The only course of action was to wait it out. During those days, whilst the miniature court made merry at Dover, Anne had her first tastes of life in English royal service. Her sister Mary, having been in close attendance on the Princess for some weeks, was just a little superior towards her young sister and often during that Dover sojourn the sisters’ voices were heard raised in anger. Invariably it was Mary who gave in first for besides being essentially peace-loving, she did not have the necessary sharpness of wit to better Anne, despite being the elder of the two.
“But it is so unfair Mary!” cried the youngest Boleyn. “This is the third time you have been asked to sing and play for the court and they haven’t once asked for me!”
“It’s because I’m more mature than you, my sweet” replied her sister with all the dignity of her ten years. “You are much too ambitious Anne, for such a little girl!”
“But I sing sweeter than you” whispered Anne slyly, rocking her small body gently from side to side in time with the melody running through her mind.
“So be it!” cried Mary, her placid nature for once stirred. “Come with me and I will set about presenting the smallest Boleyn, with the voice of an angel, to the court”.
Although never dreaming for a moment that Mary would ever attempt to do such a thing, even ambitious Anne was slightly perturbed.
Mary, now thoroughly roused, grabbed her lute with one hand and her sister’s wrist with the other, and propelled them both at speed through the gloomy passages. Anne dragged her feet rather, expecting that at any moment Mary would laugh and let her return to their chamber, saying that the whole caper was but a jest to teach her a lesson.
But Mary did no such thing. Anne was now conscious that at the end of the passage, which had now widened considerably, was the great hall, from which emitted bright flickering lights and the sounds of merriment.
The men-at-arms, standing slackly now because their sovereign lord had not yet appeared on the scene, did not trouble to hide their amusement at the sight of Anne, the miniature court lady, being hustled along by her sister. Already they had marked Mary down as worthy of closer scrutiny, perhaps in a few years.
Anne’s eyes widened in disbelief as one of the men leaned forward and lightly slapped her small rump as Mary dragged her past him. Looking back over her shoulder she rewarded the guilty party with a scowl of such magnitude that the entire guard burst into delighted laughter.
However her indignation was quickly forgotten as she stood on the threshold of the great hall and beheld a scene which she felt must surely be paradise.
The banquet over, musicians were tuning their instruments, ladies and gentlemen were trying out dance steps in any available space and on the dais at the end of the great chamber sat the Princess Mary in conversation with her chief lady in waiting, Lady Jane Guildford.
As the light and colour danced before Anne’s eyes, she was barely aware that her sister was once again moving her forward. Suddenly they stood before Mary Tudor, youngest daughter of King Henry VII, famous victor of Bosworth Field.
As etiquette demanded, Mary Boleyn stood silently, waiting for the Princess to finish her conversation and turn to herself and Anne. Anne’s eyes were full of her royal patron, appreciating the small boned but shapely frame, the wonderfully animated expressions flitting across a perfect ivory skinned, heart shaped face, and oh, that glorious sunshine blonde hair contrasting with eyes the colour of a summer sky!
As the subject of her scrutiny turned to face her and her sister, Anne’s eyes dropped swiftly to the floor. It was not good manners to stare, she knew, but where was the harm in doing so if one could avoid being caught in the act?
As the Boleyn girls sank gracefully into deep curtseys, a fanfare of trumpets heralded the arrival of the King and Queen. King Henry and Queen Catherine had not presided over the banquet but had supped privately together in their chambers. The Queen was once again pregnant with the hoped-for heir and Henry, wishing to appease her every whim, had indulgently complied with her request that they eat alone.
However, nothing would stop him making merry with his court and his sister on possibly her last night in England, and Catherine knew better than to abandon her husband to the attentions of the court beauties. Whilst she sat and watched he would at least behave with decorum to avoid distressing her in her delicate condition. Catherine had long ago realised that to keep Henry in line she always had to be one step ahead of him. So far, she believed, she had achieved this and kept him faithful to her. Henry, as astute and crafty as his father and grandfather before him, was adept at covering his amorous tracks and keeping the Queen’s suspicions allayed.
Princess Mary motioned the Boleyn sisters to their feet as the King and Queen made their way to the dais, the colourful glittering throng parting at their approach. “But he’s so big!” an incredulous Anne whispered to her sister.
“Sssh!!” was Mary’s reply.
But Anne, only having seen the royal personages from a distance, most lately from her place at the rear of the Princess’s ladies, was quite overcome and lowered her eyes in confusion as the King approached. As the royal knees came into view, Anne was aware of the Princess Mary rising from her seat in preparation for her deep obeisance to her brother. Taking their cue, the Boleyn sisters also curtseyed deeply, in perfect unison with their royal mistress.
“Well met, sister!” the great voice boomed, as scarcely taking in the presence of two of his sister’s youngest ladies, the King handed his Queen up the two steps of the dais and into her chair, before sinking his bulk into the sturdier model beside her.
Once comfortable he swept his little eyes over the assembly whilst he waited for his sister to settle, mentally marking down the loveliest of the ladies for later dancing. And dalliance, he thought to himself, sneaking a crafty sidelong glance at the Queen. Catherine, as always, knew exactly the way in which his mind was working and she too was scanning the company, a fixed smile on her pale, slightly puffy face as she tried to locate the King’s possible quarry.
Henry clapped his huge hands together and called jovially “Who is to start the entertainment? Come, let us make the Princess’s last night in England something she will never forget!”
This was the opportunity for which Mary Boleyn had been waiting. Again she curtsied to the Princess, surreptitiously pulling Anne down with her, and on their rising addressed their mistress in a high clear voice “If it pleases your Royal Highnesses, my sister and I will sing and play for the court”.
The Princess glanced sideways at her brother who had shuffled to the edge of his chair, one elbow resting on his knee, the hand propping up his huge face as he gazed closely at the sisters. “Who would say nay to such charming songbirds!” laughed the King, leaning suddenly back in his chair, disregarding its protesting creaks. He pointed to the carpeted steps of the dais “I pray you ladies be seated and set about entertaining this company with sweet melodies”.
Anne, forgetting that she should wait for her sister to sit first, plumped thankfully down on the steps, her face turning as red as her new gown when she realised her error. The King’s lips twitched as he suppressed his amusement. A merry child, he thought to himself. Please God Catherine will present me with such a daughter once she has birthed a Prince of Wales and a fine Duke of York.
Mary Boleyn, aware that the King’s eyes had returned to her already budding figure said “I pray Your Grace forgive my sister Anne. She is but seven and unused to the ways of the court”. She curtseyed again, colouring prettily.
The King’s eyes softened as he gauged Mary’s potential a few years hence. “She is forgiven” he said softly. “And doubly so, should she grow into such a beauty as yourself”.
Mary inclined her head in acknowledgement of his compliment as she took her place beside Anne and began tuning her lute. Under cover of her bent head she said in a low voice “You sing, Anne, and I will accompany you”.
Dumbly Anne nodded and it was only as Mary began to strum so
ftly that she realised that she had forgotten to ask her sister which song she had selected. However further embarrassment was saved as she recognised Mary’s playing as the introduction to the King’s own latest composition. Of course, she thought, Mary would know what to choose to best please the King. Risking a quick glance at her sovereign she noticed that he was already well sprawled in his chair, fingers softly tapping the rhythm upon the carved arms.
As Mary finished her introduction and nodded her head to cue her sister’s singing, Anne forgot her nerves, forgot that she was singing before the world’s most glorious monarch; she was back in the rose garden at Hever, and Tom Wyatt was painstakingly teaching her all the latest court tunes, humming the melodies as she sang.
And so it was all the gaiety of youth and purity of innocence that she poured into her voice. The whole court listened, enthralled, as her clear voice, surprisingly deep and strong for one so young, soared to the very rafters.
As the song ended she was brought swiftly back to reality as appreciative applause filled the hall; even the King applauded, she noted. Anne felt so happy she feared she might burst with pride and treated the King to a huge bright smile so filled with gratitude that he, surprised, smiled back at her and thumped his meaty hands together all the harder.
As the applause died, and everyone naturally took their cue from the King and ceased clapping as he did, Henry rose to his feet, crossed the dais and stood in front of Anne. Again Anne found herself gazing at the royal knees, however this time a great jewelled hand was stretched out to her. Hesitantly she put out her little paw and he took it, raising her to her feet and motioning her up the two steps until she stood on his level. “We must congratulate our sister for choosing so rare a songbird to accompany her to France” he said, his eyes on Anne’s small pointed face. He went on “For surely wherever Mistress Anne Boleyn travels, she will take a little of England with her”. With that, he stooped and kissed the little hand he still held within his.
Anne, eyes dancing with merriment, loving being the centre of attention, dropped a cheeky little curtsey as he raised his lips from her hand. “I thank Your Grace” she breathed, then a little overcome as he released her, she backed down the steps and took her place next to Mary, who was already beginning to play the next melody.
The sisters performed three more songs before they were given the King’s leave to retire, and so it was that at the tender age of seven years, Anne Boleyn felt herself well and truly arrived at court.
Chapter 3 – To France
With all the excitement of the evening, Anne was well prepared to sleep soundly that night. And so she did, at least for the hours she was allowed, for as the Watch called out two of the morning, she was shaken awake by her sister Mary.
“It can’t be time to get up already!” Anne’s cross little face emerged from her crumpled sheets, her eyes immediately going to the window. “It is as black as pitch out there Mary” she hissed. “Whatever is the matter?”
Mary Boleyn did not attempt to offer any explanation until Anne had finished huffing and puffing. “The weather has calmed and the tide is right. Anne... are you listening? We must prepare to sail within the next few hours”.
“Why didn’t you say so before?” Anne demanded, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and wincing as her bare feet came into contact with the cold floor. “All this fuss! I’ll never be ready!”
The sky was already lightening as the Princess and her entourage arrived on the quayside. All her gowns, plate, horses and personal possessions had been loaded on to several ships and now all that remained was for herself and her immediate household to board the largest of the fleet.
The King, his eyes even smaller and puffier than usual due to lack of sleep, had come down to take his last farewell of his sister. From the ship’s deck, Anne and Mary watched as brother and sister embraced for the last time. There were tears on the Princess’s cheeks; tears which Henry fondly imagined were the signs of her grief at leaving him.
He held her to him again and whispered “Queens do not weep in public you know”.
“Well Princesses do!” she replied with a flash of typical Tudor defiance. Then, “Henry, you will not forget your promise. The promise you gave me last evening?”
With effort, Henry managed to recall the promise of which she spoke; the promise she had insistently wormed out of him. “I have not forgotten, sweetheart” he assured her, standing slightly away so that he could look down into her face. “But first you must keep your promise to me. You must be a Queen above reproach, and most of all do not stint in your efforts to become mother to a Dauphin”.
Thinking of the old man who was to be her husband, Mary’s face assumed something of a grimace. However she did this away from her royal brother’s gaze as he clasped her to him once more, angry in his way that this purest of Tudors had to be but a sacrificial pawn in Anglo French politics.
“It is a bargain then?” she asked, looking up into his face, fresh tears welling into her eyes.
“A bargain!” he affirmed, having rarely been able to resist any pretty woman who wept.
Her farewells over, the Princess Mary of England curtsied to her brother and then walked towards her ship, negotiating the walkway with grace and dignity. She had now left English soil and to all intents and purposes was now Queen Mary of France.
The small party stood on the quay, lit by torches and a sky streaked by a rising sun as the little fleet sailed from view. Henry lifted his arm in a final, silent salute, then abruptly turned on his heel and strode purposefully towards the castle, his gentlemen scurrying in close pursuit.
Out on the calm waters, the Princess Mary too turned away and went below, those of her ladies who had chosen to take a last glimpse of England close behind. The Princess selected about a dozen companions to sit with her for the duration of the voyage; Mary and Anne Boleyn were amongst those chosen, both for their amusement value and the fact that due to their youth and stature they took up very little space in the cramped quarters below deck.
They had been travelling for some time when all became aware that the gentle swaying of the ship had become a definite roll. As the Princess voiced this thought aloud, there came a knock on the cabin door. Lady Guildford answered the knock and spoke in hushed tones with the messenger. Returning to the Princess, Lady Guildford curtseyed and said “Your Highness, that was a message from the captain. It seems that we are sailing in to rough seas, but he bids you be of good cheer, for there is no danger”.
“We shall all have to take turns at being seasick” replied the Princess, leaning forward to chuck a very apprehensive looking Anne Boleyn under the chin. “I suggest we carry on with our work ladies, and let the weather take its course”. Smiling, she dropped her eyes to her embroidery and took up another skein of silk.
However within the hour, embroidery was forgotten as the Princess lay groaning on her bunk. Those ladies who were not affected with seasickness, and there were but two, took turns to administer to the Princess’s needs and to the others in the cabin.
On the floor beside the Princess’s bunk crouched Mary Boleyn, holding her sister tightly to her. Every time the ship tossed more wildly than before, Anne emitted a short, shrill shriek. At times it seemed as though the vessel was intent on somersaulting its way to France. “We shall all drown” moaned little Anne.
“Oh no. No, you’re quite wrong Anne” said a voice from above them. The Princess had raised herself on to one elbow and was looking down at them. She continued “It took me nearly half of last evening to persuade Henry to promise me that should Louis die, I should be allowed to choose my next husband for myself. Ladies, I mean to marry Charles Brandon, and the sooner the better. I have been good and I have been devout; surely God would not seek to deny me my heart’s desire by sending me to the bottom of the ocean!” Having said her piece, the Princess fell back on to her bunk, clutching her stomach, attended by a clucking Lady Guildford.
Anne, her queasiness momentarily
forgotten, whispered hoarsely to her sister “Who is Charles Brandon?”
“The King’s best friend” replied Mary. “You must have seen him last evening; almost as tall as the King himself, handsome, broad shouldered, black hair and beard?”
“Oh yes, I know who you mean” Stretching up to look at the supine Princess, then nestling back in to the protection of Mary’s arms, Anne confided “But I much prefer the King”.
Then almost as suddenly as the storm had started, the rocking motion of the ship ceased and far away up on deck, the queasy assembly heard the welcome cry “Land ahoy!”
“Oh dear God!” Mary Tudor sat up abruptly in her bunk and called for a mirror. “They have sighted France and just look at the state of me.” Suddenly she laughed. “If Louis sees me looking like this he will send me straight back to England, and after this voyage, even French soil will be welcome!”
Moth To The Flame Page 2