Boleyn And His Bloodline Page 7

  ‘Well? What reason for your presence? I haven’t betrayed it; the King has shown no interest,’ William quarrelled without hesitation.

  ‘That is not your concern. He needs opportunity, that is all.’

  ‘There is a simpler way for Mary to be available to the King,’ another voice spoke. Mary recognised it to be George. ‘Widowhood.’

  ‘Bastards,’ he breathed.

  A scuffle took place, a jug of wine smashed.

  The Earl continued with his thoughts. ‘As we discussed before, there is much to be gained from a romantic alliance. It’ll advance you—’

  ‘This is done for you!’ William hotly argued.

  ‘Aye, I never denied it but we all benefit from Mary’s closer relations to the King.’ There was a silence that muted any condemnation. ‘No more carnal relations,’ he warned. ‘And if you double-cross me again, I will gut you from nose to navel. You can reclaim her when the King gets bored …’

  ‘I rue my conciliation.’ He spoke with defeat. ‘I foresee our downfall.’

  ‘It’s artless, just turn a blind eye,’ Surrey ordered.

  March 1539

  Dover, England

  They had made good time, the sea being calm yet the wind strong. The port bustled with men and cargo being transported on and off merchant ships. Amy glanced about her, feeling overwhelmed by the confusion of commerce, but she obediently followed Mary, each holding a satchel of their own.

  ‘Will women ever travel lightly?’ said the sailor who witnessed their struggle down the gangplank.

  ‘This way, Amy, there is an inn up ahead,’ Mary said, ignoring the comment made at them. ‘We can stop for the night there and use the staging post to rent a couple of mules,’ she explained, but once at the inn, the male innkeeper informed her all lodgings were fully occupied.

  ‘Are there no rooms we could share?’ she enquired with desperation.

  ‘Full … I suppose you could share with me, but it will cost you double and you’ll have to sleep on the floor.’

  Mary attempted to hide her disdain. The old innkeeper had sweat patches around his linen shirt and lice in his hair. ‘Is the staging post nearby?’

  ‘Aye, round the back. Expensive though … you could join the cart-man. He comes by about mid-afternoon, taking any stray travellers up the Dover road,’ he explained.

  ‘Aye, we’ll do that. Is there a dining room where we could wait in, and perhaps something to eat?’

  ‘Aye, through here,’ he said, motioning for them to follow him. The satchels were set down beside the door, and the innkeeper stood close to Mary, forcing her to question his intention.

  ‘Are you not to stoke the fire?’ she asked.

  ‘Fire wood costs,’ he replied.

  She handed him a few coins and told him to bring food as well. There were a few other groups of travelling men; Mary eyed them with suspicion but at least they were quiet.

  ‘To think there was once a time when I went from palace to palace without a thought for rooms or fire or horses,’ she explained to Amy.

  ‘What happened with your uncle, did you defy him?’ she asked with bursting curiosity.

  ‘It was slow to begin with. The King was beautiful and I was always happy in his company. I felt he cared for me. A genuine concern. I would partner him at dances, ride with him at the hunt, spend an evening playing cards with him but nothing more than a friendship had formed. I had not realised what was being put into the King’s head … George was filling it with false flatteries that I was in love and longing for him. Which was untrue, I enjoyed the distraction from my unhappiness … my purposeless. But my presence around Henry had caused him a belief of my affection and as such those around me started to benefit. Uncle’s position changed to Admiral of the English fleet. And more was soon expected of me. I had little to defend myself, as my actions had encouraged Henry. I was ensnared by them all.’

  ‘Cruel manipulations!’

  ‘Aye.’

  February 1522

  Greenwich Palace

  Mass began with them all in attendance. The procession of people filed through into the small, gilded and bejewelled chapel. The wall behind the richly-robed Cardinal held a glorious mounted gold crucifix with Christ on the cross, a reminder of the sacrifices we have to make for the well-being and happiness of others. It is not enough to desire a life you wish to experience, you must desire it for others too, even those you dislike. Christ sacrificed his life for every soul in humankind.

  Cardinal Wolsey sang in Latin, crossing himself, and dispensed of the body of Christ. He took the blood of Christ and incense filled the chapel.

  ‘Those who relentlessly pursue base passions and vindications shall suffer the unrepentant punishment of God Almighty. A sinner does damage to the soul and no repentance can heal the wounds of weakness. God shall punish those with betrayal, with conflict, with torturous personal suffering. Fear the sins of pride, of passion, of greed, it does yourselves harm. Only the Church can lead you to God’s salvation, only the Church can promise you eternal peace. Listen to the voice of the true Church anointed by God to guide you through this world of sin.’ Wolsey lectured while glancing carefully over to Henry, yet his face was full of peace, unaware how members of the court were engineering themselves around him. ‘If only Adam had strength of conviction, if only Eve controlled her appetite,’ Wolsey continued to voice. The sermon continued on and on, ending on the condemnation of Luther and his ilk.

  ‘Amen,’ he finally sung aloud.

  ‘Amen,’ the court said in unison. As the procession was then led out by the Cardinal, a whispering began to reverberate across the congregation.

  ‘I thought Mass would never end,’ Anne whispered to her sister. ‘What rot he speaks.’ Mary widened her eyes but Anne laughed with carefree indifference.

  Mary supposed another reason for her sister’s energy. ‘Well met, sister, tell me what excites you so?’

  ‘A marriage is being arranged for me, to our cousin James; he is to become Earl of Ormond, making me a countess if we wed.’

  ‘Can Father achieve such a hefty dowry? He will squabble down to the last penny,’ Mary suggested bitterly.

  ‘He wants his grandfather’s title back with the Boleyns; this is his only opportunity to do so.’

  ‘What of the King and the Cardinal? Has he sanctioned their approval yet?’

  ‘I think a petition has been put forward.’

  ‘There is Father,’ Mary pointed out to Anne as Thomas crossed through the throng of people around the King. ‘There has been violent discourse between him and Mother. Since Thomas’s death, there has been much grief between them.’

  ‘I know her heart is full of sorrow,’ Anne said mournfully.

  ‘Aye,’ Mary softened. She bade Anne a pleasant day, letting her return to the Queen’s duties. Meanwhile, Mary manoeuvred around the court and into her own private rooms, where her servants kept a jug of ale to quench her thirst.

  Mary could understand her sister’s excitement; she thought back to her time in France and how Francis had dominated her thoughts. She had given herself to him and broken with her father’s expectation to be of all virtuous repute. She smiled at that, but her feelings for Henry were so different from those for Francis. She enjoyed the attention, the distraction, she lacked the emotional connection.

  A knock at her chamber door broke her train of thought. She stood and waited for her servant to present the visitor.

  ‘Madam Carey,’ spoke Will Compton, bowing with a flamboyant flourish. His eyes crinkled with mischief and lowered to assess her figure. She looked away with discretion and amusement. Men often eyed her form, then lingered on her pretty face. It mattered little if they were old, young, married, betrothed, King or lackey. The same tilt of the head, the same leering eye.

  ‘What troubles you, Sir?’ she enquired with good nature.

  ‘The King sends you a gift of marchpane.’ His face was full of excitement.

  ‘Most since
re thanks to the King for his own sweetness,’ she soothed.

  ‘The King also asks a favour,’ he began. ‘Emperor Charles and his ambassadors are to be at court soon. The King wishes to impress them with a tournament, jousting, feasting and of course dancing. Would you join the Queen’s ladies and partake of entertaining amusements for the occasion? A dance of honour from our prettiest women at court.’

  ‘Aye, I would be most happy!’ she replied with excitement.

  * * *

  Later that day, Anne had stopped by Mary’s rooms. A servant allowed her through and Mary greeted her with sisterly kindness. ‘Warm yourself, Anne,’ Mary persuaded and stoked the fire for her.

  ‘Much obliged, this English coldness is bone-chilling.’

  ‘Aye, I too thought it harsh, but actually the climate is a reflection of the people. Frosty but without violence.’

  Anne smiled and added to the metaphor. ‘Warm on occasions but suited to coldness.’

  ‘Much like yourself!’ Mary teased.

  Anne laughed. ‘Then I’m more English than I realised!’ She paced a little closer to Mary and took her hand. ‘I’ve come to take you to a tennis match. William is playing, as is the King.’

  ‘I think not, I’ll remain here,’ Mary said and let go of Anne’s hand.

  ‘For what purpose?’ snapped Anne.

  ‘Uncle Howard wants me to form a relationship with the King. The whole notion is tiresome but still the King tries to court me …’ She glanced at her sister, unable to hide her sense of satisfaction.

  ‘Is Father aware of this?’ Anne queried, her brow knitting with annoyance.

  ‘I no longer belong to him, I can do as I please.’

  ‘What of William?’

  ‘It seems Uncle got to him long ago,’ Mary stated matter-of-factly, but Anne glared with incredulous shock.

  ‘That conniving mongrel! Father must be informed of this! Mary, his rage will be like no other you’ve experienced.’ Anne shook her head. ‘Let us go to the tennis, perhaps George can put a stop to it.’

  ‘Not likely … he is pursuing it.’

  Anne paused as though to calculate an equation in her head. ‘Let me see for myself, perhaps this is why George insisted I got you. What trouble could he be in?’ She reached for Mary’s hand again, persuading her to come along.

  * * *

  Henry responded to Mary the moment she entered the viewing galley. He called to her, though she was shielded behind a protection net from the tennis court.

  ‘Madam Carey!’ he called, smiling without concern of his casual appearance.

  ‘As I said,’ Mary whispered to Anne.

  ‘Are you to dance next week? The Queen’s ladies are all excited for the evening, I’ve been assured,’ he spoke boldly. She glanced across him and towards her husband, he too wearing his linen shirt open at the collar. She noted how he assessed his wooden racket, blind to the King’s advances. ‘It’s a great privilege, Your Majesty.’ She knew herself to be smiling invitingly at him, causing a jolt of energy to surge between them.

  Mary and Anne joined Jane to observe real tennis, with George sitting the other side of her. As the ball was powered from wall to racket, the men ran about, their shirts wet with sweat.

  Henry leapt forward in an act of showmanship and reached to hit the ball, rolling forward as he did so. The court delighted and applauded.

  ‘Husband, caution,’ Queen Katherine warned from the side.

  ‘Youth have unbridled energy, madam. Do you forget it?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she replied regally, dismissing the slight but appearing pale and old compared to her younger husband.

  ‘The Queen is devoted to religious observance,’ Jane stated without taking her eyes off the Queen. ‘She is struggling with the commitments and activities of court, especially like today when she is on a strict fasting regime. I think with a little insistence, we could persuade her to stay to her rooms,’ she suggested to George.

  ‘The King may even insist upon it, should he be informed that his wife is unwell and in need of rest,’ concluded George.

  ‘For what purpose?’ Mary enquired. She viewed George and Jane rather than the tennis, curious to their relationship.

  ‘He’s of a sensitive nature though, she wouldn’t affront him so publicly,’ George said, ignoring his sister, his thoughts returning to his schemes.

  ‘Aye, but …’, Jane lowered her voice to a bare whisper, ‘… the Queen has not bled for many months now … she cannot provide the King a son or any child for that matter.’

  ‘Ah, what is there to tempt him to that bed now, then? She’s ugly as she is useless,’ George concluded.

  ‘Tonight, we can arrange gambling in his presence chamber. I can inform the Queen before she retires — that way she is most likely to decline and validate our innocence.’

  ‘Aye, well thought of,’ George said without acknowledging Jane’s smile. Mary returned her gaze in the direction of the King and he would glance back every so often to assure himself of her attention towards him.

  Her suspicion was that George had exploited Jane’s fear to aid his schemes. Mary instinctively reached over to grab Jane’s hand, making Jane respond with a gentle pat and a smile.

  ‘I believe I’ll make a very happy marriage, Mary. Anne has settled my fears by introducing us and I feel foolish now for my concerns,’ Jane said while Mary returned a weak smile.

  ‘He has a duty to you as well,’ she pressed on, noticing how George ignored her when not of use to him.

  ‘When we are married … I’m sure,’ Jane reasoned.

  Mary, though, found her brother to be abhorrent and pitied Jane’s unstable hope.

  * * *

  That evening, with the Queen put to bed, Anne stopped by Mary’s rooms to walk with her to the King’s presence chamber. His attendants had distributed jugs of red wine and platters of cold meats. Henry was at the card table with his gentlemen.

  Mary caught sight of her husband with the King. It had been some weeks since she had spoken to him, and though she felt relief to be away from him, she also felt relief to use him as an excuse not to engage the King.

  The men were laughing, happy to be in each other’s company, reminding Mary where William would have been of a night. On a pallet bed, in the King’s chamber.

  William glanced at his wife. He stared at her for a moment as she stared back, both confused by the situation that tied them together and yet kept them apart. He played his final hand then went to remove himself from the King’s company.

  ‘Are you leaving, husband?’ Mary interrupted, his hurried pace causing George to react with her.

  ‘Aye, you stay Mary, I am weary …’ he answered.

  ‘As am I,’ she confessed while daring not to look at the King. ‘I will return with you.’

  ‘Sister, ‘tis better you remain, the King is left without another player. Come and gamble away his money,’ George jested while squeezing her shoulders and manoeuvring her away from William towards the King.

  ‘Madam Carey, a joy to behold!’ spoke Henry, leaning towards her to kiss her cheek.

  ‘Have you heard, I have made your husband keeper of Beaulieu Palace in Essex? He’ll be away from court … I hoped, however, you would remain; at present your father is here.’

  Mary recoiled. ‘I’ve not been informed of my husband’s new position. Should he permit me to remain at court, I will. As for my father, I should not go to him for reassurance,’ she spoke bitterly, forcing Henry to look past his cards and up at her face.

  ‘You have a troubled relationship with your father?’

  ‘Forgive me, I didn’t intend to …’ She felt panic rising and could feel her brother’s presence behind her.

  ‘Aye, I know,’ whispered Henry. ‘My father was a miser too. George is always complaining of lack of funds. Still, we can seek pleasure without the burdens upon the purse.’ He made eye contact, causing Mary to blush.

  ‘The lowest pleasures are oft the
most satisfying,’ spoke George. ‘Sire, did you happen to notice our sister, Anne?’ He glanced in the direction of Anne, who spoke with another. ‘She is new to the court and our Uncle Howard is seeking a marriage with our cousin, James Butler.’

  Henry thought for a moment. ‘Aye, son of Piers Butler; his son is currently in Wolsey’s household. As far as I’m aware the petition has been granted … Ask His Grace for clarification.’

  George nodded, and Mary felt him move away.

  ‘See already they ask favours of me; never do they seek love beyond self-advancement,’ Henry whispered to Mary while observing her brother disappearing with some other gentlemen. ‘Listen,’ Henry spoke seriously. ‘Let us leave this place?’ He threw some gold crowns onto the table. ‘Such is my fortune … ah ha!’ yelled Henry. ‘Pair of queens! I win.’ The men around the table applauded and Henry motioned for Mary to stand up with him.

  Mary suddenly sensed the atmosphere deaden. Where once there had been a claustrophobic sensation of bodies, now a dead space filtered around her.

  ‘Take my hand,’ the King uttered.

  This was not her pleasure, not her desire, not her encouragement. She stood up, bewildered by the well-rehearsed operation.

  ‘I should retire too,’ she declared. She looked to where Anne had stood but she too had gone. Will Compton stood and without another word ushered the final two gentleman away from Henry.

  Mary viewed Henry as he stood before her, his height high above hers. She took a step back, intimidated by his imposing figure. ‘Are you to come to bed with me?’ he asked.

  ‘No, Sire,’ she spoke calmly. It amused her to rebel against expectation, against her uncle. Her mouth twitched with playful laughter.

  Henry stood still as if wondering if she joked or not. ‘You jest?’ he enquired, beginning once more to walk closer to her.