Moth To The Flame

by Angela Warwick

  King Henry, unaware of his sister’s remarriage, had to be told that she no longer considered herself a pawn in European politics, having wed herself to the man of her choice. This calamitous news was broken diplomatically to him by his most trusted advisor, Cardinal Wolsey. Henry ranted and raved for some time, threatening all kinds of retribution before graciously giving his sister and her new husband leave to return to England. The price was every jewel Mary possessed and all Brandon’s manors, lands and livings, save the one at Westhorpe.

  Anne Boleyn, thinking to remain in the new Duchess’s service, also made ready to return to England. However her preparations were interrupted by a summons from her father who was temporarily resident at the court of France.

  Surprised, because her father had made no move to contact her upon his arrival in France some ten days earlier, her knock on his chamber door was somewhat timid. She entered at his command, closed the door and approached the ornate table where he was busily writing, quill skimming over parchment. He glanced up, then continued writing. “Ah, Anne. How are you my dear? You have grown taller I think in these past few months”.

  “Very well, thank you father. I think the French air suits me although no doubt I will do as well in England”.

  “England?”

  “I am making ready to accompany the Duke and Duchess to their estate at Westhorpe”.

  With a sigh her father carefully laid down his quill before getting to his feet and moving round the table to stand before her. He put his hands on her shoulders and said gently “No Anne; Westhorpe is not for you. Do you think I could allow a daughter who has been such a success in service to the Queen of France to return to England and retirement with an out of favour Duke and his Duchess?”

  “King Henry has forgiven them!” Anne burst out hotly. “Who could not?” Then softly, “They are so much in love”.

  “My dear”. Thomas Boleyn sank wearily into a nearby chair and pulled Anne on to his knee, as he had habitually done when she was very small. “You are one of the brightest rising stars at court. Why, Francis himself has asked for you to be a maid of honour to his Queen”.

  “Claude!” Anne spoke the name disdainfully. “What sort of life would I have in her service? She hardly ever speaks other than to pray and has no interests outside of religion”.

  “A far better life than as a poorly paid servant of the Duchess of Suffolk. Anne, King Henry has left them with barely a penny. They will live quietly out of necessity, rarely, if ever, going to court”.

  “I would happily serve her for just my keep!” Anne retorted, although a little less sure of herself now.

  “Think of it Anne” Sir Thomas put his face close to hers and his voice dropped almost to a whisper. “You would be in the middle of the countryside with only servants for company and visiting tradesmen upon whom to sharpen your wit. And do you think she will have time to converse with you so freely once she is mistress of the estate and has babes in her nursery?”

  He knew the best way to bend his daughter to his will. Anne had to admit to herself that she was one who thrived on the gaiety and stimulation only to be found at court. Already she loved to be at the centre of things and could not suppress the thrill of gratification she felt because Francis had asked for her to remain in France. She was mature for her age, for one could not long remain a child when living in the brightest and most immoral court in Europe. She fancied that the King of France most likely had some ulterior motive in wanting to keep her close. “What of my sister?” she asked.

  “Mary too has been noticed” her father replied, and if Anne understood the inflection in his voice on the word ‘noticed’, she made no sign. “Mary will remain here with you, for now”.

  Chapter 5 – Life at the French court

  So began the formative years of Anne Boleyn’s French education. As Anne had predicted to her father, life with Queen Claude was very different to that with Queen Mary. Anne and her sister were amongst some two hundred girls of similar age and breeding kept strictly under Claude’s wing; their days consisted of church services, theological gatherings, and interminable embroidering of religious subjects together with their duties upon the Queen’s person.

  Within a very short time of the consummation of her marriage to Francis, Claude was dutifully pregnant. To the horror of her maids, particularly Anne, the forthcoming child drove Claude even deeper into her religion; the embroidering of religious subjects became obsessive.

  Even Francis himself was slightly concerned by his wife’s odd behaviour, particularly as she seemed not to realise that the making of garments for the child should now be taking precedence over all other needlework. Often he would come to pay his morning respects to his wife – he no longer shared her bed now that she was pregnant, rejoicing in the opportunity to take his pleasures elsewhere – and would jokingly ask of her priorities for the day, altar coverings or infant coverings. Such innuendo was completely wasted on Claude, who looked on disapprovingly at the bolder maids who dared titter in the presence of the King.

  Amongst the many activities for young ladies upon which Claude frowned were music, singing, dancing and the company of men. Whilst she realised that every gently reared young lady should be able to play several musical instruments, sing sweetly and perform stately court dances, she felt that such pursuits were merely necessary accomplishments and should not be used in a frivolous manner at every opportunity.

  Male company was especially to be avoided, at least until a suitable prospective husband had been chosen for a girl. However, most men of the French court nursed not the slightest inclination to marry any of the Queen’s ladies. The seduction of the innocent was a favourite male pastime, more than encouraged by Francis himself.

  Occasionally Claude allowed her ladies to attend a masque or banquet, purely in order that they should have experience in how to behave at such functions. If Francis and his friends had anything to do with it, often three of four of the young ladies had gained experience of a vastly more intimate nature by the end of the revels.

  In this vein, life continued at the court of France for Anne Boleyn. She had quickly realised that as one of the Queen’s two hundred and also as one of the youngest, she was unattainable to the accomplished court seducers. So at the end of a long and boring day she liked nothing better than to flirt with any court gallant who would take an interest in her. In this manner were gained some of Anne’s most useful accomplishments; the art of leading on the victim until he is sure she will comply then repulsing him fiercely as he thinks to take his quarry; sensuous sidelong glances from devastatingly dark eyes, tempting many a lecherous male to know more of her immature body. All these characteristics and more were honed during those French years.

  As time passed the Boleyn sisters grew further apart, Mary becoming quieter, more secretive, infuriating Anne with the secret knowledge in her eyes which she refused to share. However all was revealed to Anne one day, whilst she walked her wolfhound in the palace gardens. Without warning, she came upon her sister locked in a passionate embrace with a man whom she presumed to be a gentleman of the court. The man had his back to her and only turned once Mary had indicated her young sister’s presence.

  Anne’s mouth dropped open with surprise as she recognised the gentleman as none other than the King himself. She stood, rooted to the spot, oblivious to the frantic barking of her dog and the consternation on the face of the King. She saw only Mary’s angelic blushing face and realised in a flash the reason for the change in her sister.

  Flaunting etiquette by making no attempt to acknowledge the presence of the King, Anne walked on, crimson faced. They did not follow her or call out after her, so Anne put what she judged to be a safe distance between them before sinking on to a convenient garden seat and pressing her palms to her burning face.

  Mary the mistress of the King of France, if not already in deed then surely by intention. What would the court say? What would their father say? She sat quietly for some time, conflicting
thoughts racing through her shocked brain. What should she do? Challenge Mary for prostituting herself and disgracing the family name? No, that would not be wise. By doing such a thing she could bring down the wrath of the King upon her family in both France and England. The best course of action seemed to be to try and forget the little scene she had come upon in all innocence and try to carry on as normal.

  As the first bell for evening prayers sounded from the distant palace. Anne, all serene now the matter was thought through, stood up, brushed down her skirts, adjusted her veil and called her hound.

  There was an answering bark from a nearby clump of manicured bushes. She called him again, but he did not come to her. Exasperated, she walked across to where she suspected him to be, thinking perhaps that he had found a rabbit burrow and was looking for an early supper. “Urian, where are you?” She parted the bushes and finding a little arbour she had not known existed, pushed her way in and looked about her for her dog.

  A whimper came from her right and she swung round sharply. Urian sat close by, thumping his tail in greeting, and there was no mistaking the figure whose hand was restraining the dog, his long fingers looped through the hound’s studded collar.

  “Your Majesty!” Anne exclaimed, and this time remembering the respect due to the King, swept him a deep curtsey.

  “Mistress Boleyn” he said, releasing the dog and moving closer to her. “I came to find you but instead found your dog. Now it seems I have both of you”. As he finished speaking he covered the distance between them in a single stride and took her into his arms.

  She did not panic or struggle, but it was with a cold expression in her black eyes that she quietly said “Release me, I beg of you Sire”.

  He laughed, amused at her calmness. “I am afraid I cannot release you sweet Nan; you must know how closely I have watched you of late? I have followed your every move for some months now and mean to have you for my own”.

  She put both hands on his chest, prising her body away from his as she answered “Then that is a great pity Sire for I do not reciprocate your desires. It seems that you must make do with just the one Boleyn!”

  “Sweet Nan” he repeated, tracing the smooth line of her cheek with his finger. “You would do well to emulate your sister and be kind to me for I swear I should be faithful to you and give up all others”.

  “Faithful!” she snorted. “With all due respect Sire, you do not know the meaning of the word, apart from which I am almost young enough to be your daughter!”

  He made no answer, merely smiled and gathered her again to his chest. “Come Nan, no more excuses. You must be fifteen at the very least!”

  “Then it seems that the court of France ages one faster than I had thought my Lord for I am but twelve years old”.

  If she had hoped her so few years would frighten him off, then she was to be disappointed. “No matter” he replied, casually attempting to draw her towards a convenient grassy bed. “The younger the virgin, the faster she learns”.

  A tiny worm of panic took root deep inside Anne’s brain. Realising that her honour could soon be but another notch on the amorous King’s bedpost, she played her last desperate card. “So be it my Lord”. She shrugged, feigning surrender. “But I beg to inform Your Majesty that you will not be the first”.

  As she had calculated, he immediately let her go. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  “Exactly what I said” She was enjoying herself now, sensing victory. “If it pleases you to become one of many Sire, then carry on. We should just have time before prayers”.

  Her uncharacteristic coarseness caused a look of distaste to pass across his face. He pushed past her and snapped “I shall be interested to discover the guilty parties to your deception, Mademoiselle!” With a rustle of leaves, he was gone.

  As the sound of his footsteps receded down the path, Anne laughed aloud and clapped her hands exultantly. She turned to Urian, who apparently bored by the whole proceedings had stretched out for his evening doze. “You bad dog” she admonished him lightly. He opened one eye and regarded her lazily. “You are supposed to leap to defend my honour, not ignore me in my perils!”

  Urian thumped his tail apologetically and closed his eye. “Come, hound!” she cried gaily. “We must return to the palace lest the Queen suspects my tardiness to signify that I have truly lost my maidenhead!” Picking up her skirts with one hand and holding her cap in place with the other, she pushed through the bushes and sprinted down the path towards the palace, the huge hound nearly as big as she bounding by her side and barking delightedly at this new game.

  At supper that night Anne amused herself by shooting Francis languishing looks from large mournful eyes whilst he regarded her suspiciously through narrowed ones, his gaze only leaving her face to stare equally suspiciously at those gentlemen whom he suspected may have cheated their monarch of his long awaited prize.

  Despite her best intentions, Anne’s lips began to twitch. The laughter was bubbling up inside her and her eyes were beginning to water with the sheer effort of keeping a straight face. Suddenly she could bear it no longer and the entire court immediately ceased eating and stared at her with amazement.

  Then Francis himself began to guffaw with laughter; he had guessed the reason for Mademoiselle Anne’s uncontrollable mirth and found himself admiring her for the way in which she had extricated herself from that most delicate situation in the gardens earlier.

  Soon the entire court was laughing, although they did not know the reason for it. However, Mademoiselle Boleyn’s peals of laughter were infectious and the King himself appeared to share her joke.

  Wiping her streaming eyes, Anne’s gaze fell upon Queen Claude, who ignoring the hilarity around her, sat poker faced solemnly continuing with her meal.

  Chapter 6 – A Sister’s Shame

  Once the meal was over and whilst the maids of honour were preparing to retire, having seen Queen Claude ceremoniously tucked up in the huge bed, Mary sought out her sister Anne feeling that as the elder, she should admonish her for her lack of self-control.

  Anne stood staring in disbelief as Mary launched into her sisterly rebuke. “So you see Anne” she finished “You were extremely lucky that the King himself decided to pretend to share your mirth, to save you from the Queen’s undoubted displeasure”.

  “The Queen’s displeasure!” Anne snorted. Now it was her turn. “You prate to me of incurring the Queen’s displeasure yet you sleep with her husband?”

  Mary stared back at her, head held high with no trace of shame on her face. “The King has need of me” she stated simply. “Anyway who are you to know the desires of men? You are still a child”.

  “Woman enough for Francis to attempt to seduce me in the gardens this evening!”

  Mary’s face registered first horror and then disbelief. At last she spoke. “You’re making it up. He told me he was going to seek you out, yes, but he said it was to explain the situation to you”.

  “Well he would hardly tell you that he had decided to play a quick seduction scene with me before prayers, would he?” Anne was amazed at her sister’s naivety, for all her put-on worldly wise ways. “Anyway I told him that I was no innocent and that if he cared to join the queue I would be happy to accommodate him!” She began to laugh. “And that scared him off as surely as if I had pressed a dagger to his heart”. She flung herself down on her bed, emitting more peals of laughter before making a supreme effort to control herself; looking back over her shoulder at Mary who remained rooted to the spot. “Don’t you see Mary? That was the reason for all the hilarity at supper. He realised I had duped him and he appreciated the actress in me!”

  Mary turned away, her eyes filling with tears. “He said he loved me” she whispered, more to herself than Anne. “He swore he would be faithful to me alone”.

  Anne stood up, solemn now, seeing her sister’s very real distress. She approached Mary and took her gently by the hand. “He used similar words to me; no doubt he uses the same
pretty little speech to all his would-be conquests. How could you be so simple Mary? You, a Boleyn; a King’s whore!”

  Suddenly Mary turned on her with more savagery in the lovely face than Anne had ever seen before. “Take care whom you condemn sister” she spat. “If he truly wanted you as you say, then think why that might be. It was because that in you he recognised similar desires to those he knows are in me. Never forget we share the same blood!” Avoiding Anne’s outstretched hand, Mary ran for the door, slamming it behind her with all her might.

  Anne remained staring at the closed door for some minutes after her sister’s exit, mulling over her words. Then as the door opened once more, this time to admit the chattering throng of her room-mates, she sighed deeply, shrugged her shoulders and made ready for bed.

  It was some hours later that Mary quietly slipped into the small bed she shared with Anne; once settled, she lay quietly, basking in self-satisfied warmth. After leaving Anne she had gone straight to Francis’s chamber and on bursting in without bothering to knock, had found him enjoying the embraces of yet another lady. She had unleashed a temper she had never known she possessed and in no uncertain words had told him he would need to look elsewhere for an English mistress for she would sleep with him no more. Then, without so much as acknowledging the other woman’s presence, she had left the room, slamming the door so hard that the draught created dislodged the sumptuous tapestry hanging in the passageway, which fell crumpled at her feet.