Threads: The Reincarnation of Anne Boleyn (21 page)

If God was giving me direction in response to
my prayers, it was to lead me down the very path I was struggling
to avoid. This bewildered me. Perhaps He did not hear me. I prayed
more strenuously and waited for my heart to harden toward Henry,
through God’s grace. It did not harden. Instead, the love grew more
tender, and moved me closer to my doom.

Our courtship took place over a period of
eight years. It took years for the conflict within me to reach a
crisis. For most of that time, I viewed Henry's interest in me as
just a game with no lasting consequence.

In the earliest years, word had reached me
that Henry was interviewing potential wives. He had resolved to
replace his Katherine in order to remarry and have a son. I knew I
would shift into a position of limited importance the moment he
narrowed his choices. Nothing could come of our relationship and so
it must be trivial. This knowledge sustained me in the beginning.
Perhaps, I reasoned, my heart was merely grasping at the first man
available and using him as a replacement for my lost Hal.

Then sometimes, even as I pushed him away, my
feelings toward Henry would surface, and I would feel terror that
he might actually do my bidding, and leave. As much as I vehemently
denied it, Henry was
mine
. He was my partner and my friend.
The King of England listened to me and did my bidding, and it was a
heady feeling to know this. I did not expect my power over Henry to
be long-lasting. I expected to lose it, so the prospect of
relinquishing it did not overly concern me for a long while. I was
merely borrowing it, and using it as much as I could while it was
still mine to use.

The knowledge that nothing could come of our
relationship proved less sustaining as time went on, and I grew
more frightened and confused. Could I contentedly relinquish that
power to another woman when I was truly faced with it? Could I so
easily give up his love when it was time to step aside?

During that same course of time, Henry loved
me with an adoration found only in the hearts of puppies and small
children.

He would have been kinder to show more
discretion. I would have preferred that he had. I knew the trouble
he would bring me with his displays of infatuation, and I cringed
at the thought of facing Katherine for, even blameless, I felt
ashamed.

The thought of talk put my nerves on edge and
made me fearful. In the very early months, before word had
traveled, the king’s obsessive love for me was a topic of amusement
in the servants’ quarters throughout the narrow confines of the
neighborhood. There were bursts of laughter from the servants after
Henry had safely departed from his visits, and I would suffer
teasings from them all. He did not hide his admiration well. He
could have, but he did not choose to because he fully, unwisely and
selfishly wanted all to know.

It quickly spread from the servants to the
conversations of the persons able to bring the news back to court,
and soon was carried beyond. The Queen knew. The world knew and was
aghast. The king was behaving like a schoolboy over an
insignificant lady of the court, and a not very pretty one
(although descriptions of me varied according to the speaker).

The murmuring—the rumbling—of distant gossip
began to reach Hever through the servants who, during their trips
to other manors, had initially played a part in spreading word. The
Boleyn servants were now gathering the fruits of their own gossip
from servants at other manors and were reporting what was being
said. I was toying with the King in an effort to maintain his
interest and to gain more wealth, it was widely known. The Boleyns
were grasping upstarts who were using the King’s weakness to their
advantage.

I had not, as yet, accepted a thing from
Henry when the first of these reports was passed along to me.

Katherine disapproved on moral grounds (as
she did of most things in life), but was rising above the situation
and ignoring it. I was no threat to her. I was of little
importance, and was welcomed back to court in an attempt to
emphasize this to me and to everyone else. Katherine realized too
late that she had tragically miscalculated, but the end result was
not of my doing. The mistake in accepting me back was hers, for I
did not insinuate myself into court; I was opposed to it.

In her pride and her desire to put me in my
place, Katherine did not understand that I was indeed a threat and
that Henry’s love for me was extraordinary. She could not, however,
have known. I did not know myself.

I thought it was a game. I thought I could
control it.

•
~
۞
~•

Shortly after we received Katherine’s
notification that my return was requested, Henry sent word that my
parents were to reside at the palace. This was an honor given only
to the higher titles (one of which Henry had recently,
conveniently, bestowed upon my father) and their families. Whereas
I had previously lived in our London house near the palace, I was
now to live in the palace itself, for my father’s new role required
it.

I knew it to be a trap.

I arrived in a finer carriage than the one in
which I had left. Henry had had it sent to Hever to transport me
back to London, and the ride was exceedingly comfortable. My
parents would follow in similar style.

I was installed in my chambers by Emma, my
maidservant, who was given a small room at the end of the corridor.
These were larger quarters than most for ladies of my status, and
amply furnished. When my trunks arrived later, my dresses were
carefully wiped and put away by a half dozen servants. In the
wardrobe were a number of new gowns sewn to my size. A tray of
fresh and dried fruits sat temptingly on the table with a goblet
and flask of wine. A round wooden bath was carried in and filled
with warm water so I might wash away the dust. None of these things
did I request.

“The Queen was kind to think of me,” I wryly
said to Emma. The absurdity of the observation made Emma laugh. I
giggled with her and stood still while she unlaced my gown.

“Hmmm,” Emma answered playfully. “Tis
true—thou
art
her favorite, Mistress. And hast grown ever
more so by thine absence. Make haste! Go and thank her! I should
like to see her expression when you do.” Emma pulled the gown over
my head and hung it carefully in the wardrobe. She turned back and
began work on my stays, unlacing them as well.

I grew suddenly tired and serious. “I would
that I could make the statement true. And that I could make the
same statement false with regard to her husband.”

Emma sighed while I grunted my way out of the
whalebone girdle. I breathed deeply once I had been freed.

“What
are
thy charms, I wonder?” she
asked musingly, helping me into the bath. “Hast thou ever wondered
why?”

It was not intended as an insult, nor did I
interpret it thus. Since our childhood together, Emma had always
taken shameless liberties with me, addressing me in private as her
equal rather than her mistress, treating me more as her cherished
friend than as her social superior. I would never have asked her to
do otherwise; her friendship weighed more than decorum (and if any
were listening, she had sense enough to address me with respect).
“Aye, I’ve wondered.”

“Hast thou no feelings for him? It all seems
quite strange to me.”

Would it sound mad? I trusted Emma, even
though I had kept my feelings for Henry to myself, this long while.
“I have looked into his eyes and seen someone . . . wouldst thou
know what I mean? He seems . . . familiar.”

Emma nodded. “Aye.” She gave me a steady look
while an expression of understanding crossed her face. It was
followed by a shadow of concern.

“I could not be so free with him except for
that.” I shook my head and laughed, blushing. She would think me
mad indeed.

Emma did not probe. She looked at me. Then
she quietly attended to sorting through my things before bedtime
while I sat in the tub and washed myself.

I was embarrassed, thinking I had spoken like
a mad woman. While I had spent many hours examining the phenomenon
in private, the sensations were too odd to confess aloud. It was a
recurring sensation of familiarity where none should be, as it had
been with Hal. It was a deeper familiarity than we had earned in
our time together and behind the eyes was someone who was not my
sovereign. Henry was someone with whom I should be able to laugh
and fight and play and, true to my peculiar sense of this, he
encouraged and expected those things of me as he did with no one
else. He was someone I should . . .
know
.

The affinity with Hal had been similarly odd,
quick and strong, and Hal had responded to my confession with
amazement for he had felt the same. In both cases, there was a
connection that was almost electric, but the sensation within me
felt differently.

How do I describe this? It had felt as if Hal
and I moved side by side, while with Henry it felt as if he and I
were facing each other—or perhaps facing off. With the one, I heard
a soothing, beautiful ballad on a harp and was transported to a
place of great joy and comfort. With the other I heard a joyous jig
with tin whistles and drums, and I danced, feeling as I did a queer
sense of coming home. In both melodies there was a deep passion,
different in type, but the same in strength and meaning. I could
not say which one I preferred. I loved them both.

I heard myself thinking the word “love” with
regard to Henry. It was the first instant when I did. My body
answered with a sharp rush of adrenaline and a prickly anxiety. My
plan was not working as it should and I resolved to look no more
into his eyes. I should not feel love.

Oddly, at that second, Emma had formulated
her thoughts and encapsulated them in two words. She looked up and
simply said: “Watch thyself.”

“I want to go home, Emma,” I responded. “I am
fearful of the outcome of this.”

“His interest is never long aimed toward any
maid. He will tire of thee.” It sounded as much a warning as a
reassurance. Emma reached for an apple and handed it to me. Still
soaking in the warm water, I took it and bit. “Eat,” she advised.
“Then sleep. Perhaps it can be viewed more cheerfully in the
morning.”

In the morning I reported to the Queen and
discovered that it had, in fact, been she who had arranged for my
rich accommodations. I was struck dumb by the fear of what it must
mean, and struck so hard by the absurdity of my predicament that I
nearly burst out in a laugh.

She was cloyingly pleasant toward me,
welcoming me back with an effusive, yet cold-eyed greeting, and
with excessive concern for my health and happiness. She referred to
“my husband” rather than “the King” as she had always spoken of him
in the past. She closely questioned me about the comfort of my
quarters and often clapped her hands to send a servant scurrying to
add to it “in order that I might please my husband, whose concern
for your comfort must become my concern as well,” she
explained.

Emma concocted a list of preposterous
requests for me, so that I might take advantage of this.

“Silken bedclothes,” she said. “Thou must
sleep nestled in silk lest thy complexion suffer. And it must be
silk woven by a particular Mandarin tribe—name it as you wish—and a
man servant to rub thy feet after a walk in the garden—no two, for
one must rub thy shoulders. And thou must have a warm bath once a
week, not just once a month—no, every day. NO!
Twice
per
day, and the water must be
precisely
the warmth of child
with a fever that is dangerous but not threatening, and thy clothes
must be warmed to that temperature as well so that you suffer no
chill in dressing.”

“Anything else? Mustn’t they twice daily
dispatch envoys to find a feverish child and ensure the temperature
is accurate? Thou dost plan poorly indeed, to forget.”

“It tires me to work so hard for thee, thou
thankless ogre,” Emma sighed. “But I will give it more thought and
tell thee anon what thou dost need, so that the queen might again
honor thee with her service.”

With each of Katherine’s false pleasantries
and overdone efforts to please me, I raised pleading eyes toward
hers then lowered them in shame. My demeanor became timid and
submissive. I was ashamed and sorry for something I had not done,
about which I dared not speak, and for which Katherine would not
forgive me.

I was soon pushed to the outskirts of her
inner circle. Those who had come with her from Spain closed in
around her like veiled black birds and allowed me no nearer her
than the farthest edge of the room. Katherine’s orders were now
relayed by them.

They were joined by some English ladies who
had earned Katherine’s trust in the years since her arrival. They
all spoke Spanish in my presence, except when sharply addressing me
directly, and were chillingly distant toward me. I was not invited
to the inner sanctum of their daily lives, and was edged out of
their society more and more as Henry’s obsession grew greater and
less discreet.

The young Princess Mary followed suit. Her
eyes would only meet mine in a manner that was condescending and
disdainful, and her remarks toward me were curt and contemptuous.
Henry had been neglecting her of late, and was finding far more
time for me than he was for his daughter. I was fond of the girl,
and confess more pain from her treatment of me than her mother’s. I
tried placating her. I tried gently prodding her father to take
more notice of her, but he brushed my hints aside.

The final insult took place at a dance when
Henry had once again manipulated his position in the circle to be
across from me. Unfortunately, I was standing next to the Princess
Mary who held her arms out to her father, delighted, thinking he
had made the effort in order to dance with her. I turned my back on
both of them and curtsied to another man and took his hand instead,
while Henry looked after me and the Princess Mary’s face fell with
understanding and hurt. Henry could be cruel in his
single-mindedness. I burned with shame for him, and anger on his
child’s behalf.