Moth To The Flame

by Angela Warwick

After the Christmas celebrations, Mary Boleyn returned to court, taking her child with her. At first Anne missed her sister’s company greatly and wished she had swallowed her pride and gone back with her, but soon her attentions were diverted by a frequent visitor.

  Her neighbour Thomas Wyatt, when on temporary leave from court, delighted in spending much of his free time at Hever with his childhood friend. Anne, now aware of his deep regard for her, tried to treat him gently and with the respect his feelings for her deserved, but she found it difficult. As Thomas was almost the only male of her own age and station that she ever saw, she would often flirt mercilessly with him, testing that her strange power over men was still potent. For Thomas’s part he had to admit that he enjoyed being with her for he never knew if she would treat him as a brother or a lover from one day to the next.

  However it was as a brother that she spoke to him one day. “Tom, how do you manage to escape from court so often? Poor George always seems to be in attendance upon the King!”

  Thomas, smiling ruefully, lowered himself to the rustic bench where she sat. “I keep telling the King I have family problems” he admitted. “So whenever he feels that I do not seem as merry as I should, he packs me off to Allington and tells me to forget my differences with my wife and set about getting more sons”.

  She listened sympathetically. “And do you truly have differences with your wife?”

  “Sadly yes” he told her. “She seems uninterested in me and lives only for our son, choosing to forget just how he came to be born in the first place”

  “No doubt her feelings towards you are not helped by the fact that you spend so much time here with me”. Anne, her sisterly feelings temporarily banished, threw Thomas a flirtatious sidelong glance.

  Thomas, usually more than keen to respond to such banter, seemed not to notice. “No, Elizabeth shows no jealousy at all” he continued, “In fact she and I now lead quite separate lives. Whenever I arrive at Allington she removes herself to the other side of the castle and makes no attempt to speak with me. It’s been that way for so long that her behaviour no longer bothers me. I only return to Kent to see my son… and you”.

  “Oh Tom” she whispered, shaking her head sadly, “I do so understand how you must feel. It is a terrible thing to be spurned by someone you love; someone who you thought loved you too”.

  It seemed only natural for him to take her into his arms and she went gladly. “Don’t think of him” he whispered, lips against her hair. “Waste no thoughts on a man who deserted such as you because he feared the wrath of his father and Wolsey”.

  She lifted her head and gazed into his clear green eyes. “It is not Harry the man that I mourn” she began, “it is just the fact that his love for me must have been so shallow for him to give up without a fight. I suppose my pride is bruised, that’s the truth of it”.

  “If it is any consolation, rumour has it that his marriage is miserable; Mary Talbot hates him and he her”.

  She hung her head. “I feel desperately sorry for them; they are both victims of Northumberland’s greed. But they no longer affect my life, the past is past. It is the future I fear, for with Harry, it was mapped out. Now I can see nothing to look forward to”.

  “It is not like you to wallow in self-pity” he told her teasingly, trying to raise a smile.

  “I know” she answered, not picking up on his lighter tone. “I am also being very selfish. You are the one with the very real heartache. Poor Tom, so much love to give and Elizabeth not wanting to know you”. She raised her eyes to his face and whispered “She must be a fool”.

  Wyatt suddenly jumped to his feet. “I must take my leave now” he told her, “before I do something we may both live to regret”.

  Surprised, she caught hold of his wrist “Such as?” she demanded. After a pause she stood up, still holding him captive, her eyes on his face.

  “I think you know well” he said softly. “You tempt me sorely Anne, you know you do. Were I free, I would offer you marriage and to hell with your father’s objections. Were you yourself married, perhaps you would be my mistress. But much as I want you, I would not so compromise a single woman. For honour’s sake we must give up these private meetings for I am but a weak man with strong desires”. Courteously kissing her hand in farewell, he moved through the trees to where their horses were tethered.

  Anne followed him, her heart pounding. She came upon him untying his horse, his back towards her. Walking up to him she put her arms around his waist and rested her head against his back. In a whisper so low that he had to strain his ears to hear her, she said “Am I to assume that you love me, Master Wyatt?”

  At first he made no reply, merely dropped his forehead to his horse’s neck whilst he fought with his emotions. Finally, pushed to his limits he spun around and let his lips give her his answer.

  At length, when their lips parted, he kissed the tip of her nose and told her “I have always loved you and I always will. Even in your darkest moments you can remember that”.

  Slowly, reluctantly he let her go and mounted his horse. Loath to leave her, he leaned down to her and asked “May I dare hope that my feelings are reciprocated?”

  Raising her hand to caress the side of his face she replied softly “With all my heart Tom. Always”.

  With her free hand she groped amongst the folds of her skirt until it closed about the little jewelled tablet which hung from her girdle. Detaching it, she lovingly presented it to him, seeing his eyes light up at this tangible expression of her affection. It bore her initials, picked out in precious stones. He kissed it reverently and slipped it inside his shirt. “I will carry it always” he told her, then turned his horse towards Allington, blowing her a kiss as he turned from sight.

  By mutual agreement Anne and Thomas continued to spend much time in each other’s company, but only rarely would they be alone. Thomas spent a good deal of his time with her repeating all the latest court gossip and tutoring her in the newest songs and dances so that she would be well prepared for the King’s summons; when and if it came.

  It was almost a year to the day since his last visit, when the King again arrived unannounced. Anne had become bored with her exile for Tom had not been able to see her much of late and she found too much of her own company extremely tedious.

  The King was delighted to find her attitude to him much less hostile, and upon his suggestion, Anne agreed to accompany him on a short walk around the gardens.

  “Your Grace does me much honour by walking with me” she told him demurely, “I greatly feared that after your last visit you would put me completely from your mind. I much regret the manner in which I treated Your Grace”.

  He was quite delighted by her humility. Composing his features into a stern expression, he looked down on her as they walked. “You are forgiven, Mistress” he said benignly. “By your tone and repentance am I to take it that you are ready to return to court?”

  Still keeping her voice demure and her eyes downcast, she replied “Only if Your Grace still desires my presence”.

  Henry was weary of word games and made a grab at her. Springing out of his reach like a frightened doe she gasped “But my terms still stand. Do not seek to read submission in my repentance”.

  Quick to anger, Henry glared at her. “Do you mean to say you still refuse your King?”

  “Only that which I have a right to refuse you!” she flared. Then seeing that he was truly angered, thinking fast, she changed her tactics. Approaching him she seized the royal hand and knelt at his feet. “Your Grace, I am but a humble maid. I will have little in the way of dowry and the greatest gift I can bestow upon my future husband is my honour”.

  Henry’s small pursed mouth broke into a wide grin. To save face he jovially cried “Mistress your King was but teasing you. We do not wish to place immoral women in our court and now we see that you will be a credit to us with your modest behaviour. Return to us soon, we beg you”.

  Lowering his voice to a more intimate
tone and drawing her up from her knees and closer to him, he said “I have missed you Nan. My court is a sadder place without your gaiety and beauty to grace it”.

  Sensing he was fishing for a compliment she replied with as much sincerity as she could muster. “And I have sorely missed Your Grace. My life has little meaning when I am denied the company of my King”. She was both surprised and appalled at how easily the lies flowed from her lips.

  But it was just what he wanted to hear. Beaming hugely he put his huge hands around her waist and lifted her off the ground until her face was on a level with his own. “Then we are friends again sweetheart?” he enquired urgently. “As we were before?”

  “Better than before” she told him, smiling despite herself at his boyish enthusiasm.

  “You have made me very happy Nan!” he cried, impulsively kissing her mouth before setting her gently down.

  They resumed their walk, her hand on his arm. Every so often he would pat the back of her hand with his spare paw and beam at her conspiratorially. Looking up at him she marvelled that she could manage him so deftly. He was so easy to read and even though she did not know him well, she could tell by the expression on his face the answers he wanted to hear.

  Walking companionably with her King that afternoon, Anne felt that at last the future was looking brighter than it had for some time.

  Although she had intended to humour the King’s whim and return to court almost immediately, winter set in early, making the roads impossible to travel with safety. When she did not arrive as promised, the King sent a letter asking if she had changed her mind for some reason, and if so, begging her to reconsider.

  He went on to tell her how dull it was without her and how badly he desired to again converse with her. Reading between the lines Anne sensed a barely contained passion, a passion which filled her with contempt for she did not so feel for him as he evidently did for her.

  Reading the letter again in the privacy of her bedchamber, its meaning became crystal clear. He still had intentions of making her his mistress, despite her many refusals. Certainly should she ever forget herself enough to surrender, she could expect him to soon tire of her and drop her as he had her sister.

  “Then I must not surrender!” she said aloud, fanning herself gently with the King’s letter. “I must keep his passion on the boil yet always manage to evade capture”. She put her head on one side, deep in thought, then smiled wickedly. “It would be quite an achievement to have my sovereign dancing to my tune and quite a novelty for him to find himself denied what he desperately craves”.

  Still smiling mischievously, she sat at her table and penned a curt little note to her royal admirer, pointing out that the weather had prevented her making the journey and promising that she would travel as soon as the roads were fit. Then she added one or two lines to which his eager eyes would infer much and promise little. Satisfied she sealed the letter and sent it downstairs to the royal messenger.

  The man had obviously received instructions to await her reply then return to London with all speed, for minutes later she observed his departure, galloping away as though pursued by the devil himself.

  Anne retired early to bed that night for she had much to mull over. The King’s letter lay where she had left it, before her mirror. As she brushed her hair, she scanned the neat script yet again, eager to glean every possible scrap of information from the indiscretions of its royal author. She knew that once she returned to court she would be virtually at the King’s mercy and would need all her wits about her to repulse his attentions and yet retain his regard. It would be a great challenge; a light hearted game, she decided. The ultimate triumph would be to restore her family’s good name and maybe even wreak some small revenge on Cardinal Wolsey.

  Anne Boleyn had made her choice. She was about to embark on a career that would change the course of English history.

  Chapter 15 – The Return

  Her re-emergence into court circles was to say the least, spectacular. Assisted by her brother and his friends she slipped unnoticed into Greenwich Palace one January day; the object of all the secrecy was to surprise the King and with her she had brought the tools she needed.

  She had designed a fabulous gown composed of many colours in a spangled pattern. Her usual hanging sleeves were omitted for once lest they betray her identity; she had substituted tight sleeves of pink satin, finishing in a frill at the wrist. The neckline of the dress was, even by Tudor standards, daring, edged with black fur. The last item of costume was a full faced golden mask which she planned to wear until her little masquerade was completely played out.

  Throughout the evenings feasting she had remained hidden in a small chamber only yards from the great hall. Her door was locked and only her brother had the key. She readied herself and waited patiently.

  George let himself silently into the chamber at just after nine o’clock. Dressed in her strange garb she turned slowly to face him. He surveyed her in astonishment, shaking his head as if he could not believe his eyes. “Nan, is that really you? You look like a strange being from another land!”

  “Then I have achieved my aim brother” she replied flippantly. “Is it time?”

  “There is a distinct lull in the proceedings, if that is what you mean” he replied. “The Queen has recently retired and the King is slumped in his chair heaving great sighs”.

  “Good”. Moving to the mirror, she turned first one way, then the other, checking that her disguise was complete. Pushing back a lock of heavy dark hair she asked “You don’t think my hair will give me away? I would prefer to leave it loose and uncovered so that it may add to the air of mystery. What think you?”

  Head on one side, he considered. “No, I do not think it will give you away, if that is your worry. After all, the King has never seen your hair thus, has he?”

  “So you think I will command his attention?”

  “You would command any man’s attention dressed as you are; indeed sometimes I almost regret that I am your brother!”

  Alarmed she placed her fingers on his mouth to prevent him saying more. “Be silent George” she pleaded. “You are but a man and I would guess that any woman dressed such as I would stir your senses, but I beg you have a care; there will always be talk regarding the nature of the relationship between a brother and sister as close as we. When I was in France I remember hearing all kinds of stories about Francis and Marguerite. Rumours sprout from malicious tongues and we do not want to run the risk of ruining your court career, or mine!” Settling the garb more comfortably on her shoulders, she tied her mask securely and made for the door.

  “Before you go, Nan”.

  Impatiently she whirled round to face him. “Yes?”

  “Tell me the true purpose of this masquerade”.

  “I wish to surprise the King” she said carefully. “Also to bring home to him his foolishness in allowing the Cardinal to banish me in his royal name. Maybe by the end of this night I will have taken the first steps towards my goal”.

  George’s face turned deathly white. “Which is?”

  “To destroy the Cardinal!” she exclaimed with vehemence. “The only way I can pay him out for his treatment of Harry Percy and me is to sever his influence with the King”.

  “So you seek to turn the King’s affections from the Cardinal to yourself?”

  “Absolutely!” she confirmed. “And at the same time, by denying the King my body, which he already desperately desires, I am sweetly punishing him for his treatment of our sister! Now do you see George? Something inside me is driving me to this; something which is a mixture of ambition and hatred draws me to the King like…” she cast about in her mind for the phrase she sought, “like a moth to the flame. I cannot now alter my course”.

  “Take care Nan” he begged, taking her hand in his. “Remember what happens to that moth. It is destroyed!”

  “Have no fear brother” she replied gaily, moving away from him and opening the door a chink to ascertain the pass
ageway was empty before she stepped out. “If I secure the King’s affections, I cannot be destroyed, maybe just get my wings a little scorched!”

  Beckoning to him to follow, she closed the door behind him and bade him go to the King and inform him that a lady from a foreign land begged leave to entertain the mighty King of England.

  “What entertainment do you plan to provide?” he asked, his hand on the door of the great hall, preparatory to pushing it open.

  “I shall dance at first” she told him. “Tom Wyatt has written some strange haunting music which the musicians will start to play when I give the signal. Then I shall sit at the King’s feet and sing seductively to the same tune. Finally I will invite the King to dance with me. Hurry George, before someone comes!”

  She was left alone in the passageway with only the two sentries for company. They stared lustfully at her whilst she threw them coquettish glances, turning her head this way and that, so they could see the moistness of her parted lips and the glitter of her eyes through the slits in her mask.

  Suddenly the huge double doors were thrown open and she heard herself announced as the Princes Tashka. Confidently she stepped over the threshold and arrogantly surveyed her audience. Then, head held high, she looked directly at the King.

  Her appearance had certainly made him sit up and take notice; she felt the little eyes sweeping her body as though he were undressing her with his mind. She shivered involuntarily then ran lightly down the steps and across the floor until she stood before him. With exaggerated elegance she curtsied low, the neckline of her gown leaving little to his imagination. Henry cleared his throat and said in an intimate tone “Welcome Princess. We look forward to your entertainment”.