Dear Heart, How Like You This (42 page)

At this George crumbled and tears began to run down his cheeks to soak into his beard. As quickly as he had begun to cry, his body straightened savagely, and he jumped out of the chair shouting: “God rot the King!”

At that I went from the window, and opened my door and looked out, thanking all the saints I could think of that the corridor outside of my chamber was completely empty of people. I closed my door and went to George, gripped his shoulders firmly, shook him and said: “George, be very careful, man; there are spies enough without you giving them something to run home to their masters about.”

George looked at me and sighed deeply.

“I am sorry, Tom. We are all living on our nerves at court. The black clouds have gathered. We only now wait for the storm to begin. If only I knew what type of storm it will be, I would know then what weapons to fight it with.”

We were both silent for a moment. I knew exactly how George was feeling. I too churned inside with so many dark thoughts and fears.

Finally, I turned back to George to ask him: “In what ways could the King end his marriage to Anne?”

George went and sat back down on the chair. He leaned his head back on top of the chair and looked up at the ceiling.

“My greatest fear is that he may accuse her of adultery,” he whispered so quietly that I could barely comprehend what he was saying.

“What!” I rushed over to him to be more near to hear.

He sat up, glancing at me, and then looked down at his feet.

“He wishes to rid himself of a marriage that all parliament recognised and declared valid. He wishes to rid himself of a Queen anointed. I believe the King also wants to make sure of revenge… Thomas, I have thought hard on this and have concluded that to accuse Anne of adultery would be one sure way of achieving all his ends. You know, as I know… ’tis treason for a Queen to be found guilty of adultery.”

“But surely he would require evidence. As you say, Anne is a crowned and anointed Queen of England, George. The King could not put away his marriage to Anne without convincing proof.”

“Yea, Tom, I know. But during these last months I have been wondering how it could be done. Tom, my sister is too friendly with those men she has around her. ’Tis all in innocence. You and I have long known that Anne has always preferred a man’s friendship to that of a woman’s. Who knows, Tom, perhaps it is because she grew up so close to us. But, nonetheless, I believe a plot such as I fear could make much of these friendships.”

“How do you mean, George?”

“I can easily think of two examples, Tom. You recall how Anne thoughtlessly said to Norris about waiting for dead men’s shoes? That was really stupid of my sister, but you know what mood she has been in since her last miscarriage. I’ve begged her to watch her tongue. But I was also there recently when she was teasing Weston about not loving his wife, and you know what the fool said? He told Anne, in the presence of many, that he loved her better than he did his wife or mistress. Of course Anne tried to quickly turn the subject to something else, but it was said; and worst, Tom, it was heard.”

“God’s oath, George… What a bloody idiot! But surely they must have solid truth, not some ill conceived flattery that had got out of hand?”

“Truth, Tom? Tell me, what is truth? A man who is tortured until he would sell his soul to the devil, does he speak the truth or does he make known what others wish for him to make known? Where, Tom, oh where in God’s good name is Marc Smeaton?”

I could see now another reason why he was here today. His thoughts regarding the disappearance of Marc must have driven him to distraction. But now it was not only George who trembled at what he could not see. I too could feel an abyss opening rapidly at my feet.

I am a fanciful man, I freely and without hesitation admit, but there has long been an image or waking dream in my mind that I feel now such a powerful urge to describe. I see in this vision a music room where Anne, George and I are making music, like we often did when we were children. One of us—in this waking vision ’tis I—stands slightly apart from the other two, holding the paper on which the sonnet is written, and sings while the other two play upon their lutes. There is an open door to this room. Out of this door, a large glass window lights up a hint of corridor, but through the door, and into this chamber, there also invades a shadow, a shadow dark and threatening, touching all three of us. Nay, more that. The shadow blocks out the bright sunlight and shrouds the seated forms of Anna and George. This shadow has the unmistakable shape of the King. I felt I was seeing within myself some type of premonition.

I shivered and mentally shook myself and returned back from my vision to that of this world. George was now looking out my window.

“Do you think that is what’s happening, George? That they have Marc somewhere and are torturing him?” I quietly asked him.

George turned around to look at me once more. Never have I seen him look like he did that day—like a man who is haunted by things that are too terrible to even express.

“Yea, Tom. That is what I greatly fear.”

“But why Smeaton?”

“Because he is a commoner, thus ’tis easier to do with him what they will. Because he is close to my sister… Alas, Tom, because he is the weak link in the circle of men who love Anna. Remember, Tom, that a classic tactic of war is to discover the weak link and use it for your own ends… Do you remember when we were boys, Tom, and Anne was sent to France? Do you remember how we could only stand by, too helpless to stop it? I feel now exactly how I felt then. Bloody, bloody helpless!”

“Aye,” I answered him. “I remember too well that time. I also remember that we were only children then; now we are no longer boys but grown men. Surely that changes matters this time… Surely we are no longer helpless?”

George looked at me with agonised eyes.

“In this, we are.”

Since my thirteenth year, it has long seemed to me that my life had been a long battle against things I could not change. That I remained as powerless to change the currents of my life as a drop of water is powerless to change the direction of the currents of the sea. God’s oath! If there was anything that I wished to change most, it was the direction that these currents were now taking us!

I then remembered back to my childhood, when Father Stephen would tell us that life in this world was a series of battles, shaping us, forming us to the glory of God. Perhaps… But, there comes a point when you feel you can battle no more, when all you want to do is curl yourself up like a hedgehog, protecting yourself from any further hurts. If it was not for the fact that I felt I had to remain steadfast and be ready to do battle for my girl, I believe, at this point, I would have easily turned hedgehog.

I invited George to stay with me the night. He readily accepted my invitation. It struck me that he needed the comfort of my company. For certes, I needed the comfort of his. We went together to the local tavern to eat a simple meal of beef, cheese, and fresh bread. While we ate we spoke no more about the events at court; rather we dwelt long upon our boyhoods, remembering only humorous times. Like the time when we had climbed up an old oak tree to shake down the autumn leaves on the dozing form of our good priest, and he had woken up to shake his fist at us before splitting his sides with laughter.

It was as if we wished to escape through happy memories the immense unhappiness we saw looming before our eyes.

I have always been fortunate in my friends, but especially in my long friendship with George. Though our adult lives had often separated us, we, even so, had been always aware that if one ever needed the other that need would instantly be answered. Thus, there we sat talking, lost in times long gone, taking no note that evening was fast drawing to a close and soon it would be time for the sun to make a beginning to a new day. Never could I have realised that this evening and morning in George’s company would be the final time that I would ever spend with my life’s long boon companion.

So dawn came and we parted. Yea, we parted not knowing it was to be forever. Yea, verily, forever out of each other’s lives. Though I was not to know that yet, and for the moment I no longer faced my fears—since I returned to my lodgings to sleep the day away.

Perchance that was for the best; at least I was totally unaware for one last day the grief about to break upon us all. That day, the day I slept until late afternoon, was May the first. Anne always loved May. Especially the first day of May, a day often spent by all England in merriment and dancing, as most likely it had been spent since the dawn of our history.

I was not there to witness the events as they happened, so I write of them as my father told them to me.

On this day a tournament had been arranged; both Anne and the King attended, but the King not for long. Anne tried her hardest to be her old gay self on that day, even though the King sat by her side glum and stern. Anne had long withstood her unhappy marriage by losing herself in the attentions of courtiers who offered her platonic and courtly love.

It was the same on this day, Anne encouraging those who competed in the tournament by gay but innocent flirtations. But on this day the King seemed ready to seize on any of her behaviour and make it appear the act of an evil woman. Thus, when she dropped her handkerchief as a token to one of the competitors, Henry stormed off, never to be seen by Anne again. The arrests began to happen promptly after this event. First Henry Norris, a man who had been with the King since they were both youths at the beginning of the Royal Henry’s reign.

George had wondered to me where Marc Smeaton had disappeared. I found out later that poor Smeaton had been incarcerated in the Tower since leaving Cromwell’s company.

But, I knew nothing of this yet. After I had awoken after noon on the first of May, I returned to polishing up my work of the previous day. I wanted to finish this work quickly because it was meant as a birthday gift for Anne, even though her birthday had already come and gone in early April. I found it hard to believe that the little girl I had climbed up trees and raced with was now a full-grown woman of twenty-nine.

This work of mine kept me busy all of that day and well into the night. In the end my mind began to play tricks upon my tired hand and I decided it would be best to put my poetry aside to the following day. So I went to sleep, and being so tired I slept until after the tenth hour of the following day. After waking, I decided to go and break my fast at the same tavern where George and I had gone not even two days before.

I found the place in a sheer uproar, and soon discovered the cause. Many voices told me, to my horror and dismay, Anne had been arrested and would be taken to the Tower as soon as the tide permitted. I left the tavern without having eaten, and set off as quickly as I could to court. I wanted to find George and discover from him the best course now to take.

I soon arrived at Greenwich, and went in search of my cousin. Thinking that he might be in his chambers, I went there first. I entered his chambers to discover within George’s servant Gil seated at the sunlit window seat, sobbing with all his might. I began to sense myself starting to fall dizzily through the abyss that I had felt opening only days before.

“Gil… where is your Lord?” I asked the obviously grief-stricken boy, feeling terrified of what his answer would be. George could have easily taken leave of his senses, considering the state he was in when he visited me, and decided to take on the King and all when he heard his sister had been arrested.

Gil looked at me with red brimmed eyes, welling with tears, his nose running fast in sympathy.

“Oh, Sir Thomas. They have taken my good Master away,” he blurted out.

I stared at him.

“Why, Gil? Why?” I asked him, feeling now worse than just simply frightened.

“I do not know, Sir Tom. I do not know,” he answered, breaking out in fresh tears.

Utterly desperate, I left George’s chamber in great haste.
Where to now?
I asked myself. I remembered it was likely that Anne would be separated from her loyal attendants, so decided to go in hunt of them. The whole of Greenwich was in complete disorder, with people walking around looking stunned and frightened. But I could see no one whom I knew would be able to give me the answers that I badly needed.

At last, not knowing what else to do, I went to Anne’s chambers. I knew already she was gone from that place, but I hoped to discover within her chambers one of those whom I sought. Anna’s rooms were no longer guarded. I supposed the same guards who had ensured her security while Queen were now ensuring her security as prisoner. Therefore, without further thought, I burst into her rooms, never realising who I would find within.

“So, ’tis you, Wyatt,” the Duke of Suffolk said, having turned away from searching in Anne’s writing cabinet. I swallowed in fright. The last person I would have chosen to see on this day would have been the King; the next person I possessed no desire to meet reclined there right in front of me. I decided to try to make the best of it and bluff it out, if I could.

“My Lord Duke. I am looking for my cousin, the Lord George Rochford.”

“Are you indeed, Wyatt? Oh, I forgot. ’Tis ‘Sir Wyatt’ now.”

The Duke sat there smugly smiling at me.

“No matter, your Grace. Can you not tell where my cousin is?”