Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

by Morris, Sarah A.

  With Henry’s words, I realised that this lady must be my mother, Elizabeth Boleyn. In my modern life, the question of Anne’s mother always intrigued me. For many years, so little had been written about her in relation to Anne that I assumed, wrongly, that she must have been dead by the time Anne caught Henry’s eye. However, from one of Henry’s love letters to Anne, begging her to come to court, I found the reference to ‘my Lady, your mother’ and realised that Elizabeth was very much alive and probably played the role of chaperone on many occasions.

  I often wondered how Elizabeth had felt about the courtship of her daughter by the King of England: Proud? Excited? In awe? Fearful? What happened to her during and after Anne’s downfall? Had she pleaded with the King for the lives of her two children?

  I later learnt she had been close to Anne, and no doubt must have been heartbroken when tragedy had befallen her children. Was it indeed of a broken heart that Elizabeth died less than two years later? And what became of her relationship with Thomas? Did she blame him? Elizabeth was buried in the Howard family vaults in St. Mary’s Church, Lambeth, which was close to the then London residence of that most noble of Tudor families. She was a Howard before her marriage to the aspiring courtier, Thomas Boleyn. I would never know, but it seemed to me that following Anne’s death and that of her son, George, Elizabeth and Thomas became estranged. Perhaps she blamed him for putting their family in the way of a lion who would ultimately tear them apart. I imagined her fury at him for this ambition, and his apathy in trying to save them in order to save his own skin. Perhaps she could never forgive him his unbridled ambition; or forgive herself for not attempting to save them. I thought of her tears of desperate grief. In her all-consuming sorrow, unable to tolerate the sight of him, I imagined her leaving Thomas and moving back to the Howard family home to nurse her memories and her broken spirit.

  As Henry and I passed her, I wanted my mother to look up, so I could see her face up close, but before I could, we moved along, heading back into the castle to prepare for the hunt.

  Chapter Three

  The Hunt,

  May 31, 1527

  Preparations for the hunt were those of bustling efficiency. No sooner had we re-entered the castle, than I was swept away from the company of the King and back up to my bedroom. The same two maids that had prepared me not half an hour earlier awaited my arrival. As I entered the room, I found them bustling around the bed where they had carefully laid out my hunting attire for my inspection and approval. Of course, they were completely unaware that their mistress was now a Queen-in-waiting. Bess and the older lady, who by then I knew as Alice, quickly stripped me of my shimmering yellow gown and dressed me in the attire that I would wear for the hunt. This time a kirtle of lightweight wool, lined with linen and trimmed along its edge with green velvet, was overlaid by a dark green English gown of satin; the sleeves being puffed at the top and gathered at the elbow, whence narrow, velvet sleeves ran close fitting to my wrists.

  This outer gown was beautifully decorated with a trim of green velvet ribbon, edged in gold cord, whilst it was fastened at the front with jewelled aiglets, a green silk sash being tied about my waist. My French hood was also removed and a new pearl edged coif and black velvet bonnet pinned in its place, the latter dressed elegantly with a fine, white ostrich feather. It seemed so strange at first, to be so fussed over and dressed as if I were a child. However, I quickly came to appreciate the intricacies of the many buttons, hooks and lacings, which drew my dresses together, and I understood it would be impossible to have dressed in such rich attire on my own. I stood patiently waiting for my maids to complete their task. All the while, I heard around me the hubbub of the castle, alive with anticipation. Emanating upwards through the open window was, yet again, the sound of the clatter of hooves as fresh horses were brought in from the stables. Prancing about, they too seemed anxious to get going. Alice came forward, holding a pair of ankle-length, leather riding boots. With Bess supporting me, she slipped each one over my stockings. Each boot was then buckled into place before finally, Alice turned to me and offered me my riding gloves; I smiled at both my maids, feeling somewhat apprehensive. The party was gathering downstairs and I knew it was time to go.

  ‘Thank you.’ I said finally.

  ‘Enjoy the hunt, Madame. May your efforts be fruitful!’ With that, Bess moved to the door, holding it open for me to pass through.

  Having been through the house on a few occasions, I could find my way quite easily to the main staircase and to the Entrance Hall below, where the hunting party was gathering. It was not the entire retinue, perhaps eight to ten people, all told. With the exception of Mary and one other lady, whom I did not yet know, all who gathered were men. I guessed that the King had finally decided upon a more intimate group, and I wondered who these people were. Undoubtedly, as the King’s close companions and confidantes, I would know many of them from my history books, but it was impossible at the time to guess who was who. I had to keep my wits about me; I suspected that eavesdropping on idle chatter would reveal a great deal.

  As I glided down the staircase, I noticed all eyes were turning towards me. I wondered if that was the effect Anne had on people when she entered a room. She was renowned for her ‘behaviour, manners and attire which excelled them all.’ Clearly, she turned heads, the obvious attention and favour of the King, no doubt adding to the intoxicating allure of her presence. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, some of those present inclined their heads, acknowledging my arrival. The King, who had been in jovial conversation with a couple of courtiers, saw me and broke off his conversation immediately, as he extended his arm to take my hand.

  ‘Mistress Anne. Now we are complete.’ Then, turning to the room Henry said, ‘Let us away and tarry no more!’ To me he leaned in close and whispered, ‘and you shall ride by my side, sweet-heart. I may be hunting a buck this day, but you, I do not want out of my sight.’

  With that, the party swept outside. I could not believe that just a couple of hours earlier at most, I had walked into this castle as plain, unremarkable Anne. Just an hour or so later, I was leaving through the same entrance, following the King of England as Mistress Anne, the King’s secret fiancée and future Queen.

  In front of me, the small courtyard was crowded indeed. Several hounds, who were to accompany us on the hunt, wove their way amongst the melee, clearly eager to be on their way. The horses were bedecked with fine leather saddles set off with brightly polished fittings. Several stable hands held onto the reins of two or three horses each, as they awaited the arrival of their mounts. As the men, including Henry, were assisted effortlessly into their saddles, I was escorted to my ride, a beautiful Irish chestnut gelding, its forehead ablaze with a white star. I thanked my lucky stars that as a small girl, I had not only fallen in love with Anne Boleyn but also with horses. I virtually grew up with them in my blood, and on a couple of occasions had even rode side-saddle; so I knew at least how to mount my horse! A strong looking groom stepped forward and offered me his locked hands into which I placed my foot. Anne was a slight thing and was lifted easily into the saddle. I turned the horse around and was delighted to find that he was responsive to my touch. I felt sure that I had ridden him before and that we shared an understanding.

  I soon found myself at Henry’s side. The King met my eyes and smiled, lighting up my heart. He lifted his right arm and motioned for us to move forward and the party set off. The Royal Standard, carried by a lone rider, fluttered in the breeze behind Henry and me, whilst our escort, a number of armed guards and servants, followed up the rear. At first, we set off at a brisk trot, making our way across the drawbridge, and then left down a deserted lane that headed towards the forest. It had gone midday and was hot by then; the heat of the sun rapidly burning away what moisture was left in the earth. We passed only a few people as we made our way along, but those we did must have recognised the Royal Standard and the exalted position of the noblemen that passed by, for all doffed their caps and
bowed low. I smiled down at them but they respectfully never met my gaze.

  We soon entered the forest, kept much cooler than the open countryside by the emerald canopy above us. It was a perfect summer’s day with light falling in dappled pools on the forest floor. Birds chirped and swooped around us as they flitted from tree to tree, feeding their chicks. Occasionally, I caught sight of a red squirrel darting across the boughs above our heads, and rabbits disappearing into the thick undergrowth on the forest floor. I was struck by how quiet it was. With the exception of some gentle banter, the sound of the horses scuffling their way along the stony path, and the clinking of the metal fittings of the horses’ bridles, there was silence. How I often longed to escape the noise pollution of the 21st century in my other life; and there I was, no cars or trains ploughing across our countryside, no aeroplanes roaring through the sky. It was bliss.

  Soon, we halted at an intersection of five paths. Henry turned to his huntsman and began discussing the best direction to take in order to hunt down the best quarry. I would come to know that quite against all usual protocol, the King had then turned to me and asked playfully,

  ‘Anne, my love, you know this forest well. Where do you reckon to be the best chance of hunting down a stag?’ In truth, I had no idea which way to go for sure, but I was drawn toward a path ahead, which bore slightly to the right, heading deep into the forest. I turned, flashing a mischievous smile at Henry. I noticed how, as Anne, I lowered my eyes, fixing my paramour from behind my eyelashes before I spoke.

  ‘My Lord, I think you will find the best hunting to be this way!’ With that, I whipped around and brazenly urged my horse forward to a full gallop, hurtling down the winding track and away into the forest. I half expected in that moment to hear Henry’s thunderous roar call me back for my impudence. Instead, all I heard was a sudden crack of the whip, as the King let out a ‘Ha!’ and drove his stallion forward in hot pursuit, the sound of the hounds barking their delight as they joined in the chase.

  It was a dangerous thing that I did that day, to ride so recklessly whilst perched so precariously in my saddle. But Anne’s boldness would always define her, and I admit that the adrenaline was exhilarating. The wind whipped past my cheeks, my full skirts billowed around my legs, trailing backwards over my horse’s hindquarters. Despite riding side-saddle, I felt sure of myself on my mount. I was in no doubt that Anne was an expert horsewoman and had been well taught in the art. She had been groomed for moments like this and shone brightly, eclipsing all. With the King on the move, the entire party followed us apace, but none could keep up with Henry and me as we sped along the forest track, mud and dust thrown up in our wake as we went.

  Suddenly, Henry caught up with me and grabbed the reins of my horse, bringing us to an abrupt stop. I jolted in fear; perhaps he was truly angry with me and my brazen behaviour. However, my fears were just as quickly allayed, as he raised his arm again to halt the rest of our party. Henry then turned to look at me, placing his finger on his lips and urging me to silence. Letting go of my reins, he pointed ahead with his gloved and bejewelled left hand, indicating towards something lying ahead of us under the cover of the undergrowth. I strained in my saddle, trying to follow the line of his finger. Just a flicker of movement gave it away to me, although Henry—a superb huntsman—needed much less. A magnificent stag was some fifty metres in front of us, alone on the edge of a forest clearing. Our arrival though had alerted him to our presence, and he was warily eyeing our group, muscles twitching in his flanks, preparing for flight. Henry slowly reached for his bow and arrow, which was in a pouch at the side of his saddle. But at that moment, spooked by his movement, the stag leapt forward into the thicket. The chase was on.

  In a fleeting moment, the King spurred his horse forward with an excited battle cry, the hounds baying for blood as they ran along beside us, streaming through the woodland toward their prey. Galloping at full tilt, I followed the King, as we ducked and wove our way at break-neck speed along the path, hurtling through the forest. The chase must have gone on for fifteen or twenty minutes before exhausted, the stag slowed its pace ahead of us. The hounds soon made up the distance, and swiftly brought the creature down, tearing at its flesh. Henry’s huntsman quickly stepped in, for the kill was too precious to be damaged. Henry, aglow with the adrenaline of the chase, jumped down from his horse to inspect the quarry. I could not help but feel sorry for that stag. Henry had pursued it to the point of its surrender, and I thought of Anne, of myself, being drawn to the same fate.

  The stag was still breathing, albeit in its death throes. The King turned to a liveried huntsman who was close to my side and held out his hand, indicating that the man should come forth to finish off the beast. In response, the servant knelt close to the stag, unsheathed his dagger and with one swift motion, cut its throat.

  As most of our number had also dismounted their horses and gathered round the dead stag, congratulating the King on his prowess and skill, I failed to notice that my father, Sir Thomas Boleyn had drawn up his horse on my right hand side. Some metres back from the fallen stag, we found ourselves out of earshot of the main party. It was the first time that I had been alone with Anne’s father, and I finally had a chance to see him close up.

  Thomas Boleyn was a slim man of average height. Like Anne, he had an elongated, oval face, a thick mass of wavy brown hair, flecked through with grey and the Boleyn nose; long and straight. Most obviously, he shared Anne’s high cheek bones, but whilst they added drama to Anne’s face, they left Sir Thomas looking drawn; an impression that was only accentuated by his pronounced Adam’s apple. Finally, deep, chestnut-brown eyes reminded me of my sister’s. However, unlike Mary’s, I could see no great softness in those eyes, but rather calculating and shrewd ambition.

  I estimated Anne’s father to be in his mid-forties, well into middle age by Tudor standards. Thomas was dressed head to toe in black. His doublet and breeches were made from rich black damask; the latter slashed at the sleeves, showing his fine, white linen shirt beneath. The doublet itself was fastened at the neck, the standing collar beautifully embroidered with blackwork. A brooch pinned on the garment at the base of Sir Thomas’s neck had a gold mount sporting a large ruby surrounded by diamonds. Finally, thigh-high, black leather riding boots were trimmed with silver spurs, and like the King, he wore black leather riding gloves and several gold rings studded with precious stones. As was customary for all the men, a dagger, this time with an ornately engraved steel hilt, was slung loosely from a sash at his side.

  My father leaned forward, speaking quietly so that only I could hear.

  ‘What of the King? What did he say to you back in the rose garden?’ I nearly laughed! So my father did not yet know of the King’s intentions towards me. Henry meant it then, when he said it was a secret. However, this was my father, and I felt duty bound to reveal the King’s promise to his daughter.

  Turning my horse, so that my back was partly toward the King and his party, I too spoke in hushed tones, my head bowed so that others were not able to see my lips as I spoke.

  ‘The King is seeking an annulment from Katherine,’ I noticed that I was not inclined to call her ‘Queen,’ preferring instead to use her Christian name. ‘He seeks a new wife and has asked me to be his bride.’ With those last few words, I raised my head again to look at my father whose face was breaking into an uncharacteristic, if not slightly Machiavellian, smile.

  ‘Is he indeed? Then this is the making of you Anne—of our family. It is our destiny to provide a lineage of kings.’ His eyes sparkled, as he busied himself calculating all that was to be gained by our good fortune. ‘I presume you said yes,’ he said with some irony, as if there could be no other answer; as if he expected no other reply from his fiery and headstrong youngest daughter.

  Suddenly, I found myself both proud of what Anne had achieved—to be loved to distraction by a great Prince—and at the same time irritated that my father could be so blind to the dangers that I knew lay ahead. I re
alised in that moment that I had great affection for him, but was also aware that Anne did not entirely trust him.

  ‘The King said that this is as yet a secret. He has asked his advisors to explore the best way to approach the case. Katherine does not yet know.’ I turned my horse back to the main party. The servants who accompanied us were collecting up the stag, making it ready to be taken back to the castle. Sir Thomas then continued,

  ‘Tonight we will indeed make merry and celebrate without words. We will keep our own council until the King makes it known you are to be his new Queen.’ I looked back at him, holding my horse steady.

  ‘Father, think not that this will be an easy path. There will be many twists and turns beyond our current knowing.’ This I said from my knowledge of history. I wanted to temper his ambition and warn him of what lay ahead. Then I added, ‘Katherine will not go quietly. You know how stubborn she is!’ This too had come from my reading, but also strangely from a sense of personal experience that again welled up from within me. I realised that Anne knew this woman well. Not surprising, as I remembered that Anne had been maid of honour to Katherine for several years already. Of course, Henry had made use of this convenient position, affording the couple the opportunity to see each other more often; the young, charismatic mistress-to-be right under the nose of the older queen. In my modern life, I had some experience of being vilified as the ‘other woman,’ but never had I dreamt of what it might be like to have to live in close quarters with ‘the wife.’ This was not a recipe for happy families—but then again this was no ordinary family.

  ‘Anne, it is true, others will be jealous of our good fortune. The Duke of Suffolk for one, and there will be more; the Montagues, the de La Poles, those who are loyal to Katherine, as well as older families who will see us as upstarts, reaching beyond our station. But your Uncle Norfolk will see the benefits of this alliance with the King. With the leading nobleman in the land behind you, all will be well. When you are Queen and have borne the King his son, your position will be unassailable.’ A courtier came close by on his horse, causing my father to break off discreetly and talk to the young man.