In the queen’s outer apartments, Madge kept watch over Lady Jane but could find no fault in her behavior, which remained haughty and circumspect. Madge began to believe that perhaps Arthur had been wrong—perhaps the lady who had briefly captured His Majesty’s attentions was someone other than Jane Seymour.
By the Feast of All Saints, Madge had started to worry in earnest that the king had not come again to the queen’s apartments. Anne spent her days sewing, debating theology with Bishop Parker, going to the Mass, and gambling at cards and dice. She brought in musicians when she wanted to dance and dance she did—with her ladies and several gentlemen who visited the queen’s apartments regularly: her brother, George; Brereton; Weston; Wyatt; Richard Pace; and, occasionally, Arthur. Norris often proved busy on the king’s business when the queen invited him to join them. Madge hoped it was his shame that kept him away.
“Lady Margaret, I would speak with you,” said Arthur, coming up behind her in the queen’s outer rooms where the ladies had gathered for games of cards and tables.
“Certainly, sir,” said Madge.
He led her to a small alcove where they could speak in some privacy. He kept his voice low.
“You should warn the queen there is another lady—one of her maids—a Mistress Eleanor of Northumberland. She is new to court and already the king has spied her and wishes to make her his own,” said Arthur.
“She is a beauty—I have played Noddy with her many times and have lost not a little. She plays her hand well,” said Madge.
“Aye, a treat for the eye she is! I have already come upon her sitting on the king’s lap, giving him kisses, and running her tongue around his ear—His Majesty seemed quite taken with the lady,” said Arthur.
“Is she so very pretty? And so much so that she has caught your eye as well as the king’s?!” said Madge.
“Never so pretty as my Pretty Madge—there could not be as fine a woman as the lady Margaret Shelton!” he said.
“Humph. Now you try to soothe me. Are all men like the king? Does the sacrament of marriage mean nothing?” said Madge.
“I do not know all men. I can only say for one—myself. And, for myself, I will tell you that when I take a wife, I shall cleave only unto her—that is, if the lady is your own dear self,” said Arthur.
“You say those words now, before we are wed. I’ll reckon the king said much the same to the queen ere they married. And now look! He breaks her heart most cruelly!” said Madge.
“He hides his lusts from the queen and always shows her the greatest respect. But he is a man used to getting all he desires—he is the king! For him, to bed a wench is nothing more than drinking a fine wine or eating a tasty sweetmeat. But his wife, she is the one who can give him a son and for that, she remains his one constant love,” said Arthur.
“’Tis silly to think of love, then. For queens especially,” said Madge.
“Queens are lonely women, I’ll warrant. And sad,” said Arthur.
* * *
Madge did not know whether to tell Her Majesty of the king’s new interest or to keep mum. Anne had seemed quite happy on Progress, laughing and making merry with the king so that things seemed almost back to normal. Madge did not want to disturb the veneer of peace and calm that enveloped the queen now that she had regained her allure and had vanquished the threat coming from Jane Seymour.
Though Madge kept Arthur’s news to herself, the queen had other gossips who were eager to tell her of the king’s new lady love. Soon, Madge noticed how worn and tired the queen began to look. When she combed Her Majesty’s hair, she noticed several strands of gray, which the queen commanded she pluck out. One such evening, quite unexpectedly, the guards trumpeted the entrance of His Majesty. Madge dropped her hairbrush and curtsied. The king entered the queen’s bedchamber with a smile and a hearty greeting.
“Wife! I have been too long away from you, sweetheart! Come, give us a kiss!” bellowed the king.
Madge watched as Anne rose slowly, her hair hanging around her face and down her back, the soft shift of her nightdress clinging to her delicate frame, the neck loose, showing her throat and shoulders. In the torchlight, the queen still retained her beauty. She curtsied low to the king, then rose and kissed him fully for all to see.
“Your Grace does me much honor,” Anne said. “Will you command your men to leave us, dearest?”
“Be gone! All of you!” shouted the king, his face flush with pleasure.
Madge started to leave as well, but Anne took hold of her arm.
“Lady Margaret, I wish to speak privately with His Grace but I may have need of you in a moment. Would you please step inside the garderrobe and stop up your ears?” said the queen, pointing to the small room that housed Her Majesty’s sanitary facility.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Madge quietly.
She entered the stall that was home to the chamber pot and the cistern for washing away the royal wastes. Though every effort was made to keep such places within the castle clean and sweet-smelling, after a few days, all such areas grew a stench. Madge pulled down the wooden cover so she could sit. She looked around the tiny cubicle and had to smother a laugh—how had she come to this? Hiding in the queen’s garderrobe, trying not to gag on the smell. Arthur would find this scene rich indeed. However, she lost the humor of the moment as she heard nothing but silence in the queen’s bedchamber. She obediently put her fingers in her ears, just in case Their Majesties began to speak. Though the queen had remained calm upon His Majesty’s entrance, Madge sensed a storm was coming. She had seen the clouds in Her Majesty’s eyes.
“How dare you come to me, Henry? After you have been kissing and fawning over one of mine own ladies?” said the queen.
Madge could hear quite clearly, even though she held her ears.
“Madame, I do not get your meaning,” said the king in a calm voice.
“‘Madame, I do not get your meaning!’” mocked the queen. “Well, dear husband, let me make it plain enough so that even Your Highness can understand it! I will not have you courting my ladies! ’Tis unseemly and I simply will not abide it. I have sent the lady Eleanor from court! You’ll have to satisfy your filthy lusts with me or with a kitchen scullion!”
For a moment, there was silence. Then the mighty lion roared: “How dare you send anyone from my court without my word! Madame, you have gone beyond the most foolish monk in the kingdom!”
Madge could hear movement and crashing of gold plate against the walls and floors.
“I have borne you children and I have loved you, Henry! I cannot look away as Catherine has done—the love I bear for you is too great!” screamed the queen.
“Madame, you have good reason to be content with all I have done for you—for if it were to begin again, I would not! Do not forget from whence you came!” growled the king.
Again, there was silence and then Madge heard the king shout for his guards. Within a moment, he was heralded out of the queen’s bedchamber. Madge did not move. She waited several minutes until the queen opened the door, her face streaked with tears.
“Oh Margaret, I have made a mess of it once again. Why does my temper come so easily? Why can I not hold my tongue?” said the queen.
“Dear cousin, I can see how much love you bear the king. If I were in your place, I, too, would be grievously vexed! When I think of Arthur in another woman’s arms, well, my mind grows muddled and all I can think about is scratching him and wounding him. Not to mention what I think of doing to the wench! ’Tis a natural wish to do violence to those who harm us,” said Madge.
“But I cannot do such things—as a Christian wife, I should be obedient and worshipful of my husband,” said the queen. She flung herself across her bed and sobbed. “I am not made in such a way—I have held the king’s love since he first saw me dancing in a masque—all those years ago. I was but a maid. I played Perseverance and Harry was Ardent Desire. How he loved me then! How he loved me!” cried the queen.
* * *
The Advent season came and with it, the cold snows of winter. On the first day of the snows, the king and queen frolicked, throwing snowballs and building snowmen. Some of the palace craftsmen started a contest for the best-carved snow creature and Master Holbein won a silver cup for fashioning the king’s lion and the queen’s leopard. One night, while Madge was attending her, Anne began to speak in quiet tones.
“Lady Margaret, I have been thinking,” said the queen.
“Of what, Majesty?” said Madge.
“I have been thinking of the king and Elizabeth and my little dead prince. The soothsayers have predicted that soon a queen shall burn. I have no doubt it is I about which they prophesy. I tell you this, cousin. And I spoke these words once to the king himself. Though I were to burn a thousand deaths, it would not move my love for the king one jot. How strange to think it true! After all the years of waiting for the crown, what I most long for now is my husband’s love. At the beginning, I cared nothing for His Majesty, though he were comely and well-proportioned. Lord Wiltshire, my father, begged me to become the king’s whore, like my sister before me. But I would not!” said the queen, staring into the fire. Madge sat on her trundle bed and looked up at the queen.
“Madame, I believe you still have His Majesty’s love. But the harsh words you sometimes speak cool him. He forgets how much he loves you. If you could but sweeten your voice to the king and to his courtiers—and yes, even old Uncle Norfolk—the king would warm to you again and again. You are still young and beautiful—you have borne him a perfect daughter and can still conceive a prince. You must forget your own feelings, Your Grace. Tame your tongue and play the game you know so well. You shall win, I will gamble my bag of sovereigns on it,” said Madge.
“Perhaps you are in the right, Lady Margaret. I will promise to be to him ever loving and kind—I wrote a verse once, saying something like that to Harry. He found it charming and amusing, as he used to find me,” said the queen. “But enough pining over what has been—let us plan what shall be! I shall invite the king to my bedchamber on Christmas Night. I will try all the tricks of love I learned in France and I will make him mine again!” said the queen.
For over an hour, Madge and the queen planned the night, what foods to bring into the bedchamber, which wines. Madge promised to spend the whole afternoon helping the queen prepare herself—bathing her, combing her hair until it glowed, spraying her with lavender and cinnamon, making certain the bedclothes were aired and brushed and the rushes fresh and sweet-smelling. Together, they wove a dream of love so that the queen slept peacefully and Madge felt the warmth of hope bloom in her heart.
* * *
Every night thereafter, through the Advent fast until Christmas Day, the queen made merry with the king. She laughed and pulled the king to his feet, clapping when he leapt and pranced through the galliard. She designed masques and selected music, inspired good talk with learned theologians and philosophers, read poetry by Wyatt and the other verse-makers, including Madge. The king seemed in high spirits, though he did not come to the queen’s bedchamber. Finally, Christmas Night arrived and Madge had everything prepared.
The king did not arrive as early as Madge and the queen had hoped. But when he entered the bedchamber, his guards clearing the way before him and announcing his presence, His Majesty was full of good cheer. He sent the guards away and began to drink the fine wine Madge had set in an ewer. Then, as if he had suddenly noticed her, he motioned for Madge to leave the chamber also.
Sometime in the early morning hours, Madge felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Lady, wake up. I would see you,” said the queen.
Madge arose quickly and quietly, surprised to see Her Majesty traipsing about the outer rooms in her shift with her delicate feet bare upon the rushes. The queen held her finger to her lips and Madge moved as quietly as possible. Soon, they were in the queen’s bedchamber where the king lay snoring, his nightshirt still open at the neck.
The queen motioned for Madge to follow her to an alcove where a bench was hidden behind a large tapestry.
“I have failed,” whispered the queen.
“What do you mean?” said Madge.
“I could not rouse him—nothing I did moved him to the act. He had had too much wine and, though he tried as well as he could, there will be no babe from this night,” said the queen.
Madge had no words—she did not know of such matters.
“Le Roi n’estoit habile en cas de soy copuler avec femme et qu’il n’avoit ne vertu ne puissance. He has never had much skill or virility, especially in the last year or so. He is no longer young and lusty—at least not with me,” said the queen. “If I do not have a babe, I am lost. What to do? What to do?”
The queen began to sob softly and Madge watched as her delicate hands shook. Soon, the queen’s whole body trembled and Madge could see the fear in her eyes. She put her arm around the queen’s thin shoulders and held her, trying to quell the terror that was rising in her own heart. Could the king do away with an anointed queen? Would he?
Twenty-six
In the twelve days of Christmas, the royal couple ate and danced and played at cards, enjoyed the mummery, and the music of the season. At Epiphany, they attended Mass together and dined on venison and peacock for their main courses with syllabub for the void. No one seemed to know the danger that lurked around Her Majesty and her supporters. The king had no other lady and he kissed the queen often on the mouth. Only Madge knew such actions were a sham. The king even made his way to the queen’s bedchamber several more times during the season, but the results were always the same. He could not play the man.
Her Majesty was beside herself with worry. She cried and tore her hair after the king left her apartments in defeat. He blustered and bragged about his randy ways with his courtiers, but the queen said he had cried in her arms with frustration. She was at her wit’s end.
As if that were not enough, Purkoy fell from a high window and was killed. So much would be her grief that all were afraid to tell Her Majesty. Finally, the king broke it to her. Her sobbing and screaming rang through the stone walls and for six days she stayed in her chambers, refusing to see anyone but Elizabeth. Madge finally convinced her to rejoin the king in the Great Hall for supper, telling her that unless the queen appeared, the king might find interests elsewhere. Madge called the apothecary for a draught that would calm the queen’s nerves and Her Majesty was able to face the court, to laugh and jest and dance and sing, in spite of her loss.
As the winter winds blew and the king’s moods grew more solemn with the confiscation of more and more monasteries, the queen began to behave strangely. Only Madge knew of her desperation and her fears. At night, Madge often woke to screaming—the queen’s eyes would be opened wide and a hoarse choking sound would come from her throat. Madge had to shake Her Majesty to bring her to herself and then the queen would often lie in Madge’s arms until sleep returned.
One day, when much snow lay on the ground, after the queen and her ladies had spent the morning sewing shirts for the poor in preparation for the Maundy, the queen took her rest. She commanded Madge to lie on her pallet nearby and began to talk about the Christian duties owed anointed kings and queens by each person in the land. Then, Her Majesty began to talk about how God had ordered everything so that the whole worked together without difficulty, as long as each person obeyed their betters and remained content in the station God had given them.
“Lady Margaret, do you believe the Lord God would bring me to this high estate only to see me toppled?” said the queen.
“I do not know of such things, Majesty. I believe there are those who would topple you for their own ends. The lady Mary and the dowager princess still have many
who support them. They may sign the king’s Laws of Succession—they value their heads, do they not?” said Madge.
“Yes, I know. Capturing a heart is much more difficult than forcing someone to sign a document. I would capture their hearts. I would be as kind and generous a queen as any could desire. But they will not give me a chance,” said the queen.
“If only they could know Your Majesty as I do, they would love you completely,” said Madge.
“Do you love me, dearest cousin?” said the queen.
“You know that I do—have I not served you well?” said Madge.
“Yes. You have served me better than all the others,” said the queen.
They fell silent and Madge napped, in spite of her desire to keep watch over the queen. When she awoke, the queen was leaning over the edge of her great bed, looking at Madge.
“You are a pretty girl, Margaret. ’Tis how the king speaks of you—Pretty Madge, he calls you,” said the queen.
“I am surprised His Majesty would think of me at all,” said Madge.
“He asks about you most solicitously—‘How’s is your dear cousin, Pretty Madge?’ or ‘Does Pretty Madge do well these days?’—I wonder…” said the queen.
Madge said nothing. She was touched that the king still remembered her plight and wished to assure her safety and happiness. She was thankful His Majesty kept Norris busy and away from her. She had only seen him in passing. He had not acknowledged her.
“Are you the pretty one all the court is buzzing about? Are you the one who has caught the king’s eye?” said the queen.
“No, Your Grace. No! I am your woman—I … I care nothing for the king!” said Madge.
“Watch your tongue, cousin! Say not such things even when we are alone. Methinks the very walls have ears,” whispered the queen.
“Madame, my own spies tell me there is no pretty woman. But the king has returned his fancy to the Lady Seymour,” whispered Madge. She hadn’t meant to tell the queen about Arthur’s observations.
At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Page 20