by Nell Gavin
I sobbed over Hal’s well-intentioned efforts, which sometimes went awry, and wept at the memory of his thoughtful, bewildered, apologetic face fixed on mine while I laughed at a mess he had made of one thing or another. I sometimes scoffed at his fears and chided him. The memory of this later brought me pain, for it had not been intended as criticism. I loved him however he came down to the depths, as they say, of my soul. I prayed that he knew this.
In fact, he did.
Between us there was peace and commitment. Our lives should have been happy, harmonious and long. As it happened, and with intervention by Henry, they were not.
We had agreed to wait before venturing into physical intimacy, for we were both dutiful to God and our families, and both thought we had our lives to spend together. Part of my cautiousness traced back to the rapes, of which Hal knew (against my sister’s firm advice to me) in more detail than I had ever told another soul except Mary. For that reason, he did not press. In later years I would marvel over his concerned acceptance of my claims of rape, and how gently he treated me out of fear he might frighten me. He never questioned my honesty, nor did he judge me or exert any pressure upon me lest he drive me away.
We limited our physical contact to kisses and hand holding, and warm hours with me held upon his lap. We sometimes sat in that way not speaking, yet we were intensely aware of each other, listening with our hearts, waiting and wanting with ever-increasing impatience. We had no need for words at such times. We had no need of anything but the Holy ceremony that would allow us to finally fuse our bodies as we had our souls. The ceremony could not come soon enough. We were tense with the need for it.
It had seemed at the time that we had something to wait for, and good reason to wait. It is a wistful regret, but it is also my deepest relief that we postponed our coupling. Had we been together, Henry might have beheaded Hal beside me. I could not endure the thought that I was responsible for his death too, as I was for my brother George’s, and Mark Smeaton’s and the others. I could not endure the thought.
Then again, Henry was suspicious of Hal from the beginning, despite my assurances that we were chaste. When Henry searched for men who might love his wife, he had no further to look than Hal, and he knew this, yet he merely questioned him, then passed him over and went on with his search. Henry could easily have concocted a story that would have placed him in my bedchamber, both before and after our marriage, but he did not. It could be that it was only Hal’s endearing nature that saved him from the block. It would take a demon or a fiend to murder him, regardless of the mental state and motives of the murderer. Henry evidently found one line even he could not cross, so Hal lived on, unthreatened, yet closer to guilt than any man but one on the planet.
Chapter 2
•~۞~•
Marriages were of as much interest to the King as they were to the participants and their families. They were less a partnership between a man and a woman than they were a means of creating alliances between powerful families. Since the distribution of power was of critical concern to the country’s political welfare, approval was required before a marriage could take place.
For reasons of politics, Hal was betrothed when he was a child. It was an arrangement rather loosely made, and one that had been broken when Cardinal Wolsey, reassessing its virtue, stepped in to forbid it some years past. Talk of this arrangement had recently been resurrected, but no handfasting ceremony had officially betrothed Hal to this woman, and Wolsey’s position had vacillated. The political situation was changing, and he had not firmly decided whether to proceed with this pairing or select another. He confessed his leanings were still against it.
Hal and I speculated that, under these circumstances, our marriage would be approved. In a private conversation with Wolsey, Hal had determined that there were no serious impediments to our marriage, and Wolsey had no immediate objections except to say he had not yet studied the issue in depth. He had however, distractedly, unofficially led Hal to believe that there would be no problems. Then he moved on to issues of more immediate importance than Lord Henry Percy and Anne Boleyn, and dismissed the conversation from his thoughts.
On the basis of this (and as a result of some exaggeration on Hal’s part that Wolsey was “wholehearted”) Hal had obtained my father’s enthusiastic consent, and conditional permission from his own parents.
Hal and I were young, and we had hopes. Hal counted on the good favor of Wolsey, whom he directly served. Both of us counted on the information Hal had obtained from Wolsey, so we proceeded with our plans to marry. We did this out of confidence, or more accurately, we moved ahead with blind and impetuous refusal to accept the possibility that anything might occur to prevent the marriage, simply because we wanted so badly to marry.
Once we had obtained approval from both sets of parents, we were privately betrothed with my family witnessing the vows. We exchanged rings in a simple handfasting ceremony, and wore them on our right ring fingers. They would be moved to the left hand in the actual wedding ceremony.
The ceremony was not officiated by a priest because it did not have to be in order to be binding. However, it might have been conducted by a priest, and should have been, and could have been had we only gone to the trouble to get one. This oversight cost us our marriage because it could never be proved that the handfasting ever took place. Henry could not even prove it years later, after he wanted very badly to prove it in order to invalidate our marriage. Had we gotten a priest, the betrothal would have been too binding for Henry to overthrow. He would have had to let us marry.
Sometimes decisions haunt you. Our lives turned upon that one decision: We had the opportunity, and yet we did not call upon a priest.
After the ceremony, I gave a token to Hal, which he pinned to his hat, as men do when they are betrothed. He did this with quips and a comical flourish, but his eyes were shining with love for me, and the token was to become one of his cherished treasures. The memory of his eyes became one of mine.
I took short periodic leaves from court to make preparations for the wedding from our London house. Hal stayed with us, when he was able, and traveled back and forth bringing gossip and presents. Among other things, he gave me a pearl and garnet pendant as a gift from his mother and, as his own engagement gift, a gold ring shaped as a love knot. Both of these had to be given away in time, for Henry knew their origin. I was left with precious little to keep as a remembrance.
My family made arrangements for a feast to celebrate and publicly announce the engagement. Hard work and continual spats had gone into the creation of a guest list we revised a dozen times. Dress makers and cloth merchants flowed into and out of our house while I stood and suffered hour upon hour of fittings for my bridal wardrobe and gown. In the meantime, Hal and I traveled to his parents’ home, taking rides across their acreage, considering possible sites for a house of our own and consulting with architects over layouts and designs. They were happy, busy months.
As required, we officially applied for the King’s approval of our marriage, and barely thought of this again, for we could see no reason he might to prevent it since Wolsey had not. We had no expectation of problems. Plans continued to be made. An artist was scheduled to come in three months to paint a wedding portrait. My mother had begun to list the game and libations needed for the wedding feast, and was making arrangements at Hever Chapel for the ceremony. She and Father met privately with Hal’s parents to discuss and agree upon my dowry. The meeting was clearly a success—Hal and I both agreed it had been a success—and the outcome pleased us. Both sets of parents gave their blessings, with Hal’s parents stating they could not but bless a union that promised their son such joy.
Decisions were now being finalized, and I was indecisively selecting the color of the flowers for my garland of roses. I had a weakness for bright things, and wanted a garland of every color, but my mother warned against such gaudy indulgences. I had to settle upon one. I anguished over details. Was the blue trim on my gown too b
right? I loved red or yellow roses best, but would they be too colorful against the blue? Would pink roses be childish and make me too sallow? Should I change the color of the love knot on my gown? If it were sewn in dark green I could carry yellow flowers . . . but the blue gave me such joy! It was the color Hal preferred.
As the day grew closer, my ability to decide upon anything grew weaker and I began to lean more and more on the words and advice of others. I suffered from lapses of memory and often grew confused and bewildered over minor things. I burst into tears one day, frustrated over having stared at a woman I had known for years, unable to think of her name.
“It will only get worse,” Emma reassured me, patting my hand. “Thou wilt not regain full use of thy faculties until the day is past. ‘Tis God’s kind way of ensuring that His children go through with the sacrament of marriage. Were they in full control of their minds before the day, surely none would see it to its conclusion.”
“God’s efforts are wasted then,” I answered. “I can assure thee I would see this through to a conclusion, even with a mind. Had I no limbs to walk to him, I would crawl.”
“Aye,” Emma said fondly and gently. “Thou hast found a man, not to walk, but to run to. I envy thee thy fortune.”
Hal and I saw each other daily during those times when he was in London. Still chaste, we found it ever more difficult to wait, and were intensely eager to move past the wedding and into the marriage.
The day came when the King would give his approval. His decision would be relayed to Hal by Cardinal Wolsey while I awaited confirmation back in Kent, where my family had gone for a short rest. Hal promised to come to me immediately when he returned from his interview with Wolsey—a long day’s ride or more on horseback—yet he still had not arrived by afternoon of the following day. I began to feel concern for his welfare. There was something terribly wrong, I knew, and while I did not sense that Hal was hurt, I could not pinpoint the reason for my dread. I worried in broad generalities. I had been feeling this uneasiness since early the previous day so, while Hal’s delay was chilling, it was not altogether unexpected, based on the warnings I had received in my heart. I sent servants to ask along the road if Hal was spotted or found injured, then spent a sleepless night imagining all manner of horrors that might have befallen him.
A violent storm had moved in. I stood with my forehead pressed against the window, staring into the darkness through the rivulets, waiting for bursts of lightening to illuminate a drive empty of all but mud. I stood there for most of the night.
Hal finally arrived the day following, well past sunset, soaked and pale. When he was ushered in from the courtyard and into the kitchen by the servant, he looked as if he had been crying. I raced into the room to meet him, but he avoided my eyes. Frightened, I felt him for injury and pressed him for an explanation while he stood silent and distraught. Before he could explain—perhaps to postpone explanation—my mother ordered a servant to lead him to inner chambers where he could change into dry clothing and lose his chill before a fire.
He took his time, then when he emerged he begged my parents to excuse us, and requested that we not be disturbed under any circumstances. He led me upstairs to a quiet room where he ordered the servants away and barred the door.
My parents waited below with anxiety. They had taken a huge risk in supporting a marriage not yet endorsed by the King, and had done so on the basis of my word and Hal’s. The blame, and the King’s displeasure, would be pointed squarely at them. Consequently, they were severely frightened by Hal’s demeanor and what it could mean for all of our futures. They sat in near darkness, waiting and not speaking for the duration of my discussion with Hal.
All servants were quietly ordered away from the second floor, and these scuttled about with feigned purpose in order to be at hand when we came down. A few raced to the servants quarters to sound a hissed warning that something was awry. Faces were peering from behind every corner, and more servants were visible or within reach than would be called upon for a banquet. There was a sense of dread in the household.
Our request was denied. Hal had spent many hours alone before coming to me, preparing himself for this unforeseen change in our plans and our lives, preparing his speech to me. Prior to that he had gone to his parents to request their assistance, and was alarmed to discover that they were in agreement with the King. Furthermore, they reminded him of his obligation to them, and to the family whose daughter was truly his betrothed.
Hal had not even had a “betrothed”, aside from myself, until this day! Wolsey, himself, had raised the objections that had earlier ended that match, but was now changing his position and forcing it! Hal’s parents were forcing it as well. And all of them were oddly ignoring the fact that a handfasting ceremony had bound us, and that we were, in fact, truly married (or as good as!) in the eyes of God and the Church. They did all this just that suddenly. Queerly. Just like that, and for no discernible reason.
He had no choice, Hal’s father stated bluntly. Mistress Anne was not what they had in mind for him, and he was to marry immediately lest he show signs of defiance and do something insubmissive and rash.
My parents hurriedly leaped to a position of self-preservation. They made quick—and conspicuous—show of their own disapproval of the marriage. They publicly criticized me, and made deferential, placating apologies to the King for their daughter’s headstrong disobedience to their wishes. They served me up for carving on a platter with a sprig of parsley and an apple in my mouth, leaving me publicly shamed and without familial support.
They had not shown signs of disapproval before. The mere suggestion that they should have found fault with Hal would have brought tears of laughter to my eyes. Hal was a plum indeed, and my parents could not contain their glee.
Hal had met this woman, his “betrothed”, a few times over the years. He had always found her repellent. She was too portly for his tastes, and too tall. She cackled and insulted. She moved with lightening speed from mincing modesty to shocking vulgarity in her demeanor and comments. She blinked uncomprehendingly at Hal’s witty observations, then flew into wheezing fits of hysteria over cheap and ribald quips of her own that caused Hal to blush with discomfort and shame. He had found her to be abrasive and offensive, and had on several occasions seen her eyes follow, not the men, but the women with looks of lust.
She clearly found Hal to be less than a desirable partner, and made no attempt to hide it. As for Hal, he would eagerly give her any chambermaid as a wedding gift rather than join her in the marriage bed and in one sense was relieved. She would never seek him out. He felt he simply could not do it with her, even drunk or threatened. Not even to produce an heir.
And so he came to me, ashen-faced with swollen eyes. He had an advantage over me, having spent his hours alone adjusting to these changes and regaining his composure. I, on the other hand, had to react to communication of the King’s decision with Hal present, and no forewarning.
“Wolsey denied our request,” he said. “We cannot marry.”
I stared at him for a very, very long spell and did not speak, feeling blood drain out of me, not knowing where it might be going, and not caring if it ever returned to sustain me again. As his words echoed and taunted me, Hal tried to fill the silence with descriptions of his conversation with Wolsey. He grew more and more unnerved by my stare, for my face had no expression and I did not blink. I fixed my eyes upon his and looked at him. I did not twitch a muscle. I might have been a corpse.
“Anne?” He whispered finally, reaching over to touch my hand. I pulled it away from him in an angry motion. “Didst thou not hear me? Art thou not feeling well? Please speak to me.”
I answered “No,” in a whisper of my own. In shock, I whispered “No” over and over, then exploded into hysteria, pulling at my hair, tearing off my headpiece and hurling it, pounding my fists on the table and then against Hal’s chest screaming “NOoooo!” Hal grabbed my hands and held them. He pressed them to his lips.
“I will always love thee!” I wailed, looking at Hal accusingly as if he were to blame. I twisted my wrists in an attempt to free them from his grasp; there was a table that still badly needed pounding and fists that wanted to bleed. “I cannot be parted from thee—I cannot!”
I stamped my foot in a gesture that would have made the servants race to make things right and proper once again, had they any power to assist. I flailed at Hal and furiously pulled away from him when he reached over to hold and comfort me, pummelling him to make him keep his distance. I whirled, and knocked over everything that stood upright, shocking both Hal and myself with my strength. I babbled incomprehensibly, screaming “NO, I canno-ot!” in the midst of it. It was just as it had been when I was a child. I had more emotion than I had room for. I had no place to put the pain.
Hal stood and watched me with helpless hands at his side, an expression of terror and shock in his eyes. I was not the distraught woman he had thought to encounter this night. I was a demon unleashed from Hell.
I did not feel I could survive this. One half of me had just been amputated, the half that contained my heart. Having expended my energy in a fit far more wrenching than any I had ever had in childhood, I felt faint, and sank to my knees on the floor where I doubled over and sobbed. Hal picked me up, as I was now too weak to fight him, and carried me to a chair where he sat and rocked me. I pressed my face into his shoulder and wept. He stroked my hair, humming and shooshing and whispering to me as if I were a child. It was the last time he held me on his lap.