At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (10 page)

“Really, Madge, George will do. I want us to be the best of friends. No, Wyatt tarries in Paris—the City of Lights suits him. And where is my lovely sister?” he said.

“Resting, my lord. She has not been well this afternoon. I would not disturb her,” said Madge.

“Is it a bumpy ride for her?” George whispered, pulling Madge to him so he could speak into her ear. She could smell his man’s odor of dust and sweat and horse. She knew he had just returned from France, doing ambassador work much as Lord Wiltshire, his father, had done.

“’Tis, my lord,” said Madge as she tried to distance herself from him.

“The king?” said George. “Up to his old tricks?” He released her and studied her face.

“I know not of any tricks, my lord. But Her Majesty has suspicions of His Grace,” Madge said softly. She wasn’t certain how much she should divulge to him. She knew Lord Rochford was loyal to his sister, but she also knew he was one of the king’s men as well.

“He’s taken a maid then,” said George, more to himself than to Madge.

She remained quiet, waiting for him to dismiss her. Without another word, he grabbed her waist, pulled her to him, and kissed her once more, a lingering kiss. She felt his tongue probing her pursed lips, trying to gain entry.

“You make me glad to be back at court, Lady Margaret. I shall see you again,” he said as he hurried toward the queen’s apartments. Madge gave a quick curtsy and headed outside into the fresh air.

Her mind seemed to rattle around in her skull as she searched for Cate. George’s kiss seemed unlike the friendly peck on the cheek she got from her brothers or her father. And his tongue. Never had Madge imagined such a thing. The act seemed unchaste.

Suddenly, Madge saw Shadow galloping toward her, Cate running to keep up. Shadow was now loping in that ungainly manner of young hunting dogs. Madge fell to her knees and embraced the slobbering hound, letting her lick her on the face, hair, and mouth.

“Would that I were a cur, mistress,” said the slimy voice of Henry Norris who had popped out of the hedges behind Cate. He doffed his cap and bowed with a flourish. Madge remained kneeling, tucking her head in a small nod.

“Perhaps that is a wish already granted, sir,” said Madge, still not looking at him.

“Ha! You have a wit after all, my lady,” Sir Norris said.

“Barely, my lord. But a little wit is all I need to battle you, sir,” said Madge, surprised at herself. She had not wished to make enemies at court, but Henry Norris was too full of himself and she could not withstand the temptation to whittle him to size.

“This parry could mean only one thing, my lady—that you wish for me to be your knight. I hope it is true, for I want nothing more than to belong to you, body and soul,” said Norris with particular emphasis on the word
body.

“I have no such wish. I was only being rude on the hope you would leave me to speak with my nurse,” said Madge, rising to her feet and glaring at him.

“My lady’s wish is always my command,” Norris said without emotion, though Madge could see a flush cross his face. He turned on his heel and headed away from the two women.

“You go too far, Maddie. He is a powerful man, not one to meddle with, I’ll warrant,” said Cate, embracing Madge.

“I am not far from the queen. I have a little sway as well,” answered Madge. “Good Cate, I have missed you. The queen keeps me at her side continually,” said Madge.

“It is said the queen treasures you above all the other ladies. And your conduct has been without flaw from what I hear. You remain chaste, though there are several who would change that!” said Cate.

“That rogue, Henry Norris, is one—even I can see what he is thinking,” laughed Madge. She linked her arm through Cate’s and the two women ambled down the garden path.

“The king has another lady—I have seen them together,” whispered Madge.

“Do you know who she is?” Cate said.

“No—I saw only a shadow. No, not you, girl. Down!” said Madge, pushing Shadow back onto all four paws.

“Does the queen know?”

“She has seen the lady’s handkerchief tucked into the king’s armor at the joust. She is beyond herself with grief and anger. And fear,” said Madge.

“She will have nothing to fear once she delivers the young prince. That will set her on firm ground. And you, too, Maddie. Then she’ll find you a fine husband,” said Cate.

“I have not yet found one man I should wish to marry at this court. They are all lechers,” said Madge.

“I fear you are on the mark, Lady Margaret,” said a hearty voice Madge knew well.

“Your Majesty,” she said, bowing her head low and curtsying to the ground. She felt Cate move beside her, almost in unison.

“Rise up, dear cousin! No need for such formality,” said the king, raising Madge up by the elbow. She looked at him briefly, then diverted her eyes.

“How like you living at court, then, if I were to discount all the lecherous men from your consideration?” said the king, a smile about his lips.

“The court is the finest in the world, Your Majesty. Though I have not ventured from England’s shores, Her Grace, the queen, has told me much of the French court. And though the courtiers may be amorous here, they are absolute devils in France,” said Madge, recalling a few of the ribald tales the queen had told her of Francis I and his many love affairs.

“Some are devils here, my lady,” said the king with a strange look on his face.

“Perhaps such men are always drawn to goodness, sire. You have gathered many learned and true-hearted men. Thomas Wyatt for one,” Madge said.

“Humph. Wyatt seems to warrant praise from all the Boleyn clan,” said the king.

Madge realized he was referring to Wyatt’s famous love for the queen prior to the king’s suit. She reddened.

“It matters not, pretty Margaret. I know I have the queen’s heart. And she has mine,” said the king.

He laughed and gently touched Madge’s chin, guiding it until she faced him and gazed into his eyes, which were pale blue and very small. Yet, he towered over her and she realized she was trembling. He was smiling down at her, his little bow-mouth turned up in a grin.

Madge did not know what to say to the king. She could not call him a liar, though she believed he was one.

“Would that you had your cousin’s wit, lady. Your beauty is beyond reproach, fresh as a new egg. But you never speak! Well, I’m off to greet the queen, then to the hunt! The cat will keep your tongue, mistress!” said the king, laughing as he strode from them toward the queen’s apartments.

Thirteen

“I will not abide such goings on, sire! I am your lawful wife! You should keep faith with me! Such is the sacrament of marriage!” said the queen, her face, usually quite pale, reddened all the way down to her collarbone. Madge hated that the queen had chosen to confront the king while Madge was still in the room, though she was somewhat hidden behind the door of the great walnut wardrobe. She had been removing the queen’s last outer garments when the king burst into the room with a bouquet of roses. Madge decided to duck into the wardrobe once she saw the queen’s look as she grabbed the roses from His Majesty. She knew a squall was brewing and it was best to keep as far from it as she could.

“Madame, I do not need you to tell me about the sacraments! Nor do I need you to point where I should go and with whom! You would do best to shut your eyes to what I do, as your betters have done. Do not forget that it was I who raised you up and it is I who can cast you down again!” shouted the king, his words hard and cold.

“Cast me down as you wish, my lord. And cast your son down with me!” said the queen, her voice loud and high-pitched, sounding nothing like her usual low tones. Such noise hurt Madge’s ears, the caterwauling of the queen set against the king’s blustering shouts. Madge closed her eyes, trying to make herself disappear completely. Obviously, both the king and the queen had forgotten she was there. Or perhaps they didn’t care. She was so far beneath them, she scarcely could have mattered.

At the queen’s words, the king softened as if he suddenly realized any suffering on the part of the queen might affect his little son, the one for whom he had moved heaven and earth. Tenderness for both Anne and the prince flooded into his heart. Such changes were not unusual for this man, Madge observed. One minute, he could be full of laughter and joking; the next, his face would become cloudy and his voice thunderous. Getting along with such a man was akin to walking on eggs from the poultry yard, trying not to break a single one.

“Now sweetheart, let us not quarrel. You know you have my heart—you’ve the proof right there in your belly—big and round as it is,” said the king, tenderly caressing the queen’s stomach, his hands fitting all the way around the circumference. The queen’s face seemed frozen, her mouth turned down and her eyes looking off into the distance. Madge watched as the king fell to his knees and kissed the queen’s belly, cooing to the prince as he did so. The queen sighed, seeming to release her anger. A rueful smile played across her mouth. She stroked the king’s hair almost absentmindedly.

“I have no wish to quarrel, my lord. I wish only to be loved by you as once I was,” said the queen, her shrill voice now quiet as a whisper.

“You shall always be my queen, my beloved,” said the king. Madge noticed he did not say he loved her as before. She wondered if the queen also noted this omission. The king rose and embraced his wife, patting her back and holding her in his large arms, much the way a bear might hug its mate. Or its prey, thought Madge.

“Sweet, I must off to bed now. The lists have tired me this day and there is much work of state to be done on the morrow. Kiss us now, there’s a good lass,” said the king as he pressed his smallish mouth against the queen’s full lips. He did not linger but turned and headed for the door. He then glanced once more at the queen and blew her another kiss. “Rest well, my love,” he said.

“And you, my lord,” said Her Majesty, that faraway look still in her eye. Madge kept as still as she could; she barely breathed.

“You may come out now, cousin. You have weathered the worst,” said the queen, collapsing on her mattress.

“Majesty, how do you bear it? How can you make do with such a man?” Madge asked as she pulled the queen into a sitting position and began rubbing her narrow shoulders and thin back. Madge could feel the small bones moving beneath her hands and marveled again at how tiny the queen was, almost frail. She seemed too small to survive the ordeal of birth, Madge thought. And such a thought terrified her.

“We bear what we must, Margaret. I made this bargain with the devil. I went into the whole affair with my eyes open wide. I knew what he did to my sister—tiring of her once he’d been invited into her bed. Marrying her off to William Carey, a mere nobody. Of course, once the sweating sickness claimed Carey, poor Mary has had to beg her bread. God knows, my father, the great Lord Wiltshire, refuses to help her. And her boy, Henry? What is he but another Fitzroy? Another royal bastard! No, I could not face a fate like Mary’s. So I tried to create something different. I tried to find a way where there was no way,” the queen said as she lay down on her side so Madge could rub the whole of her back and a bit of her belly, too.

“I know, Your Grace. You have achieved greatness. But I fear to tread on the path you’ve carved out. I fear where it leads,” said Madge.

“All our paths lead to death, cousin. Mayhap mine will come in a scarce two months when I’m brought to bed with the child. The prince could easily be my end,” said Anne.

“Think not these thoughts. Look instead to the king’s proud face as he holds his long-awaited son! Think how his love for you will flow then,” said Madge. She said these words, but in her heart, she did not believe the king would ever love her cousin as he had before he had come to her bed. It seemed to Madge Henry loved the hunt evermore over the kill.

*   *   *

July turned to August and Madge found herself enjoying the warmth, though the light didn’t linger in the heavens as long as it had in July. Already, she sensed the change of seasons. Fall was coming and with it, the birth of the prince. The king had continued his romance with the mysterious lady, though Her Majesty said nothing more about it. However, Madge noticed the queen was more and more complaining with the king, concerned with the loss of her figure, worried that he no longer loved her, fussing about her ladies and how they vexed her at every turn. The king laughed and smiled with the queen, but Madge noticed his eyes did not light up the way they had in the past. He was humoring her because of the child. Madge feared what the queen had said was true—the king no longer loved her.

Madge tried not to imagine what the loss of the king’s great affection would mean. Instead, she put all her efforts into pleasing the queen and easing her burdens. As the time for her confinement approached, Her Majesty seemed to need Madge more and more. Often, days passed before Madge was allowed to walk in the gardens or join the rest of the ladies for supper in the Main Hall where she might laugh and talk, live easily in the freer air of the court rather than always breathing the stale air of the queen’s apartments. Mostly, Madge did not mind being with the queen when Henry was not around. After supper, the queen would clap her hands, call her musicians, bring the ladies and gentlemen into the privy chamber, and all would frolic, kicking up their heels and leaping. The queen often made up her own steps and those jigs would soon become the most popular in court. Though she was large with the child, Anne still enjoyed the attentions of the king’s men: Sir Brereton, Norris, and the rest. She could move them with a laugh or a flash of her dark, dark eyes.

One evening, Madge sat near Mistress Seymour, who looked more dour than usual.

“Lady Jane, why so glum?” said Madge kindly.

“I have no heart for music. Such a waste of time. All I can think of is how the king has betrayed the true church as well as the true queen,” whispered Lady Jane.

“You know such talk is treason … why not enjoy the singing and the dancing? You are yet young. Look there at Master Smeaton—how handsome he is as he plucks the lute,” said Madge.