Boleyn And His Bloodline Read online

  Mary moved about, getting a feel for the heavy material and the security of it. She picked up a plate but could only catch a glimpse of herself in the burnished silver as she moved about the room. ‘Do I look well?’ she enquired from Jane.

  ‘Aye,’ was the response. ‘But cover your coif,’ Jane admonished and placed a gable hood in blue velvet and pearls over Mary’s pinned hair and white linen cap. With a final glance in the burnished silver, Mary teased out a few strands of hair, softening her face, and pinched her cheeks. Finally, she rolled a burnt-out candle wick between her fingers and darkened her eye lashes.

  Mary fled, as Jane had hurried her along. She managed to find the Howard’s rooms, located not far from the Great Hall. The morning had pressed ahead; it had taken so long to dress. The court was beginning to wake and there were routine comings and goings of lackeys, servants, petitioners and so on in the corridors.

  Mary moved through the throngs of active people and found the Howard’s servants guarding the door. They allowed entry to her and all inside the room turned to look upon her.

  ‘Mary, my darling daughter.’ Elizabeth Boleyn showed her joy at seeing Mary in her finest clothes. ‘How well you look! Always a good-natured child, always happy and easy.’ She smiled.

  ‘Let us hope she has kept her easy-going nature,’ Earl Surrey said with the smirk of a rogue. ‘It is beneficial in all marriages,’ he reassured his sister.

  The door opened again, this time to reveal William Carey. He regarded Mary with adoration. ‘The King has left his apartment and is soon to arrive at the chapel.’

  ‘Alright, let us walk ahead of you,’ ordered Earl Surrey, arranging the procession of family that seemed both unnecessary and ridiculous to Mary. He walked with a swagger, an air of importance, and glanced at those who would notice it.

  * * *

  The chapel was a colourful and opulent space, conjuring both the magnitude and importance of God. The heat of the many flickering candles danced off the dark wooden pews and reflected on the ceiling of gold vines and red Tudor roses. The couple remained at the entrance of the chapel as the rest of the family progressed in. Then the King, already within, signalled to begin. The priest saw the King’s signal and began to marry William to Mary. Rings were blessed and exchanged between the two. Mary repeated her vow to be bonnie and buxom in bed.

  They could then proceed into the chapel. Mary turned to face William but her gaze was stolen by his resplendent cousin: Henry the Eighth. Athletic, tall and possessing a quality of true masculinity, he was adorned in gold and red damask. Jewels flickered with the candlelight from each finger, around his neck and even from his hat. It was as if a golden glow permanently shone from him. She looked directly into the King’s eyes and he returned her gaze with a curl forming on his lips. The priest, now under a canopy of fine red silk, began the Latin mass. Mary and William knelt before the alter. Her eyes fixed on the King.

  At the end of the sermon, communion was taken. They ate the body of Christ and drank the blood of Christ and they crossed themselves. Incense was swung from side to side, Mary and William decreed themselves to each other. The choir began to sing and the King led the procession out of the chapel into the Great Hall.

  * * *

  Mary smiled about at those that looked on but her attention was still lost to the King. His aura had dazed her, as though she was disconnected from the time she was moving in. The whole court had begun drinking and eating with a merriment that was releasing for all. Any tensions which had arisen over the past few months were forgotten. Queen Katherine had joined the feast and looked contented in Henry’s company and Henry smiled broadly about him.

  As the musicians and music became lively, the dancing began. Mary remained staring at Henry. She observed the affection between him and her husband William who spoke earnestly with each other.

  A cold sensation enveloped her and she felt the presence of someone close behind her. It jolted her sight away from the two men that intrigued her. Mary turned carefully in order to see the intruder.

  A hand was put over her mouth. She turned violently to be released and while her eyes widened with fear, her attacker pulled her away from the throng of dancers.

  ‘George!’ she finally yelled and gasped for breath at the same time.

  ‘What news of Anne? Is she well?’ he asked, indifferent to her struggle for breath.

  ‘She was … highly … spirited when we last … spoke. What of Thomas’s illness? Have you heard any news?’ Her breathing became steady. ‘I fear asking mother as it upsets her.’

  He shrugged. ‘Why feel grief? Useless pursuit.’ He stopped to view the King. ‘Splendid, isn’t he? There has been a rumour some months ago that the King planned to divorce Katherine and marry Bess. He was told no by the Cardinal and all has been forgotten but the tension throughout the court has been heavy …’ George continued to observe the King as he began walking towards them. ‘Your Majesty,’ George called out. ‘May I have the honour of introducing my sister, Mary Carey? Her time, up to now, has been spent at the French court.’

  ‘Enchanted, Madam. I trust you are finding the English court with as much grandeur and excitement as the French?’

  ‘Most certainly, Your Majesty. It is most satisfying to return home.’

  ‘Splendid! And your time in France …’ He tried to recall from memory. ‘You served my sister?’ he inquired with hesitation.

  ‘Aye, Sire. Though she did not take to me, I feared I was far too young to be of interest or comfort to her at the time.’

  ‘Feel not belittled, she is of an arrogant nature,’ he smiled cheerfully and reached his arm out to grab his cousin William to include him. ‘It’s a marvellous thing to see you both married and to have you both about my court. You’ll be residing in my court as opposed to Katherine’s? She cannot have all the pretty ladies …’ He eyed her with interest. ‘You’ll participate with us I hope, Madam Carey? We hunt and hawk, dance and gamble. You’ll remain at court, with your husband? Will you not?’

  ‘Aye, Sire. I should like to participate with you,’ she replied with innocence.

  ‘It would be an honour, Your Majesty,’ William spoke with all sincerity.

  ‘Aye! Such kindness. Perhaps a dance, Madam Carey?’ She nodded her pleasure, though looked to her husband for permission which he signalled. They entered into the centre of the dancers. Mary glanced over to her mother, for her to bask in Mary’s triumph, but Elizabeth looked sullen.

  Elizabeth regarded her daughter’s movement with a sudden shame; she would never be spoken of with any respect. Any woman to spoil their reputation would always suffer from low opinion. It was why Mary could no longer achieve a position with the Queen. Thomas had desired his girls to be the best educated, the best married, most revered and envied. How had it come to this? A foolish girl, all smiles and gaiety without any thought or consequence. Without any pride or moral responsibility, pleased to be exploited without complaint. Elizabeth felt her frustration grow, an overwhelming sensation that made her want to weep with disappointment. She had failed her.

  Mary observed her mother’s frowns with confusion but resolved to break from the King as soon as permitted. However, she could feel the bejewelled hands of the King caress her on each turn of movement. He lifted her with ease and placed her gently down again. A moment of stillness brought their wrists together as difficult footwork was displayed below. He was a tonic to wounded pride, a temptation to heal a broken heart.

  ‘Is King Francis handsome?’ Henry asked, now satisfied his skill had been demonstrated.

  ‘I believed so, I thought no man finer … until I saw you.’ She gave a sweet blush.

  ‘Fine words from a good woman,’ he laughed but became serious. ‘I feel most envious of my cousin.’

  Mary became startled by his forwardness. ‘Aye?’

  Henry smiled and changed the subject. ‘Your father is a proud man and dutiful, I respect him as my father did. He has a great task ahead of him.’r />
  ‘What task is that, Sire?’

  ‘I plan to take the English court to France. You’ve come at an exciting time, Madam Carey …’ He tailed off as the music came to an end.

  ‘I believe so.’ She smiled and curtsied to him, allowing the King to leave her.

  William was quick to take his place beside his wife. ‘What do you make of King Henry?’

  ‘Regal, gallant … kingly. Why question me so?’

  ‘Your brother thought you danced well with the King … as did I.’

  ‘The rooms are ready!’ shouted someone from the party, breaking Mary’s confused stare at her husband.

  Howls and jests went about the room. Her cheeks burned.

  ‘Come, our rooms are prepared, the priest will bless the bed for us.’ Mary took his hand and allowed him to guide her through the hall, as the bawdy jokes continued to be shouted above the music.

  Through the labyrinth of corridors, a set of rooms was reached. Mary was surprised that three rooms had been granted and each was a large area. The first boasted a high bay window with diamond-shaped glass filling its frames. ‘Do not get attached,’ spoke William. ‘I think it is a gift from the King. Our rooms at Greenwich won’t boast the same opulence nor be as many.’

  Mary laughed with carefree excitement. ‘The King is very kind.’

  ‘He is a man of great generosity and more so if encouraged.’ He spoke firmly but more to himself. ‘Let us pray to be contented with one another and comfortable through our life together.’

  ‘Amen,’ replied Mary.

  The servants knocked and entered into the room, bringing their pallet beds and trunks. William escorted Mary into the next room, where screens had been positioned with chamber pots and bowls of water waiting upon a table with fresh linen. The final room was the most impressive: a grand bed waited to celebrate a new marriage. Mary smiled broadly, encouraging William to be more affectionate with her without fear of resistance.

  The priest was shown into the bedchamber where he recited Latin and sprinkled holy water upon the covers. ‘God bless this union,’ he began, but hurried on, noting the couple’s shivers of arousal.

  The servants manoeuvred them back into the previous room and undressed them behind the screens. Both were stripped and washed, fresh chemises were placed over their bodies and caps placed upon their heads and tied beneath their chins. They were brought back to the bedchamber and the priest made one last prayer.

  William and Mary regarded one another from across the bed. They could hear the first click of the door shut, then the second. They were alone. William instantly threw off his chemise and scuttled across the bed to reach his wife, pulling at her to lie in bed. He hastily removed her last layer of modesty. She invited his kisses, but his touch was unskilled. Mary stifled her dissatisfaction; his intentions were not as exciting as Francis’ had been.

  His hands were upon her, rubbing her skin as though to warm it. She laid silent while he laid himself on top of her; he penetrated her, his pleasure building before her, becoming eager and deeper but still emotionally distant. He spoke no words, his focus being on his pleasure. Mary viewed the top of his blonde head and felt a deepening sense of sadness. A bond of union was meant to take place, a connection of bodies, a binding of souls.

  His head remained tiled downwards, his eyes lingering on her exposed flesh. He shuddered with satisfaction and weighted upon her. Mary turned her face from his breath and thought of how false Francis’ lovemaking had been. He had pleasured her, kissed her, spoken to her, made her laugh. The natural assumption was married life would render the same joy she felt then. It was all a falsehood, she cried silently; she felt as she had done so before: alone and lonely.

  March 1539

  Hever Castle

  ‘Robson!’ shouted Thomas with a renewed strength. Robson came running into his master’s bedchamber. ‘I need a piss!’

  Robson brought the chamber pot to his master and aided Thomas to his feet. Thomas stood unsteadily and clung to him. His prostate was swollen and Thomas waited for some time before he could urinate.

  ‘‘Tis difficult,’ he explained. Finally, the sound of relief hit the brass chamber pot and Thomas relaxed, though it hurt to pass water.

  Robson viewed the contents and noted the blood within the urine. ‘My Lord, I wrote to Dr Butts. He comes tomorrow.’

  ‘If I were healthy, I would box you!’

  ‘If you were healthy, a doctor would not be needed!’ Robson retorted.

  ‘Since when do you defy me? I am dying; must you disobey my orders?’

  ‘Aye, My Lord, my position in life, my family’s security all depends on your existence. What have I to lose?’

  Thomas nodded at his servant’s logic. ‘The treatment is worse than death,’ he explained. ‘I would prefer to die in comfort than live a life in agony.’

  ‘Will you see Dr Butts when he comes?’ Robson asked with one last attempt.

  ‘Aye,’ conceded Thomas. ‘If you should wish it … We never believe ourselves to fall victim to vulnerability.’

  Robson made no comment as he guided Thomas back into bed, but Thomas reached out to grab his servant’s arm.

  ‘Master?’

  ‘I’ve not forgotten the debt I owe to you … fear not for your future.’

  ‘I’ve never doubted your honour, My Lord,’ Robson reassured him and witnessed Thomas’s comfort from his words.

  June 1520

  Guise

  The Field of Cloth of Gold

  The procession of thousands of people left Calais and travelled through the lush countryside. Royalty, gentry, courtiers, pages, maids, flunkeys, musicians and more all arrived at Guise in high spirits. As the royal party looked on, huge pavilions made from the finest silk, dyed red and embroidered with gold, dotted the landscape and blinded the onlooker from under the summer sun. The castle too had been built for the occasion, its design being a storybook castle brought to life, with four symmetrical turrets on each corner. The lower storey was of sturdy brick while the upper storey was wooden scaffold enveloped in canvas and high-arched windows repeated all the way around.

  Everywhere the eye could see was the dazzling display of power, wealth and fantasy. Thomas Boleyn greeted the King with all reverence but knew of Henry’s satisfaction from first glance.

  ‘Boleyn, well met!’ spoke Henry while striding forcefully towards him and into the decorative pavilion tent.

  ‘Majesty!’ Thomas bowed.

  ‘Fine weather, the Lord bless us upon our auspicious meeting,’ Cardinal Wolsey interceded.

  ‘Indeed it is so,’ reassured Thomas. ‘King Francis will arrive at Ardres soon; when I have word, I will inform you. Conformation can then be agreed for the first arranged meeting.’

  ‘Is their court as fine as mine?’ enquired Henry.

  ‘No,’ stated Thomas without doubt or thought to convince otherwise. ‘They were quite taken aback at the grandeur and cost you have displayed. The amount of glass the castle boasts … this has certainly surprised and impressed them.’

  ‘Befitting of your royal worthiness, Sire,’ Wolsey pressed.

  Henry smiled broadly. 'What of Francis’ political agenda? Does he speak of war?’ he then enquired.

  ‘He does indeed speak of war, Sire,’ Thomas replied, relishing Wolsey’s discomfort. ‘Peace will be difficult to maintain for much longer.’

  Wolsey nodded without comment.

  ‘Wolsey, my dear friend, concern yourself not. No matter what enticements Francis offers, my wish for peace is stronger.’

  Thomas witnessed Wolsey’s weak smile and pondered the significance of the cost of the coming events. A suspicion arose within him, that Wolsey had intentionally allowed King Henry to drain his riches.

  ‘Is everything to your design, Cardinal?’ asked Thomas, immensely more polite towards the King’s minister than he felt.

  ‘As I dreamt it, Ambassador. You’ve served your King well,’ Wolsey chimed, though Thomas could
detect his false gratitude.

  ‘It is an honour, I take pride in Your Grace. As I would in any office the King bestows upon me.’ Thomas cleared his throat.

  ‘Ah, I truly believe so, Boleyn,’ Wolsey replied while purposely ignoring Thomas’s meaning.

  It was all too clear to Thomas that effort could never bring him into Wolsey’s inner circle. His advancement would be stifled while Wolsey had the King’s power. ‘It’s not only I who desires to serve our noble royal house. My daughter Anne is keen to return home and to serve her most gracious majesty … Did you receive the reference from the Hapsburg court?’ Thomas mentioned while breaking eye contact from the man he detested.

  ‘Aye, Margret of Austria spoke well of her: kind, diligent and obeying. She does you well, Sir Thomas,’ said Wolsey.

  ‘Your Grace, I would wish Anne to have a place in the Queen’s household; I would be honoured if she could at least be considered. She has served Queen Claude faithfully and retained a good modest character. I have been diligent with her schooling and have prepared her for this intended honour.’

  The Cardinal pursed his lips.

  ‘Make it so, Wolsey!’ Henry bellowed with good humour and indifference.