Ambition's Queen: A Novel of Tudor England (22 page)

Anne ignored the governess and took her daughter into her arms. The little girl murmured something and burrowed into the queen’s shoulder, her small body relaxing in sleep. Anne tenderly smoothed Elizabeth’s hair and turned to look at Bridget. “Come, we go to look for the king.”

The little trio departed, the queen in the vanguard, Bridget following behind. They attracted quite a bit of interest as they swept through the palace, although Bridget noticed that several people did not look at the queen as they walked by. They kept their heads resolutely turned to the side and seemed embarrassed, like they were children caught out disobeying their parents. Anne treated them as though they were invisible.

Soon enough they reached the king’s rooms. The guards stood aside and Anne strode in, displaying a confidence she must not have felt. The rooms were nearly empty, with only a few of the king’s attendants hovering about. They looked both alarmed and abashed to see Anne and all hastily bowed as one.

Two tall men stood over by a window, their faces close together in conversation. They turned in surprise at Anne’s arrival but neither one bothered to bow. The duo was Sir Edward Seymour and Sir Nicholas Carew, the king’s master of horse and Anne’s long-time enemy. She looked at each man carefully and both boldly returned her gaze. “I seek the king,” she said. “As you see I have my daughter with me. I must speak to my husband on an urgent matter.”

Sir Nicholas raised a sardonic eyebrow and remained contemptuously silent. Sir Edward adopted a similar aspect, but he did not stay mute. “The king is closeted with Master Secretary Cromwell, madam. I am astonished you do not know this; it is the talk of the court. I am afraid that His Majesty will not be available to you or your . . . child today. Or this evening, either. He likes to dine with myself, my wife, and my sister these days. I am sure you have heard about that.”

Sir Nicholas stifled laughter and even Seymour could hardly contain himself. Anne looked each man up and down with undisguised loathing and left without a word. As soon as they were out of the room, she spun around, her voice shaking with anger, saying, “I vow that if it is ever within my power I will have those two gentlemen’s heads, even if I have to swing the axe myself! I swear it, they will not long enjoy themselves at my expense!”

The queen spent a frustrating afternoon waiting for the king to emerge, but he never did. Eventually she had to return a fractious Elizabeth to a disapproving Lady Bryan and return to her own apartments. Upon arrival, she encountered Mark Smeaton standing in the round window of her presence chamber, gazing out of it with a wistful look on his face. “Why are you so sad, Mark?” the queen asked. A theatrical sigh was the only answer. Anne’s patience snapped. “Do not think I will speak to you as a gentleman because you are not one. You are only a musician.”

Smeaton blushed and moved away from the window. “No, no, Majesty, a look from you suffices me. And thus I will leave you.” The young man bowed and edged away. Anne shook her head in annoyance and continued into the chamber where a hasty meal had been prepared for her. Nobody spoke very much throughout and the queen retired early to bed where she had a largely sleepless night, her mind too full of dark thoughts to rest.

Consequently, Anne was in a bad mood the next morning and she ate virtually nothing to break her fast. In order to cheer her mistress, Joanna suggested that they go outside and watch some bear baiting in Greenwich Park. Bridget had to swallow her objection to attending the spectacle for she never liked to watch animal fights, considering them to be a cruel pastime. Most of the court however did like them, including the queen. In fact, she was happy with Joanna’s idea and agreed immediately to go and watch the bout.

With a reluctant heart, Bridget followed along to the bear garden and took her place with the ladies in the raised stands surrounding the circular pit. A huge brown bear, its sunken eyes wide with fright, was chained to a post towards the edge of the pit, the chain pulled tight around its neck. A group of bulldogs, barely under the control of their keeper, strained to be let loose on their prey, their low growling easily audible over the noise of the crowd. The keeper let the first one go and he made straight for the bear, leaping on it with great gusto. The bear roared and pulled mightily against his chain whilst simultaneously trying to dislodge the dog that had bitten deeply into his flesh. Eventually he managed to push the dog away only to have another set on him. And then another and another. The bear fought until his fur was running with blood and he could barely stand upright. After a long struggle, he had no more strength left in him and he made no attempt to protect his throat against the final bulldog’s glistening teeth. The crowd yelled madly as the dog’s jaws clamped shut and the bear groaned its last. There was much clapping and stamping of feet as the keeper fought to remove the triumphant dog before he was able to unchain the bear from his bloody post. The brave creature fell dead in the dust, and the crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers. Bridget swallowed back the bile that burned in her throat.

The queen, her mood much improved, and her ladies took their time in returning to the apartments as Anne wanted to enjoy the warm sunshine. “I have been cooped up inside too long,” she said, her face turned towards the blue sky. “I hope the weather will be as pleasant as this in Calais. I require a smooth crossing and a warm climate if I am to conceive a prince. I feel that my luck is about to change and that this trip will be what starts it all.”

Thus, Anne eventually returned to her rooms in a good mood. She found Sir Henry Norris waiting in her privy chamber. Almost immediately, as soon as she saw him, a change came over her. “Sir Henry,” she greeted him with deceptive mildness, “are you finally come to claim my long-suffering cousin as your bride? You have certainly taken your time about it.”

Sir Henry laughed a little in response and shook his head, careful to avoid making eye contact with Madge Shelton, who had moved as far away from him as the room allowed. “I would tarry a little time, madam, before embarking upon matrimony again,” he answered smoothly.

“Yes, yes, you would tarry a little time,” Anne retorted, mimicking Norris with uncanny accuracy. “I have heard this line from you many times, sir, but I do not believe it. I think you dissemble, Sir Henry. I think that you
do
want to marry, just not to my poor cousin.”

Anne stepped close to Norris, her black eyes flashing with dark intensity, his blue eyes clashing with and yet oddly reflecting them. A strange sort of energy danced between them. “I know what you truly look for, sir, and that is dead men’s shoes, for if aught ever came to the king but good, you would look to have me!”

The look of attraction that had leapt in Henry Norris’s eyes died and turned to cold shock. He took a hasty step backwards and licked his lips nervously. Bridget’s attention was briefly taken by the sight of Lady Rochford quickly leaving the room, the hem of her dress skimming like a yellow flash across the floor. “Your Majesty,” Norris declared, with unaccustomed passion, “if I had ever desired such a thing I would my head were off!”

“Oh, do you, sir?” Anne fired back. “Well, perhaps I can help you with that, for I could undo you like this,” she clicked her fingers, “if I so desired!”

Sir Henry made to walk away, but Anne grabbed his arm to prevent him and they began to have a furious quarrel. The other ladies looked astounded, and Bridget felt that she must intervene. “Madam, please stop,” she said, interposing herself between the combatants. “Have a care, Majesty, you are being both watched and listened to. You know that many seek your downfall, so do not give them further material to hurt you with.”

The queen glared heatedly at Norris, then she collapsed in a chair, all the fight in her fading away. “Bridget is right,” she said, her hands shaking. “I allowed my tongue to run away with me. Norris,” she ordered, addressing the still obviously shocked courtier, “you must go to my almoner, Skip, and tell him that I am a good woman. You must swear to it lest our conversation has been overheard and then misrepresented by those who would injure me. Go, quickly!”

Norris left without a backwards glance. Catherine leant across to Bridget and said, “By nightfall, the whole court will know of this.” In the event, it did not take that long.

Within two hours, Lord Rochford and Sir William Brereton had arrived to see the queen, full of worry at the stories circulating about Anne and Norris’s argument. “We hear that the tale has even reached the king’s ears, through that almoner of yours, Mister Skip,” Brereton said, “went running to your chamberlain, Baynton, as soon as Norris told him, and he in turn went scurrying off to Cromwell. Fearful for his neck, no doubt.”

Anne listened with mounting dismay. It was clear from her expression that she knew she had made a foolish mistake and now she had to cast about, frantically, for a remedy. “There is only one thing I can do,” she said with determination. “I must speak to the king, and this time I will not be put off by Seymour, Carew, or anyone else. Bridget, go and fetch the princess, I do not care what Lady Bryan says, and hurry back here.”

The young maid did as she was bid and, once again, the little girl was taken from her unimpressed governess and delivered to her mother. Instead of being sleepy, Elizabeth was irritable and almost immediately started to cry. Anne shushed her as best she could as she walked purposefully out of her apartments in search of her husband.

On this occasion, the king proved easy to locate. Anne rounded a corner, Elizabeth fidgeting in her arms, Bridget trailing behind, and there he was. The king and a contingent of his attendants stood just ahead of them. “Your Majesty!” she called out, and the king turned instantly. He indicated to his servants to leave him and then he faced his wife. He was standing by a window, looking out over the courtyard, one side of his countenance obscured. From what Bridget could see, his expression was a picture of studied calm.

“Henry, I must speak with you. I know that you have heard about my conversation with Norris, and all the other rumours that have abounded about me lately, but I assure you, I promise you, that none of them are true! These tales are spread by malicious people, people who have always hated me! You know that I—”

“Do not tell me what I know,” the king broke in, a slight crack in his voice. “I have heard such extraordinary things about you madam that I wonder what, if anything, I ever
knew
about you at all! Tell me, were you a true maid when you came at long last to my bed? Or had you already been enjoyed by others—Percy, Wyatt, half the French court, and now my own servant, Norris? Without a doubt, you
knew
certain tricks, didn’t you, by the time you gave yourself to me? Tricks that pure maids like Mistress Seymour, for instance, do not know. I wonder who taught them to you? Was it King Francis? Henry Percy, perhaps? Or could it be that you are just a natural-born whore?”

Anne’s control broke and her anger came out full force. She walked straight up to the king until they were virtually nose-to-nose. Henry could barely look at her and he took a small step backwards. Anne was having none of that. “Henry, look at me!” she demanded, and when he did not obey, she grasped his chin and turned his small, blue eyes towards her. “I was a maid, without touch of man, when I came to you. I had never lain with anyone else, either before or since. Look at our daughter!” the queen cried, indicating the squirming Elizabeth, “she is the living image of you, a true Tudor, and nobody can gainsay it. God willing, we shall soon give her brothers to play with, strong, red-haired boys who will grow up to rule this kingdom. Please, Henry,” Anne said, her hand stroking his cheek, “I love you, I know you love me, remember what we have been to each other. Give me one more chance. One more chance to give you a son, I will not fail. I promise you that.”

Henry stood still and let Anne touch him. With a barely suppressed shudder, he captured her hand and held it away from his face. “There is nothing more, Anne,” he said simply. “No more chances, no more promises, no more protestations of love. I am done with it all.” He walked away, his stormy gaze raking over Bridget as he left. Anne slumped in the window as Elizabeth began to wail. Anne held her close and allowed her tears to mingle with her child’s. They cried together as one for a long time.

A muted ball was held at court that evening. The queen decked herself out in a magnificent gown of buttery yellow, set off by a glittering diamond necklace at her throat. Outwardly, the king treated his wife normally. There were no recriminations, no dramatic scenes, and no displays of temper. But for those who took a closer look, there was nothing normal about their interaction. Henry never looked Anne in the eye all evening, not even when he first greeted her and took her by the hand. The queen herself tried to play her part, smiling and joking with courtiers. Only the keenest observer would have been able to see the desperation in her smile and the panic behind her eyes. She looked like a fox who could feel the pursuing hounds closing in on her and, no matter how fast she ran or hard she searched, there was no hiding place in sight.

The ball dragged on uneventfully, with little in the way of dancing or singing, and eventually ended about ten o’clock when the king took his leave, a brief kiss on the hand, his only farewell to Anne. The queen stared after him, then got slowly to her feet; tiredness etched into her every movement. “I am weary, ladies,” she said to her women, who had gathered behind her. “I crave sleep. The May Day tourney is tomorrow and I must be at my best.”

The queen and her train wound their way back to her rooms, where her maids began to help her undress. Madge Shelton, who had lingered at the ball, entered the privy chamber a little after the others and announced, “There is a great throng of people gathered outside the chambers where the council meets. They say that some great matter is being discussed.”

Anne leapt to her feet, her face pale. “How many people, Madge? Did you see my father there, or Lord Rochford?”