by G Lawrence
“Come,” I said. “We must not be too long.”
“My lady…” Mistress Aucher’s voice fractured. “I know you are innocent, even if no one else will believe me. I came here as ordered, and I told them I would report on you, but I will say nothing.”
“Say something,” I urged, “anything. If they think you feel for me, they will take you away. I cannot be without you. You are my only comfort.”
She nodded, tears leaching from her crinkled eyes.
“Are you done in there, my lady?” called Mistress Coffin.
“Almost, good Mistress.” I grasped Mistress Aucher’s hand. “You must get word to my mother,” I whispered. “I cannot send a letter, but at some stage, when you are not watched, when my fate is decided, you must tell her. Tell her George and I are innocent, as are all the others. Tell her I love her.”
“I will.”
We emerged and I was surrounded once more. They did not like leaving me with Mistress Aucher, but she was the only one I would allow into the privy with me. I had to be attended. No matter how unlikely, there was a chance I might squeeze myself down the foul-smelling tunnel that ran into the waters of the Thames, or sneak myself into the gardens where once I had strolled thinking of the good I might do England.
What good I might do, I thought bitterly. I cannot even do good for myself.
I returned to my seat and took up my Bible. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” I murmured. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me…”
I tried to lose myself in the Word of God, tried to draw comfort, but all I could think of was the men in this tower and wonder what Henry would do to them, and to me.
Chapter Seventy-Two
The Tower of London
May 5th – 6th 1536
As the fifth day of May dawned, new prisoners arrived.
Tom Wyatt and Richard Page.
Page had done many services for me in the past. He was Fitzroy’s Vice-Chamberlain, and Captain of Henry’s bodyguard. He had been absent from court since April, busy at his estates, but clearly now they thought he was another of my lovers. Tom, of course, all knew was my close friend, and once-admirer. You spiteful little boy, I said to my husband in my mind. Was Henry willing to remove a man he had once been jealous of from life in order to be rid of me? And Page? He was a servant, a sometime friend, but hardly a close acquaintance. Had he done something to annoy Cromwell, or would any man I had ever spoken to be committed to this stark tower?
I watched them arrive with a bleak expression. I gave nothing more to the women who watched. What more could I offer? Seven men were now in this tower. Seven souls brought to defame my name and pay the price of Cromwell’s ambition in blood and ignominy.
“Inventories of their estates are already drawn up, so my daughters say,” said Lady Shelton to Mistress Stoner.
“The King will take the price of their treason in blood and in coin,” was her reply.
“Not yet tried,” I said. “Not yet found guilty, but already ravens circle for rich pickings.”
They stared at me in surprise. Did my words shock them? Surprise them by proclaiming that when men were condemned others would profit? Or was it just that I had spoken… that I, a woman accused of sexual impropriety, would dare lift my voice?
That night I was taken to dine with Kingston and his lady again. Their table was fine, set with rich pewter and holding birds of the forests and beasts of the bracken. Lady Kingston was trying to disguise her terror of me, and not succeeding. The women who watched had told her of my strange talk and feral laughter. She thought me a witch, as they did.
“The King wist what he did when he put two such about me as Lady Boleyn and Mistress Coffin,” I said in a scathing tone. “They tell me nothing about my lord father, nor anything of comfort.” I gazed at Kingston. “I asked them if my father was likely to be arrested, and Lady Boleyn said that my intrigues had brought me to this. They told me that Smeaton was chained, and I told them that is because he is no gentleman. I know nothing of him. He was a musician in the King’s household. He played for me sometimes, but I did not know him well.”
Kingston and his lady said nothing.
“Tell me,” I said, taking wine from a server. “The men accused with me, will they have to shift for themselves… make their own beds?”
“Nay, I warrant you, my lady,” Lady Kingston said, her eyes fixed on her pewter plate. “They have maids to serve.”
“They might well make ballets now,” I said, gravely insulting the name of all puns by rhyming ballad with pallet; the type of beds used in the Tower. Kingston and his lady offered polite smiles and I went on. “But there is none who could offer ballads but Rochford,” I said, speaking of my brother.
“Could not Wyatt do the same?” asked Lady Kingston.
I stared. “Aye…” I said cautiously. “You speak right there, Lady Kingston. Wyatt could do a ballad of this time of injustice.”
I went back to my plate. Were they trying to trick me? Get me to say something to incriminate Tom? Already I had condemned Weston. I would not allow another to fall.
“My lord my brother will die,” I said, staring at my plate.
They said nothing, but I knew they thought I was correct. And they knew I would die, too.
*
The next day I asked for parchment and a quill.
“You are not permitted to write to anyone in this tower,” said Lady Kingston.
“I will write to my husband,” I said. “For I am his one, true wife still, am I not? Would you deny me this?”
Kingston approved the request, and although I doubted if it would reach Henry, I wrote. My flesh shook, despoiling my usually fine hand. The end result looked as though a spider had fallen in ink and crept across the page.
“Sire,” I wrote. “Your Grace’s displeasure, and my imprisonment are things so strange unto me, as to what to write, or what to excuse, I am altogether ignorant. Whereas you sent unto me, willing me to confess a truth, and so obtain your favour, by such a one whom you know to be my ancient and professed enemy; I no sooner received the message by him than I rightly conceived your meaning, and if, as you say, confessing truth may procure my safety, I shall with willingness and duty perform your command.
But let not Your Grace ever imagine that your poor wife will ever be brought to acknowledge a fault, where not so much as thought thereof proceeded. And to speak a truth, never Prince had wife more loyal in all duty, and in all true affection, than you have found in Anne Boleyn, with which name and place could willingly have contented myself, as if God, and Your Grace’s pleasure had been so pleased. Neither did I, at any time, so far forge myself in my exaltation, or received Queenship, but that I always looked for such an alteration as now I find, for the ground of my preferment being on no surer foundation than Your Grace’s fancy, the least alteration I knew, was fit and sufficient to draw that fancy to some other subject.
You have chosen me, from a low estate, to be your Queen and companion, far beyond my desert or desire. If then you found me worthy of such honour, good Your Grace, let not any light fancy, or bad counsel of mine enemies, withdraw your princely favour from me. Neither let that stain, that unworthy stain of a disloyal heart towards your good Grace, ever cast so foul a blot on your most dutiful wife, and the infant Princess, your daughter.
Try me, good King, but let me have a lawful trial, and let not my sworn enemies sit as my accusers and judges. Yes, let me receive an open trial, for my truth shall fear no open shame; then you shall see either mine innocence cleared, your suspicion and conscience satisfied, the ignominy and slander of the world stopped, or my guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or you may determine of me, Your Grace may be freed from an open censure, and mine offence being so lawfully prove
d, Your Grace is at liberty, both before God and man, not only to execute worthy punishment on me as an unlawful wife, but to follow your affection already settled on that party, for whose sake I am now as I am, whose name I could some good whilst since have pointed unto; Your Grace not being ignorant of my suspicion therein.”
I was not about to let Henry get away with marrying Jane Seymour. Not without sending him knowledge that I knew this was why I was held here.
“But if you have already determined of me, and that not only my death, but an infamous slander must bring you the enjoying of your desired happiness, then I desire of God that He will pardon your great sin therein, and likewise mine enemies, the instruments thereof, that He will not call you to a strict account for your unprincely and cruel usage of me, at His general judgement-seat, where both you and myself must shortly appear, and in whose judgement, I doubt not, whatsoever the world may think of me, mine innocence shall be openly known, and sufficiently cleared.
My last and only request shall be, that myself may only bear the burthen of Your Grace’s displeasure, and that it may not touch the innocent souls of those poor gentlemen, who, as I understand, are likewise in strait imprisonment for my sake.
If ever I found favour in your sight. If ever the name of Anne Boleyn hath been pleasing to your ears, then let me obtain this request. And I will so leave to trouble Your Grace no further, with mine honest prayers to the Trinity, to have God in His good keeping, and to direct all your actions.
Your most loyal and ever faithful wife,
Anne Bullen.
From my doleful prison, the Tower, this 6th of May.”
Kingston assured me it would be delivered to Henry. Perhaps he thought this was the case, but I knew otherwise. You may question, with this in mind, why I troubled myself to write at all. I wondered that myself. Parchment may be destroyed in fire with such ease. My words might well go no further than Cromwell’s bright hearth, but he would read it, if no one else did, and he would know.
He would know God was watching him.
Chapter Seventy-Three
The Tower of London
May 7th - 12th 1536
“I must be allowed the peace of the Sacrament,” I said to Kingston. “Why will you not grant me this?”
I had been permitted this honour on the night of my arrival, but since then there had seemed to be some confusion about whether I was allowed the peace of God’s blessing or not.
“Madam,” he said. “It is to my utmost sorrow that I cannot offer you this consolation, but it is not permitted. You are accused of a sexual offence and have not confessed, so you may not take the Sacrament.”
“Accused but not proven,” I pointed out. “You would have me confess to something I did not do, and do penance for a falsehood too? I will confess no such thing, for nothing have I done. I am the King’s one, true wife. I will confess no lies to satisfy my enemies. They withhold this to push me to confess, do they not? That is why it is denied. They think to make me desperate, and force me to confess false deeds in my terror. I will not.”
“The Bishop of London says that it would be inappropriate for you to have the host in your chambers.”
“Stokesley,” I hissed in a sibilant whisper. “He withholds God from me, does he? And not for fear of displeasing the Almighty, Master Kingston. No... He wants me to suffer as his friends More and Fisher did. But it will not be so. God sees all, and He knows I am without guilt. If I must wait, then, so shall I. I will not come to God with a false heart, as others will.”
“John Skip will also not be permitted to see you,” he said, speaking of my other request.
“Nor Parker, Latimer or any of the others?” I asked. “Poor men. They stand without my protection, and those who would do them harm will do their utmost to inflict pain and suffering on those good men.”
“I cannot answer for that which I know not,” said Kingston. “I am only granted such information as I pass on to you.”
“You do not have to answer for my enemies. They will answer to God.” I looked away. “Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,” I murmured. “I shall repay.”
*
From the whispers of Lady Shelton I had surmised that there was already much clamouring at court for the spoils of our disgrace. At court, if not everywhere in England, it must have seemed as though I and the men accused with me were already dead. Lady Shelton said Council meetings were being held and people were grappling to be appointed to posts that would fall vacant when my friends lost their lives… it was done. It was a treaty signed and sealed. We were doomed.
I heard that the sheriffs of London had been called to assemble. They would examine the evidence, decide whether there was enough to proceed to trial, and, in theory, they would choose the jury. But I knew Cromwell would have a hand in that. He was not about to allow friendly faces into the courtroom. The jury would eventually decide on the allegations against us. Spare little of these allegations had I heard, and my enemies did not intend me to. It was normal for prisoners to be examined before a trial, so they might hear the charges. This had not happened.
Cromwell and Henry wanted us unarmed.
I was sure it was both of them. This plot had all the marks of Cromwell upon it, but never would it have gone this far without Henry’s approval. All I could think was that he was so eager to take Jane Seymour to bed that he was willing to murder not only me, but his closest friends in order to achieve that goal.
On the evening of the 11th, I was informed that the trial of Weston, Brereton, Norris and Smeaton would go ahead the next day. “They try commoners before peers?” I asked Kingston. “Why? Why will my brother and I not stand first?”
I knew the answer, of course. If those of common blood were tried before us and found guilty, we had no chance. We would be found guilty by association. The trials George and I would face afterwards would have already been decided.
“I know not why the change in practice has been made, madam,” he said. “But be of good cheer. Your father is amongst those who will sit in judgement, and your uncle with him. Therefore there are friends in the jury, are there not?”
Friends… what an interesting euphemism to describe my father and uncle. Norfolk would have gladly murdered me years ago, and my father would save himself. The best way to do that was to do all Henry wanted.
They would not speak for me. They would not defend my friends.
“I much marvel,” I said to Kingston, breaking into tears. “That the King’s Council have not come to examine me.”
“They have said they will put forth all the evidence at your trial, my lady,” he said, although I could see he, too, thought this strange.
They already had what they wanted. Lies would convict us. Torture could not be used on my brother or me because of our noble status, and without that they knew they would not be able to bully us into confession. But they had Smeaton’s confession, no doubt procured through torture, for he, a commoner, was fair game to be abused. Oh… they would have been cautious… careful to abuse only parts of his body that might be concealed, so none would know what they had done.
And they had more… they had all that had been ever said against me, all the shouts of whore that had rung in the long streets of London, all the people who had said I drew Henry to me with sexual wiles. All the infamy that I had withstood in order to become Henry’s wife.
How little was loyalty rewarded in those dark and violent days…
They also had reputations. Weston, George, Brereton… all were known for keeping mistresses. If they had kept one, why would they hesitate to keep another, the Queen? When a person is accused of sexual depravity any accusation will stick. This, too, applied fearfully to my child in some ways. Everyone knew the date of Elizabeth’s birth; born seven months after our marriage was announced. This meant everyone also knew I had engaged in pre-marital sex. If I was willing to do that, even if it was with the man I had married, why could I not be guilty of more? Henry would not be condemned for
also engaging in sex before marriage. The rules were different for men. Men walked in another world to that of women.
And there was my time in the French Court, which was known for loose morals. No matter that I had served Claude, and her court was not as François’ was… No… The truth did not matter, only scandal did.
Most importantly, they had me; the manner in which I had risen to become Queen. I had done much that was unusual, extreme and never before heard of. Why, therefore could I not be guilty of treason against my husband, incest with my brother, and adultery with many, so many men? I had changed the world to my liking, so therefore it was possible that I would break any blockade, leap any bridge, ford any gully… If I could alter the world to make myself Queen, why would I hesitate to smash through any barrier of virtue?
Guilty of one thing was guilty of another.