Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (15 page)

‘Anne, Anne, please calm down.’ I noticed that Thomas Boleyn had also become anxious, glancing up and down the corridor to ensure that we were not being overheard. Suddenly, he gripped my shoulders and our eyes locked. He then spoke to me with great fervour, ‘You must understand this. The King has begun to seek an annulment from the Pope. Many people at court do not know that he loves you and intends for you to be his bride. God forbid that they should at this stage! It is imperative that the King’s Grace is seen to be seeking this annulment on the grounds that he is living in sin with his brother’s wife, and that his conscience, in the sight of God, can no longer abjure it.’

Already, I felt my anger and resistance beginning to drain away from me in shame. In my naïveté, I did not see fully the political necessity of my remaining in the shadows for as long as possible during that sensitive time. My father continued, lowering his voice,

‘We must not do anything to jeopardise our cause. You do not yet understand the ruthlessness of our enemies. For all intents and purposes, the King must appear to be living with, and paying due deference to, his Queen. You are now a lady at court, and as such, it is your duty to give service to Katherine. Your time will come, child. Have patience.’ I fell quiet and nodded my head, although still simmering with hurt. ‘Good,’ was all that my father had replied.

Our party continued to walk onwards, as my father delivered his instructions, expecting no further objections from his head-strong daughter.

‘You will change and meet the King. Later your uncle Norfolk has asked that we should join him in his chamber for supper. There is much to discuss. You will also need to present yourself to Katherine. She is aware of your return to court. However, methinks that given the late hour, you can do this in the morning.’

‘I imagine she can hardly wait!’ I said rather sarcastically. My father tactfully ignored my comment and in short order we arrived at our apartments. The door was opened for us by the page, who was waiting outside. As it swung inwards, I was aware that the next act in the drama of Anne Boleyn was about to get underway.

The King had ordered that our family be housed in accommodation that befitted our rising status at court. We had been allocated a series of interconnecting rooms, providing us with a grand reception room, or parlour, and separate bedrooms for my parents, my brother and myself. However, my father informed us that, for the sake of propriety, we had been housed at a respectable distance from the King’s chambers. Our lodgings at Beaulieu were not only spacious but richly decorated, with fine pieces of furniture including a huge, walnut dining table that dominated the main chamber. However, the most striking feature was a series of large stone windows that let in an abundance of light, and afforded delightful views across the Privy Gardens.

As I looked around, taking in the splendor of our lodgings, I started to peel off my leather riding gloves; all the time watching a stream of servants scuttle back and forth bringing up those belongings that had followed us from Hever. My mother soon became occupied issuing orders to a gentleman usher and one of her personal maids, whilst my father had already returned his attention to some paperwork that he had abandoned on hearing of our arrival. Just at the moment that my brother disappeared from the parlour to inspect his own bedchamber, there came a knock at the open door. My parents and I glanced over to find a page, dressed in the Royal livery, standing in the doorway. As head of the household, my father rose from his seat and had walked over to him.

‘You have a message, boy?’ asked Sir Thomas.

‘From the King’s Grace, for Mistress Anne,’ the page said, as he bowed and held out a silver platter in my direction. My father indicated that I should come forward. Thus, I sauntered over, peeling the second glove from my hand as I did so. There was a letter and a long package wrapped in red velvet lying upon it. Taking it, I thanked the boy cordially and watched him bow, turn and disappear.

My brother had re-entered the room from his chamber, and all eyes were upon me; I laid the velvet pouch down on the walnut table. Cross with myself from my show of intemperance earlier, I opened the package nonchalantly, revealing a beautiful gold necklace at the centre of which was crafted an array of roses entwined with two lovers’ hearts that were studded with rubies and diamonds. Peering over my shoulder, my brother let out a high-pitched whistle in acknowledgement of its beauty and value. I left it untouched, rather reaching for the letter that accompanied it. Breaking the sealed wax, I unfolded the parchment to see Henry’s now familiar handwriting. The note was brief and in English:

Dear mistress and friend
,

The approach of the time for which I have so long waited rejoices me so much, that it seems almost to have come already. However, the entire accomplishment cannot be till the two persons meet, which meeting is more desired by me than anything in this world; for what joy can be greater upon earth than to have the company of her who is dearest to me, knowing likewise that she does the same on her part, the thought of which gives me the greatest pleasure
.

Written by the hand of the secretary, who wishes himself at this moment privately with you, and who is, and always will be, Your loyal and most assured Servant
,

HR

I pushed the letter over to my father, who duly read it aloud. Speaking resolutely, I announced,

‘I will change and then visit the King.’ By this time, thankfully, I had regained my composure. Although in truth, I felt stirrings; an intoxicating mixture of passion and excitement was already beginning to take shape in the centre of my belly. I indicated to Bess, who had joined us from Hever, to follow me into my bedchamber and help me to change.

When I emerged some short time later, I must have looked truly resplendent, as wealthy as any noblewoman at court; even my mother was taken aback by my glittering appearance. Henry’s diamond and ruby necklace had not been the only gift he had given me that day. When I entered my bedroom, I found three of the most divinely glamorous gowns laid out for me, all gifts from the King. The first was a heavy winter gown of black damask and velvet; its long sleeves were generously trimmed with the softest sable fur, whilst the edge of the kirtle, just visible about the square-cut neckline was studded with precious and semi-precious jewels. The next gown was in the English style and made of dusky blue silk. However, it was the third dress that I chose to wear for my reunion with Henry. The gown itself was made of silk, this time in the colour of deep, raspberry red. The fabric was almost entirely covered in silver thread work, which had been woven into the fabric in a fashionable geometric pattern. Typical of the French style gown, the sleeves were tightly fitted from the shoulder to the elbow and turned back with velvet. Elaborate false sleeves, ended in the redwork frill of my underlying chemise, which in turn fell over Anne’s delicate hands thus accentuating the narrowness of her long fingers. It was not the first time that I noticed the absence of any deformity on either of Anne’s little fingers.

These gifts were the first trickle of the tokens of Henry’s affection that he bestowed upon me during those heady summer months. It was a trickle that would soon become a torrent. He seemed eager to lavish every imaginable luxury upon me. I received not only jewellery such as bracelets, brooches, rings and necklaces, but also diamonds for a new headdress, gilt and silver bindings for books, gowns, bows and arrows and an exquisitely carved leather saddle for my palfrey. It was flattering of course and, at first, a little overwhelming. Sometimes though, in my more melancholy moments, I could not help but feel that my love was being bought, and how easily the torrent could stop just as soon as it had started—and of course, eventually, it did.

Soon, I was ready to meet the King, and my father and brother accompanied me to Henry’s Privy Chambers. We did not enter via the public rooms of the palace. Instead, we were escorted by one of Henry’s liveried servants through a private corridor, which I later came to understand was a gallery designed for the King’s privy use. Beyond this, we were taken through a series of deserted chambers, all breathtaking in their magnificence, finally entering Henry’s private chapel. The servant indicated that we had permission to pass by the two armed guards, who stood on either side of the entrance. The door was opened for us, and my father gestured for me to lead the way and step inside.

Once within the sanctum of the chapel, I stood still for a moment, taking in the sheer beauty of the scene that lay before me. As Henry’s private place of prayer, it was relatively small and intimate. The walls were made of stone; a larger outer room separated from a smaller, inner one by an arch carved in the Romanesque style. Within that inner sanctum stood the raised altar carrying a weighty silver cross, surrounded by several beeswax candles; all were lit, despite the fact that it was still light outside. I was struck by how the stonework had been embellished by a repeating geometric pattern, painted in vibrant colours of gold and red, whilst three, small Gothic-style windows were inset into the walls and decorated with stained glass. The window directly above the altar depicted a picture of the Risen Christ, adored by angels. In the late afternoon sunlight, it caught the last of the sun’s rays, and a beam of light danced with the colours of the glass, lighting up the room as if it were transmitting a message from God himself. I drew in a deep breath, and a heavy scent of incense filled my nostrils, plunging me instantly back into long forgotten memories of attending Mass with my parents as a small child.

I was brought up in the Catholic faith. As the service had changed little over the centuries, the Mass, prayers and incantations were profoundly familiar to me. Of course, I had also attended Mass at least twice a day with my mother while we had whiled away those happy weeks at Hever. Although in my modern life, I felt deeply spiritual, I had long since abandoned religious observance. Nevertheless, I quickly found myself to be at home in this environment once more; from those very earliest days, the ritual provided me with a sense of grounding in a strange, new world. And without any other obvious means of finding spiritual comfort, I would soon immerse myself in the daily religious observance of Tudor society, holding my own God silently within my heart.

I looked ahead of me to Henry, who was kneeling in front of the altar on a
prieu-dieu
. With my hands clasped lightly in front of me, I walked toward the King; my father and brother remaining behind, and kneeling discreetly at the pews in the back of the chapel. As I moved forward, the soles of my shoes had struck the tiled, chequered floor, alerting Henry to my presence. Approaching the archway, the King turned to look over his right shoulder. When he saw me, his face lit up with joy, and in response, I sank into a graceful curtsey. Without a word, he beckoned me over and indicated that I should kneel by his side and join him in prayer.

Thus, we stayed for some time until our prayers were completed. Afterwards, Henry had proposed that we promenade in the Privy Gardens, so that we could enjoy the early evening sunshine together; we were to be accompanied by my father and brother. Our reunion had left the King in high spirits and attentive to my every need. Indeed, he had been unable to contain himself. And so, in the relative privacy of the church, Henry kissed me tenderly on the lips, holding me close for the longest time; it was as if he feared that to let me go would cause me to dissolve away into thin air. I was sure that I had seen tears of joy welling up in his eyes, and yet again, I felt the flush of exhilaration from his singular adoration.

As we walked outside, I noticed that the Privy Gardens were empty, save our little party and the ever present bodyguards that kept watch over the King. Soon we turned into the sunken garden. For a moment, I stood still and must have drawn in breath, for the King seemed startled and turned towards me, enquiring,

‘Sweetheart, are you all right?’ I did not answer immediately, for I was lost in my own thoughts. I was astonished to find myself looking at a marble fountain with a semi-nude lady, surrounded by cherubs dancing at her feet. It was the very same fountain that I had seen in my vision as we had approached the Palace of Beaulieu. I remember how perplexed I had been at its appearance; what could it mean? Had I for the first time had access to Anne’s memory? How had that been possible?

‘Sweetheart?’ The King’s words broke the spell as I shook my thoughts away. Shrugging off my reverie as being a consequence of the breathtaking beauty of that pretty little space, I responded,

‘Oh, it’s just so delightful . . . and if truth be told, perhaps I am a little overwhelmed and so very happy to be back in Your Grace’s presence.’ This was no lie. Henry smiled, satisfied with my reply. And so we continued forward, walking arm in arm, the crunch of tiny stones beneath our feet on the path. After a little while, I spoke again. ‘I thank you kindly, Sire for the very beautiful gifts that you have bestowed on me.’ I let go of Henry’s arm, turning to face him, displaying in its full glory the magnificent ruby and diamond necklace that Henry had given me. With some inner satisfaction, I saw how his eyes widened, as he appreciated not only the jewel, but the long neck, sculpted collarbones and modestly raised breast against which it was set off. Inwardly I smiled. I mused that clearly some things about men certainly had not changed in the last 500 years! Henry took a step back to take in my entire appearance. He smiled broadly, one of those smiles of his that could light up a room if you were lucky enough to be the recipient. Yes, there was a time when he looked upon me that way. Henry had a way of making you feel like the centre of the world, if that was his will. Appreciatively, he finally said,