Anne Boleyn and Me Page 3

  23rd June 1528

  A rider arrived in the middle of last night to tell the King that Anne Boleyn has the sickness, but then he added the terrible, casual words, “And I regret to say Michel Valjean has expired. Your good jester, sire.”

  I burst into tears. The other ladies took me out of the room and tried to comfort me. One of them ran for Rosanna and told her, and we wept together. She has Diego, though, so she is not alone with her grief. It is late now, and the candle is almost burned out, but I cannot stop weeping. Papa seems so real in my mind, with his thin, lively face, but I will never see him again, never watch his quick fingers over the lute strings, never laugh at his wit, never marvel at a new story. The messenger said my mother was somewhat ill with the same sickness but is now recovering. I thank the good Lord for that – to lose her as well would be too much to bear.

  Rosanna did what she could to comfort me. Papa has been spared the pains of old age, she pointed out. He will not suffer stiffness of the joints and toothache and the slow loss of his sight as most people do. This is true, and I suppose I am merely selfish in my constant weeping. The loss of my dear father is like an injury to my spirit, and the soreness of it goes on and on.

  28th June 1528

  We hear that Anne Boleyn’s attack was only a slight one, though her sister’s husband, William Carey, died of the sickness. Anne had the best of attention. Henry’s own doctor was out tending the sick, but he sent Dr Butts to her at once. This morning he despatched a rider with a haunch of venison to assist her recovery.

  We are packing to go back to London, but it will be a sad return.

  2nd August 1528

  We arrived back yesterday. Mama and I wept together. The room she shared with Papa seems so empty now. I wish I could have said a better goodbye to him than the few rushed words before we had to leave.

  Anne Boleyn is no longer in the Queen’s service. King Henry has given her an apartment of her own, a small place off the tiltyard in Greenwich Palace, where he may see her whenever he chooses. Mama, in the midst of her own grief, is outraged at this new insult to the Queen.

  9th October 1528

  Cardinal Campeggio arrived today, after two months of travelling. I thought there would be a big reception for him, as he is to assist Wolsey in deciding on the question of the King’s marriage, but this was not the case. He came into London by way of the river, on a barge that had no special decoration, and took to his bed at once. Such a long journey must have been agony for a man who suffers from gout.

  It is more than three months since Papa died, but I still miss him. I feel that I shall never be light-hearted again.

  13th October 1528

  Queen Catherine spoke to me kindly today. “Your father would not want to see you so sad, Elinor,” she said. My eyes filled with tears again, but she told me something I had never thought of. “Every woman carries grief,” she said. “It is like a fire, painful at first. But when you become used to it, you will find it a source of strength.” I thought of how much grief she has known in her life, and made her a deep curtsey. “God go with you,” she said, and blessed me.

  24th October 1528

  Wolsey and Campeggio came to see Catherine today. I know now that they wanted her to enter a nunnery so that Henry would be free to marry Anne, and she refused, but at the time I only heard the raised voices and the anger. The two men came out looking red-faced and annoyed, and went off to report their failure to the King.

  I would not be in their shoes. Henry’s temper has been more than usually short lately, as he is troubled by an injury to his leg, the result of a fall from his horse in the summer. The wound is ulcerated and will not heal, and he hates to be less than perfectly fit and healthy.

  29th October 1528

  A letter was brought to the Queen this afternoon. She said nothing when she read it, but she looked very distressed. Mama told me afterwards that it came from the Privy Council. They have advised the King to separate himself from Catherine completely. They have also told him he should remove Princess Mary from her company.

  12th November 1528

  King Henry did a strange thing today. He threw open Bridewell Palace and invited the common people to come in. And in they came, of course, with their smelly clothes and dirty faces, their baskets and bundles and babies and dogs, staring about them at the rich hangings and the gilded ceiling. The King entered and stood before the throne, wearing his robes of state. He told them of his need to have a son who would rule England after him, then he spoke warmly of Catherine. Were he to have his time over again, he said, he would marry no other – but he had to think of the future. He explained his case for taking a new wife, and the people stared at him in a mixture of respect and astonishment. Some of them nodded as he spoke, and at the end there were shouts of “God Save the King!” But there were sideways glances among them as they were ushered down the steps and back into the street.

  Not even Henry himself can make them like Anne Boleyn. She is too close to their own common blood to command their respect. Going out among the last of them, I heard one woman murmur to another, “She is nothing but a scheming harlot.” And there are many at court who would agree.

  15th November 1528

  This is a dreadful day. The King has commanded that I must leave the Queen’s service and join Anne Boleyn’s household. He is moving her from Greenwich to a much grander house in the Strand, with a garden that runs down to the river. She has demanded that most of the younger ladies shall wait upon her, and I am among them. Rosanna was not chosen, so I will not even have the company of my sister.

  I am full of resentment. It is a bitter thing to have to serve a fellow servant, no matter how she has risen in the world. I will have to leave Mama, too, for she, like Rosanna and Diego, will stay with the Queen.

  The poor Queen – her chambers will seem empty and dull without so many of the lively girls who have been like a family to her. She is 43 now, the same age as Mama. Maria de Salinas is still with her, but she is far older. A staff of new ladies will be chosen by Wolsey and the King, and I know what that means. Their function will be to spy on the Queen and report back to their masters on whatever she says and does. I am glad Rosanna and Mama will be with her, even though I shall miss them.

  I almost regret the years spent learning my music and dancing, and the gaiety of heart that led me to laugh and make up stories. Look where it has led me! But I seem to hear Papa assuring me that music lasts longer than people do. He is right, of course. I will take up my lute and play for my own comfort, for there is no other.

  Christmas 1528

  After a few weeks at the Strand house, we have come here to Greenwich Palace for the Christmas period. My lady Anne is housed in separate quarters from the rest of the court, and we are perpetually busy, providing refreshments and entertaining her constant stream of visitors. The Queen is in a different part of the palace (with Mama and Rosanna, thank goodness) and she appears with the King when guests are invited, to give the impression that things are continuing as normal. I do not see much of these occasions, for I have to play and sing as commanded by Her Ladyship. My spirit of goodwill is sadly lacking.

  8th January 1529

  Christmas is over, and I am back at the house in the Strand. When I picked up one of Mistress Anne’s discarded dresses this morning I found under it a book by Simon Fish, called The Supplication of Beggars. I looked into its pages, and saw that it was in favour of the Bible being translated into English so that any common person may read it. They say Mr Fish had to leave the country, and I am not surprised. To write such a thing is rank heresy. I made the sign of the cross and returned the book to its place. Latin has always been the language of religion. What will happen to the authority of the Church if people start to take the mysteries of God into their own hands? The Pope will surely never allow it.

  The people of England are forbidden to read heretical books, yet the King does not mind Anne flaunting them under his nose. Even worse, he reads them himself. There is one called The Obedience of a Christian Man, and How Kings Ought to Govern, by William Tynedale. I picked it up from beside Henry’s chair the other day, knowing nothing of its contents. Then I found that Mr Tyndale has actually translated the Bible into English! What’s more, he says a ruling monarch should have authority over the Church in his country – he need not bow to the authority of the Pope. No wonder King Henry finds it interesting. If he could make himself head of the English Church, he would not have to ask permission from Rome to divorce his wife.

  18th February 1529

  Nobody will take the responsibility of deciding on the King’s case against Catherine. Campeggio now says he is not empowered to make any judgement without referring to the Pope – and the Pope is ill, we hear, and unable to attend to any questions at all. Henry banged his fist on the table when he heard about this. He is furiously impatient, and although my sympathies are for the Queen, I can see how he feels. These endless delays are unbearable.

  20th February 1529

  Today is my fifteenth birthday. I have not told anyone here, for I have no particular friends. I wish so much that I could have stayed in Greenwich, with all my family together as we were at Christmas.

  When the daily rider came from there this morning with messages for Anne, he gave me letters from Mama and Rosanna, and some exciting packages. Daniel sent me a bird he had carved from a piece of wood, and little William had wrapped up a pomegranate. From Mama I had a pair of gloves, intricately worked with her beautiful embroidery, and Rosanna – dear Rosanna! – sent me a diary. She put a letter in with it, saying she thought I might like to write things down, now I am on my own in this place. “A diary is not as good as a friend,” she said, “but it can help if there are times when you are lonely.”

  She is quite right, of course. I wonder if she knows I have been keeping a diary all this time. My disused Latin book bulges now with the bits of paper I have tucked into it. I think I will copy them all into my new, proper diary. It will be something to do in the dark evenings, and my writing is neater now than it was when I was eleven. Mama’s letter said the Queen sends her good wishes for my birthday. I was very thrilled by that.

  She went on to say the Queen knows of a document written by the old Pope Julius II, who was alive many years ago when Catherine was married to Henry’s brother, Arthur. Arthur died only six months after their marriage, and the Pope’s document was written to give Catherine permission to marry Henry. This means Henry cannot possibly say his marriage to Catherine was illegal. It proves absolutely that the Queen is his true wife, and has every right to remain so.

  There are difficulties, though. The document is now in Spain. It was among the papers of my great-uncle, Rodrigo De Puebla, and when he died everything was returned to his home country to be looked after by the Emperor Charles. The Queen needs to have it in her own hands, of course, but Henry will not want her to possess such a powerful piece of evidence. If the Emperor sends the document to England, Catherine fears it will be conveniently lost. Mama says she is hoping her nephew, the Emperor, will think of something.

  27th March 1529

  Although Anne likes to hear me play and sing, she does not confide in me at all. I can hardly blame her – she must know I still love Queen Catherine. But her other ladies gossip, even though they have been picked for their loyalty to Anne, so I hear a lot about the Queen’s “obstructive attitude”, as they call it, and the irritating inactivity of the Pope.

  The Holy Father is said to be recovering from his illness, but he is perhaps not fully in charge of things yet for he has agreed that Wolsey and Campeggio may call a court at Westminster for a hearing of “the King’s great matter”. They have been given the power to judge on the Pope’s behalf. Anne and her friends are delighted, naturally. They are sure the case will go against Catherine, and Henry will then be free to marry Anne. I do not share their certainty. The Queen is a shrewd and determined fighter, and the people of England are on her side.

  All the same, things are difficult for her. Mama’s last letter says the Emperor listened to her request about the old Pope’s document. Understanding that the original might be intercepted and destroyed, he sent a copy of it to London, but ensured that it was signed by the most eminent bishops in Spain, testifying that it was a genuine reproduction of the original. Surely that should have been good enough? But when Henry and Wolsey saw it, they at once dismissed it as a forgery.

  20th May 1529

  The cardinals’ court really is going to take place in Westminster. We have to move my lady Anne’s household to Hever for the duration of the hearing, as the King feels she should be away from London. I have little time to write – there is so much to be packed and organized. Anne is agitated and upset, saying she wants to stay here. She seems deeply nervous about the hearing. She knows how warmly the people regard their queen, and knows too that if the case goes in Catherine’s favour that will be the end of her own hopes.

  The Queen has chosen the lawyers who will defend her. They are the bishops of Ely and St Asaph, old Archbishop Warham of Canterbury, and her faithful friend John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester. They sound impressive – but the King may have even more important men on his side.

  18th June 1529

  Hever Castle is a lovely place. It looks forbidding from outside, with its sheer walls rising from a moat that runs all round it, but there are also beautiful gardens all around, and meadows that run down to the little river. They are full of buttercups and cow parsley, and there is no sound except for the birds singing. It is so good to be away from the noisy centre of London, with its clatter of hooves and constant rattle of wheels over cobblestones. The summer evenings are warm, and the scent of fresh-scythed hay is sweet. I am happy here.

  So happy. I have met someone I love. His name is Tom Freeman. He was out with a couple of dogs early one morning when I was walking by the willow trees along the river. He smiled when he saw me and said, “Dabbling in the dew?”

  I sang him a snatch of the old song as a reply: “Makes the milkmaids fair.” And he joined in. He has a lovely voice, deep but very sweet, like dark honey.

  We both laughed when the song came to an end. He has brown hair that curls like the coats of his retrievers, and his eyes are grey. He smiled and said he didn’t usually burst into song with strangers. I said I didn’t, either. I was wearing an old dress, and the hem was all wet with the dew on the long grass. I hadn’t even braided my hair, and it was hanging loose down my back, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Midsummer madness,” he said. “The sun hardly above the trees, and here we stand, singing like a pair of cuckoos.”

  I said, “Cuckoos don’t sing, they just cuckoo,” and he said it probably sounded like song to them.

  I wish we were a pair of cuckoos. I’d like to fly away with him, and leave this court and all its scheming people behind. He is the blacksmith here at Hever. Mostly he shoes the horses and doctors them for any injury or illness, but he makes things as well – cart-springs, gate hinges, tools for the farm workers. I went with him into the smithy where he works. It was very cool in there, as the forge fire was not lit. He kissed me. I never thought I would want a stranger to do that, but Tom does not seem like a stranger. I feel as if I have known him for ever.

  I keep thinking about our meeting. I remember every word of what he said and what I said, and reliving it has warmed me all day. One of Anne’s ladies looked at me and asked, “Why are you smiling?” I said I didn’t know. My cuckoo morning is not for sharing with people who gossip so maliciously about each other, and would do about me as well, given half a chance.

  21st July 1529

  The King’s case is being heard at Westminster. Riders come daily with messages for Madam Anne. Most of them are in Henry’s bold hand, but today there was also a letter for me from Mama. Queen Catherine, she says, appeared just once before the court. She fell on her knees and made a passionate speech, declaring her love for Henry and her belief in the truth of her marriage. After that she left the court on the arm of one of her gentlemen, and has refused to return. They hope a judgement will be made in two days’ time. I do hope so. And I hope they decide in favour of the Queen.

  23rd July 1529

  The trial has come to an end, but nothing has been decided. Campeggio shocked everyone by announcing that the Pope had changed his mind about allowing any cardinal to give judgement. The ruling would have to be considered in Rome. And the papal court in Rome always enjoys a summer break of three months, so nothing further could be done until October. The King was so enraged that he stormed out of the court.

  When Anne Boleyn read the letter that came from Henry this evening, her pale face flushed with fury. She said some extremely rude things about Campeggio. “And as to Wolsey, he is nothing more than a broken reed,” she added. “Useless.”

  She has always hated Wolsey, but since receiving the letter, she has been pacing about in such a tempest of anger that none of us dares speak to her.

  25th July 1529

  Tom and I have met in the early morning for the last two days. I would like to see him more often, but the household is in a turmoil of packing and preparation, and I am frantically busy. The hearing at Westminster delayed our departure for the summer progress, and Anne is all impatience to set off. She is looking forward to it with special excitement, as Queen Catherine will be left behind this year. Henry has chosen to travel with Anne, parading her before the people as his chosen consort and maybe his future queen, so she is of course delighted.