by G Lawrence
As anger flooded through me, taking the place of my sorrow, I swore I would have revenge on the Cardinal for his words to me and for his insults against my family. How dare he insult my family, my… mother, so? I was so angry that I marched straight past Mary who was still waiting in the antechamber outside, and almost flew to our father’s chambers, half-wondering if I was to receive another barrage against my virtues and honour. But when I came to him, I found him in a surprisingly understanding mood.
“What went wrong?” our father asked of me when I entered. I shrugged my shoulders despondently and sat down without asking. Father was not angry at me, I could already tell, and I felt tired and old suddenly. I relayed all that Percy had said to me, and all the Cardinal had said also, feeling as though I were a soldier giving a report from the field of battle. My anger was subsiding, and in its place came a blankness of disappointment and shock. I almost wished I was angry again, for that would have been better than the emptiness I felt now.
“The Cardinal and the King knew of our engagement before Percy could ask his father’s permission… before Percy went to Wolsey even,” I continued with a sigh. “I know not why, exactly, but all were heartily against it. The Cardinal shouted at me, called me a commoner… and a whore. Percy has been scared into submission; he has the displeasure of the Cardinal and the King and his father to deal with. And you may incur some of that wrath also, father,” I looked over at him. “I swear, father, that I thought this was a deal done. I thought that it would not be hard to gain permission to marry, and that I should be joined happily and quickly to Percy, as you instructed me to try to do. I never thought that the King and Cardinal should get so involved in such a matter.”
“Yes,” my father mused, looking concerned. “It is strange that they should involve themselves so much in this matter. Less fitting marriages have been made before. But the Cardinal has no love for our family; he has in the past managed to remove honours and titles from me, and he took your brother from the King’s chambers once before, too… although it did the fat bat little good, for George is well-loved by the King and was brought back in time. He is suspicious of our leanings towards reform I believe, and that makes him afraid, as it does for many of the clergy who fear their power taken from them. He fears also that we are rising in the King’s estimations… Wolsey does not like others to threaten his influence.”
My father sighed, and looked at the fireplace, musing on his thoughts. “Northumberland holds power still in the north of England, in the very seat of Wolsey’s own archbishopric. Perhaps he saw the union of two houses he has cause to fear as something that could be dangerous to his position. The King is easily moved to anger when he believes his power is being undermined… I doubt not that Wolsey saw fit to paint this in the worst manner possible in order to rile Henry’s anger.” He sighed again. “I should have foreseen a danger such as this… I was foolish to not think on it when I gave you your instructions. From what I hear, the King heard of this first, and took the matter to Wolsey. Had we approached Henry first, then we might have won his support for a tale of two young people much in love, who wished to marry. The King is, after all, a sentimental man at times… but Wolsey… Wolsey will always think of Wolsey first, and he must have convinced the King this match was an affront to his dignity, enough so to cause furious anger. The King is not to be approached at the moment.”
My father stood up and walked to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. It was the closest thing to a gesture of comfort I had ever had from him. I looked at him in surprise, for I had expected anger at my failure to secure the match he wanted for me.
“No matter now what should have been seen and done, Anne, we must seek to limit the damage from this disastrous end. You are to be banished from court, the King orders it. You shall return to Hever until this matter cools. You will keep your mother company and we will weather this until it is forgotten and then I shall send for you to return. The Cardinal is our enemy in any case, daughter; he would never have been kind to you. His insults against you are insults against us, and will not be forgotten. That cow-herder’s son thinks that our lineage is not good enough! Hah!” He scowled. “There will come a day when he will regret all he has done against us. But in the meantime, you must disappear… We must not let this damage your sister’s relationship with the King.”
“No, father,” I sighed and rose to leave.
“How did the Cardinal and King find out?” my father asked as I turned to leave the room. “You said that they both knew of the match, even before Percy had spoken to him of it.”
I hesitated. “I know not, father,” I said. He grunted and I left the room.
But I did know, or at least I thought I knew… After all, I had only told two people besides our father of my engagement, and only one of them had the ear and other parts of the King to herself. But Mary could not have known that this would cause such trouble. Perhaps she thought she was laying the ground for my marriage to Percy, by telling Henry. But in actual fact, she had destroyed it.
I saw Mary before I left and she confessed that she had told the King.
“I thought as much,” I said dully.
“Anne!” she exclaimed. “I feel terrible! I have ruined everything for you!”
“Hush… You could not have known it would do this,” I assured her. I shivered a little. There was a still, ominous air all around the court, as though a storm were about to erupt. It was Henry’s great, foul temper. All who could were avoiding him, for his rage was such that it could alter the air of an entire building. Percy was gone already and I was banished. The word was all over court. People whispered of it everywhere. The Queen had sent a messenger to release me from my duties; she did not want to see me in my disgrace. But none knew why the King was so furious. Yes, we had presumed to talk of marriage, but it had gone no further… Henry seemed angrier about the matter than he should have been. Wolsey must have done his work well to make it seem as though Percy and I had challenged Henry’s power, in seeking to marry for love.
“The King is furious,” Mary said, her eyes wide and still surprised. “He will not see anyone.”
“Why should he be so?” I asked, puzzled. “I don’t understand… Why should he be so angry? We did but fall in love, and seek to marry…. But, Mary, listen to me, you must forget that I am your sister for a while and pretend that I don’t exist. Mention nothing of me, wear nothing like my clothing and be the opposite in all ways that you can think of; if he is displeased with Percy and me this much, then you must distance yourself from me as much as possible and hold on to your position. Do nothing and say nothing that might remind him that I am your sister. I do not want the King equating the two of us together and finding fault with you for it… Our father will be far angrier with me if you should fall from favour as a result of my disgrace.”
She nodded. “I am sorry for you, Anne. But I will do as you say.”
I shook my head and tears leapt back into my eyes. She reached out and held me. I cried into her velvet puffed shoulders, suddenly reminded of all that I had just lost and of the knowledge of the one truth that hurt the most.
“He wouldn’t fight for me,” I cried to her. “He wouldn’t fight for me, Mary. He believed, in truth, that I was not good enough for him.” I cried bitter tears into her fine gown. I knew that Percy had never truly loved me, for in love, one could never believe that the other was not worthy.
Chapter Seventeen
Hever Castle
1523
I returned to Hever, and to the arms of my mother. Hever was always at its most beautiful in the late summer, when the roses and the gillyflowers were in bloom. The parks and fields were lush and ready for riders and hunters to take enjoyment from them. But I must do so alone.
I was in disgrace; banished from court for daring to try to make my own marriage, for being too bold and too forward, as did not become a woman; for seeking to over-reach my station in life, and challenging the authority of the King himself. Percy
languished on his lands as I did on mine; too weak to fight for me, to cowardly to stand up to those men around him who controlled his money and his titles. My friends at court wrote to me, counselling me to be patient and to wait out this period of banishment. I was pleased to have their letters, for those pages made me feel a little less alone.
I walked with my mother in her rose gardens when she was strong enough. The illness she had contracted over the last winter had taken a great deal from her, but not her beauty. Although now she was as thin and fragile as a sheet of glass, she was still as lovely as ever before. But her beauty seemed strained and stretched. She was tired often and had to rest through long hours of the day. Our father visited home but rarely and saw her infrequently. I knew not why. Once I had thought that the love between my parents was strong and sure. Now I felt as though both my mother and I were somehow recovering from lost affairs of love together, in secluded Hever, amongst the gardens of roses and the long grassed fields of home.
She asked nothing of me until I was willing to tell her. Her soft ways were so opposite to mine that I wondered sometimes that I was her daughter. She waited where I would have demanded, and listened where I would have questioned. But she knew what I needed, and she was sensitive to all my changes in mood and feeling. My mother could have been the greatest statesman alive, had she been born a man rather than a woman.
“He just seemed so different to everyone else,” I said to her as we sat in the gardens.
“How so?” she asked softly.
“He was innocent and boyish,” I smiled sadly. “He hardly understood all the bawdy jests and mischief… he just seemed so...” I trailed off looking for an ending. “Different.” I said again, for once lost for words.
My mother played with the white rose bud in her hand; her newest creation. The beautiful white petals smelt so sweet and their innards were blushed with the faintest pink. My mother had started to breed her roses together, hoping one day to create a Tudor rose to present as a present to the King and Queen. It seemed for all her efforts that it was a thing impossible, although she spent much time trying.
“Was I a fool?” I asked.
“To hope that a man may be different to all the rest?” she laughed and shook her head. “That is what all women hope for, despite the lack of evidence.”
She seemed sad. Sad for me, and for herself, and still too ill to return to the court and the side of her husband. “I shall give you some advice, Anne,” she said, still looking at her flower. “The promises that a man or a woman give may be false or they may be true. None can ever know which until it is too late. There are ways that you may protect yourself from people but those methods and means will close your heart to love and that would be a great and terrible shame to your life. You must sometimes be made to feel a fool; you must be prepared to take a fall. But let not the risks deter you from the game itself. If you choose to close your heart and only work for that which may avail you of position and power, you will be a weaker person for it. It is the risks we take with our hearts and the risks we take with other people that make us stronger. A life with no risk taken, especially for love, is a life that is not worth living.”
She turned and smiled at me. “You were not a fool to take a risk, not if you believed in the love you felt. You would have been more fool to not try.” She scowled. “He is a fool for not fighting for your hand as a real man should have done.”
I laughed a short and bitter laugh. “I think that the boyishness I loved him for was perhaps too strong.”
My mother nodded. “Next time, Anne, be sure to risk your heart on a man, not a boy. Choose next time a true man, a man with courage, to risk your heart on, and I shall wish you all the joy that marriage is able to bring you.” She smiled; it was twisted. There was in that smile such remembrance of happiness and such bitterness of unhappiness that the smile knew not which way to turn. I almost burst into tears to see it upon my mother’s face.
“Mother,” I leaned forwards, clutching her sleeve. “Are you…” But she stood and gathered me up before I could say more.
“Come,” she said, all business now, like my father. The twisted look of sorrow was gone from her face, but I began to wonder. Had my father dallied with another woman? My mother seemed so sad… Was that the reason? Had she uncovered some infidelity?
“We must go and rally the kitchens or there will be nothing for dinner this evening.” She looked around and sniffed the fresh, clean air. “Perhaps tomorrow you should hunt,” she said. “Take the falcons out into the fields. It would be good to have some fresh meat on the table when your father and brother arrive tomorrow.”
“Father and George are coming?” I asked as we walked into the cobbled courtyard.
“Yes, they will be home for a few days in passing. The King’s progress route is to take him near to here and not all the court can fit in the small manors along the way.”
We said nothing more of the conversation and the next day when George and my father arrived, they brought news. Percy had been promised firmly to Mary Talbot, and they were to be married come the winter, once negotiations on the match were finalised. My father’s face was as stone with the disappointment that one of his daughters could have married into the grand family of the north and had failed to. I left my face clear and impassive. But inside me, a once bright and excited girl flung herself to the floor of my heart and died there. On my face, as I ate delicately, there was nothing to show that I had thought anything more of Percy than my father. I would reveal my pain to my mother, but I did not want to do the same for my father. He would have no patience with such emotions. My mother glanced at me with concern; she knew I was hiding my true feelings, and it troubled her, although I do not doubt she understood why.
“Next time, Anne, it will turn out better,” my father counselled. “And I do not blame you for this result. I realise that you did all you could to succeed and yet did nothing that should disgrace your family name or personal honour. This matter will be forgotten in time. The Cardinal sought to insult me, through you, and I listen to nothing that great ugly bat has to say. Your reputation at court will be restored. You did all you could, in line with my instructions, and when you return we shall continue on another path.”
“Yes, father,” I said with my eyes cast on my plate of stewed capon with plums. I had eaten little since I had come to Hever. All was as ash in my mouth.
It took a while for food to taste better. It took a while to stop dreaming of the life I would have had. It took a while for me to take an interest in the things that had fascinated me so before. But when I did heal, I took my mother’s advice to my heart and mingled it with the wise counsel that Marguerite had offered me so long ago. When I returned to court I should do so with my head held high. I was still Anne Boleyn. I still had pride in myself, despite the damage this affair had done to my heart, or the wounds it had inflicted on my faith in love.
Chapter Eighteen
Hever Castle
1523
Mary occasionally visited mother and me. She and Henry had often used near-by Penshurst Place as a meeting spot; away from the court, it was a goodly place for two lovers to meet. But with my disgrace, our father did not want the King coming too near our estates, where there was always a chance he might see me and grow angry at our family once more. So Mary came when Henry was away. She tried to coincide these trips with the King’s hunting visits to far-away parks or stated to him that she was visiting her sick mother. My name was still enough, apparently, to make him angry. Since Henry was on progress during the summer, visiting honoured courtiers, this light deception was easier.
On one of these visits, as the autumn came bringing golden days and chilly nights, my sister and I were sat together, sewing an altar cloth in the great hall near to the fire, when Mary whispered to me that she had a secret.
“Are you about to tell me then?” I asked waspishly. My time in the country was starting to tire me and my temper was often sharp these days.
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br /> “Only if you cease barking at me, Anne,” she said calmly with her eyes on her work. The altar cloth was complicated and I had been embroidering it for weeks as something to keep myself occupied. I sewed and rode and read here at Hever, but I had no one to talk with aside from my mother about the books I read, no one to share the joy of the hunt or ride with, no one to dance with me as we did in the Queen’s chambers or at court entertainments. Now that I had that company I had so longed for, I was being rude. Mary deserved better.
“I am sorry, sister,” I said with a sigh. “I was not made to be a country woman and it tires me, all this… doing nothing all day. Please tell me the secret you are hiding.”
“I shall not be able to hide it for much longer,” she giggled, one of her hands reached to stroke her belly in the protective gesture that is so easily recognised by women.
“It is the King’s?” I asked with my eyes as large as pewter serving plates. It should not have been a huge surprise that she should conceive, but it had been a long time that she had shared his bed without becoming with child. Mary had once told me that she understood the application of various herbs and plants to keep a babe from growing in a woman’s womb. I had wondered if she had continued using them in her affair with the King, perhaps not wanting to have a bastard child to foster on her husband. But if she had been using such, they had evidently failed. Mary did not look unhappy about it though; her face was flushed with pleasure to tell me.