Threads: The Reincarnation of Anne Boleyn (14 page)

Well-versed in banter and small talk, I was
surprised to find myself speaking to him from my heart in just a
few minutes’ time. I spoke of feelings, and long-secret dreams and
he listened and nodded and offered a few of his own, growing ever
more excited and passionate. Those around us slipped away as we
fell into a discussion more intimate than one should expect between
virtual strangers, and one more filled with hope, for we were both
aware that we had found each other, and it was important. It just
felt right, immediately, even in those first few minutes of
conversation, much as if we had known each other all our lives.

He afterwards began to seek me out. Our
initial conversation was resumed, and we explored each other’s
tastes, opinions and thoughts, and found them to be remarkably
compatible. We moved past the courtly banter, never stopping there
at all, and went directly to exchanges of a very personal nature.
Yet our conversations did not have to be on a personal level to be
intimate. We found that, even when we discussed the weather or the
evening’s entertainment, the people present would silently glide
out of the room as if they felt they were intruding. I did not know
why that was or how they knew, at least at those times when I
happened to notice.

There is an aura that lovers project, and an
aura surrounded the two of us. From the very beginning we looked as
if we were “together” and we felt “together”. We were a couple who
clearly belonged to each other, as some couples do, so that even
strangers had no doubt on first sight that we were meant to be
mates.

We moved at the same speed, mentally, viewed
things the same way just enough of the time to be harmonious
without feeling boredom, and could spend extremely long periods of
time together without irritation. There were no fights between us,
and no arguing or silly lovers’ games. We walked in step, in tune,
in perfect rhythm. He made me a sweeter person, and a kind one, and
a gentle one. I made him a stronger person, and a more
self-assertive and confident one.

As I had been told, and as I had expected, I
knew when I fell in love. There is no doubt, when it takes over. It
is not a frantic, or an impatient, or a desperate thing. It is a
very quiet, sure and steady thing. I was incomplete without Hal,
and realizing that is how I came to be sure of my love for him. He
was in my soul, and I was in his, and I discovered this within two
weeks of our first meeting. In just that space of time, the two of
us were speaking seriously of love, and discussing the future in
terms of “we”, and “us”. We felt fused as if we had blended
together, each into the other, where our hearts touched. I cannot
describe it any more accurately than anyone who has been in love
can describe it. Sometimes there is a key that fits the lock to
heart, mind, body and soul, and Hal possessed it. That is all that
can be said.

۞

It seems strange to think that this could be
so, knowing as I do how bound I am to Henry.

“Why?” I ask. “Was it not real?” It certainly
seemed so at the time. It seemed to me to be real.

The Voice explains to me that being bound to
Henry does not diminish the importance of this newer, still-growing
bond. Neither bond diminishes the other, for each soul has within
it the capacity to love all other souls, and this love can take
many forms. We all have a repertoire of possible marital pairings,
each different and each important, for each comes with its own
history and purpose. Hal’s and mine was a love match, first and
foremost, with two souls who were meant to spend their lives
together if not as man and wife, than as something else; if not
here and now, then in some other time and place. Choice drew us. We
were bound more by this than by a Higher Law’s insistence that we
meet to resolve our conflicts and differences. By contrast, Henry
and I are forced to it, loving or no.

And, yes, I am assured, it was real.

۞

I knew we would want to marry from the very
start of the friendship, and looked forward to a lifetime as
pleasing as any I could have imagined. I was floating with joy and
anticipation. I had fallen in love with a man my parents would have
chosen for me had they dared set their sights so high, and he was a
man so tender I could feel my heart stretch and grow each day I was
with him. He was attentive and caring, and was so proud he had won
me that he paraded me around with a touching possessiveness,
flushing with pleasure as people kindly and indulgently
complimented his taste and good fortune with exaggerated praises
for me. He shared his secrets and listened to mine. He ran to me
with stories he just could not keep to himself, laughed when I made
comical remarks, and blushed when I applauded his. In a short time
he regained his humor around me and assailed me with one absurd
observation after another, making the time spent in his presence a
constant delight.

He was such a joy that I could not help but
feel unworthy. Could he not have found a woman younger, or more
beautiful, or from a more impressive bloodline? I dared not think
about it, for I had grown to depend upon him for my very happiness.
I was grateful and awestruck that I could be loved by a man such as
he, and lit candles of thanks in the chapel. I had never felt so
blessed, nor had my heart been so full.

Hal came to me when I was in the garden with
several of my friends, took my hand and pressed it to his lips.
From behind his back he produced a white rose, which he presented
to me in a sweeping bow. Then he fell to one knee and proposed in
front of all.

“I have consulted with your father, my dear
lady. After a formidable amount of examination, we concluded that
our pairing—yours and mine—might be somewhat acceptable to him. I
have his permission to ask you,” he said with mock pomposity. “And
the weather is right for it, I dare say. One hopes never to kneel
outdoors in a downpour.”

I touched the rose to my cheek and tilted my
head. I had been expecting this very scene, but had not known how
Hal would bring it about. I only knew his approach would be
unexpected. I giggled and touched the rose to my lips.

“Therefore, Mistress, will you take me as
your husband? Will you endure my many, many faults till death?”
With a mischievous aside to the other ladies, who were clasping
their hands to their chests in pleasure at his performance, he said
in a loud booming voice, “Kindly remain silent about those faults,
my ladies, until I have safely received her response and bound her
to it!” Then he turned back to me and softly asked, “Wilt thou be
my
very
beloved wife?”

One of the older ladies leaned toward me and
hissed “Say yes, my lady.” Others turned to each other giggling
with excitement, pressed together like birds roosting, leaning
forward to hear.

I grinned and turned to the other ladies.
“Think you that this man is worthy of one such as myself?” The
ladies covered their laughter with their hands and exchanged looks
of merriment.

“My worthiness is
not
the issue,
Mistress,” Hal interjected quickly, his voice again raised in
volume like an actor’s. “I will not allow that to be considered in
the discussion. The issue we are addressing concerns only whether
or not you will
have
me. I forbid you to examine my
worthiness until
after
the ceremony when it is too late to
save yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

“What say you, my ladies?” I asked, shooting
Hal a playful look. “Shall I accept him on those conditions?”

They giggled and nodded.

I turned back to Hal. “I will happily be your
wife, and love you until death and beyond,” I said for all to hear.
Then softly, reaching out to take his hand: “Thee and thy many,
many faults.” I smiled. “They are part of
thee
, and I love
them as well.”

I spoke the truth. I did love his faults. It
was Hal’s faults that I came to miss the most, for they made him so
human and so vulnerable and so in
need
of me. I felt
protective toward him, and determined he should never know hurt nor
harm. When he was gone, unable to act out my feelings of
tenderness, I felt much as a mother would toward a child wrested
away from her care. Helpless. Worried. Anguished on his behalf . .
. and anguished over my own loss.

I erupted into tears at the memory of his
hesitations and fears of rejection. I churned with sorrow over the
impatience I felt when he refused to join the hunt with the rest of
us and acted as if a mere fox could suffer pain as intensely as a
man. I knew him to be weak in that way, and cowardly when it came
to inflicting pain or viewing blood. I cried in shame for
embarrassment I once felt when he shied away from confrontation. I
would happily suffer those moments for an eternity. All gone. “My
love, my love . . . ”

I sobbed over Hal’s well-intentioned efforts,
which sometimes went awry, and wept at the memory of his
thoughtful, bewildered, apologetic face fixed on mine while I
laughed at a mess he had made of one thing or another. I sometimes
scoffed at his fears and chided him. The memory of this later
brought me pain, for it had not been intended as criticism. I loved
him however he came down to the depths, as they say, of my soul. I
prayed that he knew this.

In fact, he did.

Between us there was peace and commitment.
Our lives should have been happy, harmonious and long. As it
happened, and with intervention by Henry, they were not.

We had agreed to wait before venturing into
physical intimacy, for we were both dutiful to God and our
families, and both thought we had our lives to spend together. Part
of my cautiousness traced back to the rapes, of which Hal knew
(against my sister’s firm advice to me) in more detail than I had
ever told another soul except Mary. For that reason, he did not
press. In later years I would marvel over his concerned acceptance
of my claims of rape, and how gently he treated me out of fear he
might frighten me. He never questioned my honesty, nor did he judge
me or exert any pressure upon me lest he drive me away.

We limited our physical contact to kisses and
hand holding, and warm hours with me held upon his lap. We
sometimes sat in that way not speaking, yet we were intensely aware
of each other, listening with our hearts, waiting and wanting with
ever-increasing impatience. We had no need for words at such times.
We had no need of anything but the Holy ceremony that would allow
us to finally fuse our bodies as we had our souls. The ceremony
could not come soon enough. We were tense with the need for it.

It had seemed at the time that we had
something to wait for, and good reason to wait. It is a wistful
regret, but it is also my deepest relief that we postponed our
coupling. Had we been together, Henry might have beheaded Hal
beside me. I could not endure the thought that I was responsible
for his death too, as I was for my brother George’s, and Mark
Smeaton’s and the others. I could not endure the thought.

Then again, Henry was suspicious of Hal from
the beginning, despite my assurances that we were chaste. When
Henry searched for men who might love his wife, he had no further
to look than Hal, and he knew this, yet he merely questioned him,
then passed him over and went on with his search. Henry could
easily have concocted a story that would have placed him in my
bedchamber, both before and after our marriage, but he did not. It
could be that it was only Hal’s endearing nature that saved him
from the block. It would take a demon or a fiend to murder him,
regardless of the mental state and motives of the murderer. Henry
evidently found one line even he could not cross, so Hal lived on,
unthreatened, yet closer to guilt than any man but one on the
planet.

•
~
۞
~•

Marriages were of as much interest to the
King as they were to the participants and their families. They were
less a partnership between a man and a woman than they were a means
of creating alliances between powerful families. Since the
distribution of power was of critical concern to the country’s
political welfare, approval was required before a marriage could
take place.

For reasons of politics, Hal was betrothed
when he was a child. It was an arrangement rather loosely made, and
one that had been broken when Cardinal Wolsey, reassessing its
virtue, stepped in to forbid it some years past. Talk of this
arrangement had recently been resurrected, but no handfasting
ceremony had officially betrothed Hal to this woman, and Wolsey’s
position had vacillated. The political situation was changing, and
he had not firmly decided whether to proceed with this pairing or
select another. He confessed his leanings were still against
it.

Hal and I speculated that, under these
circumstances, our marriage would be approved. In a private
conversation with Wolsey, Hal had determined that there were no
serious impediments to our marriage, and Wolsey had no immediate
objections except to say he had not yet studied the issue in depth.
He had however, distractedly, unofficially led Hal to believe that
there would be no problems. Then he moved on to issues of more
immediate importance than Lord Henry Percy and Anne Boleyn, and
dismissed the conversation from his thoughts.

On the basis of this (and as a result of some
exaggeration on Hal’s part that Wolsey was “wholehearted”) Hal had
obtained my father’s enthusiastic consent, and conditional
permission from his own parents.

Hal and I were young, and we had hopes. Hal
counted on the good favor of Wolsey, whom he directly served. Both
of us counted on the information Hal had obtained from Wolsey, so
we proceeded with our plans to marry. We did this out of
confidence, or more accurately, we moved ahead with blind and
impetuous refusal to accept the possibility that anything might
occur to prevent the marriage, simply because we wanted so badly to
marry.