by G Lawrence
I found myself heavy with grief that summer, not only for the loss of Claude, but for what I saw happening to France, the country I still thought of with great affection. In some ways I felt as though I had in fact been born in France, and brought to England. I did not resent England now, and I loved my position at court, my friends, my family… But still within me there was a great affection for France and her people. It was dear to me.
In August, the Duke of Suffolk led twelve thousand English men into Calais on Henry’s command, set to march upon Paris. It was rumoured in England that the French people themselves were calling out for the English King to invade; the high taxes that François had imposed upon his people to finance his invasion of Italy were not popular, it was true. But I doubted whether it was true that the people of France called out “Long live the King of England,” as we were told they did. It was a truth not often acknowledged that our King was a master of rumour and myth… Often what he wanted to believe became as a truth told to his people. Knowing the great pride of the French, I could not see that they would welcome an invading force landing on their shores to take their own country from them. But I, like all others, marvelled at the news when it was relayed to me; for a good servant of the King of England must at least appear to believe all that he wished us to believe.
As autumn turned to winter, the newly elected Pope, once Giulio de Medici, now Clement VII, sent secret messages to François, saying that he wished to give his support to the French invasion of Italy, and free the papacy from the domination of the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles of Spain. Wolsey was most upset to learn that he had not been considered for the Papal Throne… it was of some satisfaction to me to see the dark face of the Cardinal as he wandered the halls of court. And, as the frosts of early autumn sparkled white on the banks and knolls of England, the French moved into Italy, seeking to take Naples and Pavia.
Although war was raging about us, we seemed most removed from all of this in England. Only the information whispered about court and that our father gleaned through his many contacts in the courts of Europe allowed us to know all that was going on. But despite my fears for France, for Marguerite and for François, there were other things to occupy my thoughts that autumn, such as the marriage of my brother, George.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Great Hallingbury, Essex
1524
George married Jane Parker in November, at the church of St Giles at Great Hallingbury in Essex. The church was near to the estates of Jane’s father where we celebrated afterwards. And a great bargain George made of the marriage bed too! Jane brought her husband fabulous riches, partly supplemented by the King himself. In addition to Jane’s dowry, George was granted the manor of Grimston in Norfolk, a healthy increase on the income he already received from the King, and a position as one of Henry’s cupbearers. George had made a fine match with Jane, although he always seemed to be in debt. My brother was a great spender; clothes, hunting hawks, dogs, horses, and losses from the many wagers he made all meant he regularly overstretched his income.
George had a good position at court, although about a year later, he was to lose his position in the King’s Privy Chamber, as one of the King’s many chosen companions, due to what became known as the Eltham Ordinances; a series of reductions in court placements put forward by Cardinal Wolsey. Their aim, officially, was to reduce the cost on the King’s purse… but we all knew the true aim of the slippery Cardinal was to reduce the influence of others on the King. Wolsey wanted Henry for himself, and did not want others to influence his decisions.
At the time of George’s wedding however, we did not know this was to come. George seemed pleased with the match. He had known for some time that Jane was intended for him; she was beautiful, came with great estates and was from a fertile family. He could settle into breeding with her to get his heirs, and continue on with the mistresses he had at court; such is the married life of men.
But as Mary and I sat near each other at the wedding feast, it seemed that my sister had seen something of Jane that she found off-putting. As I was spooning flaked carp in white sauce onto my plate, Mary leaned close to me and whispered that she thought Jane looked like a snake.
“With those hooded eyes…” Mary said, a succulent strip of rabbit meat and purple carrot balanced on her jewelled knife. She looked at Jane and our brother at the head of the feast, laughing with the King. Henry had not only paid for some of Jane’s dowry, but had come to the wedding feast. We were most honoured by our sovereign.
“Yes,” I agreed. “I have little found ways to know her spirit in truth. She is not unpleasant company but I feel a little uneasy with her. I think her the type of woman who prefers the company of men over women.”
Mary snorted in amused agreement, and turned the indelicate noise into a short cough, as people looked around. “She is the type of woman who sees competition everywhere,” she whispered. “George will have to watch out.”
“What do you mean?”
“That woman is too… heated for him,” Mary said. “You can almost see the vapours coming off of her… She wants him so much, too much. She might think it is love, but it is not. It is possession. It is obsession… not love. He will never want her as she wants him and she is a jealous woman. She will not be pleased if George does not remain faithful. She will give him hell when she finds he loves her not. You mark my words. If he strays from her bed…” she popped the flesh of the rabbit into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, her pretty lips moving up and down.
“Which he will, of course,” chimed in Will Carey, who had evidently been listening from Mary’s side. Mary lightly chafed him with her knife for eavesdropping, but it was playful. She smiled at him and he grinned wickedly at her.
“A marriage is better made when both parties accept the realities of life and are content with what each may offer the other. Whether it be love, wealth, titles or company in dotage,” Will said in a low voice which did not carry past our ears. “But pure fantasy will never make a happy marriage, as George and his new lady are sure to find out soon enough, no doubt to their great unhappiness. She will love him to death. She will suffocate him, and he will flee from her as a man from a burning building.”
Will looked at Mary and smiled; there was not a hint of rancour in it. Both she and I knew that he was talking of himself and Mary when he spoke of finding happiness in what each may offer the other in marriage. It amazed me that a couple such as they could still find happiness and satisfaction in each other, although he knew, accepted and profited by her unfaithfulness to their marriage bed. Mary and Will were fond of each other, but they accepted their match for what it was. It was a bizarre arrangement, in many ways, but it worked for them. I smiled at Will, thinking that my brother-in-law was a man of great and hidden depths.
I raised my cup of good wine and around the table others did the same. “To happiness in marriage!” I cried. The others about the table echoed my words and we drank to the newly married pair. In my heart, I drank also to the marriage of my sister; such a marriage was not for me, I knew, but it was a pretty thing none the less, when two people are able to understand each other so well.
A cheer rose around the table and George and Jane raised their silver goblets. On Jane’s face, however, there was a flicker of slight annoyance that her new and handsome husband’s attention should have been diverted suddenly. Her expression turned easily back to a smile as George looked at her with somewhat wine-soaked affection, and I mused on what Mary and Will had said, wondering if my brother would find anything like the happiness they had in their marriage, in his own.
As I mused, I became aware that Henry, the King, was watching me. As I caught his eye, I saw such an expression of pain on his face that I almost started to my feet to help him, thinking that somehow, he must be hurt. But then, I realised that the pain was one that I had caused him, in the contemplation of what would have made his own marriage to Katherine a happier one. There was an empty space where his wife
should have sat, for she was apparently unwell and had not joined the Boleyn celebrations. But as I saw that expression pass over his face, I knew that Henry was thinking of his own marriage… and perhaps on the sorrow of not having a male heir. This lack marred all other pleasures and joys he had in Katherine as a wife.
Later there was dancing. I loved to dance and had drunk deep of the ready wine, which only encouraged me to dance all the more. I was partnered by Tom, Henry Norris, Nicolas Carew, the ever-naughty Francis Bryan, and my brother George. It seemed everyone wanted to dance with me that night! Then Henry, who had danced first with Jane as the honoured bride and then with my sister, came to my side. He bowed to me and took my hand for the pavanne. There was no resisting the King’s will when he wished to dance. It was an honour, but I was suitably taken aback. I had never been chosen as his partner before, perhaps because he tended to dance with my sister. Henry’s dancing was polished and elegant and as we danced I watched others fall back to watch us, both in sycophantic admiration and in real awe. He was a gifted and beautiful dancer and although his frame was larger now than when I had first seen him, when I was a child, he was still slim and powerful. He was graceful in the dance despite his great height and size. Such a king was our Henry of England. There were no other princes like he.
As the dance continued, Henry spoke softly to me. “I have long waited to partner you, Mistress Boleyn,” he said gently.
“Your Majesty did not have to wait to ask,” I replied raising my lashes playfully at him and smiling, feeling a little heated with the wine and the closeness of his company. “I am your subject and must obey.”
“In all things… Anne?” he asked; there were little lights of desire in his eyes. I started to breathe quickly and not because of the exertion of the dance. The way he was looking at me… I had seen that look before, when first I was presented to him at court. But there seemed to be something else within his gaze now, something of a determination, something of a challenge.
“In all things… Saving the preservation of my own soul and honour, Your Majesty,” I said carefully, feeling his interest in me keen, and his eyes roam upon my body. I could feel, too, the eyes of the wedding party upon us, my sister’s and father’s eyes included. I suddenly regretted the flirtatious manner in which I had spoken to him before. I little wanted to look like I was seeking to draw the King’s attention away from my own sister.
He smiled at me. “I would not want you to dance with me only because I ordered you to, as your King,” he murmured softly. “I would wish that you, perhaps, wanted to dance with me.”
“Your Majesty is a fine dancer,” I smiled cagily. “Any woman should wish to dance with you.”
“But you are not just any woman, Anne…” He gripped my hand tightly as he turned my body smoothly into his waiting arms in the dance. “You are not like other women at all.” His voice was soft, breathing upon my cheek closely as he turned me once more to dance from his embrace.
I flushed. “I hope I have not displeased Your Majesty,” I said haltingly. I slid free from his arms and clapped my hands, then moved once more close to him, for the moves of the dance dictated such. His blue eyes were soft as they looked on my face, and he smiled at me.
“I do not think that would be possible.” He took my hand as we bowed to the last notes of the dance.
Henry returned me to my seat and left with a bow. I felt all in the room watching me, and I turned my eyes to the floor as I sipped my wine, but I could feel them still. Margaret and Bridget were smiling at me, noting how I was favoured by the King. There was my sister’s surprise and slight hurt, my brother’s admiration, speculation from my father and other courtiers, and from behind me, there was an icy chill. It was as though a ghost were standing right behind me. I shivered and turned to see my new sister looking at me; her hooded green eyes were frozen on me and carried all the warmth of a hard frost. Suddenly, she smiled as she saw my face turn to her; a stretched and false smile that spread over her face with the greatest of ease, as though she had been practising it for so long that it was all she knew of happiness.
She raised her goblet to me and I did the same to her, but in my heart I knew, that Jane Boleyn meant me no good that day. She did not like anyone else given attention. She did not like to see me honoured by the King. I shivered. Jane was a strange creature indeed, I thought, and now, she was a part of our family.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The English Court
1524 -1525
After George’s wedding we returned to court. The court was always on the move, and the constant stream of packing, moving and preparing chambers in each new palace was something that I was used to by this time. It had been much the same in Burgundy and France, although the French palaces had seemed to withstand a volume of courtiers and court hangers-on that the smaller English palaces could not. The huge numbers of people at court made huge amounts of mess, and after a while, even those who were not fastidious in their personal ablutions were forced to admit that the palaces of the court stunk. As the court moved from one palace to another, the previous palace underwent a thorough cleansing, readying it for another assault later in the year.
This perpetual need for cleansing, along with Henry’s need for continual amusement, meant that we were always on the move. This was especially so during the summer months when the hunting was good and the heat made the palaces smell even more pungent. The King would usually go on a progress through his country, to visit with honoured courtiers and to allow his people to see him. It was important that the people see their King, and to remember his greatness and generosity. But before the days of the summer progress, the court was generally to be found in one or other of the many palaces near London, along the River Thames. In the winter we moved less regularly, mainly because the weather was cooler and the various smells the court created and maintained were lessened. But still, some movement between palaces was always required, no matter the season.
Sorrow came to Bridget that year, when her husband, Richard died, leaving her with seven living children to tend to alone. She returned to court to her duties to Katherine not long after Richard was laid to rest, and I consoled her as best I could.
“Think on your children now,” I said to her; Bridget would not be able to support them alone, her dower was not enough. “You must marry again, to ensure their future,” I pulled her to me and embraced her. “Choose a man of the court, so that you might stay near to those who love you, we will support you through this.”
She nodded to me. “I believe you are right, Anne,” she sighed. “Although I do not have a care to marry again in truth. Richard was a good husband, and a good father. It makes my heart ache to think of lying with another man. But my children need a father, and I need the protection of a husband… I cannot support them on the meagre allowance of my dower.”
She married later that year, with Sir Harvey of Ickworth. He was a good man, and he treated her well. My dear fertile Bridget went on to have another six children with her second husband over the years. She seemed made to be a mother!
I had returned to my duties at Queen Katherine’s side, and returned to my friends at court. I was feeling quite comfortable within the court, and finding in the routine of my days, some comfort in knowing that I was now, perhaps, a part of the court in truth. But even as I felt more at home in England, there was news that came from France that brought sorrow to me. The war between the alliance of Spain and England against France brought me little joy. I thought of my beloved France with a heavy heart when I heard news and dispatches. I could not show my sorrow to anyone, of course… It was hardly done for one to feel sorrow for the enemies of one’s country, after all. But within a secret chamber of my heart, there was much sorrow for the troubles that my countrymen brought to a place and a people that I still considered my own.
Late that winter, the English troops marched on Paris, aiming to take the capital as their own, but they were let down by the Duc de Bourbon, who had
turned traitor to his master, François. Bourbon had promised reinforcements for the English, but he was forced to flee, and could not fulfil his promises. The English, facing a terrible and hard winter, retreated to Flanders, their spirit much broken. It was a terrible embarrassment for Henry. The Duke of Suffolk, who led Henry’s armies, sent many dispatches pleading with the King that it was Bourbon’s failure, rather than his own that had led to this military disgrace. Fortunately for Suffolk, Henry held his brother-in-law in such high regard that he accepted his pleas and did not hold the Duke responsible for England’s exclusion from military glory.
In February of 1525, the French were holding the city of Pavia in Italy when the Emperor’s army moved in. Under the cover of a stormy, dark night, the Imperial troops wore white shirts over their armour to distinguish themselves from the French forces. The white-shirted Imperial army burst into the Chateau of Mirabello, set on taking the French King himself prisoner, but François was that night stationed away from the castle. François went out to meet the Emperor’s forces with his English ally, and Henry’s foe, Richard de la Pole. Some saw de la Pole, “The Last White Rose”, as a contender for the English throne for his Yorkist blood.