For once, Cromwell was speechless. He did not know what to say. He had suspected that something like this might take place - but not to this degree.
“She lay there, Thomas,” Henry continued, “lay there like a wooden post and I did as well. She could not rouse me at all. I’ve never ever felt like this with any other woman, royal or not. And you know - maybe better than most men in this court - that I do not act like a simpering youth when I’m in bed. Even my first wife was able to do more for me and she was much older than this…this Clevean cow.”
Cromwell slowly raised his head. He was not used to conversations like this – and certainly not with his royal master.
“Perhaps, Sire,” he began gently, trying to placate his red-faced king, “perhaps the queen was a trifle nervous. After all, she’d had a long day and you were, it must be said, the first man she had lain with. Perhaps her mother had not given her sufficient instruction on how to behave and…”
“What do you mean, ‘sufficient instruction?” Henry asked. “That woman hasn’t received any instruction at all! Nothing, I tell you. And not only did she just lie there, but I tell you, she smelt as well!”
“Smelt, Your Majesty?”
“Yes, Thomas, smelt. Are you completely deaf this morning? Do I have to spell it all out for you? That woman smelt. Under all those gowns and petticoats, that woman smells. Maybe to her Clevean folks she looks beautiful, but underneath it all, I tell you, she is far from that. She is fat and flabby, and she smells!”
Cromwell opened his mouth to say something when Henry barked at him, “You may leave me now. But just remember what I said before. You got me into this, Master Chancellor, and you will get me out of it. I cannot continue my life with that woman at my side. So start thinking, Thomas, and start thinking very, very quickly. Now go!”
As the chastened chancellor bowed and left the chamber his neck began to itch. Was this an omen? he asked himself as he hurried along the long corridor to his office. No, surely not. One does not execute the king’s chief minister for mistakes such as this. For treason, yes. For inciting rebellion or religious subversion, yes, but surely not because the king’s new wife is fat and smelly and he likes her not. But as the day passed, Cromwell began feeling less and less sure of himself. All around him in the halls and corridors of the palace he could hear the whispering and giggling as word of the king’s disastrous nuptial night spread around like an overflowing pool of water.
In his usual thorough way, Cromwell decided to discover exactly what was happening. He knew that no-one would tell him directly as he was seen to be too close an adviser to the king for that. Early that afternoon he called his secretary over to his office and wasted no time in giving him his instructions.
“Find out what all this whispering is about and give me your report by seven o’clock this evening.”
“Yes, sir,” and, in his attempt to escape his master’s nervous anger, the secretary almost ran out of the office.
Seven o’clock that evening found the pale-faced secretary, standing ramrod straight in front of his master’s desk.
“Well, man, out with it!” Now it was Cromwell’s turn to bark at his underling. “Tell me, what’s all the whispering about?”
“It’s about the queen, sir.”
“Yes, I know that. What about her?”
“The courtiers are saying, sir, that the king couldn’t er, couldn’t get…”
“I see. And ...?”
“And they say that they just lay there together in bed, sir, doing nothing.”
“And just how do they know of this? And is it true or not?” Cromwell added quickly.
The secretary looked about as if someone else might be in the room listening. “They say, sir, that the king himself told some of his lords about, er, what happened last night and that he even told his physician, Doctor Butts, about it.”
“Oh, he did, did he? Well go and fetch Doctor Butts and bring him here immediately. I wish to have a word or two with the good doctor.”
“But, sir, I believe he is eating or with his family now.”
“I don’t care, man. Just bring him to me as soon as you can. I will be waiting here for him. Now go.”
The secretary scuttled off and ten minutes later a worried-looking royal physician was facing the king’s chief minister who, if the truth be told, was far more worried than the trembling doctor who faced him across the desk.
“Doctor Butts,” the chancellor started immediately without any of the usual small talk. “What did His Majesty tell you about his wife, that is, about their activities last night?”
“Well, sir, he said that he enjoyed the feast and that the food, especially the capons were …”
“Stop playing with me, man,” Cromwell thumped his fist on the table, forgetting the doctor’s honourable title. “You know exactly what I’m talking about and it’s not about eating capons. Now tell me what he said to you.”
Butts looked around. He could not believe how he had just been addressed. He had never been treated like this before. He had heard that the king’s chief minister could be coarse but he had never experienced this himself. “Sir, surely you of all people must know that what passes between me and my patients. That professional bond is confidential. And if that patient happens to be His Majesty, then that bond becomes even more sacred. Sir, I cannot…”
“Cannot, nothing!” Cromwell exploded. His nerves were wearing very thin by now. He walked around the table and thrust his hot face right up to the doctor’s. “Tell me what His Majesty said or it will be the worse for you. You know that I ‘m the chancellor and if you don’t wish to find yourself in the Tower you’d better give me what I want, and now!”
Butts saw that he had no choice. Physician-patient confidentiality was one thing, but being on the wrong side of the chancellor and ending up in the Tower was another. He shrugged. If the king had already told half of his court about what had happened or, rather, what had not happened that night in the royal bed, he reasoned, then surely I can divulge this information to His Majesty’s chief minister.
“Sir,” he began. “His Majesty reported to me that he found the queen’s body offensive and as such, she was unable to provoke any, er, how shall I say it…?”
“Anyway you like, Doctor, just say it.”
“Yes, sir. The queen could not provoke His Majesty to, er, to perform the act of love. When I tried to explain to him that this may have been due to a case of nerves or tiredness, he strongly denied this and claimed that he had then experienced two wet dreams that night.”
Cromwell sat down and then faced the nervous doctor again. “And did he say anything else?”
“Yes, sir. He said it was clear that he was not ignorant about the act of love and that neither was he impotent. He said that the birth of his four children had proved that - especially as his son had been born less than three years earlier.”
“Wait a minute, Doctor. Four children you said?”
“Yes, sir. Prince Edward, two princesses and the illegitimate Henry Fitzroy.”
“Ah, yes, I’d forgotten about him. So what else did the king say to you?”
“He said, sir, that if this woman is to be his wife, then he’ll not be able to have any more children for the good of the realm. That is all, sir. All I can add is that His Majesty is a very unhappy man.”
“Yes, I know all that,” Cromwell added gruffly. “And tell me, did he say anything about my rôle in any of this?”
“Oh no, sir. He just said he felt very disappointed. ‘Disappointed and cheated’ were the exact words he said.” Butts looked up. The storm seemed to have passed. The chancellor was now pacing around his large desk quietly, drumming his fingers on its smooth polished surface.
“May I go now, sir? My wife is waiting for me and I also have to pay a visit to the Duchess of Suffolk. But,” he added, feeling a little more confident. “Fear not, sir. If you wish I’ll come and see you and the king tomorrow together with Doctor Chambers and we�
��ll see if we can find a way to solve this little problem.”
A weary and an even more worried Cromwell dismissed the black-gowned physician with a casual wave of his hand and walked slowly back to his chair. He sat down heavily and began to think what he could do about this new and troublesome situation.
Doctor Butts was as good as his word. The next day, together with the chancellor and his colleague, Doctor Chambers, they were ushered into His Majesty’s presence.
“We’ve been discussing your situation, Your Majesty,” Doctor Butts began in his most calming tone. “We both feel that there’s nothing for you to be afraid of. From our experience,” and here the royal doctor looked at his colleague for support, “we feel that this is a passing affliction that occurs to more married men than who would admit to it during their first few nights of married life and…”
“Yes, but Doctor Butts, I’ve been married before. Three times.”
“Yes, Sire. We know that, Sire,” Doctor Chambers took over. “But this young woman is clearly inexperienced and new to the whole situation of the marital bed. Therefore, Your Majesty, we suggest the following solution. You should not force yourself on her and that you should regard this present period as, one might say, a period of initial ignorance on the queen’s part.”
“Yes, Sire,” Butts added, trying to sound encouraging. “Let’s say that this is merely a temporary period which under your expert tuition will surely come to an end soon. If both of you refrain from carrying out any major activity at night and just act tenderly towards one another, then we’re sure that this problem will solve itself.”
“That’s true, Sire,” Chambers nodded. “Another idea may be to sleep in separate beds for a few nights and just visit each other from time to time, but of course,” he added quickly, seeing the king’s face, “we leave this decision up to you.”
Nodding his head, the king dismissed the two doctors and turned to face his still anxious chancellor.
“Master Cromwell,” he began. “I’m still not happy and even though my two doctors have described my situation as temporary and one that can be cured, I’m not completely convinced. I therefore suggest that you return to your office and as I said yesterday, start thinking of a way to get me out of the mess that you’ve got me into. I expect you to come up with a solution very quickly. You normally do on most occasions, so let’s hope that your brain can think of one this time as well. Now please leave me as I wish to have a rest.”
As his royal master had commanded, Cromwell started thinking how he could save His Majesty and also himself. If the king were telling everyone at court what had happened, he thought, then it was clear that he did not see himself to blame. After all, few men, especially His Majesty, would admit to their lack of success in the marital bed or in any bed, in fact. And yet here he was, telling half of his court about his inability to perform the most basic act of love with his new wife. If it did not bode well for the king, it certainly did not bode well for the king’s chief minister who, all along, had urged his master to marry this woman. In all, Cromwell concluded, the whole situation looked quite desperate for the three main people involved: the king, his wife, and most of all, for himself.
But then a brief smile crossed Cromwell’s face. Perhaps he had just thought of a solution, after all. Couldn’t Master Holbein be blamed for any of this? After all, hadn’t he painted the flattering portrait that had lured His Majesty into this marital trap? Perhaps this is where a solution was to be found. Hmm, Cromwell said to himself as he stood up to leave his office. I’ve been through difficult times before and solved all sorts of problems in the past for His Majesty, I don’t see how I cannot find a way of solving this problem as well.
Chapter Thirteen - Intimate Conversations
Just as the king had had some intimate conversations with Cromwell and several other close advisers, both medical and courtly, in the week following his disastrous nuptial night, so too did his wife hold similar conversations with her ladies-in-waiting.
Taking the new queen aside in an arbour in the palace grounds, Lady Rutland and Lady Rochford, Anne Boleyn’s sister-in-law, asked her if she were still a maid.
“Still a maid?” Anne replied, her eyes childishly bright and innocent.
Lady Rutland coughed quietly. “Your Majesty,” she asked quietly, deliberately keeping her English simple. “Do you lie in bed with your husband, His Majesty, all night?”
“Yes, of course I do. Isn’t that what wives are supposed to do? I lie there every night. When he comes to bed he kisses me and takes me by the hand and says, ‘Goodnight, sweetheart.’“
“Yes, and?”
Anne smiled. “And then in the morning he kisses me again and says, ‘Did you sleep well, darling?’ Why, isn’t that enough? He’s very sweet to me now. On the first night of our marriage I think he was very tired and angry, but now that has passed. Isn’t that good? Ja?”
Lady Rutland looked at Lady Rochford and raised her eyebrows slightly before turning again to the queen.
“But, Your Majesty, does he er… touch you?”
“Touch me? Ja. We hold hands and sometimes he kisses me on the cheek. Here,” and Anne pointed to her soft cheeks.
Lady Rochford decided she would have to be more specific. “No, Your Majesty. What I meant was, does His Majesty touch your private parts?”
“My private parts?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Down here, between your legs. And here,” she said pointing to her own bodice-covered breasts and her lower body.
Anne looked somewhat shocked. “Oh, no, milady. He touched me on those places only on our first night in bed. It was not nice. So since then he just holds my hands instead.” And she bent down to pick some daisies.
“And he doesn’t do anything else?” a mystified Lady Rutland asked. “Does he tell you to touch him, say, under the covers, under his night shift?”
“Touch him? Touch him where?” an equally mystified looking Anne asked.
“His legs, his belly, his prick.”
“Oh, no, of course not, Lady Rutland. Why should I want to touch him down there?”
“But, Your Majesty,” Lady Rutland asked, “What did your mother tell you about wedding nights and husbands?”
“My mother? Nichts. She told me nothing about such things. She just told me to make sure my husband is happy with me and that it was my duty to obey him in all things. That’s all.”
“Didn’t she say anything else?” asked an exasperated Lady Rutland.
“Oh, no, milady,” replied Anne, shaking her head. “She taught me how to sew, how to embroider, how to repair holes and tears in clothes and useful things like that. She also taught me to read poetry and how to write letters and also a little about numbers,” she finished brightly, thinking of the happy days she had experienced at home in Cleves at her mother’s side. Then, the talk of husbands had always referred to tall handsome men who were gallant and brave. Not fat ageing men who walked around with a stick and whose ulcerous legs smelt disgusting.
“And nothing about men, husbands and bed?”
“No, Lady Rutland,” Anne replied, sharply returning to the present. “Why?”
“Because, Your Majesty, if you continue like this with the king, you’ll never give him a son, and after all is said and done, that’s what he wants most from you. A son, even two.”
“But he already has one, Prince Edward.”
“That’s true, Your Majesty,” Lady Rochford agreed. “But he wants another one. One son is not enough – especially for this king.”
“Ach so, now I am beginning to understand. But now, if you don’t mind, I want to go inside. It’s getting cold out here in the garden.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but if we can talk about one more thing out here just before we go in, it will be very good. You see, no-one can overhear us out here.”
Anne looked around her and saw no-one else was there. “Ja, what is it you want to say to me?”
“Lady Rutland and I have be
en discussing between ourselves how you can keep the king happy and we decided it would be a very good idea if you could change your style of clothes. We fear His Majesty doesn’t like your clothes.”
“Not like my clothes? Why not? Are they nicht elegant und modisch, er, not elegant and fashionable? Are they not fine enough for him? Feel this material. It was very expensive and my mother chose it most carefully.” And she held up her gown for Lady Rutland to feel the rich and heavy fabric.
“No, Your Majesty, it’s not a question of the quality of the fabric. It’s the style he does not like. Here in the English court we ladies prefer to wear the French style, clothes like we are wearing now. Like these hoods we are wearing.”
“Yes, look, milady,” Lady Rutland added. “These French five-pointed hoods are just what His Majesty likes and…”
“That’s right,” Lady Rochford interrupted. “And these low-cut gowns that show off more of our shoulders and the tops of our breasts.” And smiling, she gently laid the queen’s hand on the soft exposed part of her full bosom. “This is what the king likes to see.”
“Aye, and so do all the other men at court,” Lady Rutland smiled. “And touch them if they can, too.”
“Ach so, and this will help me with the king?”
Lady Rochford nodded. “Knowing the king the way we do, it’ll certainly be better if you dress more as we do. That’ll make him very pleased with you.”
“Aye, to say nothing of the other men at court as well,” Lady Rutland murmured. “But let’s go inside now. I can see that Her Majesty is shivering a little and so am I. The men may like to look at our breasts but in this weather only half covering them can be rather chilly. So let’s go in and warm ourselves by the fire.”
But none of this well-intentioned advice helped. Although over the coming weeks, Anne shed her heavy Dutch-style headdresses and gowns for the lighter French style, when it came to matters of the flesh, the situation between the king and his wife did not improve. And not even after the chancellor had had a serious tête-à-tête with the Earl of Rutland, the queen’s lord chamberlain.
Anne of Cleves- Unbeloved Page 16