Threads: The Reincarnation of Anne Boleyn

by Nell Gavin

  Henry always knew how to break my heart with love for him.

  PART 3

  Roses and Rain

  1522—1523

  Chapter 1

  •~۞~•

  While I was still in France, negotiations were taking place to betroth me to an Irishman named James Butler, although I was not advised of this at the time. When I returned home and discovered the plan, I made attempts to learn more about James and his family—and grew increasingly resistant to the match. They were distant kin to me, and were holding some property Father wanted returned to the family. He would not have wasted Mary, his eldest, on a match like this, but found it suitable for me.

  The Butler family was violent and capricious, and furthermore, his father expected young James to return to Ireland with me in tow. I had no desire to live my days far from home in the midst of a notoriously bloodthirsty Irish clan, and I said so.

  The stalling of negotiations saved me. Things said, and actions taken by the Butlers over time forced a wedge of doubt into my mother’s thoughts. These doubts were reinforced by my own complaints and arguments. Finally my wheedling, and the certain knowledge that I had found my true love, convinced Mother to persuade my father to halt the plans entirely. We all now looked to another man to wed me.

  During my first years at court, I could not resist flirting, but I had never known what it was to be in love, except for wild infatuations I often felt toward various handsome men I had known throughout my life. Infatuation died instantaneously, more often than not, once I engaged them in conversation and found them to be boring or silly or stupid. Meanwhile, I whirled through court like a modest temptress, treating the act of searching for a husband as a dance in which partners were changed with each round of a song, and none was fair enough to keep.

  I was an irrepressible flirt, but I was not heartless. I focused my art upon those men with whom the act of flirting was a game, and the object of one’s attention just a momentary distraction. Court was filled with such as these, and a mating dance was played out in jest several hundred times each day between courtiers and ladies. We were very adept at declaring eternal love and admiration toward each other in passing, knowing it was meaningless and presuming it was harmless. We had little to think about but love, and gossip, and the increase of our fortunes, and in flattering those who might enhance them. Most flirtations were motivated by the last.

  I did not bait men who had feelings for me that I could not return, nor did I encourage them by responding in kind to their sincere declarations.

  Neither did I torment those whose feelings I could wound with my flightiness and teasing. Hal was such a one, wearing his heart very firmly on his sleeve so that feminine wiles were really quite cruel and took unfair advantage. I could not bring myself to practice them upon him. He was too sweet and gentle, and he brought out in me something tender and solicitous. I had attempted to tease him once before I knew him well, but swallowed my words in the next sentence when Hal shot me a lost look, blushed and grew silent. I never had the heart to tease him again, and each time I saw him my voice grew soft and gentle.

  I soon found blushes working their way to my cheeks when he looked at me. My eyes were ever darting about for sight of him, and I slipped into a sulk if I somehow missed his appearances.

  Henry, or “Hal” Percy was a page for Cardinal Wolsey, a regular at court, and a favorite of all. He had a somewhat eccentric appearance—very pleasant to me, but of the sort that begged for closer study. Was he handsome? Or was he ugly? His hair was pale, as was his complexion—the one seemed almost to blend into the other—yet a face that should have had no life (since it appeared to have no blood) contained two eyes that burned like coals upon a bed of ice. They flashed with intelligence and energy of thought, and gave no doubt as to the liveliness contained therein.

  Hal was sought after by a number of ladies (or their mothers) with an eye for his titles and his prospects. Gossip made me aware of him early as a very eligible gentleman, and my lineage made me fear that he was a prize beyond my reach. He had no shortage of opportunity among the ladies, for along with his enviable social position he had no shortage of charm. Yet he was shy with women, despite his seeming confidence and efforts to be in their company.

  He had no difficulty in flirting with ladies who were spoken for or who were older and past his interest, and he did this shamelessly as if he were an actor on a stage. At the same time, unmarried young ladies (and their mothers) were often disappointed by dull responses and abrupt departures by a frozen and fleeing Hal, who sought refuge in groups of back-slapping men. He had nothing to fear, but was ever fearful of a pretty face as if he were in danger of rebuke or rejection. No amount of reassurance seemed to cure him of this.

  I presumed his reticence came from an old break in his nose, which was left somewhat flattened and misshapen. My deformed hand gave me ample compassion for Hal’s discomfort and, while the other ladies increased their encouragement, I had the unwitting insight to decrease mine and make no gestures beyond those that were mannerly and friendly. In the process, I made him less frightened of me, and more interested.

  Quips and quick repartee were common among courtiers. Hal initiated most of it. If puns were flung about, Hal was most assuredly in the midst of the verbal missiles, whipping a play on words into a limerick or poem in moments, to my, and everyone else’s, delight. He saw humor in everything, and had a way of conveying it that drew people to him irresistibly. He had the quickest, most amusing wit of any man I had ever met, and a way of making the simplest events of life seem fantastic and hysterical. When Hal was in the room I would laugh continuously, for his mind was sharp and astute, and he had a habit of viewing things from a perspective even more cock-eyed than my own.

  He was as amusing as one of the jesters, and was able to fling remarks at them so quickly that the jesters themselves sometimes stopped, speechless, and laughed at Hal. He once stood up and joined them during a feast, causing the room to explode with mirth throughout the show, and afterward took his seat to heated applause and a good deal of back-slapping from both the jesters and the audience. Wiping his eyes, the King joked that should Hal’s fortunes take a turn, he could count upon a grand career among the court fools. Then Henry “crowned” him with a fool’s cap, and gave him a gift of a silver goblet, and seated him at his own table for the duration of the feast. Hal pleased Henry as much as the rest of us, for Henry ever loved a sharp wit and a clever tongue.

  He was adored by all. “Lord Percy!” everyone would shout when he entered. “Join us!” His presence alone had the effect of relaxing taut faces and diffusing a charged atmosphere. He never knew this about himself, for he had no means of comparing that which occurred before and after he arrived, and no way of seeing people as they were when he was not present. His view of the world was sometimes naive, and always forgiving. He could not see the dangers that were present for those of us not quite as personally blessed as he, and saw goodness in everyone, for that is all people ever showed him.

  He was a sensitive man, and somewhat of an “artist”. He dabbled in poetry and music, and was otherwise as useless a man as any who had ever been born to too much wealth and position. As one might expect of someone with heightened good intent, he could easily be brought to grief by any reproof, and would hang his head, suffering guilt of excessive proportions over having disappointed or offended for the smallest transgression. As full of wit and good humor as he was, he took feelings very seriously, and was an easy target for some who liked to bedevil his conscience, for he would always take the bait. There were a few who would scold him over things he had not done just to see his look of remorse, but even they did not do this cruelly. One could not tease Hal without lowering one’s eyes from shame. He was one whom I (and everyone else) was most careful not to wound.

  I had seen him at court and had always felt an attraction, as I could never resist a man with wit. Hal’s wit bespoke of a very impressive intelligence, and I also could not re
sist a man with a clever mind. His physical attributes were of little concern to me once he met those two criteria, but I was pleased by his face and figure as well. I would never have noticed him, had he not satisfied my parents’ requirements of wealth and position, and he most certainly was not wanting in that regard. But it was his mind that I most loved. I found him to be as irresistible as everyone else did, and made every attempt to be within earshot of him, if not within his circle.

  Hal was not one whom I could ensnare with tricks or lure with wiles. I was forced to wait and simply “be” while praying he found what I was to be enough for him.

  My interest was returned. He had long seemed smitten with me from a distance but, being Hal, could not approach me with the flowery words and courting gestures he found came so effortlessly to him when he was with the older ladies. His wit failed him when he was facing me. Rather, he would stand and look in my direction, his body tense with every emotion eloquently projected from his posture and his eyes, and wait for a sign that he could speak to me. I gave him many, but he would wrinkle his brow into a helpless frown, which was Hal’s best attempt at appearing self-contained and busy with important thoughts, then turn quickly away to speak to someone else. That always made me smile. I patiently waited for him to work up his courage, growing more and more fond as the time passed, watching jealously to see if the demeanor I interpreted as “attraction” was replayed for any other ladies. It was not.

  One day he ventured to join me, casually, as if by accident seating himself beside me at table during mealtime, and pretended he was engrossed in a discussion two nearby ladies were having about the cuts of beef served for dinner. I spoke a few words to him and he responded in monosyllables, darting looks at me with love and terror in his eyes. His hand accidentally brushed mine and he froze, staring ahead of him, not knowing what to say or do. I found myself gently coaxing him into a conversation as if I were urging a small, frightened animal to eat from my hand. He reluctantly turned to me, and our eyes met and held.

  Well-versed in banter and small talk, I was surprised to find myself speaking to him from my heart in just a few minutes’ time. I spoke of feelings, and long-secret dreams and he listened and nodded and offered a few of his own, growing ever more excited and passionate. Those around us slipped away as we fell into a discussion more intimate than one should expect between virtual strangers, and one more filled with hope, for we were both aware that we had found each other, and it was important. It just felt right, immediately, even in those first few minutes of conversation, much as if we had known each other all our lives.

  He afterwards began to seek me out. Our initial conversation was resumed, and we explored each other’s tastes, opinions and thoughts, and found them to be remarkably compatible. We moved past the courtly banter, never stopping there at all, and went directly to exchanges of a very personal nature. Yet our conversations did not have to be on a personal level to be intimate. We found that, even when we discussed the weather or the evening’s entertainment, the people present would silently glide out of the room as if they felt they were intruding. I did not know why that was or how they knew, at least at those times when I happened to notice.

  There is an aura that lovers project, and an aura surrounded the two of us. From the very beginning we looked as if we were “together” and we felt “together”. We were a couple who clearly belonged to each other, as some couples do, so that even strangers had no doubt on first sight that we were meant to be mates.

  We moved at the same speed, mentally, viewed things the same way just enough of the time to be harmonious without feeling boredom, and could spend extremely long periods of time together without irritation. There were no fights between us, and no arguing or silly lovers’ games. We walked in step, in tune, in perfect rhythm. He made me a sweeter person, and a kind one, and a gentle one. I made him a stronger person, and a more self-assertive and confident one.

  As I had been told, and as I had expected, I knew when I fell in love. There is no doubt, when it takes over. It is not a frantic, or an impatient, or a desperate thing. It is a very quiet, sure and steady thing. I was incomplete without Hal, and realizing that is how I came to be sure of my love for him. He was in my soul, and I was in his, and I discovered this within two weeks of our first meeting. In just that space of time, the two of us were speaking seriously of love, and discussing the future in terms of “we”, and “us”. We felt fused as if we had blended together, each into the other, where our hearts touched. I cannot describe it any more accurately than anyone who has been in love can describe it. Sometimes there is a key that fits the lock to heart, mind, body and soul, and Hal possessed it. That is all that can be said.

  ۞

  It seems strange to think that this could be so, knowing as I do how bound I am to Henry.

  “Why?” I ask. “Was it not real?” It certainly seemed so at the time. It seemed to me to be real.

  The Voice explains to me that being bound to Henry does not diminish the importance of this newer, still-growing bond. Neither bond diminishes the other, for each soul has within it the capacity to love all other souls, and this love can take many forms. We all have a repertoire of possible marital pairings, each different and each important, for each comes with its own history and purpose. Hal’s and mine was a love match, first and foremost, with two souls who were meant to spend their lives together if not as man and wife, than as something else; if not here and now, then in some other time and place. Choice drew us. We were bound more by this than by a Higher Law’s insistence that we meet to resolve our conflicts and differences. By contrast, Henry and I are forced to it, loving or no.

  And, yes, I am assured, it was real.

  ۞

  I knew we would want to marry from the very start of the friendship, and looked forward to a lifetime as pleasing as any I could have imagined. I was floating with joy and anticipation. I had fallen in love with a man my parents would have chosen for me had they dared set their sights so high, and he was a man so tender I could feel my heart stretch and grow each day I was with him. He was attentive and caring, and was so proud he had won me that he paraded me around with a touching possessiveness, flushing with pleasure as people kindly and indulgently complimented his taste and good fortune with exaggerated praises for me. He shared his secrets and listened to mine. He ran to me with stories he just could not keep to himself, laughed when I made comical remarks, and blushed when I applauded his. In a short time he regained his humor around me and assailed me with one absurd observation after another, making the time spent in his presence a constant delight.

  He was such a joy that I could not help but feel unworthy. Could he not have found a woman younger, or more beautiful, or from a more impressive bloodline? I dared not think about it, for I had grown to depend upon him for my very happiness. I was grateful and awestruck that I could be loved by a man such as he, and lit candles of thanks in the chapel. I had never felt so blessed, nor had my heart been so full.

  Hal came to me when I was in the garden with several of my friends, took my hand and pressed it to his lips. From behind his back he produced a white rose, which he presented to me in a sweeping bow. Then he fell to one knee and proposed in front of all.

  “I have consulted with your father, my dear lady. After a formidable amount of examination, we concluded that our pairing—yours and mine—might be somewhat acceptable to him. I have his permission to ask you,” he said with mock pomposity. “And the weather is right for it, I dare say. One hopes never to kneel outdoors in a downpour.”

  I touched the rose to my cheek and tilted my head. I had been expecting this very scene, but had not known how Hal would bring it about. I only knew his approach would be unexpected. I giggled and touched the rose to my lips.

  “Therefore, Mistress, will you take me as your husband? Will you endure my many, many faults till death?” With a mischievous aside to the other ladies, who were clasping their hands to their chests in pleasure at his performan
ce, he said in a loud booming voice, “Kindly remain silent about those faults, my ladies, until I have safely received her response and bound her to it!” Then he turned back to me and softly asked, “Wilt thou be my very beloved wife?”

  One of the older ladies leaned toward me and hissed “Say yes, my lady.” Others turned to each other giggling with excitement, pressed together like birds roosting, leaning forward to hear.

  I grinned and turned to the other ladies. “Think you that this man is worthy of one such as myself?” The ladies covered their laughter with their hands and exchanged looks of merriment.

  “My worthiness is not the issue, Mistress,” Hal interjected quickly, his voice again raised in volume like an actor’s. “I will not allow that to be considered in the discussion. The issue we are addressing concerns only whether or not you will have me. I forbid you to examine my worthiness until after the ceremony when it is too late to save yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

  “What say you, my ladies?” I asked, shooting Hal a playful look. “Shall I accept him on those conditions?”

  They giggled and nodded.

  I turned back to Hal. “I will happily be your wife, and love you until death and beyond,” I said for all to hear. Then softly, reaching out to take his hand: “Thee and thy many, many faults.” I smiled. “They are part of thee, and I love them as well.”

  I spoke the truth. I did love his faults. It was Hal’s faults that I came to miss the most, for they made him so human and so vulnerable and so in need of me. I felt protective toward him, and determined he should never know hurt nor harm. When he was gone, unable to act out my feelings of tenderness, I felt much as a mother would toward a child wrested away from her care. Helpless. Worried. Anguished on his behalf . . . and anguished over my own loss.

  I erupted into tears at the memory of his hesitations and fears of rejection. I churned with sorrow over the impatience I felt when he refused to join the hunt with the rest of us and acted as if a mere fox could suffer pain as intensely as a man. I knew him to be weak in that way, and cowardly when it came to inflicting pain or viewing blood. I cried in shame for embarrassment I once felt when he shied away from confrontation. I would happily suffer those moments for an eternity. All gone. “My love, my love . . . ”