” she said.
“My Lady,” said the man. “I can understand your feelings, but do you have grounds? It is a pity that the disrespect you have suffered is not a valid reason, but that is the law. Once married, you are married for life. Those God has joined together...”
“Stop,” Mary said, holding up her hand. “I have grounds. My husband had made a previous contract of marriage with Mistress Anne Boleyn. He was not free to marry me.”
The lawyer drew a sharp breath.
“If that were true,” he said, “it would also mean that she is not free to marry the King and everyone knows that is why he is intent on divorcing the Queen. Can you imagine his anger, should he learn of this previous contract? He might even find some charge of treason to bring against Lord Percy, just to have him out of the way.”
“I know that,” she said coldly. “But whether or not it pleases the King, it is the truth. We are not lawfully married and I want an annulment on those grounds.”
“But Lord Percy’s life would be in jeopardy.”
“I suppose so,” she said. “I hope you do not expect me to care what happens to him. Begin proceedings, please.”
“Do you know who stood as witness to this contract? It would help.”
Mary’s mouth twisted thoughtfully.
“No, I do not. It was some snot nosed little sycophant who overheard them. Wolsey would have known his name, but tis too late to ask him. Begin proceedings and we will see where they lead.”
When he had gone, Mary’s heart skipped a beat. He was right that it was a dangerous thing to do, to accuse Anne Boleyn, the King’s obsession, but she had every right to bring this action if she chose. She had not seen Harry since the birth of her child, when they agreed never to see each other again. They had no marriage, so why should she not obtain her freedom? Anne Boleyn; Mistress Anne Boleyn – the woman was not even of the nobility, not really. The King’s recent award of Marquess of Pembroke meant nothing.
Harry Percy was just recovering from one of his many illness when he received the petition for an annulment from Mary, citing his pre-contract with Anne Boleyn.
This was the first day he had been out of bed for a week and he was feeling weak and not inclined to deal with something so grave.
Why Mary had waited all these years to take this step, he could not imagine. Perhaps she had never thought of it before, perhaps she had harboured a hope that their marriage could be salvaged and now realised it was a lost cause. She must know this was not a wise step.
He perused the document carefully, noting that she had no evidence but her word. It was no secret that he and Anne betrothed themselves, but one could hardly call it a contract of marriage, not without witnesses.
He wished it could. There was nothing he would like better than for it to be proven he had contracted a marriage with Anne; that would mean his freedom and hers and they might even be able to rekindle what they once had and be together. But, no; the King would never allow them to be happy.
He smiled, a little remorseful smile as these thoughts raced through his head. He had heard nothing from Anne since that last letter, telling him it would be too dangerous to keep in contact. It was possible she did actually love the King by now; he had certainly done everything within his power to persuade her, scandalising Christendom by trying to divorce his wife, elevating the Boleyn family with honours and titles. Who knew what else he had planned? Harry thought Anne would resist even all that, but he could be wrong.
He could not allow Mary to endanger Anne. If it were proved there was a pre-contract, after everything that King Henry had done, and she had never told the King of it, she would be condemned in his eyes. And it was no secret what became of those who fell from favour.
He had to stop Mary, at all costs, even if it meant taking her back and trying to rebuild a marriage that was never much of a marriage to begin with.
THE KING CAME TO ANNE’S chamber as soon as he received word of the Countess of Northumberland’s petition. He was angry, that was apparent, angry enough to charge all three of them, Harry, Mary and Anne, with treason.
He waved a heavy piece of parchment in her face, his voice rising with every word.
“What is this?” he demanded. “Who is this woman to accuse you? Or, are you going to tell me you have been lying to me all this time, that you are not free to marry me?”
As you are not free to marry me.
She caught his hand and kissed it. Appeasement was what was needed now. He was about to set up his own church, with himself as the head; she wanted nothing to interfere with that. To be rid of the Pope was worth any sacrifice.
“Let me order an enquiry, Your Grace,” she said. “You know it is true that I was betrothed to Lord Percy, but there was no pre-contract, no witnesses to our tryst. I swear it.”
He studied her carefully for a little while, then a smile forced its way onto his mouth.
“Very well,” he said. “We will quash this before it ruins our plans.”
Our plans.
“We will.”
“I will tell Lady Northumberland myself that she should withdraw her petition and quickly. I am to have a new queen, before the year is out. Cranmer will get me my divorce, I know he will.”
When he left, she sat down to write to both Lord and Lady Northumberland, asking them to provide proof of the allegation in the form of the names of witnesses to the so-called pre-contract. It was but a week later that Mary Percy withdrew her petition.
IT MADE NO DIFFERENCE what Anne said, how much she protested, she was the manipulative woman who had slighted Queen Katherine and enchanted their King. And since everyone saw her as that, and there was no way out, she decided she might as well go along with it.
All she could do now was work alongside him to complete the break with Rome and hope to give him a son. If she must marry him, she would do so, but what would become of her if, like Katherine, she failed to provide an heir?
It was not only his mighty ego which demanded a male heir, it was the newborn Tudor dynasty that desperately needed one. Anne would do all she could to make this year the one that provided Henry with his divorce and a new queen.
CHAPTER TEN
Another Useless Girl
NOVEMBER 1532, ALMOST Yuletide. No divorce had yet been achieved and Henry had reached the end of his tether. He had forsaken all others the moment he set eyes on Anne and now his yearning for her was making him half crazed with desire.
“I am the head of the church,” he told her. “I am a free man. Katherine was never really my wife, therefore I was never married and I am free to marry you. We will do it in secret, it will be done before anyone knows differently.”
She turned to him with a frown. Her first thought was that this was some sort of trick to finally get his own way.
“A marriage while you are still officially wed to Katherine,” she said, “might get you into my bed and then what? You can tell the world you were never really married to me, because you were still wed to her.”
“No, Anne, no,” he said. “That is not what this is. I consider myself a single man. I want you, yes, I want you desperately, but this is no trick, my love. We will marry, as soon as can be done, and you will be my wife.”
“If that be the case, why the secrecy?”
“You know how people will talk. You know how many are still devoted to the Dowager Princess.” He leaned closer and kissed her gently. “It has to be this way.”
“I am not sure.”
“Do you not want this as much as I?”
No! Her mind screamed out, but she dared not voice the thought. He had gone this far, farther than she ever expected and farther than he ever intended. How he realised how much more power he would have by becoming head of the church, power and wealth, nothing would stop him.
She could scarce believe it. He was really going to do this, to marry her while still married to Katherine. But he was right; he was the only authority that matte
red.
So she prepared for the one thing she had tried to avoid all these years. She still did not quite trust this wedding ceremony he had arranged, and in secret, yet she had little choice other than to comply with it. The night that followed was her main concern.
She had wanted to go to her marriage bed a virgin and she would have her wish, but sharing her bed with Henry? She had known for years that he would have his own way eventually and now she swallowed her fear and made her way to the altar, where her royal bridegroom waited patiently, looking more resplendent than ever.
And as she made her slow way toward him, it occurred to her that this was the end of any hope she might have harboured that he would one day release her, one day grow tired of lusting after her. Now all she could do was concede to everything he wanted and pray he would not one day turn on her as he had Katherine.
She knew a deep dread that her prayer would go unanswered. While the pair knelt on the stone floor and prayed, Anne’s prayer was for her own salvation.
THE CHRISTMAS FESTIVITIES of 1532 were unsettling to Anne. She sat beside her husband to oversee the banquet, the music, the acrobats and mummers, all the time knowing that not one person present knew that she was now the King’s wife. The King’s wife but not his Queen, not yet, not until the people of England knew about the marriage and more importantly, accepted it. Anne doubted she would ever see that day.
She deeply felt the loss of her maidenhead. She had hoped to give it to a man who was at least selfless, who knew how to excite a woman. So far, she had been disappointed, but if Henry ever knew of that, her life would be in jeopardy.
A man so vain, so egotistical, so sure of his own righteousness, had no business being so powerful.
So she smiled, she danced, she sang. She sang with the King some of the songs he had written himself, listened as he sang those songs he had written for her. They were not terrible, but she had heard better.
Her friend, Thomas Wyatt, wrote much better songs and poems, and even her brother George had a more tuneful voice. But her thoughts were her own.
“Wonderful, Your Grace,” said the courtiers, and Anne joined in with her own praise. “I thank Your Grace for such beauty to mine ears.”
All lies, but the truth could be deadly.
After twelfth night, she hoped for some respite when she realised she was with child.
Henry could not have been more delighted.
“A child?” he said in a voice full of wonder. He placed his hand gently on her stomach, his smile infectious, enough to bring a smile to her own lips. “When, my love? When will he come?”
He.
“Later this year, Sire,” she said. “Likely August or September, but be prepared, please.”
“For what?”
“If you love me, be prepared for it not being the son you want.”
He pulled her into his arms, held her so tightly she fought to breathe, then kissed the top of her head.
“You silly goose,” he said. “Of course you will give me a son.”
“Why are you so sure? I have no control over such a thing.”
“But our union is blessed,” he said. “God told me where I was going wrong, living in sin with my brother’s widow. He brought you to me, do you not see that?”
No, she most certainly did not see that.
“It is the reason I waited all these years, Anne,” he said, “because God was telling me that was the way. It will be a son, trust me. We shan’t call him Henry. I had a son called Henry and he died. I do not think we should use his name for our son, do you?”
She shook her head, but made no reply. He would hardly have noticed if she had, he was so exalted with the possibility of an heir at last.
Baby Henry was the only boy child Katherine had produced who had survived, if only for some seven weeks. Then there was that other Henry, his son by Bessie Blount, created Duke of Richmond and made much of.
The King really believed that God had sent her, Anne, to him. In his eyes, to argue with that would be to argue with God.
“We will have another wedding ceremony,” he said. “A proper one this time, then we will have Cranmer be sure to declare my liaison with Katherine no marriage.” He placed his hand on her stomach once more. “There will be no doubt about this child’s place in the succession.”
Anne hoped he would be a better father to her child than he had been to Katherine’s. Mary was still banished from court, still kept from her mother, still without a plan for her future.
THE CORONATION WAS an ordeal. Anne had looked forward to it, now that she was officially married to the King and had people bowing to her, calling her ‘Your Majesty’; this crowning would be the seal to make the people believe the King had finally salved his fragile conscience.
She rode in a carriage, dressed in purple velvet trimmed with ermine, but no cheer went up when first she appeared before her new subjects. She was nervous, knowing the lies that had been told about her, and the silence only served to increase that apprehension.
The velvet and ermine was heavy in the June sunlight and her nervousness made the perspiration begin to spread. She kept her eyes firmly fixed in front of her, tried to appear as regal as possible, but what she really wanted to do was turn around and run back to the Tower where she had spent the night in the royal apartments.
Then she heard a single cheer and her eyes followed the sound hopefully. It was followed by a few more cheers, but not as many as she would have liked. She had no way of knowing if the cheering was spontaneous or the result of threats from the King’s soldiers.
It helped that she was obviously with child. The people wanted an heir as much as their King, and the cheering grew louder, but there were also a lot of sullen faces.
The weather was hot and the canopy over her head could not shade her from the sun. Her heavy and elaborate clothing clung to her and she felt the perspiration gathering in little beads on her neck and forehead.
The child within her womb refused to be still. It was almost as if it knew what was happening and was demanding its part in the celebrations. It was a gruelling day, but worth it when the crown was placed upon her head and she was declared Queen Anne.
The past was over, the years of warding off Henry’s advances, the years of hoping he would give up and release her. There was nothing to do now save go forward, look to a future she had never imagined or wanted. But she could not help but wonder what Harry Percy would think of her now.
She hoped he would understand that this was not her choice, that she could do nothing to stop it. Her life had become like a runaway coach with no one at the reins to slow it down, much less stop its headlong rush to an unknown destiny.
Henry had accepted without question that, while she carried his child, she would keep her bed to herself. He wanted nothing to risk the health and safety of this precious cargo, but Anne was sure he was not going without his comfort. She did not know who, but she was sure there was someone.
She recalled how she had watched Katherine suffer betrayal at the hands of this man with his mistresses and she recalled as well how she had sworn that would never happen to her. But without knowing for certain, there was little she could do.
Henry seemed content to give up their intimacy, which made her wonder if he had finally given up his obsession with her. She knew it would happen; once he had what he wanted, he would no longer want it. She would not be made a fool of; she demanded fidelity from her husband, but if his ardour had faded, it became the most important thing in the world to give Henry a healthy, living son and heir.
TRAVELLING WAS AN ARDUOUS ordeal for Lord Percy, Earl of Northumberland, one he would go to any lengths to avoid, but the need to witness this coronation was compelling. If he started out early enough, he could have many stops, lengthy stops that might be enough to soothe him.
It started in January, when news reached him of the marriage of the King to Anne, to his Anne. He would always think of her as his Anne, no matter what had come si
nce, and now she was the Queen of England and must be crowned. King Henry had not gone to all this trouble, caused all this upheaval, only to leave her uncrowned. He would want to establish her as Queen of England, would want to convince his subjects that he was, as always, right.
So Harry set out in February, when recent snow was thawing and the hedgerows were icy. He took his most comfortable coach, but one that had no markings. He had no wish for anyone to know he was in London, least of all the King. Such knowledge could put Anne in danger, if he believed she had invited her former love.
With extra money for a small attic chamber that was disused and had not been cleaned in years, Harry managed to secure a good view of the procession that was also anonymous. It was close enough to see Anne’s face, to see whether she looked happy, but not close enough that she could see him. She would never know that he was there, that he had witnessed this triumphant moment in the King’s great plan.
It had been so long, so very long since his had looked upon that precious face, that as she passed, all he wanted was to reach out, touch her, kiss her sweet lips.
She smiled, she waved, but Harry did not believe she was happy. That might be him telling himself she was as miserable as he was to be kept apart from each other, he knew that, but still he thought she looked more frightened than pleased.
She was with child. That was apparent and it was common knowledge that the King had had his way eventually. It was rumoured that they married in secret before Christmas, and that seemed likely if she were with child now. She would not have given in without marriage, just as she always maintained.
The silence of the crowd seemed to deafen him, as though it were the loudest noise. No one was cheering, not one single person and he could not allow that. He drew a breath, cleared his throat and let out a loud exclamation.
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