Boleyn And His Bloodline Read online

  ‘Wolsey informed me of the arrangements so far …’

  ‘King Francis’ main concern is if the meeting doesn’t go ahead. Wolsey has tried to delay it but the French are insisting it takes place around the fourth of June as Queen Claude is with child.’

  Wingfield exhaled making a whistle noise as he did so. ‘He is resolved upon the meeting?’

  ‘Aye, and not just him. His mother, Louise of Savoy, summons me regularly to her presence. They wish to know how advanced our plans are and so forth. In fact, I was summoned not a week or so ago because she heard King Henry had shaved his beard and wished to be reassured it was not a sign of broken friendship.’

  ‘Aye, I heard King Henry proclaim he would not shave until the two kings had met.’ Wingfield took a gulp of wine.

  ‘It’s exhausting dealing with these trivial discrepancies,’ Thomas spoke, as if depressed by it all.

  ‘Is this why you return home?’ queried Wingfield, causing Thomas to smile out of defeat.

  ‘No, my eldest son has been taken ill. I fear the worst for him …’ He paused but shrugged his pessimism away. ‘My daughter will also be married …’ Thomas suddenly stopped when he noted Wingfield’s smirk; though it was slight, Thomas saw it.

  ‘Life can be like that though: where there is happiness, there is also great sadness.’

  ‘Your Wolsey man?’ said Thomas, changing the subject.

  ‘Aye, he wants a clear directive for the meeting between the two kings,’ explained Wingfield.

  ‘He obviously doesn’t consider myself trustworthy …’ he spoke with a bitter tone that Wingfield could almost taste.

  ‘It is a big operation, Boleyn, even the field on which they’ll meet has to be levelled. The Cardinal offers my assistance, that is all,’ soothed Wingfield, a diplomat to the end.

  ‘‘Tis not that which grieves me,’ Thomas dismissed. ‘The Cardinal has made it plain I’m no friend of his. Four years ago, I spoke to King Henry of becoming Treasurer. He assured me when Sir Edwin retired from the post that I would be granted it. I told many about the court of my future advancement but never did it come. I can only deduce that Wolsey hath found fault in me and considers a worthier man than I to the post.’

  ‘Could it be because you are abroad oft?’ his companion suggested.

  ‘If that be so, I should have remained home!’ Thomas could feel his temper as though a sudden burn from a flame.

  ‘I will speak on your behalf. Wolsey is a busy man but a good patron of loyal men. ‘Tis an oversight I’m sure,’ suggested Wingfield.

  ‘If you could state my intention, that I wish to serve the King in his court for all my life and if granted would never sue for higher office. I shall be a most humble and loyal servant to him.’

  Wingfield nodded with good humour and began to eat the meat Thomas’s servant had settled before them.

  ‘In the coming days, I will take you to King Francis and you can present your papers to him,’ Thomas explained, returning to the business of the day. ‘Though I would delay it for a time; his mother will not stop pestering you once she has your name.’

  * * *

  After a few days of rest for Wingfield, he and Thomas were back at the French court and an interview was arranged for Wingfield. King Francis I of France was twenty-six and the youngest of new kings taking appointment of their thrones. His long features always struck Thomas as unappealing, and yet many women would protest the opposite.

  As Thomas and Wingfield entered into the main quarter of the castle, so Francis was also walking towards them, surrounded by his guardsmen. His manner was cordial but agitated; he motioned for Thomas and Wingfield to walk beside him and led them into an antechamber. His black velvet cloak, heavy with jewels, swished with his movement. The meeting had become informal, which unnerved Thomas greatly.

  ‘You’ll have a chance to speak with Cardinal Wolsey, when you return, Boleyn, please send him my greetings. I rely on you to put forward my ever-growing fondest for friendship, such is my love for my brother, the King of England; declarations are to be heartfelt, Monsieur,’ Francis added dryly.

  ‘His Grace, the Cardinal is assured of your good humour towards his King and I will pass on the genuine sentiment you have expressed.’ Thomas felt his eyes crinkle — it happened when he was truly amused.

  ‘The Cardinal has been a true servant to the Catholic faith, keeping the peace and reassuring friendships between nations,’ Wingfield spoke smoothly, making Francis eye Thomas.

  ‘It’s in Europe’s best interest that peace is retained, Your Majesty,’ Thomas began to explain. ‘The Ottomans look for the advantage to invade. None should wish for war with the other.’

  ‘I do,’ pronounced Francis without hesitation, causing Wingfield to recoil. ‘Europe will never be unified, petty jealousies will always prevent this.’

  ‘Would Your Majesty really describe his dispute as a petty jealousy?’ queried Thomas, agitating Francis further.

  ‘A great injury has been done to me — a disservice!’ His voice was deep and loud, his anger so near the surface Thomas bowed to resign himself to the onslaught of violence, but it didn’t come. Francis regained his composure. ‘Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, a title of great meaning, lost to me. I know such privileges can only be achieved through force or corruption. I know I did the latter and lost, so what did King Charles of Spain do to win? Tell the Cardinal that!’ he spat with spite.

  ‘The Cardinal holds both his Holy Emperor and the King of France in high esteem. I can assure you, all friendships are given equal care,’ spoke Wingfield with desperation.

  ‘Ah! But should that friendship weigh heavier on my side, the Cardinal would get my encouragement for papacy. I can make it happen for him, his Holy Roman Emperor will not be as generous as I. I can offer much to my brother … I should like his friendship first and foremost, yet an alliance against the Emperor would allow me to prove this friendship through the spoils of war …’

  Thomas stood for a moment, allowing the words to hang in the silence of the room. ‘Such promises will be greatly appreciated by the King and Cardinal,’ Wingfield spoke finally.

  ‘Sire, I will pass this on to the Cardinal in person,’ mentioned Thomas.

  ‘Good, though is does grieve me to see you leave. Is Wingfield here trustworthy?’ queried Francis, eyeing him as he did so.

  ‘I assure you that His Grace, Cardinal Wolsey, sends his worthiest representatives to his most honoured friend, the King of France. And I will return in a month or so.’

  ‘Ah, it cannot be all that important then. Why do you leave? Give me the real reason, Boleyn?’

  ‘This is no slight from the Cardinal,’ hurried Wingfield, suddenly aware of Francis’ constant suspicion of the English intention.

  ‘My daughter is soon to be married,’ Thomas explained.

  ‘She is about to be married. Is this … Mary?’ Francis asked with curiosity, though his pause indicated loss of memory.

  ‘Aye, Sire,’ Thomas replied with tension in his voice.

  ‘Then she has no need of you now,’ Francis dismissed. Thomas detested the feeling of impotency around great power and could only bow his head with compliance. ‘Write her a note of instruction,’ Francis smirked, ‘then again, she has already been educated … as I remember.’ Thomas felt his rage burn through him as though flames were licking him from within. ‘Stay a while longer, until I’m content with the Cardinal’s man,’ Francis ordered, and then sharply dismissed them before another word could be uttered.

  March 1539

  Calais

  The weather was fair; the last of the snow had melted and Mary was thrilled to have a new servant in her household. She had forgotten the simplicity of life when there were servants to take the burden of chores. Amy busied herself beside the fire, stirring a cauldron of stew while Mary sat with her daughter, Catherine. She gave her instructions in French, as well as Bible reading and moral dilemmas. She prized her Bible for its English text a
nd the conversations it evoked. The stories were better understood in English and her lacking Latin could be forgotten — given way to a new path to God. Perhaps, she pondered, her decision-making would have been better conceived if she had read the Bible in English.

  A horseman disrupted her thoughts; she could hear the commotion thundering through the town. Amy left the warmth of the fireside when the heavy knocking came upon the dense wooden doors. Mary could hear her name being called, and after Amy had let the stranger in, she hurried to be beside her young servant.

  ‘Madam, a man has brought this letter — the seal upon it!’

  Mary glanced at the man, noting the crest of Archbishop Cranmer on his cloak. ‘I can wait for a reply to send on?’ the man confirmed.

  ‘Who is it from, Mother?’ Catherine enquired while noting her mother’s now pale complexion.

  ‘His Grace, Archbishop Cranmer,’ Mary began, while turning the letter over in her hands. She glanced back at the messenger. ‘Please go to the kitchen and warm yourself.’ She pointed to the door that led through to the kitchen and called out, ‘There is bread and cheese and ale.’

  ‘How do you know him?’ asked Amy with utter amazement.

  ‘He is a friend of my father’s … I suppose this is a letter confirming his death.’ She felt empty as if no emotion existed within her.

  ‘Open it,’ urged Catherine.

  Mary broke his wax seal and began to read aloud.

  Dear Mary,

  I write with sad tidings. Your father, the Earl of Wiltshire, has been taken unwell and is not expected to live for much longer. I realise the animosity between father and daughter is such that a renewed alliance is unlikely now but I thought it wise to inform you that he has taken steps to secure some inheritance for you. If there be no love or concern for you, he would not have made these arrangements. You know your father well enough as I do, that his generosity is often not within his character.

  Should you wish to make a last visit to Hever before it is turned over to the crown, make no delay. The Earl weakens every day and I fear his time on God’s earth is now limited.

  Should you wish to speak to him, come first to me, as he has expressed a reluctance to make amends as yet. The court is at Greenwich, I shall find a room for you in the army barracks and I will be in council from the 8th to the 12th. I take council with the King from late afternoon, find me as soon as you can. Should you not feel able or are incapable of travel, I should pass on some other concerns your father has mentioned.

  The other inheritor is your niece, the Lady Elizabeth, but since she has been declared a bastard, she is considered by law unfit to inherit. It will therefore go to the crown but your father has requested some items to reach the Lady Elizabeth secretively. As you can deduce Cromwell will be in hot pursuit of the King’s entitlement. Be sure to seek legal advice in order to procure your entitlement. Your father has made his desire known to me and this be it.

  Your friend

  Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury

  ‘Your father is dying?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘Aye,’ Mary stated, not wanting to speak more.

  ‘What’ll you do, Mother?’

  ‘I think to make peace with my father, though his treatment was cold.’ She paused and thought silently before speaking aloud: ‘Yet perhaps he tries to make amends. For the peace of his soul, I should go to him. Amy, go fetch some paper and ink. I must write to Archbishop Cranmer.’

  ‘Will you travel to court? Will you take me?’ Catherine continued to ask.

  ‘No, stay here with Father. Amy will accompany me to court.’ She glanced over at the slight girl, her cheeks pink with excitement as she gathered the paper and ink.

  ‘What am I to do all day?’ Catherine pouted.

  ‘Lady Lisle will take you in as a companion.’ Mary stroked Catherine’s hair. ‘Your time will come at court, as mine did …’

  February 1520

  Westminster Palace

  The old medieval building revealed its age from its timbers, dark and creaking; drafts of air could be felt regardless of where you stood or how tightly shut the windows were. The stone was cold to touch. Mary shuddered. The experience was not as it had been in France, the light was not the same, the air not as renewing and the atmosphere within the palace walls was oppressive. It was not the young court she had anticipated.

  The lackeys brought her trunk to her room which was to be shared with another. Mary noted her bedfellow had already made her presence known with Latin psalms placed on one side of the bed and a rosary upon that. She opened the bounded leather and saw an inscription to Jane Parker.

  ‘Do you enjoy reading the psalms?’ came a voice far from Mary. She jumped, startled by the woman’s surreptitiousness.

  ‘Are you Jane?’ Mary enquired.

  ‘I am, I have been sent by Queen Katherine to help you for your wedding tomorrow.’

  ‘I thank you,’ replied Mary.

  ‘I am a lady’s maid to the Queen; she is a most pious and dignified lady. We all aspire to her good example.’ She spoke with a strange assurance that was slightly discomforting to Mary.

  ‘It is most kind of the Queen to think of me when I am not in her service,’ Mary said with sincerity. She viewed Jane with interest; though not plain, she lacked a feature of remembrance.

  ‘She is a woman of honour and kindness.’ Jane’s eyes had narrowed for intrigue. ‘You come from the French court? And yet you did not make the Queen’s household?’

  ‘I accompanied the King’s sister to France when she married King Louis. It was always my intention to be married and to serve my husband,’ Mary said with indifference.

  ‘I heard you were exiled for a time by your father?’

  ‘Not exiled,’ she replied hurriedly. ‘My place at court was no longer available. What with the Princess Mary marrying the Duke of Suffolk and returning to England.’

  ‘Ah, you were present at the scandal?’

  ‘Not a scandal, surely. She married for love as was promised to her.’

  ‘She defied the King,’ Jane scolded.

  ‘Aye, I’ve heard this from my sister, yet even she was divided; love against duty …’

  Jane held her hand aloft as though to tie the end of the thread of conversation and to take up a new one. ‘Mass can be three to five times a day. Bells will ring. Should you hear them come straight to chapel, your presence will not be noticed but your absence will be.’

  ‘What of parties and galas, jousting and feasting?’

  ‘Oh, I suppose there is plenty of that as well but Queen Katherine is a spectator not a participant. Her ladies are invited by the King and permission granted by the Queen. It will be harder for you to accompany the ladies … I could speak to the Queen should you be in want of female companionship?’

  ‘That is most kind, Mistress Parker,’ Mary answered with sincerity. ‘Are you to be married?’

  ‘There is the possibility of an engagement,’ stated Jane with a sudden look of mischievous humour.

  ‘A pious and sensible man I hope,’ replied Mary with a growing cheer.

  ‘I am unsure of his traits, I had hoped you would tell me.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your brother George has been put forward and negotiations for the dowry are being discussed …’ Mary made no reaction. ‘What of him?’

  ‘I wish I could answer your enquiries. I know little of my brothers. Thomas was the thoughtful one, though he’s unwell, he was taken ill at Oxford. George was tougher, but I speak of him when he was a child, I know nothing of the man he is today.’

  ‘I’ve seen him … with the King. He is his page … though my father will decide if we wed or not. I do hope he is kind.’

  ‘If I could reassure you, I would. But forgive me, I cannot.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think of myself,’ Jane stated, slightly shamed face. ‘Tomorrow brings your condemnation to married life.’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed Mary, suddenly sensing a h
umbling within this stranger. ‘But I comfort myself with the thought that this time next year, I should know my fate, for doth not sunshine follow rain.’

  ‘Aye and rain follow sunshine. We’ll be forever vulnerable — physically, mentally and legally. Whatever be your husband’s fate will be yours …’

  Mary nodded and then made herself ready for bed. Jane was reading by candlelight and softly muttering some prayers when she stopped to look over at her companion for the night.

  ‘I’ve said prayers for you, Mary,’ Jane said midway through her whispers. ‘I do hope your marriage is a success.’

  ‘That does, indeed, bring comfort. Thank you. I too hope you’ll have the outcome you desire and that we are sisters.’

  Jane gave a heartfelt smile and continued muttering her psalms, while Mary blew out her candle and shut her eyes.

  * * *

  Morning came; bright sunlight streamed into the room. Mary awoke before Jane and admired the golden light, spiritual in its quietness. The benefit of sleeping early was now apparent as she washed herself first in the clean basin of water. A maid came in that Mary believed would remove the chamber pot. Jane stirred in bed from the intrusion. Another young woman stood behind the servant and informed Mary the tailor had brought her dress to the palace early in the morning and Lady Boleyn had told her to bring it to Mary. She took the pile of folded velvets from her and gave her two pennies in return for her honesty.

  When all was still about her, Mary took the fresh linen chemise and placed it overhead, then she began to brush her hair and arrange it.

  Once the hair was pinned behind her and the white coif placed atop, she put on her woollen stocking. Jane took the dark blue linen underskirt and tied it around Mary’s waist, following it with the cloth of silver kirtle, tied at either side. Each moment of dress felt ceremonious as though being anointed out of maidenhood. The top part of the kirtle was decorated with the cloth of silver as well as the skirt; the part of the kirtle that would not be seen was linen and stiffened with panels of reed. It was unyielding, achieving the compression of Mary’s figure into a pleasing shape. The decorative dark blue velvet gown was then put over the kirtle and laced in the front. A separate panel, a placard of dark velvet, was pinned over the top to hide the lacing beneath it. The gown’s skirt was split to reveal the cloth of silver kirtle underneath. The cloth of silver was so expensive the tailor only used it where it would be seen by others. Jane then pinned the cuffs around each of Mary’s wrists and pulled the sleeves over them. Each sleeve was wide, dark blue velvet and trimmed with pearls. A girdle was tied around her waist and tassels of silver thread dangled down.