Chapter 7 – Never Tell Me The Odds: Much as Thomas Boleyn detested involving his brother-in-law in any of his business, the current situation had forced him to consider it. He and Norfolk were already aligned in their mutual desire to bring down Cardinal Wolsey, but this development was unexpected, and not entirely welcome.
According to Edward, who had it from Jane – and if anyone would know, Jane would – the King had expressed interest in Anne, sending her expensive jewels. Boleyn had been at court long enough to know that gifts were often a way Henry started affairs meant to last longer than a few nights. Elizabeth Blount had been courted that way, for one, and now her bastard son, it was rumored, would soon be given high titles. He was too young for it as yet, but the gossips claimed that the King would honor the boy as soon as young Fitzroy was old enough to participate in the ceremony.
But Elizabeth Blount had been married already, her husband and father silenced with bribes. Another pattern now being repeated. Boleyn thought of the short conversation with His Majesty yet again, the one where King Henry had told him he was to be made a Knight of the Garter. He'd claimed it was for his work in preparing the French summit, but Boleyn hadn't believed it. Especially not when the King had called him back after dismissing him, and asked, far too casually, about Anne. Boleyn had made an excuse about Anne having a mild illness and thinking it best to leave court and recover, rather than making it worse.
He outlined all of this to Norfolk and concluded with, "To be honest, I'm not sure how or if this could be of use to us. I can't afford for her to become his mistress and then be discarded, but if he's taken a fancy to her, she could be invaluable in bringing down Wolsey. Not to mention, angering the King is not a goal of mine."
"Weren't you considering putting that blonde little stepdaughter of yours before the King?" Norfolk asked. "She's only a knight's daughter and less of a loss if things go ill. Can't you just have her try and distract him from Anne?"
"I thought Jane might be able to interest the King, yes, but not now. Jane has her charms, but I wouldn't be surprised if she herself would admit that Anne is the far more noticeable of the two, with Jane almost a pale shadow to her. No, I don't think Jane could entice the King away from Anne, even if Anne does nothing to encourage him. That, so far, seems only to interest him more."
"Then don't fight the tide. Let him bed her, and trust that he won't toss her aside without helping her find a husband. I don't see why you've alerted me to this," Norfolk advised dismissively.
"I alerted you," Boleyn began icily, "because whether it's Jane or Anne, this could be useful to us in terms of denouncing Wolsey. I may not want my daughter to be the King's mistress, but if he really desires her I won't be able to do a thing about it." He was already decided on that matter. If it came down to it, he would put it in Anne's hands. She'd caused this, somehow, so she would fix it. And... Well. A part of him was proud that his daughter, apparently without actively trying to do it, had caught the attention of the King. There had to be some way to make this all work to the family's favor, no matter how it played out.
Norfolk was chuckling, a nasty smirk on his face. "Yes, that's true. The sharpest of swords are sheathed in the softest of pouches, after all."
That's your niece, my daughter, you are talking about, Boleyn thought angrily. While he would not balk at using any of his children as tools for advancement, one did not need to be so crass about it.
Anne didn't want to read the letter aloud to George, but that was at least better than having him snatch it before she'd even read it. Her brother had arrived yesterday at Hever, and this morning a letter had come from court – from the King – for Anne.
"'I was distressed you would not accept the brooches,'" she began, "'They were made for you, not for anyone else. And why are you not worthy when I deem you so? For certainly it must be plain to you now that I desire to find a place in your heart – '"
"Wait," George said, cutting her off and standing up, crossing the distance between them. "Give it to me.
Anne gave him a half-amused, half-irritated look.
"Give it," George said mock-sternly, and Anne handed it to him. Her brother read the last line under his breath until he came to the point where he'd cut her off. "'...and your grounded affection.' Grounded affection?"
Anne rested her cheek on her closed fist, watching him. "Grounded," she said with a nod, unable to bite back a smile when George whistled.
"'Tell me at least that we can meet in private,'" her brother continued. "'I want nothing more than the chance to talk to you.'" At that point he threw her a skeptical look and she could not help but agree. Talking was probably almost the farthest thing from the King's mind, though apparently he did have a romantic streak so she supposed talking would be in there somewhere. That romance, it was... She told herself it was only superficial, just like King Francis. It had to be. Still, she glared at George and stood up, meaning to take the letter away, He evaded her and kept reading. "'I beg you, come back to court, soon – "
"Come, give it back, brother," Anne demanded, holding out her hand for it. Typically, George ignored her.
"'And meanwhile, accept this new gift and wear it for my sake.' What gift? And where is it?" George said, looking up from the paper.
Anne sighed inwardly, pushing back her loose hair to the new necklace she wore, a jeweled cross pendant on a jeweled chain. George stared at it for a second, before finally saying, "Oh, holy Jesus."
"Mm-hmm." Anne shook her head. "Can I have that back now?"
"Here," George said, handing her the paper. "My question, though, is what are you going to do about this? I mean, Anne, you're a maiden, and not from a family low enough that throwing you at the King is to be expected. This is..."
"I know. It would be preferable if it was one of our cousins, perhaps one of Uncle Edmund's girls. A family member, but of obscure enough lineage that being a mistress will bring only good, and no inconvenience. But it's not – they're all married or too young anyway, aren't they? – and it's me. To be perfectly honest, George, I've not yet decided what it is that I plan to do. If I have a choice, of course."
George gave her a sympathetic look. "Well, that's the question, isn't it? You know I'm here to bring you back to court?"
"Of course you are," Anne muttered. "Well, I suppose I can't really figure this out here, can I?"
"That's the Anne I know. No hiding, just make your choices and stick by them. You can do it."
"As soon as I figure out what those choices are."
This was different. Katherine knew Henry, knew how he strayed, how his attentions waned. She had lived with this tendency of his for many years, after all. But things had changed now. Never before had Henry so categorically rejected her, pulling away from even the touch of her hand. His solicitude during her nephew's visit had only made the pain of his true attitude that much worse.
Her only comfort in these days was Mary, her sweet daughter. Katherine might pray for a son, but some part of her rebelled at it, even so. She knew that Mary could be all that England needed in a Queen; had she not seen her own mother, Isabella of Castile, rule a country well? Castile had been her own realm, after all, and Katherine's father, Ferdinand, had never been anything more than King Consort there. They had ruled as partners and true equals.
Surely Mary could do the same. There were options. As much as Katherine trusted in her nephew, she knew that there was a chance that politics might force him to break the betrothal to Mary, to marry someone who could give him heirs immediately. Or, alternatively, Henry and Wolsey might balk, not wanting England to be absorbed into Hapsburg domains. Katherine had been raised in a family that turned matrimonial alliance into an art; she knew all of this.
But there were other choices. An Englishman of sound birth, if Henry became convinced that the people would not accept a foreign-born King Consort. Or there was always Henry's nephew, the young King of Scotland, son of Henry's elder sister Mary. That marriage would be like Katherine's parents' marriage was; it would unite the kingdoms of this island the way Spain had been united under Isabella and Ferdinand. There was no need for Henry to fear, or to concern himself with his bastard son, as some whispered he would do. Mary would make a wonderful Queen, and together, Katherine and Henry could choose the right partner for their daughter. If Henry ever deigned to listen to her again, that was.
Right now, her rival was one of her newest women, Anne Boleyn. She knew, because it had been one of her own favorite ladies who had done it, that Anne had received jewelry from Henry and had sent it back. Lady Anne Clifford, after doing that favor for her fellow lady-in-waiting, had immediately told Katherine. And Anne Boleyn had left court, her stepsister Jane Seymour visibly worried. Katherine wondered if her new rival was a willing one, or if Henry had been drawn to her because she was not interested in him.
But then, Anne was back now. Back, and wearing a necklace that even a marquess' daughter might hesitate to don on an everyday basis. Katherine suspected she knew where it came from, and if so... Well. If Lady Anne had been reluctant, apparently that was changing.
Not that it mattered. No courtier could take Katherine's place, not when she was Henry's wife and Queen, but a new mistress could make life more difficult. The fears she had confessed to her nephew, that Henry might seek a divorce, were still haunting her. She could not allow such a thing to happen, not only for her own place but because of Mary. She could not let Mary be cheated of her destiny.
She would not allow it. She was her mother's daughter and she would ride to battle bravely, whether it was on the battlefield or the more subtle, yet equally deadly field of court politics. And she was her father's daughter; she was not above using subterfuge when it became necessary.
She had written a letter to Charles. Now she simply needed the opportunity to slip it to her messenger unnoticed, to avoid Wolsey's spies. Her enemies would soon learn who it was they opposed, and when they were defeated, Henry would return to her. Katherine truly believed that; she had to.
"Where did you get that?" Tom asked Anne, seeing George pluck at the rather... elaborate necklace that their sister was wearing. Anne glanced at him and shrugged.
"From the King. Didn't Jane say anything to you? About why I left? I know she spoke to Edward, he's already cornered me."
"Edward said something, but you know he and I have little time for each other. We're too different, it's best that we don't spend too much time chatting together. So he wants you, hmm? Are you going to let him have you?"
George scowled at Tom, putting a hand on Anne's shoulder before Anne could hiss a reply. "Remember you're talking to your family, Tom, and the daughter – and sister – of a ranking peer."
"It's been a long time since you threw your earldom at me, George," Tom said, discomfited.
"It's been a long time since I needed to," George shot back.
"I can defend myself, you know," Anne pointed out, exasperated. "And to answer your vulgar question, Tom, I don't have any idea what I'm going to do yet, exactly. But I can't figure that out at Hever, so here I am at court again."
Tom shook his head. "You have a way of making men take notice. My friend Tom Wyatt's still talking about you. You remember him from the summers at Hever, right, and then he said he met you at the French summit? He's got poetry written for you already, says you're his new muse."
Anne bit her lip, looking more than a little worried. "He shouldn't look to me for anything of that sort, not now," she said tensely. "It could get him in more trouble than he'd imagine."
Laughing, Tom said, "Oh, you worry too much."
George narrowed his eyes. "And you take almost nothing seriously. Tell your friend Wyatt to write about someone else, if he values his livelihood, at the very least."
Really, they were far too paranoid, Tom thought dismissively. And Anne... He didn't see it. She was pretty enough, he'd grant his sister that, but he didn't see what made Anne any better than Jane, speaking with the newly-knighted Anthony Knivert on the other side of the hall, or Mary, still in the North. Or, really, most of the pretty women here.
Perhaps it was being related to her that made him blind to it. But the King certainly was not, Tom noticed suddenly. Anne was dancing with George and one of his friends from the King's household, Tom couldn't remember his name. And the King was watching her. Edward and Jane, he saw, were watching the King, and Jane slipped away from Knivert to speak to their older brother quietly. Tom thought about going over there, but decided that whatever they could see, he'd be able to as well. No need to rely on them.
And what he saw, well, that was interesting. The King really did seem entranced. Maybe he would warn his friend Wyatt after all.
Henry sat up in bed, having once again dreamt of Anne. He'd spoken to her alone tonight, finally, felt her lips on his in reality for the first time. But all that had done was inflame him more, make him yearn to possess her more. And yet she was elusive, slipping away from him the second she saw a chance. Like mist.
Just a girl, he had told Anthony and William. She was just a girl, wasn't she? He remembered her from the French summit, Boleyn's daughter who served as translator for the French king. He could even remember a sweet, dark-haired child performing with her sisters that one summer, when his progress had stopped at Wiltshire House. She was just a girl.
So what was this power she had over him? Why had he been unable to forget her, from the second he'd met her eyes behind her golden mask at the pageant? He'd wanted to rip her dancing partners limb from limb until he'd been told that they were her brothers. He should have known that himself; both George Boleyn and Tom Seymour were known to him, after all. But all he had been able to see at the time was that Anne, his Anne – soon to be his, at any rate, he was determined on it – had been dancing with men who were not him. And he had been unable to stand it.
God, he had never felt like this before. He'd thought he'd been in love before, with Katherine during his boyhood, with Bessie Blount more recently, but... He had never understood what love really was, had he? Not until now, until Anne with her lovely eyes, her smooth neck, and the indefinable quality that was what truly drew him to her.
They said that Wyatt's newest poem was about her. It was enough to make him want to strangle the poet with his bare hands, and yet... He could see how she would inspire poetry. And he had overreacted once. If Wyatt only admired her from afar, well, no harm done. She was not his anyway. She was Henry's, she would be the King's. Because the King could not live with anything less.
"Well, well, if it isn't the courtier! And here I thought you'd have no time for me, or for things like this," Michael Stanhope teased jovially. Edward rolled his eyes at the other man, his closest – and only real – friend from his Cambridge days.
"That's not likely," he said wryly. "So, how are you, Michael? How is the law practice coming along?"
"Well enough. I'm still becoming established, but I have high hopes. I'm not the only one. I told you about my half-sister, Ann, right?"
"Your father's only remaining legitimate child, a bit of a handful but you and she have always been close. Yes, you've talked about her at length, and all the torment you two put your hated older brother through before he died."
"He didn't die of our pranks," Michael said blandly. "And anyway, about Ann, she's with the Princess Margaret now, on the way to Portugal. I imagine she'll marry some Portuguese noble, trading on being exotic to marry high above where she might otherwise. But still, it's interesting. And what of your sisters? How are they settling in at court?"
"Well enough," Edward said evasively. "They both have places with the Queen, and they were in the latest entertainments. Not much else just now – well, one thing. Apparently my sister
Anne came under Marguerite of Angouleme's influence while she was in France, and now both she and George want reports of these meetings. I'm the least noticeable of us, which is why I'm the only one actually going."
"Good God, Edward, do you mean to bring the faith into the heart of court? That's quite a risk you'd be taking, my friend."
"I'm not a huge gambler," Edward agreed, "but some things are worth the chance, aren't they?"
With that, the pair of them slipped into the bare meeting house, to once again listen to the German preacher with his fiery speeches.
"And that is why it is to be understood that the Pope, far from being a descendent of Saint Peter, is a sinner, a hypocrite, a handmaid unto the Devil, the living Antichrist on Earth. This is what Luther teaches us, in order to free us from false worship and false idols in order that we might return to the true religion and take the true and fruitful path to salvation."
Edward glanced around the room as the man spoke, and froze with shock at the sight of a familiar face. Thomas Cromwell, the new Secretary to the King. Dear God... The man had been appointed by Wolsey. Was he, then, one of the Cardinal's spies? No, not likely. He was too obvious to be a spy, with his new position. Which meant that he... He was a believer. Well. That was interesting, wasn't it?
"Our message is a message of hope, of liberty of truth. It's already spreading throughout Europe, from one corner to the other. Here in England we have planted a seed that will, with prayer, with action, and perhaps, even with sacrifice, will grow one day to become a great tree whose branches will overreach the kingdom and destroy the putrid monastic houses of the Antichrist! And this tree, this tree will be called the Liberty Tree, and in its branches all the angels of the Lord will sing Alleluia."
"Alleluia," murmured the company. As silence fell after that, Edward felt eyes on him. He glanced up to meet Thomas Cromwell's assessing gaze. Part of him wanted to look away, but he refused to bow to that. He had nothing to fear from this man. After all, they were both committing the same crime; it would be very foolish for either of them to say a word about the other.
Jane looked up when Anne came in, springing to her feet when she saw how white her sister's face was. Grabbing Anne's arm, she guided the other woman to a chair. "My God, Anne, what did Father say to you?"
Anne laughed hollowly. "He left it to me," she said quietly. "He said that protecting my virtue was my own responsibility, and failing that, it's my duty to come out of being the King's mistress as well as I can. If I do end up in his bed..." She paused, shaking her head, before rising abruptly to her feet and crossing the room to stare out of the window at the moonlit gardens below. "If I end up in his bed, I am to use my influence with him to denounce Cardinal Wolsey. Apparently Father and Uncle Norfolk want the Cardinal brought down, and they mean to use me to help that happen."
Jane was silent for a moment, horrified. "That... How can he...?"
"Oh, Jane," Anne said tiredly. "For all your skill at reading people, sometimes you are still so naïve. Or maybe just an optimist. Father sees that my being the King's mistress is a potential difficulty, but that isn't as bad as losing favor with the King. That's why it's left to me, so that either way I bear the brunt of any negative consequences. It's very logical."
It's also cruel, Jane thought but did not say, furious with her stepfather. How could he do this? But this was no time to rage at Thomas Boleyn. Now was the time to stand with her sister, to help Anne figure out what to do. "You're wearing the King's latest gift," she said finally.
"Yes, I am. I thought it would anger him if I refused yet again."
"You know, the Queen is watching you now too. I noticed it your first day back at court. I think she must suspect something."
"Well, he's not been terribly discreet, for those who are looking," Anne said. "I imagine the Queen looks harder than any other, to know where the latest danger to her place in her husband's heart is coming from. I have no quarrel with her, I'd prefer she didn't know about me, but it is what it is. Her husband will grow bored of me eventually, and she will have no cause to watch me further."
"Are you going to give yourself to him, Anne?" Jane asked, astonished, and worried. She didn't want to see Anne throw away her virtue and future, waste them both on a lover, even if that lover was the King. But Anne only shrugged, turning around to face Jane and looking her in the eye.
"I truly don't know, Jane. I don't want to, but... I don't know what else I can do. I'll try to dissuade him, of course, tell him I am saving my virginity for my husband, but if that doesn't work I have no other plans. And the King has been... He's been sweet to me. I tell myself it's just a ruse to bed me, but I am beginning to wonder if it might be more than that, if maybe some of his claims might be true."
Jane looked at her sister and saw the uncertainty in her eyes. "Well, no matter what, I'm by your side, you know that, don't you?" She didn't expect Anne to immediately tug her into a tight embrace, but it wasn't unwelcome either. Jane hugged her sister back equally tightly, stroking Anne's dark hair as though her sister were just a child. It was a comforting gesture, and it seemed to work a little, as Anne's rigid posture relaxed slightly.
They would work this out, one way or another. Jane knew they would, because they had to.
There was definitely something off, Ann Stanhope decided. She couldn't say exactly what it was – or rather she could say what she thought it was, but surely not even Margaret Tudor would be that reckless. Ann had only been in the Princess' household for six weeks prior to leaving England for Portugal, but that was more than enough time to see that the Princess was high-spirited, arrogant, and rebellious.
But even she wouldn't dare take a lover on the eve of her wedding, and then flaunt him before her new husband, would she? And yet how else did one explain her odd behavior onboard the ship, dismissing her women to be alone with the newly-elevated Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon? Or the way she had danced with him last night, spinning away at the end of the dance after what had looked to be a brief but heated exchange? It was all quite unusual, not that Ann ever commented on this aloud.
No, if there was one thing she knew already, it was that knowledge was power and she needed to keep all she knew or surmised to herself, waiting to when it would be of most use. At the moment, she wasn't sure what use it could be. The English party was to leave today, the Princess and her household remaining behind. So whatever dalliance she'd had with Brandon meant nothing. It had probably made it a bit less of a horror to be bedded by that old man – the consummation had sounded more like a rape than anything, really – if her maidenhood had already been taken. At least Ann assumed so. She was as yet unmarried, and couldn't really say.
The princess – sorry, the new Queen – had been oddly restive this morning, her movements jerky and her posture tense. Ann assumed it was because the ship was leaving today, and everyone knew how much Margaret despised this marriage. After seeing the decrepit old King, Ann could scarcely blame her. Still, it had to be good to be Queen, and if you were only one of the new Queen's English ladies, life was not so bad. Once they learned Portuguese, which they would have to do, everything would become much easier, and –
Her thoughts were cut off by a bloodcurdling scream coming from the royal bedroom. The Queen had risen early, leaving her royal husband still abed, but had gone in to check on him. And she had been the one screaming. Ann and the other three ladies in the outer room ran in to find their mistress standing at the side of the bed, one hand clapped over her mouth, her expression one of horror. And it wasn't hard to see why, with the King's glazed-over eyes gazing sightlessly at the ceiling. Reflexively, all four ladies-in-waiting crossed themselves, but as Ann's hand moved in the automatic gesture, she couldn't help but see that Margaret Tudor's horror did not reach her eyes.
Cardinal Wolsey approached the King's office with more than a little trepidation. Two brushes with death had made King Henry very unlike himself of late, silent and brooding. Wolsey wasn't sure what was going on in the young man's mind, but he was sure that it would be nothing good, and more, that he was about to find out.
"I almost died," the King said in a subdued voice.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Wolsey said, at a loss for what else he could possibly say.
"No, not 'Yes, Your Majesty'!" Henry shouted, leaping to his feet and slamming his hands down on the table. "I almost died, don't you understand?"
Well, at least he's sounding more like himself again, Wolsey thought. He said nothing, though, simply waiting for the King to continue, which he did, more calmly.
"Since that time I've done a great deal of thinking. What if I had died? What would I have left? I have no heir. Only a daughter and a bastard son. You understand, Wolsey? The Tudor dynasty, gone. All my father's work, finished, and it's my fault!" The King stood, turning away and facing his golden instruments.
"I have lived too long for pleasure. I never even thought of the future!" No, he had not, because Wolsey had been happy to direct things for him while the King enjoyed being a ruler. Oh, Henry had a facility for politics, but as yet he lacked the drive. That... seemed to be changing, and Wolsey wasn't entirely sure how to handle that. He had planned for it, yes, but this was a direction he had not foreseen.
There was real anguish in the King's voice as he continued, pouring out the thoughts that had been so obviously plaguing him since his injuries. "I married my brother's wife and God has punished me. I've been such a fool."
That... was unexpected. But Wolsey had no time to react as the King turned around again, his face calm. "Now everything has changed. Everything," he continued, crossing the distance between himself and Wolsey. He was utterly composed, and the Cardinal felt a flash of uncertainty, almost fear. He had a feeling that whatever the King was going to say, it was truly going to change everything, just as he said. And that was not necessarily something Wolsey wanted. He disliked Katherine, yes, but he didn't see what could reasonably be done.
"I want a divorce. And you will get one for me."
A/N: Wow, this update came a lot sooner than I thought it would. I don't think the next chapter will be out quite this fast, but hopefully it will be soon.