Anne Boleyn: A Novel (35 page)

Then she flung the robe on the bed and pulled the bell cord for her women.

Henry waited for her to begin the masque that night, as he had waited in the great hall at Greenwich nearly ten years before. It had been Christmas then, instead of autumn. No holly and ivy decorated the banqueting hall at the manor in Winchester, only tapestries, part of the furniture which traveled by wagon train in the King’s wake wherever he journeyed. And the hall was much smaller and less lofty; most of the light was given by sconces flaming in the walls, sending a thin haze of blue smoke into the center of the room. In the gallery musicians played the opening bars of a pavane, and a company of ladies, masked and costumed, began the measure. The King leaned back in his chair and asked Hal Norreys a question.

“The program has been changed. Her Grace was to begin the pavane.”

Norreys bent down to him.

“I know, Sire; the Queen sent word altering it late this evening.”

‘The Queen takes too much upon herself,” Henry said shortly. “The program for the masque was well enough as it was.”

Norreys hesitated. God help her, whatever she did these days was wrong...but he’d try to put the King in a good temper and protect her if he could.

“She has a surprise planned for your entertainment,” he explained. “I heard that Her Grace was anxious to make your last night in Winchester the gayest of the tour.”

Henry turned back to watch the dancers and said nothing. In the corner of the hall, he saw Jane Seymour, demurely sitting with some other ladies, her eyes fixed ahead as usual, not looking at him or trying to attract his attention. Pale, gentle Jane, who was suddenly showing the spirit to refuse his advances. He had no idea how grateful he was that her obstinacy spared him yet another disillusion...And at times she relented enough to allow him a few liberties, as inert and submissive as a doll in his arms, with her strange gray eyes half closed. She said so little always, having a curious quality of stillness which soothed him after the high-powered atmosphere in which Anne moved. Jane was noiseless; there was no wild laughter or spirited talk...and no fury. He wished that she hadn’t taken up her place so far away from him.

In spite of himself he began to think about Anne again. Memories of that other evening crowded back, reminding him of his own dead impatience while he waited with Catherine by his side, fidgeting to see her. How he had changed, how flat and empty was the marriage he had once desired more than anything in the world; and how different was the woman who had enchanted him with her grace and loveliness that night so many years ago. So much had altered. Different faces surrounded him now; the chair as his side was empty; Catherine lay ill at Bugden. Very ill, from the last reports. He closed his mind to her quickly. A new Princess played in the royal nursery, while his daughter Mary pined in a suite of gloomy rooms, harried and restricted because she wouldn’t take the Oath.

In the old days More would have been with him, and Wolsey, surrounded by a brilliant entourage of priests and gentlemen. But they were dead, and others whom he didn’t like so well were in their places. And then the music changed, and the lines of women parted.

It was a trick of his imagination that the torches dimmed, so that he saw her through a haze of smoke, moving as if she floated; but the whole room became suddenly quiet, while the slow, sensuous notes of a single lute quivered on the air.

She was in yellow, and her arms and neck were bare; ropes of pearls were twisted through her flowing hair, and knotted round her narrow waist; the soft material clung to her as she moved.

He had seen her dance before, and been exhilarated by her skill, but never had he seen her dance like this. He knew she held his eyes, knew that unconsciously he had reached the edge of his chair and was leaning forward, watching that one figure drifting and swaying like a pale daffodil in the wind, guided by the notes of the lute. She bent, and spread her arms, till it seemed that the supple body was without bones, and stayed there, a few feet away from him, looking up through the slits of a tiny gold mask. Behind him, Norreys caught his breath, but the King heard nothing. Nobody moved. The ladies lining her path stood like statues in their stiff gowns, until the only living creature seemed to be the woman, moving with the grace of a serpent to the music.

The past fled from him while he watched her; everything receded, the room, the courtiers, everything became unreal, while the desire which had been dead for nearly three years stirred in his blood, and mounted, singing in his brain.

Then it was over, and she turned and vanished, leaving the spell unbroken, and an incredulous murmur rising after her.

Within five minutes he had found her in her room.

“My Lord Suffolk,” the Duke of Norfolk said, “you’ll have to keep a record of my debt. I’m going to see my niece.”

He stood up from the table where he and Suffolk had been throwing dice. In the first week of January, 1536, the court was at Greenwich; the weather was wet and dismal and there was nothing to do but gamble or play tennis if music did not appeal to them; neither man was interested in that gentle pastime.

Suffolk looked up and grinned unpleasantly.

“You’re like the rest these days, hurrying to pay your court to good Queen Nan! Tell me, friend, is it true the vixen’s got religious? I heard she spends nearly as much time on her knees as Catherine used to when she had the strength to kneel. And that she’s given the fortune of £14,000 away to the poor in the last months.”

“Fear of men has taught her fear of God,” Norfolk sneered. “She’s busy buying her soul with alms and paying her priests to send up howls for her intentions.”

“It looks as if they’ve succeeded,” Suffolk retorted. He was not grinning any longer. “There’s no doubt about her belly this time. If it’s a boy, we’ll have to knuckle down to her for the rest of our lives.”

“If it’s a boy,” the Duke remarked, “certainly. But let’s wait till it’s born before we despair. And let’s wait to see if it lives...The poor lady suffered torture to give our King his little daughter...”

“Almost a rhyme, my Lord,” Suffolk mocked. “Almost, but not quite. Go then, and don’t keep Madame waiting. I’ll total up what’s owing.”

Norfolk straightened his cap and smiled crookedly.

“I have other nieces beside the Queen,” he said. “I’m going to Mistress Seymour!”

She was waiting for him in the chapel. The summons she had been expecting for the last few months had come at last. He was her mother’s brother, and the head of her family, but unlike Anne she didn’t approach him for support; she let him seek her out.

She was kneeling at the back of the church when she heard him come in, and turned around to make sure who it was. He was clever enough, she thought; no one could accuse them of conspiring if they happened to go to the same place to pray...

She stood up and brushed her skirts after their contact with the stone floor. She stood quietly in front of him, her eyes watching his face, and said nothing.

“You know why I want to speak to you,” he began loudly and then stopped because she had put one finger to her mouth.

“Gently, Uncle. This is the chapel. We might be overheard outside. Yes, I think I know.”

“I’ve heard a deal of talk about you and the King,” he said slowly. “And strange talk it is. It says you refuse him. Is that so?”

“It is, Uncle. I have refused His Grace for months, and I shall go on as I’ve begun.”

He considered her, frowning. She was so small her head was tilted right back to look up at him, and the dim lighting of the chapel made it difficult to see her face. She spoke in a flat whisper.

“Why?”

The answer came unhesitatingly; he never knew then or later whether there was a note of icy laughter in it.

“Because I’m virtuous, and the King respects virtue.”

“I see.” He turned half away from her, his mind racing. Who was behind it, who had told her to do this, to copy Anne and hold him off...And what chance had she anyway, supposing anything happened to that cursed pregnancy, or it was a girl or Anne died, as she easily might, judging by that one ghastly confinement...

“Who’s been advising you?” he demanded. “No lies, Mistress, answer me.”

“My brother Edward, and Sir Nicholas Carew, and My Lord Exeter and My Lady Exeter,” she said simply. “But I had already thought of it for myself.”

“And what did you hope to gain?” he wanted to know, anxious to shake the serenity out of her and see that pale enigmatic face dissolve in some expression he could read. It was almost easier to deal with that fiery virago Anne than fathom this quiet little snake...

“I hoped he might marry me, when he grew tired of Her Grace the Queen. Your other niece,” she added. “If it weren’t for her condition, I think he might have done it. He talked of it enough,”

“Talked of it!” He did catch hold of her then, pushed off his guard by the revelation of how far things had gone without his knowledge. “Who knows of this? Have you told your brother or Carew?”

She nodded. “They know, and so does Master Cromwell, I imagine. He should, for he’s been having me watched for some time now.”

“God’s death!” The Duke swore roundly in amazement. “How in the devil’s name do you know that?”

“I noticed things,” she told him gently. “Shadows around corners when I met the King in secret, and my letters look as if they’re opened. I think you’ll find that Cromwell knows.”

“And he’s done nothing,” the Duke said, half to himself. Cromwell, the friend and partisan of Anne the Queen, knew there was an intrigue to replace her, and had done absolutely nothing. And as he thought about it, Norfolk understood his inaction. He was waiting, like the rest of them, waiting for the child...

Jane stood in front of him, her hands tucked into her sleeves.

“Will you support me, Uncle, if the opportunity occurs? I’ve thought very carefully, and I shan’t act unless you do.”

“I helped one niece to elevate herself,” the Duke said slowly, “and small thanks I got for it. Why should I make the same mistake again?”

“Because I am not Anne,” she answered softly. “I have no enemies as plain Jane Seymour, and I’d want none were I Queen. I only want to be Queen, Uncle, that’s all. I don’t long for power, as she does, or hope to interfere in the affairs of men and kingdoms; I only want to be Queen.”

“If she gives the King his Prince, you’ve little chance of that,” Norfolk said gruffly. “And a very good chance of going to the Tower, when Madame regains her health and strength. She’s not a gentle rival.”

“I know,” Jane Seymour nodded. “I’m ready to retire to the country immediately if a Prince is born; but there is no prize without some risk.”

“What is it in our blood,” he fumed, “that sends us stretching our necks for the crown or the ax...I’ve seen it in her, much as I hate her, and now you too...”

“I don’t know. Uncle,” she murmured, “any more than I know why you seek me out now, when the Queen’s with child and in high favor. It seems my prospects are fading fast! Supposing she knew you’d encouraged me, or found out what I was hoping to do to her, what she once did to Catherine...”

“Whatever she finds out or suspects, she can do nothing at the moment. And I seek you out, Mistress, for the same reason that you delay your retirement until after the child’s birth. I think there’s a chance it may never be born. She nearly died before, and unless she was lying to the King, she’s miscarried since. That’s why I’ve come to you. If Anne is going to fall, I’d rather see a Howard in her place again when Catherine of Aragon dies.”

“They say she’s dying now,” she whispered. “Of poison.”

The Duke looked down at her.

“Better for all of us if she is,” he said harshly. “The King intends forcing a bill for her impeachment on a charge of treason through the New Year Parliament. We’ve all argued with him —Cromwell, Suffolk and I—but he’s adamant. It’s the thought of this unborn son that’s driving him. If he’s got to kill Catherine to secure that son’s succession and legalize his marriage to Anne, then he swears he’ll do it.

“And the day Catherine enters the Tower, the whole of England will rise up against him. He’ll lose his throne and we’ll lose our heads. There’ll be an imperial invasion from the Netherlands, and every peer in the country will raise his tenants and march on London.”

“I never thought of that,” Jane said. “God help her, I served her once; she was the only person at court who was kind to me.”

He could just remember her then; plain and awkward and unattractive. He could imagine Catherine being kind...

“The Queen is lost, whatever happens; if she lives through her illness, she’ll go to the scaffold—be sure the King will do that; even if the mob was storming the walls to save her, he’d throw them her head...”

“I know that,” she answered. “As I told you, Uncle, I only want to be Queen. But I could repay her by being kind to the Princess Mary.”

“That promise will gain you half the court,” he said quickly. “I warn you, though, go carefully, especially if Master Cromwell’s on the watch. He can change sides faster than Mercury can run!”

“I will,” she promised. “But if things should alter suddenly —in my favor, I mean, can I count on you to help me?”

He watched her without answering for a moment, his head on one side. Jane, Queen of England. It sounded well enough, but two women had to be removed to make it possible. Catherine —Catherine was halfway gone, vomiting her life away, from an illness no one could identify...No bill would go through Parliament, there’d be no trial, and no popular revolt. Someone had taken the necessary step. Perhaps the King had guessed they would, when he threatened to bring her to open trial...No one would ever know, and Norfolk would never, in his life, try to find out.

And that left Anne. Anne, who had insulted and defied him, had his wife banished for a time, and refused to serve his interests and defer to him as soon as she had got what she wanted. Anne was in the way, with her unborn brat...

“If I give you my support,” he said slowly, “don’t ever try to get above yourself with me. Don’t try to copy Madame Anne.”