Anne Boleyn's Ghost

by Archer, Liam

  Henry entered her room, a maniacal air about him as he looked virulently at his ailing wife, not uttering a single word or phrase whilst all the time strangely transfixed on Anne’s dark eyes. His demeanor said what his voice would not: That I, your master, stand before you, dear, having woken from my ‘long nap’ only to find you have miscarried, again!

  When Anne did try and speak – the shock of his presence having set her nerves on fire – he interrupted her before she could start.

  ‘I –’

  ‘I see clearly that God does not wish to give me male children …’ he said; and, falling silent, Henry walked over to the window and gazed blankly before him. Anne remained quiet and frozen in her bed, and dared not speak.

  As the silence went on and on, seeing the King was lost for words, Anne meekly approached the window, wishing to comfort him in his fretfulness, when he said decisively, ‘You will get no more sons by me!’

  He took leave of her room; Anne weeping despairingly as he went.

  Henry’s loyalty to Anne was diminishing as quickly as it had flourished. He soon began to consult his new chief minister, Thomas Cromwell, on the best way of getting rid of Anne Boleyn.

  The King was determined to avoid another questionable divorce or be humiliated with yet another public scandal. He now needed to make the woman he went to so much trouble to be with, appear to be someone he completely mistook for being sophisticated and charming, and who was, underneath it all, a whore –

  After many long, arduous nights alone in his bed, thinking how best to bring about his master’s wish, Cromwell’s strategy was to have Anne proven guilty of treason. And the only way he could do that was to prove she had committed adultery (the only woman in England who could be executed on such a charge). That’s not to say the task Cromwell had set himself was one that was going to be easy to achieve; but being a somewhat scrupulous individual, Cromwell could get done almost anything he set his mind to.

  Devising a Plan

  In the sixteenth century, it was all but impossible for someone like the King or Queen to get away with the odd affair, without the knowledge of those in their circle. They were the celebrities of their day; rumour and gossip was to the people who knew them the equivalent of today’s news media, celebrity magazines and newspapers.

  Cromwell invited a musician called Mark Smeaton over for a very special, one-to-one dinner with him at his home in Stepney. Smeaton was the ideal man to achieve the King’s aim: as a talented musician who could play several instruments and sing, Anne had requested on some occasions for Smeaton to perform in the royal household. He lacked friends and family, and had no influence beyond the stage.

  All that was needed now was a bit of ‘persuasion’, and that’s where Cromwell came in.

  Thomas Cromwell

  As soon as Smeaton had arrived in Stepney and stepped out of his carriage (kindly provided for by His Grace), Cromwell went to his front window and beckoned him in.

  Smeaton meandered his way inside and sat down at the table where a few dishes had been prepared for him to tuck into.

  There was duck and pheasant (both well roasted and slightly charred), grapes, apples, chestnuts, and one bottle of wine, which Cromwell prowled over as though his guest’s lips might infect its contents.

  Cromwell sat quietly, the tips of his short stubby fingers together, observing Smeaton intently with his beady black eyes.

  Smeaton looked somewhat tense and was hopelessly trying to hide it behind mouthfuls of Cromwell’s victuals.

  After ten minutes had gone by, Cromwell asked if Smeaton was enjoying his cooking; and before he could ask him anything else, Smeaton began chatting freely with the highly educated Cromwell by talking about the pleasant weather, and focusing on his musical talents: expecting that was the reason why he had been invited to dine with him – he had brought along his violin, just in case.

  Cromwell seemed pleased to hear a tune or two, and smiled widely as he played; though it soon contorted itself into a sneer, as Smeaton prowess led him on and on.

  Cromwell began to mutter words, better left to the imagination, under his breath, and averted his eyes to his blissfully at home guest. ‘Shut up now, Smeaton … Smeaton!’ he said, the blood now rushing to his head.

  Smeaton obviously hadn’t ever heard someone say ‘SHUT UP’ before – or perhaps he couldn’t hear them, through the loudness of his concerto.

  Half an hour later, Smeaton suddenly ceased playing: he had finally noticed the sour look on Cromwell’s face. He took up his glass and resumed eating, trying hard to avoid Cromwell’s fathomless eyes.

  The long silence was broken when Cromwell attempted to converse with his very awkward guest. With a hint of cynicism in his voice, he told Smeaton what a skillful musician he was, and talked a bit about the time he learned to play the harpsichord: how he never could get to grips with it, because of his fat fingers (holding them up so Smeaton could admire them for their imperfectness).

  Smeaton laughed.

  Cromwell glared back at him.

  After an hour had gone by and a few more goblets of wine had been swallowed, Cromwell began to insinuate the reason why he wanted to speak with him. He asked, somewhat bluntly, whether ‘Her Grace’ had taken Smeaton to her bed.

  Smeaton reacted like someone who had just heard a sentence in a foreign language. As he stared and blinked blankly into oblivion, Cromwell said he had been informed by one of Her Grace’s servants of some ‘mischievous goings-on’, which had taken place, late at night, while Smeaton was in her house.

  Smeaton grew increasingly confused at this, scratching his head and seemingly lost for all words. Occasionally, he would open his mouth, like a baby on the verge of saying its first word, but merely breathed and continued looking perplexedly at his host.

  Finally, after the longest and most painful silence Cromwell had endured in his life, Smeaton asked if it was some sort of a joke, and forced a small laugh, acting as though he had taken a little while to get the gist of it.

  Again, Cromwell stared at him with those beady black eyes, took a swig of wine from its goblet and dug his dirty nails into an apple he had recently picked up, before taking a large, wet bite. ‘Do you like Her Grace?’ he said smoothly, having emptied his glass and devoured his apple.

  ‘Very much … well, I did – I mean …’

  ‘You did? Explain. Hast thou ill feeling towards Her Grace…?’ Cromwell’s gaze hardened, and the colour in Smeaton’s face drained white.

  ‘It’s nothing, nothing at all, re—’

  ‘Come on. Spit it out!’

  Smeaton stammered for some time, trying to find his tongue. At last, he said that Her Grace had been unkind to him some time ago. Looking as though he was trying to find the right words, he mouthed a few indistinct words, but there was no noise.

  Then, suddenly, his face turned a curious shade of reddish-purple and he swelled up and shouted, ‘SHE’S A HEARTLESS W—’

  Breathing heavily and feeling he had gone quite far enough, his voice fell away; though Cromwell had a good idea what he was about to say. Cromwell knew all about Smeaton’s infatuation for Anne Boleyn, which Mark would never admit to a soul, though it was apparent to almost everyone that knew him.

  Cromwell was elated to hear this and waited to spring his trap, upon which he casually stated, as if it had been long since rehearsed, ‘There’s no need to feel like the hare chased by the fox. His Grace is of a most beneficent nature, and would be grateful for any honest man who gave evidence regarding Her Grace’s abhorrent conduct; and will reward him rightly on his degree of – er – helpfulness.

  ‘But as for those who stand in the King’s way,’ Cromwell informed him, ‘he can be the most merciless creature to walk the earth,’ and he scowled with animation as he said this.

  Smeaton looked warily around him.

  Cromwell stood up, took a few small steps forward, patted Mark on the shoulder and said softly, ‘You know what to do … Don’t let it be thy head
.’

  He led Smeaton to the front-door, and without so much as a ‘good-bye!’ he looked on as Smeaton wandered out. Cromwell placed his hand on the door and was just about to close it, when Smeaton glanced over his shoulder. Cromwell drew a finger across his throat, smiled menacingly, and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Smeaton walked clumsily away.

  The following week Smeaton had confessed to committing adultery with Anne Boleyn, and had named four other men who he said had done the same. With the desired confession attained, and more, Smeaton was taken to the Tower of London to be held prisoner, while a messenger was sent to Greenwich to give the King the ‘good news’.

  *

  It was May Day at Greenwich Palace, and there was that familiar sense of electricity in the air as on that turbulent, unforgettable day of the jousting tournament. It was a sunny, windy day, and the air was chill. Once again a jousting tournament was the main entertainment at the palace (though today the King was content to watch from afar, with seemingly more important matters to attend to).

  It was around two o’clock and Anne was talking with one of the palace’s servants about the attire she should wear to accompany the King into the festival, when suddenly she heard several horses’ hooves shifting gravel in the courtyard.

  Anne went to the window and saw Henry and six other men mounting their horses and exiting the grounds at a gallop. There was a sense of urgency to their departure, and Anne quickly sought information regarding the King’s unexpected leave.

  With no insight coming from any of her staff, at around four o’clock the Queen went to enjoy the festival, hoping to keep her mind off her husband.

  Lots of noise was still coming from the jousting tournament, so she stopped there first, receiving several bows and curtseys as she passed.

  Growing tired of the sound of clashing steel, Anne made her way towards the lively music, where she found people dancing or eating happily outside around several bonfires. Hearty foods were being cooked: pigs were roasting on spits and stews were bubbling lazily in cauldrons; the smells permeating in the fresh, early summer air. Couples could be seen hiding behind trees, where they kissed, and children ran around playing with one another or having make-believe duels with wooden swords.

  Anne looked on and took in the sights and smells for some time – but something didn’t feel right. The King was up to no good … and she knew it … however much she didn’t want to admit it to herself. As her mind wandered to places far from where she stood, her eyes fell upon the fire nearest her as the sounds around her seemed to drift miles away. Lively, silky flames danced betwixt the jovial faces all around it, shining brightly on each like a spotlight, as if their souls could never fade, never worry …

  As the sun descended below the horizon and the thought of Henry surfaced again, Anne made her way back to the palace, to see if any news regarding him had finally arrived.

  Meanwhile, the accused men Smeaton had named had all been arrested, and were being questioned at the Tower of London. Sir Henry Norris was mortified by the charges put him. Utterly amazed and outraged by what he was being accused of, he demanded to dual with the King in defense of Anne’s honour, and his own.

  Sir Francis Weston was knighted the day before Anne was crowned Queen, and now a dire fate awaited him as he tried to contest his innocence amongst the King’s corrupt court.

  William Brereton and Lord Rochford (Anne’s brother!) were the two others Smeaton had named. All of them vehemently denied the charges.

  Losing Her Freedom

  May 2nd 1536, Anne Boleyn was taken, under arrest, to meet with the King’s Privy Council at Westminster Palace, to begin proceedings. Thomas Cromwell, the Duke of Norfolk, and two others waited for her arrival.

  Once she was seated and in full gaze of the Privy Council, Anne stared fixedly at them, interested to know their reasons for summoning her. There was a long silence. Finally, the Duke said one-tonally, that Mark Smeaton, a Court Musician, and Henry Norris, Groom of the Stool, had confessed at the Tower of London to having committed adultery with Anne Boleyn. In reality, only Smeaton had confessed, and by claiming Henry Norris had done so as well, the Council was hoping to put Anne on weak footing, and to dig in the injustice that was unfolding before her very eyes.

  Aghast at what she was hearing, Anne fervently denied the charges read her, which filled her soul with disgust at the mere mention of them.

  The Duke paused, having witnessed her calm, dignified reaction, looked at her cynically and said, ‘Tut, tut, tut,’ shaking his head in a slow, sickly heavy manner.

  Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk

  With the tide turning against the Boleyns’, everyone in it was out for their own necks.

  Back at Greenwich Palace, at around five o’clock that evening, Anne was waiting to be sent to the Tower, and was being treated more like a criminal than the Queen of England.

  Sailing along the River Thames, all was quiet except for the oars as they creaked and groaned in their locks and the rustling of water beneath them. Storm clouds loomed above.

  Arriving at the same spot where she had entered the Tower on her coronation day, three years prior, Anne Boleyn was once again kindly received by the Tower’s constable, William Kingston. He appeared sombre today, and when Anne’s boat finally docked he offered her his hand as she placed her feet on to the Tower’s cold stone.

  Overcome with grief, Anne fell to her knees, horror-struck. ‘Shall I go into a dungeon?’ she asked Kingston, wiping her tears and coming to her feet.

  ‘No, no, Madam,’ he said, ‘to the chamber that you lay in before your coronation.’

  Anne’s attendants were forbidden to speak in her presence, and had been ordered to report anything she said directly to Cromwell. At the same time, the Treasurer of the King’s house, Master Fittes-Williams, was ordered to break-up and depose her servants of their duties.

  Behind the Tower’s high encompassing walls, Anne looked up at the dark enclosing sky: something told her she would not be leaving them alive …

  * * *

  The eerie silence, only ever broken by woeful cries; the gravity of what she was being accused of, with execution being the likeliest, if not the only, form of punishment; and suddenly finding herself – the Queen of England – condemned to the Tower of London: the gloom of it seeped deeper with every passing second into her soul.

  When the Archbishop of Canterbury heard what was happening, he quickly dispatched a letter to the King.

  This is a revised version of the letter he wrote to Henry on May 3rd 1536:

  Please, your most noble Grace should be spoken with. As you have not asked to see me, I dare not, contrary to the contents of the said letters, presume to come unto your Grace’s presence; nevertheless, it is my most bounden duty, I can do no less than most humbly admire you for your great wisdom, and by the assistance of God’s help, somewhat to suppress the deep sorrow of your Grace’s heart, and to take all adversities of God’s hand both patiently and thankfully. I cannot deny that you hath great causes, many of which are of lamentable heaviness: and also that, in the wrongful estimation of the world, your honour of every part is highly touched (whether the things that commonly be spoken of are true or not), that I can’t remember Almighty God having sent unto your Grace a similar occasion to test your constancy throughout, whether you can be content to take of God’s hand, as well as things displeasant as pleasant. And if he find in your most noble heart an obedience to His Will, that you should, without expressing discontent or too much heaviness, accept all adversities, and thank Him when all things succeed of your will and liking, and no less procure his glory and honour; then I suppose you never did a thing more acceptable for Him, since you first governed this your realm.

  And if it be true, what is reported of Her Grace, and the people have rightly estimated these things, they shouldn’t regard any part of your honour to be affected, but her honour to be clearly of little worth. And I am so perplexed, that my mind is
clean amazed, for I never had better opinion in women than I had in her; which makes me think that she should not deserve blame. And again, I think Her Grace would not have gone so far, except she had surely been culpable ... Now, I think that you know, next to your Grace, I was bound unto her of all creatures living. Therefore, I most humbly ask you, to suffer me in that, which is both God’s law, nature, also her kindness binds me to; that is, that I may, with your favour, wish and pray for her, that she may declare herself inculpable and innocent. And if she is found culpable, considering your goodness towards her, and from what condition your only mere goodness took her, and set the crown upon her head; I repute Him not your faithful servant and subject, nor true to the realm, that would not desire the offence to be punished without mercy, to the example of all other. And as I did not love her, for the love which I judged to bear towards God and his gospel; so, if she proved culpable, there is not one that loves God and his gospel that will favour her, but must hate her above all other; and the more they favour the gospel, the more they will hate her: for then there was never a creature in our time that so much slandered the gospel. And God has sent her his punishment, for feigning to have professed his gospel in her mouth, and not in heart and deed. And although she would have offended, that she have deserved never to be reconciled in your favour; yet Almighty God has of many kinds declared his goodness towards you, and never offended you. But you, I am sure, will acknowledge that you have offended him. Therefore, I trust that you will bear no less but your entire favour for the truth of the gospel than you did before: as your favour of the gospel was not led by your affection of her, but your desire for the truth. And so I beseech Almighty God, whose gospel he has ordained you to be defender of, ever to preserve your Grace from all evil, and give you at the end promise of his gospel.