Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

by Morris, Sarah A.

  God, how I remember my first sight of the woman who I came to loathe for her self-righteous obstinacy! Even seated, I could see that Katherine was of middling stature, a little shorter than me. Clearly well into middle age, and affected deeply by her many miscarriages and births, her figure was already stocky and rather matronly. Her round face and thickset neck had long since hidden any definition of the bone structure that lay beneath.

  I noticed that her nose was small and pert, even slightly upturned; her lips plump and red, set against a surprisingly ruddy complexion, whilst her face was framed by a striking black English hood, which had been trimmed with pearls. Katherine’s rich gown was made of black silk, the square cut neck-line adorned with elaborate silver embroidery, whilst her voluminous, ermine-lined sleeves were turned back to reveal a second, lower sleeve; this, in turn, was slashed to show the snow white linen ‘puffs’ of fabric that mimicked the smock sleeve worn next to her skin. Finally, her regal status was emphasised by a dazzling array of rings that adorned her small and plump hands, and about her neck, was hung a thick gold chain, encrusted with diamonds and garnets, set off by yet more pearls.

  Standing before Katherine, as manners dictated, I sank into a deep curtsey, casting my eyes deferentially to the ground. I remained there until she spoke.

  ‘Please raise yourself, Mistress Anne.’ As I pulled myself up to my full height, I could not help but notice how I had drawn my spine up straight and tall, my chin lifted high and proud. There we were; the Queen and her nemesis, facing each other for the first time since Henry’s declaration that he would seek an annulment from his wife. Of course, she held me entirely responsible. For moments that seemed to stretch into minutes, a profound silence filled the room. Clearly, Nan’s suspicions were correct. Rumours around what was fast becoming known as ‘the King’s Great Matter’ were spreading like wildfire about the court, and I could see that Henry and my father’s attempts to keep my name at a discreet distance had not been being entirely successful. It was as if half the court had arrived to see this encounter, and I knew that the Queen was being studied as intently as I by the gathered crowd. Nobody dared even breathe; how would Katherine react toward me was the question on everybody’s lips?

  It was the Queen, who by her right and rank, spoke first. Her voice strangely low, almost gruff, like her daughter’s would become; her words were laced with a thick, Spanish accent. She spoke to me in quiet tones, and although outwardly courteous enough, I sensed those words were thick with contempt.

  ‘I hear say that you have returned to court for a period of time, Madame. You are most welcome.’ Her brevity fulfilled court etiquette, yet made it plain that there was little else she wished to say to me. She nodded her head, indicating that our brief audience was concluded. One of her ladies of pale complexion and mature appearance indicated that I should make my way into the Privy Chamber to join the rest of the Queen’s maids of honour. I assumed that she was one of Katherine’s original ladies: one who had accompanied the young Princess from Spain when she first came to England to marry Henry’s fated elder brother. In time, I would know her as Maria de Salinas, Lady Willoughby. I curtsied once more, and then alongside Nan, I slipped into the Queen’s Privy Chamber, beyond the prying eyes of all and sundry. I had done it, and I assumed that the worst was surely over.

  I was wrong, of course. I failed to appreciate how the prying eyes of a thousand lords and ladies could not be worse than the accusatory stares and cutting remarks which would be levelled at me by Katherine in the privacy of her own chambers. In public, of course, she was always the gracious Queen, treating me cordially and with all due respect. Yet in private, with only her closest and most loyal ladies attending, she took every opportunity to make snide innuendos that questioned my integrity and morality. To make matters worse, many of Katherine’s ladies followed her example, as they shunned my company with an air of disdainful contempt. However, my real friends at court very quickly showed their true colours. They formed a tight little band about me, as if to try and protect me from the worst of the salacious court gossip. It was the adversity of this unpleasantness which brought us so closely together in the final few months of 1527; myself, Nan Gainsford, Mary Norris and Joan Champernowe. The ties we forged then lasted for the rest of our days together—to be separated only by death.

  I would quickly understand the nature of the Queen’s Privy Chamber and the role that I was to fulfill. Like the rest of my friends, I was there as a maid of honour; an unmarried, young girl in the service of the Queen. Our duty was primarily to accompany the Queen everywhere she went, and provide her with service and companionship; to dance, make music, play cards and to be her entertainment. However, unlike the ladies of the bedchamber—who were, by and large, married women and close personal friends of the Queen—we were rarely called upon to attend Katherine with her most personal tasks. In truth, I was glad of it, and spent as little time as possible in the Queen’s company. Thankfully for me, Katherine had long ago given up any idea of hunting or hawking with the King. Along with dining with Henry at the end of the day, these two pursuits proved to be my sanctuary in the weeks ahead; the times when I could escape the confines of the Queen’s suffocating malice towards me and enjoy endless hours of laughter, adoration and exhilaration. On reflection, these times formed the happiest days of my life; it was a time when I was the irrefutable centre of Henry’s world and could do no wrong, and yet I was not overtly powerful enough to garner the deadly jealousy of my enemies.

  My days soon settled into a familiar routine. I would rise and take breakfast at sunrise, usually around 5.30 am in the summer, later in the winter when the days were shorter. Having dressed, I would make my way to the Queen’s Privy Chambers, where she would habitually rise early to hear Mass in her Privy Closet. We would then wait upon the Queen while she broke her fast, before accompanying her to hear Mass yet again, later in the morning. Usually, there was a little time afterward for taking light exercise, either walking in the Long Gallery or if it was fine, in the garden. Finally, we would return for lunch, or as they called it then, dinner, about midday.

  While we were at Beaulieu the weather was foul, with unseasonable and unrelenting rain and gusty winds. As a result, we were all kept inside for many days at a time. As Katherine’s ladies, we spent hours sitting together embroidering shirts, bed hangings or seat covers, often accompanied by gentle, sweet music or the sound of one of the Queen’s ladies reading Christian or classical texts, romantic poetry or other ancient stories of chivalry.

  Anne was clearly well educated. She sang with a sweet and clear, soprano voice, which I noticed caused a hush to descend on any audience. Fascinated, I remembered well in my 21st century life reading of Anne’s fine and accomplished singing voice, which was described as having the capacity to ‘make wolves and bears attentive.’ I never believed that I would have the privilege of hearing that sweet voice for myself, and watch others become enthralled by her melodic tones. Her time at the cultured French court had brought about mastery of other courtly pursuits too. I marvelled at her long and delicate fingers, which moved equally nimbly across the keys of a virginal or strings of the lute or rebec; or which worked delicate embroidery with the greatest precision and accuracy. Every day, Anne guided and educated me in the noble ways of 16th century court life, and every day I felt a growing and more intimate connection with the essence of the woman whose life I was living.

  In the late afternoon, after attending Mass for a third time, the maids of honour would take turns to return to our chambers, relishing the chance to spend a little time in our own company. Several musical instruments came with me from Hever, including a flute, virginals and a clavichord, which was prettily decorated with green ribbons. When I first came across these instruments at Hever, I waited until I was alone, initially approaching each one with a great deal of trepidation. I knew that Anne was an accomplished musician, yet I could not say the same for myself in my modern day life; it had been a long-standing regret
that I had never even mastered the ability to read music.

  Yet, as I picked up each instrument, my hands took on a life of their own; they moved nimbly and swiftly as I played each one with an accomplished mastery; I was utterly overjoyed by the sweet melodies that emanated from them. It was becoming clearer to me that the ability to free my mind completely, becoming poised in the stillness of the moment, afforded Anne the space to express her creativity and flair. This unleashed unbounded joy, as it stirred within me something profoundly beautiful that longed to be set free in the world.

  I enjoyed this time to myself—most often reading, writing poetry, sometimes I even found myself effortlessly setting these poems to music. On many occasions, having completed a piece of work, I would set it down in front of me and find myself more than a little awed by Anne’s considerable talent. This talent, of course, paid homage to probably the finest Renaissance education available to a young lady of the day; a privilege that Anne’s parents ensured had been made available to her, particularly as a result of her time spent in the sophisticated Hapsburg and French courts. In those moments of quiet reflection, I felt deeply saddened that all these works would eventually be lost to time, and that my own generation would never truly understand her gift, nor hear the thoughts that moved her heart.

  On days when the weather was fine, I was often summoned by the King whilst I was still abed, to join him and his hunting party for the day. On such days, I felt the exhilarated by the knowledge that Henry and I would run free together, with only a small handful of the King’s most trusted friends and advisers to accompany us. Furthermore, many of those men were beginning to show themselves as my friends and supporters. On such a day, we would take breakfast then leave the palace after Matins, the first Mass of the day. Sometimes, I rode behind Henry on his own mount using a black velvet pillion saddle, with my arms wrapped tightly around his waist; I adored pressing my cheek against his back as we rode along. I remember the smell of him, which I always found entirely agreeable. When I asked him what the scent was, Henry confided that he mixed his own of musk, ambergris, sugar and rosewater. This signature scent, mixed with the warmth of Henry’s skin, always stirred within me a deep and primitive passion and a longing to make love to him. When this happened, Henry would often tease me. He knew that I was a sensual being and that the scent of him aroused me. As we rode along, and out of earshot of the others, he would speak to me over his shoulder and tell me how the pressure of my body against his was making him hard. Then we would giggle a lot, like two lovesick teenagers. That’s how it was then, in those early days; a carefree and joyous romance, so full of hope.

  I look out of my prison window and close my eyes briefly; I remember what it was like to be so close to him, but that was long ago, another lifetime.

  Returning mid-afternoon or sometime after dark, caked in filth and splattered with mud, I would bathe and rest before dressing exquisitely for dinner; for here I could shine without being watched by reproachful eyes. With the gifts that Henry showered on me daily, there was always something new to wear, and I constantly experimented with my appearance. Much to my amusement, it was noted by one courtier that Anne was ‘always changing something in her appearance daily’, which was seen by Anne’s contemporaries as a natural flair for elegance and dress. In truth, I think much of this was my early ignorance of the ‘proper’ way to wear a sleeve, or a hood, or a piece of jewellery. I would often make suggestions to Bess, who with a raised eyebrow would obediently follow my somewhat unusual instructions, so that my ‘mistakes’ and naïveté were, in fact, seen as genius and copied by a whole court!

  In the evening, most of Katherine’s ladies dined with the Queen alone. I thought that Henry would take dinner with Katherine. However, in his own words to me, he had long since given up her ‘bed and board’ and with my return to court, he jealously guarded the time that we were able to spend together. Therefore, most evenings, I was invited by the King to dine with him in his privy chambers. For the sake of propriety, we never dined alone. Most often the King’s dinner guests would number six or seven, including my Uncle Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk, my father, brother and the Marquis of Exeter. Occasionally, my mother would join us. However, I knew she felt uncomfortable in the King’s presence and preferred most often to keep to her own chambers. In such instances, either my sister-in law, Jane, or one of my friends would act as chaperone.

  With the inclement weather, there was much pent-up energy, not only in the King but also in the young gentlemen at court. So on most evenings, after we dined and tables cleared away, the King and the rest of our little party would join the wider court in the King’s Presence Chamber, where we would gather for music and dancing, laughter and storytelling, as we whiled away those summer evenings. I adored dancing with the King; despite his growing bulk, he was still nimble and agile in those days, yet strong; a charismatic King who dominated the court with his sheer magnetic personality. He could not take his eyes from me, or in truth, I from him. I was his Venus; his night and day, his north and south, and whilst the court orbited the King, Henry’s sun was Anne Boleyn.

  I tried hard to keep my sense of self, the ordinary 21st century Anne; yet basking in the glow of Henry’s love and passion for me, I confess that with every passing day, my reality was becoming my dream, and my dream was becoming my reality. For many at court, I was still a curiosity, the King’s latest pastime. The great lords of the Privy Chamber, such as Suffolk and Exeter tolerated my presence well enough, yet I sensed that they paid me little real attention. In their minds, Henry’s interest would wane soon enough, as it always did. Of course, their mistake was to assume that I had already slept the King and sacrificed my virginity for an hour of glory and triumph. Like most people in those early days, these great men profoundly underestimated the strength and character of the woman that was Anne Boleyn.

  Chapter Nine

  The Palace of Beaulieu

  August 18, 1527

  On that Sunday afternoon, I returned from the Queen’s Privy Chambers to find my father in the company of the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, two of the leading nobles in the land. They were all seated around the large walnut dining table in the centre of our apartment’s main reception room. As I entered, the conversation stopped, and all three men turned to look at me. My father spoke first.

  ‘Anne, we have been waiting for you.’ I curtsied briefly as courtesy dictated, but said nothing and waited for my father to continue. ‘Come and sit with us, Anne,’ he said pointing to an empty chair next to him. I was immensely curious, but a little disturbed, by the gathering of this unholy trio that did not make for natural bedfellows. I was seated opposite the two Dukes; smoothing out my skirts, and turning to look quizzically at my father, I indicated that I was ready to listen. However, it was not my father who spoke next, but the man sitting directly opposite me, Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk.

  By that time, I had spent a good deal of time in the Duke’s company, as we had dined together and hunted on many occasions with the King. As I listened to him, I had a chance to sit back and appraise this rather imposing character. Charles Brandon was then probably in his mid-forties. Like most people who know anything of the Tudor era, I knew a good deal about Charles Brandon. Raised from relatively humble origins, he was placed as a boy to be one of Henry’s childhood companions. From that time, there had grown a deep and lasting friendship between the two men; indeed, Charles would be one of the few pre-eminent noblemen and courtiers of Henry’s court who would live to die a natural death and still be in the good graces of the King. I remembered, too, how this had all nearly come to a very sticky end when he married, without the King’s permission, Henry’s younger, and by all accounts, very beautiful sister, who had just become the Dowager Queen of France. It was only on the intervention of Cardinal Wolsey—and also I suspected Henry’s long and deep affection for his sister—that the couple survived Henry’s wrath. For a period of time, they lived in quiet estate in the countryside and had to pay
enormous fines to the King on account of their serious transgression. Yet, Henry forgave him, and Charles held one of the few Dukedoms in the land, as well as many key positions as part of the King’s household and government.

  The Duke of Suffolk would marry four times in all, and I suspected had taken many mistresses in his time. In my modern life, I knew such men, and so his rakish charm was familiar to me. For Charles Brandon was a charmer, there was no doubt about that. I had often seen ladies swoon in his presence, despite the fact that he was married to the King’s sister. When he spoke, I had to admit, it was easy to lose yourself in his voice which was smooth and velvety; always unruffled, he was a man who could deliver the deadliest of messages as if they were words of love.

  Charles was also unnervingly like the King; tall, well built with broad shoulders. Like Henry, he had a widening girth, although his height meant that he too carried it well. In fact in many ways, the Duke was all the more imposing for it. Unlike Henry though, Charles Brandon had dark brown hair, which was beginning to be flecked through with grey. It was cut short, with his moustache and beard trimmed close to his face and chin. I was struck by the Duke’s strong facial features; his nose long, although somewhat broad and slightly flattened across the bridge; his eyes were large, dark brown and framed by long, dark and generous eyelashes. However, despite his advancing age, his unlined complexion made Charles Brandon look younger than his years.

  In the time that I had spent with His Grace, I was surprised to find that I enjoyed his company. Perhaps it was the Duke’s chameleon like ability to be anything that the King needed of him, but he seemed to enjoy my company in return. I sensed that there was even a mutual, but unspoken, respect between us; we were like stags circling one another, each one recognising the other’s steely resolve, eyeing up the strength of the competition, neither one prepared to underestimate their opponent. However, despite our mutual regard, a subtle undercurrent of tension always flowed within our relationship, even during those early days; I could never forget the fact that one day this man would plot against Anne. Finally, Charles spoke.