The Lady Anne

by G Lawrence

  “Your Majesty, your wife I cannot be, for you have a wife already and I am unworthy to hold such a title in any case. Your mistress I will not be. I cannot be mistress to any man, not even to you. I prize my honour, and myself, too highly to allow such.”

  The colour in his cheeks rose and I trembled despite the heat of the sun in the gardens. I was afraid. I had spoken boldly, perhaps too boldly to a prince so used to getting his own way. But I could not, I would not, occupy the warm space in the bed that Mary would leave when she ceased to be his royal mistress. I would not squander all my hopes for marriage and for virtue on this fancy of the King’s. In no time he would move on to another, and I would be left with a screaming bastard or two; a broken hearted and discarded whore. I could not give him what he wanted of me, no matter how tempting the offer was to those secret parts of me that called out for him.

  God help me… I did desire him just as he desired me, but I could not allow that to vanquish all of my beliefs, all that I had held dear in my life.

  “And this… is your answer?” he asked, not looking at me but at the roses. His face was petulant, like a child denied his favourite toy.

  “It is, Your Majesty,” I nodded, feeling most unhappy and worried. “But I beg you that your displeasure should fall not on my family who are very guiltless of anything but love towards Your Majesty, and if your displeasure should fall on anyone, then let it be only on me.”

  Henry sighed and laughed shortly. There was little humour in it. “I know not what stories you have heard, Mistress Boleyn,” he said. “But I am no satyr or tyrant who would punish you or your family for what you have said to me here. I asked you to speak with honesty and you have; not many would have spoken to me thus. I respect you for it, even if I like it not.” He sighed again. “My life is ever-surrounded by people who would only tell me that which they think will please me. You are very different to them.”

  I knew not whether this was a good thing or no.

  “But I shall not give up,” he said raising his blue eyes to my dark ones. “I cannot give up. You are the mistress of my heart if not the mistress of my body.” I went to speak again, but he stopped my words, holding up his hand. “It is not your choice, Anne,” he said. “I cannot help this desire I have for you, this love I hold for you. I am yours, if you would have me and perhaps, when I am worthy of your love, then your heart will open to mine. Before that time, if I needs must, I shall be your knight and you my mistress without the touch of pleasure to accompany that office. If you would have me as your knight of courtly love, then I am yours.”

  I stepped back from him. “I do not think that you are unworthy of me, sire, and if you were to take the place of my admirer in the offices of courtly love, I should be most honoured.” I said gently, smiling, feeling a little relieved. It would be an honour to have the King as my knight. As long as he did not want anything more from me, then I would remain safe. “Perhaps, if I explain something to you, then you will understand my heart better… When I was a girl,” I said carefully, “I was in service to the Archduchess Margaret at the Court of Burgundy. I was sent there to learn my lessons most carefully and I feared each day that I should be sent away from such a brilliant court for my own ignorance and gracelessness.”

  I smiled and Henry and I stepped into walking the paths together. It was far easier to distract him in conversation as we walked; to steer him from the intimate gestures that he made towards me if I was still.

  “There came a day when there was a visit from a foreign prince.” I smiled at him, teasing him with my words. “The Prince was handsome and young, his clothes shone with rich jewels and his hair was the colour of the sun itself.” I watched him as some anger crossed his face at the idea of this prince I had so admired. Henry did not realize I was talking of him. “He came to stay with the Archduchess as he was winning wars in France…?” I continued with a light and teasing note to my voice that he picked up on. Suddenly he realised I was talking of him. Henry beamed at me, happy again now that he understood he was being flattered.

  Henry was ever a little childlike. I think that was one of the things I came to love him for, and later, to fear. He had an innocence about him, much like that of Henry Percy, which I found appealing, and a petulance which came from ever and always having his own way. Somehow it blended admirably, in those early days, with his masculine appeal; it made him fell less of a threat to me. The fears which I carried with me from France never truly abated, but with a handsome man who seemed in many ways to be a young child at heart, I found some balm for those worries. Of course later, it was that petulance, that insistence in having his own way that would cause many trials and troubles… but that was how he was. That is how he has always been. Then, I loved him for it.

  “On the day you arrived, I and the other maids were watching secretly from a window. I had never heard anything as wonderful as your great laugh, and seen nothing so wonderful as you with your arm around the shoulders of a friend. You were so easy in your friendship, so charming in your power. There was never anyone so handsome or admirable. But then! Ah! We were heard as we chattered and giggled at that window and away we flew with our hearts pounding.” I laughed. “We were all so afraid to be caught by the Archduchess spying on your arrival and that we should be sent away… We flew like falcons to her chambers, where we should have been sewing all along like good maids!”

  I laughed again, remembering my great fear. Henry let out his great laugh and clapped his thigh; he loved to be amused. I looked at him with great gentleness in my eyes, for these moments of privacy with him were precious. I felt like I was with the friend I had always longed for, this great man whom I so desired and who desired me. The gardens were sweet with the sun and the flowers’ scents and his company by my side was the best that I had known.

  He was looking at me now with a strange, fogged expression in his eyes, as though he was trying to remember something. He shook his head in wonder. “You… you were Margaret’s little songbird,” he said quietly, and I nodded.

  “Your Majesty,” I went on, “I was that day assured that there was no other king or prince in all the world as great as you. I have met other kings and princes since and not found anything or anyone to alter that opinion formed when I was but a girl. If there were any temptation that God could put before me to challenge my vow of chastity until marriage, if there were any temptation stronger than you… then I know not what it could be.”

  I bowed again, trembling both with desire and fear. “It is not, then, that my heart is not yours, or that you are not worthy of my love, that holds me back from you.” I explained. “It is that I can enter into no honourable state with you. That is the reason I refuse your offer. That is the only reason why I cannot be, as you wish me to be, with you…”

  He looked at me with narrowed eyes and then reached out for me. His eyes smouldered and his lips vaguely murmured my name as he reached to take me into his embrace. He grabbed at my arm, but I pulled it free. I stepped back again, and curtseyed to him, then I turned and almost ran to the house before he could say aught. I knew that if I stayed then he would have tried to kiss me again, and more. My words of refusal, containing as they did, words of love, seemed only to encourage him to try and hold me. If I stayed, then there was no knowing what might happen. What I said was true; he was the greatest temptation I had ever faced in my life.

  I looked back as I reached the house and saw him standing, staring after me with the mixture of emotions on his face that I was getting used to seeing when he looked at me; anger, desire, softness and irritation… all bound up with confusion. I felt my heart go to him for I felt much the same way about him. This mixture of ambiguous feelings was forever in my heart when I saw or talked with him and I almost choked on the pity that rose in my chest for Henry. I understood his confusion and pain better than anyone. I longed to be with him, too, but could not be.

  As I walked into the house, and up to my chamber, I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.
Oh yes, I knew I had long held feelings within my heart for the King of England. I knew that I had admired Henry, long and often. Known that I was attracted to him, and that I also held other, deeper feelings for him… But I had never admitted such out loud. In speaking of my feeling for him, to him, I felt as though something I had carried for a long time had been released within me. I felt as though a hawk soared in my heart, its wings beating to its pounding pulse. At the same time, I felt scared, scared to have revealed such emotion to him. What could possibly come of this? He wanted more from me than I was prepared to give, and even though he said he would be but my courtly admirer, I knew not if such a state would remain pleasing to him.

  When I looked into my polished mirror that evening, I saw the same expression on my face that I had seen on Henry’s; a mixture of excitement, pain and confusion that I could not reconcile any more than he could. One phrase kept echoing over and over in my mind…

  The King loves you, Anne Boleyn… Henry loves you…

  Chapter Thirty

  Penshurst Place

  1525

  That night, as the dusky skies turned from orange-pink to cobalt blue, we rode with Henry’s riding party to Penshurst to take part in a grand celebration. Our horses clattered up the cobbles towards the grand house and in that great hall, overwhelmed by the magnificently carved high timber ceiling, we feasted and drank merrily.

  My body and mind were on fire with the events of the afternoon and my skin felt heated where Henry had touched me. There was a small bruise appearing on my wrist where he had grasped at me; although it hurt, I was glad of it, for it proved to me that I had not imagined the whole thing. The King of England had professed his love for me that day and sworn to be my knight even if I would not have him as a lover! I was a giddy girl that night; suffused with the excitement of his passion and the overwhelming feeling thronging in my blood that I too loved him. God’s Blood! I did love him! I loved his handsome face, his short beard and his knightly form. I loved the sharp blue of his eyes, and the way my skin tingled when he looked on me. I loved the small crease of a frown in between his eyebrows, and the way he spoke of books with such warmth and love. He was intelligent, kind, and somewhat childlike in his enthusiasm and his feelings. His boyishness endeared him to me, much as it had done with Percy, but here was no witless worm pretending to be a man… here was a man! A knight, a king… the most glorious jouster and ruler in living memory… the most powerful man in England… And he was in love with me! He wanted me, desired me, longed for me. It was almost too much to imagine.

  I had never felt like this before and I was both enamoured of the feeling, and scared by the force of it on my body and mind. It was as though all these years I had held this feeling back within my heart, never allowing it to be free… but now, it was. Like a lion let loose of a cage, it roamed through my blood and through my bone. I was flighty. I felt quite unlike myself. I felt wild. I felt free.

  At the dance I could not go near him. I could not stay away. I was trapped near him by my station, by my honour and my feelings. I drank deeply of the wine, thinking it might free my mind of the questions that beset me, but it only fired my passion for him.

  We danced together that evening, me with my heart in my mouth as I stepped the delicate steps of the bear dance feeling his hot hands on mine and seeing the grace with which he moved before me. As we came together in the dance he whispered to me. “Lady, you torment me...”

  We swept apart and came together for another pass, and he again whispered, “I still know not where we stand, Anne.” But I kept silent. I knew not what to say. The Queen had joined her husband for the evening’s entertainments and we were dancing in front of her. Also Mary and Will were amongst the newly arrived party that evening. I had never felt more sinful than I did now!

  The air was heavy with the fresh sweat of the dancers, with the deep sound of the tabor and the silky smoothness of the lute, with the scents of the feast now done and eaten and with the crushed herbs that he and I danced upon, our feet releasing sweet perfumes each time we turned and trampled them beneath our feet. All I could hear was the sound of his breathing. All I could feel were his hands on mine, and the heat and desire of his body. It felt as though all others in the room must be able to see and hear each of these intense sensations too, so keen and sharp were they to me. I did not answer him because I did not trust myself to. I cautioned myself to dance, just dance, Anne, as though you are naught but a lady of the court, favoured for a brief moment by the King. But I was haunted by the idea that everyone could read on my face the revelations I had found within myself that day…. That I loved him… I loved him… Oh, dearest God in heaven! I knew not what to do with this realisation that had come to me! How was I to control it, now that it had been let loose?

  He returned me to my brother who was standing in the throng laughing with others and watching me. I drank deeply from a goblet of wine and felt George tug at my sleeve to follow him out into the cool air of the courtyard. It felt wonderful on my hot skin, and we wandered with cups of wine to the courtyard’s edge which looked down on the stylish gardens. George was Penshurst’s warden, so he knew it well. The gardens and grand house were well kept and bountiful; the gardens pretty and modern. Henry was well-pleased with George’s work here and at court and sought his company often. My brother was doing well.

  As we stood watching the gardens, beautifully bathed in the light of an almost-full moon, George took a long drink of wine and spoke thoughtfully. “Did you know that this was where I first came, when we three were sent from home?”

  “I did not,” I muttered. My mind was elsewhere, lingering on the memory of Henry’s hand on my waist.

  “Yes,” George turned to me. “This was the house of the Duke of Buckingham… that same man whose head I showed you when we first rode into London together, do you remember?” His voice was low, for to speak the name of a man executed for treason at the King’s entertainment was not wise. There was something in his tone which made me pay attention; suddenly all the excitement drained from me and I felt cold in the moonlight.

  “I was in his house until a couple of years before they executed him,” George continued, his voice measured, low and cool. “He was a fair master. Proud, oh yes… But fair to those in his household. The other pages and I used to play and ride in these grounds when we were in residence here, and the Duke would allow me to visit Hever often to see our mother.” He turned to me. “The King would visit often, too… That was how I came to know him and how I moved into the royal household. He and the Duke, it seemed then, were great friends; they would visit often and hunt together. I saw Henry walking in the gardens here with the Duke once, when the royal household visited after I had joined Henry’s service. The King had his arm around Buckingham like a brother.” George looked at me, our eyes meeting, as he continued. “That was but two days before the Duke was arrested for treason.”

  I shivered. “Why do you say this to me?”

  “It is just…” George tailed off a little. “You seem, perhaps… fond of the King and he of you. Sometimes, you see, the King is like King Arthur or St George of old. There is in him such valour and spirit, he would be the greatest knight of all, he would be the shining hero, but there are times…” he trailed off again.

  “When he is the dragon” I said, completing the sentence that George could not quite say. George looked at me and nodded.

  “He wants to be the knight with all his heart,” he said to me, looking once again out at those gardens where I knew he could see the ghostly forms of his past master Buckingham, and his now-master King Henry, walking arm in arm amongst the flowers.

  “I understand, brother,” I said. All gaiety was suddenly gone from my heart. The warning of my brother’s words rung in their place; beware the disappointed knight, for he may have the temper of a dragon. I shivered and George took me inside from the cold. I left the gathering early with some servants and rode back to Hever, claiming a headache. As I got into b
ed and slept, my dreams swirled with ghosts of headless men, the shrill laughter of children and the terrifying vision of Henry, dressed as St George and piercing me through the mouth with his spear as though I were the vanquished dragon. I awoke early, in the darkness of the morn before the light and sat by the embers of the fire in my room, lost in thought of the feelings that Henry had stirred in me, and of my fears of what this may mean for me. Could I continue to hold his favour whilst refusing him the office of a true lover? Would he be satisfied to remain no more than a courtly admirer? I knew not.

  The royal party left Penshurst the next day. As Henry and his riding party departed from Hever to join them, we were all gathered in the courtyard to see them off. There, he came to me before my assembled family and servants and took his leave in the same way that he had greeted me, with a kiss. His hot hands burned through my scarlet gown as he touched my shoulders. As he was saying a cheery goodbye to the household, he turned to me once again.

  “I was sorry to hear that you left last night’s revelries early for a headache, Mistress Boleyn,” he said. “I trust that the pain is now healed?” I nodded and kept my eyes as downcast as I dared. He looked confused and a little angered; I had danced with him in great passion and then fled without explanation. He was right when he said I was the most confusing of women. I would have been confused by the way I behaved, but in all honesty, I knew not what to do with the situation I had been granted.