Doomed Queen Anne (6 page)

“I would gladly accept your proposal, were it not for Mary Talbot,” I told him, at last daring to broach the subject and trembling as I did so.

“Dearest Anne,” said Hal, “I have no wish at all to marry Lady Mary Talbot, nor, I am told, does she have any wish to marry me. The lady and I shall simply inform our parents of our desires. She may have already done so. I beg you, Anne, be my love! Be my wife! Pledge yourself to me!”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, dear Hal,” I said, as little ripples of joy surged in my breast, “I shall pledge myself to you with all my heart.”

Two weeks later, on my sixteenth birthday, a lovely, bright summer day, Nell helped me to dress in a new gown of pale green silk and wove flowers in my hair. She put on the kirtle and pretty cap I’d given her, and together we slipped away from the manor house where the queen’s court was lodged and hurried to meet Lord Percy.

We waited in a copse of yews at the edge of a meadow. As the sun made its steady arc across the cloudless sky, Nell and I passed the time by decking a small bower with primroses and ivy.
Has he changed his mind?
I worried as an hour went by, then two.
Has he been discovered?
I became increasingly uneasy that our plans had gone awry. Nell did her best to calm me.

At last Hal arrived, entirely disheveled, humbly begging my pardon—he had been ordered to accompany the king on a hunt. Even with his hose muddied and his cap askew, Hal Percy sparked a flame in me. I sent Nell to stand watch, and together Hal and I knelt in the bower. Without a priest or any witness save God above, we joined hands and pledged ourselves to each other, sealing our pledge with a passionate kiss.

Thereafter, foolishly believing there was no further need for secrecy, we were entirely open about being sweethearts. I looked forward to a fine future as Hal’s wife. At last I was happy.

Happy, that is, except when forced to look upon the sour countenance of Lady Honor. “My heart is broken into a thousand pieces,” she wailed, “and you are the cause of it!”

“Surely, Lady Honor, he is not the only fish in the sea!” I reminded her. But it did no good. She continued to mope and glare.

I could ignore Lady Honor’s pouts and the disapproving looks of the other maids as Hal and I twittered together shamelessly. But gossip spread quickly. When word of what we had done reached the ears of Cardinal Wolsey, the cardinal erupted in fury. I had to listen to a description of all that happened from Lady Honor herself. Her brother, John Finch, was a member of the chancellor’s household and had witnessed Wolsey’s rage. Honor made no effort to conceal her satisfaction as she told me what she’d heard.

Wolsey, a close friend of Hal’s father, the earl of Northumberland, knew of the Percys’ prior contract with the Talbots. Wolsey immediately wrote to the earl, describing Hal’s folly. Wolsey also informed King Henry, who, according to John Finch, ordered his chancellor to separate Lord Percy from Thomas Boleyn’s daughter. Wolsey summoned Hal and lectured him on his responsibilities as heir to the earldom, reminding Hal that he had no business speaking of marriage to any lady without the permission of his father and his king. And—most outrageously—Wolsey told Hal that, had he let his wishes be known, the king would have found him a suitable, nobly born lady to marry.

“And then,” Honor said, gleefully repeating her brother’s words, “the chancellor told Lord Percy that he must submit to his father’s will or be disinherited.”

I was shocked by this turn of events, but I drew myself up proudly to conceal my pain. “I am certain that Lord Percy spoke well in my defense,” I said, although I had no idea if Hal had such courage.

“Well, yes, he did,” Honor admitted reluctantly. “He defended you and your family. And then Lord Percy wept—he actually wept!—saying that the two of you had made an agreement to marry, and he could not break this binding pledge. He even asked Cardinal Wolsey to intercede with the king on his behalf!”

“He did?” I stammered.

“Yes, but to no avail. Wolsey told him that he must obey the king’s wishes, and that is the end of it.” Lady Honor, obviously relishing her duty, next informed me that Wolsey had summoned the earl of Northumberland to speak to Hal.

“Lord Percy’s father was furious at his son for bringing down the wrath of the king upon the Percy family,” Honor reported. “He flung many harsh words at Lord Percy, calling him proud, presumptuous, and disdainful, and insisting that the pledges he made to you be nullified. To win his father’s forgiveness, and the king’s. Lord Percy yielded at last and promised never to see you again.”

Oh, how I hated the triumph in her voice as Honor delivered that piece of news! Haughtily I lifted my chin and swept away without a word, determined not to let her see my distress.

All my hopes had been dashed. I wept many bitter tears, witnessed only by Nell. The two pudding cousins—Honor and Constance—treated me with honeyed kindness, but I was certain they gloated over my misery. That was indeed the end of my betrothal to Hal Percy. I never again had a moment alone or a private word with Hal, and within months I learned that he was married to Mary Talbot.

If only that had ended the matter for me! Alas, it did not. Soon my father learned of my misdeed. He was furious, roaring at me of his displeasure, punctuating his odious words with slaps and kicks.

“Brazen...impudent...hussy!”
he shouted, striking me a stinging blow across my face with each word. “Have you no notion of what you have done? The king has ordered you banished from court! What chance have you now of contracting a good marriage? Your reputation is ruined, and there you stand, willful and proud as a queen!”

Banished from court!
Of all the blows my father struck, that one caused the most pain. Why had the king ordered such harsh measures against me? I cried out then, but my cries bought me no mercy

“Wolsey is correct—you are lacking in wit and common sense, as well as in virtue,” my father stormed, seizing me by the shoulders and shaking me so fiercely that my sleeve tore. “There is no help for you!” With a final blow that sent me reeling, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the chamber.

I leaned against the wall, tenderly feeling for bruises, of which there were plenty. So I was banished from court. What would that mean? Back to Hever, I supposed. And then what? Had I truly ruined my life? I refused to believe that. But whatever happened to me, it was the fault of that accursed Cardinal Wolsey! The king might never have known of the affair, never have ordered my banishment, had it not been for Wolsey.

I dragged myself to my feet. My ankle had begun to swell. Painfully I limped to the maids’ chambers, intending to find a basin of water and some soft linen strips to bind up the worst of my injuries.

And there sat Lady Honor, her eyes round with wonder at my state of disarray. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Not one word, not to me or anyone else!” I hissed before she could utter a sound. She scuttled away in a fright, and I laid my head upon my arms and wept for all that was lost.

When I was drained of tears, my heart filled with bitterness.
Someday I shall have my revenge, I vowed. Someday Cardinal Wolsey will pay a grievous price for my humiliation.

CHAPTER 5: The Poet, 1525-1525

Within days I was back at Hever, by orders of Cardinal Wolsey, who could not—or would not—say how long my banishment was to last. This put me in the worst possible temper. Here I was with nothing to do but curse my fate. Never had I been in such a wretched state. Day after day, I wept. My heart ached for Hal Percy, sentenced to a loveless union with Mary Talbot. I was grieved that King Henry, whose respect and approval I so fervently sought, now held me in great disfavor. And I nurtured a growing and implacable hatred against the cause of my plight, that fat prelate in the crimson robes, Cardinal Wolsey.

I was to be under my father’s supervision at Hever, but he was accompanying the king and queen on summer progress, and thus I did not have to endure his recriminations. My sister and her husband were also on the royal progress—the final straw! I had not even Nell to distract me, for she had been kept at Greenwich to help with the summer cleansing of the palace. My mother elected (or was ordered by my father) to stay with me. Her unshakable complacency put me into an even darker mood, which she chose to ignore, going on about her life as though nothing were amiss.

I fretted as the summer crept by. Then my father returned from progress in a lighter mood. He had received word from the king that he was to be knighted and then granted the noble title of baron, giving him even greater responsibility in the king’s household. I was not invited to the ceremony. My parents were also rewarded with quarters in the palace. I sulked as they packed up their beds, tables, stools and benches, a fine cupboard, and other household goods to move to Greenwich.

Perhaps because my banishment was an embarrassment to my parents, Wolsey permitted me to return to court with them at the start of the Yuletide season. But first I had to bear more of my father’s harangues.

“Do not bring further disgrace upon this family, daughter!” he growled. “God knows if we shall ever be able to find you a husband as a result of your shameful behavior.”

I lowered my eyes and said nothing, although I did wonder again what had become of his negotiations for my betrothal to Jamie Butler. Was I now free of that threat? Had the scandal of Hal Percy scotched the deal? I was left to reach my own conclusions and clung to the belief that for some reason the bargaining had come to nothing. If that were true, it would be a great relief.

At first I was pleased to be back at court, but I quickly learned that life among the maids of honor was no better than before. In my exile I had almost forgotten the long dull hours of attending the queen, waiting to be sent off on some meaningless errand; meals taken in the crowded Great Hall of the palace with barking dogs and filthy beggars and brazen prostitutes; the noise and confusion of the endless boasting and bickering of the maids in our drafty chambers.

What’s more, it was my ill luck to be forced again to share a hard, narrow bed with Lady Honor Finch, who was no more content with the arrangement than was I.

“And will you take another lover. Lady Anne?” Honor asked spitefully.

“I shall do whatever pleases me,” I retorted.

I knew that she was jealous of me; probably they all were—those dull maids of honor with their pale yellow hair and pale white skin and pale blue eyes. How I despised them! To my face, the other maids cooed and simpered, expressing their pleasure at my presence among them. How they lied! How false were those smiles! Behind my back, they still tattled about me and Hal Percy and waited for me to fall from favor once more. I knew this was true because Nell was again in my service and full of gossip. But I swore that I would not fall, not ever again.

COURT WAS AS HECTIC as ever. A man of boundless vigor, King Henry ordered banquets, organized jousts, challenged his gentlemen to tennis and usually defeated them, conquered nearly every opponent in wrestling, dazzled onlookers with his skill at archery, gambled boldly at cards and dice, called for an audience when he played his own compositions upon the virginals and sang in a fine tenor voice. The king did not like to be alone. His great vitality required that his courtiers be in his company from early morning until late at night. It seemed that he rarely slept.

Flirtations among the ladies and gentlemen of the court were commonplace. Everyone knew about my love affair with Lord Percy and its unhappy end. Despite the scandal, or perhaps because of it, I attracted many admirers: handsome (and some not-so-handsome) young (and not-so-young) courtiers who coaxed me to walk out with them and entreated me to listen to lines of poetry they had scribbled or little jokes they wished to tell.

I enjoyed the attentions of these gentlemen, most of them wellborn, some of wealthy families, a few intelligent and even amusing. They proved a distraction, and slowly my heart began to mend. Sometimes I accepted their kisses, lingering with them in shadowy corners. The flirtations were a game, and I was a clever player. And as I reveled in my prowess, my life improved in a way I had not foreseen. When one of the maids left court to marry a Welsh nobleman, Lady Honor moved to occupy her empty bed. For a time, at least, I had a bed—and a coverlet—to myself and had no need to reply to Honor’s disagreeable questions.

And so the months passed. My seventeenth birthday came and went. But while I had many admirers at court, there had been no marriage prospects since the loathsome Cardinal Wolsey had ended my betrothal to Lord Percy. The betrothal to that doltish Irishman, Jamie Butler, had come to naught, and although he still lurked about the court, I managed to avoid him. I took care to keep my heart well-guarded, and on the whole I was not displeased with my life. King Henry and Queen Catherine seemed to have forgotten my earlier transgressions, but my father reminded me that he had still not forgiven me for the scandal I’d created.

“It is your own fault that you are of marriageable age and still without a suitor,” he growled.

I HAD BEEN BACK at court for a full year—long enough to hear gossip of the unhappiness of Hal Percy’s marriage to Mary Talbot—when I made the acquaintance of a man of extraordinary charm and good looks: broad brow, finely shaped nose, strong jaw enhanced by a close-trimmed beard, blue eyes brimming with wit and good humor. Noted as a poet of unusual talent at the age of twenty-one, he often joined the king in the tiltyard for jousting and at the banquet that followed. When we found occasions to meet, he sometimes recited little verses that he’d jotted down. I found myself much attracted to this man, as much—this was soon clear—as he was attracted to me. His name was Tom Wyatt.

On the Great Vigil of Easter, the entire court attended Mass, celebrated by Cardinal Wolsey, for whom my hatred had not diminished one whit. Poor old Queen Catherine wore a new gown for the occasion; even so, she was a pitiable dowd. Also present was little Princess Mary. The king trotted the puny princess around the Great Hall, showing her off.