by G Lawrence
“I thank you for your thoughtfulness.” I meant it, despite the hard curl of my voice. Norfolk had come to warn me that an allegation had been made against me by none other than Henry Percy, that weed I had once thought myself in love with. How I could have lowered myself to think on him as a worthy mate, I could not comprehend, and he had fallen still further in my estimation than ever before by making this new, and startling, statement.
Percy had married Mary Talbot when his father marched him away from court and our engagement. Their union was a disaster. Bridget told me there were rumours they had started arguing on their wedding night, and never ceased. They had separated two years ago, and tried to avoid each other, but that summer, when they met, they had an argument. Mary charged her husband with neglect, and Percy had retorted that they were not, in fact, married, as he had been legally contracted to me, making his union with Mary invalid. Mary seized her chance, and sent word to her father, one of Katherine’s supporters. Talbot contacted Norfolk, who brought the letter to me.
“I thought you should see this,” he had said, handing me the letter. “It will need careful handling.”
Norfolk, for once, had a point. Curse you, Percy! I thought. Would there ever come a time when we were not attacked and assaulted at every turn? This could be damaging, and only more so if Henry heard it from anyone but me.
I stood up. “I will go to the King now,” I said. “And I will show him this falsehood. I was never contracted to Percy.”
“But there was an agreement of marriage,” mentioned my father.
“There is nothing that exists now that could be proved,” I insisted. “Besides, our agreement was invalidated, as everyone told me, by Percy’s previous contract with Mary Talbot.”
“That was the Cardinal’s argument,” said Norfolk. “But are you sure His Majesty will feel the same way?”
“The King loves me,” I said bluntly. “I will tell him nothing but the truth, and we will have this matter investigated and publicly dismissed. I will have no one using this against me.”
I marched straight to Henry and told him everything. “I was never engaged to Percy,” I said. “He asked me to marry him, and I told him I could only agree with my father’s permission. Before I had a chance to speak to him about it, Percy was taken away by his father. His previous contract with Mary Talbot made his offer to me nothing but a lie.” I paused, watching Henry’s face. “I have often wondered, in the years that passed, whether Percy was not trying to trick me for the purpose of taking my maidenhead.”
This was a lie. I had never thought Percy capable of such deceit. But I needed Henry on my side. Henry thought of himself as a knight of chivalry, and would not allow a maiden to be abused. If I suffered a qualm of guilt for accusing Percy, it did not last long. He had used me to try to free him from his wife.
Henry’s face darkened. “It was as well I told Wolsey to remove that man from court.” His eyes became sentimental. “I had already seen you, Anne. I knew it not, but I was in love. I could not bear Percy stealing you away.”
“Percy is a witless worm,” I said, making Henry laugh. “I was a girl when I came to court, Henry… in love with the idea of being in love. Not until I fell for you did I understand how false my feelings for Percy had been.”
“And he would have taken advantage of you,” Henry said in a baleful voice, forgetting that he had intended to take me as a mistress at first. “And now seeks to use you, my beloved, as a tool to pry his shrew of a wife from his bed! It will not be borne.”
“You will have this investigated? I do not want it done quietly, Henry. It must be public.”
“I would spare you any shame,” he said. “But I agree. There can be no question of a previous marriage.”
Henry sent two Archbishops to interrogate Percy. In the presence of the Archbishops, Norfolk, and Henry’s canon lawyers, Percy crumbled. Never a strong-willed man, he admitted he had spoken a falsehood and swore on the Blessed Sacrament that there had been no previous contract.
“I feel almost sorry for him,” I mentioned to my brother as we strolled through the gardens of Waltham Abbey with Norris and Weston. George was about to leave court and make for France, to tie up the last loose strands about the meeting and I was sorry to lose him. “Percy was never courageous,” I continued. “He only said these lies to hurt his wife. She was the one to take the matter further.”
“It is a sad event, to be trapped in an unhappy marriage,” said Norris.
“He has only himself to blame,” I said. “Had he stood firm, he could have married me.”
“But then you would never have been Queen,” smiled Norris. “As you are sure to be, soon.” Norris gazed up at the cloud-spangled skies. Clouds were racing each other in the heavens. It had been a fine, hot afternoon, and I was glad to be in the company of my close friends. “And no better Queen of England will we ever know.”
“I do so like you, Norris,” I said, touching his arm. “You always restore my spirits.”
“And what of your poor brother?” George demanded. “Have you no praise for me?”
I laughed. “You have a special place in my heart,” I said. “But if I praise you continually, will your head not grow too large to fit through the doors of court?”
“It is true,” said Norris, leaning in to examine George’s head. “His head is getting bigger… look, Weston, see how Lord Rochford’s fine cap sits so small on his great head?”
Weston chuckled and George lunged at Norris to wrestle him. As my brother leapt, I grabbed his cap and danced backwards, brandishing it like a war-banner stolen in battle.
“See here the poor cap of Lord Rochford!” I shouted, making my ladies turn and titter. “It has no place on so noble a head, for it cannot fulfil the huge task granted to it!”
George came at me, his face twisted into an expression of mock fury, and I threw the cap to Mary Shelton, who tossed it to her sister, screaming as George prowled towards her.
On through the gardens of Waltham we raced on that bright day. Over our heads, storm clouds were gathering, but we saw them not. We ran, our shadows leaping as though they contained our joy; the shadowed souls of pleasure. We tore through the gardens as George chased us, calling to his men to hunt my ladies. The sound of laughter and squeals of delighted terror sounded in the grounds as George and Weston herded my ladies, trying to use them to ransom the cap.
But with Norris as my ally, we kept the hat, tossing it back and forth as we played. We were children lost in a game. As, finally, we came to a stop before the Abbey, panting and laughing, I looked up to see Henry at the window, watching us. I waved to him. Distracted for a moment, I did not see my brother as he finally caught me. George wrapped his arms about me and stole the cap away, flourishing it in the air as he crowed in victory.
When I glanced up again, Henry was gone.
Chapter Thirty-One
Waltham Abbey
Summer 1532
“Warham is dead,” announced my father, entering my chamber at Waltham Abbey.
“Warham, for all the use he was either to us or his beloved Church, might as well have been long dead.”
“This opens opportunity,” said my father. “If we can persuade Henry to put a man of our choosing into the post of Archbishop of Canterbury, your marriage could happen any day.”
“Now the fuss about Percy and his odious wife is spent, I think so too,” I said. “I wonder if Warham knew his end was near? The resistance he showed was out of character. If he knew he was dying, that perhaps explains his sudden resolve.”
Quite aside from his refusal to negate papal authority, Warham had lately told Henry he believed his marriage was valid. He had also objected to any legislation he thought might be harmful to the Church. Warham had been ineffectual for so long that this had come as a surprise, but if the Archbishop had believed he was soon to meet his Maker, much could be explained.
“Now he is gone, we can have someone more virtuous in his place,” I went
on. “There is only one man I think worthy to hold such a title: Cranmer.”
“I had the same thought.” My father clicked his fingers at Jane to bring him wine. She frowned, but hid her scowl as she handed it to him. No matter how much she disliked her father-in-law, she was not fool enough to show it.
“Do you think Clement will oppose Cranmer’s elevation?” I asked.
“I don’t think Clement is really aware of who Cranmer is,” said my father, running his finger about the rim of his goblet. “Although he penned the Collectinea, the Pope has often shown himself unaware of many things… most notably the temper of our King.”
“And Clement wants to bring Henry on side,” I added. “He has not reissued his demand that I be cast off or sent the long-awaited excommunication. I think he will agree.”
“A bishopric is usually left vacant for a year, to amass income for the Crown,” said my father. “Can you persuade Henry not to wait?”
“He wants me far more than he wants money,” I said. “I will get him to agree. Cranmer would be his first choice, in any case. You know how close the two of them have become.”
Henry adored Cranmer. He saw him as a humble yet learned man and delighted in his nervous manner. Henry liked people to show deference, and since Cranmer was naturally meek, at least in his dealings with Henry, he was pleasing to my beloved.
“There is at least one man in England who understands the place and position of the Church,” Henry had said to me on more than one occasion. Henry had developed a rather irritating habit of repeating himself when he believed something he said was of consequence. It gnawed on my nerves.
As it transpired, I had no need to attempt to convince Henry. He had heard of Warham’s death, and had already sent a messenger to the Low Countries, where Charles of Spain had taken my friend, to call Cranmer home from his post as ambassador.
“I will have to write to Clement,” Henry told me. “For it is within my power to appoint bishops, but not yet archbishops, but it will be done.”
“You could have no better soul than Cranmer.”
“I agree, and do you see, sweetheart?” he asked, taking my hand and kissing my slim fingers one by one. “Everything is falling into place. God is working for us.”
Henry advanced money to Rome so the required papal bulls could be rushed through. There was no outright objection from Clement, and I was sure that once Cranmer was made leader of the clergy, under Henry, Henry’s marriage would finally be over.
“There is one more thing that needs to be taken care of,” said Henry as we left Waltham Abbey. Henry wanted to visit the Isle of Sheppey, and see Sir Thomas Cheney, commander of the Cinque Ports. From there we would make for my new estate at Hanworth to end the progress.
“What is that, my lord?” I asked, drawing my horse close. My palfrey whickered as she brushed noses with Henry’s stallion, as though they too were in love.
“You are not high enough, yet, to become my wife,” Henry said. “I have been thinking about this for some time, and have made my decision. Before we leave for France this September, I will have you elevated to the higher peerage.”
I had been expecting this, but I did not show it. “I am humbled by Your Majesty’s generosity.”
“I mean to make you higher than any woman, and many men in this land,” Henry said, watching my face. “I will make you the Marquess of Pembroke, in your own right. The title once belonged to my great-uncle, Jasper Tudor. It is a royal title, and will be yours for life.”
My mouth fell open. I had been expecting to be made a lady in my own right, or a countess, but to be a Marquess... The rank of Marquis stood just below that of Duke, and was restricted to the royal bloodline. Henry could not make me a duchess, as no woman held that title without a husband, but he was setting me above everyone, even my father who was twice an earl. In terms of rank, until I was Queen, I would be second only to Norfolk, Fitzroy, Suffolk, and Henry and his family.
Henry laughed. “How I love to surprise you, Anne.”
“Henry… I know not how to thank you…”
“Thank me by becoming my wife,” he said, leaning over his saddle to kiss me. “And by giving me sons.”
“I will do all that you want and more,” I said. “You honour me.” I frowned. “Why could you not tell me this whilst we were at Waltham? Then I could have thanked you properly.” My lips curled into a naughty little smile.
“We will hurry along our horses,” he whispered. “You can thank me all you want when we reach our next stop.”
With a great cry, Henry urged his horse forwards. To the great surprise of the court, who had been trundling along, talking politely, Henry and I galloped past. The wind was in my hair, tearing it from my smart riding cap of green velvet, and I cared not. All I wanted was to feel his body close to mine.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Hanworth
Summer’s End 1532
As we arrived at Hanworth after taking time to visit the Isle of Sheppey, I found a message awaiting me.
“Dearest sister,” Mary wrote. “I cannot contain my glee. To think that we will, together, once more take to ship and sail to France. Do you remember when we met there, after so many years apart, as the girls we were? I thought you so grand and noble that I could hardly believe you were in truth my little sister. And now we are to walk those shores and halls once more, I cannot express my joy. I will, of course for duty and in natural recognition of our sibling bond, be at your side, and I share the excitement I read in your missive, that soon you will be Queen. I have a few affairs to set right, and must of course attend to my son and daughter, who send their right cordial love and greetings to their dear aunt and governor. Henry pesters that he should come with us, to ensure our safety! Catherine is distraught to think there will be so many new gowns that you will wear and she will never see. They both have promised to be good while I am away, and will serve their grandmother well, but only on condition, extracted from me most willingly, that they will see you upon your return, and hear our tales of France.
France, Anne! What a voyage it will be!”
I slipped the letter into my travelling pouch, smiling at my sister’s exuberance. Mary adored her children, but I knew her life at Hever was dull. This trip would allow her time away from the humdrum routine of a country woman. I only hoped that my sister would not revert to her old ways when we went to France.
But it was hard not to share her excitement. I felt free and light as the summer wind and was made even happier when Henry told me he was taking one of Katherine’s greatest friends from her.
“I have ordered Marie de Salinas, Lady Willoughby, removed,” he said. “She does nothing but encourage Katherine in her fantasies.”
Marie had never been fond of me, so I was pleased to hear she was finally getting her comeuppance. Swiftly, however, something came to ruin my happiness.
“The Queen of Navarre will not be able to attend the meeting, my lady,” Giles de la Pommeraye informed me. “She has been taken ill and her doctors will not allow her to travel to Calais.”
“But I was so looking forward to seeing Queen Marguerite!” I cried mournfully. “And if she does not attend, what French ladies will be there?”
“His Majesty suggests again the Duchesse de Vendome,” said de la Pommeraye, clearly distressed by my sorrow. “Although he knows there will be objections.
There would. I could imagine the slights already, the comparisons... The two mistresses of two Kings… that would be what would be said. It would endanger everything we were striving to achieve.
“We must take this to the King,” I said. “I fear he will be most unhappy.”
Henry agreed the Duchesse would not be suitable. He had no wish for anyone to look on me and believe I was a mere mistress. I was distraught, but de la Pommeraye told me there was nothing he could do. I suspected Marguerite was not attending upon her brother’s request. François was attempting to secure an alliance with Clement, which, if successful,
could end the Emperor’s stranglehold on Rome. Meeting me could endanger that.
Eventually it was agreed that officially no ladies would be present on either side. I would still accompany Henry, and he had every intention of finding a way to present me to François. We would have the recognition we needed, but first he would meet François alone.
“Does this mean we cannot be married in France?” I asked.
Henry’s face was troubled. “To my sorrow, beloved, I suspect that is the case.”
I fell silent. I had been resting my hope of a swift marriage upon this meeting. I had been thinking of our wedding night with joy, and had already imagined the glee on Henry’s face when I would announce I was with child. It seemed all of that was slipping away.
But I would not let it.