The Kiss of the Concubine: A story of Anne Boleyn (20 page)

My mind quickly conjures up the unlikely scenario that I am carrying a girl
, but I push the image quickly away and place my hands over his so that we are both cradling my womb. While he kisses my belly, I nurse his head. His hat has fallen to the floor and his close-cropped hair is burnished into slivers of bright gold by the torches.

A thought nags at my mind. “Henry,” I say. “If we do not announce our marriage soon, I am afraid the people will claim our prince was not conceived within wedlock. I would not have him called bastard.”

He looks up at me, his face glowing, his eyes alight with triumph. “I shall summon Cromwell and Cranmer, they can do what I pay them to and put their clever heads together and come up with an answer, so worry no more.”

Satisfied
, I lie back in my chair again while he continues to stroke and kiss my flat belly. I suddenly crave an apple, not the shrivelled fruit that has been stored since the autumn but a fresh, plump apple, just plucked from a tree, smelling of sunshine and … Tom.

The thought of apple trees and summer time always brings a fleeting memory of youth and the days when Tom would to ride over with a few bushels of apples. I sigh
momentarily for those easier times.

“What?” Henry raises his head. “Did you say something?”

I push memory away and let my hands trickle down Henry’s cheeks, playfully I pull at his nose. “I said, bid them be quick about it for we have little time.”

My coronation, to be held on Whit Sunday, is but a few days away and the preparations are almost complete. The streets are scrubbed and adorned with arras, velvet and tissue of gold. There will be flowers everywhere, and my white falcon badge will be prominent above every arch and doorway. At the palace, new clothes and jewels, for both me and my ladies, begin to fill my apartments, and the guests begin to arrive.

The royal palace
becomes crammed with dignitaries so rapidly that the lower orders are forced to look elsewhere for lodgings. Of course, there are those who refuse to attend, those who hate me and refute my role as Henry’s queen. Although they decline in the prettiest manner, it is plain to see their loyalty to Catherine and Mary lurking behind their sorry excuses. Even Henry’s sister refuses to come, pleading sickness, just as she did on our trip to Calais. “You should insist she comes, Henry,” I hiss through tight lips. “Her excuses are an insult to both of us. She pays more loyalty to Catherine than to you, her monarch. She is your subject and should be reminded of that.”

He lifts his shoulders, opens his eyes wide. “She is sick! What would you have me do,
have her dragged from her bed to attend you?”

“It is an excuse, Henry.
Plain and simple. Your sister despises me for a commoner and her pride will not give me the precedence I deserve.”

“Oh, you women.
Why must you always bicker? Come here, sweetheart, sit beside me and tell me how our son is faring today.”

At the mention of our prince
, my temper softens a little and I move toward him, allow him to caress my belly. “He grows apace.”

Henry kisses the velvet bulge of my womb. “With our prince so much in evidence
, there will be no refuting your fitness to be our queen. You are beautiful, virtuous and fertile, Anne, and you have my undying love. Remember that should your fears get the better of you.”

He stands up and pulls me close
, so that I am cradled in the softness of his doublet. Being in his arms is like floating on a fragrant cloud; I feel cherished, safe. He senses my fears even if he cannot understand them. Henry is used to being in the public eye, but I am less so and nervous about the forthcoming events.

The celebrations are to cover several days, beginning with a vast river pageant
. All of London will be there. From the nobility down to the lowest whore, they will be watching … and judging, and it is hard to forget that not all of those eyes will look kindly upon me.

Urien
, who has been asleep at the hearth, lifts his head. Hearing a scuffling outside the door, we draw apart as Brandon and Norris are announced. Henry Norris has some business with the king so, to give them some peace, I join my ladies in the antechamber. They are gathered at the window and I mingle with them, taking a place beside my sister-in-law.

Jane smiles her brittle smile. “How
are my sister and her little prince today?”

“I am very well, if a little fraught with nerves.” We both lean across the sill, admiring the green gardens, the courtiers moving slowly along honey
-coloured avenues. Nan, soon to be wed to Lord Berkeley, hears my words and sets out to soothe me.

“You have no call to be nervous, My Lady. Everything is arranged down the smallest detail. Even the palace mice have been issued with tiny tables and napkins.”

I nudge her with my shoulder, giggling in spite of my fermenting anxiety. Looking down I recognise Mary, who is wearing one of my discarded French hoods to replace her own that was growing shabby. As my sister, we cannot allow her poverty to show. Jane follows my eye. “Who is Mary flirting with now?”

The angle from which we are looking foreshortens the figures, making them appear stouter. “I’m not sure.” I crane my neck, leaning to the right. “Oh, I recognise him now. He was at Calais, part of the garrison. I saw her with him when we were there, he must have come across for the coronation.”

“Hmm, her laughter is too loud. You must find her a worthy husband soon, before her reputation is damaged for good.”

Nan and I exchange faces behind Jane’s back. She is renowned for giving vent to her opinion unasked
, but I am not in the mood for discord today.

“Henry and I have discussed it, since Father is not prepared to do anything for her.”

“Well, for goodness sake, make sure you find her someone virile and firm enough to keep her in hand.”

The door opens and the king and his gentleman enter
. Norris is laughing at something the king said, his head thrown back, earning Henry’s approving smile. They come toward us and, as soon as I am within his reach, Henry slips his arm around my waist.

“All is set for the celebration,
my love. Norris here was just telling me that the barge is ready and is looking splendid after the re-fit.”

I clap my hands. “Oh, good, I was worried it wouldn’t be ready in time.”

The barge, which is the best in the land, used to belong to Catherine, but I refused to use it until every sign of her ownership was removed. Now, at great cost, it has been re-gilded and her arms replaced with mine and when I am rowed upriver to the Tower, it shall be in the finest royal barge to ever grace the Thames.

I will always love the river in May, just because of this day when the whole world is twittering with joy. A little after noon, I am escorted to the waiting barge and settled upon soft downy cushions. My ladies spread the skirts of my cloth-of-gold gown around me and smooth my hair, which is left to hang loose. Mary is with me, and Nan and Madge sit to my left, but the rest of my women follow behind on another barge.

The craft bobs and dips on the water as the twenty
-four rowers take their places at the oars. Beside me, Mary is pink with excitement, for once forgetting to begrudge my good fortune.

“Oh, Anne.
Did you see that? Look!” She points across the river, and following the line of her finger I peer through the seething river-traffic. Flags and bunting flutter in the light breeze, the sun glaring on gold foil hangings and drapes. Across the crowded water, the most extraordinary thing that I have ever seen is gliding toward us. I draw in my breath, opening my eyes in surprise.

“Good Lord, whatever is that?” I crane my neck and squint into the sun, focusing upon the dragon moving majestically toward us. Surrounded by beasts and wild men as it goes on its way, the dragon slowly turns its head from side to side, every so often belching forth a blast of flame.

The first time it does so, Mary gives a little yelp. “How do they make it do that? Isn’t it marvellous?” She turns to look at me, her eyes bright with pleasure, and it makes me glad to glimpse her old self. This is how she used to be. She could almost be sixteen again. I reach out and squeeze her hand.

“I don’t know how they do it
, but it is wonderful. Oh, if only George were here to share it instead of stuck in France on the king’s business.”

“We must just look forward to telling him all about it when he gets back. Oh look
, Anne, look at that one, the launch coming along behind the Mayor.”

This time I see a
wherry bearing an enormous crowned white falcon, proudly roosting on a nest of red and white roses. All around the green cloth hill on which he rests are a group of virgins, whose sweet songs float across the river. Leaning forward in my seat I raise my hand and smile, and one little girl, forgetting her instruction, waves back.

Bolstered by her friendliness, I relax into the cushions a little, swallow my emotion and try not to think of the exhausting hours that still lay ahead.

For two hours we move through the joyous commotion, and I begin to think that whether the people like me or not, they all love a revel and an excuse for celebration. As my nerves recede I begin to enjoy myself. I sit up straight so that the crowd can see the proud curve of my belly, and share with them the comfort that our prince is soon to be born to England.

When the first of the gun salutes tear
s through the air, shattering my calm, the child leaps in my womb and I comfort him with gentle strokes. As we approach the bend in the river and the Tower looms in the distance, the guns continue, round after round of fire. Then the big guns sound, putting the previous din in the shade as a final crescendo of devastating blasts greets me as the barge glides toward the landing steps at Tower Wharf

Before Henry and I can be alone
, there are official receptions to be borne. I nod and smile and try to be as gracious as I can, although sometimes it is difficult to remember who I am being introduced to. But at last we are ushered from the crowd and led along corridors, up twisted stairways to the newly-refurbished royal apartments. I sink gratefully onto the bed, kick off my shoes and roll into the pillows. A chair creaks and I open my eyes to see Henry settled at the hearth. He takes off his hat and tosses it onto the seat beside him. “You must be tired, Anne. How is our boy, has he endured the proceedings well?”

“Very well,” I reply, rolling onto my back again so that my belly juts into the air. “He wasn’t too sure about the cannon but he is quiet now, and I can enjoy some rest.”

“Yes, you sleep, my dear. You will need to be fresh for the evening banquet.” He picks up a lute and begins to quietly strum, every so often raising his voice in song, the high-pitched tone lulling me to sleep.

We are to spend the next few days here at the Tower, and tomorrow there will be further ceremony when the king invests knighthoods and honours on our favourites, as well as our not so favourite. Henry says it is his way of ensuring that even our dissenters give an outward show of support.

“They are greedy,” he sneers. “I will wave the honours beneath their noses like a giant carrot before a donkey, and they will not be able to resist.”

H
e is right. They do come, dressed in their finest. Hiding their dislike of me, their pity for Catherine, and their loyalty to Rome beneath false smiles of bonhomie, they come to watch as I am crowned.

Ye
t there are still those few who stay away, and I mentally make note of their names. The Earl of Shrewsbury pleads a sick stomach and sends his son in his stead. Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, is present but his wife, Henry’s sister, Mary, and their half-grown daughter both stay away – surely they can’t both be sick. But to our great chagrin, the most blatant missing person, and pleading no excuse for it, is the former Chancellor, Thomas More. This snub wounds Henry deeply for he is Henry’s oldest and dearest friend.

The filmy white cloth slithers over my head, moulding to my body to proudly reveal the contours of my blessed womb. My hair, left loose, cascades past my waist in a cloud of gleaming darkness, contrasting perfectly with the golden coronet they will place upon it.

“Oh, you are lovely, My Lady, quite lovely.” Her hushed voice reassures me this is no idle compliment and I can see for myself that Nan’s assessment is
correct. The looking-glass reveals a woman quite unlike myself. Pregnancy has plumped not just my body but also my face, and excitement, together with a little fear, gleams in my eye as my cheeks are warmed by the heat of the day. My bosom is high, my belly replete with a royal prince, and the future stretches before me like a red carpet of opportunity. 

Today marks the final step on my journey. By this evening I will be queen, and then my proper work can begin. With Henry’s support I can make England a better place. I can aid George in his bid to redeem those whose philosophies have made them outcasts. I shall create a haven of new learning and theology
, and lead the way in the reformation of our Holy Church. When the time comes, although I hope it will be long away, my son will rule a peaceful realm and head a Church scrubbed free of corruption and blasphemy. As from tomorrow, my battles will be over.