To Die For: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

FIVE

Year of Our Lord 1522

York Place, London, England

It was the day before the beginning of Lent, Shrove Tuesday, and we’d been at court nigh on a fortnight. We’d settled into the queen’s retinue, Anne as one of the queen’s many maidens of honor and I as a highborn friend there to assist and to make friends that might help my father or my future husband. Our days thus far had consisted of going to Mass with the queen, playing cards in her chamber, sewing shirts for the poor, and, of course, providing modest feminine companionship at meals and jousts. For the most part our time had been a disappointment.

The queen did not enjoy high spirits, preferring to spend dark hours in her chapel on her knees and favoring those who did likewise, most of whom had come with her from Spain a lifetime ago. Ash Wednesday would mark a period of little merriment and no meat. The king desired to indulge so as to carry us through till the celebration of the Resurrection. Cardinal Wolsey had planned an extraordinary masque. Even to me, a woman comfortably estranged from God, it was unseemly that the cardinal spent more time preparing for Henry to gorge his senses than preparing for the forthcoming denial of those same pleasures in honor of our Lord the next day. I’d heard it said that his solicitor, Thomas Cromwell, attended to Christ’s business while Wolsey attended to the more important matters of the king.

Somehow, someone had whispered a strong suggestion in an important ear and Anne was to be one of the principal players in the masque.

“How does the cardinal have enough money to entertain so lavishly?” I asked as I helped Anne into her shift and then went on to ensure that her gown sat perfectly. “There are legions of people to attend this evening and he is sure to serve dozens and dozens of courses to please the king. And he’s got hundreds of servants!”

Anne nodded and then laughed. Her laugh was pleasant to hear but not filled with merriment as an ordinary woman’s laugh might be. Rather it was a mix of joy and sophistication and maybe a little bit of challenge to the listener. It was compelling and altogether different since she’d returned from France. I’d seen the men at court respond to her laughter and to her presence, almost against their will, in a way unlike the manner in which they approached the other ladies in the queen’s household.

“The cardinal’s servants are better dressed than I,” she teased. Although it was not exactly true, they were finely attired, for certes. Just then, another young woman burst into the chamber, her sickly strong jasmine perfume preceding her arrival.

“Do you know where Mary has gone?” she asked.

“Hello, Jane,” Anne replied, reminding Jane Parker that she had forgone the civility of a greeting in order to bleat out a demand, as usual.

“Hello, sister,” Jane replied impatiently. “’Tis a short time till we’re required in the dining hall. Have you seen our sister Mary?”

Anne looked at me and even though her expression did not change, I, who knew her well, could read her impatience with the woman soon to be betrothed to Anne’s beloved brother, George.

“She left some time ago. Mayhap she’s with the king.”

“Indeed!” Jane’s eyes lit up at the idea of inserting herself into the king’s close orbit. “I’ll see to her.” She took her leave but not afore reminding us to hurry. It was a credit to Anne’s discretion that she held her tongue.

“You’d wish better for George,” I said. I understood. In spite of the fact that my brother Thomas had a sweet son by his wife, Elizabeth, they spoke not at all and I had already seen Elizabeth in a dark hallway with one of the king’s privy counselors.

“I’d wish him happiness, in all ways, in great measure,” Anne said. “And I fear he’s not going to get that with Mistress Parker. But my father is sure to get a great dowry, and one that he supposes to use in part for my marriage portion, so he warns me to say nothing at all to my sister Jane but to welcome her into our family. For his sake, and for George’s, I do.” She stood and turned in her gown, her long black hair flowing majestically around her shoulders, her eyes played up with the tiniest bit of kohl in each corner. “How do I look?”

“There will not be an eye with the free will to look away from you,” I said, suddenly feeling very dowdy in my sapphire gown.

“Don’t fret, you look lovely, Meg,” Anne said, reading my mind. “Let us go ere Mistress Parker brings herself to a fit.”

We first went to dinner, the king and queen on a dais at the head of the room and the rest of us stratified according to rank outward from their position. Anne was several tables in front of me, and I sat with a group of happy young ladies-in-waiting, next to a table of the king’s gentlemen, who laughed, and yes, we parried with one another, well out of the queen’s earshot and gaze.

“I hear that there are to be sixteen women who are costumed for roles at the masque,” one young courtier said. “And yet only eight men.”

“Perhaps that is because it takes two women to subdue one man!” another courtier offered, to the general laughter of the rest of us.

“What think you, mistress?” The first young man trained his eyes on me and smiled flirtatiously. I was unused to courtly manners. Did he intend to pay me such intense attention? Or was this a part and parcel of the illusory world of the court, where nothing was as it seemed?

“I should rather not offer my opinion,” I said. “I know that one of the maidens shall represent malebouche, a sharp tongue, and should she fall ill I’d not like to be pressed into service.”

The tables erupted in laughter and I smiled.

“Never,” the young man thrust back. “I find your bouche to be anything but sharp.”

For him to comment on my mouth, especially implying that it was soft, was perhaps a step further in this game than I wished to go, so I nodded toward him. “Touché,” I said, and left it at that. His eyes did not leave me for some time, and I allowed myself to suppose that my gown was not as dowdy as I had feared.

I glanced at Anne. She had been seated next to Henry Percy, the heir to the Earl of Northumberland. One glance at Percy’s face told me that he was smitten with Anne, which was unsurprising. What was surprising, however, was the look on Anne’s face. Underneath her practiced court luster I could spy honest interest. I made note of it because Anne did not waste her affections.

After dinner we made our way from the dining room into the large chamber in which the performance would be held. Each masque had a theme, and the theme that Cardinal Wolsey had determined for this celebration was that of unrequited love. How fitting! I scanned the room, both wishing for and hoping against Will’s being in attendance, as he well might. When I saw that he was not, I relaxed and allowed myself to be transported, along with the other guests, by the story.

In one end of the hall had been built a replica of a castle, covered with green foil, which concealed the court musicians. Within were eight women, representing the feminine virtues to which we were supposed to aspire and to which, I admit, I did strive, though I often fell short. The king’s sister Mary, as the highest-ranking of the masqued women, played Beauty. Jane Parker played Constancy, something I found difficult to believe, and I wondered if the choir master had known her well, or at all, when appointing her to the position. The Countess of Devonshire, wife of the king’s cousin, who still had the smell of treason about him, was strangely nominated to be Honor. Anne’s sister, Mary, played Kindness, and I agreed that was a suitable role. She had not much wit, nor principles, but she was kind.

Anne had been selected to play Perseverance.

The eight costumed men attacked the eight women dressed as unlovely feminine vices, throwing dates, fruits, and other sweetmeats at them till they yielded, allowing the eight feminine virtues, headed by Princess Mary, to escape into the willing arms of the men. At the victory, the queen stood and led the crowd in applause. After she had recognized the end of the performance she was free, by custom, to take her leave, and she did. When she left, the cool air of disapproval left with her, leaving behind a warm current of gaiety.

“Play on!” the king commanded the musicians, free, too, from Katherine’s zeal and censure. “Something that will put us in a fine mood for a long night of dancing and revelry.”

As the music struck up the king led out Mary Boleyn Carey as his first partner, but he did not limit himself to her. Henry was a man who liked a table laden with an uncountable number of fine delicacies, so many that he could not possibly eat them all at one sitting. But he enjoyed sampling them each with his eyes at every meal, and when he took a fancy to a particular dish, it had better be set afore him to be enjoyed at his exclusive pleasure. I watched as his eyes roved across the crowd, alighting here and there. They settled on Anne for a moment longer than on any other. I exhaled as soon as his gaze moved on.

’Twas no surprise that Anne was a much-requested dance partner all evening long. And yet, several times I looked at her returning a warm smile to the longing gaze of Henry Percy and she danced with him more than the others.

“Have a care,” I warned her as we stood next to one another while the king danced a galliard. “He’s the Earl of Northumberland’s heir and roosts on a high perch.”

“Even high-flying birds must come down to hunt,” she responded, flushed and enjoying herself.

I grinned at her wit and banter. I enjoyed being young and in demand this evening too. We squeezed one another’s hands in friendship ere parting when the dance opened up again to all.

And yet I must admit to a certain uneasiness when, later, I saw Henry Percy secure one of the dates that had been thrown in the earlier mock battle in order to win the affections of the virtuous maidens. At a pause in the music, Lord Percy offered the sweet to Anne.

She took it from him and enfolded it in her hand.

The months at court passed quickly, and early in springtime of 1523 my father sent my brother Thomas to court to assist with the king’s finances. It was an attempt, which we were all sure would prove futile, to force verse out of Thomas’s head, thus leaving room within for figures. I was glad of his company, though, and told him so as we strolled together in the gardens.

“How goes it at Allington?” I asked. While I enjoyed the festivities at court and even in the queen’s household, such that they were, I missed home.

“Much the same.” He took my hand and rested it in the crook of his elbow. The narcissus were just forcing their way out of the ground and Thomas bent down and plucked one. “Edmund is, as always, sure of himself and Father grows increasingly sure of him too. I think, truth be known, Father would prefer him here at court rather than I. But I am the eldest, alas, so none of the three of us will get what we desire.” He held the flower to his nose and then held it out to me. “’Twould make a fine badge on Edmund’s coat of armor, wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed. I’m fairly certain that Narcissus is Edmund’s patron saint,” I replied. We giggled together and then sat down on a bench.

“Our mother?” I dared ask. Her letters had become further apart and shorter.

“Unwell,” Thomas said, and then said nothing more. There was no need. In the distance I saw Anne and Henry Percy strolling together, her hand also in the crook of his arm, but the meaning much different, of course, than when it was one’s brother.

As they approached Thomas stood and I remained seated.

“You look as beautiful as ever, Mistress Boleyn,” Thomas said.

Anne laughed and the gaze of both men held rapt upon her face. “Oh, Thomas, no need for formalities. Things go well for me, and, I hear, for you. A new appointment at court?”

“Yes.” Thomas appeared pleased to have his achievement recognized in front of Henry Percy. “And how are you, Lord Percy?”

Anyone with eyes could tell by looking upon Lord Percy’s countenance that he was very well indeed.

“Well, thank you,” he replied. No mention was made of his accomplishments. He needed none. He was rich and the heir of the Earl of Northumberland, ruler in all practicalities of the north. The look in his eye told me that he considered the distance between us Wyatts and himself an unbreachable gap. And it was, of course. But I counted it as a mark of weakness to have to intimate that to others by your manner. The king, after all, was known for his bonhomie. We discoursed for a time and then the two of them went on their way, a lady chaperone trailing discreetly behind. No one would mention the word “chaperone,” but that was indeed the role she played that hour.

Thomas rejoined me on the bench and nodded toward the backs of the couple as they retreated from us. “How long has that been under way?”

“Since last spring,” I said. No need to protest that nothing was under way. The court was the ultimate repository of open secrets.

“And his father?”

“Does not know, I am certain,” I replied. The Boleyns were held in high regard by the king—Sir Thomas was even now away on a diplomatic mission on the king’s behalf—but they were certainly not in the same drawer as the Percys.

Thomas sat on the bench, his poet’s hands holding his head in a glum pose.

“Come now, Thomas. You are married. They are not.”

He picked his head up. “Nor will they be,” he said. “Mark my word. Wolsey will not let it happen.”

“Who is Wolsey to say?” I asked.

“Wolsey is the king whilst the king plays,” Thomas replied. Left unsaid was that the king was often at play.

We began our walk back to the palace, to his duties and mine, and that conversation was forgotten until one evening several months hence when Anne burst into our chamber. The suddenness of her action and the atypical loss of her composure shook me.

“What is it?”

She pulled me close. “Cardinal Wolsey approached Henry Percy and asked him what his intentions were toward me. Henry declared his love for me and indicated that he intended to marry me.”

“And?”

“And Wolsey confronted Henry and told him that he would speak with him again and that he was not to see me for now. Also that he would get his father here anon to set things straight.”

My brother Thomas was at York Place working on the king’s figures with Thomas Cromwell when Cardinal Wolsey next spoke to Henry Percy. Thomas heard the cardinal call Anne a foolish girl and he marveled that Percy, heir to one of the noblest and most worthy earldoms on earth, would tangle himself with the likes of her.

Shortly after Thomas reported this to me I returned to my duties. After straightening and ordering the queen’s gowns I asked and was granted dismissal. I threw Anne a look so she’d know to follow me.

Dear me. Anne had brought me here to be her friend, and I had been so taken in with gladness that she had found love, and had so enjoyed late-night talks about him, that I had not advised her well. I needed to take off the cloak of a girlish friend and put on that of a womanly advisor. When she arrived, I recounted what Thomas had told me, but she already knew.

“Anne! What of Butler?” As far as I knew, her father was years into negotiations for a marriage between them.

She waved that away. “Who knows if that will come to pass? And my father would let go that proposal in a moment if he thought the Earl of Northumberland was in my reach.”

This, I knew, was true.

“I have…. corresponded with him.” Ah. So Sir Thomas had given a tacit approval to this match and was letting Anne wrangle to win.

“Anne, think. Wolsey is the most powerful man in our world and he is implacably against you.”

“Because he does not want to advance the Boleyns, see us reach too high beyond our grasp. Although why he, as a butcher’s son, should be the judge of that I know not. And he’s obsessively against my father’s interests in the reformers’ thoughts on faith. He removed my brother, George, from his position in the privy chamber, for example.”

Please, please don’t let Jane Parker be idling about.

“So what next?” I asked.

“Henry Percy will declare his love for me and my love for him and convince his father that we should be married.”

“And if not?”

She shook her head. She never considered the possibility of losing. “I know how Percy loves me, and I believe that will give him the strength to do what needs to be done.”

Shortly thereafter Anne had me deliver a letter to Henry Percy. She could not be seen with him, but I knew by her determined look that she had not given up. I knocked lightly on the door to his chamber and he opened it himself. His face was a bit crestfallen when he saw who it was—I suspected he’d hoped it would be Anne—but then recovered his graciousness and invited me in. I stepped in, to be polite, but had no intention of staying.

His chambers were large, the largest of any gentleman’s chambers I’d been in, and richly appointed. We moved to the back of the large greeting room, toward a window, and I withdrew the letter from inside my deep French sleeve. “I’m to wait for a response, if you like,” I said. He nodded, then left me standing by the window while he retired to his desk to read the letter and, I presumed, respond. I wandered to a further window, and then another, looking outside as I did. A large barge, one I didn’t recognize, had been moored on the riverside alongside the palace grounds. It rivaled the king’s for its ornamentation, though mayhap not Wolsey’s.

I idled, but within a few minutes there was a sharp knock at the door. Percy’s manservant answered and like a cloud clap a large man, emanating power, burst into the room.

“My Lord Northumberland,” the servant stammered. The Earl of Northumberland approached his son, who had blanched.

“Sir!” he said in a menacing voice.

His son, who looked nothing so much as a just-weaned whelp, cowered as he turned before his father. I, tucked into a dark corner in the room, went unnoticed.

“I’ve always considered you an unthrifty wastrel, proud, disdainful, and certainly you should have been the runt of my pack rather than one of your nobler brothers. Now you’ve proved it to me and to all assembled. We shall discuss this, and the prospect of your disinheritance, with the cardinal’s attorneys.”

His father turned and as he did, Percy followed him out of the room and down the hall. Forgotten, I waited a moment and then took my leave. As I did, I knew Percy would never be the champion Anne hoped him to be.

Two days later Anne and I watched as our laden trunks were loaded into fine carts. She was banished to Kent to get her out of Percy’s field of vision till his marriage to Mary Talbot, which had been ponderously negotiated for years, could be quickly consummated. I tried to make good conversation. “I will be glad to judge my mother’s health on my own.”

Anne remained silent as we rode our steeds.

“Was it the man or the title?” I finally asked what only the closest friend could.

“The title was important, of course. But I loved the man too.” I’d never seen her defeated in position and in heart. A tear slid down her cheek and she abruptly brushed it away.

I picked at a sliver that lay just below the skin covering my own heart. “Through Wolsey, God has taken away both of our loves,” I said.

She looked up. “No, that’s where we disagree. You blame God for the deeds of men, I blame the men themselves. Mark me, this will return to Cardinal Wolsey. He’s a gluttonous climber who has become a wolf in shepherd’s cloth of gold. As a man sows, so shall he reap.”

I was not sure if she was vowing revenge on Wolsey herself or quoting Scripture to remind God what should next follow.

“How can anyone truly respect a weak man?” she asked. I had no answer, because the truth was, you couldn’t, and we both knew she didn’t mean Wolsey.

“I do know this,” Anne said after some miles of silence. “I will never again pledge myself to a weak man.”

I remained silent, pretending not to hear the word “pledge” in relation to Henry Percy. It was a dangerous, even perilous, word.