IT HURTS ME TOO
A tribute to the Tudors, wrapped around an old blues. I own none of Michael Hirst's great talent. Please comment nicely!
"I don't know who said it first, Master Secretary. But blondes are hot."
"Gentlemen . . . prefer blondes." As he worked at his desk, tallying up the amount of treasure looted from the latest monastery, Thomas Cromwell felt a warm trickle of sweat roll down his spine. But he didn't dare reveal his true discomfort, or disgust. He bit his lower lip until he tasted blood.
"Well said, Thomas! Well said. Damn all those well-born courtiers who say you haven't poetry in your soul." It was a sultry summer afternoon, and the king wasn't even pretending to work. Henry VIII was sitting by the open window of his study with his feet up and his shirt unbuttoned. "It looks to me like pretty Jane Seymour is getting bored with her game of lawn tennis. This is the perfect day for rowing a young lady around the lake. Wouldn't you agree, Thomas?"
"Indeed, Your Majesty. In fact Your Majesty has already promised to do exactly that. The queen is . . ."
"Damn the queen!" The king's sudden rage was like a lightning bolt, instantly obliterating his outer charm and illuminating the cruel madness within. "I'm going to pay my respects to Mistress Seymour, Thomas. If Anne comes looking for me you are to detain her by any means at your disposal. Do you understand?" The young king's pretty face twisted into a challenging, malevolent sneer. He lurched to his feet, first favoring his infected leg, then standing tall and straight like a king.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Thomas Cromwell bowed low, his emotions perfectly under control as the vain, cruel king limped quickly down the hall. The king's orders were really a trap, for Henry could inspire no loyalty except through fear.
In a few minutes the queen would be here, demanding her husband. It was Cromwell's job to tell her the king was with another woman. If Anne lost her temper and struck him, Thomas would be humiliated. The king would be pleased. If Thomas lost his temper and struck back, the king would be even more pleased. Henry would enjoy Anne's humiliation, and he would enjoy watching his loyal chancellor die as well.
As a man who was once both a soldier and a lawyer, Thomas Cromwell knew that when the situation was hopeless a bold offensive was often the only choice. Instead of waiting for the queen, he decided to seek her out.
"By what right do you enter my private chamber, Master Secretary?" The Queen of England was looking beautiful and haughty as she stood before a full-length mirror by the window. Her sea-green garb was clearly for outdoor sport. Her ladies were only now buttoning up the back of her gown, and Thomas Cromwell got a brief, tantalizing glimpse of slim white shoulders and a perfect pair of breasts before the queen's angry emerald eyes flashed a deadly warning.
"The king is most displeased with you, Your Majesty," Cromwell said boldly, deliberately pushing the queen's buttons and keeping her off-balance. "He has gone rowing."
"With who?" Anne put so much quiet menace into the two simple words that Cromwell shivered in spite of himself. She certainly was a born sovereign, he thought. All she had to do was nod her head and every last lady fled from her chamber.
"With Mistress Jane Seymour. The king finds her meek and submissive nature . . . refreshing."
"More like . . . boring." The queen's easy mockery made Cromwell smile. As she walked towards him he was also forced to acknowledge the seductive allure of her natural, unadorned beauty. Even without jewels, Anne's light brown hair was shining like a golden crown in the soft summer light. Her skin glowed milk-white, her green eyes sparkled like precious gems, and her lips were like wild cherries, red and tempting. Even her ring-less hand was beautiful, slim and tapered but very strong. Thomas had always secretly admired Anne Boleyn's strength. It was a link between them. And he admired it even after she struck him across the face.
"Enough," he snapped, catching her slim white wrist in his powerful hand. Their eyes met and held, the dark gaze of the Lord Chancellor clashing with Anne's green fire.
"Never . . . ever . . . come into my bedchamber uninvited, Master Secretary." The young queen pulled free of his grasp and turned away. She kept her back to him as she seated herself at her small writing desk, but he could see her shoulders shaking as she battled a flood of tears.
"You show your emotions when it's better to conceal them," Cromwell said quietly. "Learn not to reveal what you feel, and the king won't be able to hurt you as often or as easily."
The first rule at court was not to reveal one's feelings, of course. But Thomas was breaking the very rule he lived by. Why am I letting this woman know that I care about her?
"Do you always give advice to your betters unasked, Master Secretary?" When she turned around, Anne's pale, exquisite features were as still and cold as a beautiful mask. Queen Anne could be as disciplined and determined as he was. She was a woman of great pride. But pride didn't hide the tears rolling down her cheek.
Stop this now. Turn around and walk out the door. Do it now!
"It hurts me too," Thomas mumbled.
"What did you say?" Anne's tears were still wet, but her wide green eyes held a reckless spark. This was her other side. Her famous wildness was daring him to throw away the rule book and say what could never be said.
"When things go wrong . . . go wrong with you . . . it hurts me too." Having said too much already, Cromwell turned to go.
"Master Secretary!" The queen called to him, almost gently. "We gave you no permission to leave."
"You can't order me to stay," Thomas told her, in a voice filled with quiet resignation. He drew close and stood looking down at her. Watching. Waiting. "But you can invite me to."
"Bloody fool!" Anne kissed him almost angrily, winding her slim white arms around his neck. She had no control over this either. The two of them were in the grip of madness.
They made love furiously all afternoon in the king's big bed. Now that his life was forfeit, Cromwell was absolutely determined to prove that he was a better man than twisted, selfish Henry Tudor. Instead of rogering Anne in a hurry he took his time. He undressed her by inches, savoring her with kisses, praising the peaks of her breasts and the valley between her thighs. Her first shuddering reaction confirmed his suspicion that self-centered Henry was not and had never been a generous lover. But her gasps of surprise soon turned to moans of pleasure and ended with pure delight.
"Think you're clever, do you?" Anne asked him, after they had found mutual bliss. "The mystery man with all the secrets. But I know what really lights your fire."
"Ow!" Thomas had been resting on his back, half-asleep, when the queen grabbed his nuts and gave a cruel squeeze. The pain jolted him to full awareness, and before he knew it Anne was on top and riding him like a beast. Her mouth bit into him, and she used it to taunt and tease, describing how she wanted him in every filthy detail.
When they were exhausted at last, Thomas held Anne close and kissed her softly and gently. "Why don't you leave him?" he asked. "Or make him put you down? Because I just can't stand to see you pushed around."
"I know how you feel, dear." Anne gave him the softest possible kiss in return. "You take as much of Henry's abuse as any woman could. I see it every day, and it hurts me too."
Thomas smiled. "It's like the words of a song, old and true. When things go wrong, go wrong with you, it hurts me too."
Anne touched his chin with her finger. "But Master Secretary, the two of us are of the same breed. We won't settle for less than the highest place we can reach. All we can do is hold on for as long as we can – try to make Henry a decent king for England's sake – and hope to meet again someday."
The tears of the great statesman fell softly, landing on Anne's bare breast. Thomas Cromwell kissed her one more time, then left her lying naked and satisfied in the royal bed.
Late that same evening the Lord Chancellor was again working at his desk when the king suddenly turned up.
"Psst! Thomas!" Henry VIII was obviously in good spirits. He had a sunburn from his afternoon on the lake with Jane.
"Your Majesty?" Cromwell didn't show fear, just surprise.
"Come with me, Thomas. I want to show you something." Henry was always showing off his treasures, and this time he limped down the darkened hallway with an almost smug air. The Lord Chancellor followed to their final destination.
"Look at that," the king said, gesturing to his own bed.
"It's the queen," Cromwell said, pretending to be confused. "She's sleeping. Surely this happens every night?"
"Thomas, don't be obtuse." Henry was still glowing from his afternoon sport with Jane. "You know how much trouble Anne is to me, how hateful and quarrelsome. But look at her now." There was a pause while both men drank in the sight of a flushed, glowing and radiant Anne, sleeping peacefully.
"She looks so sweet and good," the king whispered. "She looks almost . . . innocent."
"She looks happy," Cromwell stated bluntly.
Anne was smiling in her sleep.
A/N This TUDORS songfic was inspired by WISHFUL SINFUL by the amazingly taltented Yasmim Deschaim! IT HURTS ME TOO is not a Doors song, but a traditional blues that has been recorded by everyone to Elmore James to Chuck Berry. The most recent version is on Eric Clapton's album FROM THE CRADLE!