Doomed Queen Anne

by Carolyn Meyer

  "But you are right, Your Majesty," I assured him, concealing my deep concerns, "and the queen is wrong. Her Majesty may argue all she pleases, but in the end the pope will surely accept your reasoning, and Queen Catherine will be forced to accept his judgment."

  My calming words eventually restored the king to good temper, he called for more oysters, and so the evening ended peacefully. But worse news was soon to follow: Emperor Charles had ordered the sack of Rome, and Pope Clement had fled into exile. For the time being, the pope could do nothing for the king. But neither could the cardinal do anything about Princess Renée.

  THROUGH ALL OF THIS, I was challenged to continue to play my role as maid of honor to the queen. I was constantly in Catherine's presence. She didn't send me away, as well she might have. How odd it seemed—my days were spent in the company of the queen and my nights in the company of the king, her husband. I was a player in two different masques and lived constantly with the fear that I would make a misstep with one or the other. The fear disturbed my rest. I worried that lack of sleep would take its toll on my appearance, although Nell reassured me that I had lost none of my allure.

  One day in early summer, the queen summoned me to a card game, as she sometimes did. On that occasion I was unusually lucky. Perhaps it is a sign, I thought, as I discarded two of the last three cards in my hand and prepared to sweep up my winnings.

  The queen said tardy, "So, Lady Anne, you have discarded the valet and the chevalier but not the king! You continue to hold him fast in your hand. You will, it seems, have all!" She rose abruptly, nearly knocking over the table, and all of us leaped to our feet as well. "You are dismissed, Lady Anne," she said.

  I was still the queen's subject, bound to obey her. I felt the blood rush to my face as I knelt and then left the queen's chamber in haste.

  AS SUMMER APPROACHED, I decided that the wisest course was to retire once again to my family's home at Hever—the better to tantalize the king with my absence and the better to avoid the queen's icy stares. The night before the king and queen were to leave on summer progress, King Henry appeared in my apartments, seeming even more agitated than usual. I wondered if he had received more unwelcome news.

  For an hour or more he paced restlessly. He called for oysters but didn't eat them. He called for ale but didn't drink it. He talked about the progress on which he would depart in the morning, the noble families he would visit, the hunting he looked forward to. I listened quietly and waited, concealing my own agitation.

  Suddenly he stopped his pacing and gazed at me. He looked pale, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. Is he ill? I wondered. And then he dropped to his knees and knelt before me. I stifled a cry, for I had seen the king kneel only before God's altar in the chapel royal.

  "Marry me, dearest Anne!" he cried, as though his heart would burst. "Promise that you will be my wife!"

  I caught my breath, feeling light-headed. It is happening, I thought, just as I had hoped! I, too, fell to my knees. "Unworthy as I am, Your Majesty, I could ask for nothing more than to be your devoted wife," I told him. As we knelt together and King Henry's kisses covered my face, I exulted: I shall be the king's wife!

  Later, when the king had gone and I was alone, I began to dance. Around my chamber I danced my joy, leaping and gliding, inventing my own steps to the thrilling music that sang in my mind and my heart: I shall be queen! I shall be the king's wife, and I shall be queen!

  CHAPTER 9

  Engagement 1527–1528

  I shall need additional moneys," I informed my father soon after my return to Hever in July. "The king has proposed marriage." I waited to see what effect my announcement would have.

  Thomas Boleyn glanced up from a letter he was writing and frowned at me. "It is a poor jest that you make, daughter."

  "It is no jest, Father. King Henry wishes me to become his wife. I must dress the part."

  "It is common knowledge that the king intends to set aside the queen," he said, eyebrows raised in doubt. "What makes you think that he means to have you as his wife?"

  "I am certain of it," I replied proudly. I showed him a bracelet fashioned of gold with the king's likeness set in a medallion. "A gift from the king," I said, "delivered by the king's messenger this very day. And this, as well." I handed him a letter.

  I and my heart put ourselves in your hands, the letter began, in French, and continued with many loving words. Since I cannot be with you in person, I send you the nearest thing possible, my likeness set in a bracelet, wishing myself in its place. This from the hand of your loyal servant, H. Rex

  What a pleasure, to have the upper hand in the presence of my usually scornful father! "Plainly, King Henry cannot approach you to arrange a betrothal so long as his marriage to Queen Catherine is valid," I said. "But that matter will soon be finished."

  My father leaned on his elbows, making an arch of his fingers. "I have also heard, on good authority, that the pope is in no position to grant the nullity."

  "Must you always think the worst?" I asked im-patiently. "Surely you know that the king has sent Chancellor Wolsey with a retinue numbering more than a thousand to Calais. He intends to bring about peace between France and the emperor, and so restore Pope Clement to his rightful place. Then the king's annulment will proceed without further hindrance." I jingled the bracelet. "And now," I continued, "I wish to send the king a token."

  The next day my father delivered another sack of coins to me.

  I had already described the design to the royal goldsmith: a little ship made of pure gold, with the tiny figure of a woman standing on the deck, the whole to be set with a large diamond. "With all haste," I told the smith, counting out the coins.

  Within a fortnight the small treasure was finished. Recalling my childhood voyage to Calais, I sent it to the king along with this brief message: How like this maiden I am, tossed about by stormy seas, at the mercy of fate and Your Majesty's will.

  Soon I had from the king a letter expressing pleasure and thanks for my gift and enclosing another token, a love knot wrought of gold. While the king's letters were always filled with deep yearning (Consider well, my dearest love, how greatly my absence from you grieves me....), I took care in my replies to reveal far less of my heart. The king must not be allowed to become too sure of my love, lest he tire of a prize too easily won.

  The ardent letters and the king's gifts continued to arrive throughout the summer. Would you were in my arms or I in yours, for I think it long since I kissed you, he wrote, and then described to me a hart he'd killed while out that day with his hunting party. He signed his letter, by the hand of him who shortly shall be yours. H.R.

  WITH THE COMING of autumn, I sensed a change, although my daily life proceeded as before. The king returned from his hunting progress, and my mother and I took up our residence once more at Greenwich Palace. I resumed my service as maid of honor to the queen, who pretended that I did not exist. The ladies of the court stopped talking when I entered, staring at me and making no effort to conceal their contempt. At banquets in the Great Hall, Queen Catherine took her customary place by the king's side, smiling graciously as though nothing in her royal world had been shaken. But beneath the courtly behavior, tumultuous feelings seethed.

  Then Wolsey returned from Calais. I could well imagine the anger—the fury!—that would overtake the cardinal when he learned of the king's decision to make me his wife.

  I employed sweet reason to keep at bay the king's desire, which had grown even stronger during our separation. "Soon we shall be man and wife," I told him. "Our marriage bed will be blessed, I promise you, and you will father many sons. But we must wait. I say this not from a selfish need to protect my reputation but from the need to protect the future of the throne. Would you risk having another bastard son, Your Majesty?"

  "Ah, sweetheart, you are right," the king agreed reluctantly.

  I smiled at him winsomely. "Our day will come, my lord," I said. "And our nights as well."

  In
fact, I no longer had even a shred of reputation to protect. King Henry made no secret of his passion for me, and the entire court believed I had long since become his mistress.

  Among the many gifts the king lavished upon me was a handsome gray palfrey with an elegant saddle and finely wrought trappings. There was also a beautiful falcon with an exquisitely embroidered leather glove, upon which the bird had been trained to perch, and a soft hood to cover her until she was ready to hunt. I was eager to try out my pretty little merlin. But on my first invitation to hunt with the king, I showed that I was not skilled at hawking, and King Henry proved an impatient tutor.

  "Princess Mary hunts exceptionally well," he informed me. "Perhaps I should have my daughter instruct you in the fine art of falconry.

  I was incensed by his remark. Without thinking, I snapped, "Perhaps I should then instruct your daughter the princess in ways to enchant a French suitor."

  I was horrified at my own bold words, but there was no way to call them back. The king seemed stunned that anyone dared to speak to him in such a manner. We stared at each other, and my mind raced in search of a proper sort of apology. But the king burst into laughter so hearty that the rest of the hunting party turned to see the cause of the merriment.

  "My sweetheart is as high-spirited as her palfrey!" he roared. "A tongue as sharp as a rapier is a fine weapon for a lady, provided she does not draw more blood than she intends!"

  I smiled. Clearly, the king enjoyed my quick wit, but I resolved that I must keep it in careful check, as I did the little palfrey.

  I LOOKED FORWARD eagerly to the coming Yuletide season. My father, observing the esteem in which the king now held me—esteem that reflected well upon Thomas Boleyn—saw to it that I had all the moneys I needed to order the wardrobe necessary to my new and more public role: a gown of tawny velvet trimmed with black lambs' fur, another of russet silk, two in black velvet, one in white satin with crimson sleeves, a robe of purple cloth of gold lined with silver, thirteen kirtles, eight embroidered nightgowns, three cloaks furred with miniver, and two dozen pairs of black velvet slippers.

  In acknowledgment of my place as the most important lady at court—save for the queen—and in the king's heart, my father presented me with a lovely jewel, the letter B set with diamonds, to wear upon a ribbon about my neck. I recognized that my father intended the jewel to be a reminder to King Henry of the notability of the Boleyn family. My father was using the king's obvious love for me as a way to increase his own power and influence.

  Yet in the midst of all the attention being paid to me in that first autumn of King Henry's open courtship, I was often unbearably lonely. There was no one with whom I could share the simple pleasures of my new life. When I was not in the king's company, I was alone, except for occasional visits from George. No matter where I went, all talk ceased and all eyes turned to glare at me. I had the king's love. But at the Yuletide banquets Catherine still sat by his side on the royal dais. Princess Mary, who'd been moved from distant Ludlow Castle to Richmond Palace, west of London, shot me hateful looks. Everyone at court had heard that the king intended to leave his wife and marry me. And they despised me for it.

  The ladies who sat with their needlework also embroidered their stories about me. The card players placed bets that I would not stay long in the king's favor. They whispered about the blemish upon my neck and the budding sixth finger. The ladies—including my sister-in-law, Jane Boleyn—spoke to me only when compelled by the customs of the court.

  It was a different story with the gentlemen. They were drawn by my dark looks, my witty conversation, my laughter, the hint of danger and enticement that clung to me like an exotic perfume. They hovered about me, vying for my attention, but I trusted these gentlemen no more than I trusted their wives.

  Yet whom could I trust? My family was loyal to me, certainly, tied by bonds of blood, but, with the exception of my brother, George, I felt close to none of them. My sister was jealous of me; my mother advised me not to make too much of the king's attentions; my father only wanted to use me for his own gains and seemed to dislike me. The answer, always, was that I was truly alone.

  KING HENRY SENT ME a handsome ruby ring, but there was no invitation to join him and the queen and the princess and his court favorites for the exchange of gifts on New Year's Day. I knew the reason—my presence would have offended his wife and daughter—and I resented it.

  "Never again!" I cried angrily to my mother. "Never again will the old queen occupy what the king means to be my place!"

  "Perhaps you are wrong about that, dear Nan," my mother replied in her mild voice. "The king may speak of his love for you, but it is still Queen Catherine who sits beside him."

  "What can I do? The king promises that he will soon be free to marry, but—"

  "But," my mother interrupted, "perhaps you are asking for too much. You already have the king's favor."

  I took from my mother the book she'd been reading, closed it, and laid it aside. Then I knelt at her feet and clasped her two hands in mine. "What is it that you suggest, Mother?" I asked.

  She stared down at our joined hands. "Become the king's mistress," she said softly. "As your sister once did. Is it not better to know that you have the king's ardent love, and to setde for that, than to risk losing all by continuing to refuse what he asks of you?"

  I let go her hands and rose to my feet. "I shall have all," I stated flatly.

  "Then it is all or nothing?"

  "It is not a question of 'all or nothing,' Mother. I mean to have all."

  THROUGHOUT THE WINTER, I waited. King Henry continued to visit my apartments as frequently as ever and to flatter me with gifts, including an emerald ring and a love knot cunningly set with diamonds and rubies. In February my father was made an earl by the king, and thus my mother became a countess. Both were quite pleased by their higher standing at court.

  And still I waited.

  On May Day the members of the court gathered on Shooter's Hill, near Greenwich Palace. A rustic banqueting chamber had been erected, the walls covered with flowers and sweet-smelling herbs. The king, disguised as Robin Hood, arrived in the company of two hundred archers dressed in green velvet. When the banqueting had ended, "Robin Hood" summoned the master of the hounds, who presented me with a pair of excellent greyhounds, to be taken on the summer hunting progress.

  A week later King Henry called me to his privy chamber. He had good news: The pope, who had managed to escape from captivity, had granted authority to Cardinal Wolsey and an Italian cardinal, Campeggio, to hear arguments and to make a judgment concerning the king's marriage. The king was elated, confident that the judgment would go in his favor.

  "It is not too soon to begin planning our wedding, sweetheart," he said. This was the first time he had used the word wedding "I expect to have the nullity granted in a matter of weeks, and then we shall be wed."

  Like any happy young bride, I rushed to tell my mother. She was delighted to help me with designs for what I determined would be an occasion of unrivaled magnificence. The only event I could imagine that would surpass my wedding would be my coronation as queen.

  CHAPTER 10

  Fatal Illness 1528–1529

  The king was wrong. The weeks passed with no encouraging word of an annulment; Cardinal Campeggio seemed in no hurry to make the journey from Rome. Then we received frightening news that eclipsed all other concerns: An outbreak of the sweating sickness was sweeping through London. Many had died.

  Dr. Butts, the royal physician, first raised the alarm. "The sweating sickness has scourged London three times in the past," he reminded us, "each time claiming more lives than the time before."

  As our awareness grew of the rapid advance of this terrible illness, our fear grew as well. The sweating sickness had no cure. It struck down its victims with awful swiftness, taking the lives of the strong, the youthful, and the hale, leaving behind the weak, the old, and the sickly, as though they were beneath the notice of the Angel of Death
. Few would be left to tend the dying and dispose of the dead. But London, a city of seventy thousand souls, was a few miles upriver from Greenwich. Perhaps, I thought, the scourge would pass us by. It did not.

  "It is the punishment for our sins!" cried Nell, rushing into my apartments with the news: Several servants in the king's scullery, one of the royal apothecaries, four or five of the attendants in the king's chambers, and Nell's own sister had been stricken with the sweats. "Mistress, they are already dead!" she wailed.

  "And the king?" I asked, trying to rise but already faint with dread.

  Nell shook her head, burst into tears, and fled. I hastened after her, not knowing if her sobs meant that the king, too, had been stricken.

  My flight was intercepted by my brother, George. "Come, Nan," he said, seizing my hand, which was cold and trembling. "Let us return to your apartments. I have a letter for you from the king."

  He called for a servant to fetch us wine. There was no response. The servants had all disappeared. "What is happening?" I said, weeping. "Where is the king?"

  "He has gone to his manor house in Essex,"

  George replied, "in order to escape the poisonous vapors."

  "The king is gone?" I asked, my lips quivering.

  "He is the king, and he must preserve his own life before any of ours. Surely you understand that, Nan?"

  "Yes, I understand," I murmured. But if he truly loves me, why did he leave me? Why did he not take me with him?

  I broke the seal on the king's letter. The writing was not in King Henry's own hand but that of another; the letter was merely a list of precautions to be taken if one hoped to escape the illness. The king had ordered that live coals be kept burning in braziers in every chamber, and vinegar sprinkled about liberally. We were advised to eat and drink sparingly, to avoid the company of large numbers of people, and to try not to give way to fear. At the end the king had added his own scrawl, "Be of good comfort, cherished sweetheart. H.R."