by G Lawrence
“My brother told me that you wished to see me, Your Majesty,” I said coolly from my position on the floor.
“Rise,” he ordered. He was magnificent in his anger, as I was. He was all majesty; there was little of the lass and his lover between us now.
“Wyatt is your lover,” he accused, his voice harsh. There was jealousy and hurt in his words. Beyond the anger I could see the small boy inside him begging me to make it not true. But I was not going to let him off that easily.
“Is he, Your Majesty?” I asked, equally coldly, and with a measured voice that was betrayed by the wildness and anger of my black eyes. If I had been in any way in control of myself, I would have thought of the possible repercussions of talking to my king in such a manner; but here and now, I cared not. I cared nothing for his titles, nor the harm he could do my family. I was furious, at him. To me now, he was not even a king… he was Henry and I was Anne. He was the man who had professed to love me, and yet he had stained my reputation before his gallants, and played for possession of me. My temper was wild within me. I was ready to reach out my hands and lash out at the face of my king.
I drew myself up, my anger bubbling at the edges of my words. “Wyatt is my lover, Your Majesty? You would have thought I should have noticed something like that occurring.” I paused and laughed a mirthless laugh that sounded somewhat unhinged and eerie. “Perhaps Master Wyatt is not as accomplished a lover as I have heard tell, for if I noticed him not in the office of my lover, then there must be something desperately wanting in him.”
Although it was an entirely outrageous thing to do, I turned and walked down a passageway as though the conversation was over. Suddenly I felt Henry’s heavy hand on my arm. He whirled me around so fast that I almost lost my footing and fell, but his grip was like steel and his face was suddenly next to mine. He was almost crimson with anger.
“Do not walk away from me!” he uttered through clenched teeth. “I am your King! And I would have the answer to my question, lady.”
I shook him off; my own anger matched his. “Let go of me!” I screamed into his face and flung his arm from me. He was strong but unprepared for my reaction and I managed to wrestle free from his grasp. I stood a little away from him. “I heard no question, Your Majesty,” I said, hissing at him in wrath. “I heard only an accusation and one that I should not have to answer from you. You! You, who claim to know my heart so well, are so easily caught up in some court gossip, some wild fancy that takes you to suppose that I am any man’s for the taking! You claim to be my true love and yet you believe such of me?”
Henry was staring at me in the utmost amazement. I doubt that anyone had ever spoken to him in the manner I did now. That anyone would dare to speak to him in such a fashion was inconceivable, and yet here I was, shrieking at my King. There was, too, something else on his face mingled with his fury. There was passion, there was desire. He was attracted to me even as he was furious at me. To own the truth, I had to admit that Henry looked rather handsome when fired by anger to my eyes as well… but I was not going to let him know that now.
“No friend and no true love of mine would believe such slander!” I went on, flinging my hands in his face and glaring at him. “I am betrayed by the one who claimed to love me! You leap to believe slander about me, you leap to believe I am a liar, and a whore! You dare to be angry at me? I am the one betrayed by you in this matter. The right to anger here is mine alone!”
Henry looked at me; his gaze held deep desire for me and I could see his anger was cooling. “Then you deny it?” he asked, his voice still cold and harsh, but there was softness creeping into his eyes. He wanted desperately to believe me.
“There is nothing to deny!” I cried loudly. I could see the courtiers in the upper hallways looking out of windows at the sound of us shouting and I cared not. “There is nothing to deny, when a lie is told.”
“Wyatt had a jewel of yours,” Henry said. “There was your family crest on it. He made it appear as though… as though… perhaps, you were considering him as a lover.”
I drew myself up coolly. “I am no man’s whore,” I said and was then caught off-guard as tears of fury and hurt came to my eyes. “I have been no man’s lover and I shall be no man’s lover. Do you think that I should deny you with one arm and with the other beckon Thomas Wyatt into my bed? Do you think so little of me? If so, then I am the one who has been deceived in you, for you are no true knight to believe such wickedness of me, with no other reason than the prattling of some lowly lord who once took a jewel of mine and claimed it for his own. On such evidence, then, I must be guilty of anything!”
I walked away from him and laughed without mirth. Tears in my eyes stood out even as I boiled with fury. I was angry. I was hurt. I was wounded. Wild laughter rose in me, as though my soul wanted to laugh at the foolishness of the situation, even as my heart was pained by his lack of trust or belief in me. I turned back to him. “Hold out that ring on your hand, Henry of England, and tell me whether I have given you aught more than that? Tell me, does that ring mean I am your jade just as a pendant is evidence I am Wyatt’s? I am wronged by those I thought to be my friends, by Tom and by you. How dare you play for my honour in public, the two of you? It is my choice whom I should love, and here and now I can say that Anna Boleyn loves no man! For the man I thought I could love, the man I who thought would always protect me and love me, believes falsehoods of me, believes the worst of me…” I drew breath, shaking, “for but the show of a pendant...” I shook my head and drew myself up, pushing back my shoulders. “I ask Your Majesty’s permission to remove myself to the lands of my family,” I said coldly. “For I feel I am not wanted or desired at court.”
Henry stepped towards me. “Anna…” he said softly, reaching for me, but I stepped back again and observed him with cold eyes. His face that had been waning in anger started to blacken again. He was not used to being treated in such a fashion. I think it caught him off-guard and although he was angry still, he was also bemused by my reactions to him. Perhaps he had expected supplication, submission… but if so, he had clearly picked the wrong lady. “I was angry,” he said, looking rather angry now. “But if you say it is not so, then I shall believe you.”
“I should have to say nothing,” I barked. “I should have to say nothing, for if your love were indeed true for me, then you would never dream of believing such slander of me, nor of allowing it to be said in your hearing.”
“Then it is not so?” he pressed.
“I have not been, nor shall I ever be, any man’s whore,” I said, “just as it seems I have never been, and shall never be, truly loved by those I admire.” And, not waiting for an answer I walked out of those gardens, turning my back once more on the most powerful man in the country. As I walked, however, I heard his footfall racing up behind mine, and he grasped me before I reached the doors.
“Anne, I was a fool,” he pleaded and pulled me to him. I did not resist this time but I was stiff in his arms. “Anne, say it is as it ever has been between us, and do not seek to leave court. Do not leave me. I am sorry.”
My temper was cooling, and turning to ice within me. I was wounded that he would be so quick to believe such of me, and my honour had been tainted by the actions of Tom and himself. But I too, felt powerful in my anger. I knew that he would not punish me for this. I knew that he was about to submit to me. It was a giddy feeling, and it washed about with my anger and my hurt until I knew not what I felt.
“It is as it ever has been between us, Your Majesty,” I said coldly. “I am your humble servant, of course.”
He let go of me slowly, seeing the coolness in my eyes and my body towards him. “I will hear from you soon?” he begged. “We will go riding on the morrow, or take a turn at the archery butts, perhaps?” I shrugged and exited the gardens. I had to leave court for a while, this I knew. I was too angry to stay near him. As I walked away, the King of England pleaded like a child.
“What more must I do, Anne? What mo
re can I do? Anne!”
I did not reply. I was furious; furious with Henry, with Tom, with all those men who had no doubt stood about and laughed at their competition for my favours. How many at court were now whispering into their sleeves about me? How many comparing my position to that of my sister? Oh, I was angry enough to have flown in the skies on that day, to have run from one end of England to the next, so great was the energy within me from my anger!
I went straight to Katherine. As my mistress, she was the one person, apart from the King from whom I could request a leave of absence from court. I was hardly likely to petition Henry in this matter again. I needed to be away from court. I could not continue to see him when I was in such a temper; I would say something that may lead to my father locking me away for the rest of my life.
I came to her presence chambers, and, as usual, there sat the Queen amongst her ladies, one reading aloud from a book of devotions. I bowed before her. Katherine’s calm gaze rested on me as I was announced. There, before her, was the woman that her husband was pursuing most resolutely and increasingly publicly. Yet in her expression there was nothing to tell of hatred or disapproval towards me.
“You asked to see me, Mistress Boleyn,” she said calmly.
“Your Majesty,” I said, leaning to the floor in a bow. The ladies looked on me speculatively. Some, like Margaret and Bridget looked worried for me, noting my anger simmering beneath the surface; some, including the Lady Margaret Pole, looked on me with disapproval. Katherine was a mistress most beloved to her servants and there were none who could not see Henry chasing me. They did not like to see Katherine humiliated in such a manner. Perhaps they thought I should be more like my sister, to be the King’s mistress and yet fade into the shadows with ease. And yet, I had given him nothing other than my heart. But still, they despised me for the attentions he paid to me.
“What is it that you wish to ask of me?” she asked, smoothing her glorious dark purple dress and feeding a scrap of meat to the rocking ape at her side. The beast snatched the morsel from her fingers and chewed on it with its few remaining teeth, staring at me with those hollow eyes and drooling.
“I wish to ask permission for a leave of absence from court, Your Majesty,” I rose at her signal. “I wish to return to my father’s house for a while.”
Her calm face registered a little interest. “When do you plan to return?” she asked.
“I know not at the moment, Your Majesty,” I said truthfully. “I feel… unwell at court, and I believe that the airs of the countryside would better suit my sprit at present.”
Katherine raised her eyebrows briefly. “You will take your dog and maid with you,” she commanded, “so that they will not be a financial burden to my husband.” I inclined my head in assent. “I give you permission to leave court, Mistress Boleyn. And I hope that in time you will feel recovered from the… ill airs that presently assault you.”
I curtseyed before her again. “You are most kind, Your Majesty.”
“Time brings change to us all, Mistress Boleyn.” Her voice was warm with approval. Perhaps she thought that I was leaving to deter her husband from chasing me. “And I hope that you shall find the peace that you deserve, in the actions you presently undertake.”
I nodded, curtseyed and left her chamber. She had approved my removal from her husband’s side, and perhaps, she approved of my actions as an honest maid in leaving as the King was pursuing me so vigorously. No doubt she thought that I was leaving to preserve my honour from him. She was right in some ways.
I left for Hever, looking for sanctuary. Henry knew nothing of my leaving until the next day when he looked for me in his wife’s rooms and found nothing but a gap in the place where Anne Boleyn had recently served.
Soon after I left for Hever, Tom left for his family estates, and there he remained. That winter, he was visiting London, and on the banks of the Thames he fell into conversation with a diplomat he knew named John Russell. Tom asked Russell where he was going. “To Italy, for the King,” was Russell’s reply, whereupon Tom turned to him and said, “and I, if you please, I will ask leave and get money to go with you.”
Russell was surprised, but nodded. “No man more welcome,” he said warmly. Tom obtained coin from his father, and together he and Russell left for Italy a day later via Paris and Savoy. Russell was gong to Italy to meet with the Pope, in hopes of convincing him to remain in league with England, united with France, against the Emperor. Henry and Wolsey believed that Charles had grown too powerful, and clearly did not mean to keep his promises to make Henry King of France. They wanted François and the Pope to be England’s allies against Charles. Pope Clement VII was under pressure from the Emperor’s troops menacing his state from the north. Russell carried 25,000 crowns to entice him to remain in the anti-imperial league of France and England.
I did not see Tom before he sailed and he did not request to see me. His role as suitor in the game of courtly love had become dangerous. I knew that he loved me, of course I did. But I could not be his wife or his mistress, just as I could not be the same to Henry. Whilst Tom was not willing to let me go, he was willing, it seemed, to play with my reputation, to publicly stake a claim to me. At that time, I could not think of Tom without anger; he was no friend to me, not any more. He had acted like a fool and he knew it. It was not just I who was angry at him however, for Henry was furious with his former friend. I believe Tom skipped out of the palace just before Henry could lose his temper with him entirely. Margaret wrote to me, telling me the story of Tom’s exit from the isle of England. Although she was sorrowed to find her brother leaving, she assured me that she bore me no ill will for being, at least partly, the cause. I smiled and found comfort in her words. At least one of the Wyatts understood me.
Later I came to miss Tom, to miss his friendship and companionship, but it took me a long while to calm down.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Hever Castle
1527
There were no other family in residence at Hever and so I was alone, apart from my servants. I found the clean airs of Hever and the quiet of the country peaceful after my time at court by Henry’s side. I had been in such a mass of confused thought and worry that just leaving to another place seemed to give me space to breathe, to think. There was a peace in riding out each day, hunting, or reading the books that my brother sent me that was unmatched by the glamour of the court. In sharp contrast to the time I had spent in exile at Hever after the affair with Percy, I did not feel trapped by life in the countryside now, but freed by it. The situation at court, with Henry, had been pressing on my spirits in a way I had hardly recognised until I was freed from it. The little games and the battles between us, the love that I felt for him, the fear that I might lose him… all these things had weighed upon me. To be released from such was a relief.
I had begun to feel more at peace than I had ever done, to find time to muse on my thoughts… And then the letters started to arrive.
One afternoon, I returned from hunting with a beautiful falcon that Henry had recently given to me, and I found a letter, and a messenger, waiting for me. The Royal Seal was upon the parchment and I recognised the writer’s hand as I opened it.
Although, my mistress, it has not pleased you to remember the promise you made me when I was last with you- that is, to hear good news from you, and have an answer to my last letter; yet it seems to me that it belongs to a true servant (seeing that otherwise he can know nothing) to inquire the health of his mistress and to acquit myself of the duty of a true servant, I send you this letter, beseeching you to appraise me of your welfare, which I pray to God may continue as long as I desire mine own. And to cause you yet oftener to remember me.
I send you, by the bearer of this, a buck killed late last night by my own hand, hoping that when you eat of it you may think of the hunter; and thus, for want of room, I must end my letter, written by the hand of your servant, who very often wishes for you instead of your brother.
HR
I smiled as I read the letter, feeling my anger subside as I heard his pleading voice through the dark, bold strokes of the missive. In the few weeks I had been here, I had had time to think on Henry, and in the space afforded by the distance between Hever and London, I came to think on him with affection once more. Had it really ever left me? No. But in loving someone, in knowing that I loved him, it seemed anger towards him came more readily than before. Strange, is it not, that the one we love the most in this life, can also be the one who moves our heart and blood to stir with the most furious anger? I had resented the manner in which he and Tom had played for me, but perhaps I had been too harsh on Henry. He had only feared to lose me, after all; a fear most common to all who dare to love, even kings.
And he wished my brother George was me instead? I grinned at the thought… Did Henry want me to help him change vestments in the mornings then? Or help him wash? Perhaps that was just what he wanted of me; the kind of constant companionship that came between servant and master…