Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (24 page)

I watched Henry walk away, my eyes flicking briefly over to Katherine. Her shame at the way the King had danced so intimately with me, in front of the entire court, was written blatantly across her face. I suspected that this may well have been the most public display yet of the King’s displeasure with his Queen—and of his growing love for Anne. A moment later, my father appeared at my side and voiced my silent thoughts.

‘It is becoming clear to all that the King desires no one but you.’ My father offered me his arm as he walked me back to our seating. Making our way through the crowd, many of the lords and ladies stepped aside, acknowledging us as we moved forward. Both my father and I nodded to them and smiled as we passed. ‘As you can see,’ my father said softly in my ear, ‘word of the King’s intentions is spreading, every day someone declares in our favour.’

‘Yes, and someone also declares in Katherine’s.’ I said grimly.

‘What did the King say to you, just now?’ my father enquired, as he took a goblet of wine from a passing usher and raised it to his lips.

‘He asked me to come to his rooms tonight.’ I too had picked up a gilt silver goblet, speaking from behind it as I held it close to my mouth, so that only my father could hear my words.

‘Does he want to bed you?’ Sir Thomas was never squeamish about discussing matters of a sexual nature when it concerned the King’s relationship with his daughter. I found it somewhat embarrassing at first, but had grown much used to his candour.

‘Of course he wants to bed me!’ I turned to look at my father with my eyebrows raised, making it clear that I thought that he was stating the obvious. However, I continued, ‘He says he has a surprise for me, but don’t worry,’ I added, ‘I have no intention of sleeping with him; although Lord knows it is oftentimes difficult to fend him off.’ I confess that I failed to mention to my father that it was not only Henry’s passion that was becoming increasingly challenging to keep in check.

The rest of the evening passed in a delightful, intoxicating blur. I danced with many of the King’s younger companions, who were increasingly showing themselves as admirers of Anne and supporters of the Boleyn faction. Together with my friends; Nan, Mary and Joan and some of the other maids at court, we shared an evening of flirtatious laughter with these gallant young nobles. My brother held his own court in our little group of friends, telling lascivious stories of bawdy wit and sexual innuendo, which reduced us many a time into great gales of laughter and which had brought disapproving stares from some of the older generation.

The King though, did not speak with me for the rest of the evening. However, I noticed that he was oftentimes watching me with an appreciative smile. As the evening slowly drew to a close, one by one my friends melted away. Our little group was amongst the last to retire and as we left the Banqueting Hall, only five or six of us remained. The wine had flowed along with the music and laughter, and as I said goodbye to the remaining members of the group and made my way back to my rooms, I heard their high spirited voices as they disappeared down long, half-lit corridors, heading back towards their own quarters. I smiled to myself, as I suspected that some of the courting couples would find themselves delayed in welcome shadows, tasting the delights of their lover’s flesh and warm kisses.

As I mused on this, a well-dressed gentleman suddenly stepped in front of me. I recognised him immediately to be Sir William Compton, one of Henry’s closest companions and confidantes. I had met Sir William on many occasions as he was often at the King’s side, particularly when we had gone hunting or hawking. He had always proved himself to be an entirely affable character, gregarious (as many of the King’s closest male friends were), well mannered and valiant. H e was one of the few individuals who always seemed to go out of his way to avoid the politics of court faction. I suspect that like Charles Brandon, his enduring favour with the King was that he devoted himself entirely, and without question, to the King’s pleasure. I dipped a slight curtsey as I said,

‘Sir William.’ Sir William returned my greeting, replying,

‘Mistress Anne. The King has asked that I should find you and requests that you join him in his privy chamber.’ With that, Sir William stepped aside and indicated that I should make my way towards the King’s apartments. All evening I had been vexed by the thought of how to respond to the King’s invitation. In the previous three months, since I had found myself in Anne’s world, I had never been invited to the King’s apartments alone at such a late hour.

There was nothing more that I wanted at that stage than to sink into his arms once more, and in some ways, this is what terrified me the most. I did not know whether in the quiet and private intimacy of the King’s secret rooms, in the warmth of his embrace and in the passion of our kisses, whether I could truly do what I knew I must above all else—preserve Anne’s virginity. Henry had many opportunities to force himself upon me in the past; yet, he had not done so.

Whilst he no doubt yearned to know me—to know Anne—entirely, I knew that perversely he was enjoying the chase, as men of considerable power are often wont to do. I had to also admit that my curiosity had been piqued. It was not the first time that evening that I wondered what surprise Henry intended to share with me.

Sir William and I made our way along many corridors towards the King’s apartments, which were situated on the river front, on the opposite side of the palace complex to the Banqueting House. We spoke little to each other; Sir William merely indicating from time to time the route that we should travel. Once in the King’s suite of rooms, I was surprised to find that with the exception of a couple of yeomen of the guards, they were entirely deserted. Although I had never been in the King’ s Privy Chambers so late at night, I imagined—as was the case in the Queen’s rooms—that a number of the Lord Chamberlain’s staff would be busy relaying the fires, sweeping floors and collecting the remnants of beeswax candles, in order to prepare for the day ahead. Yet we encountered no one. I remembered wryly that Sir William was renowned at court as the man who enabled many of the King’s secret assignations; preserving the King’s privacy and dignity through his many adulterous encounters. I suspected that Sir William had the rooms cleared on the orders of the King and in preparation for my visit.

Whilst this made me slightly uneasy, with no one around, I was able to appreciate the beauty of the Tudor interior without distraction. Most of the rooms contained largely movable items that could be transported with the King whenever he moved from palace to palace. The most expensive and prized of these items were huge tapestries made of silk, often spun with silver and gold thread. Carpets were also highly valuable and many, much to my amusement in those early days, were hung on walls or laid out on tables to be admired; often placed only on the floor only in those most exalted areas of state, such as underneath the King’s throne in the Presence Chamber. Having walked through a short gallery leading from that very same room, I stepped into Henry’s Privy Chamber. This room was his main, private living area. It was one that I had been in on many occasions before in the evening; often dining or playing cards with the King and other members of his most intimate circle. That night, however, the room was empty. I turned around to speak to Sir William and to enquire of the King’s whereabouts, just in time to see him close the door behind me, leaving me all alone.

I began to wander slowly around the room, running my fingertips across the surface of the large, oak sideboard which was adorned with a huge pair of silver gilt candlesticks. I noticed that drawn across the windows were curtains made of purple, white and black satin, each lined with linen; gaudy by modern day standards but entirely
de rigueur
in the 16th century. As I surveyed the room, my eyes were drawn upwards to take in the breathtaking beauty of the ceiling which was laid out in a geometrical pattern. This was enriched with moulded grotesque strips and highlighted with gold paint, whilst at the centre of each pattern was a carved and painted Tudor Rose. Beneath the ceiling, running around the upper third of the walls, was a frieze of highly decorative oil paintings, all depicting religious scenes. Below this, the lower two thirds were covered in linen-fold oak panelling. On one side of the room was a hugely ornate fireplace, which I had admired on several previous occasions. On that night, it was lit by flames casting gentle, willowy shadows about the chamber. I walked over, positioning myself in front of it, soon becoming mesmerised by the flames that licked at the expensive sea coal, a luxury that was reserved only for the use of the King and Queen

After a few moments, I sensed that I was being watched. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the King leaning nonchalantly against the doorway leading to the room beyond, a room which I knew to be the King’s State Bedchamber. Oh, I can see him so clearly in my mind’s eye, as if I could reach out and touch him again. Henry was dressed only in his linen shirt, which was open loosely around his neck, his breeches, hose and boots. One leg was crossed over other at the ankle and in his right hand he drank from a silver gilt goblet. With the King’s appearance, I turned around and dipped into a deep curtsey, as I said,

‘Your Grace. You wished to see me.’ Rising up, I looked again at Henry. I was a woman in love and perhaps wearing rose tinted spectacles, but I couldn’t help thinking how incredibly sexy he looked; a little tousled, relaxed and inviting - perhaps too inviting. Henry did not speak, but holding my stare he made his way towards me, putting the goblet on a table as he passed by. Suddenly, he was standing directly in front of me. For a moment we were entirely motionless, transfixed only by the other’s gaze, hardly daring to breathe. Then with an almighty explosion of passion, we fell into each other’s arms. Our kisses were hungry and voracious as we devoured each other entirely. After several minutes, we had torn ourselves apart—I clutching onto Henry’s chest, and he, holding me strongly in his arms. I looked deeply into the eyes of the King of England and saw passion, desire, longing and also sweet, gentle love. I think now that our intensity amused even us. We began to smile at each other and then laugh; we were happy to have some precious time alone together, just Henry and Anne.

‘Now, sweetheart, I have a surprise for you. Come here.’ He took me by the hand, and as he sat down on a nearby chair, he guided me to sit up on his lap. His arms around me, he stroked my cheek and continued to plant soft, tender kisses on my lips as he spoke. ‘I have decided that you shall no more wait upon Katherine. Henceforth, I will provide for you three of your own ladies-in-waiting whilst you are at court. How does that suit you, sweetheart?’ Henry’s words brought forth a huge surge of excitement. Breaking into the broadest grin, I threw my arms around his neck and covered Henry in kisses before I replied, ‘Oh your Majesty . . . Henry. What can I say? Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ In sheer joy, a tear had spilled down my cheek, which Henry wiped away with his thumb. I had learnt that he was a man, a King, who delighted in the reactions of those upon whom he bestowed gifts. I can see his face now, lit up as it was, radiant at my appreciation of his gesture.

If Henry had called me to his chamber that evening to make love to me, I wondered whether I would have been able to fend him off. Yet somehow, despite our mutual desire, that evening we seemed simply content with more innocent pleasures of a courting couple, as we stayed up into the very small hours of the morning, talking about our hopes and plans; sharing wine, laughter and kisses.

Chapter Twelve

Hever Castle

November 17, 1527

A little over a week later, I found myself being carried in our family’s litter along the driveway that led to Hever Castle. Wrapped up in numerous furs, I was well protected against the biting cold, which had been relentless since the beginning of November. As we approached, I strained my neck to get a glimpse of our pretty family home as it came into view, and as I did, I reflected upon the events of the past seven days.

Following that wonderful evening spent alone in Henry’s arms, the court, including myself, had awoken the next morning still enthralled by the splendour of the previous evening’s festivities. Many a person was heard to comment that it seemed as if it had been a fantastical dream. However, slightly more disconcerting to both Henry and me, were the rampant rumours now circulating the court that the King’s lust for Mistress Anne was the only reason that his Majesty was seeking an annulment. Henry was furious; demanding to know which courtiers had been spreading such malicious gossip. How had they dared to question the King’s integrity? My father was present when the King used the foulest language, even at one point accusing the unknown perpetrators of treason. Of course, the whole court was talking, and Henry well knew it; no one person could be singled out for blame. Henry realised that this could be politically damaging if such gossip were to reach the courts of Europe, even Rome; his case for an annulment, already running onto sticky ground, could well be shipwrecked and fatally lost. When father relayed these events to me later that day in our own apartments, I knew straightaway what must be done. That very afternoon, I sought an audience with the King.

We were alone, with only a small number of the King’s personal guard attending us, as we walked together, arm in arm, through the gardens at Greenwich. Henry was still angry as I attempted to soothe his anxieties, before putting my proposition before him. I suggested that I remove myself from court and return with my mother to Hever. Initially, Henry was very much against my idea, as he wished me to remain with him for Christmas. Yet, as I spoke rationally and calmly, I pointed out that it would be exactly my absence from court during the festive season that would allow time for the gossip about our relationship to die down, for if the King seriously intended to make me his wife, I would surely be present at the greatest celebration of the year, the Twelve Days of Christmas!