Dear Heart, How Like You This (22 page)
One of the first people to confront me, as is often the way of life, was none other than the lad who had been sent to accompany me on my travels. Carlos, cleaner and better dressed than I last remembered, greeted me first with great astonishment, but delight following next, and he took me fast to his lord. The Duke also appeared astonished at my quick escape, and told me the moves to free me that had taken place in my brief absence. As soon as he heard of my plight, my knight, the Duke informed me, had written to the
Duc of Bourbon
in an effort to gain my speedy deliverance. Indeed, even the Holy Father had commanded one of his officials to write and demand my release in the name of the papacy. I rested at the Duke’s court for divers days, and then decided it was time to return to Sir John. The experiences I had just lived through had quenched my desire to see any more of the countryside of Italy. Indeed, I just wanted our mission to be over and to make our way back to England, and home. Yea, home, even if it meant facing up to the problems I had left there.
This time, the Duke sent two of his men in arms to accompany me back to Narni, commanding them to remain with the two Englishmen until their services where no longer needed. Sir John seemed very much recovered from his injury, and very relieved to see me and hear that I had been able to escape before a ransom needed to be paid. Sir John told me that we had one task left to do before we could begin our journey back to England. We must return to Rome and try yet again to persuade the Pope to stand strong and firm against the Emperor—despite what promises he had exchanged during this period of duress.
’Twas the end of April when we at length arrived back in Rome. The situation had become no better during our time away. It felt to me that events had come to such a pass that all out warfare could no longer be avoided.
Soldiers, who had recently gathered to protect Rome, had just days before our arrival been sent away in disgrace. During their time in Rome, these soldiers had caused the inhabitants of the city such terror that only the brave had dared to walk the streets—even in full daylight. The Romans had breathed a sigh of relief to see the backs of these brutal men gone, but now Rome was left to whatever defences it alone could raise. This defence seemed half-hearted in many quarters. The Pope had lost much of his popularity through the harsh taxes imposed to combat the Emperor. In sooth, many Romans could see no difference between being under the thumb of the Vatican or the Imperialist government of the Emperor Charles.
Loud rumour was now rife that the
Duc de Bourbon
had received word of this state of affairs, and was beginning to march his soldiers steadily toward Rome. Thus, those Romans who supported the papacy were now busily engaged in preparing themselves for the unavoidable battle that was looming before their frightened eyes.
Indeed, within days of the arrival of Sir John and myself,
Bourbon
and his multitude of men began to make camp before the ancient walls of Rome. Within hours of their arrival, the sounds of savage battle began to vibrate throughout the streets of Rome.
Sir John and I could do no more. Indeed, all that we could hope for was that we could escape from the city with our skins intact.
The month of May, I thought, was becoming fast an unlucky time for me, but even more unlucky, this time, for the ancient city of Rome.
Thus, escape we did, as the bells of Roma tolled out their panicked warning, though escape proved a difficult feat to achieve. Fog shrouded the lanes and streets of Rome, its series of dark, narrow, dust-filled alley ways twisting into a maze of courts and passages, dotted here and there, verily everywhere, by a church or fortress rising over our heads—emerging through thick fog—that hindered us at every turn. We, Sir John and myself, protected by the Italians by the Duke of Ferrara, desperately tried to make some sense of these bewildering and strange surroundings, hoping to be able to gain a quick way of escape. As good fortune would have it, one of the soldiers sent with us had been born in Rome. In sooth, without his help, I dread to think what our fate would have been. In the heat of battle, it serves no purpose to cry “immunity!”
But God, and all his angels and saints, was on our side, and our good fortune held out. In the heat of battle there is also much confusion; thus, we were able to leave the poor city of Rome to its dreadful fate, and begin to make our long way back to England.
“The chances most unhappy
That me betide in May!”
July 1528
“In thin array after pleasant guise,
when her loose gown from shoulders did fall.”
’Twas during the time Anne lay ill at Hever Castle that I returned again to our childhood home—greatly disenchanted with my life. I had come home to discover my wife, Bess, in bed with another of her base lovers. I dragged him out of my bed, pushed him out the room, and returned to my wife to engage her in the most horrible quarrel—the worst of our marriage.
This time my usually restrained anger let loose, with the grave consequence I came away from her leaving her bruised, battered, and promising to make my life more miserable. And me? What did I feel? God’s oath! My anger terrified me. I had never lain a hand on Bess in violence before, and I felt horrified to see what my anger had done. And I also knew only the lucky arrival in the room of our daughter (is she my daughter—how am I truly to ever know?) prevented me slipping into a more murderous rage when I confronted Bess. ’Twas enough to give me reason and cause to think for a very long time. Thus, not wanting to remain under the same roof as Elizabeth, I picked up my still unpacked travelling bags, got on my horse, and rode swiftly to Hever.
I had heard news of Anna from George, who I had seen days before at a London tavern. Anna had, only a short time ago, been sent away from court because the King feared her illness could be the plague or the sweating sickness and thus wished to protect himself from contagion. I, who truly loved her, felt afraid for her and resolved to be with her at this time. The discord I had left at my house only increased my determination to see Anna and make some attempt to renew myself in her presence.
With my heart so heavy, I found it strange to ride my horse up those same tracks and lanes that had seen us running wild as children. I had only infrequently visited Hever Castle since I was sent to Cambridge University when I was thirteen. Now in my twenty-fifth year, I could not help but feel that I had lived through so much since the time of my boyhood that I had become utterly world-weary since those happier and simpler times.
Even though a summer’s day, it was cold and wet, and riding had become swiftly a damp business. I greatly looked forward to the end of my journey and the warmth of a welcoming fire. Even so, I could not resist my urge to stop my horse on the crest of the hill overlooking the castle. From that distance, I found it as I remembered it, a small, charming, golden-stone castle, surrounded by a moat and high yew hedges. Aye, Hever—set amidst the green meadows of my childhood where I had numbered the flowers into thousands.
I wasted no more time, urging my horse into a gallop. Home! I was so near to home and my beloved Anne! At long last, now drenched to my skin, my horse’s hoofs rattled loudly over the wooden drawbridge, and I arrived in the castle’s courtyard. I slid off my exhausted mare only to find a heavily cloaked, silent groom had already come to take my horse’s head. I thanked him, gave him a coin to care well for her needs, and walked swiftly towards the entrance of my former home, enormously concerned about what I would discover within.
Happily, to the delight of us both, Simonette was there to welcome me, and quickly reassure me that Anne’s life was no longer threatened. All illness, she told me, thank the good Lord, had now passed from Hever. I had concluded this in any case as there had been no sign on the castle gate warning of contagion and Hever Castle lay wide open to all visitors. However, Anne had come down with a very bad dose of the sweating sickness, and was now low in spirits. Simonette felt that it was her malaise, rather than any lingering illness, which was affecting her recovery and subsequent return to full health.
Our initial greetings done, Simonette took me to the room that I had once shared with George, leaving me while I exchanged my wet garments for drier ones. Once I had done so, I left my old room to rejoin Simonette in the castle’s Great Hall.
I found her seated by the main fireplace, in front of a spinning wheel sorting out the unspun wool. Seeing my return, Simonette stopped her work and stood, smiling to me brightly and holding out her hands for me to take. It struck me, as I spoke to Simonette, how young she must have been when she had taken over those mothering needs of our childhoods. Looking at her face, still so youthful, and her almost unchanged hair and figure, I found it hard to imagine that she must now be fast approaching her forties. Her hair still as deeply auburn as I remembered it from my last visit to Hever, her skin also seemed to be as clear and untouched by age as I recollected from my youth.
“Simonette,” I said, “you grow more lovely with every passing year.”
Simonette laughed softly.
“Oh, Master Tom! Your time on the Continent was well spent if you have learnt to be gallant. But, I know too well how time has sped. How could I not, when I remember the little lad I cared for and see him grown into the man before me… Yea, truly, time has gone too fast for me.”
At last, after giving me another kiss and wiping away yet more tears, Simonette left me, so as to go and prepare Anne for her visitor.
Soon after Simonette’s departure, I got up from the chair and wandered around the Great Hall, taking in all the changes. Rich tapestries hung on every large portion of available wall space and beautiful paintings were to be found in the smaller areas. I could see before me the clear evidence that the Boleyns had become wealthier than I remembered from my childhood.
Standing alone in this Great Hall, I tried to recapture some feeling of the magic that I recalled of Hever and my childhood. ’Twas all gone: the air I breathed still and ordinary, so much so I began to feel melancholy for a time forever vanished. Despite struggling with this feeling, my childhood home appeared much the same, though I thought it also appeared to be diminished, lacking some inner strength.
I wandered to the nearby window. Outside, the weather was still bleak and miserable. The rain fell heavily, hitting in bursts against the thick glass, while the wind bowed tall trees as it howled around the castle. I looked away, and a small painting hanging on a nearby wall, glowing with such colour that it seemed almost jewel-like, caught my eye. I went closer to heed that it was a painting of Saint Francis. It reminded me of other paintings I had seen during my brief time in Venice. I remembered these other paintings were the works of
Giovanni Bellini
, an artist of Venice whom I liked for the poetic mood he often captured in his paintings. Being a poet myself gave me a sense of fellow feeling with Bellini, whose skills were such he could render as if poems on canvas.
I went even closer to the painting, to see if the painting of St. Francis was in fact by him. I often find it strange the things bringing to the surface my true feelings; why I now felt bereft. As I looked away from the painting of this small Franciscan monk, it became crystal clear why the Great Hall seemed to me so utterly empty. Yea, I realised, as I waited for Simonette to return from Anne’s room, what it lacked was the giant presence of Father Stephen. The Great Hall stayed empty of the boom of his voice and laughter. The good father had died… yea, he had died to the grief of us all, during my last year at Cambridge.
