The Lady in the Tower

Love Affair

AND SO I CAME TO COURT to be a maid of honor to Queen Katharine.

I was struck immediately by the difference between the French and English Courts, though oddly enough they were both presided over by a young, forceful, monumental figure of a King and a Queen who was retiring and pious. Manners were gallant at Henry's Court but less affectedly so; there was a lack of that intellectual quality which had been inspired by Marguerite and followed by François; culture was less in evidence here, although the King was a lover of music, poetry and all the fine arts. This was of a more robust nature. The masques were less subtle, the dances more strenuous, given to leaping, bounding and athletic prowess rather than grace. There was a vitality in the English Court which replaced the languid elegance of that of France.

It was very interesting to me and I felt alive as soon as I arrived. I realized, more than I had before, that the country was no place for me.

I was quickly initiated into my role of maid of honor. I was allowed a servant—a woman, of course—and one dog, which should be a spaniel. I was given a certain allowance of food for myself and my dog, and it was far more than our needs. Food was plentiful at Court, served plain, without the fancy sauces so beloved of the French; my maid, my dog and I breakfasted on bread and beef, and more ale than we could possibly drink was supplied to us. There were hens, pigeons, rabbits and all kinds of pies served for dinner and supper; and on Fridays we had salted eels, plaice, gurnet and whiting… and almost any fish one could think of.

I had never been interested in food—but it did show a concern for our welfare.

My sister Mary was one of the first to greet me.

She was well and happy and showed no sign of any shame, though it was well known what terms she was on with the King. He had been right when he had said it was considered an honor to be chosen by the monarch.

Mary was looking very pretty and pleased with life. When I came to think of it, she always had. She had not been entirely crestfallen even when she had been expelled from the Court of France. Mary took everything in her philosophical way.

She embraced me warmly and said how pleased she was to see me at Court.

“You will find the Queen a little… serious.” She grimaced.

“I imagine she is rather like Queen Claude.”

Mary nodded.

“She is very much the daughter of the King and Queen of Spain… and never forgets it. And she is very religious. There will be a great deal of praying. Your knees may get sore.”

“And you, Mary?”

She laughed. “I do very well.”

“And what of Will?”

“He does very well, too.”

“Of course I know about you and the King.”

She laughed in that carefree way of hers and dimpled prettily. I thought how strange it was that I should have such a sister. There could scarcely be two people less alike than Mary and myself.

“The King is very kind to me.”

“Mary…do you love him?”

“Of course.”

“And Will?”

“Will is my husband. Of course I love him.”

I could see that it was impossible to come to any understanding about these matters with Mary. She loved everyone…particularly men. She could see no harm in coupling, I gathered. How could there be anything wrong in giving pleasure? She pleased the King; she pleased her husband. Of course, Will had to accept the fact that the King liked her. This he did with good grace, for being Will, he had not the strength to do anything else. He was a Squire of the Body. It was as good a post as Will could expect; and neither he nor Mary thought of asking for special privileges.

It was true that our father had profited from the relationship and was rising high in the King's favor. He was a good ambassador, a loyal and faithful subject, but he was rewarded also because he had a beautiful daughter who pleased the King very much indeed.

I said to Mary: “Has the King ever said anything to you about the visit he paid to Hever?”

“Yes, he did mention it. He said our stepmother had talked to him of recipes, and he attributed the excellence of the table to her good work.”

“Was that all?”

“He thought it a pleasant spot. I can think of nothing more.”

So he had not thought of me after that strange interview. But perhaps he cared for Mary too much to bother her with an account of her sister's deplorable behavior.

I was greatly impressed by the Queen when she received me, which she did with the utmost grace. Regality sat naturally upon her. One was immediately struck by her calmness. She had an oval face with rather heavy features. I noticed at once her high forehead. Her figure was rather squat and solid; she had endured much childbearing, although the only royal child so far was the Princess Mary, who must have been some six or seven years old at this time. If Queen Katharine had been beautiful once, she was no longer so. She was dressed in very dark blue velvet which was almost black; her straight sleeves were ruffled and slashed at the wrists and a great crucifix hung about her neck. She had no need to proclaim her piety; it was obvious. Moreover we all knew that she fasted on Fridays, Saturdays and all saints’ days. She was with her confessor twice a week at least, although what sins she had to confess it was hard to imagine; and she received the eucharist every Sunday. Each day one of her attendants read to her for two hours after dinner from a book of devotions—a task which often fell to me, for she said I had a musical voice.

I had a great respect for her but she was not the sort of person to whom one could get close. I think she always felt she was in an alien land.

Maria de Salinas, who had accompanied her as a maid of honor, when she came to England from Spain, and who was married to Lord Willoughby d'Eresby, was one of the few women friends she had. For the rest of us she showed a rather gentle tolerance. But she was always considerate of us and kindly toward us. We liked her but it was hard to feel that affection which I had had for Queen Claude or the deeper feeling I had cherished for Marguerite.

I knew her story, and in a way it seemed rather a tragic one. She had been only sixteen when she had come to England to marry Prince Arthur, who was fourteen at the time. I could imagine her childhood and the rigorous upbringing in the Spanish household. There would have been a lack of warmth, a formality which must have been rather frightening to a young child. Yet she had had a passionate adoration for her mother, Queen Isabella. Her father, Ferdinand, had shown a rather cynical disregard for his daughter after her mother had died. So, as an innocent girl of sixteen, she had been married to Prince Arthur, who had died a few months after the ceremony. The marriage had never been consummated because they had all been afraid for Arthur's health and they thought that exertion and excitement, to which he was unaccustomed, might kill him. Poor boy, he had died without that excitement, and there had followed for Katharine, the virgin widow, a time of great anxiety. Her mother, whom she adored, and who would have brought her back to Spain, had died and the poor little widow was left bereft in an alien land where her only worth seemed to be through her dowry, over which King Henry VII and Ferdinand of Spain were haggling for a long time. Consequently for eight years she lived wretchedly in England with very little money, until the old King died and the new King, eighteen-year-old Henry VIII, came to the throne and, flushed with romantic chivalry and having a certain fancy for the daughter of Spanish kings, married her.

From then on Katharine should have reached a haven of happiness, but ill luck was hers. Desperately the King wanted a son, but for some reason, although the Queen was fruitful, disappointment after disappointment followed.

Within a year of her marriage, she had raised her husband's and the country's hopes by giving birth to a child. A daughter, it was true, but stillborn. The next year there was a son, who brought great joy just for one month before he died. Two years later there was another son, born dead, and a year later a premature delivery. After that a healthy child, but a girl. The Princess Mary, the only one who had lived. More miscarriages followed and the King, in his despair, had been heard to say that some evil fate was working against him.

I was sure that this caused the Queen great unhappiness. But at least she had the Princess Mary on whom she doted.

Perhaps the failure to produce the children for whom the King so longed had made her more pious than ever. I was aware that she derived little pleasure from the masques and banquets which so delighted her husband; but she certainly found great comfort in prayer and books of devotions.

She was interested in serious discourse, and people like Sir Thomas More, a man of great wit, charm and erudition, was a great favorite of hers. I had occasionally heard her laughing with him over some witticism; but it was obvious she could not share wholeheartedly in the festivities of the Court, and although she tried hard to fall in with the spirit of these things, she could not express the required surprise when the King emerged from his disguises to show himself as the monarch.

She did not show any rancor toward my sister Mary. It might have been that she realized that if the King must have a mistress it was better she should be a girl like Mary than some grasping female who would make all sorts of demands. Mary at least did not flaunt her position; she was just there, smiling placidly, available when required and, when she was not, quite contentedly giving herself the pleasure of warming her husband's bed.

I believed that Elizabeth Blount had been less retiring, though her day was over before I came on the scene. She had a son by the King of whom he was very proud, because he was a boy and had survived. In his heart, I believed he had feared that the inability to produce a healthy boy might lie with him—but this boy of Elizabeth Blount's proved that the fault lay with Katharine.

Having been in such close contact with Marguerite and listened to her discourse, I had come to realize how important affairs of the country were to individuals; and I was very interested in what was happening politically.

Our ally was now the Emperor Charles—a fact which greatly delighted the Queen because she was his aunt. It must have been very distressing for her when Henry and François were courting each other. Yet she had successfully hidden her feelings at Guines and Ardres. I realized now what she must have been suffering to know of the plotting which was going on against her nephew.

Now, however, Charles was our friend and François our foe. The Princess Mary was no longer affianced to the Dauphin—that betrothal which had been made at the Field of the Cloth of Gold; and to the Queen's delight there was talk of an alliance with the Emperor, even though the poor child was only seven and he was twenty-three.

But the man who was most talked of, whom people most feared and who was said to have the King's ear in all matters, was the great Cardinal Wolsey.

I was interested to learn how a man of humble origins could have risen so high as to dominate not only the Court but the King himself. Of course he was a man of great and rare intellect, of immense purpose and a certain charm, which he exerted with the utmost success over the King. I wished I could have discussed him with Marguerite. I was sure she would have found the secret of his success. That he was exceptionally clever was obvious—but it was more than that.

I learned all I could about him—and there were plenty to tell of his origins. “A butcher's son. His father had a shop in Ipswich,” they jeered. Such a man would inevitably engender envy which I was beginning to recognize as the most deadly of the seven deadly sins as well as the most prevalent. Let them sneer at him for his humble origins; it seemed to me that all the more credit was due to him for his spectacular rise. He must be almost twenty years older than the King, and it was said that Henry looked upon him as a father. Every problem which arose was taken to Wolsey and it was rarely that the King did not take his advice.

I think the butcher must have been a man of some means; he probably owned land on which he grazed his cattle. However, Thomas Wolsey was destined for the Church and, as was to be expected, once he had taken Holy Orders, made rapid strides in his chosen profession. Before he was forty he had been promoted to an archbishopric; he had graduated and was a B.A. at the age of fifteen and was known as “the Bachelor”; there followed his M.A. and eventually he became chaplain to Sir Richard Nanfan, Deputy of Calais, who, amazed at his brilliance, spoke of him to King Henry VII.

That was the big step Wolsey had been looking for. Henry VII was too astute to be affected by a man's origins, and Wolsey was soon in his confidence. Men of influence began to notice him, and one of these was Richard Fox, Bishop of Winchester. Wolsey was climbing high to the pinnacle of his ambition which was clearly the Papal Crown.

There is a story that Henry VII decided to try him out as a diplomat and sent him on a mission to the Emperor Maximilian in Flanders. The matter was urgent, said the King, and he wished Wolsey to act with all speed. Three days later the King, looking from a window, saw Wolsey making his way toward the palace of Richmond. He sent for him to come to him at once; he was preparing to reprove him for delaying so long before setting out, but Wolsey replied that he had been to Flanders, completed the mission and was about to present himself to the King to report on this when he had been summoned to his presence. That he could have acted so quickly and successfully surprised the King and he realized from that moment that he had a very rare servant in Thomas Wolsey.

There were many stories about him—his brilliance, his determination, his ambition, his love of ostentation. His houses were as grand as palaces; he had as much power as the King. He became Dean of Lincoln and, when Henry VII died, his son made Wolsey his Almoner and began to shower honors on him. In the year 1515 Pope Leo sent Wolsey his cardinal's hat with a very valuable ring, and there was a great gathering of bishops when the hat was placed on Wolsey's head in the Abbey. He had become the most interesting and important man at Court.

I was enjoying my life there. In France I had been aware of my youth until the last year, when my coming to maturity had raised problems with which I had feared I might not be able to deal. It was different here. Now, at sixteen, I was no longer a child and I felt I could take care of myself. Having been brought up in the French Court, I stood out among the others. I found that I attracted attention and I had many admirers, which pleased me. I was not pretty, as many of the girls were, but I knew that I made them appear commonplace. My dark hair and eyes, my choice of clothes, designed by myself, set me apart; and although others tried to imitate my gowns, they could not do it—or the garments did not look the same on them. I could dance better than any of them and play the lute to bring tears to many an eye; and I could sing so as to affect them in like manner. I was a success.

I saw the King on one or two occasions. He did not appear to notice me. I wondered whether he remembered our encounter in the garden at Hever and this was his way of showing disapproval. I did not care if it was.

Being a member of the Queen's household meant that one was engaged in many duties other than pleasure. I should have liked to take part in the masques more frequently, but there were always certain tasks we had to perform. We had to sit with the Queen at our embroidery while one of us read from a religious book. There were prayers to be attended.

But there were occasions when the Queen and her ladies were expected to attend the revels; and this gave me a chance to shine. I always paid a great deal of attention to the clothes I should wear and I hoped I should not have too many imitators. I loved to dance, and when the King and his friends danced with the ladies, I often wondered whether he would come to me and if so what conversation would pass between us. I half hoped and was afraid that he would do so. I should have to curb my tongue. I had no wish to be banished from Court.

At one of these occasions I saw a new face among the gentlemen—a young man who was quite good looking, perhaps lacking in elegance and with an air of not belonging to the Court.

I could see that he was watching me intently.

In the dance he made his way to my side.

“Mistress Anne Boleyn?” he said. I nodded and he went on: “Your servant, James Butler.”

I felt myself flush and turn cold. This rather gauche but not ill-favored young man, the husband they had chosen for me!

“I think,” he said, “that we should talk.”

He took my hand and looked round.

“Let us leave the dancers,” he said. “We could sit awhile… there.”

I sat down looking at him.

“I think it is time we became acquainted,” he went on, “in view of the plans for our future.”

“I must tell you at once,” I said, “that I have no intention of being hurried into marriage.”

“It has been arranged by our families.”

“I know that well, but I am not of a temper to be forced to go against my will.”

“This is the will of our fathers.”

“I know that.”

“It is also the King's will.”

I said: “When I marry, it will have to be my will.”

He smiled. “Oh, I know I have not the grace of these Court gallants, but I would be a good husband, I promise you.”

“That may be so, but I fear I should not be a good wife.”

“I would do everything I could to make you happy. I would be ready to wait…to let you get to know me…I myself felt reluctant at first. I said, as you did, I shall not be forced into marriage. But now that I have seen you…”

I said: “We are unfortunate…as so many have been before and no doubt many will be after. I have always believed that men and women should have freedom of choice in what concerns them most.”

The music had stopped. There were no dancers in the great hall. There was a buzz of conversation. The King was seated beside the Queen at the great table, and I saw that he was looking straight at me. For a few seconds I could not take my eyes from his face. It looked thunderous. A little while before he had been smiling, applauding the music; now, having seen me, he must be remembering that scene in the garden and was angry.

I thought: He has recognized me; he has suddenly realized that I am here and he is annoyed that I am a member of his wife's household.

I lowered my eyes.

James Butler was saying: “Do not be afraid, Anne. We shall grow to know each other. We shall grow to love each other. We will go to Ireland.”

I shuddered.

“Oh, it is not all bogs and savagery, you know.”

I said: “I would not wish to hide the truth from you, but I would never be forced into marriage.”

He touched my hand gently.

“There is time…,” he said.

I rose and joined the ladies.

I was very disturbed, not so much by James Butler but by the anger I had seen in the King's eyes.

I waited for dismissal. It did not come. Then I breathed more freely. I supposed it was just a momentary memory. It was too insignificant to occupy his mind for long.

When I saw Mary, I asked if the King had mentioned to her that he knew her sister was at Court.

She looked surprised. “Why should he?”

“I wondered if he had noticed me.”

She laughed aloud. “I know you have admirers, Anne, but I do not think the King is one of them.”

“I did not think he was admiring me. I just wondered if he had said anything to you. After all, I am your sister.”

She shook her head.

I decided I had worried unduly.

“I have met James Butler,” I told her, “he whom they have decided I shall marry.”

“Oh? Is he pleasant?”

“I suppose so.”

“Oh, Anne, I'm glad for you.”

“Then don't be. I have no intention of marrying him.”

“Why not? It's what everyone wants.”

“Except me; and I happen to be more involved than anyone.”

“Does James Butler object?”

“Apparently not.”

“It'll be all right, Anne. You'll get used to it.”

“Mary, I am not like you.”

“That I know well.”

“I cannot take pleasure in just any man.”

“You must fall in love with him then.”

“Is it as easy as that?”

“Oh, it's very easy.”

I saw that I could not make Mary understand.

James Butler used to seek me out and talk to me. I quite liked him. He was gentle and eager to please me. I could not help finding a kind of pleasure in his admiration, although I supposed it would have been easier if he had found me repulsive. I was vain enough, however, to be pleased that he did not, even though it made the situation harder. He talked about Ireland and the life he could offer me out there. We could come to England frequently. I would soon get used to his Irish ways.

And I would sit there listening and saying to myself: Never. Never.

One day he came to me in a puzzled frame of mind.

“Has anything been said to you?” he asked.

“About what?”

“About our marriage.”

“Why should anyone say anything about that?”

“It has been arranged not only by our families but by the King and the Cardinal. You know, of course, that the Earl of Surrey, your uncle, is most anxious for the marriage. It was he who suggested it.”

“I never liked him.”

“I spoke to him yesterday. I said, ‘I have now made the acquaintance of Anne Boleyn. I love her already and I am sure that, in time, I can bring her to love me. I think there should be no delay and Anne should be persuaded that our betrothal should be announced.’ And what do you think he said?”

I shook my head.

“He said: ‘There is to be no more talk of this marriage.’”

I felt my spirits rising. But like James I was bewildered.

He went on: “I asked why. I said ‘I have come here to court Anne Boleyn as I was told to do by my father. Why is there to be no talk of it?’ He said to me, ‘You are a boy and understand not these matters. You are advised to say nothing of this. But there must be no more talk of a marriage with Anne Boleyn.’ ‘But I cannot understand it,’ I cried. ‘What of those estates?’ He frowned at me and said angrily, ‘Cannot you understand my words? I have told you there is to be no more of this…’ There! What do you make of it?”

“That they have found some other solution to the problem.”

“I shall not leave it at this. I shall approach the Cardinal.”

“Approach the Cardinal! Do you think the great man would concern himself with our trivial affair?”

“This was no trivial affair, Anne. I know our marriage was to unite the families and secure the title and fortune for our children and so satisfy two sides; but the marriage was an affair of state, suggested by your uncle Surrey to the King and the Cardinal because they wished to keep the service of my father in Ireland. The position is still the same. They need my father and they want to satisfy your father's claim. Why this sudden change?”

“I know not.”

“I shall not let it rest.”

Nor did the ardent young man. He very foolishly attempted to see Wolsey; he must have been very persistent, for he succeeded.

He told me afterward that the Cardinal was very short with him and told him not to meddle. There was no longer to be a marriage between him and Anne Boleyn.

It was good news to me, but I was rather sorry for James. He was very sad; and shortly after that he went back to Ireland.

A great burden had been lifted from me. I no longer had to fight for my freedom. I was in my element. I enjoyed the days; Court life suited me. I was not averse to the serious side as some of the ladies of the Queen's entourage were. In spite of my love of dancing, singing and masquing, I loved to read, and to write too. I tried my hand at verses, which, although they were not great poetry, had a certain charm. I missed Marguerite and I wondered what was happening about the changes in the Church which Martin Luther had suggested. Marguerite would have been up-to-date with developments. There was no chance of such discussions here. The Queen was completely devoted to the Church of Rome and believed—in spite of her gentle nature—that heretics should be burned at the stake, which was what the Inquisition, which had been so ably assisted by her mother and Torquemada, was doing in her own country. The King had written his book and was the Defender of the Faith. I could imagine the sort of opinions I should find here if I attempted to discuss the matter.

There was a great deal of excitement at Court because the Emperor Charles was visiting England, and there would, of course, have to be lavish entertainment to welcome such an important man.

François was now our enemy and the Emperor our friend. To the delight of the Queen, the latter was coming for his betrothal to the Princess Mary. There would be masques in plenty and we ladies should escape the religious duties imposed on us by the Queen, to join in.

I was in attendance on the Queen at Greenwich, where the Princess was to be presented to the Emperor. Poor little girl! She was the same age as I had been when I had gone to France. How would she feel about being presented to the man, so much older than herself, who was to be her husband; the Dauphin would have been more her age. This is the fate of women, I thought, to be bandied about to whatever suits their rulers best at the time. I would never be so treated. Once more I was thankful for the extraordinary turn of fate which meant I did not have to go into battle over the Butler affair, uncertain what the outcome would be.

We stood at the door of the great hall of Greenwich Palace, the Queen holding the little Princess by the hand while the barge came up. There was the King, great and glittering, his considerable size accentuated by the padded garments he wore—richly colored velvets scintillating with jewels. The Emperor looked almost insignificant beside him.

The King surveyed the scene with pleasure: his docile Queen, his pretty little daughter whom he was giving to the mighty Emperor as a sign of the amity between the two countries.

His eyes swept over us. Did they pause for a fraction of a second as they alighted on me? Did I glimpse the expression of anger? Was he going to remember every time he saw me, and one day, perhaps when he was in an ill temper, would he give vent to his resentment? The result of that would be—exit Anne Boleyn from Court.

But this was a happy occasion.

Little Mary behaved just as her mother had taught her to, and after that we went into the Palace.

Inside, we ladies talked together and someone said that when the Princess was twelve years old she and the Emperor would be married.

“Providing,” I said, “nothing happens to prevent it.”

“Hush,” I was told. “You should watch your tongue, Anne Boleyn.”

Was that not what the King had told me? It was true. I should, if I wanted to remain at Court, and there was no doubt in my mind that I did.

There were to be some exciting entertainments for the Emperor even though he was the sort of man who would rather be discussing politics. But the King must show him honor and what a brilliant Court was his. So there would be lavish festivities.

Charles had brought with him a large company of diplomats who were perhaps a little more eager to enjoy the merriment than their master was.

It was an exciting time for us all. We sat with the Queen and watched the jousting in the courtyard. The King was much to the fore. He was always the victor. I smiled to myself. Who would dare score over him; I had tried—in a different way, of course—and now here I was expecting every moment to be banished from Court.

He really was a magnificent sight. I often thought of François when I watched him. François glittered less; he never padded himself so outrageously; he wore subtle colors which always blended to perfection. The purple and gold of Henry would have been condemned as vulgar by him. He would say that the Tudors were nouveau riche, newcomers to power and glory and determined that no one should doubt for a moment that they now possessed it.

The joust always amused me, for there was an element of romantic love involved in it. The knights were supposed to be jousting for the honor of the ladies whom they would seduce and discard with impunity if given a chance. Henry himself rode a horse resplendent in silver, with the motto in black and gold: Elle mon côeur a navera. Who was she who had broken his heart? Certainly not the Queen. Certainly not my sister Mary or any of the ladies whom he honored. It was a game and he was always a player of games. In that respect he never grew up.

Of course he was triumphant. He came to the Queen afterward and bowed before her, playing the faithful husband who had been true to her over the years in spite of the fact that she had bitterly disappointed him in not giving him the son he longed for.

After the joust there was to be a banquet at York House, the Cardinal's splendid palace which rivaled the royal residences. There was to be a masque afterward in which I was to take part.

It was a most brilliant occasion. The hall was decorated with rich brocade and tapestries, and lighted with what must have been a thousand candles. But what was so exciting was that the floor had been covered with green material to resemble grass, and at one end of the room had been erected a building which was the exact replica of a castle in miniature. Banners hung from the towers, from which came the sound of music.

At the sight of it everyone gasped with admiration. Only my lord Cardinal could go to the expense of providing such a setting for the night's entertainment, they said.

At the battlements of this mock tower sat eight ladies all clad in white satin; they had been chosen for their fair hair, blue eyes and very white skins. They were the Virtues and they all bore placards—Beauty, Honor, Kindness, Constancy, Pity, Mercy and so on. Seated on the mock greensward at the foot of the castle were the opposite of the Virtues, the Vices. I as amused—and a little piqued—that they had chosen brunettes to play the wicked Disdain, Danger, Unkindness, Jealousy and other failings.

Then the knights came into the hall, dressed in blue satin and cloth of gold. They carried labels on their feathered and jeweled caps such as Loyalty, Pleasure, Youth; and they were led by one more magnificently attired than any of them, who was recognizable at once by his size if by nothing else. The King was Ardent Desire. I failed to see that that was necessarily a virtue.

He led the attack on the castle. The fair ladies welcomed the knights—presumably they were intended to be prisoners of the wicked brunettes who tried to hold off the knights. Cannons outside the palace were fired to add to the effect. A brilliant idea, said everyone. Trust Wolsey to do something different. The dark ladies pelted the knights with rose petals and sugar plums; the knights’ weapons were dates and oranges.

Evidently the oranges and dates were the more effective weapons, and soon the castle was in the hands of the valiant knights, the Vices defeated and the Virtues rescued.

Then the galliard began.

The King, of course, was the center of the dancing. I wondered what Charles and his ambassadors thought of this. They looked rather pleased, so perhaps they thought that one who took such delight in this kind of entertainment would be easy to outwit in the diplomatic field. Perhaps so. But they could be forgetting the Cardinal.

As one of the ladies of the Queen's household, I joined in the dance. I was close to the King and again was aware of his attention. Of one thing I was certain now—he had not forgotten that scene in the garden and still held it against me.

I shall always remember that night because during it I first became aware of Henry Percy.

He was in the household of Cardinal Wolsey. We danced together and afterward sat engaged in conversation. It was obvious to me that he admired me, and there was a quality in him which appealed to me. He was modest and rather gentle. He told me that I was quite different from the other ladies at the Court, and he left me in no doubt that he found the difference pleasing.

“You have not been long at Court,” he said. “I have seen you now and then… but only recently.”

“Are you often at Court?”

“I am in the Cardinal's household and have to attend on him every day. That often brings me to the Palace.”

“I am with the Queen's household.”

“Yes, I know. You are Mistress Anne Boleyn.”

“How did you know?”

He flushed a little. “I…I asked your name. I know that you have come recently from France. Do you think the Court here different from that of France?”

“In many respects, yes.”

“Do you regret leaving France?”

“Only now and then.”

“Are you regretting it now?”

“No,” I said honestly, “I am not,” and we laughed together.

“I have been here so long,” he said. “My father was insistent that I should be brought up in the Cardinal's household.”

“It is a good training for Court life, doubtless.”

“That will be my lot. When possible, I go back to the North.”

“So you come from there? You know my name. What is yours?”

“Henry Algernon Percy.”

“You come from the North. Your name is Percy. Then you must be related to the Northumberlands.”

“The Earl is my father.”

“And do you long to go back home?”

“It is so long since I lived at Alnwick that it no longer seems to be my home. I have been back of course… then when I leave it I feel home-sick. The air is different there…free and fresh.”

“How is the Cardinal?”

“Well, I think.”

“I mean as a master?”

“He does not concern himself with his pages.”

I laughed. “You are of a noble house and he is the son of a butcher, yet you must consider it an honor to be received into his house. Does that not strike you as strange?”

“Put like that, perhaps. But he is a brilliant statesman and I the not very clever son of the house. My father does not think much of me. I believe he wishes one of my brothers were the elder.”

“Parents are rarely satisfied with their children. But then, are children always satisfied with their parents? What a pity we cannot choose each other! That would be more satisfactory.”

“But difficult to arrange.”

“Tell me about yourself.”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Of course I do. What of these brothers who are so much more worthy than you?”

“Thomas and Ingelram? We get along well together when we meet, which is not often, my being down here in the service of the Cardinal and they… lucky creatures… being up there in the North.”

“How you love that place! I should like to see it.”

“One day I must show you Alnwick.”

“The family home…”

“Home of the Percy clan for generations. It is very ancient. Of course it has been added to and altered since it was first cut out of the deep ravine on the south bank of the River Alne. It was there before the Norman Conquest and was the home of Saxon lords. It was the year 1309 before it came into the possession of the Percys. Now it is very much ours. We have put our stamp on it.”

“Very different from Hever, my home. That, I believe, was acquired by my great-grandfather, who was a merchant and Lord Mayor of London. A little better than a butcher perhaps—but trade nonetheless.”

He looked at me admiringly. “I can only applaud him for being the great-grandfather of the most charming lady at Court.”

“You know how to pay compliments.”

“I don't usually. But now I have only to speak the truth.”

“They are beginning to dance,” I said. “Shall we join them?”

“I am a poor dancer.”

“I am a good one, and all you have to do is follow me.”

It was true that he was no dancer, but I liked him the better for that. There was a delightful honesty about him.

He said: “I liked better talking to you, which one cannot do seriously in the dance. I like to look at you because I have never seen anyone like you. I cannot believe you really exist…unless I keep my eyes on you.”

“I assure you I am no phantom.”

I bantered a little with him, but he was very serious. I enjoyed his admiration, and I felt drawn to him as I never had to any other person.

“I shall look for you,” he said. “I come to the palace every day with the Cardinal to wait on the King, so I shall be near you. The Cardinal is often closeted with him for a very long time.”

“And his attendants must wait for him?”

“They can wander round the gardens…providing they do not stray too far.”

“I see.”

“And the Queen's maids of honor?”

“They, too, often wander in the gardens.”

“I shall look for you,” he said.

I smiled and thought, though I did not say it: And I shall look for you.

That was the beginning. Our friendship grew. Friendship? It was more than that. I awoke each morning in a state of such happiness as I had never known before, asking myself whether I should see him that day. I realized that this was falling in love.

He was different from the other young men. He was earnest and sincere. It was not surprising that, in a Court of shams, I should prize these qualities.

It had never occurred to me that I could fall in love so easily. I had seen too much of the relationships between the sexes to trust them. There were the flowery phrases, the billets doux, the compliments, the flattery… and then it was all over. I had never thought that something doomed to be so ephemeral was worth the trouble until now.

But Henry Percy was not like the others. When he said I was different from all others, he meant it. When he said he had thought of nothing else but me since we had met, he meant that too. Trust was a wonderful thing to have for another person; and that was what I had in him.

The weeks began to pass. I used to watch for Wolsey's arrival at the palace. He came in his barge often—a splendid figure in his Cardinal's robes with his attendants all about him. He traveled with almost as much state as the King. I would look among those young men about him, and my gaze would come to rest on one of them.

As soon as he saw me, a beautiful smile would illuminate his features. He was not handsome, and I liked him the better for that. He would never be the champion at the jousts, and I was glad. He was without that pride of which I saw so much. I loved him and part of my love was protective. I wanted to look after him. I wanted to leave all this meaningless pomp and go with him to that windswept castle where, he told me, the Percys were kings of the North as surely as Henry was King of England. “Kings… under kings,” he said. “But the people of the North would have no one to rule them but the Percys.”

He would take me over the castle and show me the sally port which was one of the sixteen towers flanking the castle; he would show me that spot they called the Bloody Gap, the name given to a breach in the walls made by the Scots during the Border Wars which had raged intermittently throughout the centuries. He would show me Hotspur's Seat, which had been a favorite spot of his gallant ancestor, the fierce Hotspur who had died at the Battle of St. Albans. He made me see the castle keep, the gatehouse and the statues of warriors placed at intervals along the parapet as though to remind all comers of the might of the Percys.

And it seemed that there was an understanding between us that day that we should be together always.

Being in love changed everything. I even looked different. I was absent-minded. “What is the matter with Anne Boleyn?” asked my companions. “I believe she is in love.”

Was it so obvious?

I would wait for the coming of the Cardinal and, if for some reason he did not come, that was a sad day for me, one to be got through as quickly as possible.

We sat in the gardens and talked. People noticed, of course.

I told him how I had come to Court full of misgivings because I had feared they would try to force me into a marriage with James Butler. I had determined to hold out against that, but I was delighted that the matter had been set aside and James Butler had now left the Court, presumably to return to Ireland.

Then he told me that when he had been a child his father had talked of a marriage for him with Lady Mary Talbot, who was the daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury.

“I suppose he thought that an alliance between Northumberland and Shrewsbury would be a good one,” I said.

“There is only one I would take for my wife,” he replied; then we clung together and I thought: This is perfect happiness. This is how it will be for evermore.

What a lot I had to learn!

I could not imagine that my father would put any obstacle in our way. It was clear that the need for me to bring the Butler estates into the family was no longer acute, and my father had lost official interest in the match—I presumed because of some change in the Irish situation. He could surely raise no objection to a match with the Northumberlands. They were one of the most noble and ancient families in the country. No doubt the Howards would consider themselves superior, but the Northumberlands would certainly not agree. As for the Percys accepting me …well, it was true that my origins were not the most noble, but my father was rising high in the favor of the King, and my sister was certainly a woman of some consequence at Court. How strange that I should have counted Mary's affairs a boon. But I was in love. I was ready to accept anything which brought me to the goal on which my happiness depended.

In the apartments of the maids of honor there was a great deal of gossip, and they were naturally interested in my relationship with Henry Percy.

I was unprepared for the storm.

One day Henry did not arrive in the Cardinal's company when the great man called on the King. My disappointment was intense. What had happened? Was he ill? That was my first thought.

I asked one of the young men who was in the Cardinal's household.

“He is not ill,” I was told. “He has greatly displeased the Cardinal, so I heard.”

“Then where is he?”

“He is not in attendance on the Cardinal.”

I was very anxious. What would happen? Would he be sent home? To displease the Cardinal was often to displease the King. If he were sent back to Northumberland, perhaps I could join him there. We could be married. But marriages were not arranged as simply as that. What could this mean? What could he have done?

For the rest of the day I was in a state of terrible uneasiness. It will pass, I kept telling myself. After all, even Wolsey must take care how he treats the son of Northumberland.

The next day the Cardinal came and I was watchful in the gardens. One of Henry's friends came to me and told me that Henry would try to come and see me, but it must be secret, and if he did not arrive I must understand that he had failed in his attempt to reach me.

Now I knew that something was seriously wrong.

It was difficult to contrive the meeting, but the maids of honor were ever ready to assist lovers, as were Henry's friends, and by a certain maneuvering they helped us to the meeting. It was brief and completely shattering.

He came up the river to Greenwich and we went to a secluded part of the gardens. I could see that he was in great distress.

He said: “They are determined to stop us. The Cardinal called me to him and addressed me in a most hectoring and insulting manner. He said he marveled at my folly in attempting to contract myself to you. He said, had I forgotten the estate to which God had called me, for when my father died I should inherit one of the noblest earldoms in the kingdom, and therefore how could I think of marrying without the consent of my father and also that of our King. I had offended not only my father but the King in this folly. He suggested that the King had a special interest in your future. I know not what he meant by that.”

“I do,” I said bitterly. “He can't forget that I once played a little game with him. He liked it not and ever since has been determined to repay me for my insolence.”

“Then everyone is against us. I never thought of this opposition. Your father stands high at Court; he is in the King's favor; and your mother was a Howard. I could not believe this. I would pass over my inheritance to my brother. I wish I were not the eldest son. I told the Cardinal that I was old enough to choose my wife and I would beg the King's favor for the match. I was sure that, if he did give it, my father would also.”

“And then?” I asked.

“The Cardinal looked very shocked. I was not alone. That made it worse. Several of our company were there witnessing my humiliation. He turned to them and said: ‘You saw how this foolish boy lacks wisdom. I thought, Henry Percy, that when you were made aware of the King's displeasure you would have repented your folly and sought at once to end it.’ I told him that you and I had already plighted our troth and I could not give you up. Then he said he would send for my father. And that is what he has done.”

We looked at each other in despair.

“What can we do?” I asked.

He shook his head. “There is nothing we can do.”

“Do you give up so easily, Henry Percy?”

“My dearest, we could run away together. How far do you think we should get? We should be put in the Tower for that.”

“Why should they behave like this? Am I so far below you in birth?”

“I would not care if you were a serving maid. But I do not think that this is a case so simple.”

“But your father wanted you to marry Mary Talbot.”

“It was long ago that that was talked of. I will see my father. I will talk to him. It may be that I can explain to him. It may be that when he sees you…”

“But the King …”

“It may be that the Cardinal only mentioned him to make me give way. I cannot see what interest the King could have.”

“I think he seeks revenge on me.”

“But, my dearest Anne, there are many ways he could have done that had he wished. He could have refused to have you at Court.”

“I do not understand him. I see him watching me sometimes and there is anger in his eyes.”

“It is your fancy. Wait until I see my father. Do not give up hope, my love.”

“No. I will cling to it. I cannot bear to do anything else.”

“I must go. The Cardinal must not know that we have met.”

We parted.

A fearful premonition was creeping over me that there was some evil force working against me.

I did not see him as I had hoped. But I heard what had happened.

It seemed that my enemies were going to extraordinary lengths to ruin my life.

As the meeting between the Earl of Northumberland and his son did not take place in private, there were gentlemen of the Cardinal's entourage to bring news of it to the ladies of the Queen's household, and from them I learned what had taken place.

The Earl must have been amazed to receive a summons to come to Court just to listen to an account of the misdemeanors of his son in engaging himself with a girl who was not considered worthy of the House of Northumberland.

The interview took place in the great hall of Wolsey's palace. The Earl had previously been in consultation with the Cardinal for some time; then he went into the gallery where his son was called to him.

The Earl berated Henry, calling him proud, licentious and an unthinking waster. Such abuse, as all must know, was so untrue that it astonished and maddened me to hear of it. His son had no regard, went on the irate Earl, for his father or his King. He might have brought disgrace on his father and his noble house. He had done his best to ruin them both. But by good fortune, his sovereign and the noble Cardinal had seen fit to warn him of what his profligate son was doing; and therefore he had learned of what sorrow was being brought to his house. He had come to tell his son that he must desist from his folly without delay. He was considering disinheriting Henry and naming one of his brothers as his successor, for the Lords of Northumberland had great duties in the North and these cold not be performed by a profligate waster.

Poor Henry! I could imagine his distress to have his character so misrepresented simply because he had fallen in love and wished to marry. I knew that he was not quick with words as I was; his temper did not rise as mine did. It was those very differences which had attracted me. I wished I had been there. I would have told the Earl—and the Cardinal, too— what I thought of them. I knew in my heart that my poor Henry was not fitted to deal with them.

I could imagine his standing there accepting the abuse, stammering that he loved me, telling them of my perfections. That was not the way to handle them.

And then the Earl turned to the Cardinal's servants, who were listening to this harangue, and told them not to make excuses for his son's faults, and to treat him harshly when the need arose. Then he went out to his barge in a state of great anger.

I sought to cheer myself. It was not the end. The Cardinal's men had been told not to spare him, which meant that he would stay in the Cardinal's household. At least he would not be far away.

But even that hope was soon past.

A few days later I heard that Henry was banished from Court and that he had already left for Northumberland.

I wanted to see the Cardinal, to demand to know what it all meant. Why was everyone so determined to destroy my future happiness? I would have them know that I had Howard blood in my veins. Perhaps they would care to throw insults at the Duke of Norfolk. In private I stormed; I raged; I made up conversations between myself and the Cardinal in which I flayed him with my tongue until the man cringed; but of course it was only my own angry face which looked back at me in the mirror, not the bland one of the great Cardinal. In my thoughts I argued with the King. Why did you have to do this to me? I know you have not forgotten that time at Hever. I see you watching me. Is it possible that a great King could want revenge just because for a few minutes a young girl made him feel foolish?

But these imaginary conversations did nothing but increase my fury.

I was very sad, very hurt and very angry. I supposed it was called broken-hearted for I was listless and had no interest in anything.

My father summoned me to his presence.

He looked at me coldly. “So you have disgraced yourself with young Percy,” he said.

“Disgraced! We were to have been married.”

“Foolish girl. You should know that the marriage of the future Earl of Northumberland must be arranged by his family.”

“We are as good as they are…almost.”

“You have displeased the Cardinal.”

“Why should my affairs displease him? If he is so worried about my low birth, let him look to his own.”

“You are too forward. You are lacking in modesty. Your presence at Court is no longer needed.”

“Do you mean…?”

“What I mean is that you are to leave at once for Hever.”

So I was banished too.

It did not matter to me very much where I was. What was the use of being at Court if he was not there?

Over the moat, under the portcullis, into the familiar courtyard …I was home, banished from Court, banished from joy for ever more.

My stepmother greeted me with pity and affection. She knew of the broken love affair.

“You will feel better at home,” she told me. “I will look after you.”

I fell into her arms and, for the first time since it happened, I was weeping. I think I alarmed her, for it was so unlike me, and as always with me, my tears were more tempestuous than those of other people—just as my anger and my pleasure seemed to be.

She was a great comfort to me. I was able to talk to her. She understood how much I had cared for him and why. I told her of our meetings and our plans; and she listened and wept with me.

She assured me that I would recover in time. “Time is our friend in trouble,” she said, “because it tells us that the sorrow cannot last for ever.”

I was sure mine would.

“I shall never forget him,” I told her. “He was not in the least like the man I should have expected to marry. He was no great warrior. I am surprised that I could care for such a man as he was… but as soon as we were together I knew that I was for him and he was for me. He was not like any of the others and nor am I… but the difference between us was great. Oh, it is good to talk of him … to someone who I think will understand.”

“There, my darling child,” she said. “Talk to me. Tell me… and if you would be quiet, then we shall just sit together… close like this… and you will know my thoughts are with you.”

I do not know how many weeks passed thus. I lost count of the days. Sometimes I lay in bed from sunrise to sunset; and my stepmother would come up and sit by my bed.

“There is nothing to get up for,” I told her.

And she would sit there, so that if I wished to talk to her I did and if I was silent it did not matter.

I have never forgotten what she did for me at that time.

Then one day a messenger came from Court from my father.

Among other things he brought a letter for my stepmother. He wished to know how I was faring. Was I sulking in my disappointment?

“She should be told that Henry Percy is now married to Lady Mary Talbot for whom his father has always intended him.”

So it was really over. Before that, I had had wild hopes that some miracle might happen, and that one day I should see him come riding into the castle.

This was the end… and I did not care what became of me.

I do not know how I lived through the weeks that followed. I was ill for a while. I had some sort of fever and I lay in my bed unsure where I was for long stretches of the day—for which I was grateful.

Mary Wyatt came over to Hever to see me. She read to me and we talked a great deal about the old days when we had all been so happy.

“Thomas is at Court,” she said. “He writes more now. He produces many of the entertainments there. The King likes his work.”

I did not want to hear about the Court.

Mary went back to Allington, but it was comforting to know she was not far away.

My stepmother tried to interest me in some embroidery stitches she had learned. She was working on an altar cloth for the church and wondered if I would care to help her.

I worked with her listlessly, taking no interest in it.

And so the weeks passed.

Then one day a messenger came from Court. We were to prepare for a visit from the King. He would be with a hunting party in Kent and as he would be near Hever he would spend a night at the castle. My father had written out a list of instructions for my stepmother. It was possible that the Cardinal would be a member of the party.

I felt sick with rage.

“I shall not see them,” I said. “I shall take to my room and they must be told that I am ill… which I shall be at the thought of seeing them.”

My stepmother reasoned with me. “You cannot do this. It will not be allowed. You will be commanded to come down to greet the King.”

“I refuse.”

“Have you forgotten that when the King came before you stayed in your room pleading illness?”

“I remember the occasion well,” I said grimly.

“You must steel yourself, my love. It will not be so bad. Remember, it is only for one night. It will soon be over.”

“No,” I cried. “I will not.”

The next morning I had a return of the fever, and this was not feigned. I think I must have conjured it up. I lay in my bed, hot and uneasy, assuring myself that in no circumstances would I see the royal party.

What if they forced me? They could, I supposed. They had shown me how powerful they were. If they were capable of ruining my life, they could surely insist that I leave my bed and join them.

I lay there fuming with hatred. I was not calm and gentle like my stepmother. I could not mildly accept the fate which had been thrust upon me. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw the sinister figure of the Cardinal. How I hated that man! How dared he humiliate my lover! How dared he speak of me as he had!

How I should love to have my revenge on him! If ever the opportunity arose, I would gladly take it. I would never forget, never forgive.

It was absurd to think that the King was interested in my affairs. It was the Cardinal who was making the trouble. After all Henry Percy had been of his household. He wanted to have charge of all those there; he looked upon them as his minions. He was an arrogant man.

And as I lay there I thought: There is only one way to be sure. I must not be here when they come.

I rose from my bed. I felt better now that I had a plan of action. The fever had miraculously subsided, so it must have come to my aid as it had now so conveniently left me.

I put on my riding habit and rode over to Allington Castle.

Mary received me warmly.

“I must talk to you,” I said. “I need your help.”

“You know I shall be happy to give it.”

“The King's party is coming to Hever. The Cardinal may be among them.”

“What an honor!”

“I do not see it as such, Mary. I cannot be there. I cannot face them. I think if I did I should do something … say something which would damn me and my family forever.”

“Anne, you must restrain yourself.”

“Restrain myself when they have taken away the only man I shall ever love, when they have ruined my life!”

“Anne, be calm. Tell me your plan.”

“I intend to be away from home. I want to come and stay here during their visit.”

“Might they not come here to seek you?”

“Why ever should they?”

“I don't know. Your father might be angry and send for you.”

“That is true. My stepmother will help. She has been wonderful to me. I shall ask her to say that I am with you and we are going to visit a friend of yours and she does not know who it is.”

“He could send to see if you were here.”

“Then we could make your people pretend that I was not. Would they do that?”

“There would be talk.”

“I know. But I must try. May I come and stay… just for a few days. Leave it to me. I will do the planning.”

I rode back to Hever.

My stepmother was in a panic. “I heard that you had gone out riding alone, Anne. You know …”

“Dearest Stepmother, I am old enough to ride alone and the sky is full of daylight. No one would harm me. You are going to help me in this.”

So we went to my room and we talked. I told her that I was going to Mary Wyatt. She was to make them believe that the arrangement had been made before the King's visit to Hever had been proposed. While the royal party was in Hever, I should be elsewhere. As a safety precaution she must tell them that Mary had arranged for us to visit friends so that we should not be all the time at Allington. When the King's party had left she should send a servant over to Allington to tell me. Then I would return to Hever.

She needed a certain amount of persuasion. She hated to lie to my father, but she was very worried about the state of my health, and she feared I would fall into a fever if I were crossed. So at length she agreed.

In due course I rode over to Allington.

Mary welcomed me and I talked to her freely of my hatred for the Cardinal, who I reckoned was at the root of my trouble.

Mary could not understand why he, who was so involved with the politics of Europe, should concern himself so deeply about the marriage of two young people at Court.

I could not understand it either, but it was clear to me that he was behind all my troubles.

“Cardinals are not allowed to marry, so perhaps they resent other people's finding happiness in that way.”

It seemed as good a reason as we could think of, and somehow it made me hate the Cardinal more than ever.

Those days were fraught with fear. Every time I heard the sound of horses’ hooves in the courtyard, I was alert. But it proved to be no fateful messenger.

I fed the pigeons with Mary; we rode together; she showed me some of Thomas's poems which I had not seen before; and so the days passed.

One day a messenger arrived at Allington. He came from my stepmother.

The royal party had been to Hever and departed.

So I could go home.