Moth To The Flame

by Angela Warwick

  “But no!” she was genuinely surprised, never having guessed that his regard went beyond their childhood attachment. “And his reply?”

  “He refused me without a second thought” the poet’s mouth twisted regretfully. “And before I could set about persuading him to change his mind I found that my own father had betrothed me to Elizabeth Brooke”. He paused and looked at her, her eyes wide, and in answer to her unspoken question, finished “I married her some years ago. We have a son”.

  “You are happy?”

  “I thought I was, but now seeing you again has reminded me all too sharply of what I have lost”.

  “Oh Tom” Anne squeezed his arm in a small attempt at consolation. “I never guessed, never realised that your feelings for me ran so deep. I would have been glad to take you for as a child I loved you truly. You and George were the dashing princes rescuing me from the dragon’s very jaws!” She began to laugh at the memories, then seeing his serious expression, stopped abruptly.

  She held out her hand “Come, Tom. Let us not mope over what might have been. We must make merry for tonight is my first ever appearance at the English court. And in tribute to our long friendship, I shall dance with no man but you” she finished generously.

  She kept her word.

  Chapter 10 – Life at Court

  She had been at court for little more than six weeks when one day the King’s master of revels drew her aside and informed her that the King had asked that she be given a prominent part in the following night’s entertainment.

  She accepted delightedly, full of confidence that she would further impress all by her success. At it happened, she gave a sparkling performance, prompting the King to declare that he wanted no other as his leading lady.

  Sensing her monarch was quite captivated by her, Anne set about entertaining herself by spinning her little web about him. Poor Henry, he was not over-bright in such matters; he could not understand why she would not immediately melt for him the moment he crooked his finger. On the odd occasion he managed to get her alone she would raise her voice in anger to him should he attempt to take what she believed were liberties, as though he were any common courtier. His intentions were not honourable, she told him.

  She was not easy prey, and Henry failed to grasp that this was not just coquetry; this was the essence of the woman herself. He, ever relishing a chase be it of woman or beast, threw himself into her pursuit with great amusement and enjoyment, feeling sure that his overwhelming charm and manly beauty would have her capitulation within weeks, if not days.

  Anne made sure she kept just out of his reach, relishing her power but seeing it as no more than a game; one which she had played many times before when in France. It added a little spice to her daily duties in the Queen’s chambers.

  Her life of carefree gaiety was brought to an abrupt halt one afternoon when her father sidled up to her whilst she was observing an archery contest. “Father!” she exclaimed, “I have seen little of you since I came to court”.

  “Business, my dear” he answered, “for only business commitments could keep me from so charming a daughter”.

  She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and swivelled her gaze to his face. Judging by his expression she gathered that he had news to impart to her; news which gave him great pleasure. “What is it that you wish to say father?” she asked innocently, turning again to the butts and giving every outward sign of being fully absorbed in the contest before her.

  “I have at last arranged a very advantageous marriage for you, my dear” he announced triumphantly.

  “Oh yes?” she answered indifferently, “and who then is chosen to be my husband?”

  “James Butler, eldest son of my kinsman Sir Piers Butler”.

  Not removing her eyes from the contest before her she replied in a calm, unemotional tone “I will not have him”.

  Thomas Boleyn was immediately angered by his ungrateful daughter. “You will obey me, girl!” he thundered, causing several onlookers to turn their heads in amazement.

  “So then, I spent eight years of my life learning to be an elegant court lady in France merely to moulder away the rest of my years in an isolated Irish castle with a bunch of savages?” she hissed, finally turning from the contest to lock flashing black eyes on to his. “Is this the alliance you planned for me all those years? Delightful, I must say!”

  “Nevertheless” blustered Boleyn, slightly crushed by the force of her verbal onslaught, “it is arranged and you will go!”

  She turned her head back to the archery and applauded an excellent shot. “I think not father” she commented pleasantly. “I shall pick my own husband, as Mary did”.

  “The only reason your sister was allowed to do such a thing was because she had behaved as little more than a whore and no nobleman would have her!” he burst out.

  Even the contestants on the green raised their heads at that profound observation. Anne coloured hotly, then rose and walked away; her father followed. Once they were a safe distance away from curious ears she swung round to face him. “So she was a whore was she? I thought it was a great honour to be a King’s mistress – your words father, not mine! You twist the truth to suit yourself. I tell you I will not marry James Butler!”

  Turning on her heel she walked as quickly away from her father as dignity and heavy court clothing would allow. Boleyn stood and gaped after her. Such spirit, he reasoned was akin to his own. She had ambition did little Anne so maybe she was right; maybe Butler was not good enough for her. Perhaps it would be worth his while to look higher for his youngest daughter.

  Meanwhile Anne, cheeks still burning with indignation, was striding purposefully through the inner courtyard when a small man suddenly appeared in front of her. “Out of my way sir, if you please” she demanded imperiously.

  He came nearer and she noticed with distaste that his garments were some twenty years behind the times. His person was also most displeasing, he had a scar which extended from his right temple to the side of his mouth and a good deal of the ear on that side was also missing. The apparition spoke “James Butler at your service, Mistress”. He swept her an arthritic little bow. “No doubt your father has acquainted you with the news that we are to be married?”

  She gazed at him in disbelief and then broke into nervous laughter. So this was her future husband. This miserable deformed little creature was the man her father would tie her to. She hoped for his sake that he had a mother who loved him for she knew that she most certainly would not.

  Controlling her mirth she looked sternly down at him, for he was a full three inches shorter than she. “Forgive me sir, but I fear you are mistaken. I am betrothed to no-one. I do not wish for a husband at this time and when I do, I shall choose him for myself!”

  Butler put out his hands in an attempt to catch hold of her but she neatly sidestepped him and ran into the palace. Hearing his footsteps close behind her worried her not at all; she knew the palace well and that she would be able to shake him off was not in doubt. But first, she decided, she would lead him a merry dance.

  So she hid in alcoves, suppressing her giggles as he hurried past, believing her to be ahead of him, then made sure that he caught just a glimpse of her skirts as she turned the corner and ran back the way she had come. Over and over, she gave him the slip.

  Eventually James tired of her childish games and from her hiding place she saw him stride out through the main door to the courtyard where as luck would have it, he met with her father. There was evidently an angry exchange between the two, small James shaking his fist and her father stepping hurriedly back out of range. She smiled, guessing that James was telling her father that nothing on earth would induce him to take her now. Her goal attained, she returned merrily to her archery contest by a different route.

  Later that evening, wicked Anne lost no time in acquainting her friends of her father’s wish that she should marry Butler and their roars of delighted laughter when she described in graphic detail how she had led h
er prospective husband a merry dance through the bowels of the palace, drew the King to her circle like a magnet.

  “Why all this hilarity?” he growled, his twinkling eyes belying his gruff tone. Anne immediately acquainted him with the essence of the story and soon he was laughing as heartily as the rest. “I would not have allowed the marriage” he pronounced. “I could not allow the most scintillating personage at my court to marry with such a man”.

  Curtseying demurely, Anne ventured “Surely such a title belongs to Your Grace? I cannot compete with such dazzling wit or profound knowledge”.

  “Maybe not” he countered, “but you are surely by far the prettier!”

  The little company broke into fresh laughter, whilst on her dais Queen Catherine noted that again her husband was drawn to the younger Boleyn girl, a frivolous wench who should be watched closely, she decided.

  Suddenly the King held up his hand. Immediately his young friends ceased their chatter and fixed their eyes upon him. “Listen!” he exclaimed. “Can you not hear a lute sadly out of tune?” His keen ear for true melody distressed, he scanned the musicians’ gallery where its occupants, oblivious of their royal master’s scrutiny, continued to play. “You!” roared the King suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at the offender. “Can you not hear when your instrument is badly tuned sir?”

  All playing ceased abruptly and the guilty party grew visibly pale. King Henry pointed to the floor in front of him and said sternly “Here!” as though he were speaking to a dog.

  The little face immediately disappeared from the gallery and soon the object of the King’s displeasure scampered across the floor and fell at his master’s feet. Seeing that he was only a boy, Henry immediately softened. “You are new to court?” he asked, in something approaching his normal voice.

  “I arrived this morning, Your Grace” the musician stammered. “So enthralled was I by Your Grace’s presence that I knew not what I was doing”

  “Rise, you are forgiven” the King spoke kindly now. “It is not your fault, the fault lies with the master of the King’s musicians” He raised his eyes to the gallery as he spoke, where the apologetic master stood looking down on the scene.

  Turning his attention again to the lute player, Henry although professing no spectacular skill on that particular instrument, could not resist taking the lute from the lad and tuning it himself before beginning to play a song of his own composition. A stool was brought for the King and he sat absentmindedly, absorbed in his music. Anne and her friends signed silently to pages to bring them cushions before settling on the floor at the feet of their King.

  As the sweet melody filled the hall, Anne found herself seeing the King in a new light; seeing a sensitive part of his nature that she had not known existed. Nodding her head in time to the cadence, she began to sing softly, stimulated as always by good music.

  The King looked up, still playing and rewarded her with a smile before returning his attention to the instrument. As the song finished, Anne and the King were loudly applauded by the entire court who had by now gathered around the group.

  In the best of tempers now, Henry handed the lute back to his owner telling him that it was a fine instrument with good tone. Overcome with awe that the King of England should deign to tune and play his lute, the lad stammered his thanks before bowing and scraping his way from the hall.

  The King, his eyes on Anne’s face, huskily called for his harp. “We are weary of dancing and capering” he explained to his court. “This night we would prefer to sit quietly and play our harp with Mistress Anne’s voice as accompaniment.

  The King was an expert on the harp and the court, knowing they were in for a treat, settled nearby in every available space and waited expectantly.

  It was a Welsh harp and had belonged to his paternal grandmother Margaret Beaufort. Henry was proud of his Welsh roots and cherished the instrument, only rarely bringing it out in public. He extended his arm and indicated to Anne that he wished her to move closer. Only when she was settled to his satisfaction did he begin to play. Anne had never before heard a Welsh harp and listened transfixed as he began with a purely instrumental piece. When he would have started on a tune to which she could sing, she begged him to play another instrumental melody so that she could listen for longer. It mattered not to her that he was the King of England, only that here was a skilful player who could pluck either a poignant melody or flood the hall with full blooded music. .

  It was a night to remember for Anne Boleyn; the night the King singled her out above all others, for rarely would he play an instrument and allow anyone to sing with it but himself.

  Least of all, the harp of his forefathers.

  Chapter 11 – First Love

  With the question of the Butler marriage safely avoided, things went on much as before, with Anne reigning over her own little court of friends and admirers and the King joining them when he could.

  Cardinal Wolsey journeyed by barge to the court from his fine houses at York Place or Hampton Court on an average of three times each week to speak with the King. He and his retinue had lately arrived at Westminster one morning and the Privy Council was in session with the King and Cardinal in attendance. The Queen was resting in her chamber, troubled by one of her incessant headaches and Anne for once had absolutely nothing to occupy her.

  She could not imagine where everyone had disappeared to. The tilt yard was empty, so too was the tennis court apart from a few players with whom she was not closely acquainted. More from habit than desire she found her feet leading her towards the great hall. The doors were wide open and the lofty room empty, except for the long trestle tables placed in readiness for the banquet which would not start until at least three o’clock. She had only ever been in the great hall when it was crowded and noisy; empty, it was distinctly eerie, cold and uninviting despite the profusion of light from the pair of enormous windows overlooking the river.

  However, the great hall at Westminster did boast a particularly fine hammer beam roof and it was this which commanded her attention. Her hands clasped behind her back, she gazed up in awe at the magnificent structure and it was as she was stepping backwards to where she expected to find the wall, neck still craned upwards, that her hands came into contact with human flesh.

  Startled, she sprang forward and whirled around. Standing beside the wall was a tall, handsome young man with reddish hair and soft brown eyes. He was dressed in the manner of a soldier rather than a courtier, not sporting amongst other things the latest male fashion for beards.

  “I’m sorry” he held out his hand in apology. “I did not mean to frighten you; it seems we were both admiring the architecture and each was unaware of the other”.

  She put her hand in his, thinking to herself how handsome he was and admiring his trim figure and the manly breadth of his shoulders. Placing her other hand on her heart, she laughed, in a manner that the young man found quite delicious, and said “I am quite recovered now, thank you, but oh my, you did give me a shock! Did I step on you?”

  “No” he replied, “not that the weight of one as delicate as you would cause me too much pain. You are a lady of the court?”

  “Yes” she replied, “and you are…?”

  “I am of the Cardinal’s retinue, his ward until such time as I inherit my father’s titles and lands. Forgive me, I am most rude, I should have introduced myself before now. I am Henry Percy”.

  “I am Anne Boleyn”. She was totally stunned by him and could not tear her eyes from his face. And the wonderful thing was that he too seemed similarly affected by her.

  Coming closer, he gently placed the palms of his hands on either side of her face and tilted it up towards him. “If you will forgive the manners of a rough borderer, mistress, may I say that you are the loveliest thing I have ever seen?”

  There was silence as they gazed at each other, then Harry Percy bent his head and kissed her gently, lingeringly on the lips. It might not have been the thing for a well brought up lady to
do, but she closed her eyes and blissfully gave herself willingly into his embrace. When they finally parted she sighed softly “I have waited all my life for this”.

  His hands slid from her face and locked around her waist. Drawing her to him he murmured “Then you feel as I do? I did not realise that such powerful feelings could be both instantaneous and mutual!”

  She laughed again, then raising her eyes to the roof, said “I shall always remember you, hammer beam roof, for you brought me the man I have always dreamed of”

  She lowered her eyes again to his face, drinking in every detail of him. Reluctantly drawing away she said “Come my love, let us walk in the gardens privately together, for soon this place will be teeming with servants making ready for the banquet”.

  He nodded his agreement, his eyes also on her face, and then hand in hand they walked out into the bright sunshine.

  Happily for Anne and her new love, the Council meeting far overran its allotted time, thus the Cardinal and his followers stayed for the banquet.

  For all her scheming, Anne could not procure a place for Harry Percy at her table so they both had to content themselves with gazing at each other across the great chamber, moving their heads and craning their necks on occasion to maintain eye contact as other courtiers moved across their line of sight. Several people intercepted their burning glances and turned to their neighbours with raised eyebrows, all whispering the same thing. What would the King say when he found out?