by Alison Weir
Entangling herself with him would be fraught with perils. She knew of the cruelties of which he was capable. He had already discarded one wife and been repeatedly unfaithful to her supplanter. She had witnessed the sufferings of both. It was so easy to be beguiled by his majesty and his magnetism; and it would be utterly foolhardy. Moreover, he was married and out of bounds. In the long view, he was unlikely to want to go through the complications of another divorce. He could offer her nothing but the loss of her good reputation. That decided her. Whatever her family said or wanted, she would not encourage the King’s advances.
* * *
—
It was October, and the countryside was a blaze of greens, golds and reds when the court came to Winchester. The King and Queen were in a merry mood, and rode out hawking daily. Gowned in very fine rose damask, Jane was present in Winchester Cathedral when three bishops were consecrated. Queen Anne looked on triumphantly, and no wonder, for they were reformists whom she herself had advanced. If she had her way, Jane knew, the Church of England would be run entirely by men like these. It was a bleak prospect.
Afterward, there was a reception in the great hall of the castle. Jane was captivated by the sight of King Arthur’s Round Table, which was hanging up high on the wall. It was painted in bright colors, with the names of the famous knights in fine script around the circumference, and the picture of Arthur enthroned at the top.
“It’s magnificent, is it not, Mistress Jane?” said a voice behind her, and she turned to see the King smiling down at her.
“It is, your Grace,” she agreed, grateful she had not offended him over the pillow cover, but praying that this was mere friendliness.
“That’s my father up there,” he told her. “He had himself painted as King Arthur when the table was restored. We Tudors are descended from Arthur, you know. My brother was born here in Winchester. He was called after him. When I was a boy, I fancied myself as one of the Knights of the Round Table.”
“Your Grace has read Sir Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur? I loved it as a child.”
Henry’s smile broadened. “It was one of my favorite books too. We have an original copy in the royal library. I will show it to you, if you wish.”
“That is very kind, Sir.” She noticed that people were looking at them, and glanced around to see if the Queen was watching. Fortunately Anne was deep in conversation with her bishops, as she liked to call them. The King led Jane to a table where wines and sweetmeats had been laid out. She noticed that he was limping slightly.
“You must try these,” he said, himself serving her with a plate of gilded shortbread. “They are delicious.” He handed it to her with a slight bow.
“I thank your Grace,” she said.
“In that gown, and being so fair, you are a perfect English rose,” he murmured. There was a pause, a heartbeat.
“Sir, you flatter me!” She felt herself blushing.
“To me you are fair—and beautiful.” He leaned in as he said it.
“Sir, it is well known that the Queen’s beauty eclipses that of all other ladies. I could not presume to compare with her.”
His smile vanished. “Jane, you have little idea of what makes a woman beautiful to men. It is not just a matter of face and form. If her heart is pure, it shines forth. If she be modest and virtuous, yet kindly withal, it is written in her face. But if she is shrewish, complaining and unkind, be she never so lovely, she cannot be beautiful.”
She was astounded at his candor, and did not know how to answer. She was aware of her brother Edward watching them with ill-concealed interest.
She was saved by the King’s sharp intake of breath. “Forgive me, Jane, I must sit down. This old wound in my leg is paining me. Do help yourself to some wine.” He bowed and left her, making slowly for his chair of estate on the dais. She curtseyed to his back, glad that he had not prolonged the conversation. She did not want people thinking that he was singling her out. She knew how fast gossip spread throughout the court.
But Thomas had noticed. “Good work, sister,” he murmured, as he sidled past her. She glared after him.
That evening, there was a feast in honor of the bishops, and afterward Anne’s ladies and some of the King’s gentlemen gathered in her chamber. Jane settled down to a game of cards with Margery, Thomas and a pleasant young knight, chestnut-haired and handsome, called Francis Weston, a great favorite of both the King and Queen. A man was sitting in the window, playing the virginals. Jane had seen him several times, when he had come from the King’s privy chamber to play for Anne. He was dark, like a gypsy, and always finely dressed for a humble musician; she thought him affected in his manner, as if he was trying too hard to ape his betters, but there could be no denying that he was gifted at music.
As Jane waited for Weston to lay down his cards, she noticed the musician’s eyes on the Queen; he seemed entranced by her. Clearly Anne was aware of it too, and none too pleased about it, for after a short while, she abruptly dismissed him.
“Smeaton is getting above himself,” Weston observed. “He thinks himself in love with the Queen. Of course, we all are, but she would never condescend to notice one so lowly.”
“He is insufferably proud,” Thomas snorted. “And he hates Norris.”
“Why?” Jane asked.
“Norris loves the Queen, always has,” Weston told her. Of course, it was no secret. “He’s going to marry Madge Shelton, but his heart isn’t in it.”
“Do you think the King knows how Norris feels about the Queen?” Jane wanted to know. She had seen Henry show warmth and affection to Norris, who was widely liked and respected.
“I doubt it! But”—he kept his voice low—“does the Queen love Norris?”
“No.” Jane was certain. “She loves to flirt with the gentlemen, but that’s as far as it goes. If she likes anyone, it is her brother.” Lord Rochford was a frequent visitor to the Queen’s chamber, and was jesting with her now. “They are very close.”
“But she loves the King more,” Weston told her.
“Of course,” she agreed. “Your turn, I think.”
* * *
—
The next day, the court rode out to the hunt, but the kill was interrupted by the arrival of a party of horsemen led by Master Cromwell. Jane watched as he dismounted and knelt before the King. As he spoke, Henry’s face darkened, and Anne, standing beside him in a green velvet riding habit, looked stricken.
Sir Francis Bryan came over to where Jane waited with some of the Queen’s attendants. “The Emperor has crushed the Turks,” he said. “They can no longer threaten the eastern reaches of the Empire. That means he is free to make war on England.”
The ladies gawped at each other, openmouthed. Jane felt a tremor of fear.
“Do you think it will come to war?” she asked.
“We must pray it will not,” Bryan said. “All England’s might could not resist the forces of the Emperor.”
* * *
—
The King and Queen put on brave faces. As the progress wended its way through Hampshire, they made merry and gave every appearance of being happy together.
At Portsmouth, the King took especial pride in reviewing his ships and ensuring that they were all fitted out for battle at sea.
Jane stood on the deck of the Mary Rose, watching him give orders for the reinforcement of her structure. She was a fine ship, well armed with cannon, and adorned with colorful banners that flapped in the wind. The King was in his element. While Anne was talking to the young Duke of Richmond, who was Lord High Admiral, Henry came over to the ladies and invited them to join him for a tour of the ship.
“Mistress Jane, we will lead,” he said, taking her hand. Jane was startled; she could sense the others’ eyes on her as the King escorted them across the decks and took them high up on the forecastle. She stru
ggled with her skirts on the narrow stairs, and tried to raise enthusiasm for the marvels that he was so enthusiastically pointing out; she was embarrassed at being singled out above the other ladies. Now tongues would wag.
As she stood at the bow, looking out on the harbor and the sea beyond, the King was suddenly beside her, leaning on the ledge.
“I love the sea,” he said. “It’s in my blood.”
“Your Grace has a fine navy,” she told him. If she kept him talking about ships, he might not progress to less welcome matters.
“I’ve built it up over many years,” he told her. “We’re an island nation, and our strength is in our sea power. This is the greatest navy England has ever had.” He turned to her. There was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes. “Jane, you must know that I would be your servant. Can we talk, properly, in private, rather than my contriving to speak to you when all eyes are upon me?”
What should she say to him? He had taken her unawares. Her mind raced. “Sir,” she said humbly, “forgive me, but it would not be proper for us to meet in private.”
“Then walk with me in the garden at Portchester tonight. Bring a maid with you and ask her to follow at a discreet distance. Tell her we are discussing your marriage, and that of your sister.”
How could she refuse him? He was the King. “Yes, Sir,” she said.
“Nine o’clock,” he told her, and turned back to the others. “Time to leave, ladies,” he called.
* * *
—
She realized she was on the brink of wading into deep water. She was tremulous, but resolved. If the King showed her favor, she would take it for an occasion to sue for kinder treatment for the true Queen and the Princess. But whatever he asked of her, she would not compromise her honor.
After supper, she beckoned to Anne Parr, and they slipped away, creeping through the old royal palace within Portchester Castle, and descending the spiral stairs to the bailey. Below the King’s windows in the great chamber range lay a garden, surrounded by a high hedge of box. Jane paused at the gate.
“Stay here,” she bade Anne. “If I call, come at once.”
She opened the gate, and there was the King, striding along the path between the flower beds.
“Jane!” he said, and executed a courtly bow as she made her obeisance. “Thank you for coming. You must think it bold of me to presume on your kindness, but since we talked at Wulfhall, I have not been able to banish you from my mind.” He reached for her hand.
“Sir,” she said, drawing it away and summoning up her courage, “I am sorry, but there cannot be more than friendship between us. Your Grace has a wife. I would not betray her.” She was not speaking of Anne, but he could not know that. She had barely given Anne a thought.
Henry looked distressed. “I no longer love her,” he said. “You know how she is. It’s like living in the midst of a tempest. In you, I find such quietness, such peace, that I think I am in Heaven.”
“But Sir, you hardly know me.”
His eyes were intent. “I know enough to be convinced that with you I could be a happy, contented man, at peace with myself. I no longer want a wife who flirts with others and mocks me in what passes for wit. I want a loving woman with an even and constant temper. I like your gentleness and I admire your virtue, for I know that neither is feigned. Anne is too bold; she must have her own way. I do not think you are like that, Jane. You are kind.”
“Sir, I do not know what to say to you,” Jane said, her mind reeling. “I would be a friend to you, of course. It is my duty and my pleasure. But I cannot be more.”
He seized both her hands before she could stop him, gripping them fiercely. “Help me, Jane! I have so many cares. The Emperor may invade us. If I am killed in a war, there will be no one to succeed me and defend this realm. England will be plunged into civil strife. I cannot sleep for thinking of it. And then there is Anne. It seems she cannot give me a son. Is God frowning on this marriage too? Two boys she’s lost. I am forty-four! I have no time to waste in hoping and praying.”
“I know that the Queen prays daily for a son,” Jane said. “It is her dearest wish, and she grieves for the loss of those babies as much as your Grace does.”
“Help me, Jane,” Henry pleaded, squeezing her hands.
She tried to pull away. “How can I help you?”
“Show me some kindness, I pray! Consent to be my acknowledged mistress.”
“Your leman, you mean!” She pulled away from him, shocked.
“No, sweet Jane! If you could love me in your heart, I would place you above all others and serve you only.”
“And what would the Queen say about that? My position would be untenable.”
Henry’s gaze hardened. “I hardly think that she, who pushed her own cousin in my path, could object.”
Jane drew her cloak more tightly around her. The night air was chilly. “Your Grace should know that she frets constantly lest you are unfaithful. If she encouraged Madge Shelton, it was because she knew that Madge would not intrigue against her.”
“But you would not do that either.” The pleading look was back in the King’s eyes.
“No, Sir. But I cannot be your mistress. I am sensible of the great honor you are doing me, but when I have a husband, I intend to go to him with my reputation unstained.”
“Jane!” Henry’s voice shook. To her amazement and horror, he sank, rather stiffly, to one knee. “I cannot let you go. See, I am beseeching you, not as your King, but as a humble suitor.”
She could not believe it. The King of England was abasing himself before her. She had not dreamed that his feelings for her went so deep. Or was it lust that drove him? She realized she knew too little of men.
“Sir, I beg of you, give me time to consider,” she gasped.
He stood up and clasped her hands again, gently this time. “Then I may hope?”
“I cannot say.” She lowered her eyes. “I should go, Sir. I might be missed.”
Henry extended a finger and tilted her chin upward. His eyes were tender, yearning. “Good night, then, sweet Jane. I pray you will think kindly on me.”
She curtseyed and hastened away.
“Well, are you to have a husband?” Anne Parr asked, following in her wake.
“I have no idea!” she answered.
* * *
—
At the Vyne, Sir William Sandys’s fine house in Hampshire, Jane did her best to avoid the King, but he sought her out quite openly, urging her to give him an answer. She feared she would soon be running out of reasons for not arriving at a decision. One day she hid from him in the antechamber to the chapel, but he came after her, so she stole into the chapel itself. It was dark in there, with long hangings covering the windows. The door opened, and Jane slipped behind the thick material, praying he could not see her.
“Jane?” he whispered. She said nothing. She did not want to be alone with him.
He pulled aside the hanging and light streamed in. “I knew you were here,” he said, grinning, and then he looked up and his smile faded. Jane turned and saw above her the most beautiful stained-glass image of a young woman kneeling. She drew in her breath. It was Queen Katherine.
Henry frowned. He pulled aside the next curtain, and there, behind the altar, was his younger self at prayer.
“What a glorious window that is, Sir,” Jane ventured.
Henry nodded. “I remember these being made. My sister Margaret is in the other one. I can see why Sandys did not want me to see them. He’s loyal, my Lord Chamberlain, there’s no doubt of it, but he’s also a connoisseur of art. It would break his heart to destroy this one.” He gestured at the figure of Katherine.
“Maybe it should be altered to look like the Queen,” she suggested.
“No, maybe it should not,” Henry said brusquely. “We will let Sir William keep
his hidden treasure. And now, Jane, will you walk with me in the gallery?”
* * *
—
Edward and Nan had ridden ahead to see that all was ready to receive the King at Elvetham. As the royal procession approached along the avenue through the hunting park, Jane took pleasure in the sight of the stately old house ahead of them, and again, family considerations warred with her conscience. They could have so much more if she consented to become the King’s mistress. She felt she owed that to them. But it would come at a price, and the price would be her honor. She was not rich; it was all she had. And Queen Katherine had been betrayed one time too many already. She knew what her decision must be.
After Edward had welcomed the King and Queen, and they had been taken to their lodging, he and Nan showed Jane and the rest of the family around the house. Nan, still bitter about being kept from the court, was diverting herself by carrying out extensive improvements. To hear her talk, everything at Wulfhall was outdated and undesirable, although she did not say so in as many words. Jane was angry, hurt on her parents’ behalf. They had welcomed Nan into their home, given her the finest it had to offer, and she was repaying them by belittling it all. Edward seemed unaware of the unfavorable comparisons that were being drawn. He too was eager to make Elvetham a show house, a place to which the King would want to return, and which would be the envy of neighbors for miles around.