The Most Happy

by Helen R Davis

  Henri does not speak to me, except to do our duty in the night as husband and wife. I will say, however, he is an efficient lover and his kisses and the way he makes love to me are quite romantic. I see now why my mother fell for the charms of these French men, and there are many men in the court eager to fetch me a silk pillow or to please me in some other way. But I am not unfaithful to Henri. I know I am watched. I suspect Queen Eleanor in many ways.

  Before I left for France, Jane Grey gave me the Eleanor of Aquitaine doll back. Eleanor was queen of both France and England. But I wonder at that now. My brother is King, and Jane Grey will be queen. I have noticed things in my chambers though that are suspicious. I also had the doll of my mother, and when I came in once, it had been fallen down from its stand, and the head removed. The Elena or of Aquitaine doll which I had kept was also tampered with. My prayer book had a page ripped, and the clothing my mother had given me was rummaged through to let me know I had nothing, no one, to call my own.

  I am not informed of what is going on, either in France, the land of which I am now queen, or England, the land which I call my own home. I am expected to do my duty, that is all I am told, and bear children. But Henri is slowly warming to me. I have sparked a debate with him on some things, and he has opened to me. I think I Can learn to love him, as my mother learned to love her Henry, my father.

  I do know King François and my mother allied together against Spain. Will this alliance continue? I am kept in the dark about all of it. But I do know that Catherine Parr has come to court to serve me from England, and Thomas Seymour and Thomas Culpepper have arrived. What is brewing here?

  Chapter 16

  1548

  Anne Boleyn, widow of Henry VIII, mother of Edward VI, Queen of England.

  I am sleeping now, more than I did before. I am growing older and am not a young woman. More and more, my duties are left to Edward, but I am still Regent and continue to influence him, although, in 3 years, the reins of power will be completely his and I will be merely the dowager queen. I spend more time now, drifting to the past, and remembering my youth, before all of this began. Before I became queen. How could I ever think I would look upon the days when I was hated by the Court with nostalgia? Perhaps Elizabeth had been correct. The mirror breaking had been a bad omen. I had now at my side only Jane Dormer, and my brother, George. George was all that remained to me of the old days. His wife, Jane Parker, had died in 1543. They had no children, and none of us shed a tear for her demise. I had caught her plotting and sending letters to Spain, as well as evidence she was trying to start a rumor of George and I being lovers. I had no choice but to have Edward order her execution, which he had done so weeping.

  1501

  I was born a little girl, in 1501. I was the youngest of my family, and the one most hated by my mother, Elizabeth. Elizabeth had been a vain, silly and shallow woman and once, George had told me, even tried to strangle me in the cradle, as she feared my beauty would surpass hers. I had always been closer to George growing up, not Mary.

  “Look at me! I’m the queen”! Mary said as she and I played outside. She had woven a crown of dandelions into her hair, the same girl who had just shoved one of the serving girls last week for giving her a dandelion as a present.

  “You are not the queen. We have no queen now.” I told her. Indeed, it was known that Henry VII’s beloved wife, Elizabeth of York, was dead and he sought a replacement. Tough I was but six, I listened in and knew things, and besides, George, our brother, told me of this. He did not tell Mary. Mary he had never liked.

  “I am the queen. One day Prince Henry will marry me.” Mary said, sticking out her tongue at me.

  “Anne is beautiful and intelligent, Mary. Traits you both lack. You will be lucky to catch a husband at all.” George said.

  I awaken to Jane Seymour, who has come with a pitcher of cold water and warm ale. It is a cold day, and the fires roar at Hampton Court. I remember well the days of my youth, when Wolsey was the great man at Court and the refrain was said.

  Why come ye not to Court?

  To which Court?

  To King’s Court, or to Hampton Court?

  I had had my revenge on Cardinal Wolsey, and I know occupied the palace and the great bed which had been his. I looked at the ale suspiciously. I did not entirely trust Jane Seymour, not yet, though she had been in my service for over a year.

  “It is the ale I have brought you, Your Majesty.” She said. “That you asked for.”

  “You take a sip of it.” I said. Jane looked at me with her innocent doe eyes, and I saw around her neck she still wore Henry’s locket. Once more, I asked to see it. Eyes downcast, Jane allowed me to open it. Inside was a portrait of Henry, still, and one of her as she had been ten years ago. Then, I took a second look at the locket that had Jane’s picture. In it, Jane wore the Queen’s Jewels. The same jewels I had demanded of Katharine of Aragon! And this had been painted before Henry’s death? My heart pounded so loudly I feared Jane could hear it. What fool had I been to allow this wench back into my circle?

  “Drink it, Seymour.” I ordered her. Trembling, she obeyed. I watched no signs of poison, but I did look at her plain face and wondered what Henry could have seen in this woman after someone as vivacious as myself and as intelligent as Katharine of Aragon. And in the portrait, she wore the queen’s jewels. She had told me she never loved the king and wanted to marry Dormer. What had she told Henry? What kind of hypocritical, sly boots schemer was she?

  “Stay, Seymour.” I ordered her. I had shown her forgiveness, as Jesus commanded, but I knew also Jesus said that one who sins against us, first we rebuke them, then we talk to another, then the church, and then if the man—or in this case, woman—refused to listen to the church, to treat her as a pagan or a tax collector.

  “Jane, I tried to reconcile with you. I allowed you to marry the man you said you loved. I sent you away from Court and allowed you back in, wishing to leave the past in the past. But now you still keep the king’s locket? And ten years after I sent you away, you wear the same piece of jewelry. In it, Jane, you were painted with the queen’s jewels. You were thinking to supplant me, I take it?”

  She gave an answerless answer.

  “I will not go against the vow I have made to the Virgin Mary in my sacred task.” Jane said.

  “Sacred task?” I said to her.

  “Witch taking, Anne. I know you are a witch. I will no longer address you as Your Majesty, because the true queen is dead, and Princess Mary’s blood cries out to me from the ground. What other type of woman would have seduced Henry away from Queen Katharine, murdered Princess Mary, and then killed King Henry to take over the land? I was to be Queen of England and heal Henry and undo your witchcraft. But when I came into your presence, you cursed me as well. It is your fault I have had no living children, Anne Boleyn. It is your fault the crops have failed. You allowed the monasteries and nunneries to remain only to fool the people into calling you Good Queen Anne, when it is I, Jane Seymour, who was destined to become Queen of England.”

  “You ninny.” I said. She continued speaking, revealing all of her foolish thoughts, fancies and ideas. Let her talk, I knew. Proverbs said a fool’s tongue often undid him. I summoned George and Edward to my side, so I would have witnesses. Jane curtsied as he entered, and I asked Jane to repeat all she had told me. She did so, the same words, as though she were an actor rehearsing from a script. I did not know if she truly believed her idiotic statements or if someone had told her to believe this. Either way, she was far more dangerous than I had thought.

  “You speak and call me a witch. You speak of sin.” I say.

  “Yes. I have come back to court to claim what is rightfully mine.” Jane said.

  Edward spoke up. “A crown, you fool? There is no one to give you a place at Court now. King Henry VIII is dead. The king before you is I, Edward VI, and the words you have spoken against my mother are treason. The ladies you served died years ago. God is their judge, and I hop
e they rest in his grace. The poor princess dowager died of a broken heart and her bastard daughter of the Sweat. Father died in a jousting accident.” Edward proclaimed

  “All so soon to each other! Do you not think your wretched mother had something to do with it? And who is your father? The Devil himself, no doubt!” Jane said. “Or perhaps George, your mother’s brother. Queen Katharine told me everything about you. Do you remember, Anne Boleyn? We served her together. The woman you call princess dowager, before she died, bequeathed the sacred task of witch taking to me. You betrayed her. In return, I shall now undo you.”

  She would die for these words. But first, I continued to speak.

  “Katharine of Aragon is believed to have told her ladies not to curse me, but to pray for me.” I said. I had heard of this rumor and I knew that pious Queen Katharine would have said something of the sort. Was Jane slandering not only me, but the same woman whose memory she claimed to be serving? I also remembered Jane. We had been at court together. Oh Jesus! Would my undoing be by this woman?

  “I told you I feel much sympathy for Katharine as the years have gone on, Jane. But you have not changed at all. I see you have been a deceiver from the beginning. You had your eyes on the crown. I regret trusting you and every word I have confided in you.”

  “And I would have restored Princess Mary! Mary was to be another Isabella! Mary was to save England from heresy!” Jane said. I laughed at this. Henry would never have done so. And the Lady Mary, in the caliber of a queen such as her grandmother? Laughable!

  “You thought you would be rid of the woman who gave King Henry VIII his son? You thought to restore a bastard and make her Queen of England? You thought to restore the wretched Lady Mary, and unleash the Inquisition on our England?” Edward asked.

  “Yes.” Jane Seymour said. By now, Jane Grey had entered. I saw her to the side. She gasped as Jane Seymour admitted her plans.

  “I would have been Henry’s favorite wife. I know I would have restored Mary and borne him children. Mary’s destiny was to be our Isabella. You, Anne, stole it from her.” Jane said.

  “You dare call the queen a thief!” Jane Grey gasped.

  “You lied to both your king and your husband. You betrayed your mistress the queen, as well as the princess from Spain you once served.” Edward continued.

  To my shock, Jane had the audacity to interrupt him! “My mistress the queen? No more than your mother betrayed her mistress the queen! Katharine of Aragon was the true queen and little Mary Tudor —she will one day be a saint!” Jane said.

  “You dare interrupt the king of England?” Edward said. “You accuse my mother of murder and witchcraft. Lady Dormer, late calling yourself Jane Seymour, you are under arrest. Take her immediately to the Tower.”

  “To a dungeon?” Jane said. She seemed to realize too late she had misspoken. But she could not undo the words said.

  “No. To the lodging where I stayed at my coronation, since you fancy yourself a queen.” I said with a sly grin. “ Indeed, Seymour, I shall accompany you.”

  “Too late. The tide has changed. We must wait six hours to take her.” Came the voice of one of the knights in my service.

  “Six hours.” I said. Not much time, but enough. The winds howled outside, and a storm brewed. We would have to wait out the storm to take Jane through the Traitor’s Gate. The next six hours were daunting and exhausting. Jane begged me for mercy, nagging at me the next six hours, begging my forgiveness, but I remained unrelenting, as did Edward. In between her blubbering and begging for mercy, she dared to hurl other accusations at me. That George was the father of Edward and Elizabeth and Mark Smeaton of poor, dead Henry, Duke of York, that I had a hundred lovers, before and after my marriage to King Henry VIII, that I had killed all of Queen Katharine’s children, and that I worshiped the Devil.

  “You beg for mercy while hurling falsehoods at the queen. You had best hope you go to the block and not to the stake.” Edward said. Jane trembled and finally collapsed. Then, the tide turned. It was still raining, but it was not storming. I called for four guards to move Jane from the floor into the royal barge, which still bore my proud falcon. When Jane came to, we were all soaked, and we were at the Traitor’s Gate. I shuddered at its sinister appearance, knowing that many prisoners and enemies of England’s crown had come to this location, and their journey from freedom to death had begun at this same spot.

  “Take me to another gate, any gate but this!” Jane cried. But then she foolishly spoke again

  “I will not enter in the barge that is the stolen barge of Queen Katharine of Aragon, legitimate wife of King Henry VIII. This arrest is illegal and unlawful!” Jane cried. She was welcomed by Master Bedingfield, the same man who had indeed been Queen Katharine’s jailer.

  “Katharine of Aragon is dead. Anne Boleyn is alive and thankfully well. Come with us, madam.” Bedingfield said, his fat jowls quivering as he took Jane from the barge, both supporting and restraining her.

  “To a dungeon, my queen?” Bedingfield asked. He had never acknowledged me as queen while Katharine had lived, but neither had he addressed her as queen, as she had ordered her servants to do.

  “No. She calls herself Queen of England and believes she would have been Henry’s wife had she lived.” I said. Though I hated Jane, I could not disregard the possibility that this horrid white-faced thing was right.

  “Take her to the lodging where I stayed when I was crowned queen.” I said. I indeed would accompany her and have her face a trial and jury. The Magna Carta said she was innocent until proven guilty and though her words betrayed her, she had a right to a trial. I and Jane Grey would watch her during her days.

  It was now February of 1548, turning to March. It remained cold and bleak. Edward appointed a jury and many men to try Jane. She must die, of course. I only begged him not to order her burnt. The days passed. Jane spent the time praying, but she never admitted her treason. Jane Grey and I overheard her speak with the priest she had confession with. Jane Grey, I knew, was a Protestant entirely, whereas I remained Catholic, albeit a reformer. I had offered her Thomas Cranmer, but Jane refused to speak with him, saying all Protestants must burn. I then saw in Jane’s yes, a vision of what would have been had Lady Mary lived. It was for the best I had become queen, that Katharine and Mary had been stripped of their royal status, I then knew.

  On March 11th, 1548, Jane Seymour’s fate was decided. Edward would have her burnt. But as the sentence was read, I came and interceded for her.

  “Wait.” I said. I had entered the hall, dressed as a queen, in ermine and purple. Though Edward was king, I remained Regent until his majority, which would not be obtained for another five years. All the men rose for me as I entered. Jane remained standing, too frightened of the fire, I knew.

  “I have not allowed anyone to burn while I have been queen. Jane Seymour, Lady Dormer, is guilty of highest treason, it is true, but Christ called us to show mercy. Jane, you will die. But I ask, my good King Edward, that for the sake of your mother, whom you love, that Jane’s sentence merely be beheading.” I said. Edward looked at me. The death warrant in his hand.

  “You are too kind, Mother. But nonetheless, I will do as you wish. Jane Seymour, you will be beheaded on Tower Green three days hence.” Edward said. “I will also order the execution of Countess Margaret Pole.”

  Margaret Pole, I knew, had been a staunch supporter of Katharine and Mary. But it seemed now, at this time, it was wise for all of them to leave.

  “Please, my son. No burnings.” I begged, wishing with all my heart I had the power to save poor Margaret Pole’s life.

  Three days hence, as Queen of England, I watched the executions from a dais above Tower Green. First came Jane Seymour. There was a small crowd outside, noisy and restless until Jane’s appearance. Then all fell silent. I saw, even in her last moments, she dressed to mock me. She wore a French hood, which I often wore, and she exited proudly, dressed in a gown of deep red. I wondered at where she had gotten thes
e, if she had lived in the country. What else had Henry showered on her before his death in the joust, while I Had been pregnant with the Duke of York, I wondered? She also wore around her neck the locket the king had given her. Myself, dressed in a gown of fox fur and blue, I had to admit she had a talent for mimicry. Jane Grey sat at my side. She often sat near me in Elizabeth’s absence. Edward, too, was present. Jane Seymour carried herself proudly. In the crowd, somewhere, I knew, was her husband. He had written to me for her life, but I had replied that he would not be shown clemency again in the future. I thought of Thomas and Catherine Parr as Jane mounted the scaffold, away in France. In my son’s eyes, if your name wasn’t Boleyn, you were not welcome in his sight, and if your name was Seymour, you were due for the axe. I prayed for mercy for Thomas Seymour and Catherine Parr.

  “Good Christian people.” Jane Seymour said as she mounted the scaffold, mocking my voice. “I have come here to die according to the law. A law which has been unjustly usurped by the witch calling herself Queen of England in Katharine of Aragon’s place.”

  I gasped. How could she dare? Many of those who were executed thanked the king, thinking to spare their families. Her words, I knew, would make it impossible to spare Thomas Seymour and Catherine Parr. I then stood and commanded drums to be played, to drown out her words, so she could not speak further and endanger her brother and sister-in-law. Her mouth continued to move, but no sound did I or Edward hear. She removed her French hood and her pearls and gave them to a maid, who ran away in tears. Then, she laid her head on the block. The axe descended, but Seymour’s head did not detach right away. A second stroke, and still a sliver of flesh remained. Then, with the third stroke, the executioner held up Seymour’s head by her mousy brown hair and said “So perish all enemies of King Edward and Queen Anne! Behold the head of a traitor!”