The Lady in the Tower (20 page)

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.