by G Lawrence
In that moment I made up my mind. Henry would not abandon me now. He had gone through trial and fire and changed even the Church to have me. Once, I would have thought myself a fool to give in before we were married, but now I believed it was but the next logical step on our path.
I decided to seek out herbs or potions I could take to improve my chances of conception. The quicker I conceived the better, for it would hurry along our marriage, and I did not want to disappoint Henry. He had waited too long to end up with a wife who could not give him what he wanted.
When we were in France, I would submit. I would become his mistress, to ensure I became his wife.
I did not tell Henry of my plotting. I meant to take him by surprise, and what a surprise it would be! Seven long years we had waited. We had shown the patience of angels, even if not always their benevolent temperament. My ladies would be taken into my confidence, of course, as they were honour bound to sleep in my bedchamber to protect my reputation, but I would only trust some; my sister, Margaret Wyatt, Mary and Margaret Shelton, and Nan Gainsford. I was not so sure about Jane, but reasoned perhaps loyalty to George would still her wagging tongue. I would not tell my parents, for my father would be sure to try to wheedle some advantage for himself, and my mother would disapprove. But I was sure this was the right choice.
So it was with a bright smile and a happy skip in my step that I processed with Henry to the great hall in Hanworth for a feast to celebrate the completion of negotiations with France. I had insisted that de la Pommeraye be the guest of honour and he was sat beside me so everyone could see us together. That night we feasted on pottage of fresh summer herbs and fried toast cooked in spinach, egg, ginger and raisins. We ate venison and boar roasted to perfection and slathered in thyme and rosemary. Walnut leaf omelettes with nutmeg and pepper followed, matched by chicken pate, peach pies, sallet of lemons and sugar, and borage flower tarts. We supped on the famous sweet strawberries of Hanworth gathered from the gardens, and ate them with mouthfuls of thick, velvety cream, laced with sugar. Fresh cheese made with sugar, cinnamon and rosewater followed, accompanied by delicate, delectable, crisp wafers drizzled in honey. As I sat chatting gaily to the ambassador in French, Henry smiled with a wondering shimmer in his eyes.
“I thought you would be upset,” he mentioned as we danced that night. “That no ladies are to be officially present.”
I chuckled. “I suppose I have, for so long, been the unofficial woman in your life, my lord, that I have grown used to wearing that cloak. But I am not sad. I rejoice… for soon I shall set aside that tired garment and never wear it again.”
Henry laughed. “You shall have a dress for every day you are Queen,” he said. “So you never have to wear the same gown again.”
“I need no frippery,” I said, bending close to his ear as my silken skirts swayed, whispering beneath me. “All I need is you.”
“I love you,” he said.
“My heart is yours, Henry. Now and forever.”
We danced that night as though we were already married. Others fell back and went for wine, or caught their breath whilst in conversation with a pretty maid, but Henry and I did not tire. We danced through the night and into the next morning. Everyone commented on how well Henry looked. The teeth that had given him agony had been pulled, and with exercise, his waistline was receding. There was a glow of energy about him, born of hope.
We whirled about the floor; two swans dancing on a lake. My hands clapped in time with Henry’s shoes clipping upon the floor. As we danced, I thought my heart might take flight and wing into the heavens, taking the message to God that I was happier than any woman had ever been.
We danced as the hours waned and the moon ruled the skies. Those watching said we seemed to become one. One whirling, skipping, prancing spiral of velvet and silk. One body, one step, one heart, one soul, soon to be joined, forever.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Windsor Castle
Summer’s End 1532
En route back to London, we paused for a brief visit to celebrate the marriage of Margaret Wyatt and Sir Anthony Lee.
“I shall never get used to calling you Lady Lee,” I said to my friend.
“You are like my brother, my lady,” she said. “He tells me I shall always be a Wyatt.”
“You are happy with your husband?” I glanced at Lee. Henry had his arm about his shoulder as he lectured him on the wonders of marriage. Yet another subject Henry thinks himself an expert in, I thought indulgently. Lee was a talented courtier, a favourite of Henry’s, and held promise. Cromwell was interested in him, and had talked about tasks he might have for the young man. Lee was also a firm friend to Henry and me, so the union was happily supported by us.
“I am, my lady,” said Margaret, a light flush on her pretty cheeks. “He is a good man.”
“He wooed you long enough before you agreed.”
“I just wanted to make sure that I was the Wyatt he wanted as his bride,” she said with a wry glance.
I laughed. “I am sure whatever enticements your brother presented, Lee wanted to marry you for who you are.”
“I have come to believe that is the case.”
“You will not be long from court?”
“The King has ordered apartments for us,” Margaret said. “We will visit Anthony’s family in Buckinghamshire for a week, but we will return soon.”
“That would please me. I cannot do without you. We have already lost Bridget. I will be lonely without you as well.”
Bridget had left progress early. A message had come from her husband, saying he was unwell and required her at home. She had left with a worried brow, and I had released her with sorrow. Whilst I understood her duty was to her husband, I needed my friends.
“I promise, my lady,” said Margaret. “I will be back before you know it.”
*
London was not welcoming.
People protesting for Katherine lined our route. We had come to Windsor to avoid confrontation, but there had still been some who dared Henry’s disapproval by turning out to heckle me. I was not loved by his people. As though I needed any further evidence of that, I thought sourly as I twisted my head away from a shriek of “get you gone, goggle-eyed whore!”
Arrests were ordered, and the crowds fell away. As I entered my apartments at Windsor, I breathed a sigh of relief. There was always the chance, no matter how slim, such crowds might abuse me physically. Henry’s people made their position clear. It was Katherine they wanted.
But Henry was resolved to ignore them. He believed they were led astray by Katherine and Fisher, and would fall into line soon. I think it was inconceivable to Henry that his people might have minds of their own. Whoever he loved, his people should love, he thought. That was the way of things. That was how it had always been. Henry did not recall that his people had loathed Wolsey just as he failed to see they despised me.
I tried to banish the hateful slurs I had heard and concentrate on the meeting with François. It had been set for October, and although there had been an agreement to limit the number of attendees, Henry called upon every noble who could be spared from their duties to accompany us. Nobles were supposed to limit themselves in terms of dress, so the meeting was not crassly ostentatious, but Henry clearly believed such stipulations did not apply to us. My already vast collection of clothing became a veritable nation of gowns. Henry brought dressmakers and tailors to Windsor to make me a wardrobe fit for a queen.
An open-sleeved cloak of black satin with a velvet collar, a new gown of green damask, several of crimson satin, silk, and dazzling cloth of gold, and another green dress of silk, which moved against my skin with a whispering murmur, joined the swelling ranks of my garments. Henry ordered me a new nightgown as well, made of black satin, lined with black taffeta and edged with black velvet. He showed it to me with a downcast face. He had purchased it with our wedding night in mind.
“You should have it, in any case,” he said as I stood holding it. “It will be c
old in Calais. I will not have my beloved catching a chill.”
I smiled, and thanked him, adopting a downcast expression to mirror his, but inside, my heart was fluttering with mischief. How striking I would look in this nightgown, its black hues shimmering against the white ivory of my skin. Henry had chosen it carefully, planning for pleasure he thought now would not come. What a surprise it would be when I appeared in his rooms! I had always kept Henry guessing. When I arrived to give myself to him, finally, after seven long years, he would get the biggest surprise he could possibly imagine.
I had taken other measures. Pregnancy would justify all that had been done, and a son would prove Henry righteous, so when my sister arrived at court, I took her aside and told her all I had planned.
Mary whistled. “What do you think?” I asked.
“I think you are right,” she said. “The warnings I offered when all this began were valid at the time, but now, he has gone so far, and so much has been done. He will never return to Katherine. He adores you, sister.”
“And what do you know of charms or herbs that may aid my fertility?”
Mary pursed her lips. “There is a respected cunning woman in Southwark,” she said, “who I know has helped other ladies with this kind of problem.”
“You cannot go yourself,” I said. “If it became known you were seeking herbs for fertility, everyone would know it was for me, since you are unmarried. People might question my reputation, again, or my ability to bear heirs.”
“We can send another,” she said. “What about Bridget? She is married.”
Bridget was indeed married, for the third time. Her second husband, Sir Hervey of Ickworth, had been my loyal supporter, but her third husband, whom she had married only a week after the death of her second, was not. Although it was not unheard of for a widow to marry quickly after her husband’s death, the haste at which Bridget had moved had shocked a fair few people, me included.
Sir Robert Tyrwhitt hailed from Kettleby, and there were rumours that he had started to court Bridget before her husband had died. Tyrwhitt and Bridget were apparently a love-match. She had told me as much when I informed her I did not like her choice of husband. Tyrwhitt was close friends with Suffolk, and supported the Princess Mary.
“Twice have I married men who were chosen for me, my lady,” Bridget had written when I had protested about her new husband. “And now I am free to choose another husband, another father for my children, I would choose for my pleasure rather than that of my family, for it is likely to be my last marriage.”
I had agreed, with the utmost reluctance to her choice of husband. For the first time in our friendship there was distance between us. She had joined us at Windsor, but I had been rather ungracious towards my friend.
“Bridget has also borne many children for her husbands,” I said to Mary. “She has sixteen! Would it be believed that a woman of such fertility could require assistance?”
“If she thought her time of producing children was coming to an end, perhaps,” said Mary. “Lady Tyrwhitt could say she simply wishes to please her new husband. It is not uncommon.”
I wondered what Bridget would say if she was brought into our confidence. In my disapproval of Tyrwhitt, I had let loose a few unguarded remarks about the rumours of Bridget’s relationship with him during the last months of her husband’s life. She had not taken to them kindly. Now here I was, about to do something very similar. I did not have a husband, but Henry had a wife. In truth, I had not meant what I said to Bridget. I had been hurt that she would choose a husband who was so clearly set against me, and my eager tongue had slipped into several rather hurtful, and unbecoming, remarks about their relationship.
When my sister had arrived, on the same day as Bridget, Nan had asked Mary if she was keen to marry again. I had laughed and said, “some ladies are happy to wait, others, like my dear friend Bridget simply cannot, even if their husbands be not quite dead!”
I had the misfortune, common to so many, to speak out of hurt and pain. I had not learnt to guard my tongue, and my wit, although usually employed in merriment and joy, could also be turned to spite and wickedness.
“I would rather we sent another,” I said to Mary, uncomfortably thinking Bridget would believe me hypocritical for censuring her for engaging in sex before marriage, just as I was about to do the same. But the mention of her name convinced me I needed to apologise. I had treated her badly.
“Then send Lady Lee,” said Mary. “She is lately married.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Margaret is discreet. She shall go.”
Margaret, also lately returned to court, was happy with her task. “I can ask a few questions of my own, my lady,” she said with a happy smirk. “I long for children.”
Margaret returned from her trip to Southwark with a bag of herbs, charms and a mischievous expression upon her face. There followed an afternoon of whispering, giggling and instruction as Margaret told us what the herbs were for, and my sister told me, in breathtakingly embarrassing detail, not only what to expect on the night I gave myself to Henry, but all I could do to please him.
“You tighten your muscles,” Mary whispered, pointing towards her nether regions with a wicked giggle. “As though you mean to hold him in. He will do anything you want in that moment.”
My cheeks were on fire. Henry and I had done much already, but there were tricks my sister told me that shocked me to the core. How was I to remember all this?
“You won’t,” Mary laughed. “Not the first few times at least. The first time will hurt, sister, but he will be so pleased to find you sweet and humble under him that he will be joyous. After that… I suspect after so long you will be lost in pleasure. And remember, you will have many opportunities to try all I tell you. Once you start, you will not stop. These little tricks will come back to you when you and Henry experiment.”
I pressed cold hands to my fiery cheeks. “If I can ever be near him again without dying of embarrassment, after all you have said!”
“I have heard the two of you when you think no one is around.” Mary waggled her finger, a mocking expression of reproach on her face. “Do not play the innocent with me, sister.”
“Tell me more,” I said. “These herbs, how do I take them and when?”
Margaret had brought back many items. There was a tonic of hawthorn berries, Lady’s Mantle, yarrow and mistletoe, a tea of nettle, red clover and raspberry leaves, and a small wooden charm, fashioned into the images of a pig and an acorn. The pig was a creature long affiliated with fertility, and the acorn was said to both bring luck to enterprises and encourage fruitfulness.
“If you want to ensure a male child,” said my sister. “You must tie a ribbon about Henry’s left testicle.”
“How am I supposed to suggest that?” I cried after we had recovered from a fit of giggles.
“Then lie on your right side,” said Mary. “With him behind you. The right side of your body is more receptive to a man’s seed, and with him behind you, the right testicle, which holds the male seed, will prevail.”
“The Church does not hold with positions like that.” I worried what Henry might think too.
“The Church does not hold with many things,” said my sister. “You disagree with Rome often enough about doctrine and authority, why listen to them about the ways a man and woman may please one another?”
Whilst I remained unsure about some of my sister’s advice, I started dosing myself with the foul-tasting tonic that night, and stowed the little charm in a leather pouch at my belt, where Margaret assured me it would work best. But it seemed Margaret had little use for all the charms and potions she went to seek, as only a week later she informed me she was with child.
“Did you get pregnant on your wedding night?” I asked when she told me.
Her cheeks ignited prettily. “Perhaps,” she said. “Lee was rather exuberant.”
“Wish me the same good fortune, my friend,” I said. “And I will pray for you to have an easy
pregnancy and merciful birth.”
Everything was prepared. There was but one last task to be done before we left for France.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Windsor Castle
1st September 1532
I stood before the mirror.
The woman who stared back at me was unearthly in her beauty. Her pale cheeks were flushed with unusual colour, making her large, dark eyes sparkle like black diamonds. Her hair was loose, flowing over her shoulders; a waterfall of ebony. Crimson velvet encased her lithe, gracile body, ermine brushed her shoulders and she wore so many jewels, she shone like the North Star.
Who was this woman? She was so confident and self-assured. She looked as though she had always known who and what she was. This figure, so bold and calm, was captivating to behold.
I turned to my sister. “Will I do?”
Mary laughed. She looked ravishing, her honeyed hair captured under a veil of pure white silk and topped with a French hood in hues of black and white. Her gown was dark, like those of all my women, for I had commanded them to wear only black and white. The stark colours did not detract from their beauty, but made them uniform. As I blazed, radiant in scarlet, white ermine and cloth of gold, they enhanced my glory with their bleak colours like the frame about a portrait.