Above All Others

by G Lawrence

  “She certainly does that.” He sighed and dropped into a chair with a thump. His nightshirt fell loose about him. “Counsel me not on my wife. Not now, Anne… I have not the strength.” He held out the goblet for more wine and, once filled, tilted it back and drank deeply.

  Realising I was to get no sense from him that day, and sensing he would rather be alone, I rose to leave. “Try to be kinder to her, brother… for all her faults, she loves you more than anything in this world. Such a thing should not be so lightly dismissed.” George groaned loudly and put a cushion over his face. I left, feeling, as always, rather sorry for my sister in law.

  During the twelve nights of Christmas, my court at Sussex House revelled and celebrated just as at Greenwich all was staid and dull. At least, that is what those who travelled between the two informed me. Henry divided his time between Katherine and me, but it was far from even. Whenever there was a public event at Greenwich, he had to be there, but whenever he could, he was with me. Furious rounds of dancing, feasting, hawking, gambling and games went on at Sussex House. We danced every night until dawn, and yet still managed to rise for Mass the next morning. It was not only heady enjoyment that Christmas. I also attended Mass twice daily, read in my chambers and discussed Scripture with my ladies. But when Henry was with me I had to ensure he had a better time than with Katherine. It was not hard, of course, given Katherine’s behaviour, but all the same, I knew I was not only comforting the man I loved, but was showing him the kind of court he would enjoy when I was his wife.

  On Twelfth Night, before the great feast, the customary Twelfth Cake was brought in. Inside was hidden a coin; in common households, a bean. Whoever found this treasure hidden inside their portion of the rich fruitcake was made the King or Queen of the Bean, and presided over the entertainments as sovereign. That year, Norris found the coin. Laughing, Henry insisted that Norris sit upon his royal chair of estate for the night, and order the court about as though he were the King. Sweet Norris was rather overcome by this honour, blushing most becomingly as Henry commanded him to rule over us. Games, riddles and dances ensued and later, we undertook the old ceremony of drinking from the wassail cup, and crying “wassail!” to each other. It was a merry night.

  My father had brought a new artist into our throng and I was pleased to introduce Master Hans Holbein to Henry. Henry loved art and was as keen as I was to make the court a glittering showcase for artistic talent. My father had shown me portraits that Holbein had done and I was amazed at his skill.

  “Your subjects seem to emerge from the canvas as though they were alive,” I said in wonder to Master Holbein as I introduced him to Henry. “Truly Henry, even in the works of the great masters that I saw in France, of Leonardo himself, there was never such an expression of reality in a painting as I have seen in yours, Master Holbein.”

  Holbein blushed, he was a humble man. My flattery was a bit too much for him and Henry laughed to see his modest manners. “Mistress Boleyn is ever apt to be overwhelming in praise to those she thinks well of,” Henry chuckled. “As I well know, but…” He clasped my hand as I started to protest. “But, she is rarely wrong, which means I must see more of your work, Master Holbein, you will bring some examples to the palace and I will see what commissions we may give to you.”

  Holbein bowed, flustered, perhaps slightly overcome by the King’s politeness. My father rushed in to lead him away.

  “A genius,” my father said later. “But not the greatest of courtiers.”

  “Perhaps not,” I agreed. “But with such talent, he does not need to be.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Suffolk House

  Winter 1529

  That winter, as gales blew and storms raged, we continued to prepare for the trial. Campeggio was, it seemed, in no particular hurry to get events on their way. He spent much time with Henry and Wolsey, but visited Katherine too, and was often closeted with her. Henry and I were tense, petitioning Wolsey almost every day, asking when the trial would begin. Wolsey spent that winter bleating like a ewe in labour, going on and on about the evidence and witnesses and protocol and any other excuse he could summon to his imagination. He wanted to call more witnesses. He wanted to go over our documentation again and again and again. I suspected neither Cardinal actually wanted the trial to go ahead. They wanted time; time to convince Katherine to leave with grace, and if that failed, time to pressure Henry to give up. In our frustration, Henry and I turned on each other. Our arguments became frequent, and heated.

  “Cardinals have all the time in the world, so it seems!” I cried, gazing at him with feral, angry eyes. “And you, my lord, do nothing to speed them along!”

  “Nothing?” he bellowed, pacing towards me and taking hold of my shoulders. I faced Henry icily, staring at him with cold eyes even as he shook me. “Everything I do is for the Great Matter! Everything I do is for you!” he yelled.

  Hot rage replaced cold fury. “Then more must be done!” I shouted back. His hands gripped me painfully, but I did not wince. I stared at him, my eyes burning in their sockets. “You must make them hurry! You are the King, are you not?”

  Henry’s face was mottled purple and red. For a moment I thought he might strike me, but instead he pushed me away and stormed out, shouting he would never return to be so insulted. But I knew he would be back. I was his only comfort, and he was mine. His cardinals, his Pope, Katherine and her supporters… they were all against us. Even in his anger he knew I was not only his love, but his greatest ally. He returned later that night, contrite, begging for forgiveness. Our reconciliation was passionate. I allowed him to unlace my gown and bury his frustration in his lust. At such times, I cared not if the whole world heard us. We still had not been together as a man and wife, but of late he had shown me what joy might be brought to a woman from a man kissing her in her most secret parts. Henry was skilled at such arts, and he was teaching me well. But still, I kept the last prize from him.

  “My Anne,” he said as he lay upon me, his head against my bare breasts. “There is no one like you in all the world.”

  “Then I hope there will be none to ever take you from me, my lord.”

  “Never let the thought into your head,” he murmured. “I am yours, and always will be.” His chest was bare, his remaining clothes in disarray. I laced my fingers over his chest, stroking his hot skin and feeling the tension release from his blood.

  “Still, my love,” I said softly. “The Cardinals delay us… They do not wish for this trial to go ahead. Surely you see this now?”

  “Campeggio is trying very hard to persuade Katherine to bow out with grace,” he muttered. “It is only she who stands in our way, my love… The Cardinals, even the Pope, they are trying to convince her of what is right, but she refuses to listen.” He looked up at me. “I never thought I could hate a woman as I do her.”

  I shivered at his malevolent expression, but at the same time, I relished it. The farther he was from loving Katherine, the better for me. “She is stubborn and sinful,” I whispered. “She clings to her position for pride. Long ago she could have ended this, but she will not. I hate her too, Henry, for all she has done to you.”

  “She is making me sick,” he said plaintively. “These headaches and pains, I never had them before, not like this. I believe truly, that she has worked some curse upon me, to torture me.”

  I stroked his head, listening to the winds bellow and howl outside. “You have only to come to me when the headaches assail you,” I consoled.

  He nodded. “You have magic in those cool little fingers,” he said, kissing them. “They are the only thing that works.”

  We talked into the night. He fell asleep on my bed, and as he slept I looked out of the window and into the night’s sky. The heavens were black, like velvet, with grey clouds obscuring the stars. Wind keened outside, wailing as it swept through London. Inside Suffolk House, floorboards creaked and whistling draughts whispered. I listened to Henry’s steady breathing. In the darknes
s, my heart started to pound fast within my breast.

  My life was racing past and I had no part to play in it. I could have been married, to another, by now and borne children. I could already have been a wife and a mother. I could have known the satisfaction of a babe in my arms. For a moment, panic assailed my spirits, but when I looked back at Henry, I knew that I would not take any of these fevered imaginings instead of him. It was him I wanted… No matter how hard all of this was… I had to keep that firm in my mind. Henry, and the throne, they would be worth the wait, worth all that I might sacrifice to gain them. I just had to hold on. I had to stay strong.

  Later that week Henry came to me in high dudgeon. I hardly had time to ask him what the matter was before he started to rant in a most animated, and irritated fashion, throwing his cloak, thick with water and ice, onto a chair at the fireside. “Campeggio says the Pope will allow my daughter, Mary, and my bastard son, Fitzroy, to marry!” he exclaimed, throwing himself into a chair.

  “But… they are half brother and sister,” I said, astounded. “How can that be permitted by the Church? It is incest.”

  Henry sat forward, his shoulders hunched. “So said I to Campeggio! When I refused such an ungodly union, Campeggio said that the Pope may be prevailed upon to recognise any children that we have, Anne, as legitimate.”

  “Without marriage?”

  “He suggests that I may be able to take two wives at the same time.”

  “Where has that idea sprung from?”

  Henry coughed uncomfortably. “It may be that I suggested such a thing earlier in the year, sweetheart…” he said, and then rushed on, seeing my baleful expression. “But I only meant for as long as it would take to separate me from Katherine! Not as a permanent arrangement!”

  I pushed back my shoulders, making my gown of rich damask embroidered with rosebuds rustle. “Such suggestions as these are unholy, Henry… A man cannot have two wives and you cannot marry your daughter to your bastard son! I will bear no children that are not born within the bounds of holy matrimony. I would never be recognised as your wife and Queen. I would only be your mistress! I will not live in such a position!”

  “I said the same to the Cardinals, sweetheart,” he cooed, rising and taking hold of my shoulders in an effort to calm me. “I will not have our marriage questioned. You will be my wife and Queen, not my mistress, I promise you.”

  “Good!” I exclaimed and then frowned as a thought swam into my mind. “Does this mean Campeggio thinks we will lose the trial?”

  Henry shook his head. “He assures me that he knows our way is just. He seeks only to find a solution that will save all involved the shame of this public trial.”

  “Then he would better spend his time convincing Katherine that she should go to a nunnery!” I cried, frustrated.

  “That is what he is trying to do, my love,” he continued. “Wolsey has told him that without a favourable judgement, England will be no friend to the Pope. I have lectured Campeggio myself, on the themes and arguments of this matter, and he admits that I am as learned as any scholar of Church law. We cannot lose. Campeggio has shown Wolsey and me a bull he carries from the Pope. It sanctions all that we want, Anne… When the trial goes ahead, we are sure to win.”

  I put my head against his strong chest. The gold cloth on his tunic scratched at my cheek, but I did not care. I worried for these offers. Was it as Henry said, and Campeggio only offered such things to avoid the shame and embarrassment of a public trial? Or did he seek to appease the King with these offers, because he knew that we were going to lose?

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Greenwich Palace

  Winter 1529

  That winter, I asked Henry for further help for my sister Mary. I had a plan in mind, one that would provide a dowry for her daughter Catherine in the future. The Carey lands and wealth, such as they were, would be good enough for young Henry and I was going to find ways to add to his inheritance as best I could, but there was at present nothing for Catherine. The girl needed a dowry if she was to marry respectably. I had thought about it for some time, and I knew what I was going to ask. I went to Henry in his private quarters and was admitted straight away. No longer did anyone dare keep the King’s beloved waiting as though she were a mere court lady. Even the Queen had to beg for admittance, but not I.

  He put out his hands to me as I entered and kissed me soundly on the mouth. “Sweetheart,” he cooed. “This is an unexpected pleasure. You catch me deep in reading for the trial.” He indicated to the papers strewn haphazardly on the desk. “There is much to prepare.”

  “I am sorry, my lord, I came not to talk on the trial… for once.” Henry smiled, for in truth it had been all we had spoken of for a long time. “I came to ask a favour, for my ward and his sister,” I said carefully. Henry did not like to hear Mary’s name spoken.

  “What of them?” he asked, straightening his collar studded with rubies and diamonds.

  “In the bonds of my responsibility for my ward, Henry Carey,” I went on. “I have been thinking on his sister. The wealth of the Carey estates will have to provide a dowry for her when she is grown. Should Henry Carey have to bestow such a dowry, his inheritance will be much affected. I would not want my ward to be reduced in means when he becomes an adult.”

  “And you have an idea of how to ease this burden, sweetheart?”

  “I do.”

  “Then ask.”

  The edges of my mouth quivered with mirth. Henry did so love to tease me into asking favours. He loved to please me, but he also loved that I should come to him as a supplicant… There was in him a great deal of showmanship, and when he could be the magnanimous King, he loved to play the part to its fullest. I think he also enjoyed that in such situations, for once, I was the one coming to him. In our relationship, I was the master in many ways, and he my servant. When our roles were reversed, even for a short time, he found it pleasurable.

  “There was an annuity granted to Will Carey when he lived,” I said, “of one hundred pounds per year. If this were to be granted to his widow, then she would ably be in a position to save for a dowry for her daughter.”

  “It would do more than that!” exclaimed Henry, twisting a golden ring fashioned into the shape of Death’s head on his finger. It was the latest style, and was there to remind the wearer of his mortality; something of which Henry never really to be needed reminded. “It would be a most generous grant.”

  “It would, my lord… but these children are of royal blood, are they not?” I paused, just for a moment, to allow the thought that Catherine and Henry Carey could indeed be Henry’s own children to sink in. “After all, William Carey was of the Beaufort line, of your grandmother’s own house… And they will be cousins to our children. It is fitting, therefore, that Catherine be provided for, as much for the honour of your line, as for her own dignity.”

  I could see both a glint of anger and a spark amusement in his eyes. He knew what I was up to, but I had presented my idea carefully, and honestly. Henry nodded. “I know the annuity of which you speak,” he said. “And I think you are right, Anne, the girl should be provided for. The sums paid to her mother can also be used for your ward’s future, as not all of that will be required, even for a handsome dowry!”

  “You are so good to me, Henry,” I said with genuine gratitude. “And to your people. Think how they will see this, as you reach out to help a fatherless daughter, one to whom the world has been cruel, and to lift her so that she stands proud, able to marry well and happily in the future. You are the best of Kings, and the most generous of men.”

  “How now,” he blustered, becomingly pink in the cheeks. “The idea was yours, my love.” He held me gently. “I will have the papers drawn up, my generous Anne, and young Catherine Carey will have all that she needs, due to the ever-watchful and kind eye of her aunt.”

  Mary was overjoyed when I wrote to her of the annuity, and it was implemented with immediate effect. One hundred pounds a year was a vas
t sum. I think Henry was pleased to grant the annuity, not only for my persuasions, but also because he knew there was a distinct possibility he was the father of Catherine Carey. She had been born when Mary was more often in the bed of the King than in the bed of her own husband, and whilst Henry might have doubts about Henry Carey being his child, we were all quite sure that Catherine was indeed his. She even looked like him, with her golden-red hair. Her eyes were like her mother’s, brown and warm, but there was something of Henry in her face and in even her manners. So, yes… Henry granted me another favour, but I think he did it as much for himself and his secret conscience, as he did for me.

  Mary was comfortable now, and her future was secure. Despite her troubles with our parents, she did not leave Hever. Our father had been ordered to take her under his wing, and he had done so. This arrangement allowed her to save from her annuity for her children’s futures. Our father and mother were often at court in any case, so often she was there alone with her children, which I think she preferred. No one spoke of another marriage for Mary. Our father would have been quite happy to marry her off, but only once I was Queen, for then the rewards would be all the richer. I think Mary was lonely at Hever, but there was not a great deal I could do for that. I had done all that I could for her. In my role as young Henry Carey’s guardian, I sought to do more; trying for estates and lands to add to his future wealth. But for my sister, I had done enough, now, I reasoned. I hoped she felt the same. But for now, I had other worries to deal with.