At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (15 page)

“I must be off. I understand I have other relatives in unhappy states—my dear sister, Mary, so recently widowed, is back at court and I need to pay my respects. Adieu, ladies,” he said.

“Maddie-girl, you must watch your tongue. Even with George, you cannot tell your heart. Keep your feelings close. Learn to dissemble as does every other person in this palace of liars,” said Cate, taking hold of Madge’s hand and rubbing it tenderly.

“But George seemed so like a boy sitting here beside us! I felt he would understand since his own wife is distasteful to him. I could see his compassion for me in his eyes,” said Madge. Madge considered what Cate had said and linked her arm in her nurse’s. “As always, you are wise, Cate. I shall heed your words.”

“Not that Lord Rochford might not have such tender feelings—but he is a Boleyn to the core and would stab his own mother if it might advance his position. Let us walk a while and speak of happier things. I know you are filled with joy to think of Wyatt’s return,” said Cate as the two women walked toward the herb garden. Madge could smell the basil and sage as her skirts brushed against the bushes. The lavender with its stiff brushy stems caught at her hem, too, and she inhaled the fresh fragrance.

“Nothing could make me so glad! Except a romp in the fields with Shadow. Shall we rescue her from your room and escape these cold palace walls?” said Madge.

Seventeen

As Christmas drew nearer, the court grew. People from every station made their way to London to see the pageantry and partake of the food and wine King Henry provided. Gifts had to be given to the royal couple and gifts received. The excitement of Christmas Eve was made greater in that on that special night, the Advent fast was over and revelry could begin in earnest. Yet, at present, such revelry was well over a fortnight away. The queen had sent for Madge after supping privately with the king in her apartments.

“Lady Margaret, would you be so kind as to rub my shoulders as you did when I was filled with the princess Elizabeth?” said the queen late one evening after the king and his musicians had left.

“Yes, Your Grace,” said Madge as she sat on the queen’s enormous bed and began to massage her thin shoulders. She could feel the tenseness of muscles, bunched like knobby grapes along the queen’s spine. Suddenly, she heard the queen emit a sob and saw tears running down Anne’s cheeks.

“Your Grace, did I hurt you? What is the matter?” said Madge.

“No, no, dear cousin. I am bereft. It has been almost a fortnight since the king had the princess Elizabeth off to Hatfield with Lady Bryan. My arms ache for her … I fear I shall not see her again,” said the queen with new tears flowing.

“Majesty, surely you will see her—Hatfield in Hertfordshire is not so very far. And I know Lady Bryan is a good and kind nurse—she cared for the princess—I mean, the lady Mary, did she not?” said Madge.

“Yes, yes. But my heart is breaking for Elizabeth. She is mine! She is mine!” said the queen.

“I cannot imagine the pain you must feel, Majesty. And I am very sorry you must bear it. But think of how you might see the princess as often as you like—you have your own hobbies and your own saddle—could you not ride to Hatfield when you so pleased? You
are
the queen, after all,” said Madge, still kneading the queen’s shoulders.

For a moment, all was quiet.

“You are right, Margaret. I
am
the queen,” said Anne. Madge noticed the flickering tapers and how lovely they looked as they made shadows on the tapestries that hung on the walls. The soft light cast the queen in a golden glow and, though her face was puffy with crying, Madge thought she looked as beautiful as ever.

“Your Grace, I hope you do not show your tears to His Majesty. ’Tis close to Christmas and I have heard it said that His Grace is always merry at that time. It would not do for you to be sad in his presence,” said Madge with hesitation.

Without warning, the queen began to laugh, that high-pitched laugh that seemed so unlike her.

“Dear coz, oh dear coz! You telling me how to manage the king! It is rich—it is too rich!” said the queen, now laughing to tears.

“I … I hope I have not offended Your Grace,” said Madge, surprised at the quick change of mood.

“No, no. I am merely surprised! You look so innocent but now you have learned how we must dissemble to live—liars, we are liars all. Wyatt has it right in his poem—enough of this, enough. Bring me my bowl and cloth so I may wash away these tears and put on the face of joy,” said the queen.

*   *   *

“Come, Cate, the feast is almost upon us—we do not wish to be late! Hurry woman!” said Madge as she pulled Cate by the hand toward the Great Hall where the Christmas dinner was to be served. Madge could not have imagined all the guests who were squeezing into the hall, nor could she have guessed so many could have fit. And all dressed in their finest clothes. Madge wore a new gown the queen had passed along to her—green silk with tiny pearls sewn across the bodice. There was a French hood to match and the rich color set off Madge’s green eyes.

“You shall cause my heart to burst its cage, Maddie. Slow down!” panted Cate.

“I am starving! I don’t want to miss the delicacies!” said Madge.

“Ah, milady, have no fear—I have vittles enough for two in the king’s apartments,” said a familiar voice.

“Sir Norris,” said Madge as she curtsied slightly.

“I have not seen you for such a long time, my lovely. Where have you been hiding?” he said, his arm encircling her waist and pulling her to him.

“Sir, you saw me two days ago in chapel. I remember well how you pinched my arm when I withdrew from your presence to follow Her Majesty to her chambers,” said Madge.

“It was merely a love touch—you are my betrothed after all. Come, let us find a seat together as our sovereigns have no need of us this night,” he said. “Madame, you may find a seat elsewhere—I will take charge of Lady Margaret.”

“Yes, sire, as you wish,” said Cate. Madge watched as Cate threaded her way to the other side of the room, casting a glance back to the couple as she walked farther and farther away. Madge felt her appetite diminish as Sir Norris motioned for her to sit down at a corner table crowded with people she did not know. He crammed himself tightly beside her and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Now, my pretty girl, I have you to myself. For once,” he said. Just then, a servant brought a large platter containing the traditional boar’s head, trimmed with bay and rosemary. Behind him was another, toting an enormous bread basket. Both placed their burdens on the table. At that moment, arms reached out from everywhere and hands stabbed at the meat and grabbed chunks of bread. Madge wriggled out of Norris’s grip and took a hunk of meat.

“Sir Norris, could you cut this for me?” she asked and smiled up at him.

“It would be my honor to do you any service, milady,” he said with a leer. He took his knife and stabbed a small portion of meat, then placed it on her trencher.

Then, she began to eat in earnest, not that her appetite had returned but by eating, she would not be forced to converse with Norris. After the pork, servants brought in roasted swan and seethed brawn. The spicy smell of the meats mixed with the holly and ivy scent of the decked hall. In the torchlight, everything glittered.

“My lady eats her fill—I like a wench who is not ashamed of her appetites,” said Norris. He had not eaten a mouthful but watched Madge, his small eyes gobbling up everything about her.

“Our fast was broken only yesterday, Sir Norris. Are you not hungry?” Madge said, scanning the room for Wyatt, hoping to see him fresh from Paris.

“Your beauty satisfies all my hunger, mistress. I can only hope one day to be as close to your lips as that tidbit of meat—for they would be sweeter to me than any marmalade from the king’s own confectionary,” said Norris. He rested his hand upon her knee, slowly idling his way toward her thigh, pulling the satin of her farthingale up along with his fingers.

“Unhand me, kind sir,” said Madge, her voice icy and her eyes directly on his. The look she gave him could not be mistaken.

“You can forestall me, lady, for now. But when we are wed, I will have my way,” said Norris, taking his knife and stabbing a great slab of pork onto his trencher. The tone of his voice chilled Madge. She ate silently.

Before the serving of the tarts and subtleties, the Lord of Misrule marched into the Great Hall, musicians and dancers following him, all dressed in fanciful costumes. Lions for the king, leopards and falcons for the queen, fearful dragons and colorful birds all processed in, coming to rest at the king’s table. Madge saw one of the royal favorites, Master Smeaton, playing his lute and singing a carol with a loud, happy voice as he gazed at the royal couple seated on the dais. The king’s fool, Will Somers, leapt upon the king’s table wearing a great gold crown twice his size. Elbowing the king to leave his throne, the fool plopped down on Henry’s lap and pretended to eat the royal food. Madge laughed at the sight, as did Their Majesties. Soon, a mummery began and the whole court guffawed at the antics of the fool and the Lord of Misrule.

As the servers poured more mulled wine, the Lord of Misrule matched dancers—first, he paired the king with one of the serving wenches and the queen with the fool; then, as the music started, he continued picking and choosing partners. Madge tried to hide her face, but the Lord of Misrule seemed determined to find her out. He took her by the hand and grandly presented her to a lion whose mouth was filled with sharp-looking teeth. Though she knew better, she was almost afraid of the beast.

The lion bowed gracefully and placed its paw upon her waist to lift her high in the air, as was the custom for the galliard. Setting her back down, he jumped higher than any of the other dancers. She then curtsied and they began to leap together. He twirled her around and around. The lion did not speak, nor did Madge. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Cate dancing with Lord Howard, duke of Norfolk, her uncle. Cate looked terrified but the duke seemed amused.

The music stopped and once again the Lord of Misrule started creating mayhem. Madge curtsied again to the lion and started to return to her table. The lion’s paw caught her hand.

“Mistress Shelton, thank you for the honor of your company,” said a familiar voice.

“Arthur? Can it be you behind this great mane?” Madge said.

“’Tis I, milady. And I will never tell you how much silver I had to pay the Lord of Misrule to lead you to me,” he said. “I must say, it was worth every sovereign.”

Madge said nothing.

“Come with me into the garden—I have a surprise for you,” said Arthur.

“To do so would be unseemly, Master Brandon. Have you not heard? I am betrothed to Sir Norris,” said Madge, her tone colder than she had intended.

“I have no will to dishonor you, milady. But I think you will be happily surprised if you would but follow me. We shall be gone but a moment. No one will miss us, I’ll warrant,” he said.

“Doth this beast upset you, dearest Lady Margaret?” said Sir Norris, who had somehow found his way to them, weaving through the crowd of dancers leaping and frolicking in the hall. He wrapped one arm around Madge’s waist, as had become his habit.

“’Tis a tame lion, sir—only my good cousin, Lord Rochford. He has an early gift for me in the garden and we were just heading outside,” said Madge. The lion bowed slightly but said nothing.

“I hope you will pardon my intrusion, Lord Rochford. I have no desire to spoil your sport. Would you like me to accompany you, dear Lady Margaret?” said Norris.

Madge gave him her sweetest smile, patted the arm around her, and disengaged herself.

“No, dear Norris. George and I have much to discuss. I will see you anon,” Madge said.

“As you wish, milady,” said Norris, his voice full of acquiescence and honor for Lord Rochford.

The lion took Madge by the hand and led her quickly outside.

“Well done, milady. You are, indeed, growing accustomed to life at court. The lie came as easily from your lips as if it were the truth,” said the lion.

“My aversion to my betrothed teaches me all manner of subtlety. I do what I must,” said Madge, finding it easy to confide in the furry beast at her side. “Where is my surprise?”

“Here, dear Lady Margaret,” said a low voice to her right.

“Thomas? Could it be?” she said, still holding the lion’s paw and hesitating.

“It is I, milady, come back from Paris and waiting to kiss you,” said the man.

Madge ran to him, hugged him, and kissed both his cheeks. He stepped into the light of the torches and she could see he was thinner and looked worn from his journey.

“When have you come? Where did you go? What have you seen? Who have you met?” she asked.

“Ah, so many questions! I shall answer all of them in time, dear lady. Shall we sit for a moment?” he said and offered her his cloak for her shoulders. She wrapped up in the luxurious velvet and began to warm herself. She sat on the bench and motioned Thomas and Arthur to join her.

“I must away, Lady Margaret. Another mumming will begin soon for which I am to play a part. Happy Christmas!” said the lion as he bowed to her and kissed her hand. She could feel his lips warm and moist against her fingers.

“Thank you, Arthur,” she said. She was almost sorry to watch his furry mane disappear back into the castle.

“So, dear Thomas, why such secrecy? Why meet me out here when surely your return will make the king and queen even merrier this happy season?” said Madge.

“I wanted to see you first, dearest Madge. I wanted to hear how you fare, and what news you hold,” said Thomas.

“You see I fare well. Court life agrees with me thus far. Except for one horrid event,” said Madge.

“I have heard it already, lovely lady. That scoundrel Norris has got himself betrothed to you—the cur! Is there nothing to be done?” said Wyatt.

“The queen cautions me to keep him waiting. When she is again with child and brings the king his long-awaited son, she will ask His Majesty to release me from my troth. Until then, I must endure Sir Norris and his slimy hands,” said Madge.