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Chapter Three
14th July 1528
Preparations for a royal wedding were extensive under any circumstances, with great attention paid to questions of protocol, ceremony and precedence but, given the unusual circumstances surrounding this particular royal wedding, they had many unanswered questions and it was Wolsey's unfortunate task to sort out the details. When the time came, it would also fall to him to preside over the wedding ceremony itself.
Given the situation, he would have thought that a quieter, more private ceremony, followed by announcements about the King's second marriage throughout the kingdom, together with the inclusion of the Princess Consort in the public prayers for the royal family, would be most appropriate but Henry refused to consider it. He insisted that they would have a public wedding at Westminster, the grandest ever seen, and that no expense or trouble was to be spared where the accompanying celebrations were concerned. He was determined that there could be no possible doubt about the status of his future wife in anybody's minds and he intended to make sure that nobody could say that the celebration of his marriage to Anne was second to those that had accompanied his union to Katherine years ago, in any way.
Although Wolsey had feared that Henry's upcoming second union would make him a laughing stock throughout the country and the whole of Europe, those fears had turned out to be largely groundless. The pope had given his permission for this thing to take place and it would therefore be accepted, and the issue of the union would be considered legitimate, entitled to the status of prince and princess and to places in the line of succession appropriate to their sex but it was irritating to know that they were going to have to go through such a farce when the solution could have been so simple.
Had the English bishops been prepared to follow Wolsey's lead and pronounce the marriage doubtful, giving him the power, as papal legate, to dissolve the union between the King and the Lady Katherine, then the pope would have been happy to accept their verdict and use it as an excuse not to make the decision personally, since it would mean that he himself was not put in a position where he would have to choose between alienating one monarch or another.
Had it not been for the Emperor Charles' interference and his step in seizing control of Rome, an act that had proven crucial in terms of tipping the balance of power in Europe, the pope would surely have been happy to pronounce the marriage invalid, pleased to be able to oblige the King who had acted as his champion when he was threatened by the spread of Lutheranism.
Had it not been for Katherine's obstinate refusal to yield and to see the practical necessity for her marriage to be invalidated so that Henry could take a new wife who could give him sons, she could have made things so much easier for all of them, herself included.
Once the annulment was granted, even if he was unable to persuade Henry to abandon the idea of making Anne Boleyn his wife and Queen, to convince him that he would be better off making the girl his mistress and looking instead to one of the ladies of the French royal family as his next wife, at least Anne was known to favour French interests, as Wolsey did. Perhaps they might even have found some common ground. The English people would have accepted her as Queen, in time, and been pleased to know that their King would soon have a son and heir.
Now, he was left with this bizarre situation, a situation that the whole court was guaranteed to find difficult and uncomfortable.
Worst of all, it was a situation that Henry was plainly unhappy and angry about. He was allowed to marry Anne, as he had wished, but it was a compromise. She would be his wife, but not his only wife and regardless of the efforts they made to compensate her for the fact that she would not have the title of Queen, Henry felt guilty about the fact that he was only able to offer her a secondary role. He was not being given the recognition he sought over the fact that his union with Katherine was invalid and that was something he was far from pleased about. Having made the claim, it was a matter of pride for him that he should be declared right. He wanted Anne to be his Queen and she was not going to hold that position, not as long as Katherine lived, at any rate.
Henry was resigned to the prospect of accepting half measures, at least for the present, but if a time should come where he became unsatisfied with the present arrangements, then Wolsey knew that there was an excellent chance that he could end up being blamed for the initial failure to secure the annulment, a failure which had led to this situation.
Heaven help him if that happened.
Much as he hated the idea of fawning over Thomas Boleyn's daughter, the Duke of Norfolk's niece, a girl he was certain was being coached by her male relatives, instructed to be on the look-out for any possible opportunity to weaken his position and bring him down, a time might come when he would be very glad that he had done everything he could possibly do to secure her position as Princess Consort and to see to it that her future role was an honoured one.
If the King turned on him, then she might be the only person in all of England who would be able to speak for him.
If she was willing to do so...
Although she was an accomplished horsewoman, more than capable of managing her own mount and of keeping pace with Henry or with any other man at court as they rode, today Anne had opted to ride pillion on a velvet covered saddle behind Henry, her hands resting lightly around his waist, both of them enjoying their physical closeness, as well as the fact that they were away from the court and could enjoy relative privacy, accompanied by only a few favoured courtiers; Henry's brother-in-law, the Duke of Suffolk, his friend Sir Anthony Knivert and Anne's brother, George, along with a small handful of attendants.
Ostensibly, they were hunting but nobody was especially concerned with keeping an eye out for any deer or other quarry. The outing was more for Henry's sake, to help to cheer him up after the news of the death of Sir William Compton, one of his closest friends.
To make matters worse, Compton had died of the sweating sickness, perhaps the most dreaded illness after the black plague, and as his home was scarcely forty miles away from London, the prospect of the disease striking here could not safely be discounted.
Wolsey and Master Cromwell had been instructed to make arrangements so that the court would be able to disperse, at a moment's notice, if the disease should strike here and Henry busied himself with preparing infusions and remedies for himself and for those closest to him, so that they could strengthen themselves and hope to ward off the sickness. Henry also predicted that the exercise they were taking now, out in the open air, would also help to fortify them.
Although Henry and Anne seemed perfectly content with one another's company, she leaning her head on his shoulder as they rode and he turning his head periodically to brush a gentle kiss against her cheek or neck, and although George Boleyn seemed to take a measure of satisfaction in seeing how devoted the King was to his sister, the ride was a dull one for the other members of their party, especially Knivert and Brandon.
Both men had been Henry's close friends since their boyhood and were accustomed to spending almost the entire day in the saddle, sometimes up to several times a week, attending Henry when he rode out to hunt but while the sport was exciting as a rule, it was far too tame for their liking today. Even if they spotted a stag or any other animal, they could not give it chase while Anne was riding behind Henry, for fear that she might be unseated if he spurred his horse to a gallop. He would never forgive himself if she took a tumble and was injured. Instead, they were condemned to a slow, plodding ride, listening to Henry and Anne's whispers and laughter, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that, as far as the couple were concerned, they might as well be alone for they certainly did not seem to register that there were others with them.
Had they been alone, Brandon would have loved to be able to quiz Henry about his upcoming nuptials, lightly ribbing his friend about the fact that he was about to be a husband twice over, doubling both the pleasures and the headaches of matrimony but, in the presence of the bride-to-be, no such sentiments could be uttered and, close friend or not, Brandon knew that he was likely to find himself on the receiving end of a stiff rebuke if he dared to say anything that might offend Anne, of whom Henry was ridiculously protective, shielding her from all possible insults and slights.
Brandon would not put it past his friend to banish him again if he dared to say a word against his beloved, privately or publicly, and his position was too shaky for him to be able to take the risk of presuming on Henry's friendship.
When Margaret returned to the court – at the moment, only Brandon was welcome to return while his wife was still technically under a sentence of banishment and would have to wait for Henry's invitation before she could show her face again, despite the fact that he was her brother – it was unlikely that she would be impressed by the new Duchess of Pembroke. She may have been willing to accept the necessity of their accepting Thomas Boleyn's overtures in order to enable them to return to court but that did not mean that she would be willing to accept the idea of yielding precedence to the man's daughter, no matter what the circumstances were.
It could not be denied that Margaret possessed her share of the Tudor temper and, while he hoped for the sake of their future standing at court and friendship with Henry that his wife would be able to hold her tongue around her soon to be sister-in-law, Brandon would have been lying if he claimed that there was no part of him that would be amused if fireworks followed her introduction to Anne – and despite the demure, innocent demeanour she could adopt when it suited her to do so, Brandon suspected that Anne too possessed more steel than most people gave her credit for.
In her own way, she could prove to be as ruthless as her father and uncle, or as courageous and determined as her Howard grandfather, the Earl of Surrey, who had defended the country so ably at the Battle of Flodden Field, despite his advanced age... and his reward had been to be executed on the orders of the late King, the seventh Henry to rule England.
Brandon suppressed a shudder at the reminder of how fleeting royal favour could be, well aware that he was very fortunate to be alive right now, let alone welcomed back at court. The marriage of an English princess was an affair of state, not one of the heart and despite Margaret's insistence that Henry had agreed that if she did her duty to England by marrying the aged King of Portugal, she would be free to take a second husband of her choice, they both knew that they had committed treason by marrying without royal approval.
At the moment, Margaret was second in line to the throne after her niece, Mary, and their newborn son, christened Edward in honour of his great-grandfather, King Edward the Fourth, was third.
The Tudors were a young royal dynasty and therefore doubly careful of their heirs, so Brandon could have found himself charged with plotting on behalf of his wife and his infant son, and such an accusation could bring a man to the scaffold. He was very fortunate that Boleyn had approached him before Edward's birth, restoring to him to Henry's favour before it could be alleged that he harboured ambitions to see his infant son on the throne.
Although there were few at court who were unaware of the fact that Thomas Boleyn was an ambitious man and although Brandon knew as soon as the man came down to Suffolk to seek him out as an ally against Wolsey, promising to persuade Henry to welcome him back to court, that he was not offering his help out of the goodness of his heart and that he was likely to derive far more benefit from the association than Brandon was, he was astounded when he learned exactly how high Boleyn was aiming on his daughter's behalf.
Not satisfied with seeing to it that Wolsey was dragged down from his high position in Henry's favour, enabling them to reap the spoils of his fall, Boleyn and Norfolk had their eyes on the highest prize in England after the King's crown: the Queen's place. They intended to see to it that Katherine of Aragon, daughter of two monarchs, was put aside after so many years of loyal, loving marriage so that Anne Boleyn could fill her vacant place on the throne and in the King's bed where she would, with God's help, produce a son of Boleyn and Howard as well as Tudor blood to be the next ruler of England.
How deeply involved in the plotting was Anne?
Although they counted him as their ally, Brandon knew that neither Boleyn nor Norfolk fully trusted him yet, not enough to let him in on all of their secrets, particularly those relating to the girl who was their greatest asset in their quest to wrest power from Wolsey's hands.
Even as he watched her, Brandon could not tell whether Anne was privy to the plots of her male relations or whether they were merely taking advantage of her existing relationship with Henry to seize power, warning her to protect her virtue at all costs, refusing to yield to his advances for the sake of her reputation and future prospects when, in truth, they were less concerned with her virtue than they were with the necessity to prolong Henry's interest as long as possible, by whatever means necessary, so that he did not tire of her before the ultimate prize was within their grasp.
Anne's expression betrayed no hint of calculation; she giggled in delight as Henry kissed her in a ticklish spot behind her ear, her blue eyes radiant with joy. If she was not truly in love with Henry, then she was a consummate actress, the most skilled that Brandon had ever seen.
How did she feel about the idea of accepting a place as Henry's second wife? The title of Princess Consort was a grand one, and she would enjoy every honour and privilege normally reserved for the King's wife, Henry had seen to that, but it could not compare to the title of Queen, the title she would have to wait for as long as Katherine was alive.
As curious as he was, he knew better to ask. Even if Anne did not take umbrage at the question, prompting Henry to lash out at Brandon for upsetting her, he didn't expect an honest answer from her. He suspected that she was somebody who was capable of concealing her feelings when she needed to and he doubted if her own father would ever know what was truly in her heart.
The cooks in the palace kitchens had prepared a meal for them to take with them and the grooms' mounts were laden with baskets of food, with rolled up rugs strapped to the back of their saddles.
At Henry's command, the party came to a stop at a clearing by a huge, spreading oak tree. Henry dismounted, lifting Anne down and leading her over to the tree, where one of the grooms had hastily laid out a rug to cushion the ground and to protect their clothes from being stained by grass or soil. He and Anne sat close to the tree trunk, where its branches could shield the lady from the blazing heat of the noon sun, his arm around her slender waist. George sat next to his sister and Brandon and Knivert opposite them.
The grooms unpacked the baskets, laying out silver plates and cutlery for everybody before setting out the food.
Brandon and Knivert watched as Henry picked up a small honey cake and brought it to Anne's mouth, smiling indulgently as she ate it before leaning forward to kiss her sticky lips. It was his turn to be fed a delicacy next and he took it from her hand without hesitation, nipping playfully at her fingers.
"It seems that His Majesty is in love." Knivert remarked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Yes," Brandon agreed quietly. He had known Henry for years, since they were boys, before his friend became King and he knew well that he was a man who was very fond of the company of women but he had never seen him look at any woman with the same tender adoration that was now directed at Anne.
He found himself fervently hoping that she was sincere in her feelings towards Henry, who was certain to be devastated if he discovered that she was not, if he thought that her attentions towards him were motivated by ambition for herself and for her family rather than from genuine affection for him.
They ate in silence, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that Henry and Anne were so absorbed with one another that it was doubtful whether or not they truly noticed that they were not alone but at the same time, reluctant to be the one to break the spell around the couple, averting their eyes, as though it could provide them with a measure of privacy.
God knew that it was rare enough for Henry to be allowed even this much privacy with the woman he loved.
A rustle from the forest nearby – poachers, in all likelihood – caught Brandon's attention but the hissed words that followed were heard by all of them.
"Is she the one who's to be the second wife, do you think?"
If the speaker's companion replied, they did not hear it.
Anne flinched at the term, as though she had been slapped, and Henry protectively tightened his arm around her waist, as though he could shield her from the sting of the words, motioning for the grooms to find and catch the speaker. They obediently began to run in the direction of the voice, even though the rustling in the forest and the beat of rapidly retreating footsteps told them that the culprit was already running away and they knew that it was unlikely that they would be able to catch him.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Henry told Anne quietly. He would have liked to be able to tell her that this was temporary, that once they were married and the situation was regularized, the people would come to accept her and love her at least as much as they loved Katherine but he could not speak the words, knowing in his heart that it was a promise that he might not be able to keep. He might be King but even he could not dictate what his subjects thought or felt about this, or any other issue.
Despite their efforts to feign cheerfulness, to pretend that there had been no interruption, their mood was noticeably dampened and it was contagious. Nobody had much appetite for the food in front of them so, once the grooms returned with regretful reports that they had been unable to catch the culprit, Henry gave orders for them to pack up the remains of the meal and then they began to make their way back to the city and to the palace.
The odour assaulted their nostrils as they approached the gates of the city.
"Dear God, what is that smell?" George demanded, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
Anne gagged, holding a handkerchief in front of her nose to muffle the worst of the stench but Henry sniffed at the air, his face paling as he identified the smell and realized the significance of it.
"It's vinegar!" He leaped down from the saddle, laying a hand on Anne's knee to forestall her before she too could dismount. "Stay here, sweetheart." He instructed firmly before hurrying to the gates to one of the guards, demanding of him what was happening.
"It's the plague, Your Majesty," the man told him, his voice betraying his panic, despite his efforts to remain calm and in control. "Three hundred deaths in London this day alone."
"My God!" Knivert exclaimed, horrified. Although the sweating sickness had carried off Compton, he lived a good forty miles away. If the sickness had already travelled to London, who knew how many thousands it had carried off along the way?
After giving orders that Dr Linacre should be sent for without delay, Henry returned to his companions, trying to decide what he should do. He was concerned about Mary and about Katherine too, despite the problems she was causing. Since he already knew that Anne was safe and well, he should turn her over to the care of her brother or of one of his friends so that they could escort her to her rooms while he went to find out how the other two women in his life were faring but he could not bear to tear himself away from her, especially when he saw the fear on her face at the sight of the smoke rising from the city, indicating that the bodies of the dead were being burned to help stop the disease spreading any further than it had already.
He made his decision.
"Go the Princess Mary, Your Grace, and to the Queen." He instructed Brandon. "Tell them that they are to keep to their own apartments until further notice and that the number of people attending them must be reduced to a minimum. Sir Anthony," he addressed Knivert, "you must find Cardinal Wolsey and let him know what is happening. Tell him that I am well and that I will see him soon. You should return to the palace too, George, and let your father know about this. I will see your sister safely to her chambers."
The three men chorused their agreement, each accepting the task laid upon him, and they rode through the gates of the city, towards the palace, looking determinedly ahead, covering their faces to block out the stench of burning bodies and vinegar and trying to shut out the pleas for aid from the stricken townspeople.
Henry mounted his horse again, feeling Anne's arms wrapping around his waist. He covered her joined hands with one of his, hoping to reassure her with his touch and speaking encouragingly, for his sake as much as for hers.
"Don't be afraid, sweetheart."
With Anne behind him, he rode into the city, saying a silent prayer that his country would be saved from this terrible plague.
17th July 1528
On Dr Linacre's recommendation, courtiers were instructed to reduce the number of people attending them to an absolute minimum, to limit their contact with others and to keep to their own chambers as much as possible, to minimize the risks of their contracting and spreading the disease. Henry distributed his own remedies against the sweating sickness to those closest to him, including an infusion that he had sent Anne with instructions that she should take it three times daily, and more often if she felt in any way unwell.
All but one of Anne's ladies-in-waiting had quit the court, returning to their families' homes in the country, where they would remain until all threat of illness had passed and they could safely return to Whitehall. Only Lady Alice Wentworth, along with Emma, one of the maids from Hever who had accompanied Anne to court to wait on her, remained to tend to her needs.
The magnificent apartment she was to occupy after she married Henry and became Princess Consort was not yet complete and, until it was, Wolsey – who had been graciousness itself towards her of late – had insisted that she should use his own rooms, for as long as she had need of them, asking her to promise that she would let him know if there was anything else he could do to ensure that she was as comfortable as possible.
She doubted that he would have been half as eager to accommodate her if he knew about the forbidden Lutheran text she had concealed under the bed.
Even if Wolsey's offer of his rooms had been made more to please Henry than to please her, Anne was still glad of the spacious suite, especially since she was more or less confined to it until the sickness abated.
It was strange to live at the court, to know that there were hundreds of courtiers living under the same roof, with well over a thousand servants, but to see only a few people. Anne's days were long and lonely, with long hours spend reading, embroidering, practicing her music or playing cards with Lady Alice broken only by occasional visits from Henry, who tried to spend as much time with her as he could but who was often obliged to give his attention to affairs of state.
Anne sat in front of her dressing table, gazing at her reflection in the mirror while Lady Alice gently drew a bone comb through her long, dark hair, teasing out the tangles that had formed after a restless night. A gasp of pain from Emma caught Anne's attention and she looked over to where her maid was laying out the gown she had selected for today, shaking out petticoats.
"Child, what is it?" Emma was only a couple of years Anne's junior, the daughter of the cook at Hever and a welcome playmate for Anne when they were children, on the days when George had boys his own age visiting and he scorned the company of his younger sister, but the other girl seemed very young and very vulnerable right now, arousing Anne's concern.
"Nothing, Your Grace, I... I just felt a little dizzy."
"Well, come here then." Anne invited, extending her arms and motioning for Emma to sit next to her on the cushioned bench and rest for a while, until she recovered from her dizzy spell. If her father could see her now, he would undoubtedly issue a sharp rebuke, sternly reminding her that the King's future wife had no business being so familiar with her servants but she didn't care.
"No, I... I still feel dizzy. I..." Emma held a hand to her abdomen, turning to Anne in a fright. "That's it – I've caught the sweat!"
"No, gentle child," Anne hurried over to her side, taking her hands in hers. Henry had relayed Dr Linacre's warning about the dangers of panic when it came to the sweating sickness, stressing that it was vital for everybody to remain in calm, cheerful spirits as much as possible, to avoid bringing on the sickness through their fear, so she knew how important it was that she calm the other girl. "It's just a headache, no more than that." She tried to sound confident and reassuring.
"No, it's not. I have... I have pains in my... in my stomach." Anne caught her as she tumbled to the ground. "Isn't that a sign? How can you deny it? I'm going to die!"
"No, no, you're not going to die." Anne caught Emma's face between her hands, looking her in the eyes and willing her to calm down, before her panic brought on a true case of the sweating sickness. "Listen to me, you're not going to die. Come here," she hugged her gently, grateful to see that her words seemed to be having their desired effect, swaying for a moment and making soothing noises, not noticing that Lady Alice had taken a few steps back, standing well away from them.
However, Emma did not stay reassured for long; a moment later, she pulled away from Anne, wailing and clutching at her stomach, pushing feebly to get her worried mistress to move away.
When Anne tried to catch her again, to calm her, her hand came away wet with Emma's sweat.
The message from Anne was a brief one, arriving just before he was due to visit her in her rooms for an early dinner but even the couple of hastily penned lines filled Henry's heart with terror.
'My poor maid has this day caught the sweat and died. I beg Your Majesty, what should I do?'
"I want to see her." He could imagine how frightened Anne must be, how much she would need him to be by her side to reassure her.
"I would counsel against contact with infected persons or those who have had any contact with infected persons." Wolsey said cautiously, not wanting Henry to think that he was unconcerned about Anne but, at the same time, knowing how vital it was that he guard his person against harm. "You are the King of England."
"Yes, but what if she... what if she dies?" The thought was so painful that he could barely give it voice. The thought of losing Anne was unimaginable. He wanted to see her, he wanted to keep her at the palace, where he could be on hand if she needed him, where he could send her his most potent infusions and where Dr Linacre could examine her hourly if needs be, alert to any possible sign that she might have contracted the dreaded disease but he knew that it would not be possible. If a person who had been exposed to the contagion remained at court, then there was a risk that the illness would spread to others and that was a chance that they could not take, not even when Anne was the person concerned. "Oh God." He sighed deeply, distraught, burying his face in his hands for a moment before looking up, his decision made. "All right. Tell her she must quit the palace. She must go with her father back to Hever and, by all means, shut herself up there. I will send her infusions to fortify herself and I will write to her."
Wolsey nodded comprehension. "And what of the Princess Mary? And the Queen?" He prompted.
"Princess Mary will be removed to Beaulieu, with a small household." Henry decided, naming one of the royal manors, far enough away from London to be safe from contagion. He frowned at the thought of Katherine. "Lady Katherine may accompany or stay here, as she pleases!" He added with a dark scowl.
Wolsey wisely did not comment on that. "And you, Your Majesty?"
"I will shut myself up here and keep the sweat at bay with every means."
Wolsey rose from his chair. "If I may advise Your Majesty, keep as few people around you as possible and in that way you can reduce the risk of contamination."
"God bless us both." Henry murmured. And God protect Anne, he added silently.
"Indeed."
20th July 1528
'The Duchess of Pembroke is also sick, yet still survives.'
Wolsey's letter was a long one but only one sentence of it registered with Henry, the words reverberating in his mind, over and over and over, until it felt as though they must be branded on his flesh.
Anne had been taken ill on the journey back to Hever and she lay there now, hovering between life and death.
Anne was ill and he was forced to remain away from her. He wasn't there to comfort her, to sit with her or to pray by her bedside because he was the King of England and could not take irresponsible chances with his own safety, even if the alternative was being away from the woman he loved at a when she needed him most.
He sent Dr Linacre to her, instructing him to save Anne's life, but he was afraid that this was an instruction that his physician would not be able to follow, even if he was the most skilled in the country. The sweating sickness was a terrible one and few were fortunate enough to survive, even when they were given the greatest possible care.
He had seen to it that she would have that.
The only other thing he could do for Anne now was pray but as he knelt in the chapel, the familiar prayers would not come.
He was not unaware of the rumours circulating through London and the rest of the country, the whisperings that such sicknesses were invariably sent as a punishment for sin and the thought haunted him, because he knew that he was not blameless.
He had taken the easy way out, accepting the pope's offer to allow him to take Anne as a second wife, on condition that he dropped his suit of nullity and continued to accept Katherine as his wife, even though he knew that his union with her was incestuous, accursed and unlawful, even though he should have persisted with his case for nullity until that fact was publicly acknowledged and he could separate from Katherine, once and for all.
He was weak.
He wanted to be married to Anne and he did not want to have to wait for the long years that he knew it would take for them to secure an annulment if he decided to keep fighting – and if they were able to secure an annulment at all, given the pope's cowardice, Katherine's obstinacy and her nephew's interference. If he was honest with himself, he was also pleased to know that his beloved daughter would not be branded a bastard, even if that was a label that should have been hers by rights, his fatherly love for Mary allowing him to be blinded to the justice of the situation.
He was a fool to think that God would have been prepared to turn a blind eye to this but he had never dreamed that he would have to pay such a high price for his decision to yield. He never expected that God would choose to strike down Anne in payment for his cowardice.
Surely God could understand that although he wanted more than anything else to set the record straight, to be able to end the state of sin in which he was living, that simply wasn't possible.
Surely God would not be so cruel as to punish Anne, who was innocent in this matter, for his failures.
Surely He could see that, of all the prices that might be exacted, Anne was the one price that he would never be able to bear paying.
Let Him take somebody else, anybody else, as long as Anne was spared!
He would do anything!
Henry had intended to pray but instead, he found himself bargaining, willing to offer whatever it took to persuade God to spare Anne's life.
Even if he was forced to allow Katherine to retain her titles as his wife and as his Queen in name, he would see to it that they were in name only. He had already ceased to share her bed and board and he would never again live with her as man and wife, even if he was tempted to do so. In public, it would be Anne, his true wife and the woman who should be Queen by rights, who appeared on his arm, with Katherine on his other arm only on the most formal state occasions, when her presence could not be dispensed with. He might be forced to allow Mary to continue to be recognized as a legitimate princess, instead of as the bastard she really was, but he would do everything in his power to see to it that neither she nor her descendants would ever be able to lay claim to the throne to which they had no true right in the eyes of God.
The sound of approaching footfalls and the rustle of silk intruded on his thoughts and Henry knew without turning around who it was who dared to interrupt him at his prayers.
Katherine.
Although she was offered the opportunity to join Mary at Beaulieu, safely out of the reach of the sweating sickness, she had decided against joining their daughter, choosing instead to remain and the palace and insisting that her rightful place was by his side... wanting to flaunt the fact that she was still his wife, despite the fact that they both knew the truth, Henry thought bitterly.
She walked forward to stand next to him, scorning the cushion there and choosing instead to kneel on the stone floor, taking out her rosary beads and beginning to pray, her lips moving quickly as she recited her familiar litany of Latin prayers.
She was the cause of all of this!
If she had only seen the truth, as he had, and allowed him to be free of their accursed union, instead of refusing out of obstinacy and pride, enlisting her powerful nephew as an ally, then the country would not be stricken with a plague now.
Was she praying for Anne, along with all of the countless thousands of unfortunate souls she had doomed to death with her stubbornness, hoping that they would be spared, or was she praying that Anne's tenuous hold on life would slip, as though she believed that that would be enough to convince him to abandon his quest to take a second wife, to convince him to accept their bastard daughter as his lawful heiress.
How little she knew him!
With her there, muttering her prayers, he could not focus on his own thoughts and his own communication with God. If she was going to insist on interrupting, on keeping him from praying for Anne's life and health, then he would not stay here with her. He would have to go elsewhere to pray, somewhere Katherine would not be able to interrupt him.
Katherine glanced up as he stood, pausing in her devotions to give him a small smile but if she hoped that Henry would return the smile, she was doomed to be disappointed.
He glared down at her, his eyes filled with hate and when he spoke, his voice was cold and angry.
"If she dies, I will never forgive you!"
22nd July 1528
Dr Linacre told them that there was no hope.
Anne's vital signs were weak and worsening. It was a wonder that she had been able to cling to life this long. With the sweating sickness, a strong, healthy man might feel fine at noon but be dead by suppertime and this was the fifth day since Anne had started to feel unwell but while, under other circumstances, it would be an encouraging sign that she had managed to survive this long, Dr Linacre did not think that she would rally.
She was slipping away, slowly but surely.
A priest had been sent for, the same priest who had held Anne over the font twenty years ago, when she was christened.
George was near tears as he prayed, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he pleaded with God for his sister's life. Boleyn held a rosary in one hand but he could not concentrate on praying, not now.
It was a cold, cruel fact of life that parents often had to bury their children, instead of it happening the other way around, as nature intended. He had buried two sons and a daughter, lost in their infancy or their toddling years, along with his wife and perhaps he could have resigned himself to the idea of burying Anne too... except that Anne was not just his daughter. She was his great hope for the future, the means through which the entire family would prosper, rising to the ranks of the highest nobility in England, among the first families in England.
At least she would be if she lived.
If she died, as she seemed likely to, then the King would mourn for her for a time and perhaps he would even favour her relatives with a few offices and stewardships in her memory, treating them kindly for her sake, but then it would be over. Even the titles she held as Duchess of Pembroke and Bedford, together with her lands, would revert to the Crown rather than to her family; they were entailed to her offspring, not to her father or brother.
Another family would see their daughter as Princess Consort, another family would see a son with their blood sit on the throne of England.
And the Boleyns would quickly be forgotten – or, if they were remembered, remembered only as the family who, but for a cruel trick of Fate, could have had it all.
23rd July 1528
"Sir!" The maid's face was animated as she ran down from Anne's bedchamber, where she had gone to deliver fresh sheets to the old woman engaged to nurse the daughter of the house during her sickness. "Come and see her!"
"Get the master." George instructed her, running down the gallery to the steps leading up to Anne's bedchamber. "Papa! Papa, come quickly!"
Anne was sitting up in bed when he entered the room, her face white and drawn, her eyes rimmed with dark shadows. She managed a weak smile as George leaned against the end of his bed, speaking his name in a soft voice.
Their father was in the room an instant later, kneeling by Anne's side and seizing her hand, covering it with kisses, tears of relief and joy in his eyes.
"Oh, thanks be to God!" Boleyn's smile was wide as he looked up at his daughter, unable to believe that she was still with him, that she had pulled through, against all odds. "Do you know what you've done, child?" He asked her. "You've risen from the dead!" He reached up to touch the side of her face, relieved to see that there was no trace of fever or sweat there. She really was recovered! "Now you can go back to the King again and you can start to make plans for the wedding..."
Her father continued talking, laying out enthusiastic plans for her future and the future of their whole family but Anne barely heard a word he was saying.
She tried to smile, to voice agreement with what he was saying, sensing that it was what was expected of her, but her lips and her tongue would not obey her, her disappointment over his reaction, over the fact that he cared far more that she would now be able to be Henry's wife than he did that she was alive and well quenching her relief and joy at her own recovery.
She leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes, as though by doing so she could shut out the pain his words caused her.
She couldn't.
13th August 1528
When he received Anne's father's letter, assuring him that she had pulled through and that she was well on the road to recovery, Henry didn't think that anything could make him happier than that marvellous news, than knowing that out of all of the people in England who became sick, his darling was one of the fortunate few spared by God, but his joy then paled in comparison to his feelings today, when he would be reunited with Anne after an absence of almost a full month.
She was not yet strong enough to return to the court, Dr Linacre insisted that after her illness, she needed to spend at least a few weeks longer recuperating in the clean air of the country before she returned to London, but she was back on her feet again and there was no possible threat of contamination, which meant that he could see her.
As soon as he could get away, he rode to Hever, accompanied by only a small handful of attendants, all of whom were ordered to wait behind in the castle while he rode out after Anne, hurrying to meet her at their pre-arranged meeting place.
She had been riding with a companion, who remained as a discreet chaperone, but she was sitting on the ground when he rode up, standing as he dismounted and crossing the short distance between them while he tied his mount to a fence to keep it from wandering away.
Anne was pale after her illness and when he took her in his arms, he could feel that she had lost weight but Henry didn't think that she had ever seemed more beautiful to him.
She was alive.
She was safe.
That was all that mattered.
He held her close, cradling her head against his chest and kissing her over and over before picking her up and swinging her around, overjoyed that she was back with him, where she belonged.
God had spared her.
God had heard Henry's prayers, known what was truly in his heart, and He had spared Anne.
It was a miracle that Henry would never be able to do enough to show his gratitude for, but he could start by honouring the promises he had made to God in exchange for Anne's recovery, no matter what happened, regardless of how many people tried to tempt or coerce him into breaking his vows.
He wasn't going to take any chances.
God had been merciful towards him once but Henry was not going to risk Anne being taken from him again.
TBC.
Next update coming soon. In the meantime, please review.
