Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

by Morris, Sarah A.

  It was not long before I found myself pushing open the creaking metal gate and stepping into an orchard that had been allowed to grow wild. It was now bursting with a riot of summer flowers and the last of the May blossom. I immediately fell in love with the untamed beauty of the place. I ambled my way through the long grass, reaching out with my hand to touch the flowers as I passed by. A marvellous array of butterflies, some which I had never seen before, danced from bloom to bloom. All around me, the languid buzzing of bees going about their work set the monotonous beat against which the harmony of birdsong filled the air.

  I walked towards a particularly large apple tree, and as I approached it, half hidden by the grass, I suddenly came upon Master Wyatt. He was stretched out, legs crossed in front of him, leaning back against the trunk of the tree with the sun upon his face. In his hands was a piece of parchment and a quill, and I noticed that the page was almost full with his elegant and sweeping hand-writing. He had not seen or heard me approach, for his eyes were closed. I suspected that he was lost in a reverie, drinking in his inspiration from the bounty of nature which surrounded us. Suddenly, I was seized by a great desire for mischief. I darted forward and grabbed the parchment from Thomas’s hands. He jumped, clearly startled by my sudden presence, and although he reached forward to grab the paper back from me, before he could do so, I twirled around, taking it out of his reach.

  ‘Anne, give it back to me!’ He pleaded, but I was oblivious to his protestations. Holding it high, I began to read it aloud.

  Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,

  But as for me hélas, I may no more.

  The vain travail hath wearied me so sore, I am of them that farthest

  cometh behind. Yet may I by no means my wearied mind Draw from the

  deer, but as she fleeth afore Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore, Sithens

  in a net I seek to hold the wind.

  Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,

  As well as I may spend his time in vain. And graven with diamonds in

  letters plain there is written, her fair neck round about:

  Noli me tangere, for Caesar’s I am,

  And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

  Of course, I recognised the prose immediately. It was one of Thomas’s most well-known verses about Anne. My words, which had started with such jubilance and passion, trailed away as I reached the end. Suddenly, I felt incredibly saddened by the enormous sense of loss and grief which poured forth from the poem. I paused in silence, my hand and the parchment within it, falling to my side. I looked at Thomas still resting back against the tree, one of his knees bent up and his hand resting lightly on it. He was watching me, and his face betrayed a mixture of both pain and resignation, as if I had invaded the most private of agonies. For a few moments, we stayed there in silence, so much unspoken passing between us. Eventually, I broke the silence.

  ‘Oh Thomas! What have I done to you?’ As I spoke, I moved towards him, plopping myself down in the long grass by his side. I too leant back against the tree trunk, both of us looking out into the garden, preoccupied for a moment with our own thoughts. It was Thomas who was next to speak, and I listened with rapt attention as he began to talk about Anne and their early relationship.

  ‘When you were just a young girl, maybe ten or eleven, you reminded me of one of those fawns that we would find from time to time hidden in the long grass in the forest; the ones left by their mothers when they went out for the day to forage for food. You were all arms and legs and if the truth be known, a little clumsy. Of course, you already had those beautiful, beguiling, black eyes that you have learned to use to enchant anybody who meets you.’ He laughed lightly, and continued, ‘Do you remember, Anne? You used to fancy me then. You even asked me to marry you in the gardens at Hever! I knew it was just childish infatuation, although there was already evidence of the essence of the woman you were to become. Yet, my lusty youth had me chasing other quarry. Oh, how I missed my chance and how I so dearly regret it!’

  He sighed, lost in his memories for a moment, before continued,

  ‘Then, all too suddenly, you were sent as a maid of honour to Margaret of Austria, before your father secured your position in France with the King’s sister, Mary, and then Queen Claude. When you finally returned some eight years later and I saw you again, you were transformed from that ungainly fawn into a magnificent and wild creature of incredible grace, strength and exotic allure. I was besotted with you, utterly and completely and yet,’ he paused wistfully for a moment before continuing, ‘when I looked into your eyes, I knew that you were lost to me. You had drunk from the cup of kings and tasted the attentions of mighty princes. It was clear to me immediately that you had set your sights high, and that Anne Boleyn would never be the wife of a simple country gentleman like me.’ He cocked his head thoughtfully,

  ‘You are a unique and remarkable woman, Anne. Intemperate and headstrong at times, yes, but courageous, strong, intelligent, glamorous and oh, not to mention probably . . . no I should say definitely, the most alluring woman in Christendom!’ He threw his head back in laughter, while I remained silent, watching him intently. However, I dared not interrupt him, for I wanted to know more. ‘Most men are frightened of you, did you know that Anne?’ He turned to look at me earnestly, ‘And those who aren’t, want to possess you, for you are like a priceless, flawless diamond; radiant and utterly beguiling. Henry is such a man. I see it in his eyes. He has to have you. You will set our country in a roar, my lady! For to try and hold you is to try and keep a wave upon the shore. I shudder to think what he will do, who he will crush and what he will tear down to have you as his own. For I know you Anne, you will not give yourself away to him as your sister did. You are too shrewd for that and have learned her lesson well.’ He then shifted his position, turning to face me. Looking over my shoulder, our faces were close, as if we might kiss, of course we did not. He searched my face, as if to implore me one last time to step away from the abyss.

  Finally, he spoke again,

  ‘I have loved you with all my heart for of all of seven years now. It is because of you that my wife hated me so much. Oh, she did not know about you specifically, but she sensed that my heart lay with another and that our bed was cold. I could not bring myself to touch her, for when I tried, all I saw was your face, your smile and your eyes. Yet, I now see,’ he nodded and indicated towards the poem that I still had in my hand, ‘that the chase is over and that I will never have the chance to share my life with you. I do not know what lies ahead. I suspect that you shall have your way and perhaps even one day be the Queen of England, but I will always love you and will always serve you, on my life and my honour, I pledge it.’ I allowed the sincerity and intimacy of Thomas’s words to fill my heart, before I reached across and gently stroked his cheek saying,

  ‘I know Thomas. I know it well and thank you.’ I withdrew my hand and paused, ‘And I am truly sorry for the pain that I have caused you.’ Then, from all that I knew that lay ahead, I said, ‘I have a destiny and I see that my life unfolds before me, sometimes even in spite of myself. I will need your support Thomas, for perhaps things will not always be so easy.’ I paused for a moment, before adding a little more than perhaps I intended to say, ‘And above all you must be careful, for you and I will pass through the lion’s den.’

  For one final moment, we held each other, the last vestige of our childhood friendship finally departing. In our silence, I think we both knew that everything was about to change, and that the carefree summers that we had spent in the Kentish countryside were coming quickly to an end.

  In due course, we joined the group. Along with Mary and me, there was Thomas’s sister, Margery (whom I did not know at the time would become like a sister to me, and one of my closest confidantes), her sister Anne, Margery’s husband, John Rogers and four more of Thomas’s close friends, all of whom had stopped by at Allington to visit the Wyatts. The party spread themselves out under the shade of
the generous, old oak tree that dominated that part of the garden. Numerous rugs were laid about the lawn; these were strewn with a variety of large and soft cushions in various shades and rich fabrics, and upon which all the gentlemen and ladies reclined in the afternoon sunshine. A hearty picnic was well underway, and I was glad for it, as the long journey had made me ravenous. I suspected that the wine being passed around had been flowing for some time as there was much jollity and laughter from this merry little band.

  As we joined the group, Thomas introduced me to a couple of his friends, whom I had not met before, and would see little of again. However, amongst those present was a lady that I would come to know well; her name was Lady Bridget Harvey, née Wiltshire. It was clear from the warmth of her greeting that she knew Anne intimately. Indeed, it would not take me long to establish that Lady Bridget was from another Kentish family, and as such was a long-standing friend of both the Boleyns and the Wyatts.

  I dipped a curtsey respectfully to all present. With the exception of my sister, Thomas and Margery, it was evident that the other members of the group treated me with a little more deference than anyone else present. I could not help but wonder whether my sister had already shared something of the King’s intentions toward me. I dismissed the possibility immediately; Mary may be many things, but I believed that above all, she was loyal and discreet and I trusted her implicitly. More likely, with the King’s burgeoning interest in Anne becoming more evident at court, rumours had already begun to circulate of their romantic involvement.

  In 1527, with so much not yet known, I suspected that I was a source of enormous curiosity. However, taking Thomas’s lead, they soon accepted my presence and everybody began to relax into the feasting, gossiping and merry-making. When we had eaten our fill, and I felt I would burst, Thomas’s brother-in-law picked up his lute, which he had propped against the tree behind him. Mary suddenly jumped to her feet and clapping her hands in front of her cried, ‘I wish to dance! John, play us a lively tune, so that we may do so gaily!’ Without hesitation, one of the other young gentlemen sprang gallantly to his feet and taking her small hand, he led her out onto to the expanse of lawn in front of us. In those days, we were still young and carefree and none of us needed much persuading to follow. Before long, accompanied by sweet music, we began to dance and twirl as I had done at Hever only a couple of days before. I later learned that we were dancing a Volta that day, as we were lifted high into the air in the strong arms of the men who commanded us. All of us ladies found ourselves throwing our heads back and laughing heartily in the sheer joy of the moment.

  Finally, when we tired of the dance and our heads were spinning from the relentless whirling around, one of our group suggested that we play blind man’s bluff. We were strong and our energy seemed infinite; so despite our exhaustion, we began to play. Glowing with the heat of our merry-making, the men had lost their outer gowns and jerkins, tossed carelessly onto the grass, and wearing only their shoes, tights, breeches and finely embroidered, loose fitting shirts, they were each in turn blindfolded with a white, silk scarf. Arms outstretched, they groped in the dark, as we ladies ducked and dived to avoid capture; the men who were not taking part, stood aside, shouting encouragement and jeering alternately at ‘the blind man.’ When each had taken his turn, Thomas piped up, ‘Methinks it is now Mistress Anne’s turn!’ He smiled at me wryly, arms folded across his chest, challenging me to step forward. As well Thomas knew, Anne was never one to shy away from a challenge, so I strode forward purposefully and took the white silk handkerchief from my sister, who tied it about my eyes. I was plunged into darkness, relying only upon the rustling of skirts, the scuffing of shoes, and the many shouts and shrieks about me to guide me to my prey. Eventually, almost exhausted from the exertion and the laughter, I caught hold of somebody’s shirt. I recognised my captive as a man, for his muscular chest was hard against my hand, and at such close quarters, I could smell the scent of his maleness. I reached up and lifted the blindfold from my eyes, finding myself face-to-face with Thomas. The most fleeting moment of desire passed between us, before he suddenly reached down and seized something that had been tied loosely from my girdle belt. Taken unawares, I did not react immediately, but sought instead to understand what had been stolen from me.

  Then I saw it, lifted high in the air. On display for all to see as a trophy of his conquest was a gold locket suspended on a silk ribbon. Around me, the other members of our party were clapping and cheering both my success and Thomas’s revenge. Suddenly, I felt afraid. Yet, I did not understand why. The laughter had fallen away from me, and quite out of kilter with my fellow companions, I found myself with my arm outstretched, palm facing upwards towards Thomas, as I spoke gravely,

  ‘Thomas, it is mine. Give it back to me, now!’ Right there and then, in the peace and tranquillity of the gardens at Allington, I could not explain to myself why it had seemed so important that he surrender the locket. Thomas seemed vaguely puzzled with the strength of my reaction. However, he continued to taunt me light-heartedly.

  ‘Mistress Anne, I claim this prize as a token of remembrance of a sweet lady!’ He bowed low in my direction, and although he kept up the cheery disposition that encouraged our friends to applaud our performance, when he looked into my eyes I saw the sincerity of his words reflected there.

  In front of everyone, I felt that to press the matter would heap more significance upon it than I would wish. So, I gave up my cause and allowed him to keep the jewel. I never saw or heard of it again until many weeks later: it was the day Henry and I had our first, heated argument.

  Chapter Six

  Hever Castle

  July 21, 1527

  Since leaving Allington, almost six weeks had slipped by. Thomas left Kent in late June, stopping by our home to pay his respects to my mother and me, before travelling on to join my father in London, and to continue his work as an ambassador to the King. My sister had also left Hever with her husband William Carey. He had arrived as part of the King’s Privy Chamber, but had remained behind with Henry’s permission, before finally departing with my sister over a week later. In the bewildering excitement of my arrival in Anne’s world, I completely forgot that she was already a married woman with two small children. I recalled that in the future, there would be much speculation as to whether Henry himself had fathered her son and daughter, and although I was desperate to ask her of the truth, I was apprehensive. I surmised that this surely was a secret that two sisters would gladly have shared. To admit my ignorance may well have seemed very strange indeed, so I held my tongue.

  With my father and brother still absent at court, the castle slipped into a sedate and reassuring pace of life. This was so befitting of the sheer beauty and tranquility of the countryside that enfolded our little haven. We received very few visitors in those weeks and I was glad, for it allowed me to quietly observe the everyday comings and goings of Tudor life. I became familiar with the way people spoke and by watching my mother intently, how a lady of noble birth, such as me, would be expected to interact with all levels of society. When we received visitors, I made sure to be at my mother’s side, a quiet and unassuming presence. Yet, all the time I drank thirstily from the fountain of knowledge. Thankfully, I had a university education in my modern life, and so by Tudor standards, I was more than well equipped intellectually to be the rival of any man. Indeed, I occasionally wondered with some amusement as to the real nature of Anne’s noted intelligence; was this in fact an echo of her future alter ego?

  When I was not with my mother, I occupied much of my time in the library, voraciously devouring book after book in a quest to understand as much as I could about the world that had seemed so strange to me at first, and yet was becoming my home. In the first couple of weeks, I had spent a good deal of time thinking of my other life. But as each day went by, I became more indelibly ingrained into the fabric of my 16th century life. In Anne’s body I had never felt more alive, or more vibrant. And what was more was that in a sho
rt period of time, I had adapted admirably to playing the part of Anne Boleyn. Yes, back then, I still sensed myself as entirely distinct from her; the molecules of our lives inexplicably, but temporarily, woven together by a bizarre turn of events, although this would change in time and I would soon begin to lose the sense of my own separate identity.

  On occasion, my mother gently enquired about my intentions to return to court. She knew of my pledge to the King, and that he eagerly awaited my return. I confess that part of me longed for it—to see Henry again. I was also full of anticipation at the thought of tasting the real-life Tudor Court for myself. Yet, I sensed that in my departure from Hever, Anne would be leaving the last of her youth and innocence behind. I was so utterly entranced by every nuance of life in our little country home that for some time I resisted the impulse to rush forward on to London. Of course, I was also acutely aware of the many dangers that lay ahead for Anne, and I found myself wanting to save her from her fate.

  On that July morning, I awoke slowly. All night a fierce thunderstorm had raged around the castle, lighting up the sky in a magnificent display of nature’s omnipotence. Thunder had rolled around our little valley and kept me awake well into the early hours of the morning, and so I had slept later than I was accustomed. Even before I opened my eyes though, I knew the rain had ceased. The breeze that was coming through my little window had been cleansed by nature’s purge, and was sweet and fresh. I stretched languidly in my bed, before my eyes finally flickered open.