Threads: The Reincarnation of Anne Boleyn (10 page)

In the end we were wed. It would have been
best had I cut out my tongue before suggesting marriage. It would
have been best had I died before accepting the title of queen. I
think there is nothing in life I would wish for less, than to be a
queen. It is a vanity and an encumbrance I wish for not at all.

What started as a jest turned most shockingly
monstrous.

Some time after the time we first discussed
marriage in 1526, I was stricken by the “sweating sickness” and
hovered near death for days. The impact this had on Henry as he
waited a safe distance from infection cannot be described. He could
not come to me. He could not risk death; he had to survive to rule.
So he waited, hearing word of dozens and dozens who died (including
my sister Mary’s husband) as the sickness swept through London,
sending prayer upon prayer heavenward for my recovery. He could not
lose me, he swore. God help him, he could not.

God heard Henry’s prayers over the prayers of
those who wished me dead, and so I managed to survive.

The illness had an impact on me as well. I
could no longer pretend to Henry that I did not love him. I had
nearly died without telling him so. That seemed to me the greatest
sin of my entire life, and one that must be rectified. From that
point onward, my letters to him and my speech grew warmer and
fonder.

Yet I refused to be his mistress for four
years more. In my heart, I was still bound by my vows to Katherine,
even though our enmity was far-progressed by then. There was a
nagging shame in the midst of my anger and it made me hesitate,
even as I was anxious to take what Henry offered me. I was also
adamant that I would not be discarded as my sister had, and was
persistent in reminding Henry of this. I would not be a great fool.
I would have it all, or Henry would have nothing.

Despite my insistent virtue, I had finally
tucked Hal away in a far corner of my soul and had turned the full
focus of my affections on Henry.

Henry was gentle and charming and funny. I
was still teasing, but now took some pains to encourage him, for I
truly wanted to be with him. Even had the discussion of marriage
not taken place, my illness would had forced me to face him—and
myself—with the truth about my feelings for him.

I had come to deeply care for him, and to
feel a kind of connection with him. He somehow knew me better than
anyone but Hal ever had, catching me constantly off guard with his
insight, and what he knew, he loved. This discovery, that Henry
knew me well and loved me still, quieted my initial fear that he
would scorn me. I marveled at his love as if it were a miracle.

His eyes were pulling me, and I was drawn by
his physical presence into imagining what it would be like to lay
with him, and to wish it. I began to imagine more and more and to
wish it strongly enough to know that I would not be turning him
away for long. I was growing weak, then found myself growing
stronger in my resolve to see my imaginings come to pass. I thought
of God, and prayed for His forgiveness. I knew I would have to sin,
and soon.

Finally, it was time. Years into our
relationship, after years of effort on Henry’s part to marry me,
when we had finally reached the point where it seemed the marriage
could really take place, it was finally time. I had no plan, nor
did I know how to say the words, but I could no longer wait. More
importantly, I began to fear that Henry could no longer wait. I
felt I had pushed him as far as he could endure.

I worried and rehearsed before Henry’s
arrival, then nearly fainted from nerves when he appeared and I had
to face him, knowing as I did what I was planning to suggest.

Henry usually arrived unannounced, creating
havoc and internal discord within the house. Cooks fretted and
scowled and shoved boys off to the storehouse for provisions,
servants snapped at one another and raced to ready rooms, Mother
wrung her hands and pressed her temples, and Father privately
muttered complaints about the expense of feeding the King’s robust
appetite, and that of all his party.

In a short time following his initial visits,
acknowledging their frequency, my parents permanently relinquished
their own room to Henry and found another, thus ensuring that the
finest bedroom in the house was always kept ready for him. Each
time Henry came, he brought with him his own very large lock, and
had it bolted to the door of this bedroom before he had barely set
foot in the house. It, of course, would never have occurred to him
that anyone might feel inconvenienced by his presence, or his
demands.

I was always whisked into my room where my
hair was hurriedly arranged and my gown examined carefully, while
Father entertained the King with conversation. On the occasion of
this visit, I spent these moments deciding “Yes” or “No” and
vacillated once again. I decided to let the evening progress on its
own, and choose my course before the end of it.

It was necessary for me to warn my mother in
advance that I might be joining Henry in his room. This brightened
her up considerably, and went far toward the curing of her head
pains. She was transformed into a woman bustling and eager,
delighted that I had finally decided to settle the matter. I could
now place myself in a position to reap more substantial material
rewards from the friendship than the baubles and dresses I had
first cringingly come to accept and was now accumulating with
indifferent expectation. Never mind that Henry had sent her other
daughter away from him tearful and distraught. Mother was counting
coins, imagining recognition for my father and brother, and wealth,
status and favor for us all. My brother was looking at a position
of more responsibility, and at acres of land. My father speculated
on the titles he could earn through my horizontal efforts as he had
through Mary’s and perhaps, though I had no proof, through my
mother’s. There was a festive mood in our household with each
member thinking of his fortune and his ambitions. Meanwhile Mary
remained silent miles away, her heart and thoughts closed off to
me. I thought of her more than I did the others. I thought of
Katherine.

I wanted none of Henry’s gifts. I wanted no
payment for this. I only wanted Henry.

On that evening when he came to visit, he
began to tell a story to amuse me. In the telling, he mimicked
members of the court with a comical precision that delighted me.
Standing before me, he acted out the roles of the players until I
began to laugh far more than was considered seemly. At one point, I
squealed and hugged myself, and pressed my chest into my thighs,
while tears rained down upon my cheeks. I collapsed with helpless,
heaving laughter, and nearly slipped off my chair and onto the
floor. Henry reached out and caught me seconds before I would have
fallen, limp. He did it in a way that suggested he was not
embarrassed by my behavior, in fact, he seemed genuinely delighted
that he could so entertain me. He resumed his comical soliloquy,
glancing at me from the corner of his eye as I delicately covered
my mouth with my hand to disguise my hiccups. He then sent me into
a fit of giggles by raising an eyebrow and frowning with each
dainty “Hic”. His eyes were twinkling with pleasure even as he
frowned.

My mother found excuses to enter the room and
deliver surreptitiously reproving glances and faint shakings of her
head, and even fainter grimaces and hissed warnings. She then
exited until the next eruption of mirth. I could barely see her
through the tears and when I could, I laughed harder. Meeting
Henry’s eyes as my mother disapprovingly swept out I could not stop
laughing, nor could he.

My gleeful outbursts, rather than offending
Henry, spurred him on to further demonstrations. He clapped when I
timidly contributed one of my own and, emboldened by this, I joined
him. We created imaginary, ridiculous conversations between
courtiers: a host of familiar characters swearing undying love to
the persons they hated most; one of Katherine’s somber and
black-garbed ladies cornering a handsome young man on the stairs;
an intellectual, flagrantly effeminate nobleman wooing an
illiterate horsehand. Each successive play was more outrageous than
the last. We gasped for air, we were laughing so hard, and Henry,
still laughing, picked me up and pulled me squealing and giggling
onto his lap. He had never before ventured that kind of
familiarity.

Hearing my loud laughing protests, my mother
approached with a shocked frown, saw, froze, then turned quickly
away and disappeared with a look that suggested she would not
return.

“Had I but known she would do that,” Henry
whispered, “I would have clutched thee to me far sooner.” And then
reverting to pompous formality he boomed: “We shall take note of
the strategy!” He threw me into yet another fit of giggles.

Quieting down, still chuckling, Henry touched
my chin to bring my face toward his and looked in my eyes. “My
lady, I do love thee,” he said quietly. “I will love thee ever
more. Knowest thou this?”

I knew he did, and I knew he would.

“Aye,” I whispered, “As will I love thee.” I
twisted around and took his face in my hands and smiled at him,
lightly stroking his beard with one finger. I could feel a catch in
his breath.

“Dost thou? Speak again,” he said in a
whisper, his mouth close to my ear.

I laughed. I had learned from Mary’s
mistakes, and would not demean myself before him with plaintive,
desperate proclamations of strong emotion, though I felt emotion
strongly.

“
Dost
thou?” he insisted more loudly,
laughing back at me in all but his eyes.

“It is late,” I said, climbing from his lap.
He pulled me back, and shook me by the shoulders gently. I laughed
still, avoiding his eyes.

“Answer!”

I sighed and rolled my eyes with feigned
weariness. I yawned.

“Cruel thing!” Henry said reproachfully,
letting me go.

I stood before him and said “ Your Grace.” He
looked at me for a moment then turned away in disgust. “Henry. Look
at me.” It was the first time I called him “Henry” though later, as
we grew more intimate, he would ask me to call him “Rex”.

He did not comment on my familiar use of his
Christian name, or seem to notice. He was pouting. He turned his
head to avoid me as I moved around him, and crossed his arms over
his chest. He looked ever so like a small boy.

I moved closer. Henry’s pout filled me with
amusement. It seemed the time to confess. I could pull back once
again if needed, to maintain his interest. That tactic, I noticed
(as had everyone else) was effective with him. I placed my hand on
his shoulder and he did not move away.

“I love thee,” I said. “I have always loved
thee. Even from the first. Even when I turned from thee.” I ran my
finger up his cheek. “I love thee immeasurably.” My voice had
become a soft caress.

Henry stiffened in preparation for the
teasing blow that was sure to follow such a pronouncement and
turned to me with narrowed eyes.

“Without measure, dear Henry.” I said more
firmly. “Truly.” I touched his hair, briefly grazing his ear with
my finger causing him to jump involuntarily.

He reluctantly turned to me, and saw I was
not teasing. He hesitated for a moment in order to absorb this,
then reached for my hand and lifted it to his lips. He said
nothing, but looked at me with a child’s guileless expression of
hope while he considered what my words had meant.

I spoke again with a constricted throat.

“I love thee only. I thank thee for thy
patience, and for thine efforts to have me.” I slipped back on his
lap, and wrapped my arms around his neck. Pressing my lips to his
ear I whispered “I wouldst that I could stay with thee this night.”
I grew embarrassed and warm at having said such a thing, and at the
feelings that welled up in me as I did. I blushed and pressed my
eyes closed. Once again, I was looking down onto rocks from a vast
height.

“I may stay the night then?” He asked in a
high voice, with a catch in his throat, stiff, not looking at me or
moving. “With thee?”

“Aye,” I whispered, my head whirling at the
thought, and my body tensing with anticipation and old fears. “If
it pleaseth thee.”

It did. Henry found the suggestion quite
suitable to his wishes.

There were routines to be followed: dressers
to undress us, bedclothes to be turned, nightshirts to be worn.
Dozens of persons attended to the preparations, or witnessed them.
The inevitable Act itself was no doubt clearly overheard by those
who had bribed Henry’s guards, and now stood with ears pressed up
against the door. It was short-lived; Henry had been denied far too
long.

I knew this would be duly noted by the
servants in the hall.

I lay there, inexperienced but for violent
rape, and thought of the wonder of it. He had touched me, and I had
felt warmth and love and pleasure. More than that, I felt close to
Henry as I never had with anyone before, even more, I feared, than
Hal. I was in love with him beyond hope. I knew that now.

Hesitantly, he asked if it had been as I had
expected.

“No,” I answered. His face fell until I
continued. “I expected pain, and revulsion, for that is all I
knew.” I stopped myself, panicking. I had spoken too much. I
changed the direction of my speech and said, “I knew not that I
could love a man so—” I leaned over and cupped his face in my
hands. “I will love thee ever more. I am your Anne.”

And ever will be. Here, in the Memories, I
know that.

He looked prepared to weep for just a moment,
before controlling himself with a laugh. He was a feeling man,
always. I held him and laughed as well. We fell silent, and
absently touched fingertips, laying side by side.

And then he tried again.

I smiled and felt a rush of tenderness toward
him. Eyes locked in his, the smile disappeared and my hands reached
up to embrace him, and, still looking into his eyes, unblinking and
unfocused, I felt him enter me then the push! and we both whispered
“ahh” into each other’s lips and held tight. We murmured our love
to each other, and smiled, and touched each others faces and
nuzzled each others’ ears. It was a pleasant thing for a while, a
much longer while this time, and then slowly it became a very
focused pleasant thing. I moaned softly.