To Die For: A Novel of Anne Boleyn

THREE

Year of Our Lord 1520

Hever Castle, Kent, England

My father had purchased a fine new litter, so even if he wasn’t attending Mary’s wedding party we arrived in style. Lord Cobham’s sister—I must learn to speak of her as Elizabeth—sat close to Thomas. He recoiled slightly, as someone does when sitting near a sweating sickness victim, though she was perfectly healthy and hale. I understood. I kept a distance from my brother Edmund, who pressed his leg into mine in a menacing manner, taking two-thirds of the bench to my third. I dug my foot into the floor to brace myself from sliding into him.

We pulled in front of the castle and one of the Boleyns’ men let us out. I held up the hem of my new dress so I wouldn’t soil it in the mud and horse muck, both of which steamed into the cool evening air. We four navigated the crowd, quickly making our way on the cobblestone path. The yard was alight with torches and music escaped from the new upstairs great hall, which was very great indeed. Anne’s father prided himself on his entertainment and it was justified.

The minute we got in the door Edmund headed for the mead as he often, and noticeably, did. I scanned till I found Anne, busy acting the part of co-hostess with her mother. I stood to the side and observed her for a while. Her manners and conversation were now those of a French woman: smooth, subtle, wry, sophisticated. She made her way to me.

“Meg! I must attend to the guests with my mother, as Mary is the guest of honor and unable to assist.”

“Of course,” I reassured her. “We’ll have the evening to talk after the party; our serving men are instructed to bring us home in the morning. Your father has kindly offered his hospitality.”

“Marvelous!” She squeezed my arm.

“You look beautiful,” I told her, and it was an understatement. She wore her hair long and free, as an unmarried woman is allowed to do, an overflow of black silk with teal string threaded through it to match the teal green of her gown. Her skin shone in the candlelight and when I looked more closely I could see she had powdered herself with something that glimmered.

“You look beautiful,” she said. “I’ve never seen a gown that color before nor a cut quite so enticing and modest at the same time.” She turned her head and I followed her gaze. “Rose Ogilvy has arrived. Why don’t you go and talk with her?”

Then she slipped into the crowd effortlessly, like a swan floating on the Thames, moving yet seeming not to move, her long neck and graceful beauty drawing the eye of both men and women as she walked.

The tables had all been arranged, but of course the food could not be served till the king arrived. I made my way toward Rose and she greeted me warmly. “Good evening,” she said. “My brothers are here, both of them. And my father. And my…. intended.”

“Rose!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know. Who is the fortunate soul?”

She turned her eyes downward but I saw a pleased smile cross her face afore she took cover in humility. “My Lord Blenheim’s son.”

She was too reserved to say it: the heir of Earl Blenheim, the only son of Earl Blenheim. But this was a coup indeed. Her father had noble aspirations for his family and he’d wasted no time, apparently, in placing Rose well. “Congratulations,” I told her. “I wish you the most happiness.”

She lifted her eyes, suddenly more adult-like now that her marriage was settled, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a bit more sure of herself. Mayhap a bit too sure of herself. Her nose had an upward tilt that I hadn’t detected in the many years I’d known her, and without a word, she quickly took her leave of me to greet one of Queen Katherine’s ladies-in-waiting. She seemed warmly welcomed.

I took a goblet of watered wine from a liveried servant and spoke with my mother’s cousin. As I did, I caught sight of him as he entered the hall from the terraces outside.

Others may have been waiting all evening for the king to arrive, but I had been waiting for Will.

He stood there, a man now, with his brother, Walter, his father’s heir and pride. I watched with, I’ll admit it, relief as Lord Asquith, his father, forcefully steered Walter toward some of the highborn young ladies in attendance, but not Will. Will looked up, caught my eye, and grinned ere he could stop himself. I lifted my pomander to my nose to hide my smile. Fortunatissima!

“Look, Meg!” My cousin took my elbow and directed my attention to the courtyard. A great stomping of horses could be heard and the musicians stopped their songs. A loud herald of trumpets drowned out the clatter and clank of the carriage wheels.

“The king!” A general murmur went through the crowd. I first thought of my poor mother, who had so longed to see the king again, and then had the puniest of kind thoughts for my father, who had stayed home rather than attend without her. Those thoughts were soon gone, though, as I lifted my eyes and looked for the sovereign himself.

Of course I had been to court a time or two, for jousts and for pageants, but that had mostly been when I was younger. My sister, Alice, had taken me to court with her a few times as well but we’d mostly stayed in the ladies’ quarters.

The king.

He strode in, a great, ruddy bear in wine-colored velvet trimmed in gold cord and slashed in gold silk. Sir Thomas, Anne’s father, followed the king around in the most attentive way. I must say, the king didn’t act as I’d expected he would, dignified and quiet. He threw his arm around Sir Thomas, took a great mug of ale and gulped it, threw his hand toward the musicians, and shouted, “Play on!”

He was the height of handsomeness, he emanated power, he completely dominated the room. One could not imagine him anyone but the king. My knees automatically dipped as he walked. He went to the dais, the table set up for himself and, at his insistence, for the bridal party.

Anne’s father indicated that we should sit and eat, and we went to find our places.

Will came alongside me. “I have been looking forward to dancing with you,” he said, and that sent a shiver of reassurance through me. I’d been worried, because the tone of the note he’d sent me through Thomas had been cooler than the others he’d sent, some of which had fairly singed the paper they’d been written on. In the most courtly, appropriate way, of course.

The servants brought out great platters of swan and eel—the king’s favorite. Whole roasted hares were set on each table, as were minced loin of veal with great platters of fat to spread upon them. Bowls of hard-boiled eggs were passed. Though I loved them, I did not take one, not wanting my breath to smell of egg after the evening’s events, though my brother Thomas took three. I shot him a warning look and he popped one more in his mouth, to the dismay of one of our more proper cousins. I did take some spiced wafers, which I also loved. They’d been cunningly made in white and red, cut in the design of the Tudor rose. I heard the king voice his approval when he saw them.

Then I heard him express his appreciation for the bride in an overly familiar way. Mary and Sir William had been married months before but still the king drew near to Mary, beautiful and golden, as the king was known to prefer his paramours. Mary drew closer toward him too. Her new husband looked on in impotent horror. What could he do? Henry was law.

I heard a quiet comment from someone at the end of my table. “’Twas not enough to shame herself with the French king, now she’s going to shame herself with England’s as well.”

There was a mushrooming of approval from those who heard the comment, though I held my face still. Oh, Mary. Please don’t encourage this.

At meal’s end the king claimed the first dance with the bride, who willingly agreed. Sir William tried to look enthusiastic but his earnest face showed his pain. Sir William, you have a steep and rocky path ahead of you.

The servants removed the tables and the musicians began to play. Everyone partnered off quickly. My brother ignored his wife but she didn’t seem bothered; she’d taken up with another man the moment we’d arrived. I could tell she’d had several goblets of wine—probably unwatered. My brother headed straight for Anne, who met him graciously, though a bit coolly.

She was a childhood flirtation, Thomas. I willed him to understand. But he would not.

A moment later I felt a hand on the small of my back. “Have you a partner yet, Mistress Wyatt?” Will asked.

“Do I now?” I responded a bit coyly, I admit, but then a girl is allowed.

“You do.”

The musicians struck up a pavane, and we lightly touched fingers, as all the couples must. For that reason it was one of the favorite dances for those in love or who wished to be. My gowns swirled along the floor as we danced. Though we were close to others we were still able to carry on a private conversation.

“How does your sister?” Will asked, a bit formal. He seemed restrained somehow. Unusual. Maybe we needed to become accustomed to one another again. We’d never had to ere this, though.

“She’s fine, the baby comes soon. How go your studies?” I asked, maddeningly polite and distant.

“Wonderfully well. I have the opportunity to study abroad for a few months whilst my father is in Belgium for the king, and then I return home to…. study more. And to the court, of course. I will often be at court.”

“You’ll do well at court, I’m certain.”

We broke apart to dance a galliard with other partners, a quick, humorous dance that soon had the entire hall clapping, laughing, and making merry. I danced with my brother Thomas and then with another courtier whom I did not know but who looked at me appreciatively.

I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for my mother and her gift of the dress. I confess that I was glad that Anne wasn’t alone in drawing admiration.

The king called for a volte to be danced, and the room shifted uncomfortably. The volte was the only dance which allowed partners to embrace. I saw the king lead Mary Boleyn—ah, Mary Carey—to the dance floor. Will swooped in before my galliard partner could claim me again, though he tried.

I softened in Will’s arms; I felt the heat of those many secret scrolls and their honest declarations as we danced. I sensed the momentum of our years of laughter and honest, heated disagreement and unspoken, deep affection.

“Meg,” he finally said, intimacy and urgency in his voice now that he’d dropped the well-mannered, unwelcome mask of civility. And there was something else in his manner, though I could not tell what. “Can we speak together outside, alone?”

“Yes!” I said. It wouldn’t be improper with so many strolling around.

“Good. Perhaps we should dance a few more songs first so as not to draw attention.”

I agreed and then unwillingly let go of his hand as the dance ended. I could feel his reluctance to let go, too.

We met outside the main door and then walked, hand in hand, to a bench just outside in the close gardens. The rain of the earlier evening had dried to a mist on the petals of the flowers nearby; the sky had cleared to a cool, starry evening. Will picked a daisy and put it in my hair, a tender gesture of love and possession that I welcomed. “Do you remember your wreath of daisies?” he asked.

“I do, and I’m pleased that you do as well.”

“I have news, Meg,” he said after a moment. My back stiffened at the tone of his voice.

“You’re to be married,” I said, cutting directly to my worst fear.

“No…. not exactly.”

“Not exactly? Marriage is a clear thing. You’re either married or you’re not.”

“My father has been spending a lot of time with the king,” Will said.

“I’d heard.”

“And the king spends a lot of time with Cardinal Wolsey.” “Indeed,” I said. We all knew that the cardinal was the king’s closest, most trusted advisor.

“Wolsey read some of my work at Cambridge and felt that I had promise as a priest. He approached Henry. The king approached my father, who thought it an excellent idea, or so he told the king. I am the second son, after all.”

“A priest? Your father is not even devout! Not all second sons must go into the priesthood. It’s not a law.”

“It’s a practice,” Will said. “My father thinks it a good idea.”

I drew back from him. “And you? What do you think?”

“Meg, above any person in this world, I value you. I trust you, I dream of you, I long for you. But there is someone I value still more. And I have become more and more aware, lately, that He is calling me to Himself. To service.”

“You can serve Him whilst administering your father’s lesser properties.”

“I could,” Will said softly, trying to take my hand in his own. “But I don’t feel at leave to do that.”

I moved it away without speaking but I was thinking, Leave from our Lord or leave from your father?

“I know that I am supposed to pursue this,” he finished. “I…. love you, Meg. And I love God too. In fact, I only speak Latin with you and with Him. But I must obey.”

Dolor.

A great sorrow overcame me because I could see the stark truth commingled with sorrow in his beautiful, honest face. He would not hurt me if he could help it, and yet I could not help but feel that he could stop this, and he was choosing not to.

I stood to take my leave, and he, a gentleman, stood as I did. The gardens had grown empty now; several litters from nearby estates took their leave. The lutist played a sweet and winsome tune that twisted and turned through the estate till it found and remained with us.

I could have asked him, And I? What of me? But we had no precontract, nothing declared, nothing finalized. Will stood next to me, looking at the ground, and I loved him to the point of anguish. I had nothing but searing pain and wanted to run away as fast as I could. In spite of it all, my heart broke for him, seeing the grief of the moment writ on his face. Unlike almost anyone else I knew, he put God first, a trait I’d admired when it had cost me nothing.

He impulsively reached over and pulled me close to him, a personal volte dance. His scent, like my favorite spiced wafers, was both faint and intoxicating. He pressed his lips against mine softly at first, and then more powerfully. My flesh failed my will and I kissed him back readily, longingly. My body willed him to move forward though my spirit knew he must stop.

I pulled away—far away. “Don’t ever kiss me like that again until and unless you’re ready to make good on the promise behind it,” I said. I had never been kissed, but I knew that was the kind of kiss that should only be between a man and his wife.

I took to the castle as quickly as I could. Another woman I knew I would not lose to; no other woman could take my place with Will, of that I was as certain as I was that no other man could take his place with me. But God? How could I compete with God? I could not and therefore it was unjust of him to set up such a contest at all.

When I entered the room I saw my brother Edmund and he tipped his head toward me and smiled, if one could call it that.

He knew. And Thomas knew, too, which is why he’d told me earlier I wanted a man I could not have. Thomas had had too much to drink and was slumped in a chair in one far corner.

“Good-bye, Margaret,” Rose Ogilvy called to me as she headed toward her fine litter. No one called me Margaret—it was my mother’s name. They called me Meg to distinguish me from her.

I nodded politely, tears blinding my path, and hurried to Anne’s chamber ere the tears spilled down my cheeks.

I didn’t have to wait long. Anne arrived, dismissed her servants, and closed the door behind her.

“What ails you?” she asked, sitting beside me.

I fell into her arms and she held me as I poured out my story about Cardinal Wolsey and Lord Ogilvy and King Henry—the king who had his eyes and hands on the bride all evening!—talking about holy service.

“And so now Will’s studying for the priesthood of his own accord, and then he’ll take vows,” I said. Anne picked up a brush and began to brush my hair, and I finally calmed.

She began to tell me tales of the French court, and how exciting it was, and what her life was like. I stilled then, listening to her, glad to discuss something new.

After a bit I stood up, and as I did, the daisy fell from my hair.

“What’s this?”

I shook my head and let it fall to the ground. “Nothing important.”

I went to the trunk I had brought with my nightshift and a few personal items for spending the night. I withdrew a small, well-worn book and walked back to Anne.

“I want you to have this—a souvenir to take with you as you return to France.”

She held out her hand and took the book, then opened it and began to read a page here and there. “Meg, not your prayer book, your book of hours. Look here—you’ve added personal prayers and notes.”

“Take it,” I said.

“Surely it must be important to you—or you’d not have brought it tonight.”

She was right. I’d read from or written in or prayed from it every night.

No longer.

“I don’t need it anymore. I have no intention of praying to a God who has put me in the bloody hands of an evil father, who robs my kindhearted mother of her every breath, and who has stolen from me the only man I’ll ever love as well as my hope.”

Anne shook her head. “It’s not like that. You don’t know how this will end. Mayhap you and Will are not done yet.”

I sensed that there were things ahead that I did not yet understand nor could I foresee. I knew that feeling was meant to be comforting.

I did not want this comfort. I pushed the thought, and him, far away, and fast-locked the gate behind them.

“And you’ve written in your beautifully rendered Latin,” she said softly after reading a few pages, knowing that’s how I often spoke with God, and with Will. She tried to hand the book to me.

I firmly pushed the book back into her hands. “I will never speak Latin again.”