by G Lawrence
Katherine seemed old beyond her thirty-seven years; weariness and unhappiness lined her face. Once she had been a pretty girl, I knew from portraits I had seen, and from my memories of her as the new bride of the King on the day we had seen their coronation procession. But that was long ago. Her figure was ruined by constant and unsuccessful child bearing, her waist was thick, and her lemon-shaped face, with its wide top and little chin, was fattened, but, somehow drawn at the same time. Katherine’s once-auburn hair was now streaked here and there with little strands of grey. Her skin was still fair and clear, but thick circles of darkness lay under her eyes and an intrusive smell came wafting from her body that was not pleasant. I was fastidious in cleansing my body with herbs and sweet rose-waters, taking lozenges of mint and lemon balm to sweeten my breath and changing my undergarments regularly, as benefited a lady of my standing. I also used perfumes and sprinkled rose-water to infuse scent into my linen underclothes; I liked to have sweet smells around me. I had difficulties not wrinkling my nose at the Queen as the sour smell, not quite hidden by the heavy musk of rose perfume that she wore, crept up my nose and stuck at the back of my throat. But I had been trained well to mask my true feelings behind a courtly demeanour, and I gave no sign that the smell of my Queen and new mistress offended me.
I was told later, by Jane Parker, my brother’s future bride, who was also in Katherine’s service, that the smell came about because Katherine wore a hair shirt at certain times as a mark of her piety under her fine clothes. It was something that monks and nuns often wore to suffer for the glory of God, but many people of religious piety wore them too. The coarse shirt rubbed against her skin, causing irritation and sweating. Often this assault on the flesh also caused ruptured skin and pustules to develop. Nobles washed their hands and faces with regularity, and changed undergarments daily to prevent unpleasant odours that could lead to sickness, but full bathing was infrequent, especially in the months of winter, due to the risks of illness it could bring. The hair shirts Katherine wore therefore constantly rubbed corrupted cloth against her body. This caused her to smell, even though she used perfumed oils liberally in an effort to mask the scent of corrupted flesh which drifted about her. It was something the King abhorred, Mary told me later, and whenever Katherine took to a period of wearing one of these shirts, Henry would not deign to visit her bed. I could understand why.
Katherine greeted me with a small nod of her head. She welcomed me to court and enquired as to the health of my mother.
“My mother is in excellent health, Your Majesty,” I replied, with another small bow. “And she sends her love and best wishes to you. She is most grateful, as am I, that you, in your graciousness, have offered me a place within your household. I hope that I can meet both your expectations of me, and hers, whilst in Your Majesty’s service.”
The Queen nodded at me with gentle approval. At her side she kept a little beast; a tiny ape, with a jewelled collar of diamonds and rubies bound around its neck. At first it seemed fine to me that such an exotic creature, brought from the new lands being discovered so far away, should rest quietly by her side, but as I watched it, the creature began to rock gently backwards and forwards, pulling at the patchy hair on its scaly arms. Its eyes were both flat and wild, seeming to hold something akin to madness under the dull sheen of its gaze. It plucked at its own hair, ripping it from its skin as it rocked.
Katherine noticed me looking at her pet and smiled. “He is a capuchin,” she said to me in her heavily accented voice, “named for an order of monks of Italy; they say that when he moves in this way, he is seeking to pray as the monks do. He is a holy creature, given to the mortification of the flesh, just as the monks are…. Although animals do not have souls as we children of God do, still we see within beasts such as this the wonder and glory of the hand of God. He reaches even to these beasts, and makes them copy the movements of the holy men. I keep him at my side, to remind me of the ever-reaching power of our Lord. He touches even the barren minds of such creatures as these, and so His power is as wondrous as it is unlimited.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said, agreeing with my new mistress, as I must. But in the ape’s dark eyes I saw no holiness. I saw dead desperation. I saw the places where the heavy jewelled collar had rubbed and stripped the wretched creature’s hair and skin, leaving scabby, flaking flesh. Like its mistress, its flesh was tortured and like its mistress, the creature smelt. I discovered later that the ape had a habit of rubbing its own piss on its body. Katherine fed it sugared treats which made its waste sticky. Its hair often stood up in little spiky tufts. All it seemed to do was glare balefully at the world around it and rock. It was often a duty of the Queen’s maids to watch over the creature, but I would not touch it unless Katherine handed it directly to me. I thought it was a foul little beast, but more than anything else, the creature made me sad. I preferred the company of my dogs and hawks; at least they could join me in the freedom of the open air.
Katherine went over my duties with me, and admonished me to be ever humble and chaste in my behaviour at court. Having been a servant to two great queens already, I knew well the sermon given to new ladies at court. The Queen wanted her women to be virtuous, graceful and interesting, since their reputations reflected on hers. I agreed with all that was said to me; assuring the Queen that I was, by nature, a good servant and a lady of virtue. There was no sign on her face that she did not believe me, but I was sure that she was wondering on the truth of my words, given the reputation of my sister, and that of my brother, at court. Although he was young, George was a favourite with the ladies at court, and had already made a name for himself. It might have seemed impossible, to a woman as obsessed with virtue as Katherine, that the third sibling of the somewhat notorious Boleyn family could possibly hold her virtue in high enough regard as to be yet still a virgin, as I was.
Katherine’s dark eyes were kind, but she had a distant and slightly irritating air about her; that of someone who has known great sadness and wishes all about her to know that too. She was kind, softly spoken and would be a gentle mistress to me, but I found her self-pity cloying even then. Katherine had suffered, it was true; she had brought many children into the world, and lost all of them but one; her daughter, the Princess Mary. Such suffering is to be lamented, but people who wear their suffering outwardly as though it were a cloak are often tiring to deal with. There are many who know suffering in this life and yet manage to wake each day with a sense of merriment in their souls. There are those who become wise for the trials they have known. And then there are those who have known sadness and wish everyone to pity them for it. Even in this brief meeting with Katherine, I understood that she was one of those. I also understood quite clearly why the King should wish to tarry well and often with my sweet and merry sister. Coming from Katherine’s chambers to the arms of my happy and ever-positive sister must have been like walking from a charnel house into the fresh air of spring. No wonder then that Mary had done so well as the King’s mistress; she was a balm of happiness to Katherine’s cloying self-pity.
Katherine was regal, yet polite to me. She loved my mother well, she told me, and my sister was a good maid to her also. I tried not to smile at the irony of hearing my sister described as a maid as Katherine continued with her speech of welcome.
I agreed to be a true and honest servant, to be virtuous in my manner and apparel; to be loyal to God, the King and my new mistress. I was sworn into her service, and then I left her presence when bidden.
I had entered the service of the Queen Katherine of England. I was now a part of the English Court.
Chapter Six
Greenwich Palace
1522
After I had been at the English Court for a few weeks, it was announced that the Cardinal Wolsey was to put on a diversion to welcome Spain’s ambassadors to court. The Queen herself recommended me for a place in the entertainment, which must have meant that I had made an impression over the short time I had been in her service. I
was a good maid of honour. I had served three queens now and I knew how to act; humble and modest and useful, talented, efficient and interesting, graceful and helpful. I was amongst the best of her servants and she knew it well.
But it was primarily for my dancing skills that I was chosen for this entertainment. Katherine was most often given to passing the time with her ladies in her chambers by reading from the Bible in Latin, or embroidering cloths for altars as she sewed shirts for her husband. Still, there were times when we ladies would dance with each other in the Queen’s chambers. Katherine was not opposed to the dance, although she tended to prefer to dance with her ladies in private rather than before the court; even then, she was a little portly to be too energetic in the dance. Katherine had admired my talents in the dance, and had complimented me on my fine form and grace.
“You hold yourself like a fine swan gliding on water, Mistress Boleyn,” she had complimented me after one such dance in her chambers. I smiled and curtseyed to her, accepting the rather lovely accolade with happiness.
Since the Cardinal’s entertainment was to end with a dance, it would do honour to Katherine’s name to have her best dancers shown before the court, and so I was picked.
The entertainment was to be a pageant about the cruelty of love. Ladies, such as me, were to play the roles of feminine virtues. My sister was to be Kindness. Beauty was to be played by my old mistress Mary Tudor, Dowager Queen of France and now Duchess of Suffolk. I was chosen to take the role of Perseverance. There were others; Jane Parker for instance was to play the role of Constancy and the Countess of Devonshire was Honour. In all, there were eight virtues, each played by a lady of the court. We were to be guarded in a wonderful construction, a wooden castle, by the vices of femininity; by Strangeness, Unkindness, Scorn, Danger, Disdain, Jealousy, Gossip and Sharp-Tongue all of whom were to be played by boys from the Chapel Royal, dressed up as women. Armed with weapons of petals and sugared plums, the vices were to keep us virtues prisoners in their castle.
We were to be rescued by the Knights of Love who would command the vices to release us virtues, and vanquish the unkind aspects of the feminine with their masculine ardour. When they had defeated the vices, the knights would escape with the virtues as the prizes of true love. Then there would be a performance of dancing for the ambassadors, which would lead on to an evening of dancing for the whole court. It was a simple idea really, and not a new one. I had appeared in such entertainments as these in France, and had seen the same ideas performed in Burgundy many years ago. But I was learning that the English Court sought to ape its cousins across the waters… England was a few years behind them in thought and ideas. But even though it was not an entirely original idea, it was still a courtly entertainment, and a chance to engage in dancing, which I had missed. Dancing with other women in the chambers of the Queen was well enough, but there are dances that require the strength of a man to lift and skip his partner through some of the more complicated steps. This would also be a chance to demonstrate my talents to the court, and to be noticed within the constant clamour of anonymous courtiers. If I was to advance at court I needed to be noticed.
Ambassadors of the Emperor Charles V of Spain had come to make a new alliance with England. Their talks, many also whispered, would include the betrothal of the King’s daughter, Princess Mary, to the Emperor. The Spanish and the English were to be united against France now. The dealings of kings and countries were as changeable as the English weather, I thought dryly.
This alliance against France was not to my liking. I considered myself as French as I was English, but it would not do to say things like that here. I must bite my tongue and laugh at jests about the French. They were no longer my countrymen; I was English now and must remember that. It made me sad, but I could not show my true feelings. Katherine was overjoyed about the new alliance, or as overjoyed as she could show outwardly. She was not a woman much given to spontaneous outbursts of happiness, preferring to set an example to her ladies and maintain a demeanour of quiet calm. But all about court knew that she was happy to find her husband’s interests once more aligned with her nephew, Charles of Spain, and I think the idea of marrying her precious daughter back into the house of her birth was also a great pleasure to her.
The Princess Mary was six years old when I joined the English Court, but her household was usually kept at royal residences such as Eltham Palace, away from the main body of the court. This was in part to protect the King’s only heir from the ill airs of London, but also from the court itself. She was a precocious child, so I heard, having delighted French ambassadors when she was four with a spectacular performance on the virginals, and already learning with great fluency French, Spanish, Latin and even some Greek. Although she was not the son for whom our sovereign longed, her father the King loved her greatly, saying that “this girl never cries,” for whenever she was brought to him she was ever a merry little girl, which pleased him greatly. The Princess was a pretty child, and she was a great prize in the games of marriage in the courts of Europe. As it stood then, as she was Henry’s only legitimate heir, it was supposed that if Katherine bore no son, that whomsoever came to be Mary’s husband would also one day become the King of England.
This was something that concerned many people greatly, not least the King himself. However proud he was of his little daughter, he wanted a son to follow him on the throne of England. But, as yet, a male heir had been denied to Henry and Katherine. They had once had a son, the little Prince who had died in his golden cradle when I was just a girl. Then, the royal couple only seemed to be granted babes brought dead from Katherine’s womb until the Princess was born. All of England had rejoiced at her birth, but even so, she was a girl and not the longed-for boy. Since Mary’s birth, there had been a few more pregnancies, but all had ended in miscarriage or stillbirth. It was generally believed that it would take the direct intervention of God to bring a living child from Katherine’s worn womb. People feared that should no living son come to the royal couple, that England would be ruled by a woman in the future; this would not do, since women were held to be weaker and less able than men. The other possibility was that the Princess’ eventual husband would become King. If that happened, then England could come to be ruled by a King of another land… something that brought great fear to the proud hearts of the people of England. The succession was a trouble to the minds of many, not the least of them the King himself. All watched Katherine and hoped that God would yet perform a miracle for England. But God, it seemed, was not inclined to act for the royal couple on the English throne.
But such thoughts were only on the horizon of my world then. These matters were weighty indeed, but I believed I should have little to do with them. How little one ever knows of the path of one’s life… Who knew that the first strides upon the path I would one day walk were already in place, even then?
I was starting to enjoy the English Court. There were still many things that pained me about England; the weather was still atrocious and the freezing winds that crept through the palaces were like ghosts that snuck upon you, reminding you of the chill of death as they swept through clothes and up undergarments. There had been little of the outside entertainments of hunting or hawking that I enjoyed, mainly because I had been busy with the Queen and her pleasures were more cerebral than physical, but also, because the accursed mists of the winter would not abate long enough, it seemed, to see a beast to hunt in the parks used by the court.
But I had a few friends now at court, and the worries that had beset me about not finding friends I could love, or company I could endure, were abating. I mostly kept the company of Margaret Wyatt, and a lady named Bridget Wingfield, another neighbour of my family, originally of Stone Castle in Kent, and now married to Sir Richard Wingfield. Both were ladies in the Queen’s household, and so we saw each other often. Bridget was a few years older than me, and had been another of the young nobles that Mary and George and I had been introduced to as children. We spent much time
reminiscing on those days! Bridget had been married for some years, and had given birth to many children; almost one a year since her marriage. Although she had a full and bonny figure, as befits a mother of seven, her continual childbearing did not seem to tire her or fade her good looks. She loved her many children and spent much time flitting backwards and forwards from her family estates to court in order to spend time with them. Although she was in truth only a few years older than me, perhaps in being a mother, she seemed to adopt her friends as her own children as well. She was, I have to admit, the best peacemaker in our group. Whenever there was a problem, sending merry Bridget into the fray would always ensure that each combatant was admonished as though they were chicks to her mother-hen. But despite all this motherliness, she was also still a most attractive, and pleasant companion with a beautiful voice.
Margaret was quick and clever, with a humour much like her brother’s. She wrote poetry, like him, and loved him a great deal. She, too, had a fine voice, and we often wiled away time together by singing, or arranging the poetry of Tom or George to song. When Bridget joined us, we three could sing together well in harmony, and I started to think on times when we might convince the Queen to allow us to perform for the court. I was sure that we would make a fine impression on the ears of those about us.