Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

by Morris, Sarah A.

  Towers, domes, chimneys and turrets soared upwards into the sky, completely dominating the vista and dwarfing the few wattle and daub houses nestled along the main track running by the entrance to the palace. As we surveyed the scene in silence, Elizabeth Boleyn finally spoke,

  ‘Oh, good Lord! Is it not truly marvellous to think that such a magnificent palace is owned by a butcher’s son?’ I said nothing but raised my eyebrows to convey my incredulity. My mother was referring to the Cardinal’s lowly beginnings in the market town of Ipswich in Suffolk. This was always a source of much derision for the nobility, who eyed the Cardinal’s enormous wealth with great envy. It was little wonder that the Roman Catholic Church in England would find itself so vulnerable to attack from its enemies on the grounds of its excesses. Indeed, from my father’s intelligence, it seemed the Cardinal was also guilty of diverting money that was rightfully the King’s; all this to line his own pockets and furnish his great houses.

  After a brief conversation in which my mother and I had marvelled at Wolsey’s vast wealth, we rode forward down to the banks of the Thames and to a splendid barge which awaited our arrival. We were clearly to be rowed upstream from Hampton Court towards Windsor in considerable comfort.

  With our river journey underway, we passed by ordinary country folk, those working the land, as well as merchants making their way along roads that ran alongside the banks of the Thames. Many of them paused from their labours to watch our stately progress.

  We were clearly of some considerable interest; two elegantly dressed ladies of noble birth being rowed in a sumptuous barge by men dressed in the King’s livery. I studied their weathered faces and impassive stares and wished so much to know what was in their hearts. In the fullness of time, Anne would be their Queen, although notoriously, she would never have an easy relationship with the people of England; particularly those womenfolk who resented the displacement of Katherine, a Queen who had always been held in warm affection by the common folk of the realm. As Margery Wyatt had predicted, Anne would always be judged harshly. She would be an easy target for their resentment; they would always fear a woman who could take the King away from his rightful wife. For if the Queen of England could have her lawful husband stolen by another woman then what did that mean for the security of their marriages? Such brazen and unscrupulous behaviour could not be tolerated.

  Some twenty miles upstream, the magnificent edifice of Windsor Castle came into view. Like Hampton Court, Windsor was entirely recognisable to me; for although the interior would be greatly altered over the centuries, its external appearance would remain almost completely unchanged. In the 21st century, Windsor Castle is still a residence of the Royal family and despite a horrific fire in my own lifetime, which extensively damaged parts of the state apartments, it had been restored with such tender loving care that it remained not only an icon of national identity, but a beloved family home. I was used to the view of Windsor Castle in my modern day life, and was eager to drink in the scale of its original beauty with its motte and bailey design, which had been much extended and embellished by successive monarchs over several centuries. From the regal state apartments at the east end of the castle, the building extended westwards some 500 feet or more, encompassing the elevated, central Round Tower (although not as tall as I recalled) and towards its west end, the beautiful and distinctive outline of St George’s Chapel. Below the castle walls, a smattering of rather elegant houses lined the grassy banks of the Thames, dwarfed by the fortifications which loomed over them. Unlike many of the other Tudor Palaces built during the 15th and 16th century, when the houses of the gentry no longer fulfilled a defensive function, Windsor Castle had been built some 500 hundred years earlier when fortified royal residences were vital. My mother suddenly spoke,

  ‘This is a momentous day indeed.’ I turned my attention from the castle, looking over my shoulder at my mother seated next to me. She continued, ‘We are arriving here at Windsor Castle as guests of honour to the King of England!’ The significance had not failed to pass me by either. As the King’s honoured guest, I would not be expected to wait upon the Queen, as I had to endure—as Anne had to—on so many previous occasions. If Henry and I had tried to keep our relationship low-key over the winter months, my arrival at court as Henry’s guest would deliver a clear and bold message of my status in the King’s affections. Thankfully, as it turned out, Henry was true to his word; I would never again be one of Katherine’s maids. It seemed that Anne was crossing yet another threshold; from this point forward, my own household would slowly begin to coalesce around me.

  However, this was yet to come. With my mother’s words, I caught sight of the landing wharf up ahead, whilst alongside it, the Royal Standard fluttered in the breeze. My heart leapt for joy and I felt a flush of excitement race through my body; for there, mounted on a magnificent white stallion, was the King himself. As we drew closer, it was clear that Henry was accompanied by a small and select number of Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber and Council, which included: my father; my brother; Sir Henry Norris, Anne’s brother-in-law, Sir William Carey, and a man I would soon come to know as Sir Thomas Cheney.

  Eventually, our barge was tethered into place and as we alighted; the King swung his leg about, dismounting easily from his mighty horse. All the men who travelled with him followed his example. Once safely ashore, my mother and I dipped into deep and graceful curtsies, keeping our eyes downcast in submission, until, without moving, I finally raised up my gaze to take in the sight of my beloved Prince. Henry was standing several metres away from us at the head of the wharf; his feet were astride, with his left hand on his hip and his right clutching the hilt of the dagger, which was slung from his belt. In the four months that I’d been away, I had forgotten the truly awesome and fine figure struck by this mighty King. I had never seen Henry look so magnificent and indeed, so radiant. He was dressed in a cap of black velvet; the brim looped up all around with lacets and enamelled gold aiglettes. Whilst upon his body, the King wore a doublet of the finest white cloth of gold, the fabric slashed to show the lightest of white, silk fabric puffs, each decorated top and bottom with an exquisite jewel. His hose naturally matched his doublet, whilst over both of these, came a white silk and satin, knee-length jerkin; this was richly trimmed with a deep red binding around its ‘U’ shaped neckline. Finally, to complete this spectacle of Majesty, the King carried upon his broad shoulders a fabulous gown fashioned from purple velvet, lined in white satin, and trimmed with expensive, white ermine fur. However, despite all of these hugely expensive fabrics, it was the jewellery which Henry wore that took one’s breath away and caused him to literally sparkle in the sunlight. Around his neck he wore a gold collar from which hung a rough-cut diamond. I swear that this diamond was the size of the largest walnut that I have ever seen! Yet this was not all, for also draped across his gown was a very handsome gold collar with a pendant of St George made entirely of diamonds. Furthermore, beneath his mantle was a pouch of cloth of gold, and as always, Henry’s fingers were one mass of jewelled rings.

  The King’s Grace had been thirstily drinking in my appearance, before throwing his arms open wide. I could see that with every fibre of his being, he wanted to hold me once more. I raised myself up and ran forward, meeting Henry part way along the wharf, as he too moved forward equally quickly and eagerly. With an explosion of passion and an outpouring of relief to be together once again, we fell into each other’s arms; Henry catching me up effortlessly and swinging me around with great jubilation, smiles and many kisses.

  ‘Anne, my sweetheart,’ Henry whispered into my ear, ‘I have prayed to God daily to see and hold you again. It is marvellous to mine eyes to behold your face which is more precious to me, more exquisitely beautiful, than anything that I own.’

  ‘Your Majesty, Henry, is it possible to put into words the great pain of being without the one you love, without the light of your Majesty’s presence which is so dear to mine own heart? Four months has felt like four years!
’ I groaned, burying myself against Henry’s massive torso. In turn, he held me tight within his arms. Although, I was slightly above average height for a woman, I was slight in comparison with Henry’s impressive physique. At 6 feet 2 inches, the King was just a shade under a foot above my diminutive 5 feet 3 inches stature and I was always dwarfed in his presence; indeed, there were only a few gentlemen, such as Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, who were literally able to look Henry in the eye. Keeping his arm around me, Henry addressed my mother who remained unmoving in her deep curtsey.

  ‘Lady Elizabeth, please rise!’ Henry gestured with one hand that my mother should straighten herself once more. ‘We cannot thank you enough Madame, for keeping this jewel of womanhood safe from harm and returning her to me. We owe you a debt of gratitude.’ The King spoke with great lightness in his voice, before continuing, ‘Let us repair to our Privy Chambers for We have ordered a sumptuous dinner be prepared to celebrate our good fortune and also to honour you, Madame.’ With that, Henry took my hand, and kissed it gently. Then, calling out more loudly to my father, who had been waiting patiently on the riverbank with the other gentlemen of the court, the King said, ‘Lord Rochford! Your most precious daughter is returned to us and We are in the mood to celebrate!’ The King slipped his arm about my waist as we walked down the wharf towards the rest of the King’s party. Greeting them, I kissed my father and brother lightly on the cheek and paid reverence to my brother-in-law, Sir Henry, and Sir Thomas, before our party remounted our horses and made our way towards the castle.

  Before supper, my family and I visited our apartments to change and prepare for the evening ahead. As guests of honour, the rooms which had been allocated to us were more sumptuous and grander than those in which our family, and Anne, had been previously housed, at either Richmond or Greenwich. Followed by my parents and my brother, a gentleman usher of the King’s household led us to our suite which comprised a great parlour with an adjoining smaller one which had two further doorways leading from it; the first was to a sumptuous and cosy bedroom hung with deep and rich fabrics and tapestries, whilst the other opened up into a small, private closet, or chapel. What I had not expected, was that these lodgings were reserved only for my use. My father informed me that unlike my time spent with Henry the previous year, my parents and my brother were to be lodged in separate apartments for the duration of our stay. Along with the usher allocated to me, Bess would also remain with me as my maid.

  After a brief exchange of words and greetings away from the public gaze, my father, mother and brother left me to explore my new domain. As the door closed behind them, I found myself in silence; staring in wonder at my surroundings. I could not believe that I was so blessed to behold these beautiful rooms and their many ornate treasures; and to witness, first- hand, another moment of triumph for Anne. All the walls were covered in the finest linenfold oak panelling; in the main parlour, beautiful mullioned windows made for a light and airy space, kept warm by the large open fire already lit and awaiting my arrival. I was busily enjoying the delights of that fine accommodation, when suddenly, there was a knock at the door. This time, the usher announced the arrival of two women whom I had much longed to see—Anne Gainsford and Mary Norris. We all managed to maintain our composure until the usher left the room and closed the door behind him. Then with gales of excited squeals and laughter, we fell into each other’s arms, barely able to contain our enthusiasm for seeing each other again. When our first flush of heady exhilaration had passed, my friends broke away from me and each dipped into a curtsey. I looked at them quizzically, and then Nan spoke up,

  ‘Anne, we have been commanded by the King to wait upon you.’ I had forgotten all about this! In my excitement to see the King again, it had entirely slipped my mind that Henry had promised me my own small household upon my return to court. I then comprehended fully the extent to which I was being honoured; my own suite of rooms, and my dear friends to wait upon me and be my constant companions. Nan then said,

  ‘Anne, look at these beautiful rooms!’ Looking about the room in awe, she added, ‘Nought but the highest in the land could expect to be lodged in such splendour, and now you have your own household, just think of it!’ Indeed, I had been thinking on it! Then Mary said with similar exuberance,

  ‘Oh Anne! We are so happy that you have finally returned to court.’ She turned to nod towards Nan in order to gain her affirmation. With much exaggerated groaning and rolling of eyes, she explained, ‘You can’t imagine how tediously boring it has been since you left. The King and Queen have been much vexed with each other! We have never seen the Queen so surly and so deeply aggrieved. She has become increasingly fractious, particularly towards us, whom she knows to be your dear and most loyal friends.’ Nan nodded vigorously in agreement. I felt sorry for them, and guilty, for they had suffered Katherine’s wrath in my absence, and all on my behalf. Then with great sincerity, Nan added,

  ‘We are so happy to be here, Anne, and pledge to serve you with all honour and faithfulness.’ I must admit that in those early days, I found it uncomfortable to have my friends act so deferentially toward me. Yet, I understood that in the rigidly defined hierarchy of Tudor society, this deference was as natural to them as breathing; I also knew in my heart that they were truly honoured and excited to be the first among Anne Boleyn’s household.

  I was soon to learn that this was not the only delightful surprise which awaited me that day; soon, I was to be unexpectedly reunited with another of my dear friends.

  As I stood naked in front of the fire within my Privy Chamber, I could just see through a chink in the rich, satin curtains, the last light of the day fading rapidly. A costly, and indeed, very rare clock, which was set upon an oak sideboard, told me that it was shortly after five o’clock in the afternoon. Nan and Mary helped dress me in an exquisite gown I had chosen to wear to sup with the King. By then, I was much accustomed to the many intricacies of the clothes that I daily wore, and I must confess that I have always adored the sweeping grace and elegance that these garments seemed to ennoble within me. Compared to my usual fare of jeans and T-shirts in my modern day life, I always felt sexy and exquisitely feminine in my 16th century attire.

  As I was being dressed by my friends, we chatted, catching up on the comings and goings of court. All the while, I took note of each layer as it was sculpted around me to produce the final, stunning effect. Having initially helped me into my stockings, the first layer of clothing which Nan and Mary slipped over my head was a loose fitting, calf-length, linen smock with blackwork edging around the neckline and frilled cuffs. This garment was worn next to my skin and as they adjusted it about my body, I asked a question that had been playing on mind since my friends first appeared in my apartments,

  ‘Where is Joan?’ Mary was the first to reply,

  ‘She is pregnant again, Madame, and sadly has been having a difficult time with much sickness.’

  ‘Oh, poor girl!’ I exclaimed. I was genuinely concerned, for like my other friends, I always held Joan in deep affection. I had learned a lot about Mistress Champernowe during our time together. In 1527, she was twenty-three years of age and a little younger than Anne; she originally came to court from the family home in Devon to serve Queen Katherine as a maid of honour. During those years, she met the up-and-coming courtier, Anthony Denny, who was already in the King’s service. Denny had been introduced to the King through my distant cousin, Sir Francis Bryan; these two men had quickly become firm friends and Sir Francis had strongly promoted Master Denny’s interests. It was clear that the King liked this new man at court and Sir Anthony, as he was later to become, was destined for great things. I remember that his name was one of those that was deeply familiar to me from my reading of history. Yet frustratingly, he was also one of those characters about whom the details of their career, allegiances and friendships remained particularly elusive. Since my time in Anne’s world, I had gleaned that Denny was an evangelical and that Joan, like her husband, was also of the re
formed faith. On account of this, both of them had fitted in well with Anne’s circle of friends and the increasingly prominent Boleyn faction. Joan married Sir Anthony in 1525 and by the time I knew her, was already a very proud mother of a daughter, Honora who was born at their house in Cheshunt, the following year.

  ‘Madame?’ Mary’s voice cut through my own, deep thoughts; I failed to notice that both Nan and Mary were holding up the next layer of my gown. This was a red silk, padded skirt that reached down to my ankles, supported by a very minimal bodice and cut into a deep U- shape at the front and a similarly deep ‘V’ at the back. I had learnt that it was this layer that principally gave the volume and movement to a lady’s gown. I stepped into it, allowing Mary to tie it into place as I asked,

  ‘Is she at home? Who is looking after her?’ Mary picked up the next layer which was a kirtle, a sleeveless garment made of white silk and bejewelled round its square-cut neckline. Slipping it over my head with Nan’s assistance, she answered,

  ‘Yes, Madame. She’s at home in Cheshunt and I believe that her cousin, Kat, is visiting and attending her.’

  Kat Champernowe was a name that I knew well. When Joan first mentioned her cousin, I had struggled for a moment to understand why her name was so familiar, and why it had filled me with such warmth. Of course, I soon realised that Mistress Kat would later become the loyal and long-serving governess to my daughter, Elizabeth. Even before my daughter was born, I always felt that I owed her a tremendous debt of gratitude of which she could never know, and of which I could never express; I must confess that I longed to meet her. As I mused on this, Mary laced my kirtle into place down the back of the garment; this had the effect of raising up my rather small, pert breasts in the manner which I knew Henry much admired. Yet I felt that without Joan, our little circle of friends was not complete, so I asked,