Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

by Morris, Sarah A.

  The King was disembarking ahead, accompanied by a number of men of the Privy Chamber and other notable lords and councillors. Soon our barge drew level with the Watergate. Once the Queen had set foot on dry land, all of her ladies followed, as we made our way into the heart of the palace, passing up the staircase from the Watergate and into the central donjon, or tower. The Queen’s apartments occupied the second floor, above those of the King’s. Although I was becoming accustomed to the lavish and luxurious surroundings of Henry’s royal palaces from my time at Beaulieu, Richmond was like something out of a fairy story and I fell in love with it instantly.

  Before long, life resumed much as it had been before; periods of irritation and tedium waiting upon Katherine—far too protracted for my liking—interspersed with the thrill of hunting, hawking, dining, dancing and gambling, for which I developed quite a taste. The ragged remains of that summer flitted away almost unannounced. By the beginning of September, autumn burst upon us with more rain and gusty winds. Then on 30th September, 1527, I finally met the man who Anne and her faction would later destroy.

  Chapter Ten

  The Palace of Richmond

  September 30, 1527

  On that fateful morning, I had woken excited to be having one of my rare days away from the drudgery of attending the Queen. Henry summoned me to meet him in his Privy Chambers; as usual on such days, we were to meet shortly after the first Mass of the day. I took my time to dress exquisitely for him, choosing to wear the gown of black damask and velvet that he had bought for me upon my arrival at Beaulieu. Bess dressed me expertly, my hair was swept up and braided as usual, before the outfit was completed with an English hood that was elaborately set with pearls. I chose a necklace made of gold, its centrepiece wrought into a fashionable geometric design, and under that, hung a large tear-drop pearl.

  Familiar with the layout of the palace, I made my way easily through its labyrinth of corridors and interconnecting rooms, slipping unobtrusively through the outer public chambers of the King’s apartments. I admit though that this was becoming increasingly difficult, as rumours of the King’s attentions toward me continued to grip the court. Then, as I approached the door to the King’s privy apartments, I came face-to-face with a man whose countenance I could not fail to recognise as the King’s first minister, Cardinal Wolsey.

  Wolsey was standing close to the entrance to Henry’s private suite of rooms, deep in discussion with a courtier, who I knew as Thomas Heanage, one of Wolsey’s men. As I approached, Wolsey caught sight of me and turned to watch me with curiosity. The Cardinal’s face remained impassive as he studied me; I suspected he was a little confused by the opulence of my attire, which had much changed, no doubt, since he had last met Anne. I must admit that I was quite taken aback by Wolsey’s appearance. I recalled well his portraits; a rather portly man dressed head to toe in scarlet red. But what I had not appreciated was just how overweight he was.

  Of average height, Wolsey was huge; not even the generous folds of the Cardinal’s silk robes could hide his rotund belly. I took in the detail of his large, round face; his most distinguishing feature being a pronounced, dimpled chin which fell away into flabby jowls that seemed to take on a life of their own, wobbling whenever he talked or moved his head. His pasty-white complexion was exaggerated by the flushed red of his cheeks, shot through as they were with tiny broken capillaries. It was a sure sign that this man enjoyed the bounty of his position in life. I also knew from the King that Wolsey had been away on a diplomatic mission to France, ostensibly to sign a treaty of peace with the French.

  However, covertly the Cardinal had also been instructed to seek out the support of the French King for an annulment of Henry’s marriage to Katherine. Yet Henry also confided to me that he had not told his first minister the full intentions of his heart; I wondered whether the King had already begun to question the loyalty of the Cardinal. I sensed that, uncharacteristically, Wolsey—the great politician and master of court faction—had yet to fully appreciate Anne’s ascendance at court, and the King’s personal motives behind his pursuit of an annulment.

  As a matter of courtesy, which by then came naturally to me, I dipped into a deep curtsey, bowing my head toward the Cardinal as I said,

  ‘Good morning, Your Grace.’ As much as I tried, there was not much warmth in my voice. Wolsey hesitated; I saw that despite his powerful intellect and usual vice-like grip on court politics, he remained somewhat bemused. Eventually he spoke,

  ‘Mistress Anne,’ he too inclined his head respectfully, ‘What pray, are you doing here outside the King’s privy chambers?’

  ‘I’m here to see the King, naturally.’ I heard the edge of irritation bubbling through my cool demeanour. The Cardinal studied me intently, as I watched him calculating the possible reasons for my presence. After some moments, his impassive expression broke into a knowing smile.

  ‘Ah, I see . . . But I am surprised at you Mistress Boleyn; I thought you aimed much higher than to merely occupy the estate of the King’s mistress.’ He spoke condescendingly to me, as if I were some sort of filth that he had trodden on in the street. ‘I thought an intelligent woman such as yourself would learn from your sister’s mistakes.’ I felt a venomous anger well up inside me, both on my behalf and for my sister’s honour. Yet, I had experienced Anne’s anger enough times by then to know that despite her reputation of having a fiery temper, on occasion that same fire would cool me into an ice maiden capable of savage rhetoric. I took one step towards the Cardinal, and in hushed, but fierce tones, I spoke, all the time not wavering from my eye contact with the King’s first minister,

  ‘My Lord Cardinal, if I remember rightly, if it were not for you and your heartless interference, I would soon be the Countess of Northumberland. Think not that I have forgotten; nor forgiven. As for your . . . assumption, let me give Your Grace a word of advice. You should perhaps be a little more circumspect—you know not to whom you speak.’ The Cardinal suddenly flushed scarlet, matching the same colour as his robes. Involuntarily, I nearly laughed aloud, as I watched him struggle to find the words to deal with my impudence. His jowls shaking with fury, Wolsey finally found his composure.

  ‘Dear lady, I think perhaps on the contrary, you forget to whom you speak.’ I shrugged; raising my eyebrow, a small smile of indifference tugged at the corner of my mouth. It was clear that this irritated the Cardinal even further, but before he had chance to go on, a gentleman approached us, calling out the Cardinal’s name. Arriving breathless at our side, he ignored me and spoke directly to Wolsey,

  ‘Your Grace, I have received a letter from the French ambassador which I think you might like to look at straightaway.’ The man presented the sealed letter, which the Cardinal duly took. Glancing at me, he seemed to be torn for a moment between continuing his rebuke of my impudence and the need to appraise the contents of the ambassador’s missive. He decided that the letter presented him with a more important and pressing issue and nodded.

  ‘Mistress Anne,’ he said curtly, before turning on his heels and hurrying off with his servant trotting dutifully behind him.

  Following my altercation with the Cardinal, I was led through a series of Henry’s private rooms, eventually being shown into one of his most secret chambers, his private study. Only the most intimate of the King’s courtiers had access to Henry in these hallowed rooms that lay beyond even the designated privy chamber suite. As I entered, I watched the King studying a series of official documents and manuscripts that lay spread out on the desk in front of him. A number of books also lay open and piled in random stacks; he was deeply engrossed in whatever he was studying, and failed to hear me enter the room. I stood silently for a moment and watched the man that I loved, unaware that he was being observed. Perhaps objectively he might not have been any longer called, ‘the handsomest Prince in Christendom’, but the love that I felt grow within me on a daily basis let me see beyond his flaws. My heart softened and melted, as I watched the tiny furrow in his brow dee
pen with the intense concentration he brought to the work before him. With a quill in hand, he moved quickly across the parchment, adding annotations and his own personal thoughts in the margins; occasionally, he would draw a small hand with an extended finger, as I had seen him do many times before, indicating towards a particularly pertinent point within the text that he wished to highlight. I must have stood there for a minute or more, simply enjoying his presence. Finally, however, I broke the silence,

  ‘Your Majesty.’ I said dipping into a deep and graceful curtsey. Henry looked up immediately, and as I met his gaze, he broke into a broad smile, as he did every time I walked into a room.

  ‘Ah! Good ‘morrow sweetheart!’ he said, indicating that I should approach, ‘I wish to show you something.’ Henry reached out and put his arm around my waist, drawing me down to sit upon his lap as he pointed to the papers in front of him. ‘I want to show you that I work on the case of my annulment from Katherine every day.’ He gestured with an open hand across the parchments laid before us, as if giving evidence on his application to the cause. Tenderly, the King reached up and gently touched my chin, as he turned my face towards him. ‘I have never been more convinced that the case is a just and moral one, and that soon I will be free to make you my Queen.’ With that Henry drew me towards him, kissing me softly on the lips. I must have appeared distracted, as indeed I was; I was still ruminating on my first, rather unsettling meeting with the King’s first minister. ‘What is it, my love? You do not seem happy. Do I not please you?’ I noticed how Henry, so sure of himself in every way in his dealings with others, often faltered in the presence of Anne.

  ‘Oh, Your Grace, it has naught to do with this. I am touched by your Majesty’s constancy in your intentions toward me and the strength of your resolve. It is just that . . . well . . . Wolsey is back. We came upon each other by chance just outside your Privy apartments, and he was rude to me.’ Anger was building in my voice again, as I replayed the scene in my head.

  ‘How so, sweetheart?’

  ‘He implied that I was your whore.’ I pulled myself away from the King, feeling ashamed and angry, I walked over to the fireplace; it had already been lit as, being late-September, there was a distinct autumn chill in the air. ‘Your Grace . . . Henry . . . It is so unfair! I have maintained my honour and yet,’ I threw my arms open in despair, ‘everybody thinks the worst of me, regardless of what I say or do! I’m getting sick and tired of it! Do you not see how much it offends me?’ I felt Anne’s intemperance begin to take hold, when suddenly there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Enter!’ Henry spoke firmly. The door opened and in stepped George Cavendish, another one of Wolsey’s men. I recognised Master Cavendish when I first met him at Beaulieu, some few weeks earlier. I remembered that he would be one of the people to write an account of Anne Boleyn in his memoirs of Cardinal Wolsey; as a result, I always tried to be on my best behaviour around him. However, in spite of my good intentions, with anger simmering in my breast, I forgot myself entirely.

  ‘Sire, His Grace, Cardinal Wolsey has returned from France and begs an audience with you.’ He cast a nervous glance in my direction, his speech faltering, clearly aware that his master would want to seek a private audience—alone with the King. ‘May I tell the Cardinal where he may meet with Your Grace?’ Before Henry had the chance to speak, my words burst forth—rashly and impudently—yet I could not stop myself.

  ‘Where else should the Cardinal come, except where the King is?’ A moment’s silence descended upon the room. I noticed that for a few seconds Henry appeared somewhat caught off guard. Master Cavendish shifted his weight nervously, until the King gave his command,

  ‘Tell His Grace to come here forthwith. We are keen to hear his report.’ The lightness had gone out of Henry’s voice, and I wondered whether I had chased it away, or whether the King had already turned his attention to the results of Wolsey’s mission to persuade the French King to support his annulment. With Henry’s words, Master Cavendish bowed and left the room. I had expected the King to admonish me for speaking out of turn, but to my surprise, Henry simply moved closer toward me and drew me in to his warm embrace.

  ‘Fret not, sweetheart. Let us hear what news of Francis and let us pray that the Cardinal has been successful in his mission.’ Within a few moments, there was another knock at the door. Henry moved away from me, and standing squarely behind his desk, he spoke once more,

  ‘Enter.’ The door had opened and a rather sheepish looking Wolsey entered. I had no doubt that Master Cavendish had alerted the Cardinal to my presence, and Wolsey’s discomfiture was clear.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ The Cardinal bowed toward the King, but his eyes kept glancing toward me, clearly unable to fathom the reason for my presence in this most intimate of meetings between the King and his first minister. I stood my ground, somewhat haughtily, I must confess. Raising myself to my full height, I fixed my stare upon the Cardinal and God forgive me, but I am sure that the faintest smile of satisfaction toyed lightly at the corner of my lips.

  Somewhat hesitantly the Cardinal finally spoke, his hands clasped together before him in front of his oversized belly. ‘Your Grace, I . . . I have news of King Francis . . . perhaps . . . perhaps we may speak alone?’

  Robustly and defiantly, as if defending my honour, the King replied curtly to his first Minister. ‘You may speak here, for whatever you have to say to Us can be said in front of Mistress Boleyn. We have a mutual interest in the outcome of your parlance with King Francis.’ I saw the flicker of recognition and terror pass fleetingly across the Cardinal’s face. I knew in that moment, he had for the first time realised that I was no passing fancy for Henry; that he, like many others, entirely underestimated me. Anne was the thunderstorm that appeared at the end of a long, hot sunny day, gathering from nowhere and sweeping the court up in a roar, just as Thomas Wyatt had predicted. I knew then that Wolsey realised that things had become very serious for him, perhaps fatally so.

  Wolsey had the difficult task of breaking the news to Henry that although Francis extended deeply and sincerely his brotherly love toward the King, he could not, given the delicacy of the situation in Rome, publicly support Henry’s case for an annulment. The King was furious and ranted about the treachery and disloyalty of his royal cousin. Wolsey too had to endure a fair share of the brunt of Henry’s anger, as the King upbraided his first minister for his diplomatic failure to convince Francis of the moral righteousness of his quest to be rid of Katherine. I was aware that Francis knew Anne personally from her time spent at the French court in the service of Mary Tudor and later, Queen Claude. I also remembered from history that Francis’ reputation as a womaniser was notorious, and I had no doubt that he saw easily enough through Henry’s charade; whilst he understood that the King’s conscience may well be touched, Henry’s desire to make Anne his wife and Queen was one of his main motivations for the annulment.

  Like all of Henry’s courtiers, the Cardinal absorbed the King’s fury with downcast eyes and patient silence, eventually soothing the King with calm words of steadfast loyalty and assurances of a happy outcome. As I watched the scene impassively, inwardly I could feel Anne’s frustration gently smoldering, her patience—my patience—of this ever more intense ménage a trois between Henry, Katherine and myself becoming harder to bear with each passing day.

  Wolsey managed to sweeten this most bitter of pills by presenting Henry with a glittering array of precious gifts from his French royal ‘cousin.’ First among these was confirmation of the French King’s intention to sign a treaty of friendship and solidarity with the English against Charles V; to be sealed with a presentation of France’s highest order of chivalry to the King, the Ordre de Saint-Michel. It became clear that over the next few weeks, the Cardinal would inveigle himself once again into the King’s good graces by his impeccable execution of a number of staged pieces of court grandeur, which was to culminate in the investiture of the King in the Order in early November.

  Th
e court would once again be on the move, and some four weeks later, by mid October, we set off for Henry’s favourite residence, one upon which he had lavished much attention and built a fabulous array of leisure facilities for his entertainment; a palace surrounded by the most bountiful of parklands, and nestled idyllically away from the city on the banks of the Thames; one that would provide the backdrop to some of the most momentous occasions in Anne’s life. We were heading to the Palace of Placentia at Greenwich.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Palace of Placentia at Greenwich

  November 10, 1527

  We travelled to Greenwich in the same way that the court had made its journey to Richmond, along the Thames. The inclement weather we experienced that summer and autumn was comparatively mild, for the winter of 1527-28 was to be an exceptionally bitter one. For much of the season, parts of the Thames froze and became impassable by barge. I heard throughout those winter months that the supply of food, particularly flour, was becoming ever scarcer, and from time to time there were riots in the city of London. I found myself praying for those poor souls desperate for food and warmth in that harshest of English winters.

  Such was the case, as I knelt in prayer on that foggy, and exceptionally chilly, November morning. The court was abuzz with excitement, for that day marked the culmination of the festivities surrounding the King’s investiture into the Ordre de Saint-Michel. The investiture itself would take place in the King’s Presence Chamber later that morning. To celebrate the occasion, a joust was planned for the afternoon, followed by a grand banquet with music and dancing. For the first time, I was to witness the full coming together of the great lords and ladies of Henry’s court, all eager to participate in the celebrations; to see and be seen and pay homage to their Lord.