Jane Boleyn: The True Story of the Infamous Lady Rochford (5 page)

CHAPTER
3

Château Vert

J
ANE’S FIRST VISIT
to Calais over, she returned to England with the rest of the royal entourage. By now, she was becoming more and more familiar with life at court. The wonders it had held for her on first arrival had subsided somewhat over time but its addictive allure still held. The chance to mingle with the great and the good, and to be close to those whose decisions determined the fate of thousands, remained intoxicating. She knew that her parents would arrange her marriage eventually. It might mean a quiet, country lifestyle as a wife and mother with only rare and fleeting visits to the court. It might mean fewer trips to her husband’s estates but a more permanent arrangement for herself within the queen’s privy chamber while he played his part in affairs of state. She was trained for both. Either would give her the status and security that were her birthright. However, until then, there was so much to bewitch and beguile. And as a young and pretty girl surrounded by such interesting people, each moment was one to savor.

Every morning her maid helped her to dress. Lady Morley equipped her daughter with the very best and most fashionable of clothing: the jewel-set or embroidered sleeves, the slashed sleeves that allowed fine undersleeves to peep through, the Spanish farthingale to give the many skirts their shape, the tightly laced bodices, the silk stockings she needed for court entertainments, the soft leather, velvet, or silk shoes, the jewelry. The list was endless, but for Jane to hold her own, let alone to stand out, among those who were happy to parade their wealth on their backs, her parents accepted the outlay. Henry demanded no less from everyone around him. For Jane, these were carefree days. She mixed with the other young girls and flirted happily with the equally beautifully dressed young men. Nothing, of course, would come of such harmless dalliance. She knew the rules: love was verbal not physical. Still, it all added a delicious frisson to everyday life. And just occasionally such light relief and distraction was needed for, as she saw for herself, Henry’s court was not really a make-believe world of cloudless skies and endless summer designed solely for hedonistic diversion.

Many of those who sauntered through the corridors and tapestry-covered walls of Henry’s palaces or stopped to chat and laugh, seemed permanent fixtures. Some, like Sir Thomas Boleyn or the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, were members of Henry’s council. Though they had estates to run, their state responsibilities necessitated frequent attendance on the king. Others, like Jane’s own father, Lord Morley, were less regular visitors. But since all depended on the king for their position, no one was invincible. Proof of just how vulnerable even the most mighty really were was brought home forcefully in 1521.

In that year, Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, undoubtedly eminent, if unpopular, a man rich enough to pay twenty pence for a haircut, more than five times the daily wage of most of the king’s servants, was executed for treason. No longer quite the open and approachable monarch of the early days, Henry had suddenly become so wary about the duke, and about other members of his court, that he had written a private letter to Wolsey in his own hand. He had ordered the cardinal “to make good watch on the duke of Suffolk, on the duke of Buckingham, on my lord of Northumberland, on my lord of Derby, on my lord of Wiltshire and on others which you think suspect.” The result had been Buckingham’s arrest. Henry’s mysterious undated letter leaves no clue about why the duke had aroused his distrust. Perhaps it was a seemingly throw-away remark of Wolsey’s. Perhaps it was just simply that the king’s worry about the lack of a male heir was beginning to niggle, for as a descendant of Edward III, Buckingham’s impeccable pedigree was conceivably dangerous. A proud and arrogant man, not only did the duke never forget his royal blood, he allowed no one else to forget it either. After listening recklessly to a prophecy that he would reign when Henry died, he went one stage further by allegedly vowing to kill the king should he ever be arrested. Evidence to that effect was given against him by, among others, Charles Knyvett, recently dismissed from the duke’s service. Whether the witnesses spoke the truth or were driven by a desire for revenge or concern for their own skins, what they alleged was dynamite. Buckingham was doomed. Everyone knew that it was treason merely to speculate on the king’s death, let alone do anything to hasten it. Nevertheless, the trial was sensational. And the condemnation of such a formidable member of the old nobility was bound to send shivers down many a spine. Jane might well have heard a firsthand account of the proceedings since her father was there as a member of the panel of peers who tried the case. It would not be Morley’s only brush with treason trials.

Despite Buckingham’s death, life at court, with its sparkling conversation, its amusements, its flirtations, continued much as before. However, the international scene was gradually changing from the heady days of the Field of Cloth of Gold. That meeting had been between Henry and Francis only. The emperor Charles V, Katherine’s nephew, had not been present. But although out of sight at the Field of Cloth of Gold, he was never out of mind. Physically, he was no match for either Henry or Francis. Nor, by any obsequious stretch of the imagination, could he be called handsome, especially since he possessed the protruding jaw so characteristic of the Habsburgs. Yet he was, on paper, the most powerful man in Europe, controlling Spain, Burgundy, and the Netherlands; parts of Italy; the Holy Roman Empire; and much of the recently discovered New World—which promised riches beyond dreams. Any ruler or minister who ignored him did so at their peril. Henry was no exception. Luckily, England’s relationship with him was good. Indeed, Henry had discussions with the emperor both before and after his talks with Francis, delighting Katherine, who relished the rare opportunity to make personal contact with her sister’s busy son.

Unfortunately, the peace, which Wolsey had labored so hard to broker, was precarious. It was really only a matter of time before Charles and Francis, his only realistic rival, were at each other’s throats. When that happened, Henry’s role would be crucial. The complex negotiations that had preceded the Field of Cloth of Gold involved a universal peace treaty by which any signatory attacked by another should be supported by the rest. Trouble came when Charles, protesting that Francis had violated the agreements, demanded Henry’s military and financial assistance. Although Wolsey resumed his diplomatic efforts to preserve the peace, it looked as though war was likely. Charles, anxious to press the king for help, sent three ambassadors to England.

Jane’s chance to move into the spotlight came at an entertainment devised to impress these envoys. She was about seventeen years old and good looking or she would not have been on show, daughter of a peer or not. The occasion was a pageant at the cardinal’s palace of York Place on Shrove Tuesday, March 4, 1522. Led by Wolsey and the king after supper, the ambassadors entered a “great chamber” lit by hundreds of candles, its walls lined with vibrantly colored tapestries, some probably echoing the action about to be performed. It was like going into a theater just before the curtain rises. Attention immediately focused on the end of the room where an amazing imitation castle, Château Vert, was installed. It had three towers and battlements gleaming with green foil, each tower surmounted by a different flag, suggesting the power that women could have: one depicted three men’s torn hearts, one a man’s heart held in a woman’s hand, and the third showed a man’s heart being turned around. The spectators soon realized that in the towers were eight brilliantly dressed court ladies. In their white satin gowns, with their hair encased in close-fitting gold cauls, delicately netted headdresses, and with golden bonnets dotted with jewels on their heads, they looked magnificent, shining out against the iridescent green foil. The name of each lady’s character was picked out in yellow satin and sewn onto her costume for the audience to see. The identity of the woman dressed as Pity is unknown, but we do know who the rest were. Mary, the French queen, with recognizable typecasting, portrayed Beauty. Of the other six, five had been part of Katherine’s entourage at the Field of Cloth of Gold. The Countess of Devonshire was Honor. Mistress Browne represented Bounty and Mistress Dannet, Mercy. But it was the real lives of the remaining three that were destined to be fatally entwined. Mary Carey was Kindness, Jane was Constancy, and Perseverance was played by Mary’s sister, Anne Boleyn, who had returned from the French court only recently and whose chic dress sense and cosmopolitan ways had already aroused male interest.

While these eight ladies epitomized agreeable female qualities, the castle was defended by eight more who represented contrary and unwanted attributes. They included Danger, Disdain, Jealousy, Unkindness, Scorn, Malbouche (slander or bad-mouthing), and Strangeness (remoteness or inapproachability). The name of the eighth is not recorded. In fact, they were not women at all but children of Henry’s Chapel Royal. Dressed “like to women of India,” they guarded the castle from the eight gentlemen who, decked in cloth of gold with blue satin cloaks, then appeared. They too had names: Amorous, Nobleness, Youth, Attendance, Loyalty, Pleasure, Gentleness, and Liberty. One, but we do not know which, was Henry himself, always eager to join in the revels whenever he could. The suitors were led by Ardent Desire, spectacularly arrayed in crimson satin, who was perhaps William Cornish, master of the Chapel Royal.

When Ardent Desire playfully asked the women to come down to meet his companions, the fun really began. The eight desirable ladies were so attracted to these gorgeously appareled men that they were prepared to give up their castle, but Scorn and Disdain encouraged their fellow defenders to hold out. In what was almost slapstick comedy, the assault consisted of mock gunfire and the throwing of “dates and oranges and other fruits made for pleasure” by the gentlemen with similar weapons (rose water and sweets from the real women and “bows and balls” from those of the Chapel Royal) being employed by those under attack. All who watched enthralled recognized this archetypical gentle method of defense; it surfaced in stories of romance and chivalry such as
Roman de la Rose.
At last the castle fell, the less agreeable “women” such as Scorn fled, leaving the gentlemen to escort Jane and the other ladies down from the turrets. Choreographed dancing took place to the gentle harmonies provided by hidden minstrels before everyone took off their masks so that all could see who they were. Predictable perhaps, but magical to watch and even more magical for the performers. Despite her experiences at the Field of Cloth of Gold being vividly fresh in her mind, Jane could never before have spent such an evening. Henry might have taken the floor with his sister, Mary, but equally, he might have chosen any one of the others. Perhaps he danced with the woman who was to be his “sweetheart” and for whom he was to change his country forever. We shall never know.

What we do know is that at a cost of more than twenty pounds the whole event was far from cheap. The ambassadors were regaled in some style. The green foil alone was three shillings and a barge with four rowers was hired to carry everything to York Place for a price of thirteen shillings and four pence. Wherever possible, garments were reused. This was true of the ladies’ satin dresses but their cauls were bought for the fabulous sum of eight shillings each, and the price of the yellow satin for their names was also eight shillings. This time, however, the ladies were allowed to keep their cauls and possibly the other costumes. Jane, who came to relish evenings like that, gained a tangible reminder of what was far from an ordinary entertainment, one in which she was specifically selected to be Constancy.

For that is what is so interesting. No longer inconspicuous, Jane was given a starring role in a pageant carefully designed to amuse the envoys of Charles V. That involved some responsibility. Being Lord Morley’s daughter would not alone confer such a degree of prominence unless it was combined with an attractive appearance, considerable dancing ability, and a winning manner. Evidently, she had become an accepted gentlewoman of the court. She could be trusted to be a credit to her king. However, time was passing. There was no disputing the fact that Jane Parker was of marriageable age. Pageants, dancing, and silk stockings were all very well but the serious business of life was about to begin.

CHAPTER
4

A Suitable Match