The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn (20 page)

27 October 1529

Diary,

‘Tis a marvellous occasion. The once great Cardinal Wolsey has fallen and I, “that foolish girl yonder in the Court,” have been the instrument of his destruction. He did truly dig his own grave, setting foreign law — the Pope’s — above the King’s, and thus defying English law of Praemunire. So that one fine morning this week past, the Dukes of Norfolk and of Suffolk strode into York Place and seized his Chancellor’s Great Seal of the Realm, divested him of rank and all his lands and worldly goods. Head bowed, tail between his fat legs, he left York Place upon his painted barge whilst London’s citizens in boats, at least a thousand strong, did jeer at him and shout they hoped he’d end the Tower’s prisoner. His final destination tho was banishment to a cold and distant house called Esher.

My part in this was making Henry see that Wolsey was no friend, in deed was one who brought down upon the King’s head no end of trouble and disgrace. Whilst we walked in Greenwich garden with winds blowing leaves in swirls about our shoes, I lectured Henry like some sharp tongued tutor.

“That great loan the Cardinal arranged to pay for your war against the French,” said I, “has indebted every English subject in the realm worth five pounds, to you. But worse, your Cardinal’s diplomatic blundering has left us now without the French as allies. All his arse kissing of Francis wasted. England’s place amongst the European powers lost.”

Henry nodded gravely knowing what I said was true and this made me brave to then continue my invective. “You have raised this Priest so high that his wealth is fully one third of your own treasury, yet Wolsey has no country to run on
his
income. Do you know they call your English Cardinal the King of Europe?”

Henry winced as tho I’d struck him, for there ingrained within his seething anger for old Wolsey were both loyalty and love, and thus a pain within their parting. But there was no help for the man. His fate was sealed.

When Wolsey’d left York Place, Henry took me there and we looked amongst the Cardinal’s confiscated booty. It was far beyond imagining, the richness and the quantities of things we saw laid upon great trestles and along the walls. Tapestries, dozens upon dozens of rugs, pillows, hangings, sixteen carven and canopied beds, tables, thrones, chests, huge paintings, golden plate and goblets made to serve one hundred, jewelled and gilded crosses, chalices and vestments.

“These are yours now, Henry, and rightfully so,” said I as we stared at all the bounty. I could see amazement in his eyes that these lavish treasures now he owned.

“’Tis yours too, Nan,” he said.

I smiled a smile he could not see. “A wedding gift from Wolsey, is it?”

He was silent then and sad, perhaps with thoughts of all the Cardinal’s good counsel.

“You’ve done no wrong, Henry. ‘Twas Wolsey’s time to go.”

“Aye, I need a Chancellor now who’s no cleric. What think you of my choice of Thomas More?”

I did not speak quickly for I knew the lawyer, learned author of the tome “Utopia” was Henry’s friend. He was a man both respected for his fairness and most popular at Court and with the common folk. But thought of his appointment gave me pause.

“He is a staunch Catholic, my love, and opposes the divorce,” I finally said.

“True enough. And in that I encourage him to follow after his own conscience. But he shall not concern him self with my divorce, but only other state and legal matters. More has always shown to be my loyal and obedient servant, and only gives opinion when I prompt him to.”

My mind went wandering back to when I’d first laid eyes upon the man Thomas More. I stood in Henry’s Presence Chamber which rustled loudly with stiff satin and heavy gilt chains clinking gainst great jewelled brooches, where French parfum wafted from every starched lawn fold of every slashed doublet and lacy bodice. Then into this gaudy peacock garden strode a bird of an altogether different feather — a man in black and rough wove garments simply hung upon a slender frame. The eyes were soft, expression kindly.

His reputation did precede him. Henry’s friend since childhood and counsellor of many years, he was Katherine’s friend as well, host to Erasmus when that scholar came to England, a family man and father. All knew of his long marriage to sharp tongued Alice More, and of his natural daughter Margaret, and his adopted child — again a girl — and their devotion to this man. I could not tear my eyes from that face, imagining sweet words from those lips to his daughter’s ears. Soft guidance, tender education in this harsh life. All those confections that from my Father I should never know. A vision came before me of my Father’s face — steely eyes, razor slit for mouth spewing harsh advice on my advancement. My worth measured only on that advancement… I snapped back to present circumstance, to Henrys question wanting my advice.

“Mores reverence for His Majesty is admirable and I’m sure sincere, but he’s got a family to support and needs advancement to his career.”

“You question his motives?” Henry asked.

“Not motives, but propensity to change his mind. In Mores ‘Utopia’ does he not deal with harsh immovability upon those guilty of adultery or any other sexual sin? The first offense is punished with slavery. The second with nothing less than death.’

“’Tis true. But also in his book he does allow divorce is possible. And I believe that all my studied arguments, both rational and theological will turn his mind round eventually. Then he will be a most valuable ally to our cause.”

I pray Henry is correct, for we have before us a pitched battle and a terrible fight.

Yours faithfully,

Anne

2 December 1529

Diary,

This grey and blustery day I saw my Brother away to France. On Dover beach in Dover Castle’s shadow we stood. The wind was in my unbound hair and also in my skirts. It blew them out like canvas sails, and only George’s firm arm thro mine did keep my feet on English sand. ‘Twas cold, but we were warm in our affection. He pressed my shivering hands deeper in my red fox muff whilst we watched small boats loaded high with baskets, travelling chests and wooden barrels rowed past breaking waves to where the “Princess Mary” anchored off the white-capped shore.

Our heads close, we spoke of many things. How Henry’s love for me had raised our family’s rank and fortune — my Father made Earl of Wiltshire and Earl of Ormond, George made Lord Rochford, my Sister made Lady Mary Rochford, and I, Lady Anne Rochford. Too, George was made Ambassador to France and thus, his journey there.

We recalled the great banquet Henry gave at Whitehall for our family to celebrate that raising. ‘Twas most magnificent this gathering, with many high lords and ladies as his guests. George said he thought the King’s sister, Duchess of Suffolk, looked greener than her chartreuse gown to see me seated high at King Henry’s right hand, a place reserved for crowned Queens. Du Bellay, the French Ambassador did eye the night’s proceedings closely, and George chanced to see Eustace Chapuys, the Emperor’s new spy at Court (and Katherine’s counsellor), writing notes of the affair into a small tablet hanging at his waist. Me-thinks the goings on were made into a missive to his master Charles to use as weapon on his Aunt’s behalf.

Many fine and sumptuous courses were set at this meal — roasted goose and hares, mutton, pigeons, quail and venison, butter pastries stuffed with winter berries, vast quantities of sweet wine, and a pear and apple tart so large it hung beyond the table’s edge. Musicians played all thro the feasting. Later came the merry making fools and jesters. Still more musicians played when tables then were taken down. We danced, laughed, caroused till morning light shone thro the palace windows. ‘Twas such a happy night, some whispered that it seemed as tho it were a wedding celebration.

As we stood upon that winter shore, George and I, there came a lord, his lady and their retinue to make the Channel passage. The lord was handsome, his wife fair, and there behind them came several maids and several daughters. They stood against the wind and shook to think of such a crossing on a wooden ship in choppy seas.

“O George,” I cried. “Just now I see a vision of my past! I was a girl of nine. Tall and skinny, you remember.”

“I do remember that child. High spirits, wild temper. Her father’s willful black eyed girl.”

“Were you not with us here on Dover beach that day when our Sister Mary and my self accompanied Princess Mary on her wedding journey to France?”

“I was up in London then.”

“‘Twas a day much like this. Grey, cold and stormy seas. We all huddled on the shore with several royal ships anchored past the waves waiting for our boarding. That day I laid eyes on Henry for the first time. He was handsome as a god, made King not long before, still happy with his Spanish bride. They’d come to see his sister off, to make her royal match to doddering old King Louis. I saw the young King standing in the sand, tho never did he notice me, a scrawny girl. In those days his eyes were only for the Queen, proud Katherine whose belly swelled large with child.”

“I remember Henry in those days,” said George. “He seemed overlarge to me, almost bursting from his garments with great vitality and hunger for the world. His childhood had been a kind of prison. Second son, destined for the priesthood, he’d been cloistered in his father’s own austere apartments. Schooled well but allowed to speak to no one save his tutors, he walked alone in empty castle gardens. All tolled, a very lonely boy. Then his father died and soon thereafter Arthur died, too. O Anne, young Henry was like a butterfly escaping his cocoon. He emerged fully formed from that quiet state into a wild and brilliant life, as tho he’d been born to it. Great Harry — an apt title for a marvellous man and King.”

George turned and took my hands. “He will marry you, I know he’ll find a way. I intend to return to see my sister crowned a Queen.”

Then a sailor came and bade George climb aboard his tiny boat to row him to the ship, heaving and rolling at its anchor. I kissed him, bade him Godspeed and let him go. He climbed aboard the creaking dinghy and as I watched, a sudden gust took his cap, but his nimble fingers snatched it back. He turned and grinned at me, a little boy again. The warm love in that smile flew across the sand and enfolded me like some great wool cloak. And thus protected I stood and watched as his ship set sail and disappeared behind the grey horizon.

Yours faithfully,

Anne

25 December 1529

Diary,

O am I wretched in the extreme! Hidden away in my apartments I can hear the raucous Christmastide festivities in the great hall of Greenwich — most grand and public celebrations presided over by the King and Queen whilst here in my paltry gathering I’m attended only by my Sister and my Mother, Thomas Cranmer and several loyal courtiers. George is still in France and Father — I think he does not know what loyalty means — feasts beside the King tonight.

I railed loud and fierce at Henry for this miserable arrangement, but he claimed impotence at changing ancient custom.

“Whilst she is Queen,” said he, “Katherine must remain my public consort still at Yuletide and at Easter celebrations. Other times, sweetheart, you’ll surely be at my right hand. Already we are most scandalous and flaunt our love prodigiously. But on these holy days my subjects would not stand to see you at my side, but would rebel most loudly, Anne. Forgive me, please.”

I did not forgive Henry, but sent him from my sight with hot tears rolling down my face. And now I listen to the music wafting from the hall below, see in my mind a thousand candles making bright the festive tables, Henry’s glittering guests, their jewels and gorgeous fashions, dancing, laughter and my enemies gloating at my absence.

I laid my miseries on my widowed sister Mary’s doorsill. She listened long to me as I lamented all my enemies. First of course the Queen, who in her stolid perseverance and infuriating dignity, repels all Henry’s machinations and refuses still to treat me badly. Mary claims that Katherine believes that we will never marry, that if she holds her place with firm resolve and says nothing ill construed or hurtful, day will come when she is reinstated in her place in Henry’s heart, her marriage once again whole. The Queen, she says, cannot hate me, that her Catholic faith and pious love will not allow it.

This is not the same for Princess Mary. My Sister clearly sees, as I do, the poison in that young girl’s eyes for me. Catholic or not she wishes me dead. And tho Henry more and more despises Katherine, he yet loves his pretty daughter Mary, now thirteen, most clever and well schooled, his Pearl of the World. Until my womb bears our little Prince this frail girl remains his only legal heir.

Lesser enemies but still vexing are Katherine’s Spanish waiting ladies. I’ve said aloud I wished they all were lying at the bottom of the sea. Mary asked was it true I’d told the Queen’s maid Maria de Moreto I would rather see the Queen hanged than confess she was my mistress. I confessed yes, ‘twas true in deed, and Mary roared with laughter which I joined. ‘Twas good to feel the grey cloud lifting from my heart as we dispatched my many other foes with great bawdy jokes and jabs.

Then she asked me what I wished most fervently for. It took me no time to answer. To have Henry send the Queen and Princess Mary far from Court, I told her.

“Let me tell you how to wrest such a favor from the King.” She leaned close. “He’s a lusty man, our Henry, and all your kisses, fondling and such must leave him most unsatisfied.”

“’Tis how I hold him, Sister. In his dreams I am far more than I could ever be in life.”

“Give him
something
, Anne, and still keep your maiden flower. Assume the French technique of satisfaction — with your mouth. I swear ‘twill please him marvellously well, and you’ll be hard pressed to count the gifts and favors granted you withal a night of these embraces.”

I felt my liquid humors boil. Was I to take advice from Henry’s used and now discarded concubine? Said I to her, “Do you presume to teach me the strategy of love when I’m within arm’s reach of England’s crown?”

“O, do as you will, little sister. But that crown still rests firm upon Queen Katherine’s head, and she will not gladly part with it.”

“Henry loves me!”

“Aye, and Henry is fickle.”

I wished to slap Mary’s pretty face, but I held my hand. For tho I true believed the King’s good intentions, yet I sat abandoned and in exile from him self and all the Christmas feasting. God, I pray my Sister’s wrong and that by Christmas next I will be Queen.

Yours faithfully,

Anne