by G Lawrence
“You were not a fool,” he murmured. “Or if you were, no more fool than the rest of us who fall in love.”
“You will tell me she is nothing,” I said, my voice turning harsh. “You will tell me she is a tool for the King. That he uses her and I should not be sorrowful or afraid to see him with another woman.”
“I would not,” he said. “I would tell you to take heart, for although the one you love is not faithful in body, he is in his soul. I would say that many other men both admire and love you. You are not only Queen of England, but to all who know you, you are Queen of their hearts.”
“I am not Queen of my enemies’ hearts,” I countered.
“I said all who know you,” he insisted, a winning smile on his lips. “Your foes do not, otherwise they too would fall for you.”
“Norris…” I whispered, hardly trusting myself to say anything. My heart and soul were lost, yet he had the power to draw me back to the world. “You have always been such a good friend.”
For a moment, we just stared at each other, an unspoken admittance of something more hanging between us, but as one of my maids laughed nearby, our eyes snapped from each other’s, and the spell was broken.
“Come,” he said. “If you sit here, looking broken, then Carewe and his trolls have won, have they not?” He smiled. “Play for us, Majesty. Lose yourself in music. Then sorrow will not be able to reach you.”
I did as he asked, to make him happy. But as I played, I did not leave the world behind. One face, one voice, came to me.
Norris had helped me. When others would have told me lies to cheer me, he did not. There is nobility in honesty. He offered me a moment of truth in a world of lies. And amongst the lies and deceit, the pain and grief, there was, in this cold world, a sincere, good heart that beat for me, as mine did for him. I knew that now.
It would never become anything more. Unlike Henry I honoured my marriage vows, and the oaths of love. But love does not have to be expressed physically to find form.
The world would not understand. People thought the only way to express love was to take a person to bed, but there are many ways to love. What I felt for Norris was not the same emotion I had for Henry, but love comes in many guises, and just because it comes in different forms that does not mean it cannot run as strong as another, older, and more familiar kind of love.
I needed to be loved. I hungered for it… and in Norris’ eyes there it burned, for me.
*
After four days at The Vyne, mostly spent hawking in the marshlands, we made for London. We reached Windsor by nightfall, and to hear the excitement of my ladies about drawing baths, you might have thought we had been living in caves for the past few years.
Talks immediately resumed about a meeting in France, and a match between Elizabeth and the Dauphin. I had to swallow a great, hard lump of pride in agreeing to play nicely with François. Not that I had any real choice.
But this is not about you, Anne, I told myself. This is for Elizabeth.
A royal betrothal, even if it came to nothing, as so many did, would ensure my daughter had international recognition. Even if I had to swallow my own soul, I would protect Elizabeth.
“Shall we bring our daughter to court, this Christmas?” I asked Henry. “When the French ambassadors see our fine girl, they will fall in love with her, as all others do.”
Henry smiled, but he was distracted, scribbling away on a bit of parchment. Quick as a slip, I pulled it from him. “What has you so removed from me?” I asked in a teasing voice, scanning the parchment rapidly. My heart fell. It was a love letter, and it was not to me.
Henry tried to snatch it back, but by the time his hand made contact with the parchment, it had fallen from my hand onto the floor.
“You love her above all others,” I said in a dull tone. “Was that not once what you said to me?”
I laughed. It was an eerie sound, floating from my mouth as though I were not the source, but something buried deep inside my soul was. It was the broken one, curled in a labyrinth of perdition inside me.
“I am writing on behalf of Norris,” Henry blustered, his cheeks red. I arched an eyebrow. Did he expect me to believe these lies?
“Norris adores Jane Seymour, does he?” I asked lightly. “Some competition for you then, my love.”
Henry’s face turned purple as he struggled to control himself. “You should not excite yourself,” he said. “It is bad for the baby.”
“Do you suppose that all actions that are bad are mine alone, then?” I asked, my voice calm and numb. “For you never seem to think that you might affect my emotions. You run to your little whores, and when I find out, you blame me. It is very convenient for you, is it not? To blame me for your sins.”
“Enough!” he shouted. “I will leave you. When you are calm we will talk again.”
“Am I the one blustering, shouting and growing red in the face?” I asked mildly. “I think that is you, husband. And the reason you grow so wild is because you know I am right.” I pointed a finger at him. “God rewarded us, Henry, when we followed His wishes. If anyone is putting our child in danger it is you, for you are the one who betrays sacred vows, sworn before man and God.”
He left and as he went my anger drained away. It gave me strength, and courage, when it lived inside me, but when it left, I was emptier still.
“Ask Norris to come and speak with me,” I said to Mary Howard. As she departed, my voice dropped as I spoke to myself. “I am in need of a friend.”
Chapter Forty
Windsor Castle
October 1535
“I know not what you thought you were doing, Lady Rochford,” I said to my brother’s wife. “But you will not do so again. Think yourself fortunate I petitioned the King on your behalf at all. My father wanted to leave you to rot.”
“I am grateful for Your Majesty’s intervention,” she said humbly, her eyes on the floor.
“I only did so to prevent scandal staining our name,” I said. “Not for you.”
“I understand.” Jane glanced up, her emerald eyes shining with tears. “Majesty,” she said. “I would beg a favour.”
I stared coldly at her. “You think you deserve more from me?” I asked. “I allowed you to retain your position and freed you from the Tower. You think to ask for more?”
“I would ask you to intercede with your brother, Majesty,” she murmured. “If you can find it in your heart.”
“Because he has mentioned casting you off?” I asked. “Are you so surprised? You disgraced our family and humiliated him.” I stared at her. “I will not intercede with my brother. Your relationship with him is your own business, and you have had more than you deserve from me already.”
As Jane left, tears blinding her, Cranmer brought in Alexander Aless. The Scot was a reformer, keen to make links with England.
“I understand you support the German Lutherans, Master Aless,” I said, looking at this high-browed man. He had a large forehead, and eyebrows which hung so low he looked as though he had a permanent frown, but not one of censure. It was as though he were constantly scrutinising the world, as any good scholar might. He had come to England with copies of books for Henry by the Lutheran philosopher Phillip Melanchthon, and was a keen follower of the idea of having vernacular Bibles produced for his people.
“I am sure you see their worth too, Your Majesty,” he said in a heavy, charming brogue. “My good friend the Archbishop has informed me you are a guiding light in England.”
“My charitable friend Archbishop Cranmer is often too kind,” I said, smiling at him. “But it is true that I see the value of new friends, especially those who think the same as us in some ways, even if not in all.”
Aless nodded. “I understand His Majesty is not fond of the followers of Luther,” he said. “But I also understand he is considering a Bible in English.”
“He is,” I said.
“And has come to consider this, because of your intervention, madam.”
“I would never claim to influence the King,” I said, although everyone knew it was a lie. “But we have talked, and I have told him my opinion. My husband is a wise and learned man, as well as a mighty King. He likes to hear all that is said, and unlike some other monarchs, does not close his mind to new thought.”
Also not entirely true, but I held hope.
“It is the wish of all subjects, my lady, that they might have the blessing of such a sovereign.”
Aless told me much of changes occurring in Scotland, and the rise of reform there. It brought me hope that one day we would see reformation in all the lands of Christ. Hope that the power of the papacy was waning, and soon all of Christ’s subjects would find a personal link to God.
*
As the winter winds tried to reach us early, there were rumblings of discontent.
Although reformers had been delighted to see Henry and me consecrate our new bishops in such a public, bold way, conservatives were not. There was word that Katherine was writing furiously to her nephew and the Pope, asking for aid. All the Holy Father could do was to lead prayers for Katherine. He offered seven Lents of pardon to all who would say three paternosters at three of the afternoon on St John’s Day, and it was said those prayers were for Katherine, Mary, and all who kept the faith in England.
Henry reacted by swearing he would rid himself of Katherine in the next session of Parliament. Gertrude Courtenay was seen heading for Chapuys’ London house that night in a rather poor disguise, off to tell her ally that Henry was threatening their mutual friend.
But suddenly, and to everyone’s overwhelming surprise, the Emperor became friendlier. As he travelled to Rome, to give thanks for his victory that summer, there was word that he was speaking calmly, even well, of his royal brother.
“What is that Spanish fox up to?” I wondered aloud as George and I walked in the gardens at Windsor. It was a bright, blustery day. Wind whipped about the trees, spilling leaves to tumble and spiral through the air, but it did not feel ominous. There was something playful about the wind, as though autumn had grown weary of the strain in England, and had decided to gambol a while.
“Most likely he fears the new closeness between France and England,” said my brother, pulling up the collar of his cloak to keep the wind from his neck.
I snorted. “Closeness… Perhaps we are in some ways, but far removed in others.” I sighed. “I feel so… displaced, since François slandered me.”
“It is to be expected,” said George. “France was your home and François your King. It is an unsettling thing for a man to lose faith in his monarch. The King is the seat of all stability and grace. When a man loses faith in him, the world trembles.”
“And what of when women lose faith in their kings?” I asked. “Two have I been failed by now: Henry and François.”
George glanced about. “Fear not,” I said. “I know how to go unheard.”
His expression of wry disbelief amused me and I chortled. “I know how to keep my voice unheard, sometimes.”
George smiled. “Your honesty is part of your charm, sister. Norris notes it often.”
Something in my heart sang. I busied myself with a ribbon on my skirts, much to my brother’s bafflement.
“Have you truly lost faith in the King?” he asked quietly as we moved on.
“As a husband,” I said. “Yes. As a monarch… I know not. Sometimes he is so strong and virtuous that he fills me with golden hope. At other times, when he is led by others, I am not so sure.” I sighed. “His tempers and personality are as changeable as his virility in bed.”
George guffawed so loudly that Cromwell and Cranmer, deep in conversation on the other side of the garden green, glanced up. I took my brother’s hand, pretending we were playing, and laughed with him. It did my heart good, even if it was at Henry’s expense.
“Perhaps things will improve,” said my brother.
“There is not much sign of that,” I said. “The people are agitated, George. They mutter in the shadows. The investigations make many uneasy, even those who pushed for them, like me.”
“Because you think Cromwell will convince the King to keep the wealth for himself?”
I nodded. “But I will reach him, somehow, if I can prise him from the claws of that Seymour wench long enough to talk. If the wealth of the monasteries was granted to the poor, there would be less dissent. I can do nothing for what they think about Katherine and Mary, but I can do what is right.”
Something, some whisper of the zealous young girl I once was, who held such high, lofty ideals, came surging into my soul. It was good to feel her. For too long had she been absent, buried under layers of pain and misery.
“I will make him see,” I said.
“If you can control your temper long enough to speak with him.”
“Perhaps in loss of faith, there may come loss of love,” I said. “And then I shall be free of him. Even if I have to remain at his side for the rest of my life, if I loved him no more, there would be no pain.”
“Would you want that? A loveless marriage?”
“Not at all,” I said. “But if I must be forced into one, where my husband runs after pretty girls and plain alike as he descends into crumbling dotage, then at least if I cease to love him, I will be free not to care. I will become as Katherine was, and take up causes in which I know I may do good for England.”
I looked up into the skies. “If I cannot have love and happiness,” I said. “I will grant them to others.”
*
“Where is my Queen amongst this rabble?” Henry shouted over the din in my chambers. Abruptly the music ceased and the giggling gaggle of courtiers who had been playing Blind Man’s Bluff fell still. Weston, who was blindfolded, almost fell over. Henry sounded angry, but as the chaos quietened, a great roar of laughter burst from his mouth. “You play like children,” he chuckled indulgently as he passed, Culpepper and Richard Page at his back. He came towards me on my throne, spying Norris and Tom at my feet.
“Sweetheart,” he said warmly, making me arch an eyebrow in surprise. We had not made up from our last fight, but it appeared Henry had forgotten this.
“My lord husband,” I said. “I am thrilled to find you here. We thought you were… otherwise engaged.”
Henry skirted my suggestion that he had been with Jane Seymour and sat down. “I have word from Kimbolton,” he said, his face an unpleasant mask of gloating glee. “The Dowager is ill. Her servants think she will not last the week.”
I attempted to hide my disgust at his joy. I could understand it, of course. Katherine put our marriage, daughter and relationship with Spain in peril. Her death would remove all those problems. But even if he felt happiness, did he not think it distasteful to display it? This was a woman he had lived with for twenty years, and once had claimed to love.
Having been set in Katherine’s place, as her true inheritrix, I wondered if, one day, should I die in childbirth, or of natural causes, Henry would be as merry to see me go. I had given him as much trouble as Katherine.
“That is good news,” I said. “But nothing should be said at court.”
“Of course,” Henry said, a shadow of his former anger resurfacing. “That is obvious.”
Obvious was Henry’s new word. He repeated it often, like a spoilt little boy. He had used it against Cromwell of late, making Norfolk snort with amusement. Henry thought he was pointing out how very clever he was, by protesting after any wise person had said something that it was obvious. He was using it to cover his inadequacies, of which there were many.
“But when she is gone, Anne, finally will we be free.” Henry sat back and sighed with contentment. His eyes were drawn to Norris. “Here again, old friend?” he asked. “Whenever you are not duty-bound to be with me, I find you with my wife.”
“My Queen is the wisest of women,” said Norris, the faintest hint of a blush on his sharp cheekbones. “She has been counselling me about the match with Mistress Shelton.�
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“Ah,” said Henry. “She is a good girl, that one.” His eyes grew soft, no doubt remembering intimate tussles. “You would have a fine wife, there, Norris.”
“So the Queen tells me,” he said.
“You should come to me if you want advice about women, Norris,” said Henry, rising from his chair. “There is much I could teach you.” He winked and I had to grip the armrests of my chair to keep from leaping to my feet and slapping him about his fat, arrogant face.