At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (22 page)

“He cannot know … he cannot know how my heart breaks. He cannot…” The queen melted into sobs and Madge stood by silently. Dr. Linacre had told Madge to remove the babe from the queen as soon as she could do so without upsetting Her Majesty, so a proper Christian burial could take place. Master Cranmer was waiting in the chapel to officiate.

“Majesty—cousin, may I take the babe to the chapel now? They are waiting,” said Madge softly.

“No. I do not ever want to let my little Henry go. I would keep him with me always,” said the queen, her eyes blurry and strange-looking.

“Dearest, you must let him go to God. You will have another.…” said Madge.

“I care not a fig for another! This is my boy! Here, right here! I cannot let him go from me—he will fear the dark and he will need his mother!” said the queen. “Leave me! At once!”

Madge made her way from the bedchambers, confused and sad. She did not know what to do, so she hurried to Dr. Linacre. He sent her to bed with the other ladies and said he would give the queen another sleeping tonic. Madge did as she was told. By the next morning, the babe was gone from the queen’s chambers and Her Majesty was sleeping unperturbedly.

Twenty-three

For the next fortnight, Dr. Linacre mixed his potions and the queen slept. Each time she awoke, she asked for her son and seemed muddled and confused. When she asked for the prince, she received another dose of the sleeping medicine. Madge stayed with the queen the entire time. The king did not visit.

By mid-July, the queen seemed to have accepted her loss, though she made no motion to arise from her bed. She refused the daily draught of medicine from Dr. Linacre and began to sip the broth Madge procured for her. Slowly, the color returned to her face but there was no light in her dark eyes. The king kept his distance from her until the forty days passed, those days in which she would have been churched, if the prince had lived. The king still believed a woman “unclean” after a birth, even a miscarriage, until the allotted time had passed. Dr. Linacre told her this one day when she asked why the king refused to visit his queen, who was so full of sorrow.

As harvest time approached, the king sent word that he would come to the queen’s apartments to sup. Madge and the other ladies of the bedchamber worked hard to prepare for His Majesty’s visit, ordering his favorite foods and arranging for pleasing music as well as having the scrubwomen give the apartments a good airing and cleaning. During the business buzzing around her, the queen remained in her bed, listless and without smiles.

About an hour before the king was to arrive, Madge asked the ladies of the bedchamber to leave, giving Madge a private moment with the queen.

“Who does she think she is, ordering us away from Her Majesty’s presence?” said Jane Seymour, who refused to move an inch from where she stood.

“She has lost her senses—thinks herself the queen,” said Lady Douglas.

No one left the room until Madge begged the queen to send them all away.

“Yes, yes, begone, all of you! I would hear what my cousin has to say,” said the queen wearily.

At her command, the ladies scattered, their silk and satin skirts rustling against the fresh rushes. The queen sighed heavily.

“What is it, Margaret?” she said.

“Majesty, I have spent every moment with Your Grace since…”

“Speak not of it, not one word,” said the queen.

“And I know the grief in your heart. I have heard you sobbing in the night and seen how you ache. I also saw the king’s own sadness when first he came to see how you fared, whilst you slept. He loves you still, though his disappointment is keen. You must arise from your bed and greet His Majesty with fair looks and soft words. There are those who would see you fail, Your Grace. And those who hope His Majesty will tire of you soon. You must get up from your bed, put away your sorrow, and become the lady for whom the king moved all the world,” said Madge.

She had not meant to give such advice. She had merely wanted to suggest that the queen try to give succor to the king, as Arthur had told her many tales of the king’s wild talk in his own bedchambers—that he had been bewitched, that he would never get a son, that God frowned on his new marriage. Such talk struck fear into Madge’s heart, not for herself so much as for her beloved queen. Madge had seen enough into the king’s own character to know he would not blink at putting a once-beloved wife away, perhaps even striking her head from her shoulders if he deemed it necessary. And if the queen did not soon give him a prince, the king would, no doubt, deem it so.

“Dearest cousin, I thank you for your wisdom. A better woman would heed it. But I simply have not strength to fight an entire court. I care not … I care not…” said the queen and broke into weeping.

“Madame, please. Please do not cry. The king has not seen you in weeks and you must present a pretty face and a happy countenance. All depends upon it!” said Madge.

“I would pray a while before His Majesty arrives. Please send for Cranmer,” said the queen. “I would have the comfort that my helpless, innocent boy is in God’s hands now.”

Madge sent for Master Cranmer and left the queen and her minister alone in the chambers. She waited with the other ladies.

“So, Pretty Madge is among us now, ladies,” said Jane Seymour. “Has the queen put you away, too? Or is she cooking up more witchery to blind the king to her evil ways?”

“Lady Jane, I know you favor the old religion but surely even you have signed the king’s laws. There is more evil in popery than in any part of our blessed queen,” said Madge as she stared into the pinched eyes of Lady Seymour. “I would remind you of the power in an anointed queen,” said Madge, her ears burning with anger. “You should mind your tongue.”

“I have no fear of the whore. I hear that the king has set his eyes on a new mistress, one of great beauty and charm. Some say he will put this new lady on the throne,” said Lady Jane.

“You speak treason—you should be thankful I am not one to spread malicious lies or tell tales. You might find your own head on a pike at London Bridge,” said Madge.

At that moment, Archbishop Cranmer opened the door to the queen’s apartments and emerged. He crooked his finger toward Madge, beckoning her to go to the queen.

“Her Majesty will dress now, Lady Margaret,” he said.

Madge hurried into the queen’s bedchambers and found her sitting up, trying to brush out her hair.

“Madame, allow me,” said Madge, taking the brush from her hand. While she brushed with one hand, she pulled out a lovely green dress for the queen’s approval with the other. Then, with the queen’s permission, she recalled the ladies and, together, they dressed the queen. Though Anne felt as flimsy as a rag doll in her hands, Madge was happy the queen was at least out of her bed.

*   *   *

“Make way for the king! Make way for the king’s majesty!” shouted the yeomen as they marched into the queen’s outer apartments where Anne sat on her velvet throne, regal in her green dress, her long dark hair hanging to her waist. The gentlemen accompanying the king placed themselves at various posts around the rooms and then the king entered, smiling at the queen’s ladies. He immediately bowed before his wife and took her hand. She started to rise to give him obeisance, but he quickly put his hands on her narrow shoulders and kept her in her seat.

“How does my queen?” he said softly as he took the large chair next to hers. Madge stood behind the queen, ready to assist if need be.

“Well enough, Harry. I have missed you these long weeks,” said the queen.

“And I you, my love. I … I am sorry about … our boy,” said the king.

Madge watched as the queen’s hands began to shake. She knew the queen was close to tears and saw quick plashes fall onto the green silk of Anne’s gown. The king drew Anne’s face close to his and Madge could hear him whisper, “My heart is broken, too, my love. But, we shall have more sons. He was perfect—we shall have another.”

The queen said nothing for a moment. Then, in a voice as flat as the horizon, she said, “I care not for any other. I want my son! The boy we have lost! My whole body aches for him.”

Madge did not want others to hear such words from the queen so she motioned for Master Smeaton to play a lively turn on his virginals. Soon, the ladies and gentlemen were dancing around the room, no longer attuned to the queen’s deep grief.

“Thank you, Pretty Madge. I see our queen is not yet herself. I would help her if I but knew the way,” said the king, looking at Madge with begging eyes. Madge shrugged her shoulders at him—she did not know how to lighten the burden the queen carried.

“Anne … dearest … ’tis the season of the sweats now. What say you we go on Progress to the country. The fresh air will do you good and we can get away from the things that sadden us,” said the king, his mouth moving against the queen’s ear.

“I have no wish to leave my rooms, Harry. I have no wish to sing or dance or play at cards. I would pray and take the Sacraments each day. I would sew for the poor widows and orphans who no longer have the monasteries to help them,” said the queen.

Madge saw the king’s face grow rosy at the mention of the monasteries.

“Madame, you would do well to forget the plight of the poor and homeless and think of your own danger. Though I raised you up, I can just as easily cast you down again,” hissed the king, though quietly.

His remarks seemed to reach something in the queen. Her eyes focused on his mouth and she brought her hand to his face for a gentle caress.

“Ah, Harry, would you strike me down so soon? My dearest love, would you frighten me when I am only sorry to have disappointed you so? My heart breaks for our son and for you, too, my king. I have failed you—perhaps I am not worthy of the honor you have given me,” said Anne. Her brown eyes were moist and enormous-looking. Madge thought she had never looked as fragile or as pretty. She could see the king’s face lose its harshness, love flooding his features once again.

“I would have you in my bed once more, sweetheart. I would have you happy and gay, dancing and singing as you did before,” said Henry.

“Then all shall be as you command, my lord,” said the queen. She clapped her hands to stop the music and rose.

“Dear friends, thank you for being so jolly and spry. And Master Smeaton, thank you for the lively song. I will now play and sing for the king’s good pleasure and would ask that you leave us,” said the queen.

Madge started from her post behind the queen but the queen turned to her.

“Lady Margaret, if you will stay with me—I need your strength. Lie on your pallet and be still as a mouse—Mistress Mouse, as George calls you,” said the queen. She was smiling at Madge, though it was a sad smile.

The room emptied, Madge lay on her side facing toward the king and queen, though she had no clear view of them. The queen began to play and hum, a slow song. Madge thought she recognized it as a ballad from her childhood about a lady who was forced to marry against her will. Rather than give herself to her husband, she walked into the sea where she had watched her lover sail away. When the queen had finished the song, the king spoke softly.

“Madame, you have not lost your charm—I could listen to you sing all this night,” he said. He rose and indicated the queen was to rise also. Then, he took her in his arms and began to dance with her, gently, around the room. He sang himself, his strong tenor voice lilting this way and that, singing a love song. When the song was over, he kissed the queen on the mouth.

“Come away with me, Anne. Let us start anew. A Progress would take us far from here, far from our pain. Come away…” he said, kissing her face, her hands, her neck.

Her Majesty stood perfectly still. She seemed to allow this lovemaking but was not participating in it. It seemed to Madge that the queen’s inner heart was far, far away.

The king stopped his kisses and looked into the queen’s eyes.

“I cannot, Harry. I do not wish to go on Progress—I need some time to heal my body and my soul. You go ahead, beloved. Go and hunt as you list. When you return, I promise I will be my old self. While you are gone, I will spend my days in prayer and my nights also. I must have this time, dearest, else I may never return to myself,” said the queen with dignity.

“If this is what you wish … it shall be so. Perhaps it will help to send our daughter to you here. That should cheer you,” said the king.

Madge saw Anne’s face light up.

“Yes, Henry! Send Elizabeth to me, my love! And when you return, you shall find me ever cheerful and happy once more—then, my dearest, we shall endeavor to make a prince!” said the queen.

With that, she kissed the king on the cheek and clapped her hands for the servants to bring them refreshment. She did not see the dark look the king gave her in her happiness. But Madge saw.

*   *   *

Over the next week, plans and preparations were made for the king’s Progress. The princess Elizabeth journeyed from Hatfield with Lady Bryan, while the lady Mary stayed at Eltham with Madge’s parents. On the day before most of the court departed with the king, Madge was hurrying to Cate’s room, hoping to meet Arthur there. She had received a message from him that morning.

“Come in, Maddie-girl. I’m almost packed. I wish you were coming with me,” said Cate as she placed her creams and lotions into a cachet. Shadow sat at her side.

“You must keep your eyes and ears open—so you can report all to me of the king. If there are any who plot against Her Majesty, you must give me their names as well. With the loss of her son, the queen is in a weakened state, both in her body and mind, but also, I fear, with the king himself,” said Madge.

“Aye. It is said he is already enamored of a new beauty. He is a rascal, our sovereign. Barely buries his son until he’s on the move to a new love. Granted, I have not loved the queen but I am sorry for Anne now. These cannot be easy times for her,” said Cate.

“Indeed, they are not. But remember, Cate, though the queen follows the new religion, it is she who has tried to stop the dissolution of the monasteries and convents. She has made an enemy of Master Cromwell by doing so. And she has great concern for the poor and for the education of our people,” said Madge.