‘Madam, as for the first, I am a maid, as pure as the day I was born. I have, and shall keep my maidenhead to give into the hands of my future husband—whomever he may be. As for the latter, I have not taken anything away from you. The King in his Majesty realises that his bed is now cold,’ I looked at Katherine disparagingly, as if to emphasise how much she had clearly let herself go. ‘And he seeks to find a more fertile one elsewhere.’ By then, I was standing tall, my chin lifted and my head held high. As I glared at Katherine, I noticed a flush of scarlet well up from her breast and her face suffuse with an anger that she struggled to contain. I know by right I should have stepped aside to let her pass, but I was, by that time, beyond myself in my own fury.
With the most minimal gesture of deferential respect required by court etiquette, I inclined my head, made the smallest of curtsies, before gathering up my skirts, as I said, ‘Good day, Your Grace.’ I could not hold back the sarcasm in my voice, and I did not wait to see the Queen’s full indignation. In a flurry of ire, I turned my back on her and her ladies and headed back toward my own chambers with Margery following behind me. I would never again be intimidated by Katherine as I knew well that the balance of power had tipped in Anne’s favour. What I did not know was that in this strange and unfathomable drama, I would never see Katherine again.
Chapter Sixteen
Windsor Castle
March 3, 1528
A few days later, I found myself pacing around my apartment in a somewhat anxious state. I was about to entertain one of Wolsey’s men in an attempt to woo the Cardinal to support my client, Sir Thomas Cheney, to take control of the wardship of Mistress Anne Broughton. Although I was unsure how to proceed in the matter, I knew that I would need all of Anne’s charm, flair and diplomacy to inveigle myself into the Cardinal’s good graces. I also knew that my father had delicately broached the matter with the King earlier that day. Later that morning, as Henry and I walked in Windsor Great Park, I took my opportunity to influence the King. It was not a difficult task. We had spent the morning as two lovers alone, accompanied only at a discreet distance by Henry’s bodyguard, and our chaperones, my mother and Margery. The two of us meandered arm in arm through the first flush of daffodils, which were bursting into flower, announcing the arrival of spring with a great fanfare of yellow blossom.
The King was in a particularly loving and affectionate mood, and I spoke openly of Sir Thomas Cheney’s difficulties and my intention to invite Master Heneage to sup with me, in order to influence the Cardinal. I believe so entranced was Henry with his desire for me, that in that moment he would have given me his kingdom had I asked it of him. It was, therefore, no surprise to me that the King sympathised with Sir Thomas’s plight, and offered to send Master Heneage to my apartments that evening with a special dish prepared for our meal.
Yet, I was not yet finished. I found that Anne had a natural flair for playing the game of court politics, and although I had been in Anne’s world for only nine months, I was no longer a novice either; indeed, the two of us had begun to emerge as a formidable force. Thus, when Henry and I returned to the castle shortly after midday, I dined alone with the King, and most conveniently, Thomas Heneage was one of the Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber who waited upon us. As Sir Thomas lent over to refill our goblets of wine, I said boldly to His Majesty that I felt somewhat aggrieved that the Cardinal had been neglecting me of late. This was all that I needed to do, as I knew that this message would be most swiftly conveyed back to His Grace, the Cardinal, who prided himself on having eyes and ears everywhere at court; I was beginning to understand that if one was shrewd and of great wit, the potential deadly web of relationships and allegiances at court could be made to work in one’s favour.
So it came about that I was to dine with Master Heneage, attended by Margery and Nan, and a gentleman usher. Contemplating the evening ahead, I stared out of one of the two large windows in the main parlour of my privy rooms. I could make out the outline of Windsor Forest in the distance, softly illuminated in the final shards of daylight. On the edge of the forest, I followed the movements of a magnificent white stag until, like a ghost, it melted into the shadows. Only then was I aware of the crisp parchment that I had been turning over and over in my hands. I read the letter once more.
Most gracious lady,
I write to you at this time to understand of your good health and prosperity, whereof to know I would be glad as in manner mine own. I find myself much troubled lest you might have cause to be aggrieved at my rather rough wooing of matters which touch you greatly. I beseech you, good lady think nought but the best of me that I shall not desist until I have brought to pass a favourable solution to His Grace’s present difficulties.
If it pleases God, I swear that I will ever vary from these toils whilst breath remains in my body. I am and will remain your most loyal and committed servant, esteeming you, next to the King, above all others,
T. CAR LIS EBOR.
My display of displeasure at Wolsey’s lack of attention toward me at dinner had elicited the intended result. The letter that I received just an hour ago was written in Wolsey’s own compact and tidy hand. I scanned the handwriting again and felt the tension etch into the very fabric of the paper. I could imagine the Cardinal hunched over his desk, composing these reluctant and empty words of affection to the King’s Lady.
I tapped the edge of the parchment rather absentmindedly against my chin as I reflected on its message and the political game-playing that was undoubtedly afoot. I knew that the Cardinal was no fool, and by then understood well the danger that Anne represented to him. It was clear to me, and to many people at court, that he had been back-footed by Anne Boleyn’s sudden ascendancy. I also knew that when Henry inherited the English throne after the death of his father in 1509, the Cardinal had rapidly and cleverly made himself utterly indispensable to Henry; he had taken from the young, energetic King the heavy burden of state business, allowing Henry to indulge in his favourite pastimes of hunting, hawking, jousting, dancing and making merry. Yet, Wolsey had grown intolerably arrogant and vain, wielding, largely unchallenged, the power behind the throne. No one, not least a woman, had ever threatened his dominance at court. As a result, quite simply the Cardinal had not seen Anne coming, and I imagined that he was now furious with himself for his great laxity and short- sightedness; so that by March 1528, Wolsey was playing catch up. I could see from his letter that he was seeking the Mistress Boleyn’s favour; but history taught me to doubt the sincerity of his intentions. For the present, Anne and Wolsey shared a common agenda. And so, I decided to make the most of it to obtain the Cardinal’s support, both for Anne’s sake in the matter of the King’s annulment, and to obtain a favourable result for Sir Thomas Cheney.
As I turned my back on the window, laying the letter down upon a nearby sideboard, there was a knock at the door. I nodded to Bess to let in Master Heneage, who presented himself to me with a great flourish of courtly deference.
‘Madame, the King has sent me forthwith with food for your table and music for your pastime,’ he said making a deep and graceful bow. I was delighted to see that Henry had also sent along one of his personal musicians, a lutenist, to help make the evening’s conversation more convivial. I had liked Thomas Heneage from the very beginning. He was ever a kind and courteous man; softly spoken and generous in spirit. So, having made the required reverence of a simply curtsey, I smiled at him as I spoke.
‘Master Heneage, I thank you kindly for conveying to me His Grace’s gifts.’ As Master Heneage straightened himself, I added, ‘It would bring me great pleasure if you were to sup with me this evening. As you can see,’ I said as I looked about the room, ‘I am dining alone and your company would be most welcome.’
‘You do me a great honour, Mistress Boleyn and I most graciously accept,’ Thomas replied magnanimously. I knew that Master Heneage had been alerted to my intentions, and would understand all too well that the great honour that I bestowed upon him was not for
his benefit, but rather so I might forge a deeper friendship with his most recent master. I also realised with some conceit, just how artfully I had manipulated three men in just one day: the King, the Cardinal and my dinner guest. Yet, this was always Anne’s world; a world where the rules of court faction and politics dominated over play, and I was beginning to understand what an engrossing game it could be.
Soon, by the light of the fire and the warm glow of several beeswax candles placed around the room, Master Heneage and I were served generously on silver plate with several fine dishes; our food being accompanied by ale poured into silver goblets, and watered down wine, into the finest Venetian glass. Thankfully, the wine eased the polite conversation, whilst the lute worked its charm; lulling our senses with sweet and gentle melodies. Finally, I found myself alighting on the subject of the Cardinal.
‘I received a letter from His Grace, Cardinal Wolsey this afternoon. I know that you know His Grace well, and I would be much in your debt, Master Heneage, if you could thank the good Cardinal for his kind and favourable writing unto me,’ I proffered, as I broke the bread before us.
‘Of course, Madame, it would be my pleasure,’ Thomas said softly, as he raised his goblet to take a delicate swig of ale.
‘It is the first day of Lent today, is it not? I hear that the Cardinal has some very fine fishponds at his disposal at Hampton Court.’ Somewhat emboldened by the wine, I went on, ‘I think it would be pleasant, would it not, if His Grace might send me some of his carp for the table?’ I did not know if I had overstepped the mark, but Thomas Heneage’s expression remained polite, if not a little impassive. Undeterred, I pressed on toward the heart of the matter, ‘I also understand that there are some . . . difficulties . . . with regard to a rather delicate situation that has arisen between Sir Thomas Cheney and Sir John Russell.’ Master Heneage paused, and looking slightly perplexed for a moment, before an expression of recognition finally passed across his face and he nodded, saying, ‘Ah! You refer to the wardship of Sir John’s stepdaughters?’
‘Indeed.’ I said earnestly. ‘I understand that the matter has caused some considerable consternation for all parties, but I would find it most agreeable if His Grace would both forgive and support Sir Thomas in obtaining the wardship of Mistress Anne.’ My eyes flicked up to meet Margery’s gaze as she stood by silently in attendance. I was heartened enormously to see her nod, almost imperceptibly, in support. Finishing the food before him, Master Heneage sat back in his chair, hesitating briefly, before he said,
‘I will convey your concerns to His Grace, Madame. I am sure that he will give the matter all the weight and consideration it deserves.’ I wasn’t entirely sure if this was a favourable outcome, or merely a noncommittal statement meant to placate me. However, I could do no more. Master Thomas and I passed the rest of the evening in gentle conversation until, with our supper drawing to a close, I bid my dinner guest good night. As the door closed behind him, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was exhausted and longed only for sweet dreams to rock me asleep. Having been stripped of my clothes by Margery and Bess, I sank wearily into my bed.
Chapter Seventeen
Windsor Castle
March 28, 1528
A little over three weeks had passed since I dined with Thomas Heneage. Much to my relief, my first, tentative steps in the fraught dealings of court politics seemed to have gone well. Wolsey acquiesced to my humble request that Sir Thomas be forgiven for his transgressions, and supported his petition for Mistress Anne’s wardship. The matter had yet to be fully resolved with the girl’s family, but the King openly supported Cheney’s proposal, and for the time being at least, a truce of sorts seemed to have broken out between Sir Thomas and Sir John Russell, stepfather to Mistress Anne. Furthermore, if Wolsey had until this point been ignoring me, I now found myself never far from His Grace’s thoughts. The sporadic and rather cursory notes that I previously received from the Cardinal became a regular flow of effusive letters and gifts, enquiring about my health and commending His Grace unto me. That morning, I was inspecting the latest of these gifts, two firkins of fine wines for my table. I said to Margery, who was busy folding away some of my ornately embroidered, linen smocks,
‘Methinks His Grace keeps his friends close but his enemies closer!’ I had no doubt that these were chosen for my consumption directly from Wolsey’s Great wine cellar at Hampton Court.
‘I see that you doubt the sincerity of His Grace’s intentions?’ Margery replied with a rather wry smile that conveyed to me her own grave doubts. Genuine sincerity was not a quality often seen amongst the eminent nobles and courtiers of Henry’s court; and Wolsey was an aficionado at serving himself above all others. Thoughts of my rather delicate relationship with the Cardinal were abruptly swept away by the muffled sounds of shouting coming through one of the parlour’s opened windows; sounds which floated up from a track that ran alongside the southern wall of the castle and beneath the windows of my privy chambers. With Margery close by my side, we hurried to the open window to see the cause of the commotion below.
The window was propped open, as it was a fine and beautiful day; indeed, I remember that it was unseasonably warm for the time of year. As the days grew ever longer, I had awoken early that morning with the first light, in eager anticipation at how Henry and I would while away the carefree hours ahead, as indeed we had every day since I arrived at Windsor. I was somewhat vexed, and not a little anxious, when no message or summons arrived from the King. Margery did her best to soothe me with kind and reassuring words; that his Majesty must have been detained on urgent and state business and that I would, without doubt, hear from him very shortly. I was not easily placated, and I sensed Anne’s growing restlessness and concern. In order to try and distract myself, I attended Mass and broke my fast; yet still no word had arrived from the King.
Craning my neck to see what was going on below, I witnessed a stream of servants, horses and heavily laden carts leaving the castle and making their way along a narrow track, which led towards the distant forest. A few of the more senior members of the household were headed on horseback in the opposite direction, towards the nearby town. I felt confused and even alarmed in that moment; was the King leaving the castle without me? Had I offended Henry in some way? However, I had no time to think on it further, for suddenly, there was an unexpected knock at the door. Both Margery and I turned around quickly, straightening our skirts and readying ourselves to receive our visitor. My gentleman usher opened the door and announced the identity of our guest.
‘Sir George Boleyn, Madame.’ Margery and I looked at one another with a sigh of relief as my brother swept cheerfully into the room.
‘Good morning, ladies!’ I must admit I was relieved to see him and looking so happy. I was reassured that all must be well and yet, I could not contain myself. Kissing my brother on the cheek, I asked with a sense of urgency,
‘What is happening? Why have I not heard from the King? And . . .’ I half turned, extending my arm and pointing to the noise emanating from the open window behind me, ‘. . . pray tell me, what of those people outside? Is the King leaving?’ My brother threw his head back in hearty laughter, which vexed me even more.
‘George!’ I cried out through gritted teeth, taking a frustrated swipe at his arm as I begged, ‘Stop it! Tell me what is going on!’ With great mirth, my brother took hold of me by my rather delicate shoulders and said,
‘Sweet, sweet sister! Do not fret! The King has commanded that I come unto you,’ he said stepping back and taking a deep and gracious bow, as he always did when he wished to make fun of my elevated status. ‘His Majesty begs Mistress Anne to join him for a most hearty picnic at Windsor Manor.’ George paused for a moment before adding mischievously, ‘You do not think that the King could pass an entire day without your company, do you?’
Straightening himself up, he picked up a goblet of the fine wine that my gentleman usher had recently poured for me to taste. Nonchalantly, George sat down in a nearby cha
ir; languidly putting his feet up on an adjacent stool and crossing his outstretched legs. He then held the glass up to the light, examining its clarity and assessing its quality; he seemed to forget altogether that I was still questioning him. I must have looked deeply perplexed as I said,
‘A picnic? Windsor Manor? Then what is . . .’ indicating to the commotion and general hubbub that we had witnessed below. I did not manage to finish my sentence before my brother interjected.
‘His Majesty has given explicit instructions that we are to be well fed and well entertained. ‘Shrewsbury,’ who was Henry’s Lord Steward and in charge of the wider royal household, ‘has been commanded to make ready our feast and entertainment. I believe they are even sending to town for provisions and tables for us.’ He waved his hand dismissively towards the window. ‘What you see are the cooks and servants going in all directions to make preparations.’ A wave of relief passed through my body as I turned to smile broadly at Margery, who was already shaking her head as if to say, ‘I told you so!’
‘When must we be ready?’ I asked excitedly, turning back to my brother.
‘We leave in an hour,’ George replied, finally looking up at me again, grinning broadly. Despite the fact that my brother, more than anyone, enjoyed teasing me and making fun of the King’s great doting upon me, I knew that he loved me dearly and was exceptionally proud of his older sister; there was no doubt that he delighted in being the one to bring me happy tidings. It was easy to love George, and as I took in is handsome face and convivial charm, I realised just how close I had grown to him over the previous months, despite long periods of separation. Granted, he could sometimes be a little flippant and careless of the consequences of his actions, but he was fiercely protective of Anne—of me. I often noticed how he watched over me, and was the first to be stirred to anger if he ever heard my name being defiled by malicious court gossip. On more than one occasion, either my father or I had to sooth his overheated temper; a temper which threatened to send him thoughtlessly in pursuit of the purveyor of the lies that were being spread about court, so that he might defend my honour.
Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Page 24