Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (38 page)

Yet, it was Henry who was mesmerised by Mistress Anne; her honour and sheer strength of will always keeping the King at arm’s length, which I knew drove Henry into a frenzy of longing. Often, I would catch him staring at me as if he were beholding a divine vision of celestial magnificence. However, by that time, I recognised a deeper truth. What I came to realise was that Henry was an emotional fortress; huge defensive walls, like those which surrounded his many palaces, keeping him safe where others could not reach him. Oh, he appeared outgoing, charismatic and sociable, and on the surface Henry was all these things; through his majesty and sheer physical presence, he controlled and dominated all those about him. Yet, at the core, he was vulnerable, needy and fearful. I believed that Anne was the first woman to truly understand this.

Finding myself in Anne’s shoes, deeply embroiled in this most passionate of relationships, I came to understand the workings of the King’s mind. Henry had let down the drawbridge and allowed Anne to see his naked vulnerability. She was the first woman to touch his soul, and he yearned for her to make him whole. Yet, at the same time, I recognised in his subconscious a sheer terror in Anne’s ability reveal to him his darkest shadows, his fallibilities, self-loathing and ultimately his helplessness in a world that Henry struggled to control absolutely.

‘. . . And I tell you this, sweetheart,’ the King was speaking. Whilst distracted for a few moments with these thoughts, I then gave him my full attention once more. Holding a silver gilt goblet in one hand, the King extended his index finger, gesturing to emphasise his words as he continued, ‘Methinks that the Cardinal will never again take anything that belongs to your person.’ I remained silent as I imagined the dressing down that Henry must have given his first minister, furious that he thought to bring Mistress Boleyn into ill repute. I found that I could not resist the temptation to further discredit my enemy, so I said,

‘Does it surprise Your Grace that the Cardinal behaved thus?’ Henry put down the knife he was using to slice the venison that he was eating. He looked perplexed:

‘What dost thou mean, Anne?’

‘It is quite clear to me and many of your courtiers, that my Lord Cardinal would prefer a solution to Your Majesty’s current difficulty which does not involve Anne Boleyn.’ I held Henry’s gaze resolutely, for I had long since learned that what Henry respected more than anything else in the world was fearlessness.

‘You are no friend of His Grace?’ It was a question rather than a statement.

‘Sire, forgive me my impudence if I speak out of turn, but I only desire that your subjects seek to uphold Your Grace’s wishes and commands, before looking to their own advancement and glory—as any true and humble servant of Your Majesty’s would endeavour to do.’ The King’s eyes narrowed, as they often did when Henry weighed up the truth within a man’s heart. I was unperturbed; I knew that I spoke the truth, for my father had often talked to me of Wolsey’s desire for a match with a French princess; and of course, I remembered what I already knew from history, and I watched my words hit their target with the King. He was about to reply when suddenly, there was a knock at the door. The King glanced up anxiously, as the usher approached our table. With a reverential bow, he said,

‘Your Grace, Dr Edward Foxe has come thither with news of the Pope. He seeks an audience with Your Majesty.’

‘Bring him in, bring him in!’ the King said emphatically, as he rose to his feet in nothing short of excited anticipation. Placing my goblet upon the table, I too stood up gracefully, placing myself at the side of the King, a petite presence next to Henry’s towering frame. Dr Foxe entered and made a deep and comely bow. Henry could not contain himself any longer. ‘Dr Foxe, we are right glad to see you returned to us and have long awaited your news. Tarry no more, man! Speak! What news of the Pope?’ Edward Foxe raised himself up. In spite of the demanding presence of the King, he cast an appreciative glance in my direction, which conveyed to me the great love he bore in his heart for Mistress Anne.

‘Your Grace, I am delighted to report that Master Stevens and I have returned to Your Grace with a decretal commission from the Pope. This document makes good all the requests that we laid before him.’ Henry broke into in enormous and hearty smile; opening his arms out wide, he stepped forward grasping the relatively diminutive Dr Foxe by the shoulders, before patting him heartily on the back in a great demonstration of rejoicing.

‘Then we are truly delighted; this news will bring to pass all the sooner everything that I could ever desire in this world.’ With this, the King turned and came over to me, picking me up and swirling me around in an outpouring of exalted joy. Of course, I joined in wholeheartedly with the King’s great happiness, for I could not remember clearly the outcome of the event from my history books. I wondered if, in some way, the course of history had shifted. I did know that there would be another five years of wrangling before Henry and Anne would finally be married. Yet, if this were true and the Pope had in fact granted such a decree then perhaps, somehow, in some way, history was about to be rewritten. So, when Henry finally allowed my tiny feet to rest back upon the floor, I too stepped forward and spoke to Dr Foxe with great joy.

‘Dr Foxe, in my most humble wise that my heart can think, it is marvellous to my eyes that you should return in such good health. I know of the great pains and troubles that you have taken for me and for the King’s Majesty and it is never like to be recompensed on my part but alone in loving you next to the King’s Grace above all creatures living.’ With my words, Dr Foxe yet again took my hand in his and kissed it, in one gesture declaring his great loyalty towards me. The King then spoke again,

‘Dr Foxe, we command that you go at once to my Lord Cardinal. Wake him if necessary, for you are to convey to His Grace your document with our happy tidings.’ Understanding his charge, Dr Foxe made a bow before leaving my privy chamber, where he would be heading by barge from Greenwich towards the Strand, where Wolsey kept his estate in the opulent Durham House.

Oh, I so wanted to believe that fate had changed her mind and that Anne and Henry would be married all the sooner and enjoy an everlasting love! I cannot believe now how naive I was; how is it possible to believe so fervently in whatever we wish to be true—even when we know a different reality stares us blatantly in the face! Yet for a few short days, the King and I revelled in each other’s joy and affection, exchanging gifts and tokens that spoke of our enduring love.

Little did anyone know it at the time, but the spectre of death was fast approaching, casting its long shadow across the English people; it would devastate great swathes of the population with neither mercy, nor discrimination. This idyllic time was about to be wrenched away from me in the most abrupt and cruel way possible.

Chapter Twenty One

Palace of Placentia, Greenwich

June 15, 1528

It began towards the end of May when I caught a chill. This left me with a heavy head cold and a slight fever, which kept me closeted in my chambers for several days. Despite my obvious discomfort and annoyance that there were no painkillers to soothe my raging headache, I was not unduly disturbed or frustrated at my confinement. For outside, rain drizzled incessantly; a heavy humidity, which hung in the air, making it particularly troublesome to keep fresh within the many layers of clothing that were fashionable to wear at Henry’s court.

Thankfully, in the privacy of my apartments, I was warm enough and able to dress only in a light chemise and black satin nightgown, one of the many gifts that I had of late received from the King. I languished in bed for three days, meticulously cared for by Bess, who never left my side. The rest of my ladies were also present, coming and going as their duties to their mistress dictated. In turn, they were supervised by my mother, who insisted that I drink a sweet concoction of lavender, sage, marjoram and rosewater to ease the throbbing and relentless pain in my head. However, worse was to come when Henry sent his physician, the kindly Dr Butts, to visit me. Although I was touched by Henry’s concern and easily warmed to the doctor’s gentle bedside manner, I was less enamoured when he prescribed the use of leeches to balance my internal humours; this, Dr Butts assured me, was the underlying cause of my ailment. I was sceptical and somewhat unwilling to partake of the doctor’s prescribed remedy. However, I knew that my aversion would be considered strange and unwholesome in Anne’s world, considering that such treatment was commonplace. So, I submitted myself to the cure with considerable revulsion, which I had tried my hardest to conceal.

After several days, I had recovered and started to receive a steady stream of visitors. It was obvious to the court that Queen Katherine’s sun was setting, and for all but her most diehard supporters, political expediency drove ever greater numbers of eager courtiers to pay their respects to, and form allegiances with, the increasingly powerful Boleyn faction; regulars were; Sir Francis Byran, Sir Thomas Cheney, Sir John Wallop, Sir Henry Norris, William Brereton, Sir Thomas Heneage—no doubt keeping a close eye on me on behalf of Wolsey—and of course, my beloved brother, George. I was therefore not short of either entertainment or distraction, surrounded as I was by many of the most gallant and dashing gentlemen of the King’s Chamber.

By mid-June, I had fully regained my former strength and much to my delight, the heavy rainclouds that had plagued Greenwich had melted away to reveal the glorious heat of the brilliant summer sun. On that fair Tuesday morning, Henry was again preoccupied with matters of Council, sending word via my brother that we should dine together and make merry that very evening. So in the meantime, to celebrate the beauty of the day and my return to full health, my brother, Margery, Mary Norris and I decided to ride out.

After Mass, our horses were brought down from the Royal Stables to await us by the foot of the Tiltyard Towers. As I greeted Starlight, she whinnied, nuzzling her soft, velvety nose into my neck; I knew that she was as happy to see me as I was her. I ran my gloved hand across her jaw and felt the familiar strength of this magnificent beast beneath the delicate touch of my fingers. As I was assisted up into my gorgeous black velvet saddle, fringed and ornamented with gold fittings, I lifted my head and breathed in the sweet, warm air of Midsummer. It was a joy to my soul after being so confined within my rather stuffy privy chambers for so many days. I was keen to depart and so we soon got on our way, galloping once again up Castle Hill, across the London to Dover Road, which ran close by, and on into the parkland beyond. The four of us were away from the palace for several hours, returning only well into the afternoon, when we had finally become bone-tired and covered in dust and dirt from our exertions.

Perhaps we should have noticed something earlier—that the palace had been just a little quieter than the normal busy hubbub that was usually afoot around its precinct; merchants coming and going to sell their wares, the various staff of the many palace offices going about their business; clergy, nobleman, foreign visitors and ambassadors, all buzzing around the King as bees round a honey pot. I suspect that we were so engrossed with my brother, who was busy regaling us with his never ending, and often highly amusing, stories about the latest pomposity and preening going on at court that we failed to notice that anything was amiss. Through our own laughter, we could not hear the hush that had descended ominously upon the palace in our absence. Casually we made our way back through the many sunlit galleries and dark corridors towards my lodgings, unaware that death was stalking us all. As we approached my apartments, I knew immediately that something was gravely awry, for we were intercepted by my mother, her face ashen white. Before I had had a chance to speak, Elizabeth Boleyn said,

‘Anne, you cannot go back to your chamber.’ She paused swallowing deeply, trying to remain calm.

‘Dearest mother, what on earth has happened? What is wrong?’ I reached out and put my hand upon her shoulder; Elizabeth Boleyn looked up, her hazel- brown eyes meeting mine with chilling gravity:

‘The sweating sickness is back.’ For a moment I had no idea what she was talking about. My mother forged on, ‘Yesterday the first cases were seen in London. As you know, I took Bess with me when we visited our draper there yesterday.’ By that time, the chilling reality of what my mother was telling me had begun to sink in, and I heard my friends gasp in horror. For unlike me, they had all lived through the last outbreak of the sweating sickness in 1525, and had seen the enormous suffering and devastation that it wreaked on the country and the city in particular.

Nobody knew what caused the sweating sickness and where it came from – even in my modern day life. Yet it was deadly, often killing its victims within a matter of a few short hours; there was no remedy, nor cure. I suddenly felt utterly helpless. I was so used to 21st century medicine, where we always had a solution, always a cure for anything that ailed me. I was young and healthy, but I knew then what it was like to stand hopelessly exposed to the shadow of death. I found myself tensing, clutching at my stomach, for I sensed that my mother had more to tell.

‘Bess has fallen ill . . . I fear she will soon die.’ Suddenly, I could not help myself; tears began to stream silently down my face. I realised how much I had grown to love Bess since arriving in Anne’s world. She had always been there, loyal and devoted, and for the first time, I suddenly felt truly afraid. My mother, however, was a strong woman, and I could see where Anne derived her own strength of character. Taking me by the arm, she gently led me from the corridor into her adjacent chambers, along with Mary, Margery and George. She began issuing instructions with unflappable serenity and levelheadedness.

‘Margery, Mary, both of you must make haste immediately. Go back to your country estates and if you can, keep well away from the city as you travel. Anne, your father is already making arrangements for our repair to Hever. As you know, he is in the country on the King’s business currently, but is returning to Greenwich as quickly as possible. It is too dangerous for us to travel on the road alone, for I hear tell that there is great panic and many are fleeing from London already. I have seen it before, people do strange things when fear becomes their master.’ My mother shook her head to convey her sense of disapproval—for Viscountess Rochford appreciated order, as was the Tudor way. ‘We are to pack, and when your father arrives, we will leave together . . .’