Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

by Morris, Sarah A.

  However, with George’s announcement, all my worries were dispersed and instead, my head was filled with thoughts of the fun that lay ahead, basking in Henry’s ardent desire. There was much I wanted to do and only a little time to prepare.

  ‘An hour! Then we must make ready,’ I spoke with urgency to Margery: ‘Margery, make haste immediately and summon Nan and Mary; I wish all my ladies to accompany me today.’ Margery laid down the smock which she had been folding, bobbed a curtsey then disappeared from the room in order to find Bess so that she might fetch my two friends. ‘And I must change.’ I looked down at the rather plain gown that I had chosen in my neglected misery earlier that morning; I grasped my skirts with both hands, as if to emphasise that on such a beautiful and vibrant day, I—Anne—could look nothing but magnificent for the King.

  Emerging from my chambers a little while later, my ladies had worked their magic; I knew when Anne looked at her most eye-catching and radiant best, so I selected a gown of peacock green velvet, which opened at the front and was edged with a narrow border of sable. The contrasting false sleeves and kirtle were fashioned from gold damask, whilst the outer sleeves were lined and turned back with the same sable fur. My cherished pearl necklace, hung with the gold letter ‘B’ was wrapped twice around my neck, whilst six rows of pearls hung low in a wide sweep from the edge of one shoulder to another. To complete the outfit, Margery fixed a sable parlet into place, which she held together by pinning a brooch at its lower end: it was fashioned from gold, set with six pearls surrounding an emerald; a large, solitary drop pearl hung down from beneath it. Finally, clipped about my waist was a girdle; this consisted of two rows of pearls, three pearls in each row, alternating with emeralds and diamonds set in a rich gold mount. Margery attached a fine pomander made of gold filigree, given to me as a New Year’s gift from my parents. The sponge inside had been soaked with my favourite rosewater perfume; it was a scent which Henry adored against my soft, olive skin. I smiled inwardly. I suspected that the day’s merrymaking, a picnic in the warm and bright sunshine, would allow for much playful intimacy between myself and His Majesty and I felt the familiar tingle of passion ignite from deep within my core.

  Despite my excitement, however, I felt a little perturbed. As my ladies were dressing me, I caught Anne’s reflection in a nearby mirror. Once more, I stared deeply into those beautiful black eyes and realised that I had grown so familiar with her presence, with her face, that I had almost forgotten what I, myself looked like. I think it was in that moment that, for the first time, I seriously doubted whether I would ever see my other life again. The process had been a slow and gradual separation from the woman that I had once been, to the woman I had become; I was ever more deeply ingrained into the fabric of Anne’s world and her consciousness. The metamorphosis was almost complete; Anne’s famed grace and poise was by then my own; her vivacious exuberance and lust for life flowed in my veins; her courage worked its way into the very fibre of my being, so that I now found myself more readily moved to impetuous action and volatile emotions. In short, we were almost as one, and it was increasingly difficult for me to distinguish between where Anne’s thoughts, feelings and actions ended and my own began.

  However, there had been no more time to dwell on this or its implications. Before long, I found myself riding out on Starlight at the head of the day’s riding party, and alongside the King. Henry cut a magnificent presence as ever. Seated elegantly above us all on his huge and proud white stallion, he was dressed in fashionable black. Next to his skin, the King wore a white linen smock embroidered with a thick border of black and silver thread, which was worked around the neck, then vertically down the front of his broad torso; the same embroidery was repeated around the cuffs. Worn over this smock, Henry chose a black, velvet doublet and matching hose. The doublet was edged with a wide double border of silver thread, whilst over this, the King sported a skirted jerkin, the full sleeves being slashed, bejewelled and tied with aiglets. I particularly noticed the velvet cap he wore upon his head; it was decorated with his signature white ostrich feathers, which were so light that they fluttered gently on the most delicate of breezes, whilst at the front was pinned a brooch set with diamonds in the cipher ‘HA.’ This gesture touched me deeply, as I realised the King was declaring to the whole world his love and commitment to his Lady Anne. With so many precious and semi-precious stones worked into the King’s garments, Henry literally glistened in the morning sunlight and was every inch the portrait of a King.

  With everybody assembled, we made our way out of the castle’s upper ward, through a stone gateway and across an ancient bridge into the glorious, warm sunshine. I turned my face towards the sun and gratefully received its rays on my skin. There was a heady fragrance in the air, and I drew in a deep breath. It was the kind of fragrance that one only finds in those first few, exquisite days of spring, when the sun finally possesses enough strength to begin to heat the Earth. It was a scent which always created a profound sense of joie de vivre in my soul; Anne was a sensuous creature and my body could not help but be aroused.

  I glanced over my shoulder and was delighted to note that almost all of those chosen to accompany the King that day were my true friends. There were several Gentlemen of Henry’s Privy Chamber including: Sir Henry Norris; a very grateful Sir Thomas Cheney; Sir William Compton; William Carey; a gentleman who was also touched favourably by my negotiations with Wolsey whose name was John Wallop; my brother George and finally, a little to my surprise, Sir Thomas Wyatt, whom I had not seen in many months. Much to my relief though, Sir Thomas had greeted me courteously enough, yet remembering well my previous reprimand, maintained a stiff reserve and clear determination to keep a discreet distance from my person, particularly in the presence of the King.

  I was very happy that all my ladies rode with me; Margery on her chestnut mare next to Sir William Compton; Mary rode alongside her husband, whilst Sir Henry and Nan were by the side of the gallant, Sir Thomas. Much to my brother’s distaste, we were also accompanied by his wife, Jane, who rode silently next to her husband. Wearing rich fabrics and vibrant colours, bedecked with a wealth of fine jewels, our party must have struck a glorious sight in the brilliant sunshine.

  Once across the drawbridge, we made our way along a track which ran parallel to the castle on one side, and was abutted on the other by a few sporadic dwellings and a pretty little orchard. As we passed through the small stone gateway leading out toward the distant forest, a few townsfolk and several merchants stopped to make way for the King and his noble party; I watched as they doffed their caps, making deep and respectful bows and calling out, ‘Long live Your Majesty!’ Henry loved to be adored, and I could see his bejewelled chest swell with pride.

  As we were not hunting, the day was taken at a sedate pace and our horses ambled along as we rode largely in silence, the King occasionally questioning one of his courtiers about the business of court, and frequently casting glances in my direction, as if to reassure himself that his Anne was still close by his side. Our love, passion, intimacy and longing seemed to grow ever stronger by the day, and I reflected on how I had ridden out with Henry on many occasions since I first arrived at Windsor. Thus, I was now quite familiar with the bewildering maze of forest tracks and trails that cut through the vast expanse of woodland. Quite often, on days when we longed for the greatest privacy, Henry and I would head out on the same path along which we travelled that day, making towards the ancient fields of Runnymede, accompanied only by Henry’s Groom of the Stool, Sir Henry Norris and one of my ladies.

  On the first of one these outings, Henry took me to see an ancient yew tree which, even in the 1500s, was already woven into the mythology of that ancient landscape. It was believed to be nearly 2000 years old. The Ankerwycke Yew was truly majestic; when I pressed the palms of my hands against its trunk and laid and my ear against its rough and textured bark, I could almost hear the tree whispering to me of its many secrets and great wisdom. Like Henry, I grew to adore the
magical genius of that ancient site. Time and time again, we would return to sit against its enormous trunk. Sometimes, Henry would whisper my name into my ear, kissing my cheek, neck and breasts, whilst caressing me in his arms; sometimes he would speak plainly of the latest news from the continent and developments, or lack of them, in the case for his annulment. At that stage, I truly think that Henry believed that all his courtiers worked tirelessly and without foibles to bring an end to their master’s marriage. Of course, from history, I knew that there were those, including Wolsey, who had a natural inclination and interest to seek a solution to the King’s Great Matter in a way which did not involve Anne Boleyn. At those times, Anne’s great wit and renowned sharp tongue would come to the fore; I would find myself challenging Henry’s unconditional trust, particularly in his first minister. I remembered my pledge to my father and their Graces, the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk; God help me but I knew well that in those days at Windsor, I had begun to plant the seeds in Henry’s mind that would eventually pave the way for Wolsey’s downfall.

  However, my thoughts returned to the present, as I was suddenly aware that Henry was grimacing in pain; he clutched at his left thigh as if this were the source of his discomfort. Nobody else seemed to have noticed the King’s distress, and I dared not to ask Henry if he were unwell in front of his courtiers. Since I had been in Anne’s world, Henry had been in robust health, only occasionally suffering from the mildest of headaches. But I knew that in time the King would suffer greatly from a recurrent ulcer that would, not infrequently, bring Henry to his knees in excruciating pain. Despite his physicians’ best efforts, this would become an intractable and festering wound that stubbornly refused to heal. In the last few months of Anne’s life, I would come to understand just how greatly it would trouble him, often sending Henry in foul, black moods that I am sure coloured his judgement; I suspect what I witnessed that day had been the very first, tell-tale signs of Henry’s future agony. Yet the moment passed quickly enough and I noticed Henry’s shoulders relax as he regained his composure.

  After riding for a few miles, the dense forest suddenly opened to an extensive clearing at the centre of which was a complex of ancient buildings surrounded by a moat, including a hall, a private-chamber, a chapel, a kitchen and other necessary offices. Henry and I had stopped here on several occasions on our forays in Windsor Great Park; by that time, I was quite familiar with the delightful higgledy-piggledy layout of the manor which Henry said had been a favourite royal hunting lodge since the 13th century. Passing through the old South Gate and across the stone bridge that spanned the moat, we made our way along the track that led to the front of that idyllic, moated manor house.

  Henry’s Lord Steward, George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury had been busy organising a number of yeoman and ushers, who had come down from the castle to serve us and attend to our every need.

  ‘Good Morrow, Your Majesty!’ the Earl had said, dipping into a rather stiff and awkward bow. The Earl of Shrewsbury was about sixty years of age, and probably one of the oldest courtiers still serving in Henry’s household. Although in reasonable health, the years had clearly taken their toll and the Earl moved rather deliberately, as one does when rheumatic pain becomes your constant bedfellow. Yet, he was clearly a man of dogged determination and one of life’s great survivors.

  From my father, I also knew that he was already proving himself to be favourable to Anne’s cause, although intuitively, I felt this was from no love for Anne Boleyn, but rather in blind submission to the King’ s will. As the King approached him, Shrewsbury spoke again, ‘All is ready for you, Your Grace, and I trust you will find everything to your satisfaction.’ Holding his white staff of office, Shrewsbury stepped aside and stretched out his arm inviting us to enter the manor. On Henry’s arm, the King led me and our party into the Great Hall, where we were received and refreshed with ale, before the Lord Steward then led the way to the gardens at the rear of the lodge; here everything had been made ready for our arrival.

  We passed first through the formal knot garden. This was a sight of exquisite beauty, even though it had not yet burst forth into its greatest glory of summer colour. From there, we had emerged through a neatly clipped hedge into the privy orchard, which was filled with trees that were newly in leaf. Each and every one of them had just begun to display their sweet and delicate mantle of spring blossom. I marvelled at the sight of it, for it reminded me that I had been in Anne’s world for nearly a year. It had seemed utterly incredible to me; I had come to move with ease in aristocratic Tudor society. But I no longer feared that I would be found out, for I had come to know Anne almost as well as I knew myself; the sound of her voice, the scent of her skin, the grace of her movement.

  ‘How like you this, sweetheart?’ Henry interrupted my thoughts with a broad smile lighting up his face. I was truly enchanted by the scene before us. I could not have spoken with greater sincerity when I said,

  ‘Oh Your Grace, it is simply wonderful!’ For our comfort, an area of the orchard was dressed with a multitude of rich and fine rugs and piles of silk and velvet cushions, all arranged in a large horseshoe shape; around the outer edges, long sturdy oak tables were draped with fine, white linen cloths. The buffet, already piled high with expensive silver gilt plate, had included a bounty of food; plovers, partridges, larks and rabbits, as well as many exotic fruits, sweetmeats and lashings of cream. I was also delighted that Henry had commanded his consort to attend upon us and play sweet music to accompany our picnic.

  In short order, we were soon served the many fine dishes that had been prepared by Henry’s privy kitchen staff. Henry’s fool, Will Somers, had also travelled down from the castle. Although he had only been at court for a little over two years, he was well known by all, and much loved by the King. After one hilarious performance when Will minced about the King’s Presence Chamber in an outrageous imitation of the pompous Cardinal Wolsey, I asked Henry about Will’s story. The King told me Somers was a Shropshire born man, who had been brought to his attention by a certain Master Richard Fermore.

  The chemistry and mutual regard between these two men was instant; ‘I like him well, for his comedy excels them all and he meddles not in my affairs’ the King stated matter-of-factly. For the most part, I too loved Will’s wicked sense of humour. However, when I first came to court, Somers often appeared with his pet monkey, a great favourite of Katherine’s. Although an animal lover in my modern day life, I was surprised to find myself recoiling from the creature with great distaste; I soon realised that Anne had a morbid fear of these particular creatures. Clearly, he had seen my discomfort, and recognising that Mistress Anne was riding ever higher in the King’s favour, Will rarely appeared in my presence with a monkey again. Far from being the fool, Will Somers was possibly the wisest man at court, and before long he was entertaining us in such ribald speech that I laughed heartily, so much so that I thought that I would choke on my wine. Not one of us, not even the King, could claim refuge from Will’s scurrilous jokes and unbridled mocking. His humour clearly appealed to Anne’s wit and sense of playfulness; I had long since understood Anne’s enormous capacity to throw herself into life, and with those who knew her well, she was incredibly mischievous and fun loving.

  Finally, when the feasting was over and we had laughed until we cried, in high exuberance, I jumped up to my feet, sweeping in front of the King with a deep and elegant curtsey. I fixed Henry with Anne’s famous bewitching eyes and seductive smile, saying sensuously,

  ‘Your Grace, I think to dance for your great pleasure,’ adding somewhat teasingly, ‘If Your Majesty will permit it, of course.’ Henry, lying propped up on his side, resting on one elbow with one knee bent up and crossed in front of the other outstretched leg, smiled at me indulgently and indicated with a flick of his finger that I should proceed. With a swish of my skirts, I beckoned Mary and Nan to join me on our grassy stage. For in between the times that I spent with the King, my ladies and I practised our dancing with great enthu
siasm.

  By that time, I had been increasingly experiencing flashes of what I was sure were Anne’s memories; often these were of her dancing in a grand and sumptuous room accompanied by dashing and gallant partners; memories I assumed were from her days at the French court in the service of Queen Claude. In those memories were elegant and sweeping movements, with leaps of great lightness and delicacy as if Anne was being carried by an angel’s wings. Yet when I practiced the dance with my ladies, I also found myself drawing boldly upon my modern day heritage; for I too had learned the art of dancing; ballet as a child and later in life, flamenco. Together, the three of us had spent many happy hours in my Privy apartments; weaving my knowledge of dance with Anne’s. During those heady days at Windsor, I created new dance moves which both awed, and sometimes scandalised, my 16th century friends and which, I would later find out, would make their way into the iconography of Tudor dance.

  With my two ladies standing slightly behind me and at either side, I kicked off my shoes, which I knew was a scandalous thing to do in its own right. There was a sharp intake of breath from the elderly Earl of Shrewsbury, who was shocked at my audacity and wanton behaviour. However, Henry’s gaze lingered a moment on my stocking-feet and ankles with only appreciative lust in his eyes. Playing the moment for all it was worth, with great coquettishness, I indicated for the music to begin. My ladies and I began our dance of seduction; the like of which had never been seen before at Henry’s court. I realised early on that neither Nan nor Mary possessed the same innate acceptance of their sexuality as Anne, whose mastery of the art was unsurpassed. With some amusement, I often wondered whether Anne’s famed allure resulted from the overtones of the modern day, progressive woman that had come to share her body; did this create her utterly unique essence of womanhood which eclipsed and eluded her contemporaries?