Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (20 page)

As we moved away from the pier, the river breeze brushed gently against my cheeks, and I soon fell into the rhythm of the boat; the oarsmen moving as one, cutting effortlessly through the choppy tidal water. In my excitement, I had to constantly fight the urge to turn to my companions and ask the myriad of questions that were bubbling up about the many beautiful sites that unfolded before me.

What struck me the most that day was how busy the river was. In 21st century London, it was a common sight to see tourist cruisers making their way up and down the estuary. But today the river was awash with a flotilla of vessels, from large sailing vessels that travelled to foreign shores, to the smaller wherrys for hire that transported messengers, nobles and rich merchants up and down the Thames.

Soon we were approaching London Bridge, but not the London Bridge that I knew in my modern life; it was the old London Bridge; a series of sturdy stone arches supported on large stone piers, rising up out of the water, clad in protective timber starlings. The bridge itself was a main thoroughfare, lined on each side with timber-framed, three and four-storey houses. There were many shouts and cries that floated down from above us, as we came close. Having already crossed the bridge on the way to Beaulieu, I knew that the barrage of voices were coming from merchants’ houses and shops, which lined the medieval street above. However, not all the buildings were made of timber. There were two or three stone buildings; one had a defensive drawbridge which dominated one end of the bridge. When I looked up at it, I nearly gasped aloud. For the first time, I noticed the grisly sight of the rotting remains of two traitors’ heads, both of which were stuck up on poles placed above the ramparts of the Gatehouse. I watched the ravens circling around them, occasionally landing to peck at the putrefying flesh and suddenly, I had the urge to vomit. Turning my head away, I breathed deeply, just managing to hold myself together. Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice my distress, as there was much chatter and laughter on board the barge. I was truly glad to have the memory of that bloody sight, and the nausea which accompanied it, behind me, soon replaced by the delight of seeing so many beautiful houses and palaces abutting the banks of the river.

As we continued to move upstream and away from the city, it was incredible to see the plethora of ornate gardens, orchards and open green spaces along the riverbank, all of which served the many comely riverside properties of the well-to-do of London’s vibrant citadel. By the time we approached Richmond, we were virtually in open countryside, with only small clusters of dwellings and the odd parish church set amongst the patchwork of fields that stretched about us as far as the eye could see. As we navigated our final bend in the Thames, Henry’s great Palace of Richmond came into view. Having seen the building hundreds of times, the Queen and her ladies continued their chatter and paid little attention to the palace as we approached it. However, for someone like myself, with a passionate love of Tudor architecture, so saddened by the loss of almost all of Henry’s palaces in the 21st century, the sight of Richmond was truly like a fairytale.

Ahead a grand, stone palace soared up from the western bank of the Thames; a myriad of square and octagonal towers were capped with turrets, domes and flags that fluttered in the gentle summer’s breeze. A multitudinous array of mullioned windows glistened in the afternoon sunlight, and the royal apartments, which faced north, commanded the most magnificent views of the river and the countryside beyond. As we drew closer, I could see the Great Hall set towards the back of the palace precinct, whilst abutting the main buildings were a series of smaller, red-brick service buildings, which maintained the efficient functioning of the royal residence.

The King was disembarking ahead, accompanied by a number of men of the Privy Chamber and other notable lords and councillors. Soon our barge drew level with the Watergate. Once the Queen had set foot on dry land, all of her ladies followed, as we made our way into the heart of the palace, passing up the staircase from the Watergate and into the central donjon, or tower. The Queen’s apartments occupied the second floor, above those of the King’s. Although I was becoming accustomed to the lavish and luxurious surroundings of Henry’s royal palaces from my time at Beaulieu, Richmond was like something out of a fairy story and I fell in love with it instantly.

Before long, life resumed much as it had been before; periods of irritation and tedium waiting upon Katherine—far too protracted for my liking—interspersed with the thrill of hunting, hawking, dining, dancing and gambling, for which I developed quite a taste. The ragged remains of that summer flitted away almost unannounced. By the beginning of September, autumn burst upon us with more rain and gusty winds. Then on 30th September, 1527, I finally met the man who Anne and her faction would later destroy.

Chapter Ten

The Palace of Richmond

September 30, 1527

On that fateful morning, I had woken excited to be having one of my rare days away from the drudgery of attending the Queen. Henry summoned me to meet him in his Privy Chambers; as usual on such days, we were to meet shortly after the first Mass of the day. I took my time to dress exquisitely for him, choosing to wear the gown of black damask and velvet that he had bought for me upon my arrival at Beaulieu. Bess dressed me expertly, my hair was swept up and braided as usual, before the outfit was completed with an English hood that was elaborately set with pearls. I chose a necklace made of gold, its centrepiece wrought into a fashionable geometric design, and under that, hung a large tear-drop pearl.

Familiar with the layout of the palace, I made my way easily through its labyrinth of corridors and interconnecting rooms, slipping unobtrusively through the outer public chambers of the King’s apartments. I admit though that this was becoming increasingly difficult, as rumours of the King’s attentions toward me continued to grip the court. Then, as I approached the door to the King’s privy apartments, I came face-to-face with a man whose countenance I could not fail to recognise as the King’s first minister, Cardinal Wolsey.

Wolsey was standing close to the entrance to Henry’s private suite of rooms, deep in discussion with a courtier, who I knew as Thomas Heanage, one of Wolsey’s men. As I approached, Wolsey caught sight of me and turned to watch me with curiosity. The Cardinal’s face remained impassive as he studied me; I suspected he was a little confused by the opulence of my attire, which had much changed, no doubt, since he had last met Anne. I must admit that I was quite taken aback by Wolsey’s appearance. I recalled well his portraits; a rather portly man dressed head to toe in scarlet red. But what I had not appreciated was just how overweight he was.

Of average height, Wolsey was huge; not even the generous folds of the Cardinal’s silk robes could hide his rotund belly. I took in the detail of his large, round face; his most distinguishing feature being a pronounced, dimpled chin which fell away into flabby jowls that seemed to take on a life of their own, wobbling whenever he talked or moved his head. His pasty-white complexion was exaggerated by the flushed red of his cheeks, shot through as they were with tiny broken capillaries. It was a sure sign that this man enjoyed the bounty of his position in life. I also knew from the King that Wolsey had been away on a diplomatic mission to France, ostensibly to sign a treaty of peace with the French.

However, covertly the Cardinal had also been instructed to seek out the support of the French King for an annulment of Henry’s marriage to Katherine. Yet Henry also confided to me that he had not told his first minister the full intentions of his heart; I wondered whether the King had already begun to question the loyalty of the Cardinal. I sensed that, uncharacteristically, Wolsey—the great politician and master of court faction—had yet to fully appreciate Anne’s ascendance at court, and the King’s personal motives behind his pursuit of an annulment.

As a matter of courtesy, which by then came naturally to me, I dipped into a deep curtsey, bowing my head toward the Cardinal as I said,

‘Good morning, Your Grace.’ As much as I tried, there was not much warmth in my voice. Wolsey hesitated; I saw that despite his powerful intellect and usual vice-like grip on court politics, he remained somewhat bemused. Eventually he spoke,

‘Mistress Anne,’ he too inclined his head respectfully, ‘What pray, are you doing here outside the King’s privy chambers?’

‘I’m here to see the King, naturally.’ I heard the edge of irritation bubbling through my cool demeanour. The Cardinal studied me intently, as I watched him calculating the possible reasons for my presence. After some moments, his impassive expression broke into a knowing smile.

‘Ah, I see . . . But I am surprised at you Mistress Boleyn; I thought you aimed much higher than to merely occupy the estate of the King’s mistress.’ He spoke condescendingly to me, as if I were some sort of filth that he had trodden on in the street. ‘I thought an intelligent woman such as yourself would learn from your sister’s mistakes.’ I felt a venomous anger well up inside me, both on my behalf and for my sister’s honour. Yet, I had experienced Anne’s anger enough times by then to know that despite her reputation of having a fiery temper, on occasion that same fire would cool me into an ice maiden capable of savage rhetoric. I took one step towards the Cardinal, and in hushed, but fierce tones, I spoke, all the time not wavering from my eye contact with the King’s first minister,

‘My Lord Cardinal, if I remember rightly, if it were not for you and your heartless interference, I would soon be the Countess of Northumberland. Think not that I have forgotten; nor forgiven. As for your . . . assumption, let me give Your Grace a word of advice. You should perhaps be a little more circumspect—you know not to whom you speak.’ The Cardinal suddenly flushed scarlet, matching the same colour as his robes. Involuntarily, I nearly laughed aloud, as I watched him struggle to find the words to deal with my impudence. His jowls shaking with fury, Wolsey finally found his composure.

‘Dear lady, I think perhaps on the contrary, you forget to whom you speak.’ I shrugged; raising my eyebrow, a small smile of indifference tugged at the corner of my mouth. It was clear that this irritated the Cardinal even further, but before he had chance to go on, a gentleman approached us, calling out the Cardinal’s name. Arriving breathless at our side, he ignored me and spoke directly to Wolsey,

‘Your Grace, I have received a letter from the French ambassador which I think you might like to look at straightaway.’ The man presented the sealed letter, which the Cardinal duly took. Glancing at me, he seemed to be torn for a moment between continuing his rebuke of my impudence and the need to appraise the contents of the ambassador’s missive. He decided that the letter presented him with a more important and pressing issue and nodded.

‘Mistress Anne,’ he said curtly, before turning on his heels and hurrying off with his servant trotting dutifully behind him.

Following my altercation with the Cardinal, I was led through a series of Henry’s private rooms, eventually being shown into one of his most secret chambers, his private study. Only the most intimate of the King’s courtiers had access to Henry in these hallowed rooms that lay beyond even the designated privy chamber suite. As I entered, I watched the King studying a series of official documents and manuscripts that lay spread out on the desk in front of him. A number of books also lay open and piled in random stacks; he was deeply engrossed in whatever he was studying, and failed to hear me enter the room. I stood silently for a moment and watched the man that I loved, unaware that he was being observed. Perhaps objectively he might not have been any longer called, ‘the handsomest Prince in Christendom’, but the love that I felt grow within me on a daily basis let me see beyond his flaws. My heart softened and melted, as I watched the tiny furrow in his brow deepen with the intense concentration he brought to the work before him. With a quill in hand, he moved quickly across the parchment, adding annotations and his own personal thoughts in the margins; occasionally, he would draw a small hand with an extended finger, as I had seen him do many times before, indicating towards a particularly pertinent point within the text that he wished to highlight. I must have stood there for a minute or more, simply enjoying his presence. Finally, however, I broke the silence,

‘Your Majesty.’ I said dipping into a deep and graceful curtsey. Henry looked up immediately, and as I met his gaze, he broke into a broad smile, as he did every time I walked into a room.

‘Ah! Good ‘morrow sweetheart!’ he said, indicating that I should approach, ‘I wish to show you something.’ Henry reached out and put his arm around my waist, drawing me down to sit upon his lap as he pointed to the papers in front of him. ‘I want to show you that I work on the case of my annulment from Katherine every day.’ He gestured with an open hand across the parchments laid before us, as if giving evidence on his application to the cause. Tenderly, the King reached up and gently touched my chin, as he turned my face towards him. ‘I have never been more convinced that the case is a just and moral one, and that soon I will be free to make you my Queen.’ With that Henry drew me towards him, kissing me softly on the lips. I must have appeared distracted, as indeed I was; I was still ruminating on my first, rather unsettling meeting with the King’s first minister. ‘What is it, my love? You do not seem happy. Do I not please you?’ I noticed how Henry, so sure of himself in every way in his dealings with others, often faltered in the presence of Anne.

‘Oh, Your Grace, it has naught to do with this. I am touched by your Majesty’s constancy in your intentions toward me and the strength of your resolve. It is just that . . . well . . . Wolsey is back. We came upon each other by chance just outside your Privy apartments, and he was rude to me.’ Anger was building in my voice again, as I replayed the scene in my head.

‘How so, sweetheart?’