by G Lawrence
Clement was always ten steps behind. The world had changed as he dawdled. French Cardinals absented themselves from the vote, in accordance with the wishes of their King. At least François was on our side. He could not make his Cardinals vote for us, but he had not allowed them to vote against.
Clement’s decree meant that Rome, and therefore all Catholic countries allied to her, believed my marriage to Henry was bigamous and invalid, and thought Elizabeth a bastard. This made the Oath of Succession only more important. I laughed at the Pope in public, made up jests and mocked him, but under that fine display of courage, I was frightened.
One day, Henry and I would not be here to protect our children. One day they would stand alone. Their rights had to be set in law, had to be ground into the minds of Henry’s people. There could be no doubt.
We were caught on a wave, riding high on the frothy surface. It did not occur to me then that waves are made of many millions of droplets. It is just as easy for one to fall and drag along the ocean floor, as it is for it to ride the silver crest of the sea’s surface.
*
“Two boys,” I said to my friend upon her return to court. “You have good fortune, Margaret.”
I could not keep envy from my voice. How did I wish I could be nothing but happy for my friend, but poisoned fingers of dark jealousy stretched into my heart. I consoled myself that this time, I would bear a son for Henry.
“You are as blessed as I, Majesty,” said Margaret, stooping low to curtsey. “For you have one girl, and now a boy to follow.” She smiled, making her cheeks dimple prettily. “I long for a girl.”
“Perhaps you will have one the next time.”
“If I do, I shall name her for my Queen.”
It was not only old friends who were returning to court, but new ones being found. Later that month, the Schmalkalen League reached out to Henry. The League was a movement born in Germany, led by powerful reformist leaders of Hesse and Saxony, and created to form a military alliance against the Emperor. The alliance intended to break with Rome and the League would replace the Holy Roman Empire, spreading knowledge and wisdom from reformers such as Luther. The advantages were clear. England was surrounded by Catholic nations, and it would be valuable to have allies who were also breaking away from the shackles of Rome. Cromwell, George and my father were keen for Henry to form a firm friendship with the League. Henry was interested, despite his revulsion for Luther, whose ideals the League followed. His enthusiasm was encouraged because the League had become disillusioned with the Pope, and its leaders were willing to defend their beliefs. Henry had much in common with them.
The League had been set up four years ago, but their initial interest in England had been slight at best. Now Henry had broken from the Church, and there was a reformist Queen upon the throne, the League was more enthused. Ambassadors had been sent, and negotiations had begun some years ago, but with the changes that had gone ahead to make me Queen, and to separate England from Rome, the need for alliance became pressing.
“There is great advantage to alliance with the League,” said my brother. “Not only political potential, but religious as well.”
“And Cromwell agrees?”
George inclined his head. “Indeed. At first, when he came to court under Wolsey, I thought he was a man of conservative faith. But he has changed. His mind has been opened.” George smiled. “He is more Lutheran than Luther.”
I chuckled to hear our old, unofficial motto. “And it would give the King supreme power,” I said. “Which is all he wants, now.”
“That is not all he wants,” George disagreed. “You should hear him speak of you, Anne. No other woman in the world exists.”
“I wish I could hear such words from him, rather than from others,” I said. “Why does Henry not praise me to my face?”
“Sometimes men think the women in their lives understand them so well that they can pluck thoughts from our minds.”
“Sometimes I think men are just lazy,” I retorted. “They believe what is convenient… that which brings them the least toil.”
“This is the woman now proclaimed about England as the Most Happy?” George shook his head. “You do not sound happy.”
“Mary says I should concentrate on all that is good and ignore the ill.”
“Perhaps we should both listen to our sibling,” George said. “It seems to have worked for her.”
“Is that happiness, then?” I asked. “Looking only at sunlight, ignoring dark shadows?”
“Perhaps it is.”
“Then perhaps God would have done us a favour, brother, by giving us eyes to see only light and never dark.”
“What is there of darkness in your life?” he asked. “You are a queen with a beautiful daughter and a son on the way. All that you ask for is yours, and your dreams of reform are going ahead.”
“When I was a girl, there was only one wish of which I dreamed,” I said. “I did not ask God for a wealthy husband, or for a title. What I wanted was a husband who loved me. I knew it was a rare gift, in a world where most people marry for money. I thought that asking but for this one wish, without respect to money, title or a horde of sons, would be slight enough a request to satisfy the Almighty. And now, as you see, I have everything a person could want, but not the one thing I always wanted.”
“Henry loves you.”
“Henry is unfaithful. How can a man truly love a woman if he leaves her for the arms of another? How can a man love a woman when he betrays her?”
“You speak like a child.”
“I speak honestly, like an adult. I would never do such a thing to a person I loved. Never would I shame and humiliate them. I would never make a mockery of their love.”
George sighed. “They mean nothing to him.”
“So says everyone. But do you not see, brother? It does not matter if they mean nothing to him. They mean something to me. They mean he is not willing to wait, a matter of mere months, for me to return to his bed. They mean that my sacred duty, as a mother and as a wife, is despoiled.”
“Infidelity is Henry’s sin, not yours.”
“I speak not of sin. Not exactly. I speak of how his actions reflect on me and our children. We are not enough for him. He would have been enough for me, always. The equality of our love that he once protested is a fiction; something whispered in my ear to make me believe his love was as true as mine. It is not so. I find it hard to reconcile myself to that truth.”
“You are the mother of his children, and his Queen. Your place will always be assured at his side.”
I nodded. “I have everything a woman could want,” I said. “I should be happy.”
“You should laugh more.” George got up and kissed my hand. “I miss your laugh…. That throaty wail which rang through the corridors of court, as though a banshee were on the prowl.”
I chuckled and he grinned. “That is better,” he said. “And know, too, I have found no information that Henry has taken another mistress. Perhaps he heard your pain, and will not do it again.”
I nodded, but I did not believe my brother.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Greenwich Palace
Winter’s End 1534
“God’s Blood!” I cursed, opening my eyes to the bright glare of dawn creeping through the curtains. “Am I to be hounded by that infernal racket every morn?” Purkoy, jumping as I spoke, roused himself and raced to the window, barking at the birds that had interrupted my sleep. “You tell them, Purkoy,” I muttered, falling back onto the bed. It felt as though I had only just closed my eyes, yet it was morning.
Henry’s peacocks and a pelican, gifts of the New World from the Emperor, had the run of Greenwich’s grounds. They were noisy birds. Sleep was hard for me as I could not get comfortable and suffered pains in my abdomen. My ladies no longer sought to rouse me when the rest of the palace awoke, understanding that I needed rest. Yet every morning, the birds came and I woke with the dawn. Once awake, I found it hard to fi
nd sleep again and being tired was not helping my temper. I was fractious and rude. My ladies bore it as best they could, but I knew they found me trying.
“I am sorry, sister,” said Mary. “I thought the gardeners understood to keep them away from your rooms.”
“Clearly they do not,” I huffed, passing one hand over my forehead and rubbing my back with the other. It was sore. I was experiencing pain earlier in this pregnancy than I had with Elizabeth. With her, I had only felt discomfort later, when the weight was great. My little one was only four months grown, barely enough to show past my great gowns and skirts. It seemed strange that my son was already causing me pain.
“Purkoy!” I called, distracting the little hound from scolding the birds. “Come back to bed.” He ran to me, leaping onto the bed so he could sit at my side, his ears alert and his nose sniffing, ready to defend me. “My loyal friend,” I said, stroking his soft head.
When Henry heard his birds were causing me to lose sleep, he stormed at my women, upbraiding them for not informing him sooner. “They will be moved this very day,” he assured me. “Norris is to take them to his house.”
It was soothing to my damaged pride to know he was concerned about my comfort. “You think of everything,” I said.
“Always tell me if there is something I can do,” he said. “You must not be disturbed by ill noises, smells or gossip. It is bad for you and the child.”
Henry believed himself an authority on all subjects; childbirth not the least of them. But I allowed him to wallow in his fantasy. Henry did not know how to sit still. When he was active, even if not really doing anything useful, he was always happier. But in the case of the birds, I was glad of his intervention. It was a relief to wake when my body and mind were ready. This pregnancy was hard. I was attempting not to overeat, yet the child seemed to want nothing but rich, fatty delicacies.
“A sure sign of a boy,” said my mother. “Sure as salt. When I was carrying your brother, he would not let me rest with his demands for meat. You girls wanted more interesting treats. With Mary it was fruit, and with you it was pickles. Never have I eaten as many pickles as I did when I was carrying you, Anne!”
I laughed with her. I had ignored my mother’s warning that Elizabeth would be a girl, and hurt myself by building up my expectations. But even my mother believed I was carrying a son this time, and unlike the soothsayers and stooping courtiers, who only said such things to please Henry, I believed my mother. Mistress Aucher and my mother plied me with rich, fatty foods, telling me if the baby called for it, then that was what I should eat. I was concerned about losing my figure, sending my husband staggering into the open legs of a court whore, but I complied. It was a relief to take food into my mouth and chew. A relief to feel the nausea, only more pronounced this time, subside as I surrendered to my baby’s desires.
I found myself feeling healthier. Henry praised my mother, and quizzed her about her experiences of pregnancy. He took to lecturing me, repeating the same information over and over, as though I was incapable of remembering it the first time. In some ways it was infuriating, but in others it was amusing. Sometimes, I would catch the eye of Norris, George, or Tom as they stood about Henry, and I would see them smirk, their faces carefully hidden from their master as he rambled on. It took all the self-control I had not to grin back. All the trickery I had learned for years at court came into play. I did not let Henry know how very dull he had become.
It was pleasant to know that others found him tiresome. We jested about it quietly, behind Henry’s back. It was not a nice thing to do, that I knew, but then, he had not always been nice to me, had he?
*
It was a bright and blustery day when I set out from Greenwich by boat to visit Elizabeth at Hatfield. The last miles would see me carried by litter, as Henry would not allow me to ride. He said the jolting would not be good for our son, and although I resented not being able to feel free and happy on a horse, I agreed. I tired quickly, and riding would sap my strength. I wanted to see my daughter and enjoy my time with her, so I capitulated.
We arrived at Hatfield in good time, and I went straight to the nursery, with Lady Bryan and my aunts running beside me, telling me all was well with my bonny girl.
“The Princess eats like a horse, Majesty,” said Lady Bryan with a wide grin. “And smiles at everyone. She will win all hearts when she is grown.”
“Naturally,” I said, a proud glimmer in my eyes. “My daughter is the most charming of all women.”
It pained me to see how Elizabeth had changed since my last visit. She was seven months old and growing fast. I tried to see her at least twice a month, but it was hard. Henry always wanted me at court and seemed more interested in the son we would have than the daughter already born. I was an absent mother, but if I was not there in person all the time, I sent gifts to Hatfield every week. Elizabeth had a huge wardrobe of pretty clothes, along with silver rattles, dolls, and a little litter, made especially for her. Trinkets and cloth could not make up for the lack of a mother, but I hoped, as she grew, she would know I was always thinking of her.
So pleased was I with my visit to my hale and sturdy babe, that it made me feel generous. “Ask Lady Mary to visit me,” I said to Lady Shelton. “Urge her to come to this chamber and honour me as the Queen, and in return I will be a means of reconciliation between her and her father. Tell Lady Mary I will intercede for her, and she will find herself treated as well or better than before all this began.”
My aunt was astonished to hear such munificent words come from my lips, but went at once to do my bidding. When she returned, her expression of shock had been replaced by one of disgust. “Do I take it, from that dark look on your face, Aunt, Lady Mary will not be coming?”
“She will not, Your Majesty,” said my aunt. “I will hide nothing from you. The Lady said she knew of no Queen in England save her mother, but if Madame Anne Boleyn would speak to her father on her behalf, she would be much obliged.”
Mary’s emphasis on proclaiming my maiden name did not float by without notice.
I sighed. “Ask her again,” I said. “And be gentle.”
My aunt tried again, to no avail. When she came back, even more annoyed, I railed at the absent Mary. “I will put down that proud, Spanish blood!” I cried, cursing Mary for ruining my time with my daughter.
I turned my attention to Elizabeth. My aunts and I discussed her feeding patterns, her bowel movements and how she slept. When we came to part, I held her with tears in my eyes.
“You must remember, little one, no matter if I am not here all the time, I love you,” I murmured into her soft red hair. “Never forget who you are. You are the Princess of England, and heir to the throne. No matter who tries to take your titles, no matter who believes you are no true princess; you are. England is yours, my love. You will always be tied to England. Watch over her, and she will take care of you.”
I handed my daughter to Lady Shelton, got into my litter and made for the river. But as I left Hatfield, my heart remained with Elizabeth.
When I arrived at Greenwich, late that night, George came to enquire about his niece and I told him about Mary. “I tell you, brother,” I said in an unguardedly loud voice. “That girl will be the death of me. But rather than let that happen, I would take her life myself, by the sword or otherwise!”
“Anne… moderate your voice,” George warned, casting his eyes about the chamber. Many of Henry’s men were there, as Smeaton was playing for them and my ladies to dance. Only Jane Seymour was standing near us, and that pallid wraith of a girl would never dare repeat anything I said.
“I care not if the world hears me!” I said and laughed. “What need have I to fear Lady Mary hearing what I say of her?”
“The King still loves his bastard,” said George. “If your words get back to him, it could be dangerous. It could offend the King.”
“I care not if it does!” I retorted. “Even if I was burnt or flayed alive, I will speak my truth. I am an
honest soul, George, unlike so many others.”
“At court, honesty is never the best policy.”
“Perhaps not,” I admitted. I lowered my voice. “Of course I do not mean it, George. I spoke in haste. It is just… that girl knows exactly how to get under my skin. Why do I allow her such power over me, when I am proclaimed Queen and soon all men shall swear it?”
I knew why, of course. Henry’s dalliance had unnerved me, and my failure to produce a son on my first attempt had added to that insecurity.
“Mary is nothing,” said George. “Think of the happy time you spent with my niece, and not on her.”
“You are right,” I said. My face broke into a smile. “Elizabeth is so precious, George. I wish you could have seen her.”