by G Lawrence
Your own assured friend during my life,
Anne Rochford.”
I was assuring Bridget whilst I disapproved of her choice of husband, and could not ignore the rumours that had preceded her marriage, I loved her and wanted her to cease being angry with me. I hoped that would be enough to bring our friendship back to life. I wanted her to leave our troubles behind. I received a letter from her as we left the house of Sir Thomas Cheney at Shurland. It said she understood my concerns, but would never allow anyone to come between us. She asked me to ignore accusations that she had been intimate with Tyrwhitt before her second husband had died, as they were but rumours. Bridget also said she was glad I had sent the letter, that she loved me too, and would always remain my servant and friend.
*
Canterbury was our last stop before Dover. We were to stay with Sir Christopher Hales, but before we made it to his house, we were taken past a square where the prophesies of Elizabeth Barton, the Holy Nun of Kent, were being read aloud.
A large crowd had gathered. Their faces were upturned to the man who read the words of the Holy Nun. To see the bliss on some of their faces, you might have thought the Second Coming was being announced. To see the anger on others, you may have suspected rebellion was about to erupt.
Barton had such influence, such power, over Henry’s people. Viewed as a living saint, her words were sacred to them. But perhaps it was more than that. Barton, upon speaking out against Henry, had become the mouthpiece of the people. Many only had the nerve to boo and hiss at me, but she dared to speak bold and loud against Henry. She had become the people’s representative, who said all they could not, or would not, dare to.
I realised at that moment she was more dangerous than I had thought. If she called Henry’s people to war, to revolt, they would follow her. Like Joan of Arc, she claimed to speak for God and the people believed in her.
I glanced at Henry to see his face black with anger. I could not believe this had been a planned part of our procession to Hale’s house. Everyone must have known Henry would not enjoy hearing his kingdom would crumble should he leave Katherine, or that God was watching him with vengeful eyes for his usurpation of the Church. Henry resolutely ignored the men reading out the prophesies, just as he turned his face from the mob who had gathered to listen. We went on to Hale’s house, and as we were settling into our chambers, I heard Henry speaking to Cromwell.
“I agree, Majesty,” said Cromwell. “The woman is a nuisance, and may prove dangerous.”
“I want her taken care of, Cromwell. I will stand no more of this. And find out who allowed our route to be interrupted! They will suffer for it!”
So it is Cromwell, now, not Thomas? I thought. Henry had an odd habit of changing people’s names when he was either pleased or displeased with them… as though they transformed into different souls, depending on his mood.
“What are the words of one foolish peasant?” I asked as I entered. I smiled at Henry, trying to soothe him. “Pay no attention to that charlatan,” I went on. “This is a time for merriment, my lord.”
“As ever, you are right.” He let out a great sigh and I saw Cromwell sag with relief. “But find out who allowed that spectacle to happen, Thomas,” Henry said as he led me into the hallway.
Cromwell, too, noted the change in name, and flashed a brief, grateful smile at me as I left the chamber.
“Soon all of this will be behind us,” I murmured as we entered his apartments. I was not sure I was telling the truth, but seeing Henry brighten, I made up my mind to at least act as though it was. “Show me your doublet for tonight,” I said.
“Why?”
“I want to match you, my lord.” I smiled. “We will show everyone we are united.”
Henry loved the notion, and my ladies were made busy choosing a gown and hood that would match his. That night, as we entered Hale’s great hall, we stood in matching costumes of burning crimson and cloth of gold. We entered together, my arm resting on Henry’s, and as we processed to the head of the hall, we did so as equals, as a couple, as a united front.
They could try to tear us apart… these people who envied our love and hated our ideals, but they would never succeed.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Dover Castle and the Exchequer Palace
Kent and Calais
Autumn 1532
We reached Dover the next day too late to attempt to cross to Calais. The day had been fresh, wild and clean, with bright skies and only a small shower of rain. I was not sorry to have a night in Dover Castle as I was weary. Had it only been three days since we rode from London? It felt as though a lifetime had passed.
That night, Henry insisted we take to our beds early, so we would not miss the tide. I fell swiftly into a deep sleep flush with strange dreams. I dreamt I stood before the bloody tower I had seen so many times before. The ground was thick with blood, running in tiny streams through the dense desert dust. I had the sense that I was waiting for someone, someone who had yet to appear, yet as I gazed over the red planes I saw no one. I awoke in the night with a lingering sense of apprehension. It was as though a traveller had been promised who had never arrived... as though a wanderer was due to visit my dreams, and if not now, then soon. I could not get back to sleep. I told myself it was excitement, but it felt more like trepidation.
We rose before dawn and rode to the docks. Henry’s great ship The Swallow was waiting for us. In the grey light of dawn, the ship seemed like a warrior-queen of old, drifting on the water, dominating the silver sea as the waves lapped at her sides like sycophantic courtiers. The sea was alive with tiny white horses riding its cresting waves. Salt-breeze swam in the air, bringing the scent of fish, sea-weed and water. I gazed to the horizon where the scarlet rim of the burning sun hung, waiting to enfold the world in its glory. Soon we would be in Calais, so close to France that I might be able to stretch out a hand and touch the shoulder of the young girl I had once been. Did a part of me linger in France? Had it always? Perhaps I had left a part of me there. I had longed so hard to remain in France it was conceivable that a shard of my heart might have broken free and remained, burrowed so deep in the earth that no man could ever find it. I recalled the day I had returned to England, despondent and afraid. I remembered my love for France, the people I had met and learned so much from.
“Thinking of the past, my lady?” Tom asked, taking a place next to me at the sea wall.
“I was,” I said. “I was thinking of the day I returned home, although at the time England did not feel like home to me.”
“And then we met again,” he said. “I thought a witch had come to curse my house, but instead it was my old friend come to bless it.”
I smiled and put my hand on his. “It was meeting you that convinced me I was not lost in a strange land.”
“Then I am glad, even for all the pain it caused me.” Tom smiled down at me. “For no one should have to fear that their home would not welcome them.”
There was a fair wind blowing and although the morning skies were dark, it looked set to become a glorious day. The crossing was swift and easy, and we broke our fast on hard cheese and crusty bread, accompanied by slices of cold beef, a sallat of Alexanders and wild onion, and a great deal of foaming ale. Edward Seymour and Weston served our table, trying to keep their balance and dignity as the ship rocked and swayed on the waves.
We reached Calais by ten of the clock. Horses were brought snorting from the bowels of the ships, their eyes rolling as they walked nervously over the gang-planks. The harbour was crammed with people waiting to catch a glimpse of Henry, and the cheer as he was sighted was deafening. The voices of Henry’s people tore the air, ripping its peace asunder. Henry waved to his people, stopping here and there as we walked up the harbour to distribute purses of money. Cromwell wandered at his side, his hands crossed behind his back and an expression of great satisfaction on his face. We were welcomed by the Mayor of Calais, and Henry’s Deputy, Lord Berners, as over our heads
a thunderous royal salute erupted from the cannons on the city walls. In a torch-lit procession, we were taken to the Exchequer Palace.
“I had it enlarged,” said Henry as we rode towards the palace.
“It is magnificent,” I said, and I was not speaking only of the Exchequer, but of Calais.
I had been to Calais before, of course. Once I was forced to Christmas here on my return journey to England, but I saw it that day with new eyes. On that visit, I had been a sullen girl sulking to be sent home, but that day as Henry and I rode through the streets of Calais, I was a woman, the highest female peer of England, and soon, too, to become a queen.
This was the last scrap of the English Empire; the only remaining bastion of that once-vast realm which stretched from England to Aquitaine and Brittany. Now, Calais was all that remained.
Made rich with merchants, and as the main port through which exports of wool, tin, lead and cloth were shipped, Calais was steeped in coin. Captured by Edward III almost two hundred years before our time, the town and its surrounding area, the Pale of Calais, were heavily fortified against incursions from France. It was the jewel in the English crown; England’s gateway to Europe. A third of England’s income, at times, came from Calais’ customs revenues. Its houses were modern, whitewashed and pretty, and its streets were packed with wealthy venturers of many nations. It was a thriving city of commerce and its streets were alive with the din of many languages and the scent of rich spices trailing through the autumn air. I breathed in. Although Calais was not France in truth, it smelt like home.
An overpowering sense of homesickness struck me. Perhaps it was not homesickness itself that overcame me in that moment, but a yearning for a time long since passed.
Scent is more powerful than any other sense; the herald of memories long forgotten. It wields the power to recall times and events, reminding us of the thoughts we held, and the people we were, long ago. For a moment, I sat on my horse, thinking I might cry. I was home.
“Come, beloved,” Henry called. I clicked my tongue and my palfrey clopped over the cobbled roads. Even London did not have as many well-tended streets as Calais. Not for the Calais merchants were there broken tracks and muddy roads. Here there were cobblestones and freshly-laid grit. No merchant wanted his fine robes spoiled.
The Exchequer was also grand. It was a great mansion with two privy gardens, a tennis court and a luxurious long gallery. I had a suite of seven rooms, and was delighted to find that my chambers were connected to Henry’s. In addition to the ladies I had taken into my confidence, I had also enlisted the aid of Norris and Weston. I could not visit Henry’s chambers without his men knowing, and I believed it was better to take trusted friends into my confidence, rather than announce my intention to sleep with the King to the whole court. I had not even told George, as he would tell our father. I had decided that I would come to Henry after François had visited Calais, to end our trip in triumph.
There was no need for Henry to hurry away. We spent ten days in Calais whilst Henry and I inspected the town’s defences, and spent our evenings dancing, gambling and feasting on gifts sent by François and Anne de Montmorency, the Constable of France. Delicious carp broth and porpoise steaks graced our table, along with sides of venison and boar, succulent pears and juicy grapes. Piles of wild, French mushrooms bobbed in rich sauces of cream and green onion, and confit of duck, spiced pottage and stacks of oysters were devoured happily. Each night, more gifts came from François and his nobles, and we ate like the kings we were.
It had been agreed that displays of wealth were to be kept to a minimum, which pleased Henry’s nobles, many of whom had suspected they might be bankrupted by this trip, much like the Field of the Cloth of Gold. Both kings, naturally, ignored this agreement when it came to their own clothing. Henry was never going to allow François to outdo him. Henry’s wardrobe was lavish, rich with cloth of gold and silver and scintillating silks in shades of crimson and yellow.
We went hawking, hunting and riding. We laid wagers and danced. It was a merry time, and I felt light as a leaf upon the wind. Norfolk and Anne de Montmorency met to finalise the details of the meeting, and two days later, Henry left to ride for Sandingfield near the Calais Pale border. One hundred and forty men were to accompany him, dressed in crimson velvet.
I said goodbye, admiring his russet tunic of velvet trimmed with gold and pearls. “Do not go too wild with François,” I said, tucking a stray ribbon into his tunic. “I know his ways of old.”
“I am not unfamiliar with his feral nature either,” said Henry, grinning. He was not displeased to have some time alone with François. For all their rivalry, they were similar souls.
I felt a little downcast to be left behind, but consoled myself that François would visit Calais after he had entertained Henry. When he arrived, I would impress my old admirer.
“We have much to do,” I said to my ladies as I returned to my chambers. “Do not suppose this time will go dully by us.”
*
“How is your shadow?” My lips quivered with mischief as I glanced behind Mary to nod at the ever-hovering William Stafford.
Mary flushed. “Anne… Be kind… He is just a young lad. Don’t let him hear your teasing.”
“Do you care for the boy so much that you would seek to make me kind to him even when he cannot hear me?”
“I care for him as a friend, and as one who has been good to me, nothing more. But all men have pride. I would not wish to see him upset.”
“Then tease I shall, no more, sister, in words…” I agreed, taking her arm. “… But let us see how quickly he follows you as we walk about the chamber.”
She allowed herself a giggle as she submitted to my game, but her eyes sparkled when she saw Stafford watching her. I thought little of it at the time. Mary had been long been left on life’s sidelines, but now she had an admirer in the games of courtly love. It had brought her energy, and the sweetest parts of her character shone as she found herself adored. I thought it could only do her good. Too long had my sister been shrouded in misery, both for Carey’s death and the uncomfortable situation of her widowhood, where she had been reliant on our miserly father until I had offered her an income. I did not object to Mary having an admirer. It was the part all women played at court. They were the queens of love to which younger, less wealthy men, offered up devotion. Courtly love made patrons out of women, and poets out of men. It was the court’s expression of civilisation and chivalry… the stage on which fortunes and careers were made. It was a game everyone played.
William Stafford was one of Henry’s Gentlemen Ushers. He came from noble stock, but hailed from an obscure line, related, distantly, to the Dukes of Buckingham. Since the last Duke had lost his head for treason and witchcraft, this was not the best house to belong to, and it was not only distantly that William’s family were associated with traitors. His grandfather had been executed in the reign of Henry’s father for supporting Richard III. William’s father, Sir Humphrey Stafford, had toiled long and hard to restore his family to favour. Many years ago, Henry had reversed the family’s attainder, and restored some lands, but the family had never risen high. Through his mother, William was related to the infamous Wydeville family, and was therefore kin to Henry. William’s older brother, another Humphrey, was one of Henry’s Esquires of the Body, and had inherited lands from his great-uncle, but for William Stafford, no such riches lay in wait in his future. William was his father’s second son, without hope of inheritance, and would never be wealthy, but he was able, affable, reliable and trustworthy. He was a handsome young man, perhaps twelve years younger than my pretty sister, and a fine dancer.
And he was, quite clearly, besotted with Mary.
Sometimes, amidst the games of courtly love, people really did fall in love. It was rare, but it happened. It was how Henry and I had found each other. But I was not worried about Mary, however, as it was clear to me then that the affection was one-sided. Mary was disposed to be kind to the p
anting pup, but she was not in love with him.
“When will the King return?” Mary asked.
My eyes flickered to William, and noted he was staring at my sister again. “The day after tomorrow,” I said.
George had sent regular updates. Henry and François had met near the Calais Pale, where they greeted each other like old friends and rode hand in hand all the way to the French border, where they stopped to drink, each offering to serve the other. They went to Boulogne, hawking and hunting on the way, and were met by the Dauphin, François, and his two brothers. Four cardinals and a thousand men on horse also greeted their arrival, and as they entered France, a thousand cannons fired a salute.