One who did willingly accompany me, even riding with me in my litter, was my sister. I believed that Mary would be loyal to me, despite her occasional bouts of jealousy, and I thought she'd enjoy a reunion with her former lover, François.
"Will you be married in Calais, then?" Mary asked as the litter jolted along the muddy road. "I have heard such a rumor."
"No such plans have been made," I replied.
"Yet you travel like a queen," Mary said, "and live like a wife." She glanced at me and then looked away.
"Neither queen nor wife," I said with a sigh.
"Not like a wife?" Mary suppressed a laugh.
"I am still chaste," I said primly.
"You, Nan? Chaste?" This time Mary laughed aloud.
My temper flared. "You doubt me? I am still a virgin."
"King Henry has pursued you for six years, and you have not yet yielded your virtue? Nan, there is no one in all of Christendom who believes that!"
I began to utter a retort and then thought better of it. Why bother to argue? I'll never convince her.
Moodily I stared out at the long line of carts and horses plodding toward Dover. Mary reached over and laced her fingers through mine. "I have known Henry for a long time," she said. "And I can tell you what I am certain will spur him to action: if you were to conceive his son..." She squeezed my hand. "This may be your last card, Nan. Dare to play it"
Perhaps she is right, I thought. Suppose I were now to conceive a child—a son! But should I risk it? Hour after hour, day after day, I pondered the question: Should I? Do I dare?
ON THE ELEVENTH OF OCTOBER we set sail for Calais, a coastal town long held by the English but surrounded by France. Standing on the deck with the wind in my hair, I recalled the journey I'd made nineteen years earlier across this same water. It had been a dreadful, stormy trip, and I was a frightened little girl determined not to show her fear. Today the sky was blue, a stiff breeze filled the white sails of the Swallow, and the mighty king of England stood by my side. It was a relief to be leaving behind my enemies in England and sailing toward what I anticipated would be a generous welcome from the French. I felt myself at ease.
The king stepped behind me and held me fast against him so that I could feel the beating of his heart. For six years I had waited for the king to resolve his Great Matter and to make me his wife. For six years the situation had dragged on unresolved. If anything was going to change, then I must be the one to change it. If I begot a child, Henry would surely take the final step and marry me, regardless of the pope's ruling. I thought again of Mary's words: This may be your last card. Dare to play it.
Closing my eyes, I made my decision. I moved the king's hand to cover my breast.
That night in Calais, I welcomed King Henry into my bed for the first time.
FOR DAYS I WAITED restlessly in our lodgings while Henry met with François, first in Boulogne and then in Calais, where Henry ordered three thousand guns fired in honor of the French king.
I waited for Henry's return, and I waited for the invitations I expected from Queen Eleanor, the wife of François, and from the ladies of the French court, who were expected to entertain me. But no invitations came. There was no extravagant welcome for me, King Henry's intended bride. Nothing! I was spurned first by the queen and then by her ladies. There was not a single formal occasion at which I could make an impression with my fine wardrobe of new gowns and the royal jewels. And my sister was a witness to my humiliation.
"How can they do this to me?" I cried bitterly. "Surely the next queen of England does not deserve such rude treatment!"
Mary tried her best to comfort me. "Their behavior has nothing to do with you personally, Nan. To them you are merely a marchioness—and you will not be accorded the respect due a queen until you are one. Now come, let us gamble a little at cards to pass the time, until Henry comes back to you. And when he does come, do try to hide your hurt and resentment. It will only upset him."
I took what comfort I could from Mary's reasoning, but we both knew that Queen Eleanor was Catherine's niece—a fact that surely played a part in her rudeness.
And so, with little to do, I spent hours playing cards with my sister. Henry often paid my gambling debts. Now he would have to pay for both of us as we each won and lost small fortunes. And again I took Mary's advice and swallowed my wounded pride.
TOWARD THE END of our stay, Henry arranged A banquet in a hall hung with cloth of gold and gilded wreaths decorated with precious stones. Candles gleamed in twenty silver candelabra, and Henry, with my guidance, had ordered 170 dishes to be presented, half of them French and half English. I planned a masque at which I would make a grand entrance with seven ladies, all costumed in gold tissue and disguised with velvet masks. Each of us chose one of the Frenchmen as a partner; I made it a point to choose François. When the dancing had ended, the French king kissed my hand and paid me many flattering compliments.
Then he drew me aside, to speak with me in private. "Mademoiselle Anne," he said gravely, "you know that for several reasons I, as king of France, cannot approve of your proposed marriage to King Henry. The reasons, you understand, are not personal but diplomatic."
I nodded, not thinking it necessary to inform François that I had no need of his approval.
"Still," François continued, "as a personal matter, it pleases me to make you this small gift." He produced a pouch of embroidered silk and emptied the contents into my hand. A diamond as big as a walnut glittered in my palm. I guessed that Queen Eleanor knew nothing of this magnificent gift. My heart lifted.
I closed my fingers around the gem and held it to my breast. "I shall cherish it always, as I cherish your friendship," I said, and allowed François to escort me back to the gold-draped hall. King Henry rose to welcome me with a kiss, embracing me in front of everyone. Apparently he no longer cared what anyone thought.
The weather turned foul as we prepared to leave Calais, and for days it was impossible to set sail. It was mid-November when the king ordered his bed and trunks put aboard the Swallow; and we sailed for England. A Te Deum was sung at Saint Paul's Cathedral in thanksgiving for the king's safe return, but for once Henry was in no rush to be back at court. His love for me had blossomed anew, and he wanted my company and no other's. I returned his love in full measure.
The weeks passed happily for us both. Soon I observed certain telltale signs in my body. I prayed fervently that I was not mistaken. By Yuletide I was positive, but still I kept the secret to myself for a few days more. Then, at the New Year of 1533, my gift to the king was the greatest I could imagine: I knelt at his feet and whispered, "My lord and my love, I am carrying your child within my womb."
The king bowed his head and wept for joy.
Henry's gift to me a few days later were these thrilling words: "I have arranged all, dearest Anne. Before the month is over, we shall be married. But it must be in secret."
ON THE COLD NIGHT of the twenty-fifth of January, the wind howled and moaned around the walls of Whitehall, rattling the windows of my chamber. Gowned in black silk and wrapped in the ermine-trimmed crimson mande, I waited and paced fretfully.
Only loyal Nell waited with me. In another chamber of the palace my mother and father also waited, as did my brother. We had agreed that my sister-in-law, Jane, who was notoriously loose-tongued, would know nothing of this, nor would my sister, Mary.
This was hardly the kind of wedding I had dreamed of for so long, but secrecy was necessary if we were to outmaneuver the pope. Our friend, Thomas Cranmer, was soon to be named archbishop of Canterbury by Pope Clement. As archbishop, Cranmer would have the power to declare Henry's marriage to Catherine invalid. But if the pope learned first of this secret ceremony, he would surely cancel Cranmer's appointment, Henry's marriage to Catherine would stand, and the child I carried would be born illegitimate. Another bastard.
The door swung open, startling me even though I'd expected it. There stood King Henry, accompanied only by Will Brereton a
nd a single manservant carrying a torch. The king leaned on a golden walking stick. He looked weary.
"Come," said the king, reaching for my hand.
Wordlessly the king lead me through the dark passageways, lit only by the smoking torch. Along the way, Brereton paused at a door and knocked. My parents and brother emerged and joined our silent procession.
Climbing a narrow twisting stairway, we arrived in a chamber above the Holbein Gate. Tapestries had been hung over the windows; Will Brereton and George set about lighting the candles in two large gold candelabra on a long table. From the shadows stepped a man garbed in priest's vestments; he was a stranger to me.
"I trust you have the pope's license?" the priest asked King Henry.
"Do you think I would proceed if I did not?" the king demanded haughtily. "I did not think it necessary to show it, and there is not time now to return for it. Let us proceed."
It was only a half-truth; the license the king had from Pope Clement would become valid only when the previous marriage was annulled. That had not yet happened. We were taking a great risk.
The priest looked to me for confirmation. "It is not for you to question the king," I said.
"Begin the ceremony," the king gruffly ordered the priest and again seized my hand.
Once we had exchanged our vows and the priest had pronounced the blessing, the candles were quickly extinguished, and we stole back to our separate apartments as silently as we had come. We wore no rings and agreed to tell no one what we had done. We parted without even a kiss. In this manner I became the wife of King Henry VIII.
At first it didn't seem real. As the night wore on and dawn spread slowly across the sky, I lay in my cold bed with Nell asleep by my side and marveled at what had happened: I had gambled, and I had won. I was married to the king of England and pregnant with his child. My coronation as queen of England in a few months would be followed in due course by the birth of the king's son, a future king. I had done it! I had done it all! A part of me wanted to fling open the windows and shout the glorious news for all the kingdom—no, all the world—to hear: I am the queen!
But I did no such thing, for a worm of doubt still burrowed deep in my heart and gnawed at my happiness. I reached over and shook Nell awake. "What is it, mistress?" she asked sleepily.
"There is still much that can go wrong, Nell," I whispered urgently. "I have the king's love. But can I win the people's love as well? I carry the king's child in my womb. But is it the son he wants and needs? Tell me what you think!"
"I know not the answers, mistress," she murmured drowsily. "Only God knows. You must have faith."
"I cannot rest easy until I have achieved all!" I said, but Nell was already drifting off again, and I was alone.
CHAPTER 15
"The Most Happy" 1533
The secret of my pregnancy proved difficult to keep, in part due to Henry himself. His enthusiasm caused him to drop broad hints to his courtiers, calling attention to my swelling bosom and belly even before my condition might have become evident. Soon everyone was speculating.
"Cranmer has been consecrated archbishop of Canterbury, so the pope is no longer a threat," I reminded Henry. "My lord, you must make public that I am now the queen."
"In good time, sweetheart," he said, "in good time." And I had to be content with that.
Then Henry dispatched the dukes of Norfolk and of Suffolk (my uncle and Henry's brother-in-law, Charles Brandon) to call upon Catherine in her remote manor house, informing her that King Henry was no longer her husband and she was no longer queen. I was present when the men returned with Catherine's reply.
"I have no choice but to disobey my sage and holy husband," she'd said. "I am still the queen. There is no other." Then, the dukes reported, she'd shown them her servants' new livery, embroidered with her initial entwined with the king's.
My hatred of the old queen grew fiercer. Why would she not let go? "She does it for Lady Mary's sake," said the duchess of Norfolk, an explanation that infuriated me.
"Then I shall make a servant of Lady Mary," I threatened, adding, "and I shall marry her to some varlet."
I would have done so, had the king not always taken the part of his daughter. I understood well that Mary was a danger to my position, as well as to that of the child I carried, and would remain a danger for as long as she lived and could inherit the throne. Only now do I understand that my treatment of Mary was another serious error.
TOWARD THE END OF LENT, Henry drew me onto his knee and said, "The time is right. Beginning on Easter Eve, you shall be addressed as 'Queen Anne.'"
Joyfully, I embraced the king, thanked him with kisses, and immediately began to plan my appearance at the festal Mass in the chapel royal.
On the Saturday night that ended Passiontide, trumpets blew a royal fanfare, and I made my entrance accompanied by a suite of sixty ladies who had suddenly declared themselves to be my supporters. I was garbed in a white gown with sleeves lined in crimson satin and a new mande of cloth of gold. All the important nobles were present. The new archbishop, Thomas Cranmer, called for the worshipers to pray for "beloved Queen Anne," and as I made my way down the aisle of the chapel, everyone bowed low. Whether they liked it or not, I was their queen.
Whitsunday, the seventh Sunday after Easter, was chosen as my coronation day. Seven weeks was not much time to prepare for an event of such importance. But there was good reason for haste; our child was expected in September, and for the infant's sake as well as for mine, we could delay the arduous ceremonies no longer.
Yet there was so much to do: My coronation gown had to be fashioned to conceal my growing belly, my golden throne to be built and the cloth of estate designed to hang above it, my crown to be created by the royal goldsmiths and jewelers. Jousts had to be arranged, banquets planned, guests invited. All of this involved great expense, but many people balked at turning over the taxes needed to pay for such a large celebration; the king had to order them to do so. Resentment swelled among our subjects. I was determined to ignore the complainers and their complaints—another error.
I devised an emblem, a crowned white falcon on a bed of red and white roses, and chose a motto to be embroidered on my blue and purple livery: La Plus Heureuse—"The Most Happy."
But the motto was a lie. I was far from happy. Once my marriage was made public, I was no longer simply Lady Anne, no longer the marchioness, and I could no longer be ignored. I was now the queen, the highest-ranking woman in the land. No one, save the king, was my equal. Every knee had to bend to me; everyone had to look up to me. At last I had achieved what I'd always wanted, but I was more alone and solitary than ever.
I could no longer even enjoy the attentions of the gentlemen of the court. There were scarcely any women with whom I might share a walk in the garden or a lighthearted conversation over a goblet of ale. Had it not been for the simple kindnesses of dear Nell, my maidservant, I would not have had the pleasure of any female discourse at all. So, although I had reached my goal of becoming queen, I recognized that I was losing the last of my support.
Even my family seemed to resent my new position. My father, required by royal custom to kneel in my presence, scarcely bothered to conceal his vexation. "Such ambition in a woman is unseemly," said he, the most ambitious of men! My mother frowned and looked uncomfortable in my presence. My sister behaved correctly, kneeling at my feet as I had long ago told her she would do, but I could sense her jealousy seething beneath the surface: I deserved this more than you.
Only George was unfailingly good-humored, immediately dropping to one knee whenever he visited my chambers, and my response to him was cheerful: I laughed, raised him up, and embraced him. I neither expected nor received any warmth from Lady Rochford.
Many in the kingdom remained stubbornly loyal to the old queen and to the former princess. At first, their feelings scarcely troubled me. Once I had provided them with the heir to the throne that they had longed for since the coronation of their young king, Henry VII
I, nearly twenty-five years before, I would be welcomed into the hearts of even my most reluctant subjects.
Still, it was painful to learn that I was called the Great Whore by some of my enemies, a witch by others. Their slanders became louder and more vicious as coronation day drew closer.
"You must demand that these lies stop," I insisted, weeping angry tears. Henry sent out orders forbidding anyone to speak ill of me and offered rewards to those who would come forward to denounce anyone who did. He commanded the clergy to pray for me by name, but many persisted in praying instead for Queen Catherine and Princess Mary. Nothing helped. The people hated me, and their ill will ate steadily at my soul.
JUST DAYS BEFORE my coronation, Archbishop Cranmer finally declared Henry's marriage to Catherine null. An official decree declared Mary illegitimate and therefore unfit to inherit the throne. The last obstacle was gone. I was dizzy with relief.
Accompanied by my ladies of the court, I rode upriver from Greenwich to the Tower of London. The royal barge, painted in my colors of blue and purple and bearing my falcon emblem, was escorted by hundreds of small boats decorated with flowers and silk streamers and carrying musicians playing merry tunes. Cannons boomed a deafening welcome as I stepped ashore at Tower Wharf. Henry waited in my newly prepared chambers in the Tower. By tradition, the king would observe all of the coronation ceremonies in secret. I knew he hated that tradition—it was his nature to be at the center of everything.
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