Threads: The Reincarnation of Anne Boleyn (15 page)

Once we had obtained approval from both sets
of parents, we were privately betrothed with my family witnessing
the vows. We exchanged rings in a simple handfasting ceremony, and
wore them on our right ring fingers. They would be moved to the
left hand in the actual wedding ceremony.

The ceremony was not officiated by a priest
because it did not have to be in order to be binding. However, it
might have been conducted by a priest, and should have been, and
could have been had we only gone to the trouble to get one. This
oversight cost us our marriage because it could never be proved
that the handfasting ever took place. Henry could not even prove it
years later, after he wanted very badly to prove it in order to
invalidate our marriage. Had we gotten a priest, the betrothal
would have been too binding for Henry to overthrow. He would have
had to let us marry.

Sometimes decisions haunt you. Our lives
turned upon that one decision: We had the opportunity, and yet we
did not call upon a priest.

After the ceremony, I gave a token to Hal,
which he pinned to his hat, as men do when they are betrothed. He
did this with quips and a comical flourish, but his eyes were
shining with love for me, and the token was to become one of his
cherished treasures. The memory of his eyes became one of mine.

I took short periodic leaves from court to
make preparations for the wedding from our London house. Hal stayed
with us, when he was able, and traveled back and forth bringing
gossip and presents. Among other things, he gave me a pearl and
garnet pendant as a gift from his mother and, as his own engagement
gift, a gold ring shaped as a love knot. Both of these had to be
given away in time, for Henry knew their origin. I was left with
precious little to keep as a remembrance.

My family made arrangements for a feast to
celebrate and publicly announce the engagement. Hard work and
continual spats had gone into the creation of a guest list we
revised a dozen times. Dress makers and cloth merchants flowed into
and out of our house while I stood and suffered hour upon hour of
fittings for my bridal wardrobe and gown. In the meantime, Hal and
I traveled to his parents’ home, taking rides across their acreage,
considering possible sites for a house of our own and consulting
with architects over layouts and designs. They were happy, busy
months.

As required, we officially applied for the
King’s approval of our marriage, and barely thought of this again,
for we could see no reason he might to prevent it since Wolsey had
not. We had no expectation of problems. Plans continued to be made.
An artist was scheduled to come in three months to paint a wedding
portrait. My mother had begun to list the game and libations needed
for the wedding feast, and was making arrangements at Hever Chapel
for the ceremony. She and Father met privately with Hal’s parents
to discuss and agree upon my dowry. The meeting was clearly a
success—Hal and I both agreed it had been a success—and the outcome
pleased us. Both sets of parents gave their blessings, with Hal’s
parents stating they could not but bless a union that promised
their son such joy.

Decisions were now being finalized, and I was
indecisively selecting the color of the flowers for my garland of
roses. I had a weakness for bright things, and wanted a garland of
every color, but my mother warned against such gaudy indulgences. I
had to settle upon one. I anguished over details. Was the blue trim
on my gown too bright? I loved red or yellow roses best, but would
they be too colorful against the blue? Would pink roses be childish
and make me too sallow? Should I change the color of the love knot
on my gown? If it were sewn in dark green I could carry yellow
flowers . . . but the blue gave me such joy! It was the color Hal
preferred.

As the day grew closer, my ability to decide
upon anything grew weaker and I began to lean more and more on the
words and advice of others. I suffered from lapses of memory and
often grew confused and bewildered over minor things. I burst into
tears one day, frustrated over having stared at a woman I had known
for years, unable to think of her name.

“It will only get worse,” Emma reassured me,
patting my hand. “Thou wilt not regain full use of thy faculties
until the day is past. ‘Tis God’s kind way of ensuring that His
children go through with the sacrament of marriage. Were they in
full control of their minds before the day, surely none would see
it to its conclusion.”

“God’s efforts are wasted then,” I answered.
“I can assure thee I would see this through to a conclusion, even
with
a mind. Had I no limbs to walk to him, I would
crawl.”

“Aye,” Emma said fondly and gently. “Thou
hast found a man, not to walk, but to run to. I envy thee thy
fortune.”

Hal and I saw each other daily during those
times when he was in London. Still chaste, we found it ever more
difficult to wait, and were intensely eager to move past the
wedding and into the marriage.

The day came when the King would give his
approval. His decision would be relayed to Hal by Cardinal Wolsey
while I awaited confirmation back in Kent, where my family had gone
for a short rest. Hal promised to come to me immediately when he
returned from his interview with Wolsey—a long day’s ride or more
on horseback—yet he still had not arrived by afternoon of the
following day. I began to feel concern for his welfare. There was
something terribly wrong, I knew, and while I did not sense that
Hal was hurt, I could not pinpoint the reason for my dread. I
worried in broad generalities. I had been feeling this uneasiness
since early the previous day so, while Hal’s delay was chilling, it
was not altogether unexpected, based on the warnings I had received
in my heart. I sent servants to ask along the road if Hal was
spotted or found injured, then spent a sleepless night imagining
all manner of horrors that might have befallen him.

A violent storm had moved in. I stood with my
forehead pressed against the window, staring into the darkness
through the rivulets, waiting for bursts of lightening to
illuminate a drive empty of all but mud. I stood there for most of
the night.

Hal finally arrived the day following, well
past sunset, soaked and pale. When he was ushered in from the
courtyard and into the kitchen by the servant, he looked as if he
had been crying. I raced into the room to meet him, but he avoided
my eyes. Frightened, I felt him for injury and pressed him for an
explanation while he stood silent and distraught. Before he could
explain—perhaps to postpone explanation—my mother ordered a servant
to lead him to inner chambers where he could change into dry
clothing and lose his chill before a fire.

He took his time, then when he emerged he
begged my parents to excuse us, and requested that we not be
disturbed under any circumstances. He led me upstairs to a quiet
room where he ordered the servants away and barred the door.

My parents waited below with anxiety. They
had taken a huge risk in supporting a marriage not yet endorsed by
the King, and had done so on the basis of my word and Hal’s. The
blame, and the King’s displeasure, would be pointed squarely at
them. Consequently, they were severely frightened by Hal’s demeanor
and what it could mean for all of our futures. They sat in near
darkness, waiting and not speaking for the duration of my
discussion with Hal.

All servants were quietly ordered away from
the second floor, and these scuttled about with feigned purpose in
order to be at hand when we came down. A few raced to the servants
quarters to sound a hissed warning that something was awry. Faces
were peering from behind every corner, and more servants were
visible or within reach than would be called upon for a banquet.
There was a sense of dread in the household.

Our request was denied. Hal had spent many
hours alone before coming to me, preparing himself for this
unforeseen change in our plans and our lives, preparing his speech
to me. Prior to that he had gone to his parents to request their
assistance, and was alarmed to discover that they were in agreement
with the King. Furthermore, they reminded him of his obligation to
them, and to the family whose daughter was truly his betrothed.

Hal had not even
had
a “betrothed”,
aside from myself, until this day! Wolsey, himself, had raised the
objections that had earlier ended that match, but was now changing
his position and forcing it! Hal’s parents were forcing it as well.
And all of them were oddly ignoring the fact that a handfasting
ceremony had bound us, and that we were, in fact, truly married (or
as good as!) in the eyes of God and the Church. They did all this
just that suddenly. Queerly. Just like that, and for no discernible
reason.

He had no choice, Hal’s father stated
bluntly. Mistress Anne was not what they had in mind for him, and
he was to marry immediately lest he show signs of defiance and do
something insubmissive and rash.

My parents hurriedly leaped to a position of
self-preservation. They made quick—
and conspicuous
—show of
their own disapproval of the marriage. They publicly criticized me,
and made deferential, placating apologies to the King for their
daughter’s headstrong disobedience to their wishes. They served me
up for carving on a platter with a sprig of parsley and an apple in
my mouth, leaving me publicly shamed and without familial
support.

They had not shown signs of disapproval
before. The mere suggestion that they should have found fault with
Hal would have brought tears of laughter to my eyes. Hal was a plum
indeed, and my parents could not contain their glee.

Hal had met this woman, his “betrothed”, a
few times over the years. He had always found her repellent. She
was too portly for his tastes, and too tall. She cackled and
insulted. She moved with lightening speed from mincing modesty to
shocking vulgarity in her demeanor and comments. She blinked
uncomprehendingly at Hal’s witty observations, then flew into
wheezing fits of hysteria over cheap and ribald quips of her own
that caused Hal to blush with discomfort and shame. He had found
her to be abrasive and offensive, and had on several occasions seen
her eyes follow, not the men, but the women with looks of lust.

She clearly found Hal to be less than a
desirable partner, and made no attempt to hide it. As for Hal, he
would eagerly give her any chambermaid as a wedding gift rather
than join her in the marriage bed and in one sense was relieved.
She would never seek him out. He felt he simply could not do it
with her, even drunk or threatened. Not even to produce an
heir.

And so he came to me, ashen-faced with
swollen eyes. He had an advantage over me, having spent his hours
alone adjusting to these changes and regaining his composure. I, on
the other hand, had to react to communication of the King’s
decision with Hal present, and no forewarning.

“Wolsey denied our request,” he said. “We
cannot marry.”

I stared at him for a very, very long spell
and did not speak, feeling blood drain out of me, not knowing where
it might be going, and not caring if it ever returned to sustain me
again. As his words echoed and taunted me, Hal tried to fill the
silence with descriptions of his conversation with Wolsey. He grew
more and more unnerved by my stare, for my face had no expression
and I did not blink. I fixed my eyes upon his and looked at him. I
did not twitch a muscle. I might have been a corpse.

“Anne?” He whispered finally, reaching over
to touch my hand. I pulled it away from him in an angry motion.
“Didst thou not hear me? Art thou not feeling well? Please speak to
me.”

I answered “No,” in a whisper of my own. In
shock, I whispered “No” over and over, then exploded into hysteria,
pulling at my hair, tearing off my headpiece and hurling it,
pounding my fists on the table and then against Hal’s chest
screaming “
NOoooo!
” Hal grabbed my hands and held them. He
pressed them to his lips.

“I will
always
love
thee!” I
wailed, looking at Hal accusingly as if he were to blame. I twisted
my wrists in an attempt to free them from his grasp; there was a
table that still badly needed pounding and fists that wanted to
bleed. “I cannot be parted from thee—I can
not
!”

I stamped my foot in a gesture that would
have made the servants race to make things right and proper once
again, had they any power to assist. I flailed at Hal and furiously
pulled away from him when he reached over to hold and comfort me,
pummelling him to make him keep his distance. I whirled, and
knocked over everything that stood upright, shocking both Hal and
myself with my strength. I babbled incomprehensibly, screaming “NO,
I
canno-ot
!” in the midst of it. It was just as it had been
when I was a child. I had more emotion than I had room for. I had
no place to put the pain.

Hal stood and watched me with helpless hands
at his side, an expression of terror and shock in his eyes. I was
not the distraught woman he had thought to encounter this night. I
was a demon unleashed from Hell.

I did not feel I could survive this. One half
of me had just been amputated, the half that contained my heart.
Having expended my energy in a fit far more wrenching than any I
had ever had in childhood, I felt faint, and sank to my knees on
the floor where I doubled over and sobbed. Hal picked me up, as I
was now too weak to fight him, and carried me to a chair where he
sat and rocked me. I pressed my face into his shoulder and wept. He
stroked my hair, humming and shooshing and whispering to me as if I
were a child. It was the last time he held me on his lap.

In time I calmed down and attempted to view
the matter in a rational way.

“There must be something we can do,” I
offered hopefully, wiping my nose and eyes. “We will ask again. We
will plead with the King. There is something.”