by G Lawrence
“I have tried to remove some of the more scathing remarks about our sex which find their way into the book, my lady,” said Mary Shelton when I asked to see it. “Some men find such insults amusing, but I do not see why we ladies should have to stand being slighted just because we were born women.”
“I could not agree more,” I said, turning a page and chuckling at one of the poems. “I wonder if this author is my brother,” I mentioned. “I see his wit in this verse.”
“That, I cannot reveal, my lady,” Mary said with an impish expression. “I am sworn to secrecy.”
“I shall not pester you,” I said, turning a page. “But I know this one is certainly George. I would know that ungainly hand anywhere. My brother never did pay attention when we copied our master’s script.”
“Sometimes others write on behalf of the poets, my lady,” Mary said. “So their identities remain hidden.”
“But is not half the diversion of this game to wonder on the identity of an author, and try to discover them?”
“And therefore, my lady, I could not take that pleasure away from you.”
I laughed and handed her back the book. “I would like to see it,” I said. “From time to time, as it progresses.”
“Perhaps you will contribute a verse, my lady?” Mary asked. “Your pen is talented.”
“And if I do, I will have your protection, like the others? You will not reveal my identity?”
“I would suffer death and dishonour before revealing you.” Mary’s face took on a mock-martyred expression and I chuckled, wondering if my heart had ever felt as light and free as it did in that moment.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hampton Court and Woodstock Palace
Summer 1532
As summer flushed bright and hot over England, Henry and I prepared for progress in high spirits. There was much to bring us happiness in those days of hope and glory, but the reception I had from the people of England brought both of us low.
We were to make for Woodstock and Abingdon. Henry was eager to spend the whole summer upon his horse, riding through glade and forest, in pursuit of wild beasts, and I had invited Giles de la Pommeraye, the French ambassador, to accompany us. It seemed everything was falling into place, but as we rode through London, there were few cheers for Henry, and even fewer for me. People emerged from house and shop to hiss and jeer at me. Henry’s men bundled offenders away, and several were arrested. It was shameful that this should happen at all, but especially in front of de la Pommeraye.
“You see, my lord,” I said sadly as we cleared London. “Some of the King’s people still sympathise with the Dowager of Wales. They blame me for her misfortunes.”
“Fools without wit to understand reality require a scapegoat, my lady,” de la Pommeraye said, shifting his leather reins from one hand to the other. “And it is not their feelings that one has to consider, but the King’s. Where the monarch leads, his people are honour bound to follow.”
“I just wish they could see the good I mean to do when I am Queen.”
“You should not let their present mood affect you, my lady. Commoners’ minds are as easily changed as a shirt in summer. As time goes on, they will accept you. When they see how happy you make His Majesty, when you are married and your first son is born, they will see you in a better light, and all that troubles them now will be forgotten.”
We reached Woodstock two days later, staying with courtiers along the way. Woodstock was always at its best in summer, when the countryside hummed with gliding bees and fast-winged birds. Sow badgers dragged heady-scented bundles of wild garlic to their dens to make smelly nests for their cubs, and country maids were out gathering herbs from the wayside to make herbal infusions. The air was alive with birdsong. Stoats stalked voles in the crisp hayfields, and young, grey, harvest mice clambered the golden, cracking stalks of wheat and barley, performing feats of acrobatics and dangling from their twisted grey-pink tails as they swung and scrambled up the golden stalks, seeking the rich rewards of crop seed heads.
I kept de la Pommeraye so close that he could have become my hipbone, inviting him shoot at Woodstock’s archery butts, sharing a platform as we shot deer with Henry’s new crossbows, and watching hare coursing together. I presented the ambassador with a fine huntsman’s coat of rich, black velvet, along with a new hat, a hunter’s horn and a greyhound. De la Pommeraye was charmed well, that summer.
“I want only for our two countries to be friends, my lord ambassador,” I said. “France lives in my heart. With me as Queen, your country will have a permanent voice at court, a loving friend who will always speak for France’s interests.”
“My master will be always grateful, my lady, for your devotion to his country.”
I smiled. “Shall we speak more about the conference? I sorrow your Queen cannot set aside her resentment and meet me, but have you heard from Queen Marguerite? I grew so fond of her during my time in France, and I believe she felt the same way.”
“She has agreed to attend and bring her ladies,” said de la Pommeraye. “You will be honourably received, my lady.” He grinned, causing his nose to wrinkle. “You will, in truth, be home at last. When I first saw you at court, not knowing who you were, I thought you one of my own countrywomen. France may have only been your home for a few years, but I, too, believe my country settled in your spirit.”
I was more merry than I could say, not only for the thought of seeing Marguerite again, one of the women I respected most in the world, but because she was willing to recognise my status. This was good news, and we had need of it, for there only seemed to be constant strife in England. An ugly rumour broke out that Henry was continuing his progress alone, and I had been sent away, due to public demonstrations against me. This was false, but it was true that London had not been the only place I had encountered angry people. When we rode through some villages and towns, people emerged from street and shadow to holler at me. Some of them even shouted at Henry. In the end we had started to avoid populated areas, but even the disgust of Henry’s people could not hold him back.
“I will not be stopped by pope or man,” he said.
I put my head against his chest. I relished his determination, but it is a hard experience to see nothing but faces drawn with hatred and abhorrence.
When I am Queen, they will see the good in me, I thought. When I am Queen they will understand.
I wondered if I was lying. Would they ever accept me? Ever see me as a worthy successor to Katherine? I knew not.
*
By late July, Chapuys had gained intelligence of the proposed meeting with France. I was not surprised. The hateful hare had a talented nose for sniffing out secrets. It would have been impossible to keep the meeting secret forever in any case, as Henry was fitting out ships to carry four thousand courtiers and servants to Calais. It is taxing to keep something like that quiet. I suspected Chapuys had spies planted in my household as he had also managed to gain intelligence that I had written to Nan Gainsford and my sister, both at their country homes for the summer, asking them to come to court in preparation for a momentous event. In my letters, I had put “that which I have so long wished for will be accomplished.” Since Chapuys suddenly seemed incredibly nervous, and was badgering Henry daily for meetings, I could only conclude he had someone hidden in my house, opening my letters. Whilst this was aggravating, and meant I could not trust all my women, I was tickled by the sight of Chapuys, disappearing, as ever, as I arrived. But even a slight, passing glimpse was enough to tell me how worried he was. I could almost hear his long feet tapping restlessly on the ground, trying to warn his fellow hares of danger soon to come.
Others were made merry besides me. Cromwell received rich rewards that summer, becoming Clerk of the Hanaper; an office in the Chancery which received fees for the sealing of charters, writs and patents. Cromwell was swiftly becoming a wealthy man, and I encouraged Henry to think of him whenever a post fell vacant.
“We do not want to
tax him with too much work, my beloved,” Henry said.
“He is the most capable of Your Majesty’s servants,” I protested. “And he thrives on hard work. Why put a lesser man where a better one should be?”
“You are so generous, Anne,” Henry said. “When you love, you love with all your heart.”
He did not mention the same was true of my hatred, but a part of me wondered if he was thinking it. I dashed aside such notions. It did not do to tarry on unpleasing notions when everything was going in our favour. Henry even started to say we might be married in France, with François and his sister as our guests.
“But… your marriage to Katherine is not yet annulled,” I said.
Henry waved a hand. “That,” he said, “is but a formality. All men know I was never married to her, and if that is true, I am at liberty to take another wife as soon as I wish.” Quick as a hawk, he grabbed me. “I am so eager, Anne.”
A hungry kiss came down on my lips, and although I was excited by his passion, I was left with a bad taste in my mouth. This was no metaphor. Henry had been having trouble with his teeth. They caused him great pain, and some were rotting. He had been treated for tooth-worms, but to no avail, and his physicians recommended the offending teeth should be pulled.
That was not his only trial. Henry’s head pained him, and at times, he had to lie in a dark room for hours, sometimes days, to master his agony. Henry was also suffering from gout, which he absolutely refused to acknowledge. He thought it an old man’s disease and declined treatment, perhaps believing if he accepted it, it would make it real. I had to instruct his doctors to give him treatment for gout, but pretend it was for another ailment. Henry wanted to ignore it, but he was getting older. So was I.
I had long protested I wanted his marriage to Katherine annulled before we were wed, but I came to wonder if this was not in my best interests anymore. If Henry wanted to be married before François and Marguerite, perhaps we should go ahead. That way, when we returned to England, I would be his wife, and might have a babe in my belly. If I were pregnant, Henry would have to move swiftly to make me his Queen, for he wanted no more bastards. I could not go on waiting for him to take this last, final step. Perhaps it was time to surrender the ultimate prize, and lay down my end card in this game with such high stakes.
“When we reach France,” I whispered in his ear. “If you ask me, I will marry you.”
The effect on Henry was startling. He flushed crimson, looked as though he might weep, then started to laugh. “Then it is agreed,” he said, lifting me in his arms and swinging me screaming through the air. “In France, we will become man and wife.”
I was riding high, secure in Henry’s love and assured I would be his wife within a matter of months. Everyone saw the change in me.
“You walk with a step as light as the wind!” Tom marvelled as we danced in my chambers.
“It is good to see you merry, Anne, after all the strain you have suffered,” said my brother when Tom relinquished me.
“What cause have I for sorrow?” I asked, laughing as my brother whirled me about. “What need have I for grief anymore?”
“If I may be so bold,” said a deep voice close by. “No lady as beautiful as you should ever linger in sorrow.”
I turned and found a handsome face half-bowed before me. As the man stood, I saw how tall and striking he was. His hair was dark and cropped short, like all gallants at court, and his face was impertinently handsome. He had deep green eyes, like the colour of the innermost realm of the forest. Clearly he was not a man of wealth. His shirt had not been made for his back, neither had his doublet, and although both were fine, they were of a slightly antiquated style, proclaiming loud and clear to anyone who had eyes that they had been gifts from wealthy patrons.
“Who is this handsome stranger who comes to compliment a lady without warning?” I asked, extending a hand. “And how could I have missed such a bewitching young man? Have you been long at court, Master…?”
“Anne, this is Master Smeaton,” said George. “But everyone calls him Mark.”
The slightest flicker of irritation flashed through Smeaton’s eyes. Calling a man by his first name was not exactly a sign of disrespect. Indeed, if used by Henry, it could denote favour, but if a man’s Christian name was used by everyone, it did indicate that the man was no noble. I understood my suspicions were true. Mark Smeaton was not of noble blood. But what was more interesting was that he resented it.
“The musician the King told me of?” I asked as Mark kissed my hand. He moved with a fluid grace, a clear indication of a person who has spent their life practising the skill of dancing.
“If His gracious Majesty spoke of me, I am thrilled,” he said. “It is a high honour to be noticed.”
“Your accent,” I said. “Flemish?”
“You have a fine ear, my lady,” Smeaton replied. “I indeed hailed from that land.”
“I spent some time on the continent,” I said. “When I was a young girl.”
“Then you have only recently returned to England?” he asked, his handsome green eyes wide with innocence.
I glanced at my brother. “A talented flatterer,” I noted with a smile and looked back to Smeaton. “The King tells me you are talented, Master Smeaton, at music and dancing. I am most fond of both pastimes.”
“You should sing a duet with Anne, Mark,” said George turning to Smeaton. “You will be impressed by her voice.”
“My brother flatters me,” I said. “I sing well enough, but there are many nightingales at court.”
“You fly high above them all,” said Tom. “Do not heed the lady, Mark, she is being modest. Her voice will astound you.”
“I cannot wait to hear it,” said the young man. “Perhaps I could entice the lady to favour us with a song now?”
“No, no!” I laughed as Norris joined Tom, Mark and George to badger me to sing. “I have been chattering away to all of you so long that my voice will grate like an old gate! You will wait until tomorrow, gentlemen. Then, Master Smeaton and I will sing together.”
My ladies laughed with me to see my men flutter about me. Even Jane managed to keep her habitual irritation from her face. Bridget shook her head in wonder. “You always know how to keep them on their toes, my lady,” she said. “Look at them… every one of them in love with you.”
“Protestations of love are not love,” I said. “These boys have many toys.”
Smeaton admitted himself distraught to have to wait a whole day to sing with me. I beckoned to him and put my lips close to his ear. “One should always give one’s audience something to yearn for, Master Smeaton,” I murmured. “That way, we do not ever lose their attention.” As he righted himself, I opened my arresting eyes wide for a moment, and then laughed. “Play something,” I said. “Something merry, and we will dance.”
Smeaton played and we danced through the golden afternoon. When Henry joined us, he was happy I had met Mark, and started plaguing the young man to play song after song, on every different instrument he could find. Smeaton was indeed most skilled.
“I have not heard one wrong note,” I said. “And even songs I know well, he seems to make new.”
“His father is a carpenter and his mother a seamstress,” said Henry. “But do not mention them, for he finds shame in his humble origins.”
“How did he find his way to court?”
“He once served in the Cardinal’s choir,” said Henry. I glanced at my beloved. It was rare Henry mentioned Wolsey.
“And you took him in,” I said. “You are so generous, my love.”
“May I claim your fair lady for the next dance, Majesty?” Weston asked, bowing to Henry.
“With my blessing, Francis,” said Henry. “But I shall want her returned soon.”
With Henry looking on, suffused with pride as I danced, I felt as though I were caught up in a sunset of joy. Even the hatred of Henry’s people was deflected by the armour of happiness surrounding me. Let Katherine
sulk! Let the Emperor rage! Let Clement beg, cajole and whine! I was one step from becoming Queen.
And yet, even as I celebrated, I did not know that an old acquaintance, one I had hardly thought about for years, was plotting to steal my happiness.
Chapter Thirty
Waltham Abbey
Summer’s End 1532
“I thought you should know, niece,” said Norfolk.