‘Perhaps it would be more comfortable if we were to retire to the parlour.’ My mother’s voice interjected, as she led the way into the castle’s main sitting room. There my mother and I seated ourselves on stools opposite the two courtly gentlemen, whose appearances I then had the opportunity to observe.
Stephen Gardiner was probably about thirty years of age; although only a few years older than Anne, he always projected a rather austere and fatherly presence. I surmised that this was on account of his intellectual brilliance and famed mastery of the law, which made him appear rather grave and wise beyond his years. I knew that he had a reputation at court of being arrogant, and his physical appearance only emphasised this demeanour. He was above average height, with a swarthy complexion, a hooked nose, huge, deep-set, black eyes and a permanent frown. Complementing Master Stevens colouring was his thick mass of straight, black hair, dark eyebrows and since we were at almost three o’clock in the afternoon, that which I recognised as the beginnings of a bristly five o’clock shadow. Overall, he was a thick-set man of coarse features; when he handed me the King’s letter, I could not fail to notice his huge hands, which were then clasped loosely in his lap. Perhaps it was his reputation which preceded him, or my knowledge of his devotion to the Roman Catholic faith, but I would always find it difficult to warm to Stephen Gardiner.
However, Dr Edward Foxe was an entirely different character. I estimated that he was roughly the same age as his travelling companion, and although he said relatively little, I was struck by this gentleman’s warmth and humility. Much slighter of frame and with a fair complexion, he radiated a quiet compassion and kindness. I felt that when I looked at Dr Foxe, his eyes seemed to stare back deep into my soul, as if I were meeting an old friend; I sensed that I could trust him and I hoped that during their brief stay, I would have the chance to spend some time alone with this man. With our visitors looking at me expectantly, I turned my attention back to the matter in hand. Addressing my question to Master Stevens, I asked,
‘Pray tell me Master Stevens, what is the exact nature of your Embassy? In his letter, the King makes it clear that you are charged with the task of bringing to bear a solution to the question of His Grace’s annulment. Are you to meet with the Pope himself?’
‘Indeed Madame. That is exactly so.’ Master Stevens replied. ‘As I’m sure you well know, the Pope now resides in exile, in the town of Orvieto, since the unholy sacking of Rome by the Emperor’s forces earlier this year.’
Dr Foxe then took up the thread of the conversation adding,
‘The King’s Majesty has commanded us to do all that is within our power to obtain a decretal commission from the Pope.’ I must have looked confused because thankfully Dr Foxe explained himself further. ‘A decretal commission, good lady, will lay down the principles of law which will allow His Grace, Cardinal Wolsey, to resolve the matter directly with the Pope’s representative here in England, without appeal to Rome.’
‘I see.’ I said before pausing in brief silence, attempting to make full sense of the implications of their words. Clearly, if these two gentlemen were to be successful in their task, this would simplify proceedings enormously; as who would dare dispute the facts as they were presented by the King himself in his own dominions? Cocking my head quizzically to one side, I then enquired, ‘But tell me, gentlemen, do you foresee that your commission will be successful? Do you think that the Pope will grant this,’ I drew a circle in the air, gesturing as I tried to remember the correct legal terminology, ‘. . . decretal commission?’ Dr Foxe spoke first.
‘Madame, fear not. I will not speak on my own behalf, but I can tell you this; Master Stevens has one of the keenest minds in the kingdom and there are few that understand the letter of the law as he does.’ With a broad and warm smile, I extended my open arms to both gentlemen and said,
‘Then with my whole heart I wish you Godspeed. I know that success in your endeavour will bring both his Majesty and me the most welcome tidings and comfort of mind that it is possible to imagine.’ I paused, and then added, ‘His Grace has commanded that we keep you not overly long here at Hever. However, night will soon be drawing in, and my mother and I would be most honoured if you would sup with us this evening and be our guests here tonight.’
‘Ladies, it would be a pleasure and a great honour,’ Master Stevens replied with his usual grave solemnity. With that, my mother and I rose from our seats, followed by the two gentlemen, and with her usual efficiency, Elizabeth Boleyn then set about organising our household staff to show our guests to their rooms, where they would be able to rest and refresh themselves before dinner.
However, I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, I felt myself overjoyed with Henry’s deep commitment towards me as it was clear that he was mobilising every resource at his command to bring about the end of his marriage to Katherine, so that he could take Anne as his wife. Yet I knew better than anyone how long and tortuous this journey would be; how with every twist and turn, the stakes would be driven ever higher. With Henry’s burgeoning passion and desire for Anne, I could not help but wonder whether, in his fantasies, he was creating a version of me—of Anne—that I could never hope to live up to, and if I did not live up to that fantasy—if I was unable to fulfill my side of the accord—then the consequences would be tragic. I wrestled with these thoughts over and over in my mind, vacillating between excitement and anticipation, fear and dread.
So, whilst our visitors retired to their rooms, I made my way up to the Long Gallery to reflect on our conversation. Second only to the library, this was my other favourite room at Hever; light and airy, yet obligingly warm and welcoming. Whenever my father was away at court, it became my place of quiet solitude; a place where I might tuck myself away in one of its several recesses, wiling away the hours with a book, or simply staring out of its many elegant windows across the distant parkland, whilst lost in deep and reflective thought.
This is how I found myself on that February afternoon, as the sun began its rather rapid descent towards nightfall. Blustery winds chased large, feathery clouds across an azure sky, which were painted with delicate hues of pink and grey. I sat in the same window seat that I had collapsed in on the day that I lost consciousness and crossed over into Anne’s world. I had sat there on many occasions since, during my stays at Hever. It is almost as if I was forever challenging the unfathomable powers of the universe to snatch me back to the 21st century. Yet the portal through which I had passed remained steadfastly closed, and in all truthfulness, I was not entirely disappointed; a fact which often made me feel incredibly guilty.
I leaned my forehead against the cool, smooth glass and felt the vibration of the lead-framed windows, which were being buffeted by the strong gusts of wind outside. All around me, the bricks and mortar of the castle seemed to be moving in deep, guttural groans with the force of the ever more tempestuous gales that were racing through our little valley. I did not envy our visitors their crossing of the Channel if the winds were to remain so fierce and unrelenting. I looked down into my lap to find lying open the leather-bound version of Master Tyndale’s English translation of the Bible; the one that my mother had passed on to me before Christmas.
I had been drawn to study it since it came into my possession and much to my surprise, I found that it not only helped me understand the 16th century mind, but it brought me great comfort and intellectual stimulation in the many hours that I spent away from court, and from Henry. I suspect that it was Anne’s genuine and deep piety which drew me ever deeper into the religious texts that she possessed; words such as faith, commitment and renewal would bring me great comfort in the incredibly trying circumstances that lay ahead.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps on the oak floorboards approaching the Long Gallery, and I looked up to see Dr Edward Foxe enter the room. Out of courtesy, I made to rise from my seat, but Dr Foxe immediately held up the palm of his hand as he spoke,
‘No, dear lady. Please do not arise on my account,’ he said wal
king towards me, climbing the few steps up to reach the large recessed area where I was sitting looking out of the window.
‘Then I pray you, sir, please do take a seat,’ I replied, indicating that he should sit down next to me. ‘It will be a great pleasure for me to enjoy your learned company, for, as you might imagine, we get very few visitors here at Hever.’ Dr Foxe nodded his head knowingly and smiled as if he understood how tedious the nature of my isolation might be for me—and for Anne. However, in my genuine delight at seeing that learned gentleman—for I was intrigued to know more of this man away from the calculating stare of Master Stevens, I forgot entirely that I was holding a banned, heretical text. I did not mean to draw attention to it, but when I realised that Master Tyndale’s Bible lay open in my lap, I gasped, becoming flustered and quickly closing its pages. Of course, I was horrified when Dr Foxe reached forward and took the book gently from my hands, flicking it open and scanning a number of pages, before raising his gaze to meet mine. I suspect that I looked panic-stricken, as I had expected ruthless accusations and searching questions. For the first time since my arrival in the 16th century, I was entirely lost for words; lost to find a plausible reason that would genuinely excuse my possession of such a manuscript. Incredulously, Edward Foxe smiled once again, and leant across to hand my book back to me, and as he did so, he spoke in a hushed tone,
‘Madame, you must not be afraid of me, for we share the same mind and know the truth of God’s word.’ Still somewhat stunned, I remained silent and allowed my companion to continue. ‘I must tell you Mistress Boleyn that it brings me incomparable joy to see you in possession of such a godly text.’ At this point, he leaned forward and in a whisper that was barely audible, he added,
‘Madame, there are increasing numbers of us at court who are being persuaded by the new faith. Yet until now, the great men of court who have held the most influence over His Majesty—the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, Exeter, the Courteneys and the like—have all been conservatives. With my own eyes, I see a miracle before me.’ He gestured towards me to indicate that that miracle was, in fact, Anne. ‘Increasingly, you above all others have the King’s ear. Those of us who wish with our body and soul to see the dawning of a new era in the Church are looking ever more to you to be our patron. I wish to assure you, Madame, that with every fibre of my being, I will do everything that I can to resolve the King’s Great Matter, so that His Majesty may take you as his true wife.’
I was entirely taken aback by Edward Foxe’s words. Whilst a wave of relief swept over me knowing that I was in the company of a friend, I was struck by the deep sincerity of his sentiments. I think it was at that moment I realised that this was no longer just about Anne and her love for Henry, but that many others, who themselves would become part of the reformed faith, looked to her to help bring the light to England. It was then that I completely understood the great responsibility that Anne felt, not only to her God in bringing her to this, but also to those people who prayed fervently for a new religious and social order in England. In the light of that understanding, my fear melted away, in its place a firm and steely resolve took form, to surrender myself to God’s will no matter what the consequences. Infused with a renewed sense of purpose, I nodded, holding Dr Foxe’s searching gaze as I hoped that he would see that I was worthy of this great honour. Before I had the opportunity to speak, Edward Foxe spoke again. This time he took out a second book from his own pocket.
‘Most virtuous and noble lady, I spoke with your father who indicated that you would wish to see this. I have carried it with me in the hope that I would find the means to deliver it to you in person.’ For a second time, he reached across, passing me a fine vellum-bound book, embossed with a fusion of geometrical patterns so popular in Renaissance England. I opened the front cover to find, not for the first time that day, my breath taken away.
‘The Obedience of a Christian Man, by William Tyndale.’ I read the title page aloud in reverent tones; I was immediately familiar with the historical significance of this book to the future of the English Church, and to England herself. It was another of Master Tyndale’s publications, smuggled into England secretly by brave men who dared to disobey the Roman Catholic Bishops’ attempts to suppress the propagation of the heretical ideas promulgated by Tyndale. I knew from history that Anne’s copy of this very same book would at some point in the future be stolen from her by one of Wolsey’s men; no doubt with a view to incite the King’s wrath against her. However, these men would once again underestimate Anne’s fearless courage and the deep bond that existed between Henry and his lady.
Boldly, she would go straight to the King and not only demand its return from Wolsey, but she would also encourage the King to read it for himself. The ideas contained within it would have a profound influence on Henry’s concept of kingship and the natural, subservient position of the Church in England in relation to God’s divinely appointed head here on Earth—Henry himself. This book would be the seed, planted within Henry’s mind, which would ultimately assist the English reformation and the dissolution of the English monasteries. I accepted this book from Dr Foxe, and said finally,
‘I thank you kindly for this gift, which in truth must surpass any jewel or precious thing that might be bestowed upon me. I will study it devoutly and keep it close to my heart.’
With those words, Dr Edward Foxe rose from his seat and knelt before me; taking my right hand in his, he bent forward to kiss it. In time, when his King’s Most Excellent Majesty would finally elevate Anne to the position of Queen Consort, such reverence would become entirely common to me. However, then, it had a profound impact and moved me greatly.
If the King’s proposal of marriage to Anne in the rose garden at Hever had been the first, private step towards her destiny, I sensed then that Anne was moving on to a very public stage. Slowly, but surely, those courtiers loyal to her would increasingly feel confident to honour her as a future Queen. From this point forth, there would be no more hesitancy. Anne was ready to accept her role in history.
Chapter Fifteen
Windsor Castle
February 25 - 26, 1528
A few weeks later, my mother and I were making our way on horseback to join the King and court at Windsor Castle, where we were to be Henry’s guests of honour; and I knew from his letters that he eagerly awaited my arrival. With the weather much improved, we set out from Hever with a small retinue of servants and a number of wagons carrying our possessions to court with us. These included my burgeoning wardrobe of fine clothes, jewels and other gifts from the King that befitted my elevated status as, by then, Anne was moving in the highest echelons of England’s aristocratic society.
I had been away from court for almost four months, hidden away in seclusion at Hever, whilst learned men wrangled with the complexities that kept Henry bound in his marriage to Katherine. Frustratingly, there had been little news from Doctors Gardiner and Foxe that could give cause for either of us to be merry. Having arrived in Orvieto, the two men had yet to secure an audience with Pope Clement VII. It was becoming increasingly evident that he prevaricated, whilst watching the power struggle between the armies of France and the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V. It seemed that the Pope was playing a shrewd political game. Whilst the Emperor controlled Rome, should the French army—sent to avenge the sacking of the city—fail in their endeavours, Clement would find himself ever more at the mercy of Katherine’s nephew. In hindsight, the timing of Henry’s pursuit of his annulment to Katherine couldn’t have been worse. Had Henry sought his divorce just a couple of years earlier, the outcome for England, and for Anne, might have been very different. Without the need to please Katherine’s nephew, the Pope may well have moved to grant Henry his annulment without fuss. There would have been no need to break with the Roman Catholic Church, no dissolution of the monasteries, and perhaps no Reformation. Anne’s fate may also have been very different.
That morning, we left Hever as soon as the light allowed, making our way o
n horseback at a goodly and steady pace across the counties of Kent and Surrey. The weather had been kind to us with little rain in the preceding weeks; the intermittent blustery winds that tenaciously gripped the southern counties of England had dried out the roads, increasing the speed at which we were able to travel. The King arranged for us to transfer to a barge at Hampton Court, the magnificent red brick Tudor palace belonging to Cardinal Wolsey that dominated the Thames near Esher. Our horses and belongings continued by road to Windsor.
Hampton Court was one of the few Tudor Royal palaces to survive in substantial form into the 21st century. I visited it often in my modern day life; indeed, I remembered it clearly from my first visit as a child. Already in awe of Tudor history and architecture, I recall being spellbound as we approached the distinctive main Gatehouse, hardly able to contain my excitement in anticipation of exploring every nook and cranny of this, one of Henry’s five original ‘Great Houses.’ Yet only the half of the original palace survives. In the 17th century, subsequent monarchs carried out major alterations, such that we were left with a rather peculiar building, half Tudor, half Baroque, which I considered an act of vandalism; the beguiling charm of the 16th century Renaissance architecture far outshining, at least in my mind, the Baroque design.
There I was, once again, approaching Wolsey’s grand palace riding Starlight. As the full panorama of the building came into view, I drew her reins to a halt; my mother followed suit beside me, as we admired in awe and wonder the vast expanse of the palace that abutted the Northern bank of the Thames. The King once famously remarked that he ‘had nothing to compare with it;’ that is until Henry and I remodelled York Place, which would later be known as Whitehall.
From the Great Gatehouse, through which I had passed in my 21st century life, I could see that the palace extended along the river edge for some six hundred feet or more, if you took into account the Great Court and various outbuildings which led up to its entrance. Running from left to right, and encompassed within the palace precinct, was the huge vaulted roof of the Great Hall, the large central donjon containing the main apartments of the palace; a series of walls and towers, which surrounded the Privy Garden, and finally the Watergate, which was under construction and which opened on to the Thames itself.
Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Page 21