Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (29 page)

I had been drawn to study it since it came into my possession and much to my surprise, I found that it not only helped me understand the 16
^th
century mind, but it brought me great comfort and intellectual stimulation in the many hours that I spent away from court, and from Henry. I suspect that it was Anne’s genuine and deep piety which drew me ever deeper into the religious texts that she possessed; words such as faith, commitment and renewal would bring me great comfort in the incredibly trying circumstances that lay ahead.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps on the oak floorboards approaching the Long Gallery, and I looked up to see Dr Edward Foxe enter the room. Out of courtesy, I made to rise from my seat, but Dr Foxe immediately held up the palm of his hand as he spoke,

‘No, dear lady. Please do not arise on my account,’ he said walking towards me, climbing the few steps up to reach the large recessed area where I was sitting looking out of the window.

‘Then I pray you, sir, please do take a seat,’ I replied, indicating that he should sit down next to me. ‘It will be a great pleasure for me to enjoy your learned company, for, as you might imagine, we get very few visitors here at Hever.’ Dr Foxe nodded his head knowingly and smiled as if he understood how tedious the nature of my isolation might be for me—and for Anne. However, in my genuine delight at seeing that learned gentleman—for I was intrigued to know more of this man away from the calculating stare of Master Stevens, I forgot entirely that I was holding a banned, heretical text. I did not mean to draw attention to it, but when I realised that Master Tyndale’s Bible lay open in my lap, I gasped, becoming flustered and quickly closing its pages. Of course, I was horrified when Dr Foxe reached forward and took the book gently from my hands, flicking it open and scanning a number of pages, before raising his gaze to meet mine. I suspect that I looked panic-stricken, as I had expected ruthless accusations and searching questions. For the first time since my arrival in the 16th century, I was entirely lost for words; lost to find a plausible reason that would genuinely excuse my possession of such a manuscript. Incredulously, Edward Foxe smiled once again, and leant across to hand my book back to me, and as he did so, he spoke in a hushed tone,

‘Madame, you must not be afraid of me, for we share the same mind and know the truth of God’s word.’ Still somewhat stunned, I remained silent and allowed my companion to continue. ‘I must tell you Mistress Boleyn that it brings me incomparable joy to see you in possession of such a godly text.’ At this point, he leaned forward and in a whisper that was barely audible, he added,

‘Madame, there are increasing numbers of us at court who are being persuaded by the new faith. Yet until now, the great men of court who have held the most influence over His Majesty—the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, Exeter, the Courteneys and the like—have all been conservatives. With my own eyes, I see a miracle before me.’ He gestured towards me to indicate that that miracle was, in fact, Anne. ‘Increasingly, you above all others have the King’s ear. Those of us who wish with our body and soul to see the dawning of a new era in the Church are looking ever more to you to be our patron. I wish to assure you, Madame, that with every fibre of my being, I will do everything that I can to resolve the King’s Great Matter, so that His Majesty may take you as his true wife.’

I was entirely taken aback by Edward Foxe’s words. Whilst a wave of relief swept over me knowing that I was in the company of a friend, I was struck by the deep sincerity of his sentiments. I think it was at that moment I realised that this was no longer just about Anne and her love for Henry, but that many others, who themselves would become part of the reformed faith, looked to her to help bring the light to England. It was then that I completely understood the great responsibility that Anne felt, not only to her God in bringing her to this, but also to those people who prayed fervently for a new religious and social order in England. In the light of that understanding, my fear melted away, in its place a firm and steely resolve took form, to surrender myself to God’s will no matter what the consequences. Infused with a renewed sense of purpose, I nodded, holding Dr Foxe’s searching gaze as I hoped that he would see that I was worthy of this great honour. Before I had the opportunity to speak, Edward Foxe spoke again. This time he took out a second book from his own pocket.

‘Most virtuous and noble lady, I spoke with your father who indicated that you would wish to see this. I have carried it with me in the hope that I would find the means to deliver it to you in person.’ For a second time, he reached across, passing me a fine vellum-bound book, embossed with a fusion of geometrical patterns so popular in Renaissance England. I opened the front cover to find, not for the first time that day, my breath taken away.

‘
The Obedience of a Christian Man
, by William Tyndale.’ I read the title page aloud in reverent tones; I was immediately familiar with the historical significance of this book to the future of the English Church, and to England herself. It was another of Master Tyndale’s publications, smuggled into England secretly by brave men who dared to disobey the Roman Catholic Bishops’ attempts to suppress the propagation of the heretical ideas promulgated by Tyndale. I knew from history that Anne’s copy of this very same book would at some point in the future be stolen from her by one of Wolsey’s men; no doubt with a view to incite the King’s wrath against her. However, these men would once again underestimate Anne’s fearless courage and the deep bond that existed between Henry and his lady.

Boldly, she would go straight to the King and not only demand its return from Wolsey, but she would also encourage the King to read it for himself. The ideas contained within it would have a profound influence on Henry’s concept of kingship and the natural, subservient position of the Church in England in relation to God’s divinely appointed head here on Earth—Henry himself. This book would be the seed, planted within Henry’s mind, which would ultimately assist the English reformation and the dissolution of the English monasteries. I accepted this book from Dr Foxe, and said finally,

‘I thank you kindly for this gift, which in truth must surpass any jewel or precious thing that might be bestowed upon me. I will study it devoutly and keep it close to my heart.’

With those words, Dr Edward Foxe rose from his seat and knelt before me; taking my right hand in his, he bent forward to kiss it. In time, when his King’s Most Excellent Majesty would finally elevate Anne to the position of Queen Consort, such reverence would become entirely common to me. However, then, it had a profound impact and moved me greatly.

If the King’s proposal of marriage to Anne in the rose garden at Hever had been the first, private step towards her destiny, I sensed then that Anne was moving on to a very public stage. Slowly, but surely, those courtiers loyal to her would increasingly feel confident to honour her as a future Queen. From this point forth, there would be no more hesitancy. Anne was ready to accept her role in history.

Chapter Fifteen

Windsor Castle

February 25 - 26, 1528

A few weeks later, my mother and I were making our way on horseback to join the King and court at Windsor Castle, where we were to be Henry’s guests of honour; and I knew from his letters that he eagerly awaited my arrival. With the weather much improved, we set out from Hever with a small retinue of servants and a number of wagons carrying our possessions to court with us. These included my burgeoning wardrobe of fine clothes, jewels and other gifts from the King that befitted my elevated status as, by then, Anne was moving in the highest echelons of England’s aristocratic society.

I had been away from court for almost four months, hidden away in seclusion at Hever, whilst learned men wrangled with the complexities that kept Henry bound in his marriage to Katherine. Frustratingly, there had been little news from Doctors Gardiner and Foxe that could give cause for either of us to be merry. Having arrived in Orvieto, the two men had yet to secure an audience with Pope Clement VII. It was becoming increasingly evident that he prevaricated, whilst watching the power struggle between the armies of France and the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V. It seemed that the Pope was playing a shrewd political game. Whilst the Emperor controlled Rome, should the French army—sent to avenge the sacking of the city—fail in their endeavours, Clement would find himself ever more at the mercy of Katherine’s nephew. In hindsight, the timing of Henry’s pursuit of his annulment to Katherine couldn’t have been worse. Had Henry sought his divorce just a couple of years earlier, the outcome for England, and for Anne, might have been very different. Without the need to please Katherine’s nephew, the Pope may well have moved to grant Henry his annulment without fuss. There would have been no need to break with the Roman Catholic Church, no dissolution of the monasteries, and perhaps no Reformation. Anne’s fate may also have been very different.

That morning, we left Hever as soon as the light allowed, making our way on horseback at a goodly and steady pace across the counties of Kent and Surrey. The weather had been kind to us with little rain in the preceding weeks; the intermittent blustery winds that tenaciously gripped the southern counties of England had dried out the roads, increasing the speed at which we were able to travel. The King arranged for us to transfer to a barge at Hampton Court, the magnificent red brick Tudor palace belonging to Cardinal Wolsey that dominated the Thames near Esher. Our horses and belongings continued by road to Windsor.

Hampton Court was one of the few Tudor Royal palaces to survive in substantial form into the 21st century. I visited it often in my modern day life; indeed, I remembered it clearly from my first visit as a child. Already in awe of Tudor history and architecture, I recall being spellbound as we approached the distinctive main Gatehouse, hardly able to contain my excitement in anticipation of exploring every nook and cranny of this, one of Henry’s five original ‘Great Houses.’ Yet only the half of the original palace survives. In the 17th century, subsequent monarchs carried out major alterations, such that we were left with a rather peculiar building, half Tudor, half Baroque, which I considered an act of vandalism; the beguiling charm of the 16th century Renaissance architecture far outshining, at least in my mind, the Baroque design.

There I was, once again, approaching Wolsey’s grand palace riding Starlight. As the full panorama of the building came into view, I drew her reins to a halt; my mother followed suit beside me, as we admired in awe and wonder the vast expanse of the palace that abutted the Northern bank of the Thames. The King once famously remarked that he ‘had nothing to compare with it;’ that is until Henry and I remodelled York Place, which would later be known as Whitehall.

From the Great Gatehouse, through which I had passed in my 21st century life, I could see that the palace extended along the river edge for some six hundred feet or more, if you took into account the Great Court and various outbuildings which led up to its entrance. Running from left to right, and encompassed within the palace precinct, was the huge vaulted roof of the Great Hall, the large central donjon containing the main apartments of the palace; a series of walls and towers, which surrounded the Privy Garden, and finally the Watergate, which was under construction and which opened on to the Thames itself.

Towers, domes, chimneys and turrets soared upwards into the sky, completely dominating the vista and dwarfing the few wattle and daub houses nestled along the main track running by the entrance to the palace. As we surveyed the scene in silence, Elizabeth Boleyn finally spoke,

‘Oh, good Lord! Is it not truly marvellous to think that such a magnificent palace is owned by a butcher’s son?’ I said nothing but raised my eyebrows to convey my incredulity. My mother was referring to the Cardinal’s lowly beginnings in the market town of Ipswich in Suffolk. This was always a source of much derision for the nobility, who eyed the Cardinal’s enormous wealth with great envy. It was little wonder that the Roman Catholic Church in England would find itself so vulnerable to attack from its enemies on the grounds of its excesses. Indeed, from my father’s intelligence, it seemed the Cardinal was also guilty of diverting money that was rightfully the King’s; all this to line his own pockets and furnish his great houses.

After a brief conversation in which my mother and I had marvelled at Wolsey’s vast wealth, we rode forward down to the banks of the Thames and to a splendid barge which awaited our arrival. We were clearly to be rowed upstream from Hampton Court towards Windsor in considerable comfort.

With our river journey underway, we passed by ordinary country folk, those working the land, as well as merchants making their way along roads that ran alongside the banks of the Thames. Many of them paused from their labours to watch our stately progress.

We were clearly of some considerable interest; two elegantly dressed ladies of noble birth being rowed in a sumptuous barge by men dressed in the King’s livery. I studied their weathered faces and impassive stares and wished so much to know what was in their hearts. In the fullness of time, Anne would be their Queen, although notoriously, she would never have an easy relationship with the people of England; particularly those womenfolk who resented the displacement of Katherine, a Queen who had always been held in warm affection by the common folk of the realm. As Margery Wyatt had predicted, Anne would always be judged harshly. She would be an easy target for their resentment; they would always fear a woman who could take the King away from his rightful wife. For if the Queen of England could have her lawful husband stolen by another woman then what did that mean for the security of their marriages? Such brazen and unscrupulous behaviour could not be tolerated.

Some twenty miles upstream, the magnificent edifice of Windsor Castle came into view. Like Hampton Court, Windsor was entirely recognisable to me; for although the interior would be greatly altered over the centuries, its external appearance would remain almost completely unchanged. In the 21st century, Windsor Castle is still a residence of the Royal family and despite a horrific fire in my own lifetime, which extensively damaged parts of the state apartments, it had been restored with such tender loving care that it remained not only an icon of national identity, but a beloved family home. I was used to the view of Windsor Castle in my modern day life, and was eager to drink in the scale of its original beauty with its motte and bailey design, which had been much extended and embellished by successive monarchs over several centuries. From the regal state apartments at the east end of the castle, the building extended westwards some 500 feet or more, encompassing the elevated, central Round Tower (although not as tall as I recalled) and towards its west end, the beautiful and distinctive outline of St George’s Chapel. Below the castle walls, a smattering of rather elegant houses lined the grassy banks of the Thames, dwarfed by the fortifications which loomed over them. Unlike many of the other Tudor Palaces built during the 15th and 16th century, when the houses of the gentry no longer fulfilled a defensive function, Windsor Castle had been built some 500 hundred years earlier when fortified royal residences were vital. My mother suddenly spoke,