Threads: The Reincarnation of Anne Boleyn

by Nell Gavin

  I did not want to go. I did not want to pass through corridors where I had strolled with Hal, or face the questions and the talk and the feigned sympathy over my shattered wedding plans. I wanted not to have to see the King frequently in territory that was his, rather than mine. I wanted not to have to face Katherine, who knew of his visits to Hever.

  I begged Mother no. She insisted. I cried and threw a tantrum. She slapped me and spoke the word “duty” against which I had no power.

  The request was written in her hand and sent by messenger to the Queen. We, all of us, awaited Katherine’s response for weeks, each with a different sort of anxiety.

  My rejection had preyed upon Henry’s mind and settled there, infiltrating his thoughts. He composed a letter to me confessing love he had dared not speak of before, describing pain of excessive proportions over his inability to win me as his own. Was there no hope that I might come to love him? He asked. As “unworthy” as he was, could I not find something in him that pleased me? Could I not give him any reason to hope?

  When I read his dramatic proclamations, I laughed and rolled my eyes. If the letter was spared after I carelessly threw it on the floor, it was not me who saved it, for I walked over it and left it there.

  I received another, a plea from Henry to see me. One may not refuse a visit from the King, so I welcomed him back. The span of time that passed from the moment he vowed I would see him no more until I was handed the missile begging for my company was four days.

  He arrived two days after delivery of our invitation to visit. Henry meekly asked again if I would be his mistress and, again, I refused. The refusal was less surprising to him this time, and he did not leave in such a hurry, preferring to uncover the reasons why I was turning him away.

  “I serve my lady the Queen, Your Majesty. I serve your wife, and I hope I do so with honor. I may not betray her trust in me.”

  “The queen has seen this before. It is to be expected.” He was showing signs of impatience and irritation.

  “ Your Grace, my intent is to become a wife. Your wife I cannot be—you have a wife whom it is my duty to serve and obey.” I said this plaintively, hoping to appease him and yet make him understand. “Your mistress I will not be,” I added, less gently.

  He tried tempting me with jewels and land. I bristled back into my original anger. I looked at him with narrowed eyes and asked him to please never offer again. I would not risk Hell for jewels, I told him. I cared not much for jewels. As for land, we had enough. I could not be bribed, I told him softly and firmly, and would not be bought. (My brother George was advised of this conversation through a servant and confronted me later in a thundering bellow. He called me a mindless wench, and slammed his fist down before me with his face dangerously close to mine. Not only was I turning down the King, George roared, I would turn him against us with such rash statements as these! That land, of which we had so much, he screamed, could all be taken away in an instant! Had I not one ounce of sense at all? he asked. I had to wipe his spittle from my face as he shouted.)

  Stripped to the root of the matter, Henry pleaded. He confessed love he said he had not the words to describe. Would I give him any hope at all to live upon?

  No, I insisted. I respectfully could not.

  During his next visit, he impatiently inquired as to my health, and asked when I would recover enough from my indisposition to return. He made no mention of Katherine or her need of me.

  “My health is good,” I bluntly replied.

  “Then you are to return to us anon,” he stated as fact.

  “No,” I answered. “‘Tis still too soon.”

  Henry twitched with irritation and mentioned Hal indirectly in a manner that revealed he was uncomfortable with the topic.

  “Surely a strong, healthy young lass might recover quickly from a minor disappointment. I do not understand thy persistence in nursing pain over a mere setback in thy plans.” He amended the statement coyly: “There are better men to tempt thy heart.”

  Were he not a king, he might have winked.

  I turned and gazed directly into his eyes. To do so was impertinent, even insolent, but I cared not.

  “There are no other men to tempt my heart.” Pausing too long, I added, “Your Highness.”

  Henry blew a soft “Phhtt” through his teeth and tossed his head. I could see that I had wounded him.

  “I fear that despite your words of love, you do not understand it, Your Grace.” It was a risky remark, uttered impulsively. I felt a shudder of apprehension, and wished I could take it back.

  He shot a look to me quickly, and emotions passed across his eyes. I saw anger, and uncertainty, and a glimmer of what appeared to be hurt in a matter of seconds.

  “I love thee. I know quite well what love is, my Anna,” he answered impatiently.

  “Then you know I cannot return yet.”

  “Phhtt. I feel a totally different sort of love for thee. It is real.”

  “And you know before God that my love for someone else was false.” I did not form it as a question. I said it pleasantly, as a statement of fact, with no expression of any kind. It seemed to carry greater impact that way, for Henry found himself confused over the direction from which the arrow had come.

  “No, I did not . . . I did not say . . . ” he stammered.

  “I can feel just as you can feel, Your Grace. I feel as you would, were you promised to me and then torn from my arms. I feel the same.”

  Henry thought for a moment, unmoving. His eyebrows were knotted above his nose, and his eyes looked startled. He then turned to me with a raw look.

  “Hast thou felt much pain?” he asked gently. It had truly not occurred to him that his clever devising had made a victim of me. It had truly never occurred to him that I had been deeply hurt by his maneuverings. His concern was sincere. So, for the moment, was his self-reproach, but Henry was ever able to rationalize himself away from that emotion, and its impact was not long lasting.

  I am certain he gave not a thought to Hal and the life he was now forced to lead.

  Tears sprang to my eyes but I willed them away and met Henry’s gaze again. He saw the tears come and disappear. Henry noticed everything.

  “Yes Your Grace. I have felt pain,” I said this slightly smiling, slightly narrowing my eyes, almost mockingly.

  “I want thee not to feel pain,” he said quietly. “I am sorry thou hast. Truly sorry.” He looked confused and thoughtful and he looked sorry. He stared at his hands, then looked up quickly, crossed his arms over his chest and buried his hands under his armpits. “But thou wilt recover,” he said reassuringly.

  “Yes, sire.”

  “You shall,” he repeated challengingly.

  “As will you, Your Grace,” I smiled, dipping my head.

  Chapter 3

  •~۞~•

  He began what he would continue for several years. He pressed, then he held back from pressing. He bribed and threatened. He begged and asked again, and again. I held firm. I teased him and made light of his efforts. I flattered to appease his wounded pride, then pulled back and coldly complained of head pains, begging leave to retire.

  When he was not present, I made scathing comments about his motives and his character. I made him the butt of cruel humor among my most trusted friends. I acted out our conversations for their amusement. Perhaps most cruelly, I laughed at his songs.

  It is difficult to describe the emotions I felt, being courted by a king. I was developing feelings for him that must be kept hidden, and so to hide them I laughed at him and teased. I wanted word to get back to Katherine and my sister Mary that I did not care for Henry, and that was the primary reason I was so cruel. The interpretation of my actions by those viewing them was far different though, not because of what I said and did, but because of the manner in which Henry was behaving. My actions were having an unintended opposite effect from the one I devised. It was presumed that their effect was intentional, and my crafty manipulations were premedit
ated.

  Still, despite my protestations, I felt flattered to a remarkable degree. During the days of our courtship, Henry’s attentions made me feel as if I were above the common sort. I generalized and believed that I must be quite unique and important in all things, which is not a comfortable thing to say about oneself in retrospect, and is impossible to view objectively when one is in the midst of feeling so. I had talent, intelligence and charm above the average, and these were heightened in my own mind when I saw the impact they had on Henry. I defy anyone else, however, to feel differently when faced with the same temptation of self-flattery. It is easy to feel flattered by emotions that powerful; it is impossible not to when the source of those emotions is a king.

  Vanity often roots itself in insecurity. A lifetime of inferiority had prepared a fertile bed for vanity, and I was becoming a little full of myself. I would become more so in time. I would, in fact, become quite full indeed. That fullness would bring with it its own grief.

  More strongly than I felt any other emotion, even that of self-aggrandizement, I felt shame and hurt and a desire to stop this. The dislike I was incurring, for the moment with little reason, tore at my heart. I did not regain most friendships, and so I felt betrayed and hurt and a failure at what I had been raised to do. I had been raised to please, and wanted nothing more than to succeed in pleasing. I wanted to make amends. When I failed in this, I reacted. I responded defiantly.

  “So you are not pleased?” I might have asked. “Well, then let me please you even less so that you might know how petty and mean you are to complain of this!” Afterward, I would crumple with mortification that I could behave so.

  Those feelings wore at my good nature and my good nature grew less good in time. The petulant child held tight to slights and insults, nurturing them and clinging to them for far longer than one should cling to hurt. That child liked to make people sorry they had wounded her, but the emotions behind the petulance were sincere. I liked them. I wanted to be liked in return and they would not like me. I was deeply wounded and knew not how to be wounded without dramatically reacting to the pain, or hiding it. I spent most of my days doing the one or the other. I wanted it all to end.

  But still Henry kept coming to me.

  Over the course of time, he became my friend and I grew to look forward to seeing him. My childhood infatuation was being resurrected by Henry’s close presence, while Hal was retreating into a dull ache that erupted into sharp pain only at night. Henry’s way was becoming more clear although I fought hard not to let him see this, and still fought against it in my heart. It was difficult not to let him see, for there were frequent moments when our eyes met. I could not deny there was a connection between us, and so I prayed. I did not want a king. And yet I did, if he were this one. In wanting, there is sin, and so I was torn.

  What I saw in Henry’s eyes could not be rationally explained, and so I often attributed it to imagination and passing infatuation. Other times I knew in my heart I was not imagining. I could not reason away the fear that Henry would draw me into him with those eyes and I would not have the power to say no.

  I confessed these sinful thoughts, as ever, to the priest. My confessions vacillated. Sometimes I confessed pride for concocting a connection that did not exist between myself and a powerful man. Other times I confessed my temptation to give in to a love I knew to be true, yet sinful. I confessed more frequently as months passed, but nothing was resolved. The priest only suggested I pray, and so I did, sinking lower and lower into a chasm where I had no choice but to love and give in to Henry. I could not discuss this with anyone but the priest, so I never obtained more practical advice on what to do.

  If God was giving me direction in response to my prayers, it was to lead me down the very path I was struggling to avoid. This bewildered me. Perhaps He did not hear me. I prayed more strenuously and waited for my heart to harden toward Henry, through God’s grace. It did not harden. Instead, the love grew more tender, and moved me closer to my doom.

  Our courtship took place over a period of eight years. It took years for the conflict within me to reach a crisis. For most of that time, I viewed Henry's interest in me as just a game with no lasting consequence.

  In the earliest years, word had reached me that Henry was interviewing potential wives. He had resolved to replace his Katherine in order to remarry and have a son. I knew I would shift into a position of limited importance the moment he narrowed his choices. Nothing could come of our relationship and so it must be trivial. This knowledge sustained me in the beginning. Perhaps, I reasoned, my heart was merely grasping at the first man available and using him as a replacement for my lost Hal.

  Then sometimes, even as I pushed him away, my feelings toward Henry would surface, and I would feel terror that he might actually do my bidding, and leave. As much as I vehemently denied it, Henry was mine. He was my partner and my friend. The King of England listened to me and did my bidding, and it was a heady feeling to know this. I did not expect my power over Henry to be long-lasting. I expected to lose it, so the prospect of relinquishing it did not overly concern me for a long while. I was merely borrowing it, and using it as much as I could while it was still mine to use.

  The knowledge that nothing could come of our relationship proved less sustaining as time went on, and I grew more frightened and confused. Could I contentedly relinquish that power to another woman when I was truly faced with it? Could I so easily give up his love when it was time to step aside?

  During that same course of time, Henry loved me with an adoration found only in the hearts of puppies and small children.

  He would have been kinder to show more discretion. I would have preferred that he had. I knew the trouble he would bring me with his displays of infatuation, and I cringed at the thought of facing Katherine for, even blameless, I felt ashamed.

  The thought of talk put my nerves on edge and made me fearful. In the very early months, before word had traveled, the king’s obsessive love for me was a topic of amusement in the servants’ quarters throughout the narrow confines of the neighborhood. There were bursts of laughter from the servants after Henry had safely departed from his visits, and I would suffer teasings from them all. He did not hide his admiration well. He could have, but he did not choose to because he fully, unwisely and selfishly wanted all to know.

  It quickly spread from the servants to the conversations of the persons able to bring the news back to court, and soon was carried beyond. The Queen knew. The world knew and was aghast. The king was behaving like a schoolboy over an insignificant lady of the court, and a not very pretty one (although descriptions of me varied according to the speaker).

  The murmuring—the rumbling—of distant gossip began to reach Hever through the servants who, during their trips to other manors, had initially played a part in spreading word. The Boleyn servants were now gathering the fruits of their own gossip from servants at other manors and were reporting what was being said. I was toying with the King in an effort to maintain his interest and to gain more wealth, it was widely known. The Boleyns were grasping upstarts who were using the King’s weakness to their advantage.

  I had not, as yet, accepted a thing from Henry when the first of these reports was passed along to me.

  Katherine disapproved on moral grounds (as she did of most things in life), but was rising above the situation and ignoring it. I was no threat to her. I was of little importance, and was welcomed back to court in an attempt to emphasize this to me and to everyone else. Katherine realized too late that she had tragically miscalculated, but the end result was not of my doing. The mistake in accepting me back was hers, for I did not insinuate myself into court; I was opposed to it.

  In her pride and her desire to put me in my place, Katherine did not understand that I was indeed a threat and that Henry’s love for me was extraordinary. She could not, however, have known. I did not know myself.

  I thought it was a game. I thought I could control it.

  Ch
apter 4

  •~۞~•

  Shortly after we received Katherine’s notification that my return was requested, Henry sent word that my parents were to reside at the palace. This was an honor given only to the higher titles (one of which Henry had recently, conveniently, bestowed upon my father) and their families. Whereas I had previously lived in our London house near the palace, I was now to live in the palace itself, for my father’s new role required it.

  I knew it to be a trap.

  I arrived in a finer carriage than the one in which I had left. Henry had had it sent to Hever to transport me back to London, and the ride was exceedingly comfortable. My parents would follow in similar style.

  I was installed in my chambers by Emma, my maidservant, who was given a small room at the end of the corridor. These were larger quarters than most for ladies of my status, and amply furnished. When my trunks arrived later, my dresses were carefully wiped and put away by a half dozen servants. In the wardrobe were a number of new gowns sewn to my size. A tray of fresh and dried fruits sat temptingly on the table with a goblet and flask of wine. A round wooden bath was carried in and filled with warm water so I might wash away the dust. None of these things did I request.

  “The Queen was kind to think of me,” I wryly said to Emma. The absurdity of the observation made Emma laugh. I giggled with her and stood still while she unlaced my gown.

  “Hmmm,” Emma answered playfully. “Tis true—thou art her favorite, Mistress. And hast grown ever more so by thine absence. Make haste! Go and thank her! I should like to see her expression when you do.” Emma pulled the gown over my head and hung it carefully in the wardrobe. She turned back and began work on my stays, unlacing them as well.