The Lady Rochford Saga Part 2: Tourmens de Mariage

by Danielle Marchant

  19 th June 1522, Greenwich Palace.

  Another great masque was going to be played out, only this time it was one of the greatest of them all – on the international stage. The Queen and Princess Mary waited with excitement for Charles V to arrive for a jousting tournament that the King was holding. He approached them as they waited for him at the Hall door. “My dear aunt,” he said to Catherine, “Nothing would please me more than to have your blessing.” He kneeled before her.

  “You have it, dear nephew” Catherine replied, laying a hand on his head. He then rose and kissed her hand. He then turned to Princess Mary. The Princess gave him a low curtsey and he took off his hat to her.

  “Your daughter is the jewel of Christendom!” He said and Catherine looked on at her proudly. He then turned to the King, who then put his arm around him, laughing out loud and slapping his back.

  “My dear brother!” The King said to him, laughing. “We must joust!”

  “Oh, Your Majesty, I apologise,” Charles replied. “I prefer to watch from behind the barrier! Besides, I can never beat you of course!” The King nodded as if to agree with him and then made his way down to the tilt yard. Catherine and Charles remained. Anne, George and I remained with a few other courtiers there. Catherine and Charles began to chat quietly in Spanish. I was not fluent in Spanish, nor could I speak it, but having spent some time with Catherine and her Spanish ladies-in-waiting, I was starting to understand some of their phrases that they would often quietly mutter amongst themselves, assuming that the rest of us could not understand, or hear them. “A su majestad le gusta el deporte! (His Majesty likes sport!)” Charles remarked.

  “Sí (Yes)” Catherine replied. “Creo que le gusta demasiado. Siempre me asusta cuando practica deportes de riesgo (A little bit too much I think. I always fear for him when he takes part in these dangerous sports).”

  “¿Por qué, mi querida tía (Why, my dear aunt?)?” He asked.

  “Tengo miedo de que se caiga .... ¡No, no quiero pensar en ello! ¿Y si ocurre algo terrible? Todo lo que tenemos es nuestra hija María..(I am frightened that he will fall and....no I don't want to think of it! What if something terrible happened? All we have is our daughter, Mary..)” She replied.

  “Sí. María, que fue nieta de Isabel de Castilla y Fernando de Aragón. Usted no necesita un hijo, su hija será una gran reina (Yes. Mary, whose grandmother was Isabella of Castile and whose grandfather was Ferdinand of Aragon. You do not need a son; your daughter will be a great Queen!)!” Charles responded. Catherine smiled at him in agreement. "Y será también mi esposa (And she will be my wife too!)!” He then added and they both laughed. They then focussed on the scene below in the tilt yard as the King was there ready on his horse and full armour.

  “What on earth were they just saying there?” George whispered to Anne.

  “I don’t know George. Next time, I will ask them to speak in French,” She replied.

  “It’s nothing that we don’t know already,” I said.

  “He’s got a hell of a chin hasn’t he?!” George whispered in astonishment. “It’s so big; it doesn’t look like it belongs to his face! He can’t even close his mouth properly and just garbles towards the end when he speaks!”

  “Yes, I believe his chin has its very own principality” Anne replied.

  “Charles the Chin! King Chinny Chin Chin!” George added.

  “Stop it you two! Someone will hear you!” I whispered and sharply nudged them both.

  We all focussed on the tiltyard. The King was about to face Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk. Charles was the King’s best friend and both shared a passion for sports, including jousting. At the corner of my eye, I saw the Princess Mary, the King’s sister who was also Charles’ wife. Henry and Charles had got over their fall-out after Charles had married Mary without Henry knowing. Mary looked over at Anne. I noticed how both exchanged rather cold looks, then turned back to face the tiltyard. “Anne, what do you think of the King’s sister?” I whispered to her.

  “I don’t think anything of her, I don’t have an opinion,” Anne replied quietly and coldly. “She does as she pleases, not realizing the consequences on those around her.” I was a bit puzzled by her response, but thought better not to pursue the issue. What had Mary done to make Anne angry?

  The King placed on his helmet and then, aimed his lance. Charles looked nervously on. Then, he began to charge. Catherine gripped the ledge nervously and as Henry and Charles got nearer, she quickly looked away. There was a gasp as Henry hit Charles with enough force to unhorse him. Henry roared with laughter and cheered as he continued to ride to the other side, leaving Charles slightly dazed in the dirt. Mary shrieked and quickly ran down to the tiltyard. I looked at Mary, then, at Anne who smirked and was obviously enjoying Mary’s discomfort. There was no cause for concern – Charles was athletic and able to withstand an unhorsing. Besides he was still moving on the ground. Mary knelt before him and helped him slowly get up from the ground. Anne and George started to giggle, but this then soon stopped when an attendant arrived and stood behind us. “Mistress Boleyn?” He asked. Anne turned to him and looked confused. “His Eminence, Cardinal Wolsey, would like to see you now.”

  “What?” Anne replied, slightly shocked. She looked at George, who gave a reassuring smile.

  “Anne, it will be fine. He probably wants to send you back to France to make peace between them and England!” George said jokingly.

  “I’ll come with you,” I then said and Anne smiled at me gratefully as we both made our way to the Cardinal’s apartments.

  We reached a great, oak door. I was surprised the Cardinal did not have his seal on the front of it and along every linenfold panel in the corridor to show-off his power, status and his hold over the running of everything in the Kingdom. The attendant opened the door and allowed Anne in, but then held a hand out just as I was about to enter. “Not you!” He said. “You wait here.” He then closed the door on me. Just as the door closed, I had caught a glimpse of Henry Percy in the room and his father. I then instantly knew what this was about.

  They had found out the truth.

  I tried desperately to listen to what was being said in the room, putting my ear to the door, but it was no use. I could hear a murmur and then, both the Cardinal and Percy’s father began to raise their voices. Anne up to this point was quiet, possibly in shock, but then she began to shout too back at them. It was hard to decipher what was being said, but it was clear to me that Anne would argue this out, Cardinal or not. I could not hear any words from Percy, however. He stayed silent throughout all of this. Possibly too scared to intervene or challenge, unlike Anne.

  I then heard footsteps coming towards the door and stood back. Someone was about to leave the room. The door was quickly whipped open by the attendant who scurried into the corner as Anne stepped out, furious and with tears streaming down her face. She quickly marched down the corridor, ignoring the Cardinal’s demands to come back into the room. I followed her and she made her way back to her rooms.

  “He just stood there! Did not defend me!” Anne said, reflecting angrily on Henry Percy amongst floods of tears. “He just let his father and the Cardinal tear us apart!” We both sat in her room in front of the fireplace. “Someone must have told them! George would never say anything!” Then, after a pause she looked up and asked “Surely it was not you?” She glared at me and her tear-stained face was contorted with pain and anger.

  “Of course not!” I insisted. “You can trust me! I will not tell your secrets and I did not do so about that morning!”

  “So, who did?!” She demanded.

  “Maybe it was the Priest from that morning?” I suggested. “The Cardinal must have somehow got the truth out of him. The Cardinal is Henry Percy’s guardian and Henry’s father already has plans for him to marry Mary Talbot. He would never have allowed you to marry him.”

  Anne stopped crying and was quiet for a few moments. She stared intently into the fire’s flames and the
n said slowly “I am heartbroken. I will never forgive the Cardinal for separating Henry from me.

  If it is ever in my power, I will make him suffer too, just as much as he has made me suffer!”

  Her words sent an ominous chill down my spine. She really meant what she said.

  “Anne will be fine!” George reassured me. We sat together in one of our rare moments alone in the gardens under a tree. “Father said she’ll be spending some time at Hever for a bit.” He slowly took off my French Hood and ran his fingers through my long hair, gently massaging my scalp. I relaxed, closed my eyes and leant back onto his chest.

  “Are we any nearer to getting married yet?” I asked him.

  “Not long now,” he whispered in my ear. “To the wedding day – and the wedding night.”

  “I can’t wait any longer.” I replied longingly. Anne and Mary had told me a bit more about what to expect – more than what my own mother told me.

  “Neither can I.” He replied. I turned and he pulled me onto him, kissing me passionately. His hands pulled frantically at the lacing of my gown. I wanted him to have me there and then. He was then on top of me, his hand searching underneath my skirts. A rush of excitement came over me as he started to undo his breeches. Then, suddenly he stopped as we heard someone coming. I got up quickly and brushed down my gown and tried to neaten my hair.

  “So this is where you got to George?” It was Thomas Wyatt. Wyatt was in the King’s service, was very close to the Boleyn family and wrote poetry. He took one look at me and then, at George and grinned knowing what had just happened. “Looking for inspiration for your next poem I see, George?”

  “Poetry?” I asked.

  “Yes, my love. Now and then, occasionally I like to write poems,” George replied.

  “That’s amazing! Have you written any lately?” I asked. He shook his head.

  “Yes he has!” Thomas said.

  “I want to hear it!” I demanded and sat back down. Thomas waited for George to start. George sat next to me and looked me in the eye.

  “It is called ‘The Lover Complayneth the Unkindnes of his Love’. I wrote this for you, on one of the many evenings I have had alone away from you.

  My Lute awake, perform the last

  Labour that thou and I shall waste,

  And end that I have now begun!

  And when this song is sung and rest,

  My Lute be still, for I have done!”

  “That is beautiful!” I replied and kissed him. “I feel this pain too.”

  “Yes, the sooner you both get married, the better! In the meantime, George takes out his woes and frustrations in his poems!” Thomas replied.

  “I’m sure your poems will be of a lighter nature now though will they? Now that my sister is no longer betrothed?” George said. Thomas began to blush. Mary, George and I were well aware of Thomas’ feelings for Anne. Nothing had become of it though. His feelings sadly were unrequited, but it didn’t stop him pine for her like a lost puppy.

  “She’s going back to Hever for a little while,” I told Thomas gently.

  “I know,” Thomas replied sadly.

  “Though I cannot your cruelty constrain,

  For my good will to favour me again,

  Though my true and faithful love,

  Have no power your heart to move,

  Yet rue upon my pain.”

  18 th May 1523, St. Giles’ Church, Great Hallingbury, Essex.

  Marriage is important. It is the foundation of our society and maintains the hierarchy and nobility. It is something that I will enter into with George soon, but today, was my brother, Henry’s day, in his marriage to Grace Newport. This was a great match for our family indeed. Grace is the only heir of her father John and having been a great landowner at Furneux Pelham and Stapleford, Grace would bring these lands to our family. Sadly, her father, passed away only eight days ago meaning that Grace – a bride of only eight years old - brings these lands to us even sooner. It seemed like an unusual sight to see such a young bride marry my equally young brother, who is only ten years old. This is not unusual though, her father’s death had brought this event sooner and this was a family alliance that needed to be made. The only difference here is that obviously the young couple will have to wait another few years before the marriage is consummated.

  “Grace has been very happy living at Great Hallingbury. This has been unusual circumstances,” father said to me as we followed the young couple down the aisle at the end of mass.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I replied. “It’s a good match and will hopefully provide lots of sons! And I’m sure my little sister has been making her feel at home!” I say as Margaret, who as a twelve year old is four years older than Grace, comes up to father and I to listen. My father already has plans to marry Margaret to John Shelton, Thomas Boleyn’s nephew.

  We all headed back to Great Hallingbury for a banquet in the Great Hall. Whilst all the drinking and dancing took place, Margaret and I tried to find some peace in the gardens. She showed me the little herbal garden she had created. This was all part of her training in being a wife and mother later on. She had to learn about herbal remedies, as well as sewing and looking after a household. “How are you finding life in the court?” She asked.

  “I love it there,” was my honest answer. “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

  “You’ve changed your tune!” Margaret said. “You seemed a little bit apprehensive of the whole thing? Didn’t you faint in front of the King in Calais?”

  “From being over excited!” I replied, laughing. I remember that evening well in Calais, at the Field of the Cloth of Gold. I was not going to tell Margaret the full truth about what happened. She’s too young to know. I even wonder if she knows about the real truth about our mother and how she really got my place there at court? “No, really, I do like it there. It’s the place where everyone wants to be. To surround the King, is like surrounding the Sun!”

  “Father once told me about the story of Icarus. He flew too near to the Sun with wings made of feather and wax. His wings melted and he fell into the sea.” Margaret responded thoughtfully. “Be wary sister not to get too close to the Sun. I have accompanied mother to court on a few occasions and I must admit, I don’t like it much. Everyone jostling with each other for the King’s favour, the King’s mistresses and not forgetting what happened to the Duke of Buckingham! I think I would be happy to stay in the countryside with my husband and children away from it all.”

  “You have an old head on young shoulders,” I said, putting my arm around her, as we walked back to the house.

  September 1523, Greenwich Palace

  Just when you believe that you know what might happen next, events taken an interesting turn, surprising you and pulling the rug away from beneath your feet.

  I reflected back on that evening in August in Great Hallingbury, when the Parkers and Boleyns had another family get-together. Margaret and I were walking around the gardens, catching up with the gossip. The sun was setting on this warm, summer evening. The flowers were in full bloom, covering the stretch of green fields. We were just about to go back inside, but then found Mary Boleyn sat near the doorway. She seemed unwell. “Mary, are you ok?” I asked her. Both Margaret and I sat on either side of her.

  “I’m fine really, just been feeling very queasy and tired,” Mary replied.

  “It’s not the food or drink is it?” Margaret asked.

  “No, I haven’t been eating that much – I haven’t been able to keep anything down long enough because I’ve been sick!” Mary replied. “I think the fresh air is making me feel a bit better though.” That moment, mother and Mary’s mother, Elizabeth, appeared to check on Mary.

  “Have a lie-down in my room until you feel a bit better,” Margaret said.

  We walked with Mary up to Margaret’s room. Mary lied down and Elizabeth sat next to her. The smell of cooked meats and marchpane filled the house, but unfortunately Mary didn’t like it. “Oh no! I t
hink I’m going to be sick again!” Mary then said groaning. Margaret and mother quickly tried to find the bedpan to give to Mary. After being sick, she collapsed back onto the bed and began to feel frightened. “What’s wrong with me? Am I dying?” Elizabeth calmed her down and felt her forehead. She then, exchanged a knowing look with Alice.

  “Calm down, you’re fine, you are not dying,” Elizabeth reassured her.

  “You’re about to become a mother.”

  I was brought back to the present, Elizabeth’s words still echoing in my mind. It was ironic how Mary Boleyn was beginning to glow in her state of impending motherhood whilst the Queen on the other hand was barren and no longer able to carry a child. Catherine’s last pregnancy was five years ago and now she had entered a new stage in her life where pregnancy would sadly not be possible anymore.

  I began to dread the cold, autumn afternoons where Mary and I would sit in the Queen’s chamber in silence sewing. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Now and then, I would catch Catherine looking at Mary, not sure if it was a look of envy, or pity. I felt sorry for both of them. I felt sorry for Catherine and her predicament. She probably felt a great failure as a Queen, her primary role being to provide the King with an heir. At the same time, I pitied Mary – what was the King going to do with her now? Will he just discard her now like Bessie Blount?

  Rumours were rife on the child’s paternity which exasperated this difficult situation. “Does it belong to the King?” I asked Mary. We sat away from everyone else in a window seat of the Watching Chamber.