To Die For: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

SEVEN

Year of Our Lord 1526

Richmond Palace

and

Year of our Lord 1527

Allington Castle

And so we spent the autumn at court. I was now a member of the aristocracy, thanks to my as-yet-unkissed husband, and therefore entitled to better rooms. Anne certainly had better rooms; her chambers were draped with among the finest tapestries I’d ever seen. There were more than one hundred ladies waiting upon the queen in various capacities and those she kept closest were, naturally, Spanish women who had joined her when she came to England decades ago to marry Prince Arthur.

Alas, Katherine’s marital bliss had lasted only a few short months ere Arthur succumbed to consumption. The new princess had to wait, her temper and gowns growing threadbare, till her knight in shining armor, Henry, rescued and married her just after his father died.

I studiously learnt many things from the busy lips of those hundred women as we dealt cards or sorted ribbons and silks, paying careful attention so that I could better guide Anne. I learnt that the king had not joined the queen in her bedchamber in many years and that she had not had a monthly flux for many years, either. I learnt that she spent long hours praying in Spanish in a chapel aflame with candles, beseeching the Lord for a miracle son. While I didn’t share her zealous religious devotion, I admired her constancy to it. I learnt that though she was haughty to nearly all but her closest friends, when Henry did talk to her she was gentle, and perhaps too pleading to hold his respect or interest. I learnt that there were some principles she would not bend on—her marriage, her faith, and her daughter, Mary, even if it meant locking horns with Henry. I was shocked that a woman of such intelligence would not understand that locking horns with Henry on anything meant that she would lose, and lose badly. Anyone who had heard the king in temper, or had it spoken of, or remembered the death of poor Buckingham should have learnt that well.

I learnt through whispered conversations that although the queen would not cause direct harm to those in her path, there were others in her household who had no such scruples. They smelt blood, and as times became more desperate they would become bolder in protecting their mistress. Well, there were those of us who would protect Anne, too, though none, I dared say, would stoop to bloodshed.

Though the king attended to royal business during the day, Anne was the first one he sought for companionship during musical performances, his most frequent dance partner, the confidante he could be seen laughing with as the court made its way from gallery to gallery after dinner. I sensed nothing amiss for some time because, after all, courtly flirtation was the lingua franca and we were always among a crowd. Anne’s high profile and clear favor with the king would allow her father to find a husband for her, something we’d oft discussed. But it eventually became clear to all, and they spoke of it in hushed tones at feasts and in darkened hallways, that Henry was besotted with Anne in a way he’d never been with either Bessie Blount or Mary Boleyn, the two ladies who had most publicly shared his attentions. The reason why was clear to me. Anne was Henry’s equal, and he, the consummate jouster, relished her for her ability to parry. He’d styled his friend Charles Brandon the Duke of Suffolk for the same set of skills.

One of the joys of being at court was the pleasantries of spending time with my brother Thomas. I walked with him in the autumn gardens among the leaves tinted magenta and, yea, even purple, as this was a royal household after all. As he was unhappy in his marriage I had poured out my sorrow to him about my last meeting with Will, and how I felt, noli tangere, now that he belonged to our Lord. Thomas understood. Neither of us spoke of Baron Blackston. Anne joined us from time to time and one day, for a lark, Thomas snatched a jewel that Anne had on a knitted string, hanging from a pocket in her gown. After Anne had introduced the fashion I noticed several other ladies at court imitating it.

“Give that back!” she insisted. Thomas shook his head and instead plunged the jewel and its chain into his bosom.

“’Tis mine now,” he said. “I shall use it as an excuse to speak to you when I will—come to return your favor or ask one of you, you’ll know not.”

“Thomas,” I said quietly. He looked at me, winked, and backed away. Anne waved him off with a laugh.

“’Tis only a courtly banter,” she said, relenting. “And a paste jewel. Let him have it.” She linked arms with me and we strolled back to the palace, wind now picking up. A few days later, she burst into my chamber.

“Your brother,” she said before closing the door, “is not to be trusted.”

I sat her down next to me. “Edmund is here?”

She shook her head impatiently and dismissed Edithe from the room—really my prerogative, though I said nothing. “Thomas. Apparently he was playing bowls with the king and other gentlemen when the king hit a shot that he claimed had made the mark though it hadn’t. Thomas, fool that he is, disagreed with the king.”

Oh no. Everyone knew that the king, once settled on a matter, would not be dissuaded. His opinion was always right, his assumptions and assertions the correct ones, and he never changed his mind because that would imply that, impossibly, he’d been wrong in the first place. To claim otherwise was foolhardy indeed.

“That’s not the worst of it,” Anne pressed on. “Thomas withdrew the jewel he stole from me and used the knitted chain to measure the distance from the king’s bowl to the mark and his own bowl to the mark whence he claimed victory—showing the king my jewel as he so declared! The king, completely understanding that Thomas was claiming me, and not the bowl, replied that it might be true but then he had been deceived. Henry Norris had come to warn me of it and I am come to ask you—please tell Thomas to keep his distance from me. I dare not be seen telling him on my own.”

I nodded and as I did heard Edithe quietly come into the room. “Mistress Boleyn’s maid is here,” she said, her voice sounding like one who suffered watery bowels. “The king has asked for her.”

Anne left and I went to listen to some musicians that the queen had arranged to play in her room. She sat eating Seville oranges and tapping her toe to the melancholy refrain so different from the galliards Henry preferred. I peeled an orange and worried about Anne. Later that night Anne appeared in the queen’s chambers and, smiling, settled down next to me. Every eye was upon her and the queen’s mouth grew pinched.

Later Anne snuck into my chamber and told me that she’d convinced the king that Thomas’s actions were a playful gesture left over from childhood and that he meant nothing more to her, and perhaps a great deal less, than a true brother. The king was well pleased and asked her to stay with him for dinner in his chambers.

“What does he intend, Anne?” I asked. “I know not,” she said. “But the king is a huntsman and it seems, somehow, I am now his quarry and all others must back off.”

“This will not do well for marriage negotiations on your behalf. How do you feel about it?”

“At first I had no feeling for the king other than pleasure at bantering with a learned man and my monarch. But now….”

“You don’t want the life Mary lived,” I reminded her. I would not be a good friend if I let her wander down that road.

She shook her head. “No. I do not. And I shall not have it, either.”

She took her leave for the evening, and as she did, foreboding twinged deep within me. I thought to myself that she rather enjoyed the chase but perhaps, like any hind, did not expect to suffer an arrow through the heart. I shared my thoughts with my brother as I warned him away.

At the Christmas celebrations that year it became increasingly clear that the queen was isolated. No one but her Spanish ladies sought her company, but all sought Anne’s. The king gave Anne a necklace of diamonds as a gift.

Thomas, to his credit, was writing poetry and staying out of Anne’s way. One day he slipped a poem to me. “I’ve written it for both of us,” he said. I raised my eyebrow expecting further explanation but he pressed it into my hand and said, “You’ll see what I mean.”

I took it to my chamber and read it.

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind

But as for me, alas, I may no more.

The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,

I am of them that furthest come behind.

Yet may I by no means my wearied mind

Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore

Fainting I follow; I leave off therefore,

Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.

Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,

As well as I, may spend his time in vain.

And graven with diamonds in letters plain

There is written, her fair neck about:

Noli me tangere, for Caesar’s I am,

And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

Touch me not. Noli me tangere. I belong to Another.

In January the king sent Thomas on a diplomatic mission to Italy. I would miss him but understood it was best, and safest, for all.

My father, knowing nothing of the king’s distrust of Thomas, celebrated Thomas’s unexpected appointment as a diplomat with a dance at Allington Castle. Anne was unable to take leave of the court and, as this was a smallish affair, there would be no king nor many courtiers, mostly Kent gentry. My sister, Alice, was coming. My father had written to tell me that my husband, Baron Blackston, was well enough to attend.

Alice and I got ready in the same chamber though I would share the baron’s chamber for sleep once he arrived. She shook out my gown and instructed Flora to go to another room to get some ribbon. “Are you…. prepared?” she asked when Flora had taken her leave.

I nodded. “My mother talked to me of marriage afore she passed away, God rest her,” I said. “Though I cannot say I am eager. I wish I could forgo this portion of my duty.”

She nodded sympathetically. She’d told me once that although the act was for procreation, and that although she and Master Rogers had procreated quite enough, she also enjoyed it for the intimacy and pleasure. I am certain she had not confessed that to anyone but me, and perhaps her daughters, as conjugal enjoyment was frowned upon. But a sister was a sister, after all. I noticed she didn’t suggest that I may enjoy the act with the baron. She knew I wouldn’t. But she knew my duty as well as my station as a woman required me to follow through.

I was seated next to him at dinner and he was able to keep up a conversation about our home, Haverston Hall. We had exchanged some letters over the past few months, mainly impersonal letters of duty with small bits of news, court news from me, country news from him. He said he was not yet strong enough to dance and I noticed him breathing heavily.

“I confess a curiosity to see Haverston,” I told him. And I did. It was my home and I was the lady of the manor and I wondered what it would be like to command and care for a staff in a home that was not my father’s.

“I will be visiting my other properties for the spring, my lady Baroness, after my three days here are complete. It will be an arduous journey of many months, not fit for a lady, as there are a dozen or more of them I must attend to. Simon,” he said, looking in the direction of his nephew, “contends that he is not able to undertake the journey for me this year as he has other duties to attend to. So I must undertake the task myself.”

I accepted that. It wasn’t odd for husbands and wives to be separated for long periods whilst one or the other was at court, or about the king’s business, or attending to the vast holdings of the nobility or even the middling ones of the gentry.

“When my travels are completed,” he continued, “I look forward to your joining me at Haverston, as indeed I look forward to your joining me tonight.”

He gave me a look that told me he was talking about exactly what I suspected he was.

I stayed at dinner and dance longer than the baron, as Alice and I shared hostessing duties. Truth be told, I stayed as long as I reasonably could, delaying the inevitable. My brother’s wife, Elizabeth, and his young son, Thomas, had not come for the event, which was noted by all. When I finally found the courage to shroud myself in a high-necked white shift and make my way to my husband’s bedchamber, he was fast asleep. I could not wake him, and for a moment, I thought he was dead.

“Meredith!” I called down the hall to the lady servant who had come with him. “My Lord Blackston wakes not.”

“’Tis normal, My Lady,” she said dismissively, the longtime servant to the short-time wife. “He sleeps deeply.” I found it strange that she was still fully dressed at that hour. I shook my head, though grateful for the reprieve. He had seemed so determined to, ah, keep company.

The second night I steeled myself to do my duty and went to join him earlier and he was already asleep, again. He made no comment about it during the day and, in fact, seemed discomfited to discuss it when I mentioned his deep sleep. He made reference to being older and still recovering and brushed the topic aside and yielded to a wet, tight cough that plagued many each January. That night when I went to talk with the musicians I heard them discussing the baron’s inabilities, so I knew the staff were gossiping.

On the third night, the night ere he was to return to Haverston, I made my way to my chamber to change when I saw Meredith slipping out of Baron Blackston’s rooms, empty cup in hand. She made her way down the dark hall, opened the door not to her own room, but to Simon’s, and slipped in. I heard laughter before the door was firmly shut. When I went to see the baron some short time later he was already firmly asleep.

If I had been praying still, I would have prayed a prayer of thanksgiving. As it was, I felt like a stubborn child not even offering a small token of appreciation to our Lord for helping me escape this unwelcome obligation for now. My attitude shamed me.

Lord Blackston prepared to take his leave the next day. He kissed me good-bye, once on each cheek. “I will call for you, My Lady, when I am done with my journeys…. and when I am in better health and able to be a husband as I should.” He would not look me in the eye as he took his leave. I was still a maiden, though I did not speak of it to anyone so as not to shame my husband.

I suspect others knew, though. Servants always inspect the bed linens.