At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (8 page)

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“Must I ride and then sit and then eat with Sir Norris, Your Grace? I like him not,” said Madge as she folded Her Majesty’s coverlet back so the queen could crawl into her lavish bed. Her large belly made climbing into the bed difficult, even with the little stool the king had sent to her for such purposes. When she was finally settled in, Purkoy in her arms, she answered.

“It is the king’s desire, Margaret. I’ll not brook the issue with him, not tomorrow. Nothing shall mar my day of becoming an anointed queen. Who could have dreamed such a thing would happen? Oh Madge, it seems so unlikely that I, daughter of a lowly ambassador, should tomorrow become queen of all the land!” Her Majesty hugged Purkoy and the little dog licked her face.

“I would not wish to ruin your day, Your Grace. I only hoped to ride with my friend, Sir Wyatt,” said Madge, pulling the coverlet over the queen’s belly and much-risen bosom.

“Tom leaves for France soon and shall ride with his wife. He
is
married, you may recall. I’ll have no scandal among my ladies,” the queen said.

“Your Grace! I have no such ideas about Sir Thomas! He is my friend and that only. But I’d prefer his company to Sir Norris’s—that’s all,” said Madge.

“And what is wrong with Henry Norris?” said the queen.

“I like not the way he looks at me. And I like not the way he talks to me. Cate says he visits the bawds at least once every week and I see how he tries to touch the ladies of the court, a sneaky sort of touching,” said Madge. “I like him not!”

“I know, dear Madge. He is that sort of varlet—you have judged him well enough. But he is the king’s boon companion. You and I must learn to be friendly with him, you more than I. You have caught Sir Norris’s fancy, I fear,” said the queen.

“What shall I do, Your Grace? I cannot encourage him in his suit. Please intervene for me, my queen,” Madge felt her cheeks burn as she spoke so boldly.

“I shall do what I can, dear coz. But some things are beyond my power. Let us wait until the little prince is born—I shall be able to ask anything of the king then,” Anne said as she patted her belly and smiled.

“Thank you, Your Grace. And now, to bed,” said Madge as she pulled out the truckle bed from beneath the queen’s own and covered herself. She tried to ready herself for the long Coronation Day to come, made even longer by her proximity to Sir Henry Norris.

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“How fortunate for me that His Majesty, in all his wisdom, hath yoked us together, Lady Margaret. You could not be more lovely—much more of a beauty than our new queen,” Sir Norris whispered as he circled his horse close to Madge’s steed. They rode side by side in the queen’s procession into Westminster Abbey.

“Kind sir, the queen is our sovereign as well as my own dear cousin—say nothing to her detriment, I beg you,” said Madge in what she hoped was a haughty voice. All morning, since they were paired together, Henry Norris had pawed, pinched, and otherwise tried his best to touch Madge in a variety of inappropriate places. Her patience was wearing thin. But there was little she could do or say in such an esteemed company. Almost every important person in England was gathered to celebrate Anne’s coronation, with a few exceptions: Lord Stafford had paid a fine rather than attend; and the marquess of Exeter, the king’s first cousin, was absent primarily because he had been rusticated from court for his support of Queen Catherine. But most of the nobility were present, making it impossible for Madge to cry out or complain just because she couldn’t control a frisky companion of the king’s.

Of course, Henry Norris was well aware of his opportunity and was not dissuaded by her discomfort at his advances.

“I did but whisper my appraisal of your beauty, Lady Margaret. I do not believe any could hear but yourself,” Sir Norris said as he reached over, putting his hand upon her knee.

“Sir, we are supposed to be marching behind the queen in a dignified manner. Do not place your hand on me,” said Madge, trying to dislodge him without making too much of a movement. He disengaged and laughed.

“I think you like me not, my lady. How have I offended, pray tell?” Norris kept a smirk on his face, a look that told Madge he did not care a fig whether he had offended her or not.

“I would like you well enough if you did not try to paw me at every point! And if you did not look at me as if to eat me alive! And if you could do more than chatter about my beauty!” said Madge in a huff. She realized she may have gone too far in reprimanding this randy fellow, but she had not been able to stem the tide of words that flowed from her mouth.

“Ah, you prefer a more subtle approach—wooing with poetry and flowers and declarations of eternal love? Much like our vaunted queen, I suspect. Does that mean you wish me to marry you and take you up a step higher than you already are, my scheming Margaret?” said Norris.

“I prefer not to be wooed at all. And no! I care not to marry. As for raising me, sir, I am cousin to the soon-to-be anointed queen of England. I need no further height,” said Madge as she tried to ride faster to avoid further conversation. He grabbed the reins of her horse.

“You may not care to be wooed, my lady, but I will woo you. And, God’s blood, I’ll win you,” Norris said, his arm firmly around her wrist.

At that moment, Madge heard a scuffle behind them and turned to look. A man was approaching their steeds on foot.

“Lady Margaret, may I have a word?”

It was Arthur, his face flushed and his rich velvet doublet, a deep turquoise, stretched to show his robust chest as he reached for her hand.

“Certainly, my lord. If you’ll excuse me, Sir Norris? I shall meet you inside at table,” said Madge as she gave Henry Norris a short nod.

“But … but you are to pair with me, my lady. The king commands it…” mumbled Norris.

“I shall be with you anon,” said Madge.

Norris shrugged his shoulders and continued on his way. Madge dropped back to allow Arthur to catch up with her.

“I never would have believed I would be glad to see such as you!” said Madge.

“What a kind sentiment, lady. I have rescued you from a true rascal and all you do is insult me. Little repayment for my trouble,” said Arthur, grinning up at her.

“If you expect payment for chivalrous deeds, you are no better than Norris,” said Madge, turning her face from him.

“You misunderstand me. I expect nothing. What else could I expect, given my parentage? I can neither expect nor offer … anything,” Arthur said with downcast eyes.

Madge hadn’t expected to feel regret for her harsh words, but that is exactly what stabbed her heart as they progressed toward the great door of the abbey.

“Forgive me. I am truly grateful for even a few moments away from Norris. I must spend the entire day with him and I can only hope to escape with my honor intact,” said Madge as she scanned the lane ahead, looking for Norris.

Arthur touched her slightly on the arm. She turned her face down to him as he whispered, “Should you need help in protecting your honor, you have only to send for me. I am in earnest, my lady.”

Madge looked into his eyes and knew he meant what he said. Perhaps Arthur, too, could be a friend. She smiled at him and said nothing. Then, she caught a motion from the corner of her eye—Sir Norris waving his arm to her.

“I must go. Thank you for your kindness,” said Madge as she dismounted her horse, handed the reins to a stableman, and made her way to the place Norris had saved for her. At that moment, the trumpets began to blow and the ceremony began. Madge could barely see the queen dressed in her crimson gown, rich velvet edged in ermine. Her long black hair hung freely once again to her waist and a caul of pearls covered her head. She marched in beneath a canopy of cloth of gold, followed by a great train of lords and ladies. Madge and Norris walked in at the end of this line and moved solemnly to their places. Next came the Yeoman of the King’s Guard, the bishops and abbots, and finally, the children of the Chapel Royal and the two archbishops. All processed upon red carpet, which extended to the raised platform where Anne sat at the high altar enthroned in all her glory.

The ceremony seemed to last forever as each man of import acted his part. The solemn high mass was sung by the abbot of Westminster but it was Archbishop Cranmer who anointed Anne with holy oil and then placed the crown of St. Edward upon her head, a scepter of gold in her right hand, and a rod of ivory in her left. After the Te Deum was sung, the crown of St. Edward was replaced with one of lesser weight. Anne then took the sacrament and prayed at the altar of St. Edward.

Sir Norris kept stealing glances at Madge and tried several times to hold her little finger. She thought she could not remain standing for another minute, as she had been on her feet for at least three hours, when, finally, it was over. The trumpets played their fanfare and the entire assemblage prepared to return to Palace of Westminster, where a sumptuous feast would take place. Madge noticed how silent the lords and ladies were through these events. Even the London crowds outside gave no shouts or cheers for their new queen. Few hats were tossed and even fewer calls of “God save Your Grace,” as were heard every time old Queen Catherine appeared in public, even now, when she was merely the dowager princess.

Madge and Sir Norris marched outside into the warm June air. Madge gazed into the sky and noticed what had started as a balmy, clear day had turned overcast. She felt a sudden sense of danger for herself and the new queen.

“Tired, Lady Margaret? Shall you to bed?” said Norris with a leer.

“No. I am hungry. It is a long time since we supped,” said Madge, not wishing to share anything as private as a feeling with Norris.

“That want shall be satisfied soon—I’ll warrant the banquet has food enough for the whole city,” said Norris, taking her hand and leading her into the Great Hall.

At the coronation banquet, Anne was seated alone at the center of the top table while all the important people were arranged according to the order of precedence. The countess of Worcester and the dowager countess of Oxford stood beside the queen, each holding an embroidered napkin that would be used to shield the queen if she needed to spit or do otherwise. Two other women sat at her feet under the table, ready to do her bidding.

Madge looked around and found it hard to believe that as the trumpets blared and the Knights of the Bath served the queen course after course of rich food, there remained eight hundred people still seated, waiting for their own tasty meal. On horseback, overseeing the entire festivity, sat the duke of Suffolk, who as high steward was responsible for the overall dinner. Madge thought he looked as Sir Churlish might look in another twenty years—handsome and regal with his doublet and jacket studded with pearls. Lord William Howard was also on horseback and his duty was to see to the serving of the food. For the first course, the queen was served twenty-three dishes, of which she ate three. The second course consisted of twenty-four dishes and there were thirty for the third. Each course was heralded by the king’s trumpets and much singing.

The king himself was seated on a hidden stage where he could watch the festivities through a lattice and eat his fill. At the end of the meal, the kitchen had prepared many subtleties and Madge was particularly impressed with the wax ships. By then, the hour had struck six and the queen, along with Madge and all the other attendants, had been on parade for nine hours. And there were still the closing ceremonies to endure. Madge hoped all this pomp would not overtire the queen, especially in her delicate condition. She plopped a sugared plum into her mouth and swore she would never forget this day, this feast, this triumphant moment.

Eleven

The weather of mid-July was warm with plenteous rainfall so that the royal gardens bloomed with all sorts of flowers: roses, gillyflowers, columbines, and lavender. Madge and Cate strolled daily in the various gardens at Hampton Court, taking Shadow out so she would not soil Cate’s room. Though the court usually went on Progress in the summer months, because of the queen’s condition, the king had decided to stay in London so his wife would not be jostled over the countryside. The king took no chances with his future son’s welfare.

Madge had heard no words about Shadow’s being in the palace, though by now, Shadow had exceeded even the king’s lap. The queen must have arranged things. Madge was beginning to relax, learning the queen’s moods and enjoying their frequent talks. The queen was teaching Madge a little French, how to apply lotions and powders to her skin to be more beautiful, though the queen had told her these tricks were not to be used now, but for Madge’s “older years.” Her Majesty also instructed Madge on how to do fine needlework, which the queen intended all her ladies to learn so they could sew clothes for the orphans and the poor. Madge soon discovered that the queen’s view of religion was much more like those of the reformers than the old faith itself. The queen saw mankind as a good and natural part of the creation and was not so concerned with beliefs about original sin or the evil lodged in the human heart as the priests and monks were like to describe. Madge found the queen’s faith unshakable and her concern about the virtue of her ladies oddly prim for one who had a seven-month belly in a five-month marriage. Nevertheless, Madge remembered hearing one of the poems spoken to the queen during her progress for her coronation:

This gentle bird

As white as curd—

In chastity

Excelleth she.

Madge had stifled a laugh when she heard it, but the queen seemed very pleased by the verse and gave the child who read the lines a gold coin from her purse.

Madge had discovered much about her queen, now that she was a mistress of the bedchamber, information known only to the queen’s intimates. She saw the strain across Her Majesty’s brow at the end of the day and often Madge rubbed oils and rosewater over the queen’s face and shoulders to ease the tension. And Madge watched as Henry often turned beet-red while his wife complained about her growing waistline. The king rarely replied to her grumbling, but Madge could see his patience was wearing thin.