Moth To The Flame

by Angela Warwick

  She was quiet at that and clung to him, sweetly apologetic. “I am sorry Henry, but we have waited so long and it seems that we are no nearer to a happy conclusion”.

  “It is hard on you I know my sweet” he soothed. “But this wretched business cannot go on for much longer. I have been thinking; whilst England is under Popish domination I shall never be absolute ruler here. If a decision is not reached soon, I shall break away from Rome and put myself at the head of the English church, like that fellow Cromwell suggested”.

  Anne was overjoyed. “You would really do such a thing for me?” she asked in wonder. Her eyes filled with tears for she could comprehend the enormity of such a step.

  Slavishly gazing at her he replied “I would tear the world apart for you”.

  She could not let it rest there. “When would you do this thing?”

  He sighed heavily. “It is a drastic step and one I shall only take if there is no other way for us. But whatever happens, you and I will be married within a few months, I promise”.

  She tried to hide her disappointment; she had hoped for an immediate break with Rome so that they could be married within days rather than months. “So I must still be dependent on you to support me and pay my debts!” she cried bitterly. Henry looked at her in surprise; it seemed she would never rest until she was safely married. He told himself that her anxiety had to be due to the great love she bore him, dismissing the inner voice which reminded him that in all their years together she had never actually told him that she loved him. Had never said ‘I love you’.

  He shrugged his shoulders wearily. “If it is debts that you worry about my sweet, then you shall be invested with a title on your own right which will command a modest income”.

  “A title of my own?” she echoed in amazement, then she sobered, realising that so great a step would be sure to have certain strings attached. It was probably better not to voice her doubts, but the words bubbled to her lips.

  “I take it the title would be in exchange for my agreement to become your mistress?”

  There was a pause. “Yes” he told her, shame-faced at actually having to admit it.

  She thought for a moment, and then raised her eyes to his. “I agree to your terms ..”.

  “Anne!” His face lit up and he attempted to embrace her hungrily.

  Her eyes flashing fire, she held him off imperiously. “I did not finish my sentence Henry!”

  His face fell. “No doubt there are certain conditions” he said sarcastically. “I might have known that you would only give in on your own terms”.

  Seeing his rising anger she placated him, saying “There are only two small points upon which I would like your agreement before we strike this bargain. The first one being that you will not carry me off to bed immediately. Remember Henry, I am a chaste young lady and I would prefer to choose the time and place of such a momentous event in my life” He made as if to speak, but she held up her hand, demanding silence. She continued “The second condition is linked to the first, really. If I should conceive your child, will you give me your word that you will take the necessary steps to procure the divorce without delay so that we may marry well before the birth?”

  “I certainly agree whole-heartedly with your second point” he told her, gently squeezing her cheek between finger and thumb. “After all, there must be no doubt as to the child’s legitimacy. But as to the first point; you could keep me waiting right up to the day of the wedding ceremony!”

  She was disappointed that he had reasoned that one out so quickly; that was exactly how she had planned to play it. There was nothing else for it. “I give you my word that I will not do that” she told him with sincerity.

  He had never before had cause to doubt her promises, so he was inclined to believe her. “In that case sweetheart” he said, kissing her gently “I shall at once have the letters patent drawn up to make you a peer in your own right. You shall be the very first woman in history to hold such an honour. The investiture shall be at Windsor next Sunday and on that day you will be created Marquess of Pembroke.”

  True to his promise, the ceremony took place in the great chamber at Windsor Castle, before mass, on the morning of September 1st.

  Anne dressed carefully for the occasion in a new gown of crimson velvet edged with ermine. She wore no headdress; her long black hair flowed freely across her shoulders and down her back.

  Attended by two countesses she walked regally down the passageways and into the great chamber, and then knelt before the King, head bowed. At a nod from Henry, the Bishop of Winchester recited aloud the words on the patent creating her a Marquess, whilst the King himself slipped the crimson ermine edged mantle of estate around her shoulders and placed the coronet upon her sleek black hair. The patent having been read to the assembled noble company, she was presented with the document together with a grant allowing her to collect revenue from several estates in England and Wales which would amount to an income of at least one thousand pounds per annum. Her title and lands would pass to her male heirs, so whatever happened; even if she bore the King an illegitimate son, both the child’s future and hers were secured.

  Now that she had her title and a generous income, Anne realised that the time was fast approaching when Henry would expect her to fulfil her side of the bargain. She knew she was incapable of just walking up to him and informing him that she would sleep with him that night, but how else could the event be contrived?

  At last a solution presented itself. The King of France had agreed to support Henry over the matter of the divorce and had invited his English counterpart to travel to France so that they could hold talks.

  Coquettishly, Anne intimated to Henry that she would very much like to accompany him, and from the look in her eyes, Henry knew that if he agreed, that which he had longed for over seven interminable years may well at last take place. He could not agree quickly enough, telling Anne to choose her trousseau for he was sure that the French excursion would turn out to be their long overdue honeymoon.

  They sailed from Dover on October 9th and when Anne finally sighted the coastline of the country she had once regarded as her true homeland, she found she had mixed feelings. On one hand she was overjoyed at the prospect of returning to France; on the other, fast approaching was the land in which she would finally have to give herself to her ardent King. It was not the actual bedding which worried her, but that he may realise that she was not as pure as he believed her to be. However, being Anne, she put the matter to the back of her mind until such time as she would have to recall it, and determined to enjoy her visit.

  She had barely stepped on to French soil after so long away when she heard that she would have to stay in the English stronghold of Calais. Aggrieved, she asked why, and was told that no French lady of suitable rank would deign to receive the King of England’s concubine.

  Whilst Anne was horrified at the slight, anger mingled with relief. Henry would travel on to Boulogne to meet Francis, so although he would need to leave her behind, at least she would be able to keep her body to herself for a little longer. She spent her time in the castle devising an entertainment to hold for Francis when he returned to Calais with Henry.

  Two days later the scene was set. In the great hall in the castle of Calais, the two Kings were seated side by side enjoying a grand banquet. They had barely finished when the doors were flung open to admit what seemed to be a troupe of masked dancing girls. They were dressed in exotic, scanty costumes of gold and crimson which floated and fluttered seductively as they performed their complicated routine.

  Francis and Henry exchanged amused glances; both were well aware of the identity of the black haired beauty who appeared to be the leader of the troupe.

  The set dance completed, each lady chose a Frenchman as her partner. Anne naturally chose Francis and gallantly he pretended not to know who she was, entering into the spirit of things with gusto.

  He talked to her as they danced. “How well you move” he told her. �
��One would almost expect you to be a French lady, so elegant are your steps”.

  “You are most kind Sire” she replied in careful French, purposely speaking in the manner of one not conversant with the language; concealing the fluency which was as natural to her as breathing.

  When the dance ended, Francis led his partner to King Henry. As she curtseyed demurely before him, he leaned forward and snatched away her mask, revealing her identity to the assembly. Francis pretended to be greatly surprised. “My Lady Anne!” he exclaimed. “I had no idea that it was you with whom I danced!”

  Not fooled for a moment, she replied lightly “Then you surprise me Sire for I have been in your arms often enough in the past!”

  Henry, who had been watching their exchange with some amusement, visibly stiffened at her flippant remark. Laughing, she leaned towards him and pulled his nose gently. “But such a long, long time ago” she whispered. Immediately he brightened and was happy for Francis to partner her whenever he wished for the remainder of the revels.

  The entertainment lasted well into the early hours, and although Henry had been hopeful that she would capitulate that night, he was not surprised when he tried her chamber door to find it locked against him.

  The following day, the entertainments continued where they had left off only hours earlier, with much feasting and dancing, Francis had also procured for Henry’s amusement, two skilful wrestlers who mixed clever holds with comic acting.

  Their act was heavily applauded, Henry promising to take them on when he next visited Calais; he was very proud of his skill and strength as a wrestler.

  Later, seeing Francis and Henry deep in conversation about the divorce, Anne rose from her seat and executed a pretty yawn behind her fingers. Leaning between the two royal heads, she whispered “If Your Majesties will excuse me, I shall retire”. They readily gave their leave and Anne tried not to see the speculative look on Henry’s face as he courteously bade her good night.

  Dismissing her maids, Anne went alone to her bedchamber; a great vaulted room overlooking the stormy sea, locking the door behind her. Her heart pounded as loudly as the waves as she slowly undressed herself and surveyed her naked body in the costly full length mirror. It did not look like a body that had known a man and she prayed that Henry would be a little too drunk – both on wine and high spirits – to realise that she was no virgin.

  Crossing the room to one of her coffers, she unpacked the fabulous black nightgown and matching sheer loose robe which had cost her devoted King a fortune. She lay them both on the bed and looked at them consideringly, her head on one side. Then calculatingly she donned just the over-gown, clasping it carefully at her waist before returning the nightgown to the coffer. Then, seated before her mirror, gazing at her reflection in the dim light, she began to rhythmically brush her hair.

  Her toilette completed, nothing remained but for her to wait. She slowly unlocked the door, then opened and shut it a few times, making sure that it freed easily and would leave Henry in no doubt when he tried the handle.

  Quite soon afterwards, she heard his step on the stair; he must have excused himself from Francis with almost indecent haste, she thought to herself, suppressing a nervous desire to laugh. Swiftly she climbed out of bed and doused the one remaining torch, then stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes on the door handle, heart skipping frantically from a mixture of horror and fascination. His footsteps came closer, stopping outside her door. There was a pause and she felt almost dizzy with anticipation as the handle turned slowly and the door gradually opened.

  He stood in the doorway, his huge form almost blocking out the feeble light from the torches beyond in the passageway. For a moment he struggled to locate her in the dim chamber, but then he saw her and allowed himself a moment of pure satisfaction and anticipation. He was the King of England and here was his dearly loved Marquess of Pembroke about to award him the ultimate prize for his years of devotion and endeavours on her behalf. He did not speak, merely shut the door behind him and leaned against it, breathing quickly as he waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom, his gaze fixed on the dim figure before him, her oval face bathed by the weak moonlight, her flimsily robed body backlit by the low fire in the hearth beyond her. Unable to bear the tension any longer, she stretched out her arms to him and in a split second he crossed the room and gathered her to him. “You are trembling” he observed, tenderly stroking her hair. “Do not be afraid Nan, I shall not hurt you”. He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her gently before fumbling with the clasp at her waist. Once undone, he slipped his hands inside, surprised to feel naked flesh where he had expected to find a bed gown.

  Wasting no time, he pushed the gown gently over her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. She blessed the gloom which spared her blushes as she stood before him, her great dark eyes locked on his, wearing nothing but the cloak of her beautiful hair.

  Gently he scooped her into his arms and laid her almost reverently on the luxurious fur which covered the bed. As he stood looking down at her, almost unable to comprehend that the great moment had actually arrived, she suddenly felt herself seized with an unexpected passion. Carefully raising herself into a sitting position she tossed back her long hair, then with a seductive smile on her lips, stretched smooth slender arms towards him. Unable to speak the words to express how he felt, he leaned mutely towards her, allowing those ghostly pale arms to lock around his neck and draw him down onto the bed.

  In the ancient castle of Calais that night, locked together in an ecstasy born of long frustration, the two lovers lay. Henry was far too bewitched by her to realise that technically she was no maid, and Anne was allowed at last to release the pent up desires that had abounded deep inside her ever since she had been awakened to the delights of love by the boyish caresses of Harry Percy.

  Chapter 24 – Secret Ceremony

  The lovers’ return to England was delayed due to stormy weather in the channel, thus another three long ecstatic nights passed before they were able to sail for Dover. Anne found herself both stimulated and humbled by the King’s great passion; she had not expected their union to move her so, believing that the brief experience with Percy followed by the long years of abstinence had rendered her immune to such overwhelming desires.

  If Henry and Anne had hoped to keep their new intimacy secret, then they were to be disappointed. Once they were back at court it became blindingly obvious to onlookers that there had been a significant change in their relationship.

  Whereas their closeness had always been noted, now it seemed that the King could not bear her out of his sight for a moment, and she for her part was quite content to spend every available hour with him.

  News that the King’s relationship with the Marquess of Pembroke had at last been consummated eventually reached the Pope in Rome. He declared himself shocked and immediately issued a Brief which threatened excommunication for them both unless they separated within the month.

  The Brief reached England in early December; Henry ran his eyes over the document and then burned it, saying that if the Pope thought he was going to dictate the life and behaviour of the King of England, then he had another think coming. Despite all the ominous rumblings from Rome, Henry gave orders that the Christmas celebrations were to be as joyous and lavish as his Master of Revels could devise. It had been many years since he had known such a level of happiness and contentment and he wished it to be known that nothing would be allowed to spoil it.

  Anne believed it had finally happened; she had a suspicion that she may be with child. For some weeks she had felt strangely unwell and lately had felt it necessary to visit the privy almost hourly. When she could bear the suspense no longer, she sent for her sister Mary.

  As her sister entered, Anne dismissed her maids and invited Mary to sit beside her on her favourite window seat. With a questioning look upon her face, Mary did as she was told. Looking anxiously into her sister’s face, Anne blurted out “What does it feel like to be
pregnant?”

  Mary’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and her gaze immediately dropped to Anne’s trim waistline. “You think you carry the King’s child?”

  “Maybe” Anne whispered. “But before I start calling in physicians I want to be sure in my own mind that I am not just suffering from a trifling indisposition”.

  “I see”. With a thoughtful look on her face, Mary settled herself more comfortably into the cushioned seat. “It would perhaps be easier Nan if you told me of your symptoms; there are many, and not all women are affected in the same manner”.

  Concentrating hard, Anne related to her sister exactly what had been happening to her over the previous weeks. Where she did not make herself sufficiently clear, Mary questioned her gently.

  “Well?” Anne asked anxiously at last. “What do you think?”

  Mary took her hands in her own, genuinely delighted. “I would say that you are most definitely carrying a babe, Nan dear. Congratulations!”

  Dumfounded, Anne covered her flushed cheeks with cool hands. “I cannot believe that it has actually happened! My prayers have surely been answered!”