Jane Boleyn: The True Story of the Infamous Lady Rochford (16 page)

To the soft melodies of the musicians, his way lit by the flickering flames of tapers, Parker joined his fellow postulants as they walked slowly into the cold, stone chapel to spend the hours of darkness in prayer and meditation. As dawn broke, they confessed their sins and participated in the sacred Mass, removing their hoods briefly at the elevation of the host. Before taking the sacrament, they offered tapers, each of which had a small coin fastened to it, to the worship of God and in thanks to the king. Probably stiff with cold, they were led back to their beds for a few welcome hours of sleep.

Parker was awakened early and, with minstrels singing quietly in the background, was ceremonially dressed again by his squires. This was a slow process, as precedent dictated every move they made. They put on his shirt, breeches, doublet, gown, black silk hose (which had built-in shoes with leather soles), sleeves, white leather girdle, red mantle, and white gloves before taking him to where his horse was ready. Even the horse’s trappings were predetermined by ancient ritual. Preceded by his squire carrying his spurs and sword, Parker rode to the door of the room in which Henry was waiting. He dismounted and walked toward his king. The knights who had acted as his counselors fastened his spurs on his ankles, while Henry buckled the sword around Parker’s waist and smote the side of his neck. “Be ye good knight,” the king ordered and then kissed him. Henry dined, while the new knights sat silently. Finally, after further prayers and, at last, refreshing food, Parker was arrayed in a dark blue robe. He was now Sir Henry Parker indeed. For Jane’s family, this was a very proud moment, but it was also one in which the benefits of royal favor were openly revealed.

It is unlikely that Jane actually saw her brother’s few minutes of glory. She was far too busy preparing to enter the limelight again herself: later on that Saturday, Anne was to be formally taken from the Tower, through the decorated streets to Westminster, and Jane was to go with her. The lord mayor, Sir Stephen Peacock, had another busy day, for like the river pageant, this journey was minutely organized and arranged according to tradition and prescribed protocol. Visitors had been arriving over the past few days, so the always bustling city was incredibly crowded. Indeed, as far as Henry’s more influential subjects were concerned, it was wise to take the trouble to come, for the king demanded their attendance. Occasionally, Cromwell listened to and allowed excuses. One of those was from Sir William Courtenay who, in considerable pain after falling from his horse, could not face the long and arduous journey to London so prudently wrote to the minister to explain his plight, knowing the risk of incurring Henry’s displeasure on this most sensitive of issues.

The formalities concerned with the investiture completed, the procession started from the Tower in the late afternoon. Peacock, wearing crimson velvet, and with two footmen in red and white damask at his back, arrived to give the signal to begin. He was as sure as he could be that all was in order. It had taken hours to get the roads graveled to prevent the horses slipping, to hang the streets with velvet and cloth of gold, and to shepherd the officials to their designated places behind specially erected railings. There were hordes of ordinary citizens too, leaning out of windows along the route or pushing their way to the front of the thronged streets hoping to get the best possible view of the new queen. Unpopular as Anne generally was, people were curious to see for themselves exactly what the woman who had bewitched their king really looked like. Since she was part of her sister-in-law’s train, Jane would have been gawped at too.

Twelve French gentlemen in the service of the French ambassador were in the vanguard of the parade. In blue velvet, with yellow and blue sleeves, and mounted on horses draped with blue on which the white crosses of France were clearly visible, they looked superb. The spectators could only watch in wonder as the Frenchmen were followed by a long line of scarlet-robed judges, barons, important churchmen, earls, and marquesses. Jane’s family were well represented, for Lord Morley rode only a few hundred yards behind his son, now dressed in his knight’s pristine blue gown with its furred hood. Archbishop Cranmer, who was to perform his sacred duties in the Abbey next day, was there, along with Edward Lee of York, and theirs were not the only famous faces for the crowd to peer at. The Duke of Suffolk, resplendent as ever and constable for the day, rode with William Howard, deputizing as earl marshal for his brother, the Duke of Norfolk, who was still in France with George Boleyn.

And then it was time for everyone to catch a glimpse of the woman they had all been straining to see. Preceded on foot by some of her servants, Anne appeared in her litter.
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Quite simply, she shone. Her litter was covered in silver cloth of gold; the horses who drew it were swathed in silver damask. She was shielded by an embroidered silk canopy fringed with gold thread supported on gilded staves with silver bells, carried by four lords in scarlet robes. Anne herself was a vision in white cloth of gold, with a similar cloak and a jeweled circlet gleaming on her beautiful dark hair, which cascaded freely about her shoulders.

Then, after Anne’s chamberlain, Lord Burgh, and her master of the horse, William Coffin, who led her spare horse, which was also enveloped in fine cloth of gold, came Jane. She looked stunning, a tribute to the dressmakers’ skills and the services of her own maidservants. She rode almost immediately behind Anne, her prominent place, even before Anne’s own sister and far above that to which her rank entitled her, proving her close relationship with the new queen. She rode sidesaddle with six other ladies, including Norfolk’s daughter, Lady Mary Howard, and the Countesses of Derby, Worcester, and Sussex. Her gown was sumptuous. Twelve yards of crimson velvet had been provided for each woman, along with one and a quarter yards of red cloth of gold for a border. Although Jane was accustomed to the opulence of the court by now and to the fancy masking costumes she enjoyed wearing, she had never had a dress like this. Nor had she ever been involved in so phenomenal an event. The watching crowds, packed behind barriers, were not the only ones who would remember this day.

Two chariots came next. The Dowager Duchess of Norfolk was seated beside the widow of the Marquess of Dorset in the first, and Anne’s mother, with two countesses, sat in the second. Like the first group, they were allocated twelve yards of scarlet for their robes, much more than any of the other ladies who followed their new queen. After twelve ladies on horseback came a third chariot with six passengers. This completed the family party, for sitting with Lady Fitzwarren and Mistresses Mary Zouche and Margery Horsman were Mary Carey, Jane’s mother, and Lady Boleyn. They, however, were allowed a mere seven yards of scarlet for their gowns. Jane really did have a place of honor and esteem on that day.

And still the cavalcade continued. The pretty and unmarried Madge Shelton and Kate Ashley, who would one day serve Anne’s daughter, were in the next chariot, and all of the ladies’ female servants, sporting their red liveries, rode behind them. Anne’s guard brought up the rear as the procession wound its way through the streets toward Westminster. But it all took some time since in response to Henry’s demands, the city dignitaries had prepared a series of pageants for Anne and her retinue to enjoy on the way.

An event was scheduled for every stop, most rich in symbolism that would have been very clear to Anne. Sometimes children performed for her, as they did at Fenchurch Street when they read to her in English and in French, or at St. Paul’s where two hundred boys recited poetry, a performance that the expectant Anne “highly commended.” Sometimes the street fountains ran with wine rather than water, as at Cheapside and Fleet Street. Sometimes she was entertained by music, as she was at St. Martin’s Church where the choir sang ballads in her praise. At the intricately carved Eleanor Cross, the city aldermen presented her with a gold purse containing well over six hundred pounds, a sum large enough to satisfy even the king, and which Anne “thankfully accepted with many goodly words.” And everywhere there were elaborately staged tableaux to amuse her. The merchants of the Steelyard outdid themselves with their “costly and marvelous cunning pageant,” designed by Holbein, which featured Mount Olympus complete with gods, muses and music, and a fountain from which wine flowed. Her falcon badge provided inspiration for the merchants at the Leadenhall. In their offering, an angel crowned a little white falcon with a golden crown, while St. Anne watched with her children and grandchildren, one of whom made a pretty speech to the queen reminding her “of the fruitfulness of St. Anne and her generation, trusting that like fruit should come of her.” In another pageant the goddesses Athena, Juno, and Venus gave her the gifts of wisdom, wealth, and happiness and in yet another there were three “ladies richly clothed” whose scroll referred to the joy she would bring to the people by bearing the king’s son.

At last the long afternoon drew to its close as Anne reached Westminster Hall. She was carried in her litter toward the middle of the huge tapestry-hung chamber to where her chair stood underneath a gold, silk-fringed cloth of estate similar in size to that of the king’s. Jane was with her as servants brought her wines and tempting spiced delicacies. Anne graciously passed them to her ladies, before thanking Peacock and the other officials for everything they had done to make the day so special. Only when they had been dismissed could she rest a little “with a few ladies.” In the privacy of Anne’s apartments, they could discuss every detail of an extraordinary day.

For it had not all been perfect. The juxtaposing of Henry’s and Anne’s initials was unfortunate: the HA HA, the universal sound of laughter, that they formed was spotted by some of the more hostile elements of the crowd who did just that and literally burst out laughing. Then, Anne noticed those who refused to take off their caps as she passed, which she took as a blatant insult. Her female jester made light of it. “I think you have all scurvy heads, and dare not uncover,” she said, but it was a slight nonetheless. Clearly, not everyone was as delighted as the Boleyn family by Anne’s changed status. Then there were the absentees. Katherine’s champion, Bishop Fisher, was, thankfully for the Boleyns, safely imprisoned. They did not want that particular specter at the feast. A couple of others, however, should have been prepared to attend the ceremonies. Henry’s sister, Mary, the French queen who had married the Duke of Suffolk, was gravely ill so she could be forgiven, but Sir Thomas More, who had no such reason, could not.

Even so, as night fell and Jane’s servants helped her remove her magnificent gown, she knew that all had been worth waiting for. Anne was not the only person whose life had been transformed. And tomorrow was the coronation. Jane’s future could only get better.

CHAPTER
13

The Falcon Crowned

J
ANE’S GENTLEWOMEN
woke her early next morning. There was much to do if she was to be ready to accompany her sister-in-law to the ceremony that would form the culmination of all that the Boleyns had schemed for over so many years. In the river pageant, in the investiture of the new Knights of the Bath, in the entry into the city, Anne had been exhibited as Henry’s wife and his queen, but it would be only after she had undergone the religious rituals of the coronation that Anne’s status would be properly confirmed. Then the falcon would be queen indeed. With the king’s son growing in her womb and the crown of England on her head, Anne would be impregnable. Or so the family hoped.

Jane’s servants were not the only ones to be up and about at first light. All over London, officials and courtiers were roused by their attendants so that they too could take their places and honor Anne yet again. It was another busy day for Sir Stephen Peacock, the lord mayor. Once dressed in his crimson velvet robes and with his golden chain gleaming around his neck, he joined the aldermen and other city officials at 7 a.m. to be rowed by barge to Westminster Hall. The lofty stone building, its exterior adorned with the stone statues of ancient kings,
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was the starting point for the short procession to St. Peter’s Church, the great Abbey of Westminster. There, close to the resting place of Henry’s little son, Cranmer would crown Henry’s wife. So, in the huge chamber, beneath the wonderful vaulted wooden ceiling and flying buttresses of carved angels that are still there today, Peacock and his companions waited for Anne.

She appeared over an hour later, her ladies with her. She wore deep purple and crimson velvet, her robes edged with ermine, her thick, dark hair confined under a jeweled coif, and she had a circlet of precious stones sparkling on her head. This time her train was carried by the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk. Jane was with Anne, in her own opulent crimson velvet gown, and she held her gold coronet, a symbol of her rank, in her hand. She followed as Anne walked to the middle of the hall and stood underneath her cloth of estate, while her entourage gradually gathered. Soon the hall teemed with people. The musicians of the King’s Chapel, the monks of Westminster, and the abbots and bishops were the first to arrive to escort her into the Abbey church, but within a little while everyone was in their appointed position and the ceremony could begin. The procession was led by the gentlemen, the esquires, and the knights. They preceded the aldermen, the judges, and the Knights of the Bath, Jane’s brother in their midst. Lord Morley and his fellow barons came next, with the viscounts, earls, marquesses, and dukes behind them. Thomas strode purposefully among the other earls: it was a day for him to savor. In the next group came More’s successor, Lord Audley, Peacock, a dozen or so abbots, Archbishop Lee, and the bishops of London, Winchester, Lincoln, Bath, and St. Asaph’s. Anne’s entrance was the climax of the cavalcade. With her ladies behind her, she walked along the specially laid blue striped carpet through the West Gate into St. Peter’s. As she did so, the monks and Henry’s musicians sang solemnly. Her crown was carried reverently by the Earl of Oxford; the Earl of Arundel carried her rod and scepter; and four lords held her canopy over her. Even had she been born royal, as Katherine had been, Henry could not have ordered anything grander than this.