Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (6 page)

‘Oh, dear God! Do you mean it, Henry?’ was all that I was able to gasp. The King smiled and then I heard myself say ‘yes, yes’ over and over as a tear ran down my face. I was not sure whether that tear was of joy, or of sadness, but I found myself being pulled into my lover’s embrace. Henry was laughing again as he held me tight against his huge chest. I never wanted that moment to end. It was impossible then to believe that this man would ever betray me. When I looked up and met his gaze, to my surprise, I found that Henry too had tears welling up in his eyes. For a few intimate and perfect moments, we stood there like two vulnerable teenagers, clasping onto each other as if this would somehow protect us from the coming storm.

I imagined that Henry believed that with his word would follow the deed easily enough. He could not possibly know, as I did, that this would be an historic love that would tear apart the very fabric of this country, dividing loyalties and creating factions that would be prepared to fight to the death. An immense sense of destiny swelled up within my chest. In my other world, I lived an entirely ordinary life. However, I was tasting, as Anne must have done, what it was to feel extraordinary; thrust forward to become the very making of history. It would not be the last time that I would be unable to shake off the thought that perhaps Anne had known her destiny after all, because she and I—the two ‘Annes’—were caught up in an endless cycle; our lives and fates being intimately entwined. Perhaps she had known her destiny because the person I had read about in the history books had, at least in part, been me. I was the woman from the future who knew already what had to be done—and knew what would be done! However, there was no more time to dwell on this uncomfortable and perplexing thought, because Henry had taken me by the hand and was leading me back toward the entrance to the rose garden.

‘Let us rejoin the others. There is much to celebrate, but . . .’ with this Henry turned to face me. His smile replaced with a serious countenance, ‘. . . this must remain a secret for now. Katherine does not yet know and I do not want her to know. I want to hear from my advisors which way the wind blows—how
We
may best accomplish our goal.’ His face softened once more. ‘Sweetheart, we shall soon be together and then the whole world will know of the fire that you have lit in my heart – and you will be adored, as I adore you.’

‘Of course, Henry. I understand and will keep it close to mine own heart and none shall know of it.’ I noticed how strangely I spoke and yet, curiously it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

‘Then all will be well.’ Henry opened out his arm, gesturing for us to move on. As we walked arm in arm, I was so utterly lost in the moment that I failed to realise that we were not alone.

A group of at least fifteen people gathered ahead of us. Some were clearly part of Henry’s personal bodyguard, dressed in royal livery; the Tudor colours of green and white. Each one carried a halberd, glistening in the midday sun; sheathed swords were slung by their sides. Of the others, Mary alone I recognised. She was standing next to an older woman who was studying me intently. A few feet away from her and talking to two other men, who were equally richly adorned, was the man who had greeted Henry on his arrival at Hever; the man I assumed to be Anne’s father. The remainder of the group was mostly men, all dressed elegantly and clearly of some wealth. Some were engaged in their own conversations, others eyed Henry and me. As we drew nearer, all turned their attention to us and bowed or curtsied in deference to the King. Henry held their undivided attention as he spoke heartily,

‘Friends, let us take to the hunt this afternoon, for it is a fine day indeed! Thomas, have your stable boys prepare fresh horses.’

‘Yes, Sire, straight away.’ Sir Thomas, whose identity Henry had conveniently confirmed, turned and nodded to a rather more plainly dressed man lingering at the back of the crowd. He, in turn, promptly scuttled off, no doubt to convey the King’s orders to the stables. Henry walked forward, the crowd melting away to allow our passage through. As we reached the woman standing next to Mary, Henry paused, then spoke to her merrily,

‘Lady Elizabeth, your daughter shall join me in the hunt today and fear not, for when we return we will have hearty appetites, so make good for our dinner. We have much desire to make merry this evening!’ Lady Elizabeth nodded her head. I noticed how she, like all the other ladies, cast her eyes downwards, almost afraid to hold the gaze of the King. I saw straight away how Anne must have stood out to Henry; no shy diminutive flower was she with her proud stance, her head held high, entirely unafraid of her King. Henry must have seen her as a wild animal, mysterious, elusive and difficult to hold; in short, a challenge that any alpha male would relish.

With Henry’s words, I realised that this lady must be my mother, Elizabeth Boleyn. In my modern life, the question of Anne’s mother always intrigued me. For many years, so little had been written about her in relation to Anne that I assumed, wrongly, that she must have been dead by the time Anne caught Henry’s eye. However, from one of Henry’s love letters to Anne, begging her to come to court, I found the reference to ‘my Lady, your mother’ and realised that Elizabeth was very much alive and probably played the role of chaperone on many occasions.

I often wondered how Elizabeth had felt about the courtship of her daughter by the King of England: Proud? Excited? In awe? Fearful? What happened to her during and after Anne’s downfall? Had she pleaded with the King for the lives of her two children?

I later learnt she had been close to Anne, and no doubt must have been heartbroken when tragedy had befallen her children. Was it indeed of a broken heart that Elizabeth died less than two years later? And what became of her relationship with Thomas? Did she blame him? Elizabeth was buried in the Howard family vaults in St. Mary’s Church, Lambeth, which was close to the then London residence of that most noble of Tudor families. She was a Howard before her marriage to the aspiring courtier, Thomas Boleyn. I would never know, but it seemed to me that following Anne’s death and that of her son, George, Elizabeth and Thomas became estranged. Perhaps she blamed him for putting their family in the way of a lion who would ultimately tear them apart. I imagined her fury at him for this ambition, and his apathy in trying to save them in order to save his own skin. Perhaps she could never forgive him his unbridled ambition; or forgive herself for not attempting to save them. I thought of her tears of desperate grief. In her all-consuming sorrow, unable to tolerate the sight of him, I imagined her leaving Thomas and moving back to the Howard family home to nurse her memories and her broken spirit.

As Henry and I passed her, I wanted my mother to look up, so I could see her face up close, but before I could, we moved along, heading back into the castle to prepare for the hunt.

Chapter Three

The Hunt
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May 31, 1527

Preparations for the hunt were those of bustling efficiency. No sooner had we re-entered the castle, than I was swept away from the company of the King and back up to my bedroom. The same two maids that had prepared me not half an hour earlier awaited my arrival. As I entered the room, I found them bustling around the bed where they had carefully laid out my hunting attire for my inspection and approval. Of course, they were completely unaware that their mistress was now a Queen-in-waiting. Bess and the older lady, who by then I knew as Alice, quickly stripped me of my shimmering yellow gown and dressed me in the attire that I would wear for the hunt. This time a kirtle of lightweight wool, lined with linen and trimmed along its edge with green velvet, was overlaid by a dark green English gown of satin; the sleeves being puffed at the top and gathered at the elbow, whence narrow, velvet sleeves ran close fitting to my wrists.

This outer gown was beautifully decorated with a trim of green velvet ribbon, edged in gold cord, whilst it was fastened at the front with jewelled aiglets, a green silk sash being tied about my waist. My French hood was also removed and a new pearl edged coif and black velvet bonnet pinned in its place, the latter dressed elegantly with a fine, white ostrich feather. It seemed so strange at first, to be so fussed over and dressed as if I were a child. However, I quickly came to appreciate the intricacies of the many buttons, hooks and lacings, which drew my dresses together, and I understood it would be impossible to have dressed in such rich attire on my own. I stood patiently waiting for my maids to complete their task. All the while, I heard around me the hubbub of the castle, alive with anticipation. Emanating upwards through the open window was, yet again, the sound of the clatter of hooves as fresh horses were brought in from the stables. Prancing about, they too seemed anxious to get going. Alice came forward, holding a pair of ankle-length, leather riding boots. With Bess supporting me, she slipped each one over my stockings. Each boot was then buckled into place before finally, Alice turned to me and offered me my riding gloves; I smiled at both my maids, feeling somewhat apprehensive. The party was gathering downstairs and I knew it was time to go.

‘Thank you.’ I said finally.

‘Enjoy the hunt, Madame. May your efforts be fruitful!’ With that, Bess moved to the door, holding it open for me to pass through.

Having been through the house on a few occasions, I could find my way quite easily to the main staircase and to the Entrance Hall below, where the hunting party was gathering. It was not the entire retinue, perhaps eight to ten people, all told. With the exception of Mary and one other lady, whom I did not yet know, all who gathered were men. I guessed that the King had finally decided upon a more intimate group, and I wondered who these people were. Undoubtedly, as the King’s close companions and confidantes, I would know many of them from my history books, but it was impossible at the time to guess who was who. I had to keep my wits about me; I suspected that eavesdropping on idle chatter would reveal a great deal.

As I glided down the staircase, I noticed all eyes were turning towards me. I wondered if that was the effect Anne had on people when she entered a room. She was renowned for her ‘behaviour, manners and attire which excelled them all.’ Clearly, she turned heads, the obvious attention and favour of the King, no doubt adding to the intoxicating allure of her presence. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, some of those present inclined their heads, acknowledging my arrival. The King, who had been in jovial conversation with a couple of courtiers, saw me and broke off his conversation immediately, as he extended his arm to take my hand.

‘Mistress Anne. Now we are complete.’ Then, turning to the room Henry said, ‘Let us away and tarry no more!’ To me he leaned in close and whispered, ‘and you shall ride by my side, sweet-heart. I may be hunting a buck this day, but you, I do not want out of my sight.’

With that, the party swept outside. I could not believe that just a couple of hours earlier at most, I had walked into this castle as plain, unremarkable Anne. Just an hour or so later, I was leaving through the same entrance, following the King of England as Mistress Anne, the King’s secret fiancée and future Queen.

In front of me, the small courtyard was crowded indeed. Several hounds, who were to accompany us on the hunt, wove their way amongst the melee, clearly eager to be on their way. The horses were bedecked with fine leather saddles set off with brightly polished fittings. Several stable hands held onto the reins of two or three horses each, as they awaited the arrival of their mounts. As the men, including Henry, were assisted effortlessly into their saddles, I was escorted to my ride, a beautiful Irish chestnut gelding, its forehead ablaze with a white star. I thanked my lucky stars that as a small girl, I had not only fallen in love with Anne Boleyn but also with horses. I virtually grew up with them in my blood, and on a couple of occasions had even rode side-saddle; so I knew at least how to mount my horse! A strong looking groom stepped forward and offered me his locked hands into which I placed my foot. Anne was a slight thing and was lifted easily into the saddle. I turned the horse around and was delighted to find that he was responsive to my touch. I felt sure that I had ridden him before and that we shared an understanding.

I soon found myself at Henry’s side. The King met my eyes and smiled, lighting up my heart. He lifted his right arm and motioned for us to move forward and the party set off. The Royal Standard, carried by a lone rider, fluttered in the breeze behind Henry and me, whilst our escort, a number of armed guards and servants, followed up the rear. At first, we set off at a brisk trot, making our way across the drawbridge, and then left down a deserted lane that headed towards the forest. It had gone midday and was hot by then; the heat of the sun rapidly burning away what moisture was left in the earth. We passed only a few people as we made our way along, but those we did must have recognised the Royal Standard and the exalted position of the noblemen that passed by, for all doffed their caps and bowed low. I smiled down at them but they respectfully never met my gaze.

We soon entered the forest, kept much cooler than the open countryside by the emerald canopy above us. It was a perfect summer’s day with light falling in dappled pools on the forest floor. Birds chirped and swooped around us as they flitted from tree to tree, feeding their chicks. Occasionally, I caught sight of a red squirrel darting across the boughs above our heads, and rabbits disappearing into the thick undergrowth on the forest floor. I was struck by how quiet it was. With the exception of some gentle banter, the sound of the horses scuffling their way along the stony path, and the clinking of the metal fittings of the horses’ bridles, there was silence. How I often longed to escape the noise pollution of the 21st century in my other life; and there I was, no cars or trains ploughing across our countryside, no aeroplanes roaring through the sky. It was bliss.

Soon, we halted at an intersection of five paths. Henry turned to his huntsman and began discussing the best direction to take in order to hunt down the best quarry. I would come to know that quite against all usual protocol, the King had then turned to me and asked playfully,