by G Lawrence
“I have copies of his sermons, my lady,” said Grynaeus. “And would gladly share them with you.” He smiled. “I think you will find them interesting.”
“You will also be tickled, madam, by the scholar’s sense of humour,” interjected Cranmer. “Zwingli often uses satiric fables and puns in his sermons, which you are bound to find entertaining. Also, Zwingli has a deeper understanding of social obligations than Luther, and understands the common people would do well from a government guided by the Word of God.”
“But he is an iconoclast, is he not?”
“He believes not in the worship of statues and idols, that is true, my lady,” said Grynaeus. “But in many ways, his ideas are based on the humanist principles of Erasmus, and I hold with his notion that unbaptised children do not burn in Hell or linger in the Limbo of Infants.” Grynaeus paused. “His Majesty was most interested in Zwingli’s stance on excommunication.”
I smiled; of course Henry would be interested! “His Majesty informed me of what you told him,” I said. “That Zwingli questions the power of excommunication and the papacy’s right to attempt to enforce it.”
“Zwingli is a brave soul, and his faith is strong,” said Grynaeus. “Once, when the plague came to Zurich, many fled, yet Zwingli remained behind to preach. He caught the plague, but God saved him. I have a copy of his Pestlied, a poem he wrote about that time.” Grynaeus cast his eyes up to the pretty sky of pale amethyst and white silk. He quoted from memory. “Thy purpose fulfil: nothing can be too severe for me. I am Thy vessel, for You to make whole or break into pieces. Since, if You take hence my spirit from this earth, You do it so that it will not grow evil, and will not mar the pious lives of others.”
“A humble man,” I murmured. “Something to be admired.”
I read the books Grynaeus offered and found many of their ideas fascinating, but I had to admit there was something in my heart that cried out for action over words.
We needed deeds. I wanted no more discussion over who was right or wrong; no more arguments back and forth, with everyone slathering over the last word. I wanted Henry to take his power and use it. And with Katherine out of the way, I was sure I could convince him to act.
Chapter Seventeen
Woodstock Palace
Summer’s End 1531
One morning, as I was checking my glorious yew bow, preparing for the hunt, my father arrived. “We have a problem,” he said, taking his cap from his head and wiping his sweating brow with it. “Suffolk just led a party in Council to reject a proposal put forth by me, Norfolk and the French ambassadors, for the King to go ahead with your marriage and allow Clement to recognize it afterwards.”
I frowned. My hand paused on the curve of the bow. Taunt, smooth, polished wood was like silk against my skin. “Whilst I am sorrowed to hear that our dear, loyal supporter, the Duke, would go against you, Father, I thought I told you I do not wish to be married like that?”
“The King believes it might have to happen,” my father said. “Anne, you may have to give in. The years wear on and you get no younger as we dwell in this stalemate.”
“Henry is Head of the Church,” I said. “We have to convince him to use his power.”
“Our proposal was squashed by Suffolk and his men,” said my father, ignoring me. “This, combined with his attempt earlier in the year to put forward Imperial concerns, leads me to believe he is firmly on Katherine’s side.”
“Well, we knew he was not on ours,” I agreed, setting my bow on the table. “It was only a matter of time before his wife badgered him into supporting Katherine. Suffolk’s brains are soft. He is a hound that requires a master.”
“I also hear from George that Suffolk was heard talking to FitzWilliam, Henry’s treasurer, and said they must ‘unseat the King from this folly’. I think he is going to attempt to restore Katherine. Perhaps he admires her.”
“Think not that Suffolk has fallen for the charms of pitiable Katherine,” I said. “If Henry goes back to his barren wife, Henry Brandon’s crown is assured. Suffolk is trying to trick Henry into sabotaging his own reign. If Suffolk has declared for Katherine, he is our enemy, and we will treat him as such.”
“What do you mean to do?”
“He attacked my reputation once. I shall return the favour.”
“Tread carefully, Anne. Henry loves Suffolk.”
“He loves me more.”
I started to speak about Suffolk’s outrageous past. There was plenty of salacious material to draw upon. Along with the hoard of mistresses he had kept since coming to adulthood, there were unsubstantiated rumours he had had criminal intercourse with his daughters; both his natural daughters, and his ward, Katherine Willoughby, who was engaged to his son. I used anything I could find. It is all too easy to encourage gossip about a powerful man, and I thought it only fair. Brandon had once claimed I had had a sexual relationship with Tom Wyatt. Fortunately Henry had not believed him. But where the Duke had failed, I succeeded. Many were willing to believe the worst, many more delighted in the tales and took them to others, and I had help. Jane, my sister-in-law, was talented at this kind of operation. She took seeds of gossip and sprinkled them liberally in the lush, fertile fields of court. Soon everyone knew, or thought they knew, Suffolk’s sins, and even Henry started to gaze on his friend with displeasure. Good, I thought. I wanted Henry to distrust his friend. If Suffolk was about to attempt Katherine’s restoration, I wanted Henry already set against him. I also wanted Suffolk too busy putting out the flames that were consuming his reputation to defend Katherine.
Did I stop to consider I was spreading the same evil that had once hurt me? I did not. I thought it served Suffolk well to get a taste of his own medicine. Looking back, I think otherwise. I should not have lowered myself. Katherine never would have done as I did.
As I took delight in spreading rumours to defame Suffolk, Katherine had news that a scholar, one of Chapuys’ friends, named Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa, had declared in her favour, and urged the Emperor to defend his aunt. Katherine was fighting to be sent to other accommodation, but Henry had ceased, finally, to answer her letters. He had cut Katherine from his life, but he had not done the same with Mary. It did not please me when I was informed that Henry had gone to see his daughter, on a brief visit to London.
“We talked of nothing other than her studies and the weather,” Henry protested when I berated him. “Mary is not like her mother.”
Henry could not see how close they were in character, but I did. I had separated him from Katherine. The challenge remained to wean him from Mary.
Nothing was done against Suffolk, and no investigation was made. Henry might be disgusted by the rumours, but he was not about to bring charges of indecency against his friend.
Henry asked me to make peace with Suffolk, and I did, on the surface. But even as we bowed to each other, chatted about the weather, and played our parts to make Henry happy, we both knew we were enemies and would remain so for the rest of our lives.
Chapter Eighteen
Woodstock Palace
Summer’s End 1531
Henry and I spent almost that entire summer on the hoof. We rode out through glorious, crisp mornings and heard corncrakes cawing in the fields. The sun bore down, gilding the countryside and igniting the pleasure in our hearts. Saplings, thin as whips, murmured as we rose past, and their forefathers, great, thick, tall oaks, elms and yews, seemed to bow as our horses clopped under them. In the forests, tree roots curled, gnarled and rough, through and into the dark earth. Bright-striped adders slithered swiftly from rocky shelves where they had been sunning themselves and young buzzards winged above the forests, cresting over crumbling granite tors, learning to hunt as their golden parents guided them. In the tender blue skies, soft as the Virgin’s tears, merlins flew over moor land, chasing meadow pipits across the gorse-covered hills. Occasionally, in the far distance, eaglets could be seen, soaring through the air, testing their skill against fleet-footed hares.
“They say that when swallows leave England, they dig themselves into the mud to sleep away the winter,” he said, leaning on his saddle.
“They may say what they wish, my love, but I have seen these birds in other lands. They do not seem sleepy creatures to me. I was told by the great Leonardo de Vinci that such birds seek warmer climes in the winter months.”
“Do you know everything, then?” There was a catch of frustration in Henry’s voice.
“I would never claim such wisdom,” I replied. “I but express a thought.”
From the look on Henry’s face, I believed he wanted me to express fewer.
I turned to Urian and William Brereton, two brothers. Both were my supporters and William was a Groom of the Privy Chamber. He had taken our petition to the nobles some years ago, and remained steady in support since. William was married to Elizabeth Somerset, daughter of the Earl of Worcester and a cousin of Henry’s. They had one son and another babe on the way. The couple were devoted to each other. Elizabeth had been a widow when she married William, her first husband being the grandson of Sir John Savage, a Lancastrian commander who had fought for Henry’s father at Bosworth. Savage had fallen into debt, and was later arrested for murder. His lands were forfeited to the Crown, and Brereton had been chosen to hold jurisdiction over them. He and Elizabeth had fallen in love, so he told me, whilst he managed her imprisoned husband’s affairs. He had protected her from scandal and when Savage died, they had married. Elizabeth told me once that William was her knight.
Despite this romantic tale, William was not a faithful man. What man beside my Henry was? William and George were always competing to see who could get a new court maid to surrender to their charms. To my disgust, they even wagered on it. William was a powerful man who enjoyed the patronage of Henry’s son, Fitzroy, and acted as his steward in the Welsh Marches. Accusations of murder and other wrongdoings had dogged Brereton for years, ever since Wolsey dragged him before the Star Chamber Court when a Master Swettenham had been found with his brains bashed out after challenging one of William’s kinsmen at bowls. But Henry had not believed the Breretons were to blame, and William and his brothers had escaped with a fine. Henry had been talking of promoting William from Groom to Gentleman of the Privy Chamber, and I approved. William was my favourite of the three Brereton brothers, and if he was a bit of an old rogue, being forty-two years of age, I could not help but find him engaging. My best greyhound, named Urian after his brother, had been a gift from William, and Brereton was a crafty trickster at cards and dice. I welcomed a challenge, and William always had one to offer. He made no secret of his support for me, which was another reason I liked him.
There were rumours about his past, and present, but what man at court was free of such? My father was a potential poisoner. Why should I not keep company with another man merely accused of such crimes?
“Shall we wager, Breretons?” I asked the two brothers. Both looked up at the same time, with the same glint in their eyes. No Brereton could resist a bet. “I shall beat you to the next hill,” I said, glancing at Henry to see his face shift from its previously annoyed expression into pleasure at my daring. “And when I do,” I went on, “you will give the King the best falcon from your mews.”
The brothers laughed. There had been little game to hunt that day, so my game was welcome. “Will you ride with me, Majesty?” I asked.
“I shall be the judge,” Henry said, his eyes settling on the brothers. “I would not trust either of these scoundrels to admit defeat, even to a lady.”
“I am always ready to surrender to a lady, Highness,” said cheeky William.
Henry chuckled. “My Diana will best you, Brereton,” he said. “There is none who rides like her. Even the wind falls back to stare in wonder as she flies past.”
“I take from the example of my King,” I purred. “For he is the most accomplished of all horsemen.” It was true. No one could best Henry in the saddle.
We lined up on the edge of the hill, our mounts tense as we waited for Henry’s signal. His hand came down, and with a feral scream, I urged my horse onwards. As we galloped over the hill, the hounds raced with us. Their boundless energy had not been released in the hunt, for there had been none, and as our horses thundered down and across the field, two dogs ran out of control.
My greyhound, and Urian’s, spotted an unfortunate cow that had roamed from a nearby pen. Snapping their jaws, their eyes on fire and their minds lost to the thrill of the chase, they fell upon the beast. Seeing them, I turned my horse sharply and raced after them. The two brothers Brereton caught sight too, and plunged after me. But it was too late for the cow. By the time we arrived, our other hounds had joined the slaughter, their heads thrust deep in the steaming, warm bowels of the beast, as she cried out, not yet dead.
One of Henry’s men put her out of her misery with a dagger through the skull, and Henry had to pay the distressed farmer for the beast. But even though we had found no quarry, and our hounds had caused chaos, Henry found much to chuckle about as we rode back to Woodstock.
“A fortunate escape for you, Breretons,” he said. “Mistress Boleyn was far ahead of you. You would owe me two falcons, if not for the intervention of your hounds.”
“Perhaps they broke from the pack to save their masters’ honour,” I suggested.
That afternoon, I returned to my chambers to find that something had been left for me. Nan Gainsford was tidying and for a moment, distracted by her task, did not note my face had turned bloodless. I stared at the writing desk and the thing there waiting for me.
I looked around. There was no one else there, but someone had been in my apartments. Whoever they were, they were no friend.
I picked up the drawing. It was a sketch of three figures. One was clearly Henry, since he wore a crown and had the letter H over his head. Next to him were two female figures, one with a K above her head, the other with A.
K had a head. A did not.
I had seen similar drawings before. It was a prophesy. I held it in my hands, feeling the blood drain from my face. I glanced up and caught Nan staring at me.
“Has anyone else been in here today?” I asked.
She went to shake her head, but then frowned. “I have not been here all day, my lady. I was seeing to your linen this morning. Someone might have been in without my knowledge.”
“Nan, see here is a book of prophesy,” I said holding it out as she gasped. “This is the King, this the Queen…and this is me with my head cut off.”
Nan shivered. “If I thought such were true,” she said. “I should not marry him with that condition… But this is an idle thing my lady, not to be taken seriously.”
I laughed, although there was little humour in it. “Yes, it is true. I too think the book is but a bauble, and I am resolved on my path… come what may. Whatever may happen to me, I will be Queen and I will give England an heir.”
Despite my brave words, I could not help feeling haunted by this vision. A held a crown in her hands, just as K did. Did this mean I would gain my crown, and then lose my head? I wanted to set aside this thought. No English Queen had ever been executed! Even royal women accused of witchcraft and treason had been sent to prison, or exiled. This was a fantasy born from the desperation of my foes. They wanted to scare me.
“Get rid of it.” I thrust the drawing at Nan who took it reluctantly.
“What would you have me do with it?”
“Burn it,” I said. “I want nothing left of it.”
Obediently, Nan put it in the hearth. I watched the flames curl about the parchment, watched it writhe
and fall into ash and smoke. I wanted to say something clever… something witty, pithy, to make light of this event. But all words stuck in my throat, as though I could already feel the sword there, waiting for me.
Chapter Nineteen
Hampton Court
Autumn 1531
October arrived wearing a brilliant cloak of amber, crimson, and gold. Crisp, cold mornings gave way to brilliant warmth and sunshine by the afternoon and although the nights were cold, the days were hot and balmy. It was my favourite season. Winter draws close, promising hardship, but autumn wraps warm arms about the world and promises, for a while, she will keep us safe.
Henry had not abandoned the notion of making Katherine cede to his will. He believed her uncomfortable summer at The More would have made her pliable, and to test this, sent Doctors Lee and Sampson to Katherine. Henry asked them to plead, for the sake of her daughter, herself, and England, to surrender. He promised to treat her better, and support her as his brother’s widow, if she would give in. But Katherine’s damp and unwholesome summer had not broken her spirit.