The Lady in the Tower (24 page)

When they departed, with many thanks for our hospitality and in particular for our participation in those interesting discussions, they left with us two books by Martin Luther—one of which was his famous address
The Christian Nobles of Germany
and the other his treatise
The Babylonish Captivity of the Church
.

George and I spent many an hour reading them and discussing them afterward.

He had received a grant of the Manor of Grimston in Norfolk, for which he was extremely grateful.

“The King has been generous to our family,” he said. “Our father has done very well out of his daughter. The Boleyns have always found a way to improve their lot. Oddly enough, it has usually been through the women.”

“Sometimes I think I would rather have stayed humble…in our London merchant's home. He at least kept his pride and his honor.”

George laughed at me. “My dear Anne, you have become a simple country maiden with your talk of pride and honor. The King likes Mary…very well. Let him honor her family. What always amuses me is that it should be Mary. Do you remember…we used to despise her just a little, when we were young. She never saw the point of our conversation. She was never really with us, was she? And now …here she is, our charming little benefactress.”

“You've become cynical, George.”

“It's the only way to live at Court.”

“Then perhaps it is better to live away from Court.”

“Oh…you like the quiet life, do you?”

“No.” I refused to deceive myself any longer. “I want to be there. I want to dance and sing and play in the masques. I want to know what is going on in the world… and not just to hear it secondhand when a visitor happens to call. I want to have my revenge on the mighty Cardinal.”

George laughed out loud. “My dear Anne, how will you bring that about?”

“I don't know.”

“Nor would anyone else. He stands high in the King's favor. I'll tell you this: Henry is a Tudor, and Tudors are not sure of their crowns. It's understandable. Henry cannot forget that his father came by his most fortuitously. If the battle of Bosworth had gone differently, as it so well
might…If Stanley hadn't turned traitor…Oh, that would have been another story. The crown sat rather unsteadily on this King's father's head and he never forgets it. Wolsey is one of those who is helping to hold his steady.”

“I know it is foolish. But I do hate the man.”

“You blame him for what happened with Percy.”

“He berated him in a most unseemly manner before so many. And what did he call me? ‘A foolish girl.’ I should like to show him that I am not that. I should like to make him suffer as he did me and my poor Henry.”

“It's over and done with, Anne. Nothing will change it. Percy quickly succumbed to family pressure and married Shrewsbury's daughter. I have heard that it is a most unhappy marriage.”

I should have felt some satisfaction at that, but I did not. I was surprised by my feelings for Henry Percy. They had had something motherly in them. I had always wanted to protect him; and although I could not have borne him to be happy with Mary Talbot, at the same time I did not want him to be miserable.

“Such a marriage would be,” I said.

“He should have had more spirit.”

“I think he was heartbroken…as I was.”

“My poor Anne! But you were not meant to pine away with a broken heart. I should like to see you at Court. You'd outshine them all.”

After talking with George, I began to think I should like that too.

George could not stay indefinitely. He had his duties in Norfolk. And when he went away, I was desolate.

And then, one day when I rode over to Allington, Thomas Wyatt was there. When he saw me, his eyes lit up with pleasure. He took both my hands in his and kissed me on the cheek.

“Anne…it is wonderful to see you,” he said.

“That is how I feel about seeing you.”

“I thought you might have gone back to Court.”

“Oh no. I am banished forever. I am in disgrace.”

“I heard the story. What a fool Percy was! He should have run away with you.”

“His father came, you know. He was sent for by the King. They were all against us.”

“I can't be too sad about it. I should hate anything that took you away from Hever.”

“Are you staying at Allington long?”

“Only for a while.”

“Then I shall see you now and then.”

“Often, I hope.”

And that was how it was. Every day he was at Hever or I was at Allington. The days passed quickly in such company. He was one of the most handsome men I ever knew. Nature had given Thomas Wyatt almost everything—except perhaps discretion; he never had much of that. He was reckless always. I think he especially enjoyed courting danger. He was tall and excelled in athletic accomplishments; a skillful rider, he shone at the jousts, and that had brought him to the King's notice; he could dance with grace and had a good singing voice; not many were so gifted. But Thomas's chief asset was his scholarship: he could speak several languages fluently; he was a recognized poet; it was rare that such gifts were mingled so that he could be as completely at home in the tiltyard as he was in the most intellectual company. His expression was lively, and his eyes were clear and blue; his blond hair curled about his head; he had a finely chiseled nose and his mouth was sensitive. He had a rare distinction. He was, in all respects, a man who could not fail to charm and attract attention.

The King had soon drawn him into his intimate circle of friends. He liked to hear Thomas's poetry. He considered himself a poet of no small merit, and I was sure his efforts received more acclaim than those of Thomas. This would amuse Thomas but perhaps cause a little uneasiness in the King's mind, for he was—as I was to discover later—by no means of a simple nature. One part of him would know that Thomas was the greater poet, but another part was too vain and childish to admit it. These two sides of his nature were in constant conflict with each other. If he had been a little less intellectual or a little more vain, he would have been more easily understood, and consequently those about him, who depended on his whims, would have been so much more secure.

At this time I knew none of this. I was forgetting that scene in the gardens at Hever and had long told myself that the King could not really have borne resentment toward me because of it, for if he had wished to punish me for my insolence he could have found some means of doing so at the time. No, I assured myself, the breakup of my betrothal had been due to the Cardinal's spite. He was the one whom I must blame.

And now there was Thomas Wyatt, that delightful companion to brighten my days by falling in love with me.

He told me frankly of his feelings for his wife. There was no love lost between them. It had been an arranged marriage and she cared no more for him than he did for her.

Somehow that lulled my conscience.

Often I thought: If Thomas had not married, I might have married him. How different my life would have been if that had been possible! I was not in love with him, but he was the most pleasant companion I knew, and no one—not even George—had helped to soothe my wounds as he had.

He could not stay at Allington forever, for he had duties at Court. The King, impressed by his performance in the tiltyard, had made him Esquire of the Body, and now he had another post: Clerk of the King's Jewels.

“You see I have pleased His Grace,” explained Thomas. “I think it is mostly through my verses and the masques I have arranged at Court. The King has complimented me on them. He will be missing me, I dareswear.”

“So you must go back,” I said dolefully.

“I have to tear myself away, Anne. I would you were there. You would open the eyes of some. There would be no one to match you… nor ever could be in my eyes.”

He looked at me with a burning passion, and I knew he longed to be my lover, but much as I enjoyed his desire for me, I would never succumb to it. I was not one to be carried away, even by this handsome poet.

He used to read his poetry to me; some of it spoke of love and those sentiments were directed toward me. I basked in his admiration. It soothed me. But my temperament was as different from my sister Mary's as it could be. She was as ready as her lovers to reach the climax of such encounters; I was determined they should never arrive.

I suppose I was sexually cold. I had not felt so with Henry Percy; but even with him there could have been no consummation of our love until after marriage. Mary's adventures had had a marked effect on me, and I should never forget the humiliation of her banishment from the French Court.

So I basked in the love of charming Thomas Wyatt with the avowed determination never to give way to his pleas. But those days helped me. I began to feel there was a life other than one of brooding sorrow and loneliness at Hever.

My stepmother was delighted to see the change in me, but at the same time she was a little fearful. She was aware—as all must be—of Thomas's almost irresistible charm, and she knew, of course, how I had suffered. I felt very tender toward her; her disinterested love for me amazed me for it was something I had not had from my natural parents, and it seemed strange that it should come from a stepmother.

“Do not fear for me, dear Mother,” I said to her, for in the closeness of our relationship I had dropped the word “step”; and I think that, for her, that was a reward for all the kindness she had shown me. “I have had such example that I shall always know how to take care of myself.”

And I meant that.

When Thomas went back to Court, I was desolate. I re-read Luther's books but it was frustrating to discover points for discussion and have no one with whom to discuss them. Mary Wyatt was not always at Allington, and much as I loved my stepmother, such matters were beyond her understanding; nor would she have wished to know of them.

There came a time when an even greater honor was bestowed on my father. My stepmother had to go to Court for the ceremony. She was very nervous and wished that I could accompany her; I found myself joining in that wish. But I had been exiled and there had been no invitation for me to return. So I must remain at Hever.

When she returned I heard what had happened.

It had been most impressive. She was so proud of her husband. He was certainly a very great man, she said, and now he had been made Viscount Rochford, a peer of the realm.

The ceremony had taken place in the great hall at Bridewell. Such beautiful tapestries had been hung on the walls, and Thomas had been led up to the dais on which stood the King himself under a canopy of gold.

“Your father is extremely pleased,” she told me. “He has worked hard for this. He told me that the Emperor Charles is so delighted with his services to his country and ours that he is giving him a pension.”

“Yes,” I said, “my father has come far. Did you see Mary?”

“Yes. She is very well and happy. All seems to go well with her.”

“I'll swear my father is very grateful to her.”

“Your father has earned his success through his loyal service to the King,” she replied with a hint of reproach; and I did not take the matter further, not wishing to upset her.

She told me later that there had been some gossip about the newly created Duke of Richmond. He was the son of Lady Talboys, who had been Elizabeth Blount, and the people seemed to think it was significant that he had been given the title.

“He is the King's son,” I said.

“Oh yes. There does not seem to be any doubt of that. I heard that the King is very proud of him. There is a great deal of talk about the King's sadness because the Queen cannot get sons.”

“There was always such talk. The boy was called Henry Fitzroy and that is clear enough. The King never denied he was his son. In fact, from what I heard, he seems proud of it. It is proof that
he
can get sons even if the Queen cannot.”

“Well, he has made him Duke of Richmond, and some seem to think he is going to have a very special place at Court.”

“He is not very old, is he?”

“About six years old, I should say. But there was a great deal of talk about it. They say the Queen was not very happy.”

“I should think not, poor lady. It is like a reproach to her.”

“As if she could be blamed! Such matters are in God's hands.”

“Well, I can see you have enjoyed your little excursion.”

“It was not as bad as I thought it might be. You know how I fret about these things. I was not cut out to be the wife of an important man.”

“I hope he appreciates you,” I said.

And so my father continued in his rise.

We had visitors often at Hever. People came from the Court at my father's invitation. Not that he accompanied them, but if they were traveling in the vicinity of Hever, he told them there would always be a welcome there. I was happy to help my stepmother entertain them. It was a pleasant way of keeping in touch with events for I found it irksome to be shut away in a little backwater, knowing nothing of the world except what I learned through others. I felt that I could not continue in this way of life much longer. I did not, in fact, believe it would be expected of me. It was inevitable that a husband would be found for me… perhaps some obscure country gentleman who, after my disgrace at Court, would be considered, providing he was wealthy enough to meet my father's demands.

I had heard from these visitors from time to time about the wars in which we were engaged. We were now allies of the Pope and the Emperor. My father's reward from the latter had been due to his services in helping to strengthen the bond between him and King Henry.

I often thought of that time at Ardres and Guines when the two Kings had so falsely made their pact of friendship… the jousting, the wrestling… all the pomp and show. What a pitiful waste it had been! How much better it might have been if the money had been spent for the good of their countries instead of bolstering up the arrogance and egoism of the sovereigns.

And now they were enemies.

So I was always interested when my father's friends came with news of what was happening.

We were seated at supper, I remember, in the great hall, and my step-mother was flushed with her efforts to provide my father's friends with a meal worthy of his state. As we talked, I could see that her eyes were on the serving men and women, and I guessed that her thoughts were in the kitchen.