"I've asked Francois' entire family—and that includes Marguerite."
"Marguerite! Oh, it’s been so long. Do you think she'll accept?" Anne rushed him and breathed in his hearty smell of musk and ambergris. Marguerite could help her forget. Could make her believe she had friends still.
"Of course she will. She's your long time friend, n'est-ce pas?
"Meanwhile, you shall have a new title. You are, after all, my wife in all but name... and other important matters, which are only our own business." He winked at her and she grinned. "It’s important that your rank be suitable when you accompany me."
"Then in that meantime, we shall hunt in the North woods." She declared, thrusting her shoulders back and defiantly leveling her chin. She cared not, if people would hiss, because no matter how much they might grumble, she would be Queen.
Chapter 38
October’s brisk air was full of the sounds of jays, who made their presence known as noisily as crows. The Party had come quite a way into the King’s gaming grounds, had ridden long until Anne declared time for a snack. George halted his horse and jumped down from the saddle. The piece of apple he dug from his bag quickly disappeared into his steed’s mouth. The beast gave a snort of gratitude.
"Ho, Anne. I see your stomach calls louder than the urge to hunt." He just had to tease her.
"It is your belly I worry over, brother. I heard it growling a few paces back." She fidgeted her gown into place as she dismounted.
"Have you a yearning for food, my King?"
Henry didn’t answer straight away. Instead he beckoned to the servants at the rear of the party. They scurried forward to lay out quilts and blankets and food. Within moments a different set of men had set up a golden canopy to protect their sovereign from the rays of the sun and wayward bird droppings. He settled onto the ground and motioned George to sit with him and Anne.
"I’ve been hankering for wine long before your brother’s stomach made the call. The ride has given me a terrible thirst."
George took the flask from Nan’s hand and poured Henry a goblet of wine.
"Pass me the cheese as well, Nan, if you will. And mind you don’t bite a chunk from the edge this time." He grinned at her.
"Mind ye spill not the wine on his Grace’s grand doublet," she answered, flashing green eyes toward the goblet that had already been filled to the brim. George jerked back on the flask, spilling wine on his hose. His loud curse made Henry laugh loudly. He let Anne sop the liquid with a napkin.
"Ah, George," she said.
"It’s a lucky thing you’ll not be accompanying me to Calais. You’re as clumsy as a porcupine."
"Ah, but those critters are terribly cute, are they not? And that waddle they have, I’ve yet to see aught so endearing."
When Anne rolled her eyes, George nudged Henry. "Surely our Anne needs no help embarrassing herself in Calais, does she your Grace?"
"That she does not. I’m so certain her sharp tongue will entrap her, I’ve ordered three servants along with her to hold it still."
"Only three? You’ve high hopes then, of her ladies’ strength."
A cock pheasant fluttered somewhere near when Henry let out a belly laugh. It made Anne jump, but within seconds she regained her composure, and the wry twist to her mouth.
"You gentlemen seem so bent on slurring me, that you’ve forgotten that sharp tongue is in front of you. Shall I use it now, or hone it a bit more?" She snapped.
"Ach, Anne. You’ve lost your humor." Henry said and stuffed a roll into his mouth. George caught his eye and knew as he did that Henry used the roll to keep from laughing. George couldn’t give in yet.
"Truth be known, Anne, I too think your wit has dulled. You failed to see the humor in King Francois’ choice of women for the trip." His study of her face rewarded him. The sallow tone took on a distinctly whitish cast.
"And what is so funny about that cur inviting his mistress? I tell you, my accompaniment to Calais was to show me as the lady I am. Damn the man that he’d refuse to bring his wife, and request that his whore companion me." The graceful arch of her brows disappeared as they leveled in fury.
"I think it was funny." George goaded.
Henry broke in, "Anne is right, George. She was to go so we could gain her some sense of propriety. If Francois brings his mistress rather than his wife, it will reflect badly on our Anne."
"Yes, brother. I’m right." She stuck her tongue out and George threw a hunk of bread at it.
"Do you think I didn't know that?"
"I think you know little," she answered.
"And what I know, you taught me," he said. She waved her hand in the air,
"It’s easy to teach a fool, dear brother. Easier still to teach a man."
Oh, she wouldn’t get away with that. He was about to retaliate when she popped a chunk of cheese into his open mouth.
"See, you open your mouth, and we women fill it."
Chapter 39
1532
Anne may have been left out of the diplomatic festivities at Calais, but she did go. As a means of compromise, Henry and Francois had decided that no women should take part in the political events. But later, four days of celebration lay ahead for the Kings and their entourages. Anne sat with her ladies at supper thinking how fortunate she was that Henry had appointed Thomas Cromwell in Wolsey’s place. Since Cromwell had taken office, Henry acquired a new title. Now he was not only King, but the Supreme Head of the Church and Clergy of England. All the clerics in the realm were made to swear an oath to him. Bishop Fisher, however, refused and that sent the entire country to mumbling as well.
If he’d supported the decree, perhaps events wouldn’t have occurred as they did. Only weeks after Fisher’s outburst over the affair, his cook sprinkled some noxious powder into his soup, killing beggars that fed at the house and making Fisher himself extremely sick. Rumors abounded that the Boleyn faction and possibly she, herself, had been responsible for the poisoning.
Henry tried to squelch the rumors by ordering the cook put to death. She shivered at the thought. She was innocent of the former, but surely because of those rumors she was responsible for the cruelty of the cook’s execution, for to stop the rumors Henry had him boiled slowly in oil. He obviously thought something so horrible would eradicate suspicion of him and his mistress, or at the very least strike fear into his subjects so they wouldn’t speak of it. But now, as she sat at the table dressed in her finest gown, she refused to think more on it. The time had gone, and brooding over it could only sadden her.
The expanse of room was nearly filled with servants coming and going. Bells rang sharply as every now and then a cook ran through to chase the dogs from the tables. The sound of dull thuds as they were given vicious boots accompanied quick yelps. Anne sighed heavily. This occasion was supposed to be austere. Even her gown hadn’t escaped a dog’s paw, and suffered a dirty imprint. She kept brushing to remove it. Many of the gowns were made of cloth-of-gold, but she decided her gown would look more dazzling if it were underlaid with crimson satin. It was a present to herself to help her get over the disappointment that Marguerite hadn’t come.
"You look enchanting," Henry whispered to her as he passed by to present Francois with a gift. She smiled in return and took a drink of wine. At the beginning of the feast she had been introduced by her new title, The Lady Marquess of Pembroke, and was treated as the first lady of the feast. No courtier present would misunderstand the significance of the role as it was traditionally Catherine’s position. Her pride was not lessened by the fact that everyone present was either part of her own small court or Henry's. At least among her own, she was Queen. These ceremonies were a little less solemn than the diplomatic ones, but as she watched Henry pass a gilded clock to Francois, she realized them to be as important as the ones just held. And perhaps, from her own viewpoint, imperative. If Francois treated her respectably and accepted her rank, it may well smooth some of the hostility abroad over Henry's great matter. Which was wh
at Henry hoped for—an ally.
"I'm a little nervous," she whispered to her sister who had agreed to accompany her. Mary's tiny mouth pursed in concern.
"No need to be, Francois knows you, he'll not disapprove." She touched Anne lightly on the arm.
"You don't know that; he's married to Catherine's niece now, since Claude's death. And since his brother-in-law is the emperor of Spain, he may not dare to accept me and disturb the uneasy peace." It annoyed her that she had to explain this to Mary. Had it been George, he would have understood the undercurrents without being told.
"You worry over much." Mary tucked her amber locks behind her ear and batted her eyes at a nearby Frenchman. Anne sighed, since Will's death, Mary had returned to her old ways. A husband would have to be found for her as soon as the crown was gained, and Anne could wield that power.
"At least things bode well for Henry," she remarked, poking her sister’s satin covered arm discreetly to get her attention. "He's managed to have his son educated at Francois' court."
"Humph," Mary responded. "Little Henry Fitzroy will get more education there than he bargains for." She returned her eyes to the lithe Frenchman.
Anne had to grin, thinking of the gangly, blond twelve-year-old walking through the halls for the first time posed an interesting picture. She would give her favorite slippers to see his wide-eyed surprise at some of the more risqué paintings.
But by now, Francois was smiling and embracing Henry, who himself wore a wide grin, and she decided it was time to settle her tongue. She watched as Henry stood away so the French King could pass a blue velvet cushion to his Provost. A quick wink from Henry suggested the cushion was meant for her. She straightened her back consciously, waiting for the Provost to come near. She could see that atop lay a beautiful diamond, lying bare on the cushion as if that were the setting. She could barely stifle a murmur of delight when he placed the gift in her hands.
"I'm honored," she breathed, looking down the table and directly into Francois' eyes. Surely this meant his acceptance and blessing
"As we both are," Henry spoke, his delight evident in the way his voice carried.
"But now, I think it time for some fun, non?" He addressed Francois who nodded quickly. His haste in agreeing didn't surprise Anne—Francois had always been ready for fun.
"Then, let's begin the dancing!" Henry hoisted his goblet of wine and with its raising, the musicians took their cue. Anne led her ladies to the floor as the dance began. But before long, Henry came for her. He whispered into her ear so low she strained to hear.
"May I walk you to your room, this eve, dearest?"
"Of course, my love." She felt so ecstatically happy that she may even let him inside for a while tonight. He took her hand and led her from the room. She said nothing as he took the wrong turn to his own quarters.
"You may sleep in a room fit for a queen tonight, if you desire." He studied her eyes.
"And where are you to sleep, my King?" She teased him. After all, she couldn't give in too easily. Instead of answering, he swept open the door and led her inside. It seemed his manner suggested he wanted to be alone, for the servants within all scuttled to the opposite door, some of them turning down the bed on their way out, others lighting a few strategic candles, still others blowing some out. The air in the room felt slightly cloistered, and the faint aroma of must rose to her nostrils as she meandered through the rushes. Henry had given much thought to this room, probably intent that his mistress would finally become that. Green velvet hung from the walls and swathed the windows, embroideries graced the chairs and bed. The waxen smoke from the few burning candles lent an additional mystique. Upon closer inspection, she noticed the embroideries all depicted some form of transformation. A butterfly emerged from a chrysalis on the quilt, while nearby and surrounding the bed stood embroidery bars depicting various scenes from Ovis' "Metamorphoses."
"It’s beautiful," she breathed in much the same tone as she had upon sighting the diamond.
"It’s meant to lend truth to the most beautiful event of my reign," he whispered into her ear. His breath tingled on the flesh of her naked neck. She lifted her face to meet his.
Chapter 40
January 1533:
It was too much to bear alone. Anne hurried through the dimly lit corridors of Whitehall castle to find her lover. He would know what to do, or at least, she hoped so. She found him in short time, closeted in his privy chamber with the lutenist, Marc Smeaton, who plucked absently at the strings. Hal Norris laid out Henry’s clothes for the mid-afternoon hunt.
"Rex," she said. He stood awkwardly as she burst in. Apparently, he had been rummaging through one nostril, and didn't enjoy being found by his mistress in such a state.
"Anne..." He surreptitiously wiped the back of his hand against his nose. "What brings you in such a hurry?"
"Rex," she said again, flung herself into his arms. "May we be alone for a moment?" She squeezed him tightly around the belly—she was a little too short to reach his chest when he stood. He squeezed her in return.
"What is it dearest? Is something wrong?" She could feel him wave his hands at his grooms and heard them rustle to the door.
"No, love. It is something quite wonderful." She looked up into his face, pulled at his beard playfully.
"We're going to be parents!" She chuckled at the shock that stole his face, and laughed harder when an incredulous splutter sent sprays of saliva over her head.
"Parents? But that means..."
"I'm with child!" She left his arms to spin around the room in a mad rush of energy. Face to ceiling, the muraled plaster blurred into the oak wainscoting ’til it was all one great gray, happy mess.
"With child?" His face lit like a candle in a darkened room. Too excited to speak, she merely nodded.
"With child," he said again.
"Can we be sure?"
"I'm nearly two months gone." She smiled, coming back to him and taking his hand.
"You're to be a father, as sure as I can be." His jaw hung and she grinned.
"I knew those nights in Calais would transform you," he said. "From friend to lover, and now lover to mother."
"Hardly Calais, dearest, that was over three months ago. I think it was from our stable excursion." She blushed faintly, tickled his groin. "You remember, beneath the loft?" She shuddered emphatically.
"Well, Calais may not have transformed you to mother, but it was certainly a good beginning. Now I must transform you from mistress to wife, eh? Now that we've a child to worry about, and who can secure the throne, we must legitimize him. That is, if you wish it?" His face clouded with concern and he touched her chin with his finger, lifted it to watch her face.
"Would you marry me, my love?"
She smiled, unable to even nod. "When?"
"Immediately. We have only to arrange it. Of course, it will have to be secret, until I can get the clergy to finally decree my original marriage invalid." He pushed her away absently, and began pacing the room in thought.
"We must secure Catherine's withdrawal," he muttered to himself, fidgeting with his beard. A few red wisps fell to the floor. Then suddenly his large frame was careening throughout the room in a crazy fit of excitement, and on his second turn had her in his arms and twirled her until she thought she would faint from dizziness. Then as if afraid, he halted and studied her.
"Oh. Perhaps it’s not good for the babe. You've a couple of moons left before the danger point has passed."
"I'm sure the child will be as healthy as his parents' appetites." She winked, thinking if this was all she had to do to get the divorce moving, she should have done so six years ago.
"But for now, you realize, I can no longer satisfy yours?"
"Nor would I want you to," he murmured, pulling her close, breathing into her hair. "I'll not take any chances with this Godsend. And now I know I was correct all along, for God has just proven it to me. How can the clergy disagree?" He squeezed her hand tightly, then released her.
"You must excuse me, my dearest, I have a marriage to arrange."
Chapter 41
The wedding ceremony was a quiet affair. And as Henry was not yet legally separated from Catherine, the victory was yet a hollow one. After the anti-climactic and disappointing event Anne set about planning her coronation. Henry assured her she would be made Queen, and though she could tell no one, she secretly believed it to be more important than her marriage.
"I'll need extra yards of cloth for my gowns," she said to Nan from atop a small stool within her bedchamber. The February weather was severely cold but while everyone around her complained of it, she felt comfortably warm.
"I'd think ye could shroud yerself in miles of cloth milady, and it'll not warm ye any." Nan mumbled between pins.
"I'll have to add panels to my favorite gowns, no telling how big I'll get." Anne wanted everyone to know she carried Henry’s child—proof that she could yet be a good Queen. But Henry wanted to keep the secret. So she confided in only three; Nan, George, and because she couldn’t help it, Mary.
"You'll not be needing those panels yet, Anne. You're still as slim as the day you met the King," Mary responded from her spot on the bed.
"I'll be needing them soon though, nearly three months gone... it won't take long," she raised her voice, piqued that Mary should show discretion at such an annoying time.
"As a matter of fact, I've had such hankerings, I can barely feed them."
"Hankerings often come in the winter, when we're cooped up so. Why, I often yearn for strawberries on these cold days." Mary narrowed her light eyes.
The belligerence came up from nowhere—and why shouldn't the court know she was married to Henry and carried his son? Secrecy surely wouldn't change the fact, and the child would come in its time, leaving everyone to wonder if it was legitimate. She pushed Nan away with a deft hand, and hopped down from the stool. Catching sight of the door gave her a wicked idea.
Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) Page 19