“Your Majesty is lovely this eve,” stuttered Madge, aware of the king’s presence just a few inches away.
“Aye, that she is, Mistress Madge. We shall have a new prince soon, God willing,” laughed the king, his eyes never leaving his wife’s face. His face was flushed with wine and desire. Madge felt her own heart beat faster. He filled her with fear and awe.
“God willing, my love—yet you must be patient a little longer! I am still unchurched!” said the queen, a strange smile on her lips.
“Vixen,” whispered the king and Anne turned to him, grabbed his meaty hand, and kissed it, giving it a lick with the tip of her tongue as she lowered her great eyes, then raised them to his. Madge could hear the intake of his breath.
The royal couple continued down the row of maids and groomsmen, greeting each warmly. At the very end of the line, closest to the door, Madge heard the queen welcome Master Arthur Brandon. Madge could not believe her ears—she could not imagine how Sir Churlish could have wormed his way into this private affair. Before she could ponder on it, however, she felt a rough hand on her elbow, guiding her to the corner of the room where few people were congregating.
“Milady Margaret, your hair is a shimmering halo—the modest covering of an angel. Will you join me in a game of trump?” Sir Henry Norris held onto her arm so firmly she had no choice but to accompany him. He reeked of something sour, yet sweet, a heavy scent that almost made Madge ill. She stopped in front of a small gaming table and turned away from him, looking at the ladies and gentlemen milling around the chambers. Master Smeaton was tuning his lute while servants brought in sweetmeats to tempt the appetite.
“I play not well, milord. Another would give you better sport,” said Madge, still not looking at him.
“Nay, nay, lass—you will do quite nicely. Come. Sit,” he said as he pulled out her chair and almost shoved her into it.
Madge tried to sit gracefully but the force of his arm caused her to teeter for a moment. Finally, the chair settled firmly on the floor. Madge watched as Sir Norris took the seat opposite from her and began to shuffle the large cards.
“You will note, mistress, I am quite adept with the cards. You should be on your guard,” he said, his thin lips pressed in a smile.
“I am always on my guard with you, sire. And with every man at court,” said Madge, trying to keep her voice pleasant, though this man, above all save the king, made her uneasy.
“Ah, you cousins—such virtuous women,” said Norris. His voice oiled its way into her ears and she felt somehow violated.
“My queen instructs all her ladies to have a care of their chastity, for to lose such is to add insult to Her Majesty, who wishes to have good ladies at her court,” said Madge, looking at the cards in her hand. She could hear the strumming of the lute and she knew Master Smeaton would begin to sing anon.
The room grew quiet, all in readiness for the music. No one spoke except Sir Norris, who continued, despite evil looks from the others.
“Virtue is overvalued, mistress. If you would be my lady, and I had your virtue, I would make you my own—shower you with jewels and other meaty tidbits,” he whispered loudly. At this, Madge rose abruptly and joined Lady Rochford and Lady Seymour on the outer edges of the group surrounding Master Smeaton. Soon, his strong sweet voice took her away from the castle, back, back to the open fields of the north country. She closed her eyes. Her breathing loosened and she could feel the tightness around her throat release a little. When the song was finished, Madge opened her eyes.
“Would that my voice could carry you such a ways, mistress,” said Sir Norris in her ear. His hands encircled her waist and pulled her back against him. She could smell wine on his breath and noticed both Lady Rochford and Lady Seymour had moved away from her, staring as Sir Norris continued to caress her. Madge felt the blood rise to her cheeks. She looked to the queen, who was also staring at her, one lovely eyebrow raised. The king, too, watched as Sir Norris held her tightly from behind.
Madge could not think of how to escape him. To wrench herself free would be unseemly, disrupting the graceful manners of the court. Yet, by forcing himself on her in so public a place, Sir Norris had already broken the etiquette of courtly love. Oh, she did not want to shame the queen. Yet, she was taking disgrace upon her own person by allowing such behavior. All the court would think Sir Norris was her lover. She shuddered.
Suddenly, Master Smeaton struck up a lively dance, not the one they had planned but something completely unfamiliar. At that, Master Brandon appeared in front of her and held out his hand.
“Lady Margaret, if I may have this dance?” He simply stood, waiting.
“Delighted, Master Brandon,” Madge said, “though I do not recognize the tune.” Master Smeaton played handily, the lute strings vibrating quickly, the notes plucked faster than the usual court dances.
“Oh, ’tis the Dompe, mistress—a dance of the yeomen! Come, I’ll teach you,” he said, taking her hand and leading her away from Sir Norris. He wrapped his arm around her waist and they began a lively jig, round and round, her long curls whipping in circles as Master Brandon moved faster and faster to keep up with the music. Madge never knew she could fly so quickly, her feet barely touching the floor and Arthur’s strong right arm holding her steady as they whirled around the chambers. Soon, other ladies and gentlemen whirred with them and all was flash of color and bright movement. Master Smeaton kept playing faster and faster until Madge was breathless. She realized as they came to a quick stop that Arthur had guided them to a private space behind an arras that hung near the outer entrance to the queen’s quarters. He pulled her by the hand and she ducked into the alcove, glad of the open window.
“You may not know the Dompe, mistress, but your legs most certainly do. You are light as air on my arm,” said Master Brandon.
“The queen has had many weeks to teach me a few things—the dances of France, some music, skill with my needle,” said Madge, looking out the window onto the torches lining the walkways below. “Aye, ’tis a warm night for such a time of year.”
“Mayhap you are warm from the dance—or Sir Norris’s lovemaking,” said Master Brandon.
“Just when I believe you are my friend, you say such impudent things. I will ever be cold to Sir Norris; he chills my blood whenever I am near him,” Madge said.
“No one will believe you after tonight, dear Lady Margaret. He was much too familiar with your person,” said Master Brandon.
Madge looked into his eyes and they held no laughter. He meant his words.
“Think you so? I did not know what to do when he fondled me as though I were a mere cur. I did not wish to upset the queen’s entertainments with protest. I could do nothing but stand and stew, smelling his foul breath and feeling his hands around my waist,” said Madge, her cheeks growing even hotter as she remembered her humiliation.
“Milady, I know you have not been long at court and you are young—innocent. But you must learn how to handle men such as Sir Norris. You must forget what you know of manners and give him a rebuff he cannot mistake. I won’t always be able to rescue you, Margaret,” said Master Brandon, standing closer to her than was necessary, even in such cramped space.
“Rescue me? Is that what you did? Ha! I thought you wanted to dance with me—Master Brandon, I have no need of such rescuing from you. How did you even get into the queen’s apartments? I know you were not on the list of guests,” said Madge, looking away from him, again casting her gaze to the night sky.
“My father is the king’s boon companion. But my father is still feasting with his bride and did not wish to come to court during his honeymoon. He sent me in his stead. Even a son born on the wrong side of the bed can represent the family well enough, I’ll warrant,” said Brandon. “Now, will you walk with me a while in the gardens below? The night air will bring on good humors for us, I’ll wager.” Master Brandon took her hand and kissed it tenderly, unlike the way Sir Norris touched her. Madge felt something give in her chest. She smiled at hi
m. Surprising herself, she said, “Arthur, I would love to take some of this sweet night air—but we mustn’t be gone from the queen for long—she will, perhaps, have need of me.”
He poked his head from under the tapestry, motioned for the guard to open the outer door, and ushered Madge into the corridor, their steps tapping lightly on the stone as they rushed into the gardens below.
Sixteen
A few days after the queen was churched, Madge found herself alone with Her Majesty for the first time since Arthur and Madge had walked in the garden. How often she had thought of that night, the way the stars blinked in the sky, the moon’s pale light bathing everything in a sort of fairy shimmer. Suddenly, a turn around the garden with Arthur seemed magical. He talked of court, matters abroad, his father and new “mother.” He told her how to escape men like Sir Henry Norris and before they returned to the queen’s apartments, he kissed her full on the lips, not in fun as he had at the May Day. No, this kiss was gentle but firm. He kissed her as if she were his alone.
“Lady Margaret, I would speak with you,” said the queen as Madge unpinned her hair, readying her for bed and another visit from His Majesty.
“Yes, Majesty?” said Madge, alarmed by the cool tone of the queen’s voice.
“My husband, the king, made remark upon your obvious fondness for Sir Henry Norris the other eve. Sir Norris has asked for your hand and the king has sent a message to your father, Sir John. He expects a reply on the morrow. I have no doubt but the response will be favorable to the king’s wishes,” said Anne.
Madge could not hide her dismay.
“Tut, tut. I know this is not what you want, dear cousin. Norris is a scoundrel of the first sort, but he is the king’s own man, Gentleman of the Stool. My dear Harry trusts him and believes he will make a good match for you. He has a good income from his lands. Don’t look so glum, child. It is pointless to pout—the king has declared for it, so you might as well look on the good side,” said the queen as she removed her stomacher.
“But Your Grace, I like him not. He is … he is … oily as goose livers!” said Madge.
The queen laughed her husky laugh, stepping out of her farthingale and petticote to put on the black silk gown the king had given her for a wedding present. The dark fabric brought out her eyes and enhanced her deep brown hair. Madge laughed, too, for who could resist a beautiful queen such as Anne, standing in her bare feet in a loose shift of silk, awaiting a visit from her king.
“Well you know, dear cousin, that the women of our blood know how to keep a man waiting and wanting! So, do not fear. Make Sir Norris woo you, accept his tokens of love and esteem, flatter him with one of your innocent smiles once in a while. You may be able to outlast him. Who knows what the future may bring?” said the queen as she waited for Madge to brush her hair until it shone.
“Wise words, milady,” murmured Madge as she slowly counted the one hundred strokes. She wondered if she should confess her growing fondness for Master Brandon. Suffolk’s bastard would hardly be a fine enough match for the queen’s cousin; at least, so Madge believed her uncle would say. Thomas Boleyn cared for nothing but his fat purses growing ever fatter.
“Why so quiet, Lady Margaret? Is my hair so full of fascination?” said the queen, a teasing smile on her lips.
“I beg Your Grace’s pardon—I … I was thinking,” said Madge.
“About a secret love perhaps?” said the queen.
“No! No, Majesty—I have no such secret love. I was remembering the story you told me once—about love and how it rarely ends well. Was that your story, Majesty?” said Madge.
“That shall be my secret, dear coz. For now, I am happy with my king and hope this night to get him a son! So, off with you, girl!” said the queen as the guards marched down the chamber, escorting the king to the queen’s apartments.
“And Lady Margaret, walk all you will with Master Brandon. Just remember, in my court, virtue is demanded—keep him at bay along with Norris!” said the queen, again smiling.
* * *
Though the sky was deep blue with nary a cloud, the air nipped at Madge and Cate as they hurried from the chapel to the Great Hall. The weeks had been growing colder through late October, though not so cold as to keep Madge inside.
“I cannot marry Sir Norris, Cate. I will not!” said Madge. “He is a smelly cur and I will not have him!” Madge hurried down the stone corridor with Cate barely able to keep up.
“Maddie-girl—slow down! You’ll give me apoplexy. And keep a quiet tone—’tis All Saints’ Day and many are remembering those who have gone beyond us to the heavenly court. Whew! I am no longer young, child—here, come in here and let us sit a moment—you can tell me all about it,” said Cate, lifting her skirts so she could settle onto a stone bench by a window in a niche of the hallway. A fine tapestry covered the bench, keeping the cold from her.
“I will not sit down! I must needs run and run until I cannot bear to run any longer!” said Madge as she flung a velvet-covered box on the ground, unlocking the contents. A single pearl on a golden chain rolled across the flagstones and stopped at Cate’s foot.
“Aye, what is this? A love token! From Norris?” said Cate.
“Who else? Since my father gave his permission for us to wed, I have had three such gifts, each richer than the last. He follows me everywhere—he sits across from me when I sup and I cannot enter the gardens without him showing himself, eager to shield me from the cold, he says! Ha!” Madge knelt and put her head into Cate’s lap.
“There, there, Maddie-girl. You are barely sixteen—the queen will not forsake you. She will help you keep the marriage at bay, at least while she can,” said Cate.
“She rarely calls for me these days—mayhap she forgets my plight. She and the king and the princess Elizabeth spend hours together. And I am free to do as I please, so long as I can avoid Sir Norris,” said Madge.
Cate and Madge fell quiet as they heard approaching footsteps.
“What-ho! Who are these lovelies hiding in the corner? I should have known—my little Mouse. How now, cousin?” blustered George, his face flushed with wine, though the day was young. His fingers were burdened with rings of all sorts—rubies, sapphires, emeralds—and about his neck were gold chains. His sleeves were slashed showing cloth of gold beneath the blue velvet and Madge had never seen him look so fine.
“Viscount Rochford,” said both ladies, curtsying low.
“Arise, lady—you, too, Mistress Cate. Now, Lady Margaret, let me see you—I am so often away from court on the king’s business I cannot keep up with your beauty. You look older, girl. I’ll warrant you have found the court to your liking, eh?” he said as he studied her carefully.
“The court is the most exciting, commodious, beautiful place on earth,” said Madge. She wanted George to know she was grateful to have been chosen to serve the queen.
“Indeed, indeed. I’ll warrant much is happening,” said George with a leering grin.
“How can we help Your Grace?” said Cate.
“More, ladies, how can I help you?” said George. He kept smiling at Madge. “I believe I can help you most by giving you a few juicy tidbits of gossip, Mistress Mouse. Hmmm. Where shall I begin?” He plopped down where Cate had been sitting and pulled Madge down next to him.
“I don’t have time for idle gossip, sir. I must be to the queen’s apartments as I still have shirts to sew for the orphans and widows,” said Madge with as much haughtiness as she could muster.
“Tsk, tsk, my proper little Mouse. You will like this news. My sister won’t mind if you miss a few stitches at her sewing party,” said George, putting his arm around her shoulders, scooting closer to her while patting the vacant spot on the other side, indicating a seat for Cate. For a moment, Cate remained standing, then relented and took her place next to George.
“Won’t I be the envy of the court—one rooster surrounded by two plucky hens,” he said.
“If you have news, cousin, I do wish you would l
et it spill from your lips,” said Madge, laughing. Suddenly, George didn’t seem so frightening, all of them crowded on the bench. He seemed like a schoolboy intent on nothing but mischief.
“Ah, that is what I like to see—a woman full of mirth and happiness! But, to my news! Your dear friend, Wyatt, is returning to court—on his way even now!” said George.
“Happy tidings, indeed!” said Margaret, thinking of all they had discussed. Wyatt had encouraged her to write her own verse and she had shown him her feeble attempts, which he had praised overmuch, she thought.
“That is not all, dear cousin. I understand a certain young lovely is to marry the king’s own man, Sir Henry Norris,” said George, smiling.
“How I wish that were idle gossip,” said Madge, her face showing her disdain.
“Maddie, watch your tongue,” said Cate. Madge saw Cate’s warning look.
“What I mean, Lord Rochford, is that I have no desire for marriage yet—I am still quite young. Sir Norris is kind to offer me his name, but I am not yet eager to change my own,” said Madge.
“Yes, yes. Dear cousin, do you think you are the only one who has tested Norris’s character and found it shallow and weak? I was sorry to hear of the match and broached it with Anne but she cannot prevail against the king until she bears his son. I will help you keep him at arm’s length if I can,” said George.
“For that, cousin, I shall always be your friend,” said Madge with a smile. “I know you understand what it is to be unevenly yoked.”
“Aye. Only too well. But, we do as we are ordered, eh my lovely?” he said as he chucked her under the chin. He arose abruptly and bowed to both ladies.
“I must be off. I understand I have other relatives in unhappy states—my dear sister, Mary, so recently widowed, is back at court and I need to pay my respects. Adieu, ladies,” he said.
“Maddie-girl, you must watch your tongue. Even with George, you cannot tell your heart. Keep your feelings close. Learn to dissemble as does every other person in this palace of liars,” said Cate, taking hold of Madge’s hand and rubbing it tenderly.
At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Page 11