Moth To The Flame

by Angela Warwick

  Mystified by the events of the day, Anne called for her musicians to play for her. “Perhaps the King is upset because since his accident he can no longer ride in the lists” suggested Margaret Lee as she settled on a cushion at her mistress’s feet. But Anne had not heard; she was looking about her. “Where is Smeaton?” she demanded. “I did not raise him from choirboy to personal musician only for him to be absent when needed”.

  There was an uncomfortable silence. “He was last seen yesterday evening when he set out to dine with my lord Cromwell …” began one of the musicians awkwardly. “It seems he never returned from this engagement for when he was not present at last night’s music rehearsal, I sent a page for him…”

  “And?” Anne prompted.

  “The boy returned much later and informed me that Smeaton was not in the palace”.

  In a flash, all the puzzle pieces fell into place. The many occasions upon which Smeaton had shown his devotion to her in public; Henry’s reaction when she had smiled at Norris during the joust; Cromwell’s smugness of the last few days; even the reason for Jane Rochford’s air of sly triumph. All was revealed to her in that moment. Anne gasped “Oh dear Lord!” and covered her face with her hands.

  Showing the presence of mind that had so endeared her to Anne over the years, Margaret Lee instantly dismissed the onlookers and led her Queen firmly to the seclusion of her bedchamber.

  Raising fearful eyes to Margaret’s, Anne blurted “He means to get rid of me, Meg. He wants me imprisoned for the rest of my life on some trumped up charge so that he can marry that Seymour slut!”

  “And bastardise Elizabeth” Margaret reminded her gently.

  Anne’s expression of fear turned to one of sheer horror “My baby” she moaned, then steeling herself declared firmly “My position as Queen means nothing to me but I shall fight every inch of the way for my daughter!”

  Leaping to her feet Anne paced agitatedly around the small room. “So this is how poor Catherine felt” she said at last. “Now I am a mother I can understand so well why Catherine refused to stand down. She devoted the rest if her life to fighting for her daughter’s rights and I shall do the same for Elizabeth”.

  “Sit down Nan” Margaret soothed. “You are jumping at shadows; it will never come to that”.

  “But it will!” Anne gripped Margaret’s shoulders urgently. “It will, Meg”. Then naturally having no idea that she was virtually repeating her royal husband’s words of a few days earlier, went on “He will not dare divorce me, not so soon after the matter with Catherine. It will have to be something more”.

  “Pre-contract?” suggested Margaret hopefully.

  Anne waved her hand in dismissal of that idea. “Too simple, Meg. He hates me now. He is desperate to take his revenge on me for stringing him along for all those years. It will be something more serious than a paltry pre-contract. Treason perhaps, or maybe even adultery!”

  “Adultery!” exclaimed Margaret fearfully. “Do you think that is why they have taken Smeaton?”

  Anne laughed scornfully. “Adultery with him?” she scoffed. “I would need to have taken leave of my senses before I would stoop to bedding with him!”

  Margaret made for the door. “Tom is here in the palace” she said. “I shall ask him to ride to London and see if he can find out what is happening”.

  “Oh yes” Anne breathed in relief. “Bid him go at once Meg. Not knowing is driving me half mad”.

  After a fearful glance at Anne’s face, Margaret needed no second bidding and not many minutes passed before a cloaked figure galloped away from the palace. However Anne was surprised when Margaret did not return to her at once, although grateful in a way for the rare opportunity of being completely alone. It was nearly three hours later when the door opened at last to admit Margaret.

  “You have been an age, Meg” Anne complained, patting the edge of the bed beside her, inviting her friend to sit down.

  “I had to go myself” gasped Margaret, evidently short of breath. “The King is at Westminster”.

  “But why did Tom not go?”

  “He was taken to the Tower yesterday”.

  Anne sprang to her feet in alarm. “On what charge? Surely he is not implicated in this ghastly affair?”

  Margaret shook her head decisively. “It seems not, praise God. He is imprisoned in comfortable quarters on a trivial charge – something to do with the management of his estates, I believe”.

  Anne breathed an audible sigh of relief then hugged the pensive Meg, who despite her brave words was obviously concerned for her brother’s safety. “It may be as well that Tom is safely out of the way, Meg” Anne said softly. At Meg’s questioning face, she continued. “If the King is looking for someone to accuse of adultery with me, Tom would be the obvious choice for it is no secret that we grew up together and have always been close”.

  Realisation was dawning on Margaret’s face. “You mean, out of sight …”

  “Out of mind” Anne finished for her. “But also the King loves him and would surely never harm him”. If both women also thought of Thomas More, whom the King had also dearly loved but still executed, neither voiced their thoughts.

  “Did you find out anything else?” Anne asked anxiously.

  Margaret sighed and evaded Anne’s eyes before answering shortly “Yes”. She went on, wishing she could spare Anne the agony. “Smeaton is in the Tower and so are Will Brereton, Francis Weston and Hal Norris …”

  “He is trying for the adultery clause then” hooted Anne triumphantly. “Well, he hasn’t a leg to stand on; there is no evidence!”

  “George is also taken” Margaret murmured, then before her horrified friend could speak, went on. “And whilst at Westminster I heard one of Cromwell’s men say that Jane Rochford’s evidence is proving invaluable”.

  Instead of the outburst Margaret expected, Anne merely sat down heavily on the bed musing “Ah yes, dear Jane. It is her golden opportunity to get back at me for all the wrongs she imagines I have done to her. It seems my life is cursed with Janes – first Seymour, now Rochford!”

  Both women passed an uneasy night, each locked in their own thoughts and saying little. Anne refused to go to bed.

  When at last another beautiful day dawned, Meg helped Anne to change her crumpled gown before the two women emerged into the Queen’s presence chamber. It was completely, utterly deserted. If Anne had been trying to persuade herself that nothing was really wrong then here was the unpalatable truth that something was most definitely amiss, for even since her January miscarriage there had been some hangers on.

  Anne paced up and down before the windows overlooking the courtyard whilst Margaret sent for bread, beef and ale so that they could both break their fast. “But I’m really not hungry, Meg” Anne protested, as she was steered towards the laden side table.

  “Rubbish!” scoffed her friend, for a moment quite forgetting that she was not just talking to stubborn Anne Boleyn but to the Queen of England. “You have not eaten for hours”.

  “You must join me then” Anne ordered.

  Margaret, who had by now remembered her station, looked shocked at the suggestion. “I cannot eat at the same table as a Queen ...” she began.

  “I may not be Queen for much longer” Anne reminded her gently. “This may be the last meal we ever share together in such sumptuous surroundings”. She gestured around the room as she spoke. “Just to please me, Meg”.

  Blinking away tears, Margaret obediently sat down.

  Their stomachs satisfied, Anne pushed her plate away and rested her elbows on the table. “I am the last piece of the puzzle” she mused, pushing a few stray breadcrumbs across the table with her fingernail. “Sooner or later they will come and take me too”.

  There was not long to wait. High above the palace courtyard the great clock struck eleven and as the last chimes died away, Anne’s chamber door was unceremoniously flung open to admit the entire privy council with Cromwell and the Duke of Norfolk at the head
of the throng.

  Without any of the usual or expected niceties, Norfolk walked straight up to Anne and shook her hard by the shoulders. “Bring the Howard name into disrepute, would you?” he snarled.

  Angrily Anne shook herself free. “Kindly keep your paws off me!” she stormed. “And as for your accusation, I have done nothing to bring any name dishonour; for any degradation of the Howard name, I suggest you look around your own house before you barge into mine!” Head held high, she faced her accusers.

  Ignoring her thinly veiled poke at the well-publicised behaviour of his son and heir, Norfolk fixed her with his most baleful glare. “Then why is it”, he sneered, “that we are here on the King’s express orders to convey you under heavy guard to the Tower of London?”

  Anne stared back at him, speechless, unwelcome tears springing into her eyes. So it had come at last; that which she had been dreading for weeks had finally come to pass. Horrified though she was, there was almost some relief in being finally able to confront her fears.

  “You are under arrest, niece” Norfolk said, with such vitriolic emphasis that his spittle hit her cheek.

  “I wish to speak with the King” Anne replied haughtily, refusing to meet Norfolk’s gaze. “You have no right to treat your Queen in this manner!”

  Cromwell stepped forward, his manner humble as always. “I regret that it is quite impossible for Your Grace to speak with the King” he began. “The charges which have been brought against you constitute high treason and as you know Madam, no person accused of such a serious crime may be admitted into the sovereign’s presence until proved innocent. Therefore I must ask you Madam, to make ready to leave for the Tower on the afternoon tide”.

  Chapter 34 – Trial by Peers

  As she rode in a swift moving barge down the river Thames towards the Tower, surrounded by six burly men at arms, Anne knew that she may well be experiencing her final ride as Queen.

  A country girl, although admittedly well-born; her whole nature cried out against the thought of imprisonment. Her conscience was clear; she knew she was totally innocent of the charges brought against her and she had every confidence that the court she would have to face would find for her cause in the end.

  However, who but the most sainted could suppress a shudder of fear as they approached the grim portals of that which had become known as traitor’s gate, beneath St Thomas’s tower? Whatever she was, Anne was no saint.

  With sinister creaks, the great oaken and iron gates swung wide to admit its latest victim to the moat. As her barge glided silently through, Anne looked over her shoulder, beyond the gates, out on to the sunlit stretch of river down which she had travelled so many times as Henry’s petted sweetheart. By straining her eyes she thought she could see the ordinary people going about their business on the far side of the bank, unaware that at that moment their Queen was landing at the Tower; not in state but as a traitor.

  With groans and judders, the mighty gates, their spiked iron bars dripping with slimy river weed, shut firmly behind her. Reluctantly she dragged her thoughts away from freedom and back to her unenviable predicament; she would need all her wits and courage to see her through whatever lay ahead.

  Her barge was moored to a rusty iron ring protruding from the outer wall of the flight of steps up which she was expected to walk to be taken into custody by the Lieutenant of the Tower, Sir William Kingston. He stood, along with yet more guards, at the top of the steps looking down on her.

  There was nothing else to do then; carefully she stood up, taking care not to rock the narrow vessel, and then stepped daintily on to the first of the landing steps, holding her skirts above the lapping waters of the oncoming tide. She looked so disdainfully upon the helping hand proffered by Kingston that he withdrew it hastily and allowed her to proceed alone.

  Momentarily Anne paused on the top step, looking down at the dark waters of the moat and at her barge and the pitying face of her regular boatman. Would it be better to jump into the water and drown now, she wondered. Then she reasoned that such action would be construed as an admission of guilt and that would never do. Besides which they would surely fish her out before she had a chance to drown with dignity.

  Gathering her skirts and her determination, she stepped up on to the stone walkway and stood almost eye to eye with Kingston; she was tall for a woman and he only of an average height which belied his powerful position.

  He made a peremptory bow. “Please follow me Madam” he said stiffly.

  “Kingston ..” she extended her hand and gripped his sleeve as he made to move away. Surprised, he stopped.

  “Madam?”

  “Do I go to a dungeon?” she asked, her voice betraying her inner panic.

  Kingston allowed himself a half smile. “Indeed not. You are to be confined within the rooms you used at the time of your coronation. This way, Madam”.

  Without further speech, Anne obediently followed him to the aforementioned apartments. Only when she finally stood in those chambers of happy memory did she say “Before you go, Sir William, I would ask one more thing. I was allowed to bring no waiting women with me; will you send for Lady Lee and Lady Berkeley?”

  “Four ladies have been chosen to attend you” Kingston informed her. “I will send them to you presently”.

  Later, when the women entered her chamber, she stared from face to face blankly. “I find all but one of you unknown to me” she said coldly. “Kindly make yourselves known”.

  They were a Mrs Shelton, Mrs Cousins, Mrs Stonor and, the one she did know, an aunt by marriage, Lady Boleyn, for whom she had long fostered an intense dislike. By their shifty demeanours Anne was in no doubt as to their true purpose. “You are evidently chosen to spy upon me” she said in a sarcastic tone. “Much good may it do you”. With that, and much to their consternation, she threw her head back and began to sing one of her favourite lyrics at the top of her voice.

  For ten long days she saw no-one but her spies, Kingston, Lady Kingston and Cranmer, the latter also being her confessor. The only information she could glean was that there was much activity at Westminster whilst informants were interviewed and the evidence gathered.

  On 12th May Kingston came to her and read aloud the crimes of which she was accused. She gazed at him remotely, as though he were talking about some other woman, not herself. With her hand on her heart she said clearly “I am innocent”.

  “That may well be, Madam” said Kingston in an awkward tone as he rolled the charge sheet and slipped it into his doublet. “But I am bound to inform you that this day, four of the men accused with you go to trial in Westminster Hall”.

  Anne nodded her head thoughtfully. “And will I be informed of the verdict?”

  “Indeed” Kingston assured her.

  She spent a restless afternoon, jumping at every little sound, alert at the echo of every footstep on the stair. “Her Grace seems most concerned as to the fate of her lovers” Mrs Cousins remarked slyly, hoping to provoke Anne into some indiscreet retort.

  Anne regarded the woman through expressionless half closed eyes, deeming such obvious prying unworthy of wasting breath on an answer. However, finally weary footsteps were heard climbing the stair treads to her chamber and soon Kingston stood before her.

  Every inch a Queen, Anne drew herself up haughtily and stared him full in the face. “An account of the happenings” she demanded.

  As though he were reciting a passage committed parrot-like to memory, Kingston replied in a monotone. “The four were accused of adultery with the Queen and of conspiring to murder the King”. As Anne’s brow creased in consternation, Kingston continued. “Norris, Weston and Brereton pleaded not guilty to both charges. Smeaton pleaded not guilty to the conspiracy charge ….” The Lieutenant paused for breath and Anne broke in.

  “You are saying that Smeaton admitted to adultery with me?”

  “He did not refute his previous statement in which he admitted having known and violated the Queen” Kingston confirmed.
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  “They cannot take his word against mine!” Anne burst out. “He is but a humble musician and I am the Queen; surely in a court of law my words would carry more weight than stories from his imagination? Dear God!” With her head bowed and her hands over her ears as if to fend off the words of Smeaton’s betrayal which still seemed to hang in the air, Anne turned her back on Kingston and slowly walked to the window. After some moments, she dropped her arms to her sides and raised her head. Without turning round she addressed Kingston. “And the court’s verdict?”

  “All were found guilty of the charges as read and are sentenced to die a traitor’s death within the week” Kingston replied with obvious distaste.

  Anne whirled around. “Then it is plain that the court was informed of the verdict it should return before the trials even began!” she spat. “And worst of all I find it a gross travesty of justice that four innocent men – three of them the King’s close friends – are condemned to die in order that the King may be rid of me and free to vent his evil lusts elsewhere! Justice? Ha! No such thing in this land!”

  And she would say no more.

  On the next day, she received an abrupt dispatch from Cromwell stating that her household had been broken up and her servants either employed elsewhere or retired with pensions.

  After flicking thoughtfully at the parchment with her finger and thumb for some minutes, Anne tore the dispatch in half, then in half again and again until it was nothing but a pile of tiny pieces in her lap. And only then, for the first time since her imprisonment, did she give vent to the hysterical ravings she had suppressed for so long. For a time she plummeted to the darkest depths of despair and only afterwards did she think ruefully that she had no doubt inadvertently given her spies plenty of trivial information which their twisted minds would likely formulate into yet more evidence against her.