Anne Boleyn: A Novel (22 page)

He was broader, surely, than a year ago, heavier and redder in the face; he straddled his powerful horse like a giant. Her lips moved, and her hands clung to the parapet, so that the cloak blew open.

Merciful Mother of God, let him make a sign, one sign that he’s seen me and isn’t angry...Mother of God, let me have one word with him!

He raised himself in his stirrups, and the next moment he had lifted the feathered cap from his head in a gesture of greeting. All his gentlemen followed suit. She curtsied to him, and smiled, and knew that below her he smiled back.

Mary. Memories were flooding back in those few seconds as he saluted her. Memories of the little girl who lived when all the rest had died, the child who had caught him round the neck and kissed him, and followed him through the court with her hand in his; Mary, who had made him proud of her in spite of the fact that she wasn’t the son he wanted. Her letters, still written in a blunt style in spite of all her tutors’ efforts, begging him to see her and to take her mother back...

If he sent for her, as he wanted to do with all his heart at that moment, it would only come to that in the end. And he had Anne now; he couldn’t have Anne and his daughter as well. He loved Anne, and if he was sinning with her, then he had sinned with Mary’s mother, for she had never been his wife...He couldn’t send for Mary and turn time back six long years because of Anne, and the plan to proclaim Mary a bastard to make room for the son he knew that Anne would bear him...

He covered his head and waved to her. Then his spurs jabbed at his horse’s flanks, and the whole cavalcade surged forward. Within moments they were shrouded in dust, and then visible as they turned off across the green parkland, thinned out as the King set his furious pace. On the parapet, Mary Tudor watched them ride away, hearing the horns sound their high excited note that meant the stag was sighted.

It was October and Dover Castle was bitterly cold; a strong wind blew in from the Straits, whipping the seas into a low swell that rocked the Great Harry at anchor in the harbor and tore spitefully at the bright pennants and the royal standard flying from her masts, and the same wind wailed round the castle, filling the stone rooms with draughts in spite of fires and hangings.

Anne’s room was high, with a view out to sea, but the small windows were latched and the curtains drawn, shutting out the sight of the gray harbor where the big galleon rode surrounded by smaller craft.

She had gone aboard with the King when they arrived, to inspect the quarters, and found everything as luxurious as sea travel could allow. The preparations excited her in spite of herself, and took the edge off her disappointment over the whole trip; but the hostile stares and murmurs of the sailors and the common people when they saw her sharpened it again. She had walked beside Henry wrapped in a thick cloak lined with sables, looking politely at everything he pointed out, and waiting while he talked to his seamen and forgot about her for a few moments, wishing bitterly that she had never agreed to accompany him.

The plans had been altered; the English ladies selected to attend her had been told their services were not needed; apart from her servants and the wives of some of the attendant nobles, she was traveling alone. No member of King Francis’ womenfolk had consented to meet the Marchioness of Pembroke, so there would be no brilliant arrival in France as the future Queen of England. She was going with Henry because he insisted on her company, and she was to stay behind in Calais while he went to meet his ally on French soil.

It was the afternoon before they sailed, and she sat alone in her room, embroidering. The room was lit by torches grappled to the walls, and two iron holders stood at either side of the fireplace, the thick candles impaled on a spike.

She paused, listening to the sound of footsteps on the stone-paved passage outside, and laid down her sewing as they stopped by her door.

“George! Oh, George...”

They met halfway across the room, and he hugged her; it was the first time they had met alone for weeks. Both were smiling, and he looked at her and shook his head admiringly.

“Sister, how are you?...God, I’m happy to see you alone for once!”

“We won’t have a chance over there,” she agreed. “And today’s the first time he’s left me to myself for more than a few minutes...Come, sit down with me and talk.”

He pulled up a stool and she sat in her chair, leaning toward him with her hands clasped round her knees.

“Where’s His Grace?” her brother asked.

“Seeing to some State papers brought from London,” she explained, “so I left him and came here and sent for you. Have some posset, George; there’s some on the table there, steaming hot. And give me some; I’m cold to my bones in spite of the fire.”

“It’s a vile day,” he agreed, passing her a cup with the hot mixture of ale and wine and spices in it; she sipped, warming her fingers on the silver goblet, and smiled at him. Dear George; he looked so well in his rich doublet...no wonder Margaret Wyatt was said to be in love with him. Anne hoped she was. She hoped sincerely that George found with her gentle Meg the happiness he had missed with his wife, Jane. He deserved to be happy, she thought suddenly. Of all the people she had ever met, he was the best, though he was her brother. He was the kindest in his way, and he had courage; he was generous and endearing even in his faults. He loved bright clothes, and squandered a fortune on them, enjoyed drink and gay talk and pretty women, and he was always Anne’s most appreciative audience. And he loved her. He loved her more than the favors she could give him, and that was something rare indeed.

“I’ve been down to see the
Great Harry
today,” he said. “She’s a splendid ship, Nan, and your quarters are royal!”

“The quarters are the only thing about this trip that is!” She retorted. “I wish to God I wasn’t going.”

“Don’t fret over it,” he comforted. “Go, and enjoy it, Nan; and be sensible, think how much your enemies would like to see you leave the King to his own devices for a while!”

She stared at him then.

“Why is it,” she said slowly, “that no one trusts him—not even you? Why would you worry if he went to France without me, George?”

“I wouldn’t,” he contradicted quickly. “I just said it was wiser to go with him...there’s no harm in that.”

“You don’t trust him,” she said. “Nobody trusts him to be true to me. Except me. Why, George? What do you see in him that’s hidden from me?”

“I see nothing, Nan.” He frowned. “Nothing I could explain. I see a man deeply in love with you, but you’re my sister, and I keep more of a watch than I would otherwise. I can’t help hearing what’s being said—it’s said loud enough by some of them, so that I shall hear—that now you’re his mistress he’ll tire of you, as he does of everyone, and he’s already given up his plan to marry you. It isn’t pleasant, Nan,” he pleaded. “1 hate saying things like this to you, but I know men, and there are men like that. Men who only want what they can’t have. I don’t believe the King’s one of them, but—”

“But it’ll go hard with me if he is,” she finished for him. “I know George; you’re afraid because I’ve got so many enemies. Well, now I’ll tell you of another type of man. And that’s the one who tires of something if he waits for it too long. Our dear father pointed that out to me, as I told you. And he was right, though I’ll never forgive him. That was my danger, George, and I saw it before it was too late for I was near losing him, and now—” she waved one hand, “I’m hardly allowed to move without him.”

That was true and he knew it; it was all true. Henry kissed her in public, praised her to anyone he spoke to, and insisted on having her with him every moment.

“I begged him not to take me to France,” Anne continued. “When I heard not one of these damned Frenchwomen would stir to meet me, I refused to set foot there. But he said if I didn’t, he would cancel the visit. You don’t know what it was like, George; he raved like a madman, and said he couldn’t pass a night without me...”

Her emphasis on the King’s sexual passion repelled and worried him at the same time. He had seen and heard Henry gratifying himself in the old days, and he knew the superficiality as well as the grossness of his feelings, the complete indifference to the means of that gratification, once the end was achieved. He looked away from Anne, because the images forming in his mind made him angry and for some reason more afraid than ever.

He caught hold of her hands and held them, anxiously searching her face.

“Nan, does he care for you apart from that...apart from bed, does he love you? If you were sick. Nan, and couldn’t be used, would he still want you with him in France?”

She drew her hands away and stood up.

“It’s not only what you think,” she said quickly. “He’s ardent enough, God knows, but there’s more to his love for me than that...”

She knew what her brother was thinking; he saw the King as a great sensual brute, rather as she had seen him before that night at Hampton. He was older than when George first came to court, she thought, and a lot had happened...In those days he may have been what George was suggesting but he wasn’t now. He was gross, yes; in amorous preliminaries his taste was unspeakably crude, she had learned that long ago. But only since they were lovers had she discovered that his appetite was preyed upon by nerves.

Sometimes he drank heavily and then tumbled into her bed and fell fast asleep with his head on her breast, and never touched her till the morning. She had had one violent quarrel with him when she discovered that he had stopped the hunt and made his gentlemen acknowledge Mary—Norreys had told her that as soon as they returned—but that night when they were reconciled, he only lay in her bed and talked till dawn...

She wondered what George would say if she told him that. She nearly mentioned it, standing there, seeing her brother frowning up at her and biting his lip in anxiety. She nearly told him that Henry was far less the rapacious lover than he supposed, but she didn’t.

“Listen to me, brother. I’m not offended by the things you say. I know the gossip—voices get louder when I pass too—and I can promise you I’ve thought of everything. I know the King loves me. I know too that he’s more intent on marriage than he’s ever been. Why else would he bother to visit Francis? Francis is going to be persuaded to intercede with the Pope, to meet him and plead for us in person. That’s why we’re going.

“Oh, I’m not the fool everyone thinks me! I’ve heard tales of Henry’s fickleness from the time I came to court, God knows how many years ago. I insured against that by asking for the marquisate and a good grant of money. I told you, George, I’m not a fool. And if they’re all right, including you, and he loses all his fancy for me, gets tired of my company and bored in my bed...if he even thinks of keeping me as the Pembroke and not bothering about the marriage, he’ll never risk a son being born to me a bastard! That’s what I gambled on, and I know whatever happens I shall win. And I want you to know it too, and not go worrying for me when there’s no need.”

He sprang up at once. “Why, Nan, you’re not...”

She shook her head. “No, devil take it, I’m not. Not yet. But I shall be, George, and I’ll bear a King of England yet.”

He came and put both hands on her shoulders and they stood quietly for a moment as they used to do when they were children and one or other had annoyed their father.

“I don’t care what you bear. Nan, so long as you’re safe.”

“The child will make me safe, old faint-heart; and in any event the King won’t swallow me alive one night! You attend to Mistress Wyatt, and stop fretting about me.”

He laughed, but he colored.

“How have you found that out? Did Meg tell you?”

“Meg didn’t have to tell me,” she smiled. “You must think we’re all blind not to notice the two of you mooning at each other like sick calves and slipping out of sight when you think no one sees you. I’ve seen Madame Meg come in after a good tumbling, as pink-faced as you are this moment!”

“Don’t tease me, Nan,” he protested. “And don’t torment Meg; she’s sweet-natured and I’m fond of her.”

“I know the Wyatts,” she reminded him gently. “Sister and brother are much alike, George. God in Heaven, it might be a hundred years ago!”

“It might,” he agreed. “I used to see
you
, once upon a time, letting Thomas out of your room at Hever. But you weren’t pink-faced, you were much too brazen! Do you ever think of him. Nan?”

“No,” she admitted. “I used to, sometimes, while the months dragged on. I used to think of the happy times we had together.”

She moved away from him, back to the fire, and stood looking down into the flames.

“Do you know George, there were nights when I was tempted, knowing he was in the palace and the King was safe in his own rooms...He would have come, too. But I didn’t. I remember what you said at Hever all those years ago. ‘You can’t have Tom anyway, whether you go to court or not.’ And you were right. That dog Suffolk tried to ruin me by bringing up Tom and the past before the King ever put his hand on me. Christ knows what would have happened if he’d been able to prove I’d done anything
afterward
...”

She shrugged and turned to him again.

“It was all long ago, dear brother, and it’s sweet to remember it; I think Tom remembers sometimes too, though there’s no love left for me now.”

“He can’t forgive you for going to the King,” George said.

“How like a man...he couldn’t marry me; if I’d stayed with him and defied Henry I’d have only brought him ruin. But I don’t suppose he believes even that now. I tried to tell him once, when I’d been at court for a year and he came on me when there was no one near and started asking me to be his mistress again. And I refused. I had to. He sent me a copy of a verse he wrote me. It was beautiful, George, but I had to burn it.”

“I think I know it,” her brother said slowly. “I always thought it was meant for you:

“Forget not then thine own approved,

The which so long hath thee so loved,

Whose steadfast faith yet never moved—

Forget not this!”