Laura Andersen - [Ann Boleyn 01]

by The Boleyn King

  M: As you know very well. Did you miss your family all those childhood years away?

  A: Well, I was often with my sister, Mary. Also, during those years on the continent, my father was a frequent visitor on royal business. I suppose it was my mother I knew the least in those years.

  M: And now? There’s only—

  A: Only George left. But honestly, we two were always the ones who understood each other. He is the only one who never saw me as a means to an end. For George, I have been an end in myself. That is as family should be and so rarely is. It is a pity you have no siblings.

  M: It is difficult to miss what one has never had. I have my friends, and I cannot see how even siblings would be dearer to me.

  A: Perhaps you are the fortunate one in that. You can choose your loyalties and not have any thrust upon you by blood. So tell me, Genevieve, what loyalties will you choose beyond your friendships with my children and Dominic Courtenay? I am given to understand that there is a young man who grows daily more enamoured. But that is only to be expected; you are a young woman poised to break men’s hearts. The question is, are you as taken with him?

  M: I hardly know, Your Majesty. It is … How does one fall in love? In an instant, or through time and experience?

  A: You are young, aren’t you? To fall in love is simple. To hold that love … Well, that’s the trick. Men fall in love in a rush of desire. Women are more practical. We have to be, since we are so often at the mercy of men’s desires.

  M: Are you saying you’ve never been in love?

  A: I’m saying that’s a question you know better than to ask. Did I not teach you discretion?

  M: You also taught me boldness. There are still stories of how your father and Wolsey forced you and Henry Percy to separate against your wishes.

  A: Youth is made for hopeless romance.

  M: So you’re saying it was a romance.

  A: I’m saying it was hopeless. It is an important distinction for a woman of the court to make. Do not trust men with your heart—or anything else.

  M: How does one know whom to trust?

  A: Have you learned nothing in your years at court? Trust is for saints and madmen; all else must look to themselves. A lesson I would have you learn from me, and not through hard experience.

  M: Why is it that everyone thinks I am so likely to be taken advantage of? Just because I am not Elizabeth does not mean I am stupid.

  A: Not stupid, no. But you have a quality very like your mother: the disposition to see the good in everyone.

  M: Is that what you liked about her? I assume you liked something about my mother, since you appear to have had so few women friends in your life.

  A: Friendship is a luxury for a carefree life, the kind I only had in my youth. Once caught in the snares of royal politics, I needed friends who were useful and women’s usefulness will always be limited. And you needn’t pity me for that. Tell me, Genevieve, excepting Elizabeth, do you have any women friends?

  M: I thought I did.… Perhaps you are right. Do you think—if you had known the cost of what was to come—you would have made the same choices when the king fell in love with you?

  A: That is presupposing I had a choice.

  M: One always has a choice.

  A: Ah, the righteousness of the young and untouched. You’re right, I could have chosen my sister’s path: king’s mistress for a time, to be discarded when no longer wanted and married off to a man who would always know he was taking the king’s leavings. That was not a choice I could live with.

  M: So you have no regrets? You would not change anything if you could?

  A: I won, didn’t I? No one thought I would. Men lined up to watch me fall: Wolsey, Cromwell, my uncle Norfolk, the entire hierarchy of the Roman church. But here I am—the widow of one king and mother of another king. The English Church is firmly planted, no more to be uprooted by Popish interference. And for all her righteousness and piety, it is not Catherine’s blood but mine that will run through the English throne for generations to come.

  M: Catherine is gone, but Mary survives and many call her Henry’s only true heir. If it were in your power, what would you do with Mary?

  A: It is in my power, and to be ignored is a far more powerful statement than even to be punished. Mary will fade away in obscurity until history has quite forgotten her.

  M: Politics, princes, popes … you are right, Your Majesty, I am less interested in those things than in the personal. In all that surrounded your marriage, I am mostly interested in just one thing: Did you love him?

  A: What makes you think I will answer that?

  M: Because no one ever asks you, and I think you like the personal, as well.

  A: I loved the man who called me darling, who wrote out the great fervour of his passion, who defied his councilors to have me, who dared to claim our love as the only requisite for a proper marriage.… That man I have always loved. As your mother knew very well, for she asked me the same question more than once during the years Henry and I waited.

  M: So I get my impertinence from my mother?

  A: It is not impertinence when the motive is genuine concern. Like your mother, your heart is in everything you do. Perhaps you will be the happier for it—or perhaps it will leave you desolate.

  M: Perhaps both, in which case I think I would count the happiness worth the desolation. As, I suspect, you have done.

  A: And with that, I believe we are finished. Thank you for the talk, Genevieve. It has been most … invigorating.

  QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION

  1. If “History is written by the victors,” what do you think is the biggest impact of changing a story?

  2. William says, “I will be the best because I’ve earned it. I don’t need you to hand me my victories.” (this page) Do you think this is true? Is William a self-made man? Does your opinion change of him by the end of the book?

  3. Why do you think their reputation within the court is so important to people like William and Elizabeth? Why are even conjecture and rumor dangerous? Do you think Minutte and Dominic feel the same way?

  4. William and Elizabeth are of royal parentage. Dominic is the son of a supposed traitor. Minuette is the daughter of a trusted servant and confidante. How much do you think parentage matters to these characters? Where does it affect them most in life? How have they each overcome the generation before them?

  5. The rift between Protestants and Catholics is a huge divide in The Boleyn King. Compare and contrast it to today’s societal divisions in America, such as Republicans and Democrats, or even between the suburbs and the city.

  6. In tweaking history for this story, the author opens up a world of possibilities. What historical event do you think would have the greatest impact if changed? What would that impact be?

  7. In the context of this story, what qualities do you think make for an ideal servant? An ideal ruler?

  8. In an age where social standing is of the utmost importance, what do you think is the most important reason for a person to be married? Why? Does your opinion change for royalty versus commoners?

  9. Do you think members of royalty can have friends? What about someone like a present-day world leader? Could you be friends with your boss, or your employees, the way William and Dominic are friends?

  10. Compare and contrast how each of the four main characters deal with the ideal of castle intrigue.

  11. What would be the most unnerving secret message that you could receive? In what manner?

  12. Compare and contrast what is deemed public in this novel versus what is deemed private. How does that compare to today’s Internet culture?

  13. What is said in letters in this novel versus what is said out loud? Which do you think has more impact? Which method of communication is more important to you?

  If you enjoyed The Boleyn King, you’ll be mesmerized by all of the passion, all of the intrigue, and all of the danger in

  THE BOLEYN DECEIT

  by Laur
a Andersen

  COMING FALL 2013

  FROM BALLANTINE BOOKS

  PRELUDE

  8 February 1547

  “YOU WILL NOT tell me what I can and cannot do with my own son!”

  If there was one thing to which George Boleyn was accustomed, it was his sister’s temper. Anne had never been known for her retiring personality, which was just as well or she would never have caught Henry’s eye.

  And if she had not become the wife of one king and the mother of the next, George would still be a minor gentleman of enormous ambition and small fortune. That meant that he did not match Anne’s anger. “I am not telling you, the council is. The council that Henry’s will put in place.”

  “My son is king now.”

  “In name and spiritual right, yes. But he is ten years old, Anne. In practice, it is the regency council that will rule England until William is of age.”

  A regency council that had pointedly excluded Anne. There had been child kings before in England, and often their mothers had been central to the organization surrounding them. But Henry, for all his flaws, had always had very good political instincts and he had known that even after all this time passions ran high against his wife. Anne could not be allowed anywhere near her son except in the most limited maternal capacity.

  George Boleyn was another matter. He was not just a member of the regency council—he was Lord Protector of England until his nephew turned eighteen or until the other lords could throw him out. He would not give them any opportunity to do so.

  “You are mother of the king of England,” he said in a softer voice, gentling Anne into listening. “William loves you and that will never change. I know that you would not jeopardize his position for misplaced pride. You would not risk the Catholics combining against him.”

  “They would not dare!” But her protest was half-hearted. They would dare all too well, for in their eyes Henry had left only one legitimate child—the Lady Mary who was as stubborn and righteous as her mother before her. Henry’s son or not, religion made William’s position as a boy king precarious.

  George took his sister’s hands in his. “We have won, Anne. We have broken the chains of Catholic tyranny and opened the way to a new world. William is the promise of all we hoped and dreamed. I will not let him fail.”

  As well as a formidable temper, Anne had a formidable mind and she knew he was right. That didn’t stop her saying caustically, “And yet you will allow Norfolk a seat on the council despite his attainder. If Henry had lived just one day longer, the Duke of Norfolk would be dead.”

  “But Henry didn’t live one day longer and to further punish the duke now would only enrage the Catholics. Don’t worry about him—I prefer my enemies close enough to control. Besides, he is William’s great-uncle. Pride will stay his hand for now.”

  Anne shook herself free of George and said fiercely, “You had better be right. And you had better be my voice on that council. William is my son, no one else’s. Don’t you forget it.”

  “I won’t.”

  But even as George kissed his sister on the forehead, he thought But if William is to be what we want, the world will need to think of him only as Henry’s son. It is a king I am creating now, whatever the cost.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Greenwich Palace

  21 December 1554

  I have but a few minutes before Carrie must dress me for tonight’s festivities. Christmas is nearly here, but tonight’s celebration is rather more pagan. There is to be an eclipse of the moon, and coming as it does on the winter solstice when darkness claims its longest reign, even the most devout are unsettled.

  So why not dance and drink and throw our merriment into the dark as a challenge?

  Also, there is a visitor at court. His name is John Dee and he is reputed one of the finest minds of the age. He has come to court in Northumberland’s company and William has commanded him to give a private reading of our stars. Only the four of us—for it would not do to let our secrets, past or future, slip into wider circulation.

  Despite the cold, every courtyard at Greenwich was filled and more. No one wanted to miss the rare and possibly apocalyptic sight of the moon vanishing into blackness before their eyes. Minuette had barely room to shiver beneath her fur-lined cloak, so closely were people packed on this terrace overlooking the Thames.

  She had managed to keep away from the royal party; below her she saw moonlight glinting off Elizabeth’s red-gold hair. William stood near his sister, surrounded as always by men and women. While everyone else’s eyes turned to the heavens, Minuette’s sought for a familiar figure in what little light the torches threw. She rather hoped she didn’t find Dominic standing near William.

  A whisper ran collectively through the crowd, transmitting itself more to Minuette’s body than her ear. She looked up and saw the edge of the moon’s circle eaten away. Despite herself, she felt her pulse quicken and wondered what terrible things this might portend.

  More terrible than a star’s violent fall? The voice in her head was Dominic’s, an echo of his impatient skepticism.

  Minuette fingered the pendant encircling her neck, tracing the shape of the filigreed star, and smiled to herself. This night is not a portent of doom, she assured herself, but a sign of great wonder. And that I can believe.

  She watched the blackness bite away at the moon until it was half-covered and still moving relentlessly onward. There were murmurs around her, some nervous laughter, and the movement of all crowds that made her focus on balance as they swayed around her.

  A hand came from behind, anchoring her waist. And then, after much too long, another hand until she was encircled. Minuette made herself keep her eyes open, made herself stand straight and not lean back into the comforting weight behind her. Or perhaps comforting was not the right word—for her heart was erratic and her breath skipped.

  Although she could count on two hands the times Dominic had touched her since the night of her betrothal (eight), her body knew him instantly, as though it had been waiting for this part of her all her life.

  Only in the dark did he dare to touch her, for only in the dark could they remain unseen. No one must know, not yet. Not a single whisper must cross the court while William threw himself at Minuette’s feet, offering his hand, his throne, and his country to her. It would take time for his infatuation to die and until it did, no one must suspect either William’s passion or Dominic’s love.

  So Minuette laughed and played and worked and flirted as though everything were normal—as though her William had not lost his mind and thought himself in love with her—as though her own heart was not fluttering madly inside a cage, wanting only to wing itself to Dominic—as though she had no secrets and everything was as it had been before. She saw Dominic every day and behaved toward him the same as always: playful and young and oh-so-slightly resentful of his lectures.

  And then, like tonight, he would touch her, and she thought she might weep with wanting to turn into him and cling.

  Instead, she kept her eyes open and directed at the sky as the moon’s last sliver gave up its fight and slid into nothing.

  Gasps went up from the crowd and in that covering moment of intense focus elsewhere, Minuette felt Dominic’s mouth alight softly just below her left ear and linger. She did close her eyes then, and swayed back slightly, and for a moment his arms tightened around her waist and they both forgot where they were and who and in a moment she would turn and their lips would meet and she might die if she waited any longer—

  A great cheer exploded around and below them and Minuette’s eyes flew open to see the moon pulling itself away from the darkness. By the tightness of Dominic’s grip on her waist, she knew his frustration. But he was—always had been—the disciplined one.

  Within seconds, she was standing alone once more, only warm cheeks and quick breathing to betray what no one had seen.

  What no one must ever see.

  Greenwich Palace had always been a dwelling of pleas
ure and luxury, of laughter and flirtation, of light and merriment. Situated on the Thames five miles east of London, close enough to the city for easy access yet far enough to be well out of the crowds and squalor and illness. The last two King Henry’s had expanded the complex, Elizabeth’s grandfather facing it in red brick and her father adding a banqueting hall and enormous tiltyard. Her father had been born here, as had Elizabeth herself. A beautiful palace for a beautiful night.

  Even on this shortest night of the year, the palace blazed with candlelight and what heat the fires and braziers failed to provide was made up for by the great press of bodies. Men and women dressed in their finest, drinking and dancing and circling around their king as though he were the center of their world.

  But what happens to that world, Elizabeth wondered, when the center fails to hold?

  She ignored the chatter of voices directed at her and watched her younger brother, worried and angry with herself for worrying. When William had returned from France last month, he’d poured out to his sister his ardent love for Minuette along with his plans to marry her, and ever since Elizabeth had carried a thread of anxiety that made itself felt at the most inconvenient times. It’s not as though he’s being open, she told herself firmly. He’s behaving precisely as a young king of eighteen should behave. Dressed in crimson and gold, he flirted with every female in sight (and even a man or two), he drank (but not so heavily as to lose control of his tongue), and he carried on several layers of conversation with the French ambassador at once.

  And he had not been nearer to Minuette than ten feet all evening.

  Elizabeth, being determinedly talked at by a persistent young cleric, swung her gaze to where her chief lady-in-waiting held court of her own, surrounded by a gaggle of men, young and old, who were clearly besotted by her honey-light hair and her graceful height and the even more appealing knowledge that she was an orphan in the care and keeping of the royal court. With the influence she held in her relationships to Elizabeth and William, Minuette would have drawn an equal crowd even if she had been pockmarked and fat. But the men would not then have been eyeing her with quite the same expression in their eyes.