Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (36 page)

‘In God’s name, I swear that I shall keep it close to my person and not let it out of my sight.’ I nodded and then watched as Nan curtsied, turned and disappeared whence she had come. All I had to do was wait; wait until Nan returned in great distress confessing that the book had been stolen by one of Wolsey’s men. I would know what to do, for history had already ordained it. My heart was thundering in my chest; I was both exhilarated and terrified as this epic moment began to unfold itself before my very eyes.

Chapter Nineteen

Palace of Placentia, Greenwich

May 4, 1528

With the King deeply preoccupied with the Privy Council, I had taken it upon myself to organise a competition, shooting at the rounds with a handful of Anne’s closest friends and allies. Over the last twelve months, I had become an inveterate gambler and much accustomed to the courtly preoccupation for betting, particularly on the outcome of card games or dice. I soon understood that, as in other areas of her life, Anne was a risk-taker and often successful; though, I must confess that I frequently overstretched the mark, and on those occasions, with a raised eyebrow, the King would graciously agree to pay off my debts from the Privy Purse.

That day, I challenged my friends to an archery tournament in the Great Garden, adjacent to the Banquet House at Greenwich Palace. After the devastating and sodden summer of the previous year, everyone rejoiced when spring burst forth with such great promise of fine and agreeable weather. Yet our hopes were dashed yet again; for the summer of 1528 was to be little better than its predecessor. Since the beginning of May, we had been plagued by persistent downpours and squally showers. So the court was again confined indoors for days on end, passing the time playing cards or dice, making music, writing poetry, dancing or taking exercise in the Privy Gallery. I was always reluctant to partake in the latter, for at Greenwich, the gallery ran close to the Queen’s Privy Chambers, and I was determined not to endure another confrontation with Katherine.

Yet to my delight, when I arose that morning, I found the sun streaming through the window of my bedchamber, set brilliantly as it was against a clear blue sky. By May 1528, Anne’s influence at court was such that her wishes were accommodated with almost the same ease as if it were the King himself making a request. So, it was straightforward for me to summon an usher as soon as I had dressed, and arrange for butts to be erected in the Great Garden for our disport and pleasure.

The garden itself was set toward the south side of the palace precinct. It was surrounded by a high wall, laid formally with six large, symmetrical flower beds intersected by broad gravel paths, which gave space open enough for us to shoot at the rounds. Behind us, rose up the relatively newly built Banqueting House and slightly beyond that, the imposing Tiltyard Towers, which provided spectacular views, not only of the tournaments staged in the tiltyard below, but also of the surrounding countryside and the distant city of London. Away to our left, to the south of the palace, was the sweeping majesty of Castle Hill, eponymously named after the diminutive outline of Duke Humphrey’s Tower, which was perched upon its summit.

I took in a deep breath, filling my nostrils with the sweet, scented smell of the early summer roses and honeysuckle that scrambled up the red-brick wall of that delightful privy garden. The world shone with a vibrancy that was almost shocking in its beauty; a riot of colours seemed more vivid, aromas more potent, and even the most ordinary of objects seemed alive and somehow magically connected to my own sense of being. I realised that the palace had become my home, and that I was profoundly happy. Everything in the world seemed just as it should. All that Anne was, all that she was ever meant to be, had found its foothold in this world. With some wonder, I finally realised that in my modern day life, I had a nagging doubt, far too nebulous for me to describe, that a destiny awaited me which was far greater than the small and constricted life that I had been living. Yet, there I was, there was Anne, adored by a mighty Prince. It was if a powerful wind had finally caught up my sails, unfurling them to reveal the full expression of my own particular karma.

I looked around at my friends who gathered with me; all of them in good spirits. We knew each other well and there was little need for pretence between us: my brother; Sir Henry Norris; Sir William Carey; Mary Norris; my sister, and Joan Champernowe, who although pregnant, had returned to attend upon me and rejoin our circle of friends. Neither Joan, nor my sister, joined us in the archery, choosing instead to stand aside, teasing the gentleman good-naturedly when they failed to hit their mark. As we each took turns to shoot at the butt, there was much joviality, laughter and banter, as we decried one’s good fortune, or celebrated another, when an arrow failed to make its target. To my delight, I was in great form, and on one occasion even cleft the mark in the middle, surpassing them all in skill and grace.

I was in the middle of taking aim for my next shot when suddenly, I heard urgent footsteps on the gravel pathway coming towards us. I lowered my bow and arrow and turned to see who was approaching. Nan was running towards us at great speed, the hem of her skirts clutched up in her hands, so that she might reach us all the sooner. Before I had chance to say anything, my friend threw herself at my feet, clutching my skirts, and through great racking sobs, she wailed,

‘Oh Madame, Madame, please, please forgive me . . !’ She buried her head in my kirtle before looking up at me again, her reddened eyes silently entreating me with desperate pleas for my understanding. I handed my bow and arrow to George, who stood close by my side, before I too sank to my knees. Placing one hand on Nan’s shoulder, I lifted her chin with the other and spoken evenly,

‘Nan, calm yourself and tell me what has happened.’ Nan tried desperately to control her sobs, which were coming through great gulps of air. Eventually, she managed to say,

‘Madame, something terrible has happened! Your book . . . George took it from me.’ I knew immediately that she was referring to her lover, Master George Zouche. ‘I begged him to give it back to me, but he said that he wished to read such a goodly text for himself. I was called away to you as I tried to retrieve it from him . . . but thinking the book belonged to me, he took it.’ Nan looked at me with a desperate terror in her eyes, but I knew what she was going to say and I felt an incredible sense of calm descend upon me. Nan continued her story, ‘Oh, Madame, I swore that I would not let it out of my sight; I have let you down!’ Nan cried before bursting again into another gale of sorrowful sobs. However, I needed Nan to finish her story, so I took her firmly by the shoulders and gently shook her to raise her from her hysteria.

Nan, what has happened to the book? You must tell me. I am not cross with you or Master Zouche, but I need to know the truth.’ I spoke with dignified authority, for I knew with certainty that it was not the time to lose one’s head. My stern words seemed to bring Nan to her senses, and she took one deep breath before continuing,

‘George was in the King’s Chapel reading it when the Dean, Dr Sampson came in. George was so delighted with what he was reading that he caught Dr Sampson’s eye and did not see the priest approaching. Before he had any chance to hide the book, the Dean snatched it from him and looked upon it for himself. He cursed my love with most foul language, saying that these were heretical words.’ Nan paused once more, still struggling to regain her composure. ‘He demanded to know the name of my love and whose man he was. Madame, he is to turn it over to His Grace, Cardinal Wolsey . . . I am so afraid . . . I’m so, so sorry . . .’ Her words trailed away yet again, but by then I had heard all I needed to know. Placing my arms around my friend, I lifted Nan to her feet, indicating to Mary Norris, as I commanded,

‘Mary, take Nan to my privy chambers and see that she gets some posset to soothe her disquiet.’ Mary stepped forward, put her arm around Nan’s shoulder, and led her gently back into the main palace complex. I looked round at my friends, all of whom stood silent, gripped by an ominous foreboding of what such a discovery might lead to; it was well known that the King was a conservative in his religion and had little tolerance for heretics of the reformed faith. It was also well known at court that the Cardinal had commanded his prelates, especially Dr Sampson, Dean of the King’s Chapel, to keep a vigilant eye over all people for such books, so that they might not come to the King’s reading.

Yet amongst my friends, I alone knew of the great opportunity that would arise like a phoenix from the ashes of this dangerous situation. I imagined Wolsey gloating over what he undoubtedly perceived as his triumph. However, he had underestimated Anne and the depths of the King’s infatuation yet again. Unwittingly, it would be Wolsey who would be the first catalyst of the Reformation taking hold in England; he had just handed the perfect opportunity for Anne to light the fuse that would blow apart the Roman Catholic Church in England and ultimately bring about his ruin. ‘Sir Henry, where might I find the King?’ I said directly and without hesitation. Before Henry Norris could reply, my brother interjected,

‘Sister, is it wise to speak directly to the King of such matters?’

‘Brother, you do not know the King as I have come to know him. Let me tell you this; His Majesty listens to those who have the wit to be the first to lay their case before him and in this matter, I am resolved to shape the King’s mind towards the truth.’ I suspected my brother saw only too well the fierce resolve that had already taken hold within my breast, and he knew that there was little use in attempting to dissuade me further. I turned back towards Sir Henry, ‘Sir Henry?’ I asked again impatiently.

‘I would imagine the King is finished in Council. He is most likely in his Privy Chamber.’

‘Then there is no time to lose.’ I raised myself to my full height, before stalking off in dogged determination to find the King’s Grace in his apartments.

I found Henry in his private study, and as I was being escorted into the King’s presence, I passed the Duke of Suffolk, who was just leaving. We greeted each other cordially enough, yet as always with my Lord of Suffolk there was an air of circumspect refrain. I thought for a moment to catch His Grace by the arm and tell him of Wolsey’s audacity; for the Duke of Suffolk hated Wolsey as much as any man at court. However, I decided to keep my counsel until I had spoken directly with the King. When I entered Henry’s private chamber, I found him studying a set of maps; yet he had been alerted to my arrival and looked up immediately.

‘Sweetheart! How are . . .’ The King stopped in his tracks, his broad smile suddenly crumpling into deep frown of concern, for in my steely resolve I could not match his warm countenance. ‘Anne, what is it my love? Does something trouble you?’ Henry asked as he moved round from behind his desk and made his way towards me, his arms open and outstretched inviting my response. With this, I ran forward and dropped to my knees in front of the King. Looking up at Henry’s towering presence, I held his gaze firmly and spoke with such passion that I might have converted the devil himself to Christianity.

‘Your Grace, something has been taken from me that I hold most dear.’ I paused for a moment as Henry cocked his head quizzically to one side, a small furrow forming between his eyebrows. He remained silent, but I knew that I had his permission to go on. ‘It is a book that I lent to one of my ladies, Mistress Gainsford. She in turn lent it to her betrothed, Master Zouche, and from him it was seized by Dr Sampson under orders from His Grace, Cardinal Wolsey.’

‘What book do you speak of, sweetheart?’

‘Verily, Your Majesty it is the dearest book that ever the Dean or Cardinal took away.’ I paused briefly, gathering up my courage before taking a deep breath and forging on fiercely, ‘It is entitled, ‘The Obedience of a Christian Man, by Master Tyndale.’ I watched as the King’s eyebrows raised in astonishment at the name of this well-known, Lutheran heretic. ‘Your Majesty . . . Henry . . . forsooth, I swear to you upon my life that in this book are words which decry the unholy interference of the Pope upon Your Majesty’s God given right to govern supremely within your own realm.’ Henry reached down to me, much as I had reached down to Nan, and lifted me to my feet. There was a moment of silence between us.

Suddenly, it was not my Lord that I stood before, but my love. I think that my passion must have stirred something primitive within the King, for he drew me close and with our lips almost touching, I whispered,

‘My love, I believe with all my heart that Master Tyndale speaks of matters that could free you from Katherine and allow us to be wed.’

Henry paused in contemplation of these sweet words, which filled the air with promise. He lifted his left hand, and with his right index finger and thumb, withdrew an ornate ring from his little finger. He then took my hand, tenderly placing the golden ring, which bore Henry’s cipher in diamonds, within my palm. Closing my fingers about it he said,