The Most Happy

by Helen R Davis

  “Mary?” I said. Mary groaned loudly. Then, recognizing me, sat up straight on her cot. Her blonde curls were matted to her forehead. She wore merely a shift that was so old it was very ragged.

  “Sister? Is that you, or am I dreaming?” Mary asked.

  “It is me.” I said.

  “How come you here and why?” she asks.

  “I have heard of your illness. I wished to meet with you one last time.” I said. Elizabeth gasped.

  “You live in this filth?” she asked Mary.

  “I live in this cottage, as you call it, my home, and I would rather beg bread with William Stafford than be the greatest queen christened!” Mary states. Jane and Elizabeth both gasp, as do Henry and Edward.

  “I come to reconcile and you insult me!” I say. I had hoped for a reconciliation with Mary, but I saw now it was not to be. I turn around and take my children, as well as Lady Jane, and return to the carriage. This was of no use. But, Elizabeth, curious as always, asks me.

  “That was your aunt, Mary Boleyn, Now Mary Stafford.” I say.

  “Is she going to die?” Elizabeth asks.

  “Well, we all die. But yes.” I say. I wonder at my decision I Had made in prayer to visit her. What had come of it?

  “Is this what happens to naughty girls?” Jane Grey asks. I wonder at her question. Elizabeth repeats it.

  “What happens to naughty boys?” Henry asks. He does not seem as worried as Jane and Elizabeth.

  “Naughty boys get beheaded.” Edward says to Henry.

  “Naughty girls, and naughty boys too, all get punished.” I say. “Maybe not right away. But God punishes naughty boys and girls in the end. But Jane, Elizabeth, yes, this is what happens to naughty girls. Aunt Mary was very naughty. Even more so than the woman who called herself queen in my place.”

  Elizabeth stares at me, her mouth a shocked O. ‘Mother, I don’t want to be like that.”

  “Nor do I!” Jane Grey says in shock.

  “Then do your duty to your country and marry the men I have chosen for you.” I tell them both sternly. “And you, Henry. You must do your duty as well. You heard what your brother said about naughty boys.”

  Then, I know that while reconciliation did not come of this, it was not a waste. I had taught my daughter a lesson, and my oldest son, as well as his betrothed. If Elizabeth would stop complaining about marriage now, than perhaps this painful visit was worth it. Still, Henry did not seem to care. I wondered truly at this and his lack of morality and concern for anyone but himself. A king must shepherd his people. In spite of the fact he was named for my husband, he reminded me of King John, the brother of Richard the Lion hearted. Though he was second in line, I prayed for the sake of England —and indeed the world— that there would not be a King Henry IX.

  Chapter 13

  Late Summer- Christmas of 1543.

  The year 1543 continued. Not long after my visit, I received news of my sister’s death. As this news was brought to me, I was sitting with Elizabeth, Jane, and Henry. It was indeed brought to me by my son, who was now hearing news before myself. It was late July and Elizabeth and I were enjoying hippocras while Lady Jane continued to devour her Greek studies. It was said that learned women could not have children, but I knew well that I was learned and fertile. Besides, Jane was going to be queen of England, and no king wants a stupid queen for a companion. So, I encouraged her in her studies but I also encouraged her to enjoy other things in life as well, such as music and courtly love. She seemed to be thriving at court.

  “Mother. Aunt Mary is dead”.Edward said as he entered the room, with no knocking and no introduction. He needed none. He was the king.

  “Ah. So it has happened then.” I said as Edward sat next to Jane. It was an unusual thing of them spending time together before marriage, but I made certain nothing improper occurred between them. Henry was betrothed to Jane’s sister, Catherine. It was known abroad that none of the princesses od Europe wished to marry my sons. Thus, nothing could be done. My mind, however, returned to the past of myself and Mary. Many years ago, I had envied her position as mistress of King Henry VIII.

  1522-1524

  “You are the sister of Lady Mary Boleyn? Now Lady Mary Carey?” Henry VIII’s wife, Queen Katharine of Aragon, asked me as I swept into a deep curtsy.

  “I am, Your Majesty.” I said. Queen Katharine sniffed. I knew that Mary was Henry’s mistress. He showered her with gowns and jewels. She was caught up in the English fashion of too much gold, too much brocade, too many colors, too much of everything. Dressed in my French hood and dark burgundy gown and pearls, I still retained the style of the French court, which I had left a year earlier.

  “You look nothing like her.” Queen Katharine stated. “See to it you also do not act like her.”

  She would not speak of it, of course. As Queen Claude did in France, she shut her eyes and endured the infidelities of her husband. It was known that the queen’s story of childbearing was one of calamities—miscarriages, stillbirths, and only a daughter, Princess Mary, to show for it. Her emblem was the symbol of fertility, the Moorish pomegranates. Should she have chosen that symbol? Mary Carey, on the other hand, had become pregnant twice. Henry did not acknowledge the children, and when she bragged to me about Henry naming a ship, the Mary Boleyn, to her, I asked her who the father of her new baby was.

  “I know not. My husband is Will Carey, but the man I love is still King Henry.” Mary said. “I love him, sister. I love the king dearly.”

  Her affair with the king lasted only two years. Indeed, I was surprised it had lasted that long. Not only her, but all his liaisons soon ended, with him returning to Queen Katharine once more claiming ‘Sir Loyal Heart.’ Mary Boleyn, it was said, had gone the way of Bessie Blount. Bessie had borne the king a son, but she was banished from court.

  “Has the king not asked to see me?” Mary asked out father once at Hever, after Henry was known to ask for me.

  “No. He has not.” Father said. Mary gasped.

  “You were a fool, Mary. You gave him everything and you asked for nothing. As you did François!” Father said, striking Mary on the face. “You brazen, impudent hussy! I should knock your head against the wall till it is as soft as a baked apple.”

  Father struck Mary with many more blows, until Mother intervened as he had beaten her black and blue.

  “Thomas, my lord. Please. You will kill her if you strike her again.” Mother said.

  “I have that right.” Father said. “I also have the power of life and death over you, Elizabeth!”

  “But she is your daughter. Please show her mercy.” Mother begged. Watching in shock and horror, I then vowed not to give myself to the king, ever.

  “Mother?” Edward asked. Indeed, much time had passed, as I looked up, and the sun was setting. Had I fallen asleep? It took me a couple of moments to adjust to where I truly was. I was not back in Hever, I was at Court, and the summer sun was setting. Catherine Howard and Catherine Parr had entered the room.

  “I apologize. I was thinking of my past.” I said.

  “Think of it no more.” Edward said. “Remember, Mother, tonight we were all going to view the night sky. You, me, Henry, Elizabeth, Jane, and the two captivating Catherines!”

  That was what Edward called Catherine Howard, now Catherine Culpepper, and Catherine Parr, soon to be Lady Seymour. She would marry early in 1544, after she had completed twelve months mourning for Lord Latimer.

  “The sun will set soon, and we will be able to observe the heavenly bodies.” Catherine Parr said. Star gazing was one thing I had found Howard and Parr both enjoyed. I was surprised to hear my cousin had an interest in the stars, for I had thought her to be somewhat addle-brained. Not to the extent of Jane Seymour, but she still seemed quite shallow. Still, her interest in the stars astounded me. The sun set, and we did gather outside to look at the constellations. My favorite was Cassiopeia, the seated queen. Catherine Culpepper and Thomas liked the Gemini most. Elizabeth enjoyed
Pegasus, Henry Orion, and Edward, though he enjoyed the stars in the sky, scorned looking to them for guidance, unlike Elizabeth.

  “A star is a diamond in the night sky, a gift God gave us to look at. It does not hold the key to your future, sister. Nor to anyone else’s.” Edward told his twin.

  “I am not certain of that.” Elizabeth said.

  “The fault lies not in the stars, little Princess Elizabeth, but in ourselves.” Catherine Parr said. I could not help but agree with her.

  “They are a delight from the Lord to look at.” I said. “I wonder what is up there?”

  “Heaven, of course.” Jane Grey said. I nodded.

  “I wonder, one day.” I said. “What it would be like to touch a star?”

  “That is something only the angels know.” Henry said, for once not speaking in violence or anger. For some reason, only the night sky calmed him. I wondered at that.

  “There is a full moon tonight.” Catherine Howard stated.

  “Indeed.” Henry stated.

  “A full moon is a bad omen.” Elizabeth said. I rolled my eyes. She was so sensible, yet so superstitious.

  “If you wish it to be, sister. Why would you wish bad things on others or yourself?” Edward said. “If not, it is nothing but a beautiful thing to observe.”

  I inclined to agree with Edward. The stars were a gift, not a predictor of the future.

  Chapter 14

  1545

  The time had come at last for Elizabeth to be married. Dressed in a cloth of gold gown embroidered with fleur de lys and Tudor roses, we —my train, King Edward, Prince Henry, and the ladies I had selected to go to France with my daughter— Catherine Culpepper, Frances Grey, Catherine Knollys, and the others- were headed off to France in the old ship my husband had named for my sister- the Mary Boleyn. We were to set sail in August and be received at Calais by King François and Queen Eleanor. I had tried a diplomatic approach with Eleanor, for the sake of my dear daughter. As Queen of France, she had no political power. As a mother-in-law, she could make Elizabeth’s life Hell, should she choose to. She had finally spoken to me some years ago, and had exchanged one letter with me, asking if Elizabeth was a good Catholic and would she be a good wife.

  Elizabeth, being my own daughter, had her own opinions and thoughts. This worried me though. Many of her thoughts could be considered heretical, especially in Eleanor of Austria’s ways of thinking. Eleanor was a daughter of Spain and of the Inquisition. François had promised Elizabeth protection as long as he lived. But… he was an old man. How long would Elizabeth last?

  As I thought of this, I felt the ship begin to turn and toss violently in the English Channel. It was a disastrous storm.

  “Turn back!” cried one of the sailors. “This is a sign your daughter is not meant to go to France!: The ship roared violently. My mirror fell off the table, cracking into pieces”. Elizabeth shrieked.

  “Mother! It will be seven years bad luck for a broke mirror for us!” she said.

  “Nonsense!” I said, but I was filled with dread. I remembered once hearing Katharine of Aragon tell of a violent gale that had begun when she was being brought to England, and the sailors had said the same about this being a sign she was to have stayed in Spain. How much better for all of us —including her!— if she had! But I could not turn around. The storm was too strong, and we had only an option to endure it.

  Edward came out of his bed, shaken awake.

  “Mother, I had a dream.” He said. “In it, there was that Spanish princess you told me about in Elizabeth’s place. She was coming to England and they were saying she must return to Spain. I also saw Elizabeth trying to leave Paris in despair, but she was trapped by some evil creature.”

  “Mother! I cannot go to France!” Elizabeth said. “This is exactly why…”

  I heard another voice

  “Prince Henry! Prince Henry!” came the voice of Catherine Culpepper. I had no choice now but to go out into the storm. The gale was violent and there were grand flashes of lightning in the sky. Henry was running around on deck, enjoying it greatly. Lady Bryan and Catherine Culpepper, soaked to the skin, their gowns and petticoats sticking to their bodies, were trying in vain to catch him.

  “Go down below.” I told Edward and Elizabeth. Though King of England, Edward obeyed me. He always honored his mother. Prince Henry continued to race around on the deck, and Catherine Culpepper and Lady Bryan continued to chase him in vain. The ship was rolling violently now. I could see Calais in the distance, and the captain was trying to direct the ship to the coast, but our ship was headed for the jagged rocks. A violent wind came up. Our ship was pushed into the sea. The Mary Boleyn was no more, either the ship or the sister of mine.

  When I awoke, I was in a warm bed. At my side was Eleanor of Austria, the queen of France.

  “Anne Boleyn.” She spoke to me as I awoke, offering me a cup of warm wine. I looked at it suspiciously.

  “You are chilled to the bone, Queen Anne. I know you suspect poison since I am the cousin of the woman you displaced, but you are freezing. Drink it and warm up.” She said.

  “You take a sip first.” I said.

  “Very well.” She said, and did so. Then she gave me the goblet. I drank the warm liquid and it did warm me.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Your ship crashed on the shores of Calais. Thankfully, you were close enough to land that almost everyone survived. You, your son and daughter, and your ladies are in the palace here. But, your son..

  “Which one?” I asked.

  “The wild one. Henry. He is dead.” Eleanor said.

  “Dead?” I said. Elizabeth had spoken of seven years bad luck with the mirror crashing. Could she have been right?

  “He threw himself into the storm before the ship reached land and drowned.” Eleanor of Austria said. My heart broke and I cried out in anguish. Henry, dead! The child I had borne while my own Henry was dying!

  “I am sorry, Queen Anne.” Eleanor said. “You are blessed that your children you bore all lived.”

  The queen of France was correct. I had had only one miscarriage, whereas her aunt had had several.

  “Anne, let us leave the past in the past. Queen Katharine has been dead for almost ten years. I do not believe you did the right thing to take Henry from her, but Henry believed you to be his wife and he left you Regent of your land. You have tried to be kind to me. And I am wearing the necklace you gave me.” Eleanor said with a smile. In spite of it, I looked at her necklace and did smile.

  “Eleanor, how much choice do you think I had? DO any of us women have?” I said.

  “You did not… seduce him?” She asked.

  “It is more precise to say he seduced me and I lacked the discernment to resist it.” I said. Eleanor nodded.

  “Well, indeed. That is the way of kings. And of men. I know of François’s mistresses.” She said, tears coming to her eyes. Then, I was grateful. Henry had been faithful to me, at least most of the time. He had dallied with that Seymour wench in the end, but he had died leaving the kingdom to me.

  “Love fades, Queen Anne, and then there is but duty and remembrance.” Eleanor said. “Your son is dead. Edward and Elizabeth live. My son is pleased with Elizabeth. My husband has said we will go ahead with the marriage after you recover from your accident, of course.”

  Queen Eleanor’s kindness gave me hope in the midst of Henry’s death. Calais, of course, was still English soil, so we were tended to by English doctors and physicians. I met with François to discuss the future—both for England and France against Spain, and for my daughter.

  “You know, dear Anna, that in spite of my marriage to Eleanor, I do not trust Spain. They are becoming too powerful for the good of Europe.” François said.

  “Isabella and Ferdinand are to be commended for expelling the Moors.” I said.

  “And that is all.” François said. “The papacy has favored Spain too much for my taste, even imprisoning my sons..”

&nb
sp; “I loathe and despise Spain.” I said.

  “Of course. You are an English woman by birth and a French woman by heart. Neither nation is loved by the Spanish.” François said.

  “I am uncertain of our alliance. Only recently were France and England enemies.” I said, referring to the Hundred Years War.

  “Of course. But a greater threat has arisen. Spain means to have all of Europe.” He said.

  “The stupidest nation in Europe ruling all of Europe..” I said, with a flash of my old spirit.

  “Ah, dear Anna.” François said. He had referred to me as Anna during the days I had been in the French court. He winked in my direction, and brought my hand to his lips, kissing it. I could not deny that in the wake of my son’s death and in the memories of our past, François’s sweet kiss tempted me. He then kissed me on the lips. I did not pull away from the kiss, nor did he. Then, I stopped.

  “I cannot. I am a widow, you are married to Queen Eleanor. And I cannot be your mistress.” I said.

  “As you once told my brother king.” François said with a sad smile. “Anna, while I am alive, I will see to your daughter’s safety. But for her security, she needs to embrace the Catholic faith.”

  “Of course.” I said. “I have instructed her to do so.”

  Thus, came the most difficult moment of my life. Elizabeth and Henri met and took an immediate liking to each other. I watched through the days of celebration of the wedding and the ceremony as they danced together, falling more and more in love each day. But I knew I would have to leave Elizabeth behind too. I would sail back to England with my ladies, but I would be losing Catherine Culpepper (her husband would remain as a knight in Elizbeth’s service.) The day came for me to leave Elizabeth as a wife and future Queen of France. We parted in a stoic manner, but I could see in her eyes she dreaded being left here and losing me. And indeed, as I left France, to return to England, I surrendered to a storm of weeping. Henry was dead and Elizabeth gone. Only Edward was left to me…